I used to think peanut dishes other than butter on toast were freaky so I avoided Kare Kare my entire childhood. I don't remember when I first dared try it exactly but I remember raving about it with disproportionate enthusiasm to someone who was like, ok what?

It was love at first gulp.

Kare Kare was my gateway drug to Lumpiang Ubod (Heart of Palm Spring Rolls-- doesn't that sound like an epic kung fu technique? I'm thinking Hyuga Clan off of Naruto /dork) which is usually served with a peanut garlic sauce, it's slightly superior chinese cousin, Popiah, the ubiquitous Pad Thai and the whole underground world of peanutty dishes.

I was so hooked on the stuff I had to find alternative dealers when I was in the Philippines so I don't become the dude who never gets anything but Kare Kare. I'm the kind of boring person who usually sticks to one or two things on any given restaurant's menu and I don't know why the sense of shame kicked in with the Kare Kare. I believe that might be a sign of a true addiction.

Like any good junkie, I expediently found a good dealer here in Cali but, what with the whole context going on, I decided I might as well finally try and roll my own Kare Kare joint. Incidentally, it was Philippine Independence Day weekend and my subconscious from whence these strokes of genius springeth is cheesy.

( Mr Recipe is shy and is hiding under the cut )

Oh, and incidental to my subconscious' Philippine Independence Day celebration I was not sent a memo about, this is me singing Hometown Glory. Y'know, hometown.

Tag, you're it! cooking experiments, singsong

I made these for Mothers' Day but things got a bit busy. The accident happened while I was eeny meeny miny moeing in the wine racks wishing I'd taken wine tasting classes more seriously and my mom called and was all hey, your grandma and uncle got totalled on the road where are you?

I would've lied to save the surprise but I knew that if, for some reason, she passed by my parking spot and saw my car weren't there, she'd be all like, WHERE ARE YOU?!?! ARE YOU DEAD?!?! So, umm, I should've probably made the lawyer put that into consideration and helped him help me help him make another quick buck.

Emotional damages by way of ruined surprise: surely, there have been more frivolous suits.

Anyway, I decided to whip out my old rusty french skillz because I thought flowers and a greeting were a bit half-assed and therefore awkward. I never said "Happy Mothers' Day" the entire day because I just couldn't get the right enthusiasm to get it above forced through the teeth but I did cave in and got flowers.

Traditionally, Beef Bourguignon is a cold weather dish (I liked how Mother Nature cooperated back on Mothers' Day and had the skies overcast) and I know Memorial Day's more about picnics and barbecues but it's a bit nippy out for my taste so if you're pretty thin skinned like me, you might want to stay in and try these. ALSO, if you're big on the alcohols, these have lots of it just in the food themselves. I'm just saying, as one gets older, one is surprised one needs excuses to drink the liquid hugs.



( BEEF BOURGUIGNON RECIPE )


( CHOCOLATE WINE PEARS WITH LEMON MINT WHIPPED CREAM RECIPE )
More pictures HERE!

Tag, you're it! cooking experiments, everyday stories, la famille

My mom told me my sister said she misses me. The whole homesickness thing, as wildly romantic as it is, is something I've been trying to save for moments when I, firstly, have absolutely nothing better to do and secondly, am prepared.

I want the whole Hollywood style homesickness shebang: wine, rain, carefully deconstructed clothing for in-room moping, a slightly obscure but likeable adult contemporary playlist and mayhaps, even, if God be so kind, a romantic prospect who'd call-- by way of freak psychic prowess which further proves that we are, indeed, soulmates-- at just about the beginning of the denouement of my melodrama to say, "hey, is everything alright? would you like me to come over?" to which of course I'd say no to but said romantic prospect will come over anyway which won't piss me off as it probably should and we'd have conversations about Life we'd think are deep and there'll be lines like "you are home to me" thrown around and lots of sensuous foreplay but probably not to the point of sex because I probably won't be in the mood so we'd go play in a fountain in the park to wash off the blue balls and not get arrested by rangers then laugh at our wet but weirdly immaculate looking selves in a hole in the wall equivalent of a Denny's.

So really, I don't think I'd get to ever let myself get homesick. So I guess I just have to say I'm kindof sortof homesick in a song and that is what I did right away.



Songs are great because they let you express emotions without having to appropriate them.

I talked to my sister on the phone this morning and I've said a lot of doozies in my life but I think "also, umm, can you, uhh, send me more pictures of the dogs?" should probably get a special citation. I turn into a quivering mush when I watch The Dog Whisperer, It's Me Or The Dog, Pet Star et al. I am now very well versed in the multitude of intonations one can make out of "aww." There is more to than just the one rise and fall, I tell you. I can get up to, like, 4.

I haven't been getting to watch Gossip Girl because my sister's really the one that gets me into it but I watched the finale and Gossip Girl's fun but it's a bit unhealthy for me because it reminds me how not young I am? Like, when you start making analogs of yourself and the people around you out of fictional high schoolers, y'know, at some point you just have to say, hey wait self, you crazy.

I'm still kind of new to this whole twentysomething thing and the whole "hey wait, dang, so I'm not the center of the universe?" unsettling realization that comes with it and I don't need fictional high schoolers rubbing their blissfully ignorant pre-Galilean states of mind in my face. Oh Galileo, you and your fangled devil scopes!

Tag, you're it! amelieisms, everyday stories, la famille, singsong