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To Roll, or Not To Roll

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Like standing in the DMV queue and being asked (judged simultaneously too) if I wanted to be an organ donor.  Or whether to leave my BJ apartment on a PM2.5 hazardous day for groceries or starve with cheese crackers.  Or whether to spend the last scrap of my monthly budget on the air purifier we really do NEED versus the new iPhone I really do WANT.  Nobody said being an adult is easy.

So years of life-defining choices as such have boiled down to this moment – I find myself standing in the kitchen in BJ (how the hell did I end up here…?), deciding which is the better way to form an Asian meat pie.

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Duck Ragu Spinoff

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Like maybe how it brings me back to a perfect bistro setting on a perfect corner in Paris, or maybe how I found a rustic-charm, free-range chicken farm in outskirt BJ where we took our dogs to spend a leisurely weekend.  But, NO.  I’ve never had such a dish that’s remotely close in Paris.  And these eggs were bought from Taobao because I was too lazy to do grocery, and delivered by a postman who left it in front of my door step because I was too lazy to open the door.  What brings me to share this recipe which I’ve already made several times before, is that this time… it’s gonna be served in this beeeautiful, over hundreds RMB black iron skillet that I found on Taobao for 35RMB!!!!

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You.. Dirty Dirty Pasta

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Then came the effort the correct it.  And then, TOTAL insomnia.  As I tried pushing through the day without submitting to the brain-paralyzing exhaustion, the nights remained sleepless where I go in-and-out of consciousness and wake up feeling even more tired than the day before.  The cherry on my cake was, on top of this build up of 14 days without proper sleep,  that my oldest son, 11-year-old Maltese, Dumpling had to go through a completely unexpected surgery yesterday.  If I haven’t properly introduced myself, this IS the top three on my worst-things-that-could-happen list.  So all in all, the past week has been… really shitty.

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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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Paris, Where Have You Been All My Life?

Just the fact that they didn’t compromise the integrity of the city for real estate, makes me kind of believe in (sorry…) socialism.  Apparently all buildings except for one (ewww… Trump, is that you?) in central Paris cannot exceed 6 stories tall.  So what?  It unveils the vastest, most beautiful sky I have ever seen in an urban setting.  New York, I love you, but you ain’t got a ceiling this nice.  My pitiful collection of vocabularies fails miserably.  Just look at it!  Carefree clouds floating in a mesmerizing, SOUL-SUCKING blue.  Tell me that doesn’t look like a Pixar’s movie!, in which I’d be the ghost of an old lady happily traveling in a balloon-lifted house…

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Confit on Fire

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*UPDATES IN INGREDIENTS.

But the world wants this.  A Chili Pepper Confit.

This is not a chili paste, or a chili oil, or a hot sauce.  Difference?  All of the above are wingmen who deliver heat to the main attractions and are otherwise just condiments on their own.  They are the Keanu Reeves.  This is Al Pacino.  Pepper confit is fresh peppers slowly stewed in fat until they lose all their moisture and concentrate down to a pungent, fragrant, fiery explosion on the senses.  It may not look much, I know, but neighbors would know that this is stewing on my stove and attempt to eat a bowl of rice with it.

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Rise baby Rise!

Cuz I don’t brown up nice in the oven.  NO!  I meant I can’t bake!  I’m paralyzed in the field of baking because I’m innately handicapped in following instructions.  But I, too am a mere mortal who’s powerless against the calling of fresh-out-of-the-oven pastries.  And I have a thing for biscuits.

For one, it is one of the few pastries that doesn’t need egg (ok, I LOVE eggs but can’t have them.  That’s a Ginormica sob story for another time).  And plus, they’re just endlessly versatile.  They are the personal escorts,  the Emporors Club of the pastry world.  They will play any role you want them to play for the day, breakfast, lunch, dinner or dessert!  Fantastic!  If one could just be a gentleman, invest in a little courtship beforehand to get to know the biscuits well, to help her reach you-know-what.   What?

It’s the RISE, baby!!!

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Nice Rack

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There are many who shy away from lambs, including a number of my personal friends.  So I’m not going to say anything rude here, only … what the hell is wrong with you?  Lamb is one of the most flavorful meat!  In some cases even tops beef!  Its unique flavor and aroma (is someone gagging right now..?) has no equal.  Yes, I’m talking about the “gamey-ness”.  What “gamey-ness”?  How come beef isn’t tagged with any condescending adjective, but only nice words like “beefy” and “meaty”, whereas lamb is stuck with “gamey” and “lamby”…..  Because of it, some restaurants would go the distance, like 12 extra steps to remove the unique flavor of lamb or goats.  What is this?  Tastes like beef.  If I wanted beef I would’ve ordered beef….  Now where’s my lamb?

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A Roman Daydream

So, here it goes.

I’m going to start this story by making a confession.  I have…never been to Rome.

I forged this recipe after the Rome episode from my favorite travel channel host, Anthony Bourdain’s show, “The Layover“.  His show is one of the humble luxury I have being here, that I get to pay $20 on iTune which would otherwise be free in the US.  No no no, Slingbox doesn’t work here.  If the internet in China is personified it would be a 800 year-old granny with walking stick that is broken.

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