MOLTEN SPICED BROWN SUGAR DONUTS

[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] IT COLLAPSES AND MELTES TOGETHER INTO A VISCOUS DEEP BROWN GOO WHEN IT SURRENDERS TO THE WILLFUL STEAM INSIDE AN EXPANDING, FRYING BUN As previously confessed on my Instagram (read for context), these days, I've been physically and mentally occupied with being a responsible dog mom.  This recipe was developed to be brought to Sesame and SRB's playgroup - as one is required to do when one's children are the least well-behaved amongst their peers - to maintain an illusion of their waning popularity and postpone the likely inevitable timing when they get officially kicked out.  When the stake is this high, mom goes to town. So I'm proposing these fluffy yet chewy donuts stuffed with dark brown sugar that is formerly massaged with honey, vanilla extract, sea salt and spices until all parties clumped into a lustful wet sand, which then fatefully collapses and melts together into a viscous deep brown goo when it surrenders to the willful steam inside an expanding, frying bun.  It's needless to describe to you how the molasses-y sweetness that's brought into focus by a hint of cardamon, cinnamon and sea salt, oozes slowly out of a warm pillow, and how narrow of a window they

mini dumpling wrapper maple cannoli

PUFFED, BLISTERED AND DELICATE, A PERFECT ALTERNATIVE FOR THIS TASTY ITALIAN TREAT [ezcol_1third]  [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end][ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1fifth]  [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] IT'S one of those days. One of those days when I feel like unleashing a tornado of violence towards all things that come within close proximity, dead or alive.  The trees standing stupidly on the pavement.  The peasant birds that just took a shit outside my window.  The lazy-ass sun that isn't doing its fucking job.  The dead voice of the automatic phone-operator

almond byproduct tart

If you hoard much.  You know, unable to let go trunks of junks that's jamming your life, and aren't quite sure what the normal reaction is when you look down on a shampoo bottle where the shampoo is long gone (hi Jen) , or that your loved ones take great pleasure to be on a reality show as the world watches you being eaten away by your own shame.  Yeah, hoarders.  You keep everything.  It's a disease and I'm your new BFF.  Because I let go of possessions beautifully.  I trash donate things with a clean swift cut-throat almost artful peeerfection (someone needs this cheetah-print denim more than I do).  And I extend my virtue to touch those in need around me - may or may not be with consent - by trashing donating their shit for them, too.  They're welcome. So naturally as a non-keeper I was hoping I could avoid this question.  It emerged out of nowhere tickling my conscience after my very first batch of almond milk but I was too excited to respond to guilt.  Then it came the second time (how coincidentally) after the second batch of almond milk as the phrase "world hunger" briefly wobbled across my

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