Seafood

SALMON POKE-D YOU. YOU SHOULD POKE BACK

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Two weeks ago when I stood in front of the ordering-counter in the most celebrated poke (a Hawaiian appetizer mostly made with raw seafood and other seasonings) joint in Honolulu, I found myself deep, once again, in a familiar dilemma.  I could on one hand, dig through the baffling complicatedness for the source of the tuna without certainty on any given answers which would probably result in an ill-informed purchase anyways, or, I could entirely forgo the option of tuna as a food source just as I’ve been doing for quite awhile now.  After all, I hadn’t tasted a bite of tuna, raw, cooked or canned for let’s say… almost 3 years.

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insights to your shrimp dumplings

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There are days, you know,  not everyday, but days when I really… hate this.  I mean, what is this anyways?  A self-published “web-blog” about me making dinner.  Talk about being a loving sponge when it comes to self-absorbing not to mention a shameless evasion from unemployment.  Oops, did I not mention that?  As many more dignified others who might do this as a hobby aside, I on my other sorry hand, just do this.  No other self-sustaining professions at day, heck or even a non-profit charity to excuse myself of, it’s a testimony of prolonged immaturity and chronic, explicit laziness, hardly anything to be carved on my tombstone.  So yeah, as this self-absorbing continues, sometimes I really hate this.

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hypothetically wild salmon onigiri

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I am not, by a screeching far cry, someone who could hypothetically reach a life with no regret.  Contentment to me is an overrated product of philosophy, not of nature, and therefore more often than not, I find myself restlessly curating for a much-er life.  I benched more tablewares in the cabinet than the actual number of guests I could ever gather to my hypothetically dinner party.  My closet is for someone who apparently comes across great occurrences that call for more than one (ok, five) sequinned Flapper dress.  I limited myself to only four vintage-designed bicycles (so far) which I imagine cruising so hipster-ly through Williamsburg where our hypothetical loft resides, just above the hypothetical farmer’s market, where I buy hypothetical hydrangeas on weekends.  Hey, I could go Paris on you but I want to keep it real.

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tummy yumyum tomato soup

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Who here shares a rooted enthusiasm for heads raise their hands (… what?).  To an undiscriminating extend on varieties, I love all types of heads (… what did I say?…), duck, fish, chicken, whatever.  Not that there’d be a fight but I seize it from the table at every encounter, nose-up thinking I am the only person in the party who knows what.  I’m a head-snob.  And on behave of myself, I’m filing a complaint towards America where under-informed citizens don’t appreciate heads, or serve enough of them (I think I hear agreement of some sort…).  I go quietly fury especially when I see shrimps heads being discarded on their plates, thinking they must be CRAZY passing that intense creamy foie-gras of-the-sea that’s just one loud sucking away.  Tsk tsk tsk… unworthy of a good head.

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poorman’s lobster roll

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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…  My words-in-past is making contact with my present inner-self.  Wooh~ (believe it or not this is me keeping it together).

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izu 伊豆

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I am chasing a mountain.  A legend.  A symbol…  The Fuji hovers like a myth behind a veil of mist and cloud.  Alive while dormant, assertive and yet faint, revealing itself then dissipating into the background as the sun runs its course.    Never have I seen a landscape as transformative as this, and never has a landscape so closely mirror the culture that inhabits it.  If you were never here, it does look like this, feel like this and taste like this.  A black pine.  A bowl.  A state of mind.  Everything.  Unmistakably Japan.  But this isn’t Tokyo. Only two hours away and arguably more, this is the Izu Peninsula.

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Cured Roe aka Botargo

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My fabulous friend Sharon recently opened a fabulous wine bar in Taipei called Whinos, and I had the pleasure of visiting her awesome little space the last time I was around and needless to say, it was FABULOUS!  It is chic but warm, cool but inviting, intimate and private but bubbling with mingling chatters.  It was everything I look for in a little-spot-to-call-your-own that’s tucked in a city corner, and I’m totally envious happy for her.  You know how sometimes you hold a little dream but not-you, instead a friend who obviously has more guts and awesomeness to pull it off before you did, and you couldn’t help but feeling overwhelmed with envy best wishes for them?  That’s how I feel.  My utter jealousy happiness for her total fabulous-ness.

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Curry Laksa

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If you haven’t heard of “Nyonya”, chances are you have eaten it instead.  Yeah.  It may not have been as justly popularized as Thai or Vietnamese, but its low-key awesomeness is in every Southeast Asian restaurant.  The word itself means the union between Chinese and Malays, and the fushion cuisine thus born which is PURE MAGIC.  So then… why am I struggling to finish this post after writing then tearing (…symbolically) and rewriting again?  Because I JUST can’t escape the thought that people would come, and see, and “huh??” and just FADE OUT.  And I’m exhausting all my aren’t-really-there writing skills in an attempt to make this sound like a Rachel Ray’s which has let me to a desperate conclusion to say that… it isn’t.  Yes, it is complicated and consists of a blinding array of exotic ingredients.  And chances are if you weren’t those who have true affection for a bowl of spicy noodles, I’ve lost you somewhere along the second sentence.  BUT if you are those like me, it would be worth the while.

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