Jennifer 8. Lee would be one of my favorite writers even if she didn't write about food, one of my favorite things. But she does and she does it damn well, with the same keen and childish curiosity that deftly straddles the edge between cheeky and puerile. Intellectual girl crush status.

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Ate My Fill

Low-res food porn from my birthday dinner at Bushi-Tei? Why yes, I can do that.

Wine-cured mackerel over green zebra tomato gazpacho with purselime and turnip

Ahi tartare with tobiko caviar, wasabi-crème fraiche, coriander seed, and herb oil

Venison prosciutto with galia balls, galia sorbet, baby frisée over montbriac

Foie gras over kabocha pot de crème with pistachios and red onion marmalade

Fukko seabass over rockshrimp polenta and lobster nage

Intermezzo of yuzu sorbet

Grilled day boat sea scallop and saffron dumpling over yukon potato chowder

Antelope loin with chanterelles over potato mousseline with port wine reduction

Lobster and hand-made Italian parsley gnocchi with shaved truffle and tarragon lobster nage
Flourless chocolate souffle with roasted strawberries and organic ice cream

Black sesame blancmange with pineapple-strawberry salsa and coconut milk reduction

Lemon gâteau with yuzu-infused mascarpone mousse

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Things On My Mind

     Recently, things have begun to fill my brain and stay there. This does not include any of my real responsibilities—of course—but just random junk that's trickled in through various channels.

     The first thing is that I got the Crystal Castles CD and really, really liked it. It gets a bit rough about some spots, but it's really fun and is just really engaging. Likewise, the HEALTH album is really a lot of sound to deal with, but it's rewarding if you take the time and listen. It's not an easy album and it certainly lacks the upfront hooks that Crystal Castles use, but it's still a well-produced, finely-tuned piece of work. I hate agreeing with Pitchfork (because everyone does), but the album's tendency to delve into the self-indulgent certainly is a problem. At moments, the allusions to Liars and Deerhoof stopped being allusions and became HEALTH writing a Liars or Deerhoof piece. But saying that something sounds as energetic as Liars or as arresting as Deerhoof doesn't really constitute any negative critique about the album's quality. Even if we're hearing the same noise, it's not really the same sound.

     On a more visceral note involving victuals (And yes, I would actually say that in real life), asparagus is in season, so I made some scallops and asparagus for dinner a few nights ago. I had a few spears left and couldn't resist encasing them in some pork-based goodness. The grease was everywhere. I loved it.

     And I would try to formulate a smooth transition into discusses these Palladium boots, but I fail to see a reason why. Since when do I ever need a reason to talk about shoes? At $120, they're certainly not the cheapest pair, but they certainly aren't a frightful burden, either. The grey would certainly help me kick my all-black habit. And those new PF Flyers coming into the store won't hurt, either. Damn it. I was supposed to stop shopping. Ugh. I'm hopeless.

     Another day, another shamble.

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Food For the Road

     "'But we call it lembas or waybread, and it s more strengthening than any food made by Men,  and it is more pleasant than cram by all accounts.'"

-Book II, Chapter 8, 'Farewell to Lórein'

     So it's a lazy sort of Sunday and I've spent my entire day grocery shopping/doing dishes, but I decided to take an hour out to try out a new recipe. I know it sounds silly (and it is), but I decided to try making lembas, based upon a recipe that I found at Happy Love Strawberry and I'm really happy with the results.

     I won't reproduce the recipe below, because I'm far too lazy, but I will note that I made mine a little sweeter by actually using sugar and honey, although I probably will use just the honey next time. Also, I had planned on adding some lemon zest, but I had already thrown away the squeezed lemon by the time I remembered. Oh well, there's always next time. Also, I wound up adding a wee bit too much milk in an attempt to keep the dough cohesive, but it ended up being a little stickier than I wanted. I rolled it into a ball, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and gave it a chill, which solved that problem rather nicely.

     So I'm obviously not the neatest baker, but I really wanted these things in the oven and having eaten one, I have to say that I am supremely satisfied. The best description I can possibly come up with is that it's a cross between a biscuit and a cookie with hints of lemon and just the slightest bit of sweetness. And yes, this was the nerdiest thing I have ever done in a kitchen.

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NOW I AM...

(Click for full-size image)

     ...(clockwise from top left)...

• LISTENING to Hot Chip's Made in the Dark: Honestly the most fun I've been having during this entire weekend of studying. I just got myself the Ready for the Floor remixes, so I'm expecting more enjoyment out of this one.
• WATCHING Living With the Mek: The Adventures of Mark and Olly: I am absolutely enthralled with this show, mostly because of how bunglingly inept the two of them are. I mean, it's fascinating to watch the other culture, but the best parts are when the show produces moments that are absolutely ridiculous and would never exist outside the context of a television program (i.e. sleeping with pigs, sex stories with ladies).
• READING Four Theories of the Press by Fred Siebert: Technically there are other writers, but Siebert's writing is what really motivates you to read it. That and the forthcoming assignments that I'll have to do.
• BUYING Tide Cold Water detergent: Has anyone tried this? I mean, it's not nearly as useful when I'm not the one paying the water bills. But I'm running low on detergent and I want to try something new. Rebellious, no?
• WEARING Marc by Marc Jacobs burgundy cords: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know you're tired of them already.
• EATING Beemster X.O.: A slice of dairy heaven that's bound to please anyone who likes cheese. Thick, nutty, and aged to perfection, this Beemster has gotten 26 months under its belt and it's learned quite a few tricks during that time. Nutty, warm, it is simply a textural dream.

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Simple Joys

     I don't know what I would do without you, Lean Cuisine.

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Wherein I Tell You What To Do: The Mojito

     There are a few things I cannot abide by in life: an overdone steak, a loud ceiling fan, a long ling to the restroom. But high up there on my list is a poorly made mojito. By and far the most sublime use for rum. Piña coladas are too overtly sweet, daiquiris are too much like Icees, Mai Tais are too derived, and Long Island iced teas are too punchy (not to mention how quickly they can knock the unprepared drinker into a state of sheer inebriation).

     Now, I do not profess to be a man of spectacular means or spectacular talents, but one thing I know is how I like my drinks (aside from many and often). I have never made a drink through actual measuring, as I believe this takes more than ninety percent of the fun out of the process. Instead, I've always done it by eye (and taste) and simply choose to live with the results. What this does is force me to quickly improve my pouring skills and figure out the proportions I like, lest good booze go to bad use.

     My prescription (I refuse to call it a recipe) is as follows.

     In a chilled collins glass (if you've got one, lord knows I can't afford proper drinkware):

• Add a couple of mint leaves; more if you like yours particularly minty and less if you prefer the converse.
• Add simple syrup (an easy recipe for which may be found here) or simply some powdered (not granulated) sugar.
• Muddle gently. No, this does not mean smash them to bits nor simply swish them around. We're looking for a few opened veins, not obliterated leaves. You want to drink a perfectly made cocktail, not spit up mushy leaf debris.
• Add one part fresh lime juice. Bottled juice, while technically acceptable, will certainly produce an inferior drink. But if your own principles (as well as wallet and time allowances) make this necessary, feel free.
• Add two parts white rum. If you use a dark variety, I cannot be blamed for the resultant disaster.
• Add ice to just beneath the rim. If you've muddled properly, the ice should be more than enough to keep the mint leaves in the drink and out of your mouth.
• Finish off with two parts club soda. If you've got a fancy spray bottles (the name completely evades me right now), now would be the time to break it out.
• Garnish with a mint sprig and serve. Or if you've made this for yourself, kick back, open up the latest issue of Vogue, and enjoy.

     Now, who wants to try that out and let me sample?

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Adventures with Ladies, Lard, and La Cienega

     Today was, by all measures, a resounding success. I actually managed to wake up—gasp!—and went through the usual motions: shower, scrub, contacts, blow dry, et cetera. The drive to Westwood was pretty great, not too much traffic. Music courtesy of a Hawaiian contact (known only by name, with no physical acquaintance having been made), leisurely hurtling down the 10 West. Our arrival was greeted by no fanfare, mostly because we didn't arrive so much as confusedly roll into the city. We attempted to locate Crystal, Sophia, and Brittany, but between Leslie and myself, we possess about as much navigational finesse as a rock rolling down a hill. It was certain we would reach our destination, although the questions of how and when weren't given nearly as much attention.

     After parking and meeting up with the three LAers, Brittany quickly left; a paper and a TA meeting prevented her from joining up with us. Well, sucks to her, because we had a fabulous—dare I say...glamarous?—time. Lunch at CPK (California Pizza Kitchen for those uninitiated in its honey dough ways or those who have never entered a gentrified urban neighborhood). I ordered a Diet Coke but was rebuffed in the most polite way possible.

     "Don't you hate it when they do that? You ask for Diet Coke and they go, 'Diet Pepsi?'"

     Sophia makes an interesting point. I was not in the wrong, per say. Operating under the assumption that Diet Coke was served—which isn't a crazy assumption, I'd like to add—I had simply ordered what I wanted. But the blue-bottled equivalent was adequate. Merely adequate.

     We tried shopping around Westwood, but it was a colossal failure. Well, only if you define success at shopping in terms of actually buying things. If you're willing to expand your definition to include ridiculing ludicrous product design and outrageous garments, then you could say we did pretty well. The gift shops around UCLA are laden with items that no one in their right mind would ask for, but are begging to be bought. Candy nipple tassles? 1,001 Weed Games? We tried our luck at American Apparel, but found things equally hilarious. Honestly, a mesh swimsuit? Doesn't the use of mesh negate the body-covering purposes of a swimsuit? Once again, AA manages to confound even the most flexible of minds.

     Sophia had the brilliant (or maybe devious) idea of heading down to West Hollywood and checking out the Marc by Marc Jacobs boutique. Of course I vehemently protested. For three seconds. Okay, two. Okay, I practically green-lit the whole damn thing. She was looking for the tote bag which they had run out of and I wanted the naked Selma Blair shirt in a small, but they were out of those, too. Luckily, Sophia and I reached a consumerist compromise. She picked up a deliriously cute silver necklace in the shape of a key, but the blade was replaced by a delicate little "MJ". Come on. Adorable. I rummaged through a bin of rings mindlessly and the clink-clink-clink was too Lagerfeld-esque to ignore.

     The two are meant to represent health and happiness, but I don't know which is which. Really, they're just fun little doodads and who doesn't love that? The face (symbol? glyph?) on the left one is pretty cool and the designs are fun, but subtle.

     I had held off buying any of the cashmere beanies when I visited the Fillmore boutique, and the solid grey one I had liked was sold out here. But the striped one started calling out my name. Well, it was more like I saw it and loved it, but that's pretty much one and the same. Congratulations are in order for my first beanie. Seriously. I've never found one I didn't look like a douchebag for wearing.

     And to top it off, my mom picked up siu yook (燒肉) for dinner. Anyone who knows me knows my inability to resist: (a) pork rinds, (b) fatty foods, and (c) crispy things. And this, this is the culmination of every Hong Kong boy's gastronomic fantasies. Roasted pork done in the real Cantonese style is, quite possible, the most perfect incarnation of rotisserie that any culture has produced. Oh, sure the French did plenty of cuisine, but the Cantonese just took it to its most logical and most delicious conclusion.
     My only regret is that there are no leftovers.

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Calling the Tapster

(Heineken-Krups BeerTender, $400 coming to William-Sonoma)

     Sometimes, I don't need anything fancy to wear. Sometimes, I just need a cold beer. As much as I love the Germans and their love for beer of all temperatures, I don't think I could abide by anything in my house other than cold beer. And no, I don't count calories. So no, I drink beer whenever I damn well please. Enter, this beauty of a machine culled from (obviously) the brightest minds that Heineken and Krups could bring together in one room.

     A 5-liter capacity and LCD temperature read-out means that I can have my beer exactly the way I like: cold and copious. Blame my renewal of love of beer on Anthony Bourdain (whose life I obviously wish to steal and/or emulate). Now, $400 is plenty to shill out for what is, in essence, a glorified refrigerator that can really do nothing more than dispense liquid. But—aha—the operative word here is "glorified". Of course it's ridiculous. What about beer, aside from its centuries of history and tradition, isn't ridiculous about beer? It's delicious, intoxicating, and perhaps the most important thing you can possibly have with cheese. (Before you start bitching at me that the proper thing to drink with cheese is wine, I suggest you go out, find yourself a nice chocolate stout—Guinness being the most easily accessible—and have yourself some nice hard cheeses with it. Then try to tell to my face that beer and cheese don't belong together.)

     Honestly, a cold beer, a good book, and maybe some latkes from Saul's. What else could I possibly desire on this whole, wide world?

  (From left to right, the Kingsgate, Aquamac, and Fairmount, $1,468, $538, and $880, respectively @ Aquascutum)      Who am I kidding? Of course I can't do without fancy things to wear. Aquascutum's been perfecting the trench since they...well...perfected the trench. The company's name, Latin for "water shield", comes from the patented waterproof textile that founder John Emary developed in 1853. With roots in both warfare (these puppies protected many an honorable Allied soldier from the harsh winters on campaign) and tailoring, Aquascutum pretty much explains why folks who lived through World War II are such bad-asses.
     Now, these don't come cheap and I am certainly in no position to just pick up one. The Kingsgate and Fairmount are both classic trenches, but the Aquamac is one ruggedly classic mackintosh. But if you're looking for something stylish, has some heritage to it, and practical, don't just impulsively reach for Burberry. Although I do admit that Christopher Bailey's done a fantastic job turning the brand around and retooling it into one cool-as-fuck brand, there's just a certain je ne sais quoi about these coats.

     And come on. Michael Caine has worn Aquascutum. Michael Caine. You don't get much more bad-ass than that.

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On second thought, ignore the coffee offer below. Let's have these instead:

(Clique au-dessus, s'il vouz plait)

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Well, Dragon?

Shakespeare and tea.

It's a lazy, productive kind of Sunday afternoon. I think I'm going to re-do my nails. In-depth grooming is best performed on a Sunday, mostly because you don't feel the real need to accomplish anything.

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