street food Tag

lard and shallots


Perhaps you have heard of this.  Perhaps amidst that journey you’ve always wanted to take, physically or culinarily, you’ve left a little trail of footprints through this Southeast island distancing itself from China, sensed the disturbance in its waking yearnings to voice out.  Chances are you weren’t charmed by its political ambiguity or perhaps even curious but that’s all right, because that’s not what we truthfully know of either.  What we know of is this, our last fair stance on independent nationality, what even brought you to take an impression on our not-much-ness, the last pride.  This, Taiwanese street foods.

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Chasing Kogi Truck

korean taco featured header


I could never live in LA…  What can I say?  I’m a city person.  LA is NOT a city.  It’s a glorified suburb if anything, run by GYM-hugging, yogurt-dipping and smoothie-drinking fitness-zombies who cares more for over-sized sunglasses than foods.  And I’m afraid we can’t be friend if you told me you want to give up culture in exchange for a place with no seasons…  Yeah that’s snow.  It’s called winter.  But let’s just say in an alternate universe where I fell in love with a cellulite-free buttocks over butter, and a car engine over my vintage bikes, and decided that I COULD actually live in LA… what would I be doing there everyday on my carbon-emitting vehicle?

I would be gladly chasing the Kogi truck.

(Jason: “dude… you live in Beijing…”)


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(??)???) UPDATES AVAILABLE * 2013/03/11: online sources for ingredients added!

I’m gonna start this by saying something that seems completely irrelevant… The Japanese are marketing geniuses. No, not geniuses. Gurus! No no, NOT gurus. GODS!!! It’s like their entire way of life comes with a built-in marketing system that in comparison would reduce Don Draper down to nothing but just a raging alcoholic. I mean really, something about their culture is so mesmerizing that… OH look! Hello Kitty! (slap! FOCUS!) …that they’ve become easily one of the biggest culture exporters in the world, and most evidently in their success in pushing their cuisine into a world domination that’s stronger than the force of nature. Not so long ago who would’ve thought that Americans, the genetically-hardwired loyal patrons of well-done white meat chicken, would pay $200 and UP to surrender their fork’n knife, pick up the chopsticks (some awkwardly) and chew down a piece of raw fish on vinegary rice then moan, “Mmmmm… UMAAAAMI…”. Seriously!! Forget X-men, THIS is where human mutation takes a giant leap!

I’m telling you, it’s crazy. Japanese can sell anything like it has a halo on top of it.


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A Bite of Le Marais

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It’s impossible to shake, like it’s wired into my every nerves, and rejecting whatever highly-caffeinated substance I have been shooting up my veins. It has made it its personal quest to destroy my complexion, and put my blog, my kitchen and my dear dear camera on life-threatening danger. Just know that I’m writing this while floating in a distorted, murky, brain-scrambling derangement. Thoughts are bouncing off the surface of my consciousness like dimming fireflies, twirling and giggling, so close but out of my grasp. “Wait, don’t go. Why so shy?… let’s play…”


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