pork Tag

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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Loser double fennel potstickers

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Being competitive has never been part of my persona. It isn’t one of the virtues of being a quitter, which I like to use as the reason I was never good at sports and why until this very day, I still cannot technically swim (but I float professionally). It’s not that I’m not into winning but just that I don’t like to be proven losing. I’m a walking cliche. But recently I have been braving the turbulent water for the love of my new favorite website and the recipe contest they throw every two weeks.

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White Wine Meatball To The Rescue

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Oh dear.  Oh dear.  Gather up guys, because do I have a funny story for ya.  (Am I gonna tell you how my old layout dumped me on a post-it?)… No, I don’t want to talk about that asshole.  (Awww, meatball’s going to tell us how you and him first met!)…  NO!  This isn’t Hallmark either.  If we haven’t been properly introduced, this is more of a place… where my enthusiasm goes to die after too much saturated reality has popped its arteries (see my angry new banner?).  But HEY!  Back to that story…

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Wontons for Him

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There are about a hundred activities that are on my list of things to AVOID at ALL COST in Beijing.  Taking a cab is one of them.  I’m from New York, the international training-hub for cab-EQ and I thought I graduated smoothly with only one slip that caught me off-guard somewhere on Christopher Street.  So to say that I have NO tolerance for supposedly my favorite transportation in the world, is saying a lot.  If you think New York cab’s got attitude, how about multiplying that by 10 folds then add these to top the cake:  a) The car is built to be as safe as a tin can.  b) Driver tells you that it’s his second day on the job so that he’s completely CLUELESS on the directions OR how to keep you alive for that matter.  c) A thick stench of body odor permeating throughout and you realized only a short stub of screw is left where the window control used to be.  d) It’s 104 degrees outside but the AC doesn’t work (they never do) PLUS the window STILL doesn’t open and YES of course… odor, while you are being dragged aimlessly around the city in a lovely tin can.  See?

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Do Right By Stuffed Peppers

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If you’ve had Spanish stuffed pepper or Mediterranean stuffed pepper or God-forbid-American stuffed pepper or whatever-other-western-culture-style who together shares the innate calling to fill a vegetable with a hollow center, and you think – stuffed pepper is the champion (wait for it…) of the good-in-theory-but-COMPLETELY-FORGETTABLE-in-reality category – I’m totally with you.  In all the culinary-ideas out there that the world all seems to agree on and share, the west unmistakably dominates on a few things…I’ll give’em that.  They do better with a-lot-of-things-fermented like cheese, bread, cured meats and basically all-things-alcoholic.  Great.  I won’t argue with that.

But leave stuffed peppers alone.

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Bok Choy and Pork Ravioli

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Is it getting cold over there?  Wherever you are.

I woke up this morning today, and even in my post-dormancy haze I could sense the greyish tone seeping in from behind the curtains.  I stumbled into my bathroom to finish morning my wake-up routine, went on to open my bedroom door and was embraced by a slight breeze of cold air.  I let out a few sneezes, put on a pair of cozy pajama pants (and a sweater on my 12-year-old Maltese whose name is… no kidding, Dumpling) and thought, “I really want a Starbucks toffee nut latte now…”.  And just like that, summer is officially over.

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“Rice Pie” It Is

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And I really don’t have any other better ideas so “rice pie” it is.

I’m sure we’ve all suffered from this.  From Cantonese clay-pot rice, to Korean bibimbap, to Spanish paellas.  All are different cuisines of rice plus whatnot, cooked in a sizzling vessel that forms a “burnt crust” of rice on the sides and bottom, which many would argue is the essence of such dishes.  OK, now here’s the “suffering” part.  What’s the point… of creating those wonderful, delicious, toasty crusts… if all they ever want is… to STICK TO the cookware!?  Like taking a lovely prospect to a bar to get’em drunk and they ended going home with the bartender…  No?  Nobody’s ever suffered from this?  It’s just me?  OK, well fine.  I DON’T GET IT.  I like those burnt bits, too and I was there first!!  How can it choose the pan over me?!  It’s heart-breaking that after my useless HACKING and SCRAPING at an innocent cookware that really don’t deserve this violence, I call it quit and just watch them still happily and ever-so contently clinging onto each other while I ponder with frustration, “why?”.

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I-Think-It’s-Asian Porchetta Sandwich

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Jason took a bite and asked me with his very “lardy” mouth, “Why is this Asian?”  Well… I suppose because… “The marinade.”  I answered affirmatively with secretly not-so-affirmative doubts.  I mean can I call it “Asian” because the pork marinade is mainly FISH SAUCE, and that there’s GINGER in the aioli, and that the chili is inspired by a HUNAN dish?  Yes.  Yes, I think I can.  So bear with me.  If there’s any dispute over how I name my articles, please do so kindly remember that I AM a self-proclaimed confused individual.  OR IF I’m just being self-consciously hypersensitive…  In that case, forget what I said and carry on.

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