winter Tag

PERFECT… WINTER SCONES

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As a reluctant and often times struggling home-baker, I have an unfounded, persistent, borderline sickening obsession with making biscuits and scones.  Nobody in the family eats them but me really (it isn’t saying much when you scan through all members in the family).  I have to endure the look of lostness and concealed disappointment in Jason’s eyes every time he comes home to the smell of butter and sugar, and yet I put myself through it often (yes everything is about me).  They aren’t the most foolproof things to bake either, evidently from the ghost of dead doughs past that still lingers in the apartment.  So I don’t know, I guess they just feel so much more earnest than cookies and cakes, a warmer and friendlier thing to break over a conversation or a cup of tea… well, with my imaginary friends at least.

But the truth is until a few days ago, I had not been able to tell them apart in the kitchen.

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THE HOT TRIPLETS

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I’m shouting out to you in the middle of the Pacific Ocean!! Warm waves… creamy white sands… waving palm trees… oh wait oops, are you cold there? Don’t say I’m not nice. Here, drink this, what I call the hot triplets. Oh, and it goes with this, the sweet buttah sandwich. Both are mutations from my favorites of Hong Kong’s popular “tea room” culture. Maybe I’ll chat more about it when I get back but right now, I have more important things to get to… See ya!

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rum and raisin baked tapioca pudding

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How many times does a recipe have to fail you before you decide that it just isn’t meant to be?  I used to simply set my maximum at three, the same philosophy… no, discipline really that I vigorously apply to all pursuits in life, but as it so proved in the course of the past few weeks, the kitchen, is a much more complicated world.  Actually, it isn’t that difficult to explain my unwavering faith in this particular case because as we all experience first-handedly, nostalgia is a powerful form of religion.  And with this, hoho… we go way back.

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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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My-Dog’s-No-Shepherd’s Pie

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It bothers me that my own blog being called “lady and pups” and all – while the presence of an opinionated “lady” is regretfully prominent – very little was mentioned about the “pups” except briefly right here. So when the other day the perfect moment came for me to host my imperfect pups’ belated debut, I took it. Given I had briefly illustrated how the tail of summer can seamlessly disappear around the corner here, I thought I’d mention slightly on how Fall comes to pass as well. There are generally 2 weeks time in between the seasons when the temperature’s just right, thus the generally un-breathable air could seem miraculously tolerable (No AC or heater = No burning coals). The leaves have started to yellow but cling persistently onto their mothership until one day, departed by a ferocious gust of wind that blows them off into the openness, and they’d dance like twirling little pedals on the grass. That was the day. The day when the grass was still green, the sky was blue and the only day out of the entire year that Beijing looked remotely picturesque, before all of which quickly dissipated and the weather slipped into the bone-freezing winter of Northern China .

That day I thought I’d take some pictures.

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