Glazed Tadpole-oca donuts w/ salted peanut dust

[ezcol_1half] Publishing a recipe that is aimed at overtaking an old one on a recipe blog like this, is a bit of a dangerous rabbit hole to fall down in. For starter, it implies that the old recipe being replaced, however satisfactory it was left for the public consumption in good faith, was after all, only subpar in comparison.  An uncomfortable admission that these recipes, or at least some of them, are only as good as the limits of their developers at the time whose standards may at some point surpass their own creations.  That some recipes are ultimately, imperfect and transitory.  Which then leads to the question that, well, if one recipe here is found to be less than worthy of eternity, or at least till the end of mankind due to disasters of cosmic proportions, then who knows how many other recipes here are potentially shy of such basic standard?  Because if this isn't the promised space that guarantees unequivocally immaculate cooking manuals that fill the empty pockets of our blip of an existence in a totally indifferent no-shit-given universe, then what are any of us even doing here?  What's the point?  I mean do you know?  Does she know?! 

SWEET POTATO TAPIOCA GNOCCHI, GLUTEN-FREE

[ezcol_1third] SOFT BUT PLEASANTLY CHEWY, THAT IT FROLICS IN BETWEEN EVERY BITE WITH THE UPMOST PLAYFUL RESISTANCE [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezdiv id="" class="ezcol-four-sixth" style=""] Light.  Airy.  Delicate.  Cloud-like. See, surely these are rules best to dictate cotton candies and runway models. But, in my opinion, not for gnocchi. I know, I know.  Who am I - an Asian who grew up in North America - to judge gnocchi, an inarguably Italian prerogative guarded by some very defensive if not hostile Italian grandmothers.  To some, if I am ever entitled to an opinion then it should only be on chop suey or somethin', certainly not this heritage pasta sacredly given by the ancient Roman Gods.  Hey, I know!  I agree!, or at least I used to, which was why I never complained every time I was served with a plate of texture-less and borderline-mushy "clouds", in Rome or Nice and etcetera might I add, and nodded in compliance like a team-player.  "Yes, Mandy.  These mashy semisolids are intentional and authentic.  Now shut up and eat them.  Gollum Gollum".  I truly tried. You see, close-minded it may seem, but I come from a place where any flour-involved, savory carbohydrates have to have, a chew. Whether it's hand-pulled xi'an noodles, the delicate wrappers of dim sum dumplings, or

Puffy Powdered Pillow

(简体)(繁體) OMG. I'm telling you out of my last shred of conscience and humanity before I turn Paula Deen. If you like fried dough. If you have a weakness for doughnuts. If exercising self-restraint over hot-and-crispy-exterior-with-chewy-center things isn't exactly your forte. Or if you value any possibility to a) find a mate, b) keep a mate, c) or simply to be able to fit into ANYTHING ever again. Pack your knives and go. Because this recipe is up to no good. Run. RuN. RUN! The rest of you, follow me into beignet Mordor with no return. (Peek

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