snack Tag

LET’S FILL THAT BOWL ON THIS SUPER !!!

IN THE NAME OF SPORTS, IT’S TIME TO EAT OURSELVES TO A CELLULITE-D IMMOBILE PULP

Right, let’s face it.  Who are we kidding?  The only thing sporty about me is that I could, maybe, jump over a puddle if my life depends on it.  But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want someone like me at the party this sunday – while the gang rouse up above a borderline-patriotic roar towards the flatscreen, beers blazing and testosterone bursting – who sinks into the couch giggling at her phone for French bulldog puppies on youtube.  Why, because my friends, I’m the one who’s gonna bring the kool-Aid.

So let’s hit it.  For God and country, in the name of sports, and beefcakes clashing and tight muscles fluttering in slow motion… let’s eat ourselves to a cellulite-d immobile pulp and call it the spirit.  Man… gotta love this day.

Here’s the game-plan.


First, what’s a football party without some sliders?  These 2:1 sliders with charred green chili mayo, with patties that are 2 parts meat and 1 part cheese, browning and melting all over the place, is the one that you’re looking for.

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THE SHIT I EAT WHEN BY MYSELF – FLAMING CHEETOS + ARUGULA GRILLED CHEESE

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THE ARUGULA IS NOT JUST THERE TO VALIDATE THAT I’M STILL A HUMAN BEING…

If you thought, we shared a passionate connection yesterday over orange ramen for our new segment – The Shits I Eat When I’m By Myself – well, here comes true love.

True love is… true love is…  I say true love is when your other half walked in on you, with this throbbing in your mouth, said nothing, walked away and pretended like nothing happened, and didn’t cancel your credit card…  Uh, what was in your mouth oh I mean, my mouth you asked?  Uhem… even the mere pronunciation of the words, has to come with great courage…  It’s sharp gouda grilled cheese.  ……………..  OK.  OK… that’s not entirely honest.  Wwwell, it’s sharp gouda grilled cheese with baby arugula, and something tangy, spicy hot and fabulously crunchy in between…  What?  Now you’re just prying…

Fine!  FINE!  It’s flaming hot crunchy cheetos!  It’s FLAMING HOT CRUNCHY CHEETOS!  And I fucking love this shit!  Ya happy now?  It’s gooey melted gouda grilled cheese, but with a crunchy and contrasting texture sandwiched right in between, releasing neon-red powers that are, possibly, the last surviving legal addiction.  And didn’t you hear that there’s A-RU-GU-LA?  Which is, a ve-ge-ta-ble.  Which is, not just there to validate that I’m still a human being, but to elevate the entire flavour profile to please anyone, who obviously, isn’t insane.

What’s not to like?  Don’t answer that…

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“PRINCE” SPICY NOODLE CHIPS

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“WE ALL KNOW HIM, A PUNK PRINCE WITH A BASEBALL CAP”

This story of the distortion or/rebirth of a Prince, is either going to sound savagely wrong or/wistfully nostalgic, depending on whether or not you came from an island called Taiwan in all its quiet and subordinate existence just southeast of China.  You’re looking at something called the wang-zi (prince) mian (noodle).  The extent of its popularity outside of Taiwan is a less certain matter but yeah, we all certainly know him, the punk-looking prince with a hideous baseball cap on a bright yellow and red-striped plastic bag, with a brick of fried noodles and seasonings inside.  Cup Noodles in bag-form.

Except for the obvious disconnection between his look and the word “Prince”, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  His journey only grew remarkable at a historic moment when he, among other bugs and such, became the victim of children’s relentless savagery which left him deformed.

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CHEESY CHICK-FLICK POPCORN

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“MR. DARCY, THE CLOSETED FETISH OF MODERN FEMINISTS”

OK… OK so I lied.  I didn’t go outside last week…  As a matter of fact, I didn’t go outside for the entire three consecutive blue-sky-days…  I’ve been home.  I’ve been home all this time, alone by myself with Jason on a business trip… helplessly, drowning in a bloodbath of some of the ultimate, eternal cinematic achievements known to women.  One.  Classic.  Hit.  After.  Another….  Twelve Years Of Slaves?…  Neeuuu….

Ladies, bust out your most shameless, worthless, dirtiest secret stash… it’s home-alone chick-flicks extravaganza night.

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PORKY, GINGERY SHRIMP TOASTS

“HAS IT BECOME OBVIOUS?  I LIKE SHRIMPS”

Can I rudely leave you alone with this crunchy… buttery… porky, gingery shrimpy thingy today even though you were just introduced?  Not that you’ll need any persuasions to take them home to your bed, but you know, I still feel like explaining myself why I’m in such a hast today.  Well, first, It’s been the third consecutive “blue sky day” here in Beijing which is as rare as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade through The Black Gate of Mordor, so yes first, I think I should step outside my nest.  Secondly, yesterday as I was routinely sipping my afternoon joe while courting my laptop, through the misty reflection of the screen I saw there he was… Rebeus Hagrid, in his bad hair-day.  So yes secondly, I think I should step outside my nest.  Thirdly, there’s a fabulous red skirt from Zara with my hip’s name on it.

First-second-who?

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POST-HAWAII BLUE & COFFEE CRUSTED NUTS

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The danger is real.  There’s a paradise out there.

You can’t move two steps without hearing old-time tales of unsuspecting wanderers who passed by and never left, got sucked in by that boundless flickering of Pacific blues so wicked that they dared plunging into the terrifying anxiety of a slowed down life.  Made home, even a family, grew roots.  Their next generation, born-and-raised, has fascinating stories to tell about their unwavering connections to being the children of these captivating islands, seeding ideas inside visitors with a less affirmative mind such as myself who all, at one point or another, fondled the unthinkable… could I live here?  Oh you’ll see.  Just a split second of carelessness and you too would find yourself romancing the same idea.

Hawaii is that kind of hazard and I barely made it out in one piece.

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corn and seaweed tempura popper

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Before talking corny, you know how sometimes when parents, despite their best intentions no doubt, can suffocate us with all their unnecessary concerns followed by… uh… understandably agitating gestures?  God don’t you just hate that? So freaking un-cool is what it is!  And just to make it perfectly clear before I confess anything, I am still with you.  You know, “Team Kids”.  But yesterday… I think I may have done exactly that… ok and then some.

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cherry tomato vinaigrette and gorgonzola bruschetta

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Dear shrink, I’m… wondering if I can now be qualified for that zoloft + xanax prescription we talked about last time, you know, and let’s throw in a couple of diazepam for good measure while we’re at it?  I assure you that I have no previous record of substance abuse, in fact, I hardly drink alcohol for God sake, oh why because I’m naturally fun.  But you see, it’s my kids… my kids who are competing in a race to my emotional hell by turning rotten-sick on me one after the other.  Oh HELL, it’s even making me babble uncontrollably about it on my food-blog, right, a FOOD-blog that’s supposed to be about escaping to gastronomic neverland,  not… Anderson Pooper on real world shit…  Damn it!  What the hell am I talking about, you see?  I need meds!

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