rice Tag

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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sichuan peppercorn red braised oxtail

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I was totally honoured… thrilled actually, when one of my favorite food-site Food52 invited me to share an heirloom (family) recipe for their column.  Oh why, me?!  Get out of here!  No doubt a little much-needed mint-drop in between all the craps that are leaving a bad taste in my mouth lately.  I mean recognition in any shape or form is super awesome but frankly, I can’t help but feeling a bit… like cheating, like the time when I innocently stole an unaware blanket from Cosco (dude, I swear to God it was an aaaaaccident!).  Well just between the two of us, maybe… because I suspect that Food52 probably has no idea… that I actually… Don’t have one.  Uhem, I trust that you can keep a secret.

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ugly crackling chicken rice

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Previously on Lady and Pups, the bloodthirsty 9-days marathon of recipe-massacre was mercifully ended by the heroic Jasmine green tea granita, thus temporarily closed the tormenting gap between culinary imagination and reality.  But the narrative failed to mention the other type of food blog-limbo.  One that’s even more ill-hearted, ironic… a humorless prank that leaves the subject, in this case me, in a helpess panic with all hope diminishing after each and every other attempts to right it.  In this episode, we are going to closely examine this type of sucker.

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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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Doomsday Roasted Eggplants

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On Nov 28th at exactly 7:20pm, I got fed up.  I’ve had my 5th servings of chronic-crashing on my chrome in 1 day and my whipped iTune seemed to be super-unnaturally allergic to my iPad because it decided to kill itself everytime at the sync of it.  So in the attempt to steer my PC into the shinning new-era and deliver it to the promised land of salvation, I upgraded it to – Windows 8 (plug your best Angel music here).  …The reported beacon of hope had turned out more to be the beacon of NOPE, and I was punished for it.  Because then came as I previously mentioned here – the ultimate internet doomsday which led to my double emotional-meltdowns on the kitchen floor.  You didn’t think I was gonna spare you that story, did you?  Neeu…

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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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A Confused Chicken Rice

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I assume people meant my ethnicity, not the city I currently live in, but even that has no easy answer.  Three decades of my life so far are sort of evenly spent in three different locations.  The country I was born in but haven’t lived in for more than 2 decades.  The country I spent all my teens therefore granted me a citizenship of.  Then there’s the city I feel most at home, where it shaped me into an individual and till this day, still defines me.  So which one are they talking about?  Oh, and of course this shithole place where I’m currently residing in for the past 3 years, where I don’t even want my name to go anywhere near the close proximity of.  I think it’s safe to say that I’m a product of the environment of a shrinking globe.

 That I’m suffering from identity crisis.

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