Noodle/Pasta/Rice

BUNKER CRACK SLURP

I TAKE MY CRACK, VERY… VERY, SERIOUSLY

I AM not, by even the most flexible standard, what you would call a person of a particular faith…  I have no investments in god/gods, demon, Buddha, ghost, after-life, next-life, karma, heaven or hell… or paying somebody to tell me that I shouldn’t be moving my furnitures next week.  I would almost say that I’m an atheist if I wasn’t in fact, slightly uncomfortable with the absoluteness of such term.  When it comes to this stuff, I’m pretty sure the truth is…  Nobody knows.

Look, I know there’s an unspoken rule for smart-asses to comment on anything, anything… as long as they don’t touch the subject of religion.  So why am I babbling all this and making Jason very nervous?  I guess I’m not smart, nor an ass, and also because I don’t want to sound the least bit superstitious when I say that my personality – the genetically coded behaviour – has largely dictated the scripts of how my life is played out.  Or as some like to call it, “destiny”.  A word I don’t use but I think that my previous 34 years of walking this earth up till now – including this blog, this post, everything leading up this moment – is predetermined by my hard-wired, inexhaustible desire to…

NOT leave my apartment.  For as looong as I can.

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THE NEW YORK HALAL DRUNK FOOD

“CHANCES ARE, YOU’VE HAD SOME SORT OF PROMISCUOUS ENCOUNTER…  YOU JUST DON’T REMEMBER IS ALL”

You’re probably thinking, what in the world is this?  Or at least the 90% of you who has never traveled/lived in New York plus the 8% who has (completely made-up statistics..), but stuck disciplinarily to mother’s rule of never putting anything questionable from the street into your mouth, wouldn’t have the slightest clue what the hell this is.  But then… then there’s the rest of the 2% you.

Well, hello there, my friend.  You know you’ve been bad.

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HERB GNOCCHI W/ MID-SEASON GREENS

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“IT’LL FOREVER CHANGE HOW YOU FEEL TOWARDS GNOCCHI… OR KALE FOR THAT MATTER”

I don’t know which shocker this post is more about.  The best damn gnocchi you’ll ever have in your life, that instead of “fluffy clouds”, tastes more like spring thunder in your mouth, or the fact that… holy shit, I cooked vegetables!  I guess… both, I think.  Two previously unfavoured dinner-candidates came together and pulled a stormy revolution in my kitchen.  I’ve survived with only a belt-overhanging gutt to tell you about it.

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“PRINCE” SPICY NOODLE CHIPS

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“WE ALL KNOW HIM, A PUNK PRINCE WITH A BASEBALL CAP”

This story of the distortion or/rebirth of a Prince, is either going to sound savagely wrong or/wistfully nostalgic, depending on whether or not you came from an island called Taiwan in all its quiet and subordinate existence just southeast of China.  You’re looking at something called the wang-zi (prince) mian (noodle).  The extent of its popularity outside of Taiwan is a less certain matter but yeah, we all certainly know him, the punk-looking prince with a hideous baseball cap on a bright yellow and red-striped plastic bag, with a brick of fried noodles and seasonings inside.  Cup Noodles in bag-form.

Except for the obvious disconnection between his look and the word “Prince”, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  His journey only grew remarkable at a historic moment when he, among other bugs and such, became the victim of children’s relentless savagery which left him deformed.

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TAIWAN PORK RAGU ON RICE – LU ROU FAN

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“YOU MISSED OUT…
THAT JUST ISN’T FAIR”

I wrote a post called Taiwan in a pot very early on when this blog just started, when most of us haven’t actually met yet.  And perhaps that’s OK.  Perhaps it’s wiser to have pre-mature photographs stay buried six-feet-under the surface of blogosphere, safely and quietly, just like how I forever silenced all images of my existence before 1998…  But I couldn’t help but feeling that if my pettiness to hide my food-pictures wearing braises, has caused you to miss out on something great, truly great, then that just isn’t fair.  So the other night when I made this for the gazillion-th of time at home, I thought I’d give you a little shout-out.

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INSIDE-OUT BLACK SESAME STICKY RICE BALLS

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“SO WHAT DOES
THE LETTER ‘Q’ TASTE LIKE?”

I.  Love.  This.  Stuff.

Everybody, girls especially, who has or shares an Asian background, loves this stuff.  This stuff is so popular it’s practically in the freezer section in every respectable Asian grocery stores, big or small.  This stuff is so unstoppable, that although originally meant to be eaten on a single Chinese holiday only, now is enjoyed all year round.  People look for excuses to eat this stuff.  Given that it’s warm, soft and sweet, it’s a comfort food for the mentally wounded.  But then again, given that it’s a circle which symbolizes “wholeness” and “content”, it’s a must-item in Chinese weddings, too.  Boyfriend dumped you, you eat this stuff.  Getting hitched, you eat this stuff.  You see what I mean?

This stuff is called tang-yuan (literally soup-circles), aka sticky rice balls.

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FAULTY HEARTS REMEDY

You know… this blog really wasn’t, even indirectly, meant to be depressing at all.  Angry?  Yes.  It’s kinda funny.  Depressing?  Is just depressing.  But what now?

I found myself murmuring these thoughts through the indifference of the keyboard, while I watched my dog sunken within a pile of blanket like a flaccid lump of meat, the very life in him crippled by the exhaustion of every hard-earned heartbeat.  His heart murmurs, the doctor said.  Why does it sounds like an expression you can put on a Mother’s Day card for God’s sake…  And what about an overgrown, sensitive big heart?  Fuck, could’ve gotten someone laid on a Thursday night even without game.  To shit with these expressions…

In reality, you can actually die of a broken heart.

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SPICY MISO RAMEN-EXPRESS

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I set out to take the first post of 2014 easy… I did.  I thought perhaps a harmless little breakfast pancake can be nice, glistening syrup under the hopeful morning light that symbolizes a new start within me…  Or, perhaps, a statement-recipe like a creme brûlée and ham french toasts-sandwich that’s simple, but flaunting and strange enough to revitalize this blog’s otherwise-subtle individuality in the year to come…  Or better yet, perhaps a complete slacker-post on a summary of everything that could and has gone wrong in my kitchen in 2013… kinda hey~ here’s a fine collection of things you probably don’t wanna eat but don’t I sound really cute talking about it?

But instead, this came out…  And believe me, although it may not look remotely that way, this is taking-it-easy, well… as far as Japanese ramen goes.

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