Noodle/Pasta/Rice

summer and couscous in istanbul

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I’m never much of a person of faith and spirituality.  Evidently since Jason and I started slowly leaving our footprints around the world, we left an obvious trail seeking gastronomic truth instead of spiritual babble, pinning destinations on the map not for the yearning to hear the echoes bouncing off the cold marbles of St. Peter’s, but to sink our teeth into the godliness of a cool, fresh Roman burrata.  Not to hear the chanting of monks on ancient scriptures, but for the serene noise coming from the skin of a Balinese roasted pig cracking in between teeth.  The antiquated pagoda from a time bygone can wait, my Vietnamese bún chả in the now is getting cold.

We go with our guts.

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ugly crackling chicken rice

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Previously on Lady and Pups, the bloodthirsty 9-days marathon of recipe-massacre was mercifully ended by the heroic Jasmine green tea granita, thus temporarily closed the tormenting gap between culinary imagination and reality.  But the narrative failed to mention the other type of food blog-limbo.  One that’s even more ill-hearted, ironic… a humorless prank that leaves the subject, in this case me, in a helpess panic with all hope diminishing after each and every other attempts to right it.  In this episode, we are going to closely examine this type of sucker.

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hypothetically wild salmon onigiri

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I am not, by a screeching far cry, someone who could hypothetically reach a life with no regret.  Contentment to me is an overrated product of philosophy, not of nature, and therefore more often than not, I find myself restlessly curating for a much-er life.  I benched more tablewares in the cabinet than the actual number of guests I could ever gather to my hypothetically dinner party.  My closet is for someone who apparently comes across great occurrences that call for more than one (ok, five) sequinned Flapper dress.  I limited myself to only four vintage-designed bicycles (so far) which I imagine cruising so hipster-ly through Williamsburg where our hypothetical loft resides, just above the hypothetical farmer’s market, where I buy hypothetical hydrangeas on weekends.  Hey, I could go Paris on you but I want to keep it real.

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the ultimate buttered noodle

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It’s May.  The wild tree-sex month.  There are “organic matters” in the air carrying a vicious assault on my eyes, nose and throat, bashing my brain into a piece of stiff, over-chewed gum.  Who knew that these stationary stick-figures could get so violent and nasty in bed…?  Every year, trying to peddle through this merrymaking orgy-time with whatever strain of functionality left at the rear-end of it, is going to be the excuse I am using to explain the current inspiration-draught pillaging through my kitchen.

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izu 伊豆

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I am chasing a mountain.  A legend.  A symbol…  The Fuji hovers like a myth behind a veil of mist and cloud.  Alive while dormant, assertive and yet faint, revealing itself then dissipating into the background as the sun runs its course.    Never have I seen a landscape as transformative as this, and never has a landscape so closely mirror the culture that inhabits it.  If you were never here, it does look like this, feel like this and taste like this.  A black pine.  A bowl.  A state of mind.  Everything.  Unmistakably Japan.  But this isn’t Tokyo. Only two hours away and arguably more, this is the Izu Peninsula.

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power goddess pasta salad

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There’s something you need to know before you sit me down with anyone you carry a sensitive relationship with.  Your competitor/colleague, boss, lover to impress, ex-lover to instill remorse… people who may be concerned about you befriending a crazy bitch (raising my hand), parents, or worse, social bridges.  Because you can be positively certain that I can and WILL almost ALWAYS say the wrongest thing on the wrongest subject before I even get to my appetizer… digging cheerfully into the bread-basket before my antenna picks up the dense air molecule… (…did I say something?).  You should also know that Jason waited the entire three years to unfold me in front of his company event and it’s safe to say that he had seen better days.

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Thai-style Green Pesto

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The demonic cold that has left me muted lingers…  In my thirty-some years of exceedingly LOUD life I was never able to prove that “silence isn’t louder than words” until yesterday when I tried to instruct the mailman on the phone to simply leave the package by the front door.  “…eeev….eeeh… by… eh… oore…”.  “Excuse me, miss?”.  “(regrouping my voice)… Leeeee… ehh by… UUH.. OOOORE…UH!”.  That went on for a few moments but I got the job done…  Even though my head feels like a loaf of stale bread brined in flaccid cola then baked in a 375ºF oven which will eventually turn into an inedible pudding…, a warm message from a D.ear reader gave me a shot of medical positivism and reminded me that, no matter how small and insignificant, I have a recipe to share.

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Sweet Mac

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I was actually going to talk about something else with you.  Yeah.  It was a dough.  But I killed it.  So instead, let’s discuss mac’n cheese.  Does anybody object?  Thought so…  What is there to be added about mac’n cheese?  I mean every specimen of cheese or even just cheese-like substances that walk this earth have probably been tested as part of this classic creation.  Single-cheese or in groups.  Fancied-up or down-home.  Baked or loose and runny…!  It’s safe to say this market is too saturated to be enter.

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Gold on Gold Curry Fried Rice

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Guys I’m not kidding.  You see.  Every time I prepare posts to be published when I am away, they all turn out to be some kind of everything-must-go-fire-sale for the fridge.  Well, an Asian’s fridge at least… to rid of some leftover rice, some ground meat and aromatics that are going to sprout while I was away.  Because pre-departure meal is but a solution, right?  But this is MORE than a solution.  In fact it’s so unbelievably great it may cause you troubles.

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Dan Dan Your Face Off

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I’m gonna be away for the entire next week…… (walking away from the computer and doing a little touch-down dance…)(wait… wait for it…)(OK I’m back).  Tagging along on her husband’s every single business trip to Hong Kong may not be the idea of a modern woman, but for me it’s as simple as the most basic survival instinct.  I just have to get the hell outta this, this and this whenever I can.

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