Meat

Fully Loaded Baguette

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Wow!  What a weekend last Saturday, uh?!  Golden Globes?  Did you watch it?  What a fantastic sequence of showmanship one after the next uh?  First came Jodie Foster’s neurotic ramblings of a speech though I’m not going to argue with the world who apparently thought she was phenomenal.  Then Oh-glory’s-the-name-of-vengeance Ben Affleck won best director and fired a bullet with his love-declaration for Gardner right in the heart of who else but J “LOW”!  Oh snap!!  And how about Ann Hathaway giving all she’s got on an AMAZING performance acting surprised at winning supporting actress!  Flaaaaawless!  That’s another award in itself I’m telling ya.  OH oh and Kristen and Will’s HILARIOUS little team-up was PURE comedy gold!  Missed it?  Geeet ooout of heeerree!!  Finally FINALLY Tina Fay and Amy Poehler’s opening act was marriage made in heaven… come on… I laughed the tears out of myself!

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Soup From Yunnan

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Oh there she goes again… trying to answer the question that nobody is asking. Beef stew from Yunnan? Anybody? (zeeeeeeeeee…) Believe me… I really struggled about posting this you know. The more conforming side of me who knows better wanted to kiss it on the forehead and lovingly bury it six feet under the ever-growing queue of recipes, resting peacefully inside WordPress’s cyber data-tomb. The curry fish head? The chili braised tofu? Com’on… blogs are all about traffics (snap fingers)! Followers (Snap)! Cookies (snaP)! and CAKES (SNAP)!! Nobody’s interested in exotic affairs with the far east especially shortly following that temporary insanity fermented tofu thing… But really guys, I tried.  As I fed myself this soup, it became clearer and clearer with each spoonful that it would just be TOO WRONG to keep it away from you, traffic-tank or not. Oh selfless me.

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Funky Business

All right.  I admit it.  I have been hiding something dirty from you.  I have been for quite sometime now playing the role of a girl who gushes about red velvet things, woos-and-ahhs over seasonal muffins for weekends and salutes to tacos, sandwiches and raviolis for everyday meals, who even contemplates (but no luck so far) on creating the ultimate fairy-food salads to tackle the hippie crowds.  Don’t get me wrong because I love all that (maybe not the salads…) as much as the next American and who wouldn’t?  But… there’s more to it me and it’s despicable that I’ve been tucking it away in a dark corner to lick off its own shame.  Today I’m going to let my closeted funk-fetish get exposed…

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Wontons for Him

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There are about a hundred activities that are on my list of things to AVOID at ALL COST in Beijing.  Taking a cab is one of them.  I’m from New York, the international training-hub for cab-EQ and I thought I graduated smoothly with only one slip that caught me off-guard somewhere on Christopher Street.  So to say that I have NO tolerance for supposedly my favorite transportation in the world, is saying a lot.  If you think New York cab’s got attitude, how about multiplying that by 10 folds then add these to top the cake:  a) The car is built to be as safe as a tin can.  b) Driver tells you that it’s his second day on the job so that he’s completely CLUELESS on the directions OR how to keep you alive for that matter.  c) A thick stench of body odor permeating throughout and you realized only a short stub of screw is left where the window control used to be.  d) It’s 104 degrees outside but the AC doesn’t work (they never do) PLUS the window STILL doesn’t open and YES of course… odor, while you are being dragged aimlessly around the city in a lovely tin can.  See?

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Man VS Beef

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* Ingredient update

I have never been a BBQ person unless you can call pastrami or Montreal’s smoked meat “BBQ” (rubs… smoke… low temperature… ?).   Honestly it’s one of those world’s-great-foods categories that falls into my list of things that’s mysteriously popular over largely unfounded reasons, like durian.  I’m very much aware that I’m not the most credited scholar on BBQ for someone who’s never really been to the South, except for New Orleans where we were blinded by other dashing things they do much better with.  On top of that, an one-time appearance to the annual Big Apple BBQ Block Party somewhere around 2004 or 2005… plus a couple of supposedly-happening BBQ joints in the city, pretty much sums up our entire BBQ experience up to date.  And all of which I can comfortably say, wasn’t all that.

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Chasing Kogi Truck

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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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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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Do Right By Stuffed Peppers

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If you’ve had Spanish stuffed pepper or Mediterranean stuffed pepper or God-forbid-American stuffed pepper or whatever-other-western-culture-style who together shares the innate calling to fill a vegetable with a hollow center, and you think – stuffed pepper is the champion (wait for it…) of the good-in-theory-but-COMPLETELY-FORGETTABLE-in-reality category – I’m totally with you.  In all the culinary-ideas out there that the world all seems to agree on and share, the west unmistakably dominates on a few things…I’ll give’em that.  They do better with a-lot-of-things-fermented like cheese, bread, cured meats and basically all-things-alcoholic.  Great.  I won’t argue with that.

But leave stuffed peppers alone.

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Bok Choy and Pork Ravioli

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Is it getting cold over there?  Wherever you are.

I woke up this morning today, and even in my post-dormancy haze I could sense the greyish tone seeping in from behind the curtains.  I stumbled into my bathroom to finish morning my wake-up routine, went on to open my bedroom door and was embraced by a slight breeze of cold air.  I let out a few sneezes, put on a pair of cozy pajama pants (and a sweater on my 12-year-old Maltese whose name is… no kidding, Dumpling) and thought, “I really want a Starbucks toffee nut latte now…”.  And just like that, summer is officially over.

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Belly Full Pumpkin

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(Chinese versions coming soon)

I’m staring and thinking about what I’m gonna say and… drawing blank.  I wish I have personal, wild stories to share about my Halloweens but the truth is, it is scarce.  Has my life been this pathetic (don’t answer that)?  So I did a psycho-analysis on my entire pathetic peculiar life so far on how I could possibly missed Halloween and drew this conclusion. First of all, Halloween is… not very happening in Taiwan, which was unfortunately where I wasted my prime-time-Halloween-peak-ages from 2 to 10 years old.  Then I moved to Vancouver when I was 12, an awkward age where I JUST missed the boat on getting away with dressing-up-and-asking-for-candy-is-cute.  And then came the teenage years which I consider to be the dark ages of Halloween because a dinosaur costume would be adorable retarded, but a slutty-anything costume would just be… sexy let’s just say raising concerns.

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TAIWAN BEEF NOODLE SOUP / NIU ROU MIAN

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(简体)(繁體)  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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“Rice Pie” It Is

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And I really don’t have any other better ideas so “rice pie” it is.

I’m sure we’ve all suffered from this.  From Cantonese clay-pot rice, to Korean bibimbap, to Spanish paellas.  All are different cuisines of rice plus whatnot, cooked in a sizzling vessel that forms a “burnt crust” of rice on the sides and bottom, which many would argue is the essence of such dishes.  OK, now here’s the “suffering” part.  What’s the point… of creating those wonderful, delicious, toasty crusts… if all they ever want is… to STICK TO the cookware!?  Like taking a lovely prospect to a bar to get’em drunk and they ended going home with the bartender…  No?  Nobody’s ever suffered from this?  It’s just me?  OK, well fine.  I DON’T GET IT.  I like those burnt bits, too and I was there first!!  How can it choose the pan over me?!  It’s heart-breaking that after my useless HACKING and SCRAPING at an innocent cookware that really don’t deserve this violence, I call it quit and just watch them still happily and ever-so contently clinging onto each other while I ponder with frustration, “why?”.

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