Gluten-free, low-carb, chewy all-purpose noodles made of chicken breast

[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] “  The wisdom in exploring Mars lies in a single dumpling.  ” The merits to explore Mars may not be a subject that lands on a food blog very often.  Yet. Since the 1990's, the world has spend billions of dollars over the span of numerous unmanned missions to probe at this relentlessly desolate planet far beyond human's physical reach. And it has incurred questions, perhaps not so unreasonably, about what benefits, if any, that all of these hardcore sciencing could realistically bring to mankind. What’s the point of studying an unreachable plane that most likely cannot sustain any lifeforms but Matt Damon, at least in the foreseeable future?  Wouldn’t it make more moral sense to redirect all those money, instead, on the many more immediate issues left unsolved on good old planet earth?  And at the end of the day, does anyone really want to live on fucking Mars anyways? While there are many scientific counter-arguments to those questions out there made by much smarter people who do math, here as a mere moron who survived one week in her high school physics class, I am simply going to put it like this: The wisdom in exploring Mars lies in a single dumpling. [/ezcol_3fifth]

Chicken in hot and sour coconut broth

[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] I made this dish randomly and without aim a couple weeks ago and really enjoyed it, so I thought I'd share it. Despite its gentle-mannered appearance, this soup will slap you out of your winter slumber if you so underestimate it.  Marinated and crispy-browned chickens in an aromatic Thai-style coconut broth that is almost too sour, almost too spicy, almost too salty that the corners of my jaws received it just as much as my tongue.  But only almost almost almost, because in the end I realized I couldn't stop drinking it, this warming dish that sits right at the spearhead of all the sensations that our tastebuds could withstand and lingers there. I know you'd love it, too.  That's all. [/ezcol_3fifth] [ezcol_1fifth_end][/ezcol_1fifth_end] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end] [amd-zlrecipe-recipe:209]

Broken rice crispy crust and chicken cutlets

[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] "  A crust that is both crispy and airy, with a exceptionally craggy surface that foretells that a multi-textural experience awaits.  " Amongst fried foods enthusiasts, the quest to find the perfect breading, never ends.  Often times either thin but un-impactful, or substantial but too heavy, the delicate balance in a perfect breading, or shall we say "crust", is elusive and ever-changing. But today, I feel as if I had come to a near conclusion that seems to suggest that the search is over.  A breading that leads to a crust that is both crispy and airy, but more importantly, stays crispy and airy, where its exceptionally craggy surface foretells that a multi-textural experience awaits.  Large and small puffy crunches that are light, spontaneous, and almost lacelike. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the broken rice crispy crust. Yes, rice crispy, the juvenile cereal, the cereal that nobody actually eats on its own, the cereal that only finds life's meanings in a tightly compressed square jammed with marshmallow and butter, the cereal that, even then, is promptly rejected by the first sign of puberty and any desire to get laid in the years that follow.  Yes, that rice crispy.  That rice

Book Bait: The Hulk, Dry-fried Green Hot Wings

[ezcol_1half] WHAT:  In a shameless campaign to drum up anticipation for our upcoming cookbook, The Art of Escapism Cooking - A Survival Story, today I am launching a new recipe series with a very self-serving, absolutely no-good intent.  Lady and gentlemen, may I present to you, The Book Bait.  What are book baits you ask.  Well, they are brand new recipes that are not in the cookbook but however, in order to make them, you will need an essential component from the book to complete which, yes, is not yet published until October 15, 2019.  And yes, I am willing to do that to you to sell books. WHY:  Aside from the main motive to get you to pre-order the book (and you can do it here, here and here!), the inspiration for creating this recipe series - if there is still room for this argument - is not entirely corrupt.  There is a chapter inside the book called Condiments, consisting of sauces and spice-mixtures that are used more than once throughout the book.  But since the wrapping-up of the book, I continued to unearth new and exciting ways to utilize them that are too good to be left unbothered.  Which brings

Japanese fried chicken (karaage) w/ salmon caviar (ikura)

[ezcol_1half] "  Ikura's intensity lies in its sticky and viscous brininess that liquifies and oozes around the tongue after each pops.  When you think about it, a sauce, almost.  " We came home from a long weekend in Kyoto and, if I may, I want to talk about me and karaage for a bit. For those who aren't familiar, karaage, aka Japanese fried chicken, is and should be regarded as a league of its own, standing far apart from the classic American fried chickens or the recently popularized Korea-style fried chickens.  It is none of those.  Karaage is boneless, cut into medium to large-size chunks, without sauce, and almost always, as gods intended, uses dark meats only.  Flavor-wise, due to its mildly sweetened brine, its juice runs almost nectar-like, secreting from its firm and bouncy muscles following the crunch of karaage's trademark white-speckled crusts.  Served simply with lemon wedges and Japanese-style mayonnaise called Kewpie — also a distinction from American/European mayonnaise but that's another story — such formula has become an establishment in the Japanese diet, celebrated everywhere from restaurants, department stores, convenience stores and even train stations.  Clearly as popular opinions suggest, there's nothing wrong with it for sure. I used to adore

Boneless “turkey purse” w/ stuffings and peppercorn gravy

[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] "  An completely boneless, flabby, perfect roasting pouch engineered by nature that is 360 degrees encased in skins, ripe for any stuffings and cooks in one hour only  " Be hold, the answer is here. If you are one who is unreasonably attached to the grunt and unpredictability of the Thanksgiving turkey tradition, look away.  For this post could and will impose onto you, the liberation from the struggle. For this point on, you will no longer look at turkey in the same light; you will no longer see it as a rigid object that takes an enormous space in the fridge to brine, a conductor of anxiety that takes forever to cook in the oven, a pending obstacle course that requires professional skills to carve.  No you will no longer. From this point on, you will witness the way of turning turkey into an utterly boneless, malleable, flabby sack of skin and meat; deflated, deconstructed, a perfect roasting pouch engineered by nature that is 360 degrees encased in skins; a floppy blob that takes up little space in the fridge; a miraculous poultry-pocket ripe for any stuffings of your choosing and cook gloriously and evenly in the oven, if you can believe

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