The nuttiest profiteroles

I of all people, know how intimidating it can be to play with ingredients that are completely outside of the comfort zone. You see, it's for the exact same reason that I seriously hate poker games with complete strangers, but I think I could manage playing games like 918kaya if I was on my own. I just don't like the idea of playing with strangers and their unpredictable displays that I have absolutely no talent of reading, or in knowing that if I went all-in with my last stick of butter, would I be left with no chips

pizza alla carbonara

You'd think that for someone who weeped slightly while watching SATC the-Village-wet-dream in her Vancouver apartment 15 years ago, and now replays movies like You've Got Mail the-Upper-West-Side-porn to ease her New-York-home-sickness, if now given the chance to move back to the city, would of course choose Manhattan in a heart beat. Well, almost. But the truth is, since 2006 when I was still dwelling in my 500 ft² apartment in Hell's Kitchen the-Midtown-nightmare, all I had my eyes set on was to move into a renovated loft (LOFT!) situated in the newly-hipster town across the river - Williamsburg. Yes, the other boroughs. You see, because New Yorker wears their address as part of their identities, and 55 Berry Street Williamsburg was humming to me on a very seductive tune. The too-cool-for-schools, the hipsters walking a designer stroller and an adopted pit bull, the vintage-bikers on the Williamsburg bridge cruising into sunsets, the L-Train patrons with awesome tattoos and really cool hats

chicken in the swamp

No lattice-top?  No pretty dashing colors of summer berries?  Not even the scarce possibility of a scoop of ice-cream on top (people will eat anything with an ice-cream on top these days)(how's that heatwave going)?  Just when my latest favorite creation was traffic-vetoed because of its less-than-fashionable appearance (A'ight, it may look Susan Boyle but that rice can fucking sing!), I can't believe I'm preparing to feature this visual question-mark

likely pairing dark chocolate & gouda cookie

The agony of making creative effort in the kitchen is, more often than not (and don't tell me otherwise), we fall into the tormenting limbo between imagination and reality and sometimes the plunge feels eternally lasting.  My current episode has been ruthlessly stretching into its 9th day-anniversary, on-going, in cold blood.  Do feel bad because here it comes

poorman’s lobster roll

Right.  I apologize for my "rare" unprofessionalism last time.  Can we start over?  I promise I'll keep it together this time because oh boy this faux-lobster roll is too delicious to miss out on.  But it's strange to compose this post because the day I cooked it, my doggy-Armageddon-day had not been realized, and staring back on the make-funny-"when life gives you shrimp, make lobster roll"-line that I drew up then to mock my general cheap-ass style, it now seems to actually speak to me on a philosophical level

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