cheese Tag

spicy cheesy. gochujang spaghetti

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The wee-light of early morning started seeping in through the curtain, adding to my sense of unease particular to someone who knew she had done wrong and was most certainly about to get caught.  Jason’s morning-siren promptly started barking at 6:30 (no, really, the alarm is a dog barking…) and was ignored for 5 minutes as usual until eventually, he turned over and witnessed my crime scene.  Like the most gasping moment in a horror movie, an unsightly picture of an irresponsible grown-up, holding her i-pad with an earphone giggling like an idiot, secretly pulling a marathon on… a new-found television series.  ALL NIGHT and 18 episodes in, not even of something socially excusable like Game of Thrones, or House of Cards to demonstrate depth, but a retarded high-school version of True Blood with a name too embarrassing to even pronounce… VaVampire Diaries!  God!  Just hang me by the neck!

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chicken in the swamp

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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…  If you have the urge to gush out, Oh Lord this poor woman dropped that labour of a pie in the kitchen sink!…  I assure I have not.  It’s this stubborn nerve of mine, you see.  I want to cook for traffic I really do.  I’m not playing cool.  But it’s this nerve for curiosity… this damn nerve…

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2:1 sliders

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I am sitting at my parent’s dinning room table in Taiwan, clicking anxiously on my mother’s laptop… scrambling to get this new post out.  I’m gonna quickly leave you with these little suckers I made before leaving Beijing, what I consider to be the ideal ratio of meat and cheese when it comes to cheese burgers (in this case mini-sized), as I call them, the 2:1 sliders.

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likely pairing dark chocolate & gouda cookie

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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…

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the infinite kitchen sink hand pie

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Sometimes I get a little personal when I take a stroll through the expansive, razzle-dazzling and star-crusted cosmic jungle that is food-blogosphere.  I really don’t mean to compare I really don’t.  Wise man once said that… “Go… just do your own things” or something… you know but put in a MUCH more profound and scholarly terms.  But the thing is (and it’s a big thing) that I can’t help but feeling like Gimli the dwarf when self-put besides the others, whom I’d like to call the blogger-elves of the Woodland Realm (birds chirping pls) because I mean really, just REALLY, do people SERIOUSLY live like that?  Prancing with in-season-only, tree-ripen fruits and vegetables galore by the farm-stands and POOF! an effortless display of fairy-salad and angel-tarts on a oh-my-granny-just-left-me-this antique table.  Or picking WILD FLOWERS in pastel tea-dresses surrounded by rainbow and songs and THAT’S what she EATS on weekends!?  For REALZ?  I bet their body parts self-shave, too…

Yeah.  I’m jealous.

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Magic Shrooms

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OK, I sort of bashed it in my previous post (as if it matters), and stripped its right for photos (as if they care).  But maybe I didn’t make myself as clear as I should have.  What I meant was, the tourist-trappy pre fixe we ordered SUCKED, yes ( “Ma’am, this is Robuchon’s signature this… Robuchon’s signature that…”  Pfffffff!!).  BUT everything else the local French were eating beside us looked SUBLIIIME!!  If only we had another €300 dangling in our pocket, we could have theoretically rewrite our Robuchon memory.  Or if only I grew a layer of cowhide thick enough to ask for a picture, “excuse… eh.. moi?…  flash, flash oui?”, I could have at least showcase that beautiful morel pasta here.

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Paris, Where Have You Been All My Life?

Just the fact that they didn’t compromise the integrity of the city for real estate, makes me kind of believe in (sorry…) socialism. Apparently all buildings except for one (ewww… Trump, is that you?) in central Paris cannot exceed 6 stories tall. So what? It unveils the vastest, most beautiful sky I have ever seen in an urban setting. New York, I love you, but you ain’t got a ceiling this nice. It could possible be one of the best hotels in central paris but who knows. My pitiful collection of vocabularies fails miserably. Just look at it! Carefree clouds floating in a mesmerizing, SOUL-SUCKING blue. Tell me that doesn’t look like a Pixar’s movie!, in which I’d be the ghost of an old lady happily traveling in a balloon-lifted house…

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A Roman Daydream

So, here it goes.

I’m going to start this story by making a confession.  I have…never been to Rome.

I forged this recipe after the Rome episode from my favorite travel channel host, Anthony Bourdain’s show, “The Layover“.  His show is one of the humble luxury I have being here, that I get to pay $20 on iTune which would otherwise be free in the US.  No no no, Slingbox doesn’t work here.  If the internet in China is personified it would be a 800 year-old granny with walking stick that is broken.

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