Bakery/Pastry

like-crack-er ice cream brownie sandwich

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I know I know there must be a food-blogger authority staking-out behind a cyber-corner, waiting to ticket me just as soon as I violate the meter by hitting the “publish” button (just any second now…).  TWO ICE-CREAM POSTS IN A ROLL?!  BACK TO BACK!?  God I have some thick-skinned nerve occupying a parking spot on this competitive block in Blogger-hood!  Uh-hum… the official statement is that my sheer excitement after spotting a “cracker cheesecake sandwich” on Donna Hay via pinterest, has driven me to share it for the public-greater good regardless of my personal content-diversity agenda.  And we know that all official statements are largely based on truth and integrity.

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almond byproduct tart

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If you hoard much.  You know, unable to let go trunks of junks that’s jamming your life, and aren’t quite sure what the normal reaction is when you look down on a shampoo bottle where the shampoo is long gone (hi Jen) , or that your loved ones take great pleasure to be on a reality show as the world watches you being eaten away by your own shame.  Yeah, hoarders.  You keep everything.  It’s a disease and I’m your new BFF.  Because I let go of possessions beautifully.  I trash donate things with a clean swift cut-throat almost artful peeerfection (someone needs this cheetah-print denim more than I do).  And I extend my virtue to touch those in need around me – may or may not be with consent – by trashing donating their shit for them, too.  They’re welcome.

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accidental strawberry pot pies

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I’m mega-watt sick guys.  Really.  STAY AWAY on the other side of the computer and try not to touch the screen I am highly contagious!  This is like the 100+ times I’ve gotten sick since I moved to Beijing because my unevolved Canadianess is no match for China’s uber-advanced virus.  My further disrespect for it led me to go out for a night of harmless chatters over my favorite Sichuan face-torching/throat-choking dishes, which left me MUTED after I came home.  MUUUTED, people.  Paralyzed and powerless even when I saw a lift of a leg at the sofa across the apartment (!!!!…!!!!….!..).  ZIP!  I am Ariel without a fairy tale… well plus… a couple other things but you get my point.

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quitter’s mango sauce cake

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I am a quitter.  Yup, I am.  My life has been a progression of consecutive quitting and frankly I’m surprised I haven’t ended up a… (uh wait… maybe I have…).  And this is not some clever rhetorics people use as a prelude for self-flattery that usually come sneaked in the subtext.  No.  Really.  I major quit.  So the other day when I had a hunch about a cake but it came out just about as palatable as my high-school photos, my natural instinct urged me to stab my hunch in the back and return to my couch with my bag of cheetos and my romance with being a quitter (legs shaking and all).

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Deathly Scalloped Potato Pizza

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It’s barely spring and the apartment isn’t even warm yet, but these days every root vegetables in my kitchen seems to be in a hurry to grow up.  There’s a pot that my cleaning lady set by the window with green stalks surging so high that I almost thought she was bribing me back (aww, you shouldn’t have…).  No, the bottom lies the shallots I bought a few weeks back.  And there’s those deceiving heads of garlic cloves each hiding inside its white jacket, only to be exposed when smashed open that they were secretly stretching out mini antennas to listen in on my conversations with my doughs (puff now, my little one… hush hush).  Then there’re these baby potatoes.  Oh my potato-babies… how it hurts me that they are in such hurry to grow up and leave my loving nest.

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Nanny Bribery Strawberry Pinkie

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There’s so much technology reform going on here that I’m struggling to pick up the pace a bit…  Between a shiny new Mac we picked up in Hong Kong and a couple of crippling PC waiting to be discharged without honor, I’m ignoring the anxiety-signals sent from my very empty draft-box.  But as what it seems to have become a post-going-away tradition, let’s start with my doggie nanny bribery, shall we?

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Fauxnut holes

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There’s nothing more unappetizing to start this conversation by saying that these days when I sit down, my tummy-folds can sort of touch my thighs…  Nothing more unappetizing…  Not even a fart-joke can top it.  I know that.  So instead, I’m going with a different approach to explaining why I came up with these unbelievably, OUT-of-your-MIND-ly delicious “fauxnut” holes on my table without making you subconsciously touching your gutt while reading.

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Elvis The Criminal

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Dear juries if I may, truth is I wasn’t planning on baking something for Valentine’s Day.  Clearly as you can see beyond the deceiving cuteness, these muffins have no place near the category of Romantic V-Day offerings unless the need of a relatively presentable figure wasn’t on the agenda for the end of the night…   In fact, it was nowhere on my mind when I was scheming on a compact delivery system for a sandwich come to be known as – the Elvis, a criminal creation of peanut butter, banana and bacon in between two slabs of toast.  But it turns out, there is something sweet to come to my defense.

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Who Took the “Gua” out of “Bao”?

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Everybody, Happy CNY!  Yes, only 2 months after Thanksgiving and 1 month after Christmas comes our very own Annual-eat-ourselves-senseless Day.  And you think you’ve got difficulty shedding pounds before Valentine’s Day (“Honey, your gut has never looked more sexy!”)?  So I thought… in the spirit of Asian festivity and so on, that it’s good timing to honor our newly uprising social icon, one of our most successful cultural ambassador yet to date (and when I say “our” I mean Taiwanese…) – the Brits have Kate Moss and we have this guy.  The infamous, the notorious, the little bite of heaven brought to fame by Momofuku, (drumroll) the~~ Taiwanese GUA BAO!  ……………………….   Oh wait, that’s right.  You don’t recognize him.  Perhaps because he’s mistakenly known as “the pork bun” or just… “bao”.  Phoooph… can you believe it…

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The Wicked Black Forest

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Is it too late in our relationship to declare that I’m not into chocolate?  Should I have said that on the first date along with things weighing the same importance like “I have 10 children”… or “I have herpes” (just for argument sake… I totally don’t btw).  Well, to me the thing with chocolate is that instead of being mystified with grand illusions like “indulgent”, “decadent”, “sinful”, “love~” (more?) “AMOoUUR~~” or whatever, it just tastes sort of… bitter to me.

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Lonely-Carrots Carrot Cake

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I don’t mean to expose myself as someone who discusses about appliances as IF I have no real life (…) but am I the only one who suspects that her refrigerator suffers from seasonal bipolar disorder going from Fall to Winter?  I’m saying around October and towards the end of every year, (for the sake of easy referencing and NOT because I am totally juvenile and pathetic, let’s call it…) Skinny Box behaves like a healthy female who is gladly stocked with seasonal fruits and vegetables, meats and dairies, readily equipped for all kinds of culinary wonders.  But as the weather slides quite abruptly into January to February, her mood-swing takes a deep dive into anorexic tendency taking only the basic necessity for life such as caffeinated drinks and probiotic capsules.  And can you believe that she has the guts to blame me for it?!  Argh.

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