So Sorry

Songs for the Broken-Hearted:

Feist, Feist and more Feist.

I met him as a casual acquaintance while I was still in school. Met him again right after school, and struck up a friendship which evolved into a two year relationship. I lived with him for more than one of those years. We had some hard and turbulent times in the beginning, since we were both involved in heartfelt relationships not long prior to dating one another. Between the two of us, there's plenty of emotional baggage.

I thought we worked through it all. I met his parents and spent some time with them, and vice versa.

We were very different people in a lot of ways. He grew up the son of a former preacher, in a conservative Southern household and loves all things fried and racquetball. More recently, he also loves most things beerpong related. I grew up in Taiwan and the US, the child of a pretty progressive thinking and strong hearted woman and the emotionally unavailable architect whom she divorced when I was 5. I like crafts and fine arts. Used to wax philosophical on life with friends for fun.

I like communication and expression feelings, especially in close relationships. I tend to say things that are often passing thoughts in my head, like doubts about my relationship with him, anger at a small inconvenience, and so on, out loud when I'm with him. I feel comfortable. My inner dialogues exposed. He bottles. His closest friends and family don't know his real troubles of the heart. He thinks it burdens them.

So in all, since he doesn't talk about it, no one really knows who he is. I doubt he knows the answer himself.

Point is, he dumped me two weeks ago. I gave him my heart, and he gives it back to me broken in two. He got a promotion to move to a city two and half hours away. We said we'd try to work it out. He was my world then. I wanted to come home to see him, hug him, tickle him every night after work. I'm not the domestic type, and have feminist tendencies. I'd cook dinner for him and massage his back, even through complaints that he should go to a chiropractor, hell, I'd pay for him to go to one. It made me happy when he was happy.

He told me no longer feels the same way about me. He still loves me, but is no longer in love with me. Apparently this has happened in all his past long term serious relationships. The fires of romance just dies, without explanation. it's been three months since he started feeling this way, he just didn't know how to tell me. He wanted not to hurt me. He also wanted not to regret his decision.

I asked him why? How did this come to be? He didn't have an answer. He did say, though, that I blew him away. I was the most generous and caring person he's ever been with. It scared him that someone (me) can love him this much, when he doesn't deem himself worth loving. He can't figure out why. I can't figure out why. If I'm so great, why doesn't he love me like he used to anymore?

I have been coping with the situation by telling everyone I know whom I think will listen. My analysis is this, he is just a very inward person who might never know what it feels like to completely open themselves to extreme vulnerability by loving unconditionally. He has accrued quite a bit of debt, with school and car loans and credit payments and all. I realize now, that his first priority in life was to pay off his debt, make and save some money, and then go back to law school. Actually, all he can think of now is paying off his debt. I was there to provide emotional outlet and love and support for him. I don't think I was ever as high in his list of priorities as I had wanted to be. He also gets very defensive about comments I make toward him. He doesn't like being told things he doesn't think is true. He likes to avoid confrontation at all cost. Debate, constructive criticism, discussion = argument to him.

None of his relationships have lasted for more than 2 years. Ours was the longest, at almost exactly 2 years. I didn't see it coming. Although I often wonder how our relationship surivived thus long, we being such different ppl and all, and have lots of communication issues. My feelings for him has died down fromt he happy, fuzzy puppy dog love honey moon stage to a comfortable level of deep care. I had thought to myself that i can see myself really settling down with this person. He always tried to dote on me. Avoid arguments. The last couple months I thought were the happiest in my memory of the relationship. I thought he had changed, became more thoughtful, and cared for me more. He bought me more presents, apologized in arguments more readily, and seem more willing to at least attempt to talk about issues we might be having. In hindsight, that was his attempt to make me happy, hoping that seeing me happy will rekindle his feelings and fall in love again.

My close friends had all just moved away from me. All moved across the country. He has lied to me before, a year ago. I was going through a depressive stage, and cried and threw tantrums often. He went away to visit friends for July 4th. Came back a little strange and distant. After a particularly sad night for me, he came over to my place and comforted me, hugged me and told me that I'm worth it. Later that night I found out he had met a girl while away and had been texting and phoning each other. He told her he couldn't get her out of his head. He also called her right after he left me that night. Apparently, emotional infedelity does not constitute cheating in his book. After that incident, we worked it through, and I made me promise he would never lie to me again. And if for any reason he doesn't feel for me anymore, he should let me know asap, unlike his ex-girlfriends.

Anyways, just getting out steam. What's the point of staying upset and angry and lamenting the past. I want to say, fuck it, this man is not even worth being friends with. He's lied majorly one too many times. Or should I be resilient, and think, well, we are still one each other's closest friends, ones who know each other's daily complaints. Just let it be, forgive his past and know that this is the type of person he is. Can't change him, just accept him. I should still try to give my all in love and care, whether it now be maintaining a friendship with this man or perhaps person in my future. I just have to learn to let go and bounce back when need be. It is too much work to hang on to sadness. My instincts didn't fail me. He really doesn't love me the same way I had loved him, and I was right not to feel like I can trust him Completely. Turned out i was right all along.

Time heals all wounds. I'll try to use that time wisely.

Runs in the family.

What better way to bring on a new day than creamy strawberry yogurt and granola, freshly baked baguette with sweet butter and strawberry jam, as well as one's parents knocking down the apartment door and exclaiming "thank goodness you are alive!"

So I haven't talked to my mother in two-and-a-half days. So they drove two-and-a-half hours from Charlotte to Chapel Hill just to check if I'm alive and not dead in the ditch. You see, the problem is that I'm not married. Apparently, once I'm married, my husband would help check if I'm still breathing everyday. Only then would I be able to take the liberty of only calling every two or three days. Otherwise parents might presume me dead/raped/lost and other horrible things. Apparently, at the baby age of twenty-two, I'm completely incapable of taking care of myself. I apologize to the poor people whom she called repeatedly asking my whereabouts. Mom told me she was on the verge of reporting missing person to the police.

I'm not quite sure how to feel right now: guilt for worrying my mother who just had surgery last week? incredulous at having such crazy parents? hoping I can somehow escape the influence of genetics and not turn out so much like mom? thankful for having parents who love me and who will forever think of me as their little girl? perhaps I'm a little nuts myself, sitting here tediously making teeny rice shaped pellets and molding tree branches and chicken bones out of clay?

I'll ponder on this over some pineapple sorbet and a cup of tea. .

A series of Blehs. But there's also good Food.

The series of unfortunate events continue. 1) We are stuck in the leaky house for one more month, until the end of June. 2) My academic advisor is otherwise a very nice lady. But she makes mistakes. A recently discovered mistake means I have to take 2-3 more hours of classes before I can graduate. I think I will take Child Psychology. 3) I still don't have a job. Short-term internship doesn't count.

On the other hand, I had success with making and serving a lazy man's sushi today, as well as an apple crumble. Dinner at Lantern with the big G last night was also wonderful. We enjoyed sake and tea cured salmon bento box with pickled radishes and wasabi mayonnaise, mushroom and cabbage dumplings, also fried catfish in Thai red curry sauce with cucumber salad and jasmine rice. We saved room for a dessert of hot chocolate cake with Thai coffee ice cream.

I take back my comment about Lantern serving not so good entrees - the catfish plat was delish. Dear G is an intense person, and likes to focus on the appreciation of one thing at a time. He also speaks softly. Therefore, there was not so much multi-task eating and talking. Eating and talking had to take turns. Still, lovely dinner.

I heard Saludos Compay play for the first time at Weaver Street yesterday, and they were very good. Also had a glimpse of the fabulously eclectic collection of people that make up the Carrboro/Chapel Hill neighborhood. Families and dreadlocked heads and birkenstocked feet. Sushi boxes, vegetarian dishes and organic local produces. Slender hula hoop girl in gypsy dress and a woman in black leotards, juggling wooden pins.

Tonight in our basement apartment, six girls attempted breast casting with eight packs of cheese cloth and a box of plaster. Laura made a remark on feeling like the object of an art project, while the rest of us were busy dribbling water and smothering plaster powder over her chest. Now that's an idea to hold on to for my next...art project.

And I'm making clay replicas of wooden twigs while listening a song by a French rapper with an Italian sounding name.

Hmm.

Amazing...

how profoundly uplifting a simple phrase can move you when said by the right person at the right time. All he said was "Ai-Ling, you are better than that." Tis it. That made my day, yesterday.

The doctors finally found out what's wrong with my mother. She's having surgery next Thursday, and all should be well afterwards, I hope.

I don't want to be a bitter, sad girl anymore. Beautiful moments are striking in part because of their fleeting nature. I want to throw myself into this brief life and make the most out of it. I want to be the maker of beautiful, joy-bringing things. (And I will.)

I'm looking out the window of my bedroom; the green leaves of the trees outside are sprinkled with flecks of golden sunshine.

Toast with sweet butter and strawberry jam, dipped in rich hot cocoa. That made my morning.

Love.

The Gotan Project

Current favorite: Queremos Paz from their La Revancha del Tango album. Check it out, it rules, in a sexy jazzy loungy latin fusion sort of way.

The joy of discovering wonderful new music. Lovely happiness.

Grenadine, Orange Juice, Vodka and Chambord

Makes a Broken Heart according to iDrink's website. Alternatively, TheDrinkShop.com offers recipe for a Broken Heart Martini with sugar, cocoa powder, orange slice, Absolut Kurant and Godiva liqueur.

Chocolate was also once given by French doctors to their women patients as a prescription to cure broken hearts.

That was what I came up with when I ran a random Google search on "recipes for the broken hearted" (When I really should be writing one of my many overdue papers) .

Not that my heart is terribly broken. It just struck me how much we identify with one another in matters of sadness and heartbreak. Coping mechanisms for hard times differ widely from person to person, it'd be interesting to run a study on this, or just hear people's crazy stories. I once ate a one pound loaf of challah bread and half a jar of peanut butter in a few hours while agonizing over oncoming exams.

I think I'm going to start a running list of recipes and cures for ill-humored days. Soul-soothing for those heartbreaking, lonely, dejected, high-stress, dog-kicking, (do not take this literally; I heart animals), stomach-aching days where every traffic light you encounter flashes red.

To start, I found a recipe on the BBC-Food website for Chocolate Souffle Tarts with White Chocolate ice cream, served with vanilla sauce and chocolate cubes in dark chocolate cups. Total chocolate overload with major sugar-high points.

Then there's always Nigella Lawson's Chocolate Fudge Cake. Paired with an optional case of Coronas and a lime.

I find a cup of rich, fragrant hot chocolate soothing in down times. Aromatic earl grey with a tablespoon of pink grapefruit marmalade and honey is calming as well. Drink while listening to Air's "Alone in Kyoto" and Savath + Savalas' "Folksong for Cello."

Perhaps I shouldn't look solely at the multi-purpose cure of chocolate, and ignore the energizing orange. Chocolate and orange are a great couple. For a second there the thought of zingy orange zest and the lively scent of citrus perked me up a bit and I sniffed the air, hoping to smell the scent of grapefruit or navel oranges.

Orange is such a bright, happy, yummy color. So is yellow. I have a wonderfully color-cozy room: Bright yellow-orange walls tacked with spots of warm hued paint chips; orange and red paper lanterns floating above a brick red papasan chair and a bed covered in similarly colored comforter; a row of colorful scarves (colorful means belonging mainly to the red-magenta family) dangling above a bright red magnetic board on my dark brown bookshelf. The colors of the room are especially lovely when the morning sunlight streams though the window and the room glows a warm yellow-gold.

Ah, the power of beautiful, happy colors. And happy-inducing chocolate.

Read On, there's more...

best F*ing scallop dish ever

best F*ing scallop dish ever
Originally uploaded by Li^2.

*sigh*
Photographic evidence of that yummy meal at Le Repaire de Cartouche a while back. Succulent scallops, grilled to perfection.

ummmm... scallops.
:-)

If you are in Paris

check out the Hotel du Petit Moulin on the northern edge of the Marais. It's a recently opened hotel designed by couturier Christian Lacroix, in a building that used to house the oldest continuously operating bakery in Paris. So outrageously colorful and eclectic, or so I gathered from the many full-page photos from the recent issue of I.D. magazine. The issue also showed the new Pierre Herme patisserie on 185 rue de Vaugirard, designed with crisp lines and candy colors by Christian Biecher.

I heart I.D...

Pim

That's the brand of those yummy little European cookies one would find at the grocery store from time to time. Also the name of the woman whose blog I adore. Check out her site here: Chez Pim

Had a plesant lunch today at the Carolina Club. My very kind boss, the art librarian, took the four graduating members of the library staff for a farewell meal. I'm apparently not the only one lost for direction for where to go after graduation, which is kind of good to know.

Three out of the five of us ordered the same dish of tea encrusted salmon with asparagus and cauliflower mash.
The salmon was tasty, though I don't know if the crushed tea leaves coating it did anything to improve the fish's flavor. We couldn't resist the temptation of the dessert cart, and shared a mixed berry cobbler, chocolate silk pie (which had a texture more like mousse than silk) and a slice of the signature key lime pie with a pistachio crust. None of the pies or cobbler was especially spectacular, but the whipped cream on the keylime pie was quite good.

I heart Three Cups coffee/tea shop. They have very friendly service. There's a sandwich place adjoining Three Cups that is scheduled to open next week. That's even more reason for me to frequent the place.

Speaking of friendly service, I treated myself to a leisurely solo lunch at Talullas on Tuesday and left my very nice waiter a thank you note for his service.

Then later on that day I chopped some of my hair off, again. So now I have short bangs, and not a lot of hair. I think I look a little boyish, although I have gotten many compliments on the haircut. I think I was a pretty good walking billboard today for Moshi Moshi, the salon I visited for the cut; I've gotten many inquiries about the place. I miss my hair. And messy pigtails and braids.

Must write paper. I must be addicted to peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches. *munch*


Read More...

The season of pollen and sneezes

It is lovely, waking up to bright sunshine, blooming flowers and a thick coat of yellow particles called pollen encasing one's car. Especially lovely if the person happens to have hay fever and would turn into a sneezing coughing crying runny-nosed mess if she breathes in too much pollen. Yay spring.

Spent eight of the last twenty-four hours sleeping, two of those hours eating and six hours driving. Went home to Charlotte late last night for a mediocre dinner, slept then drove back to Chapel Hill this morning.

Make no mistakes, there was nothing mediocre about the food served last night. It just lacked the interesting conversations, laughs and giggles, leisurely pace of eating and of course, desserts. So it was just an ingestion of well-prepared food, lacking the qualities of a truly good meal.

Menu:

• Sea cucumbers with scallions and ginger in a dark soy/garlic sauce
• braised fatty pork and pickled bamboo shoots
• stir-fried broccoli with garlic
• stir-fried cabbage with garlic
• shredded pork with julienned bamboo shoots, pickled mustard greens,marinated firm tofu and green onions
• fu-gian style fish balls in clear broth

Apparently that was an especially festive menu to celebrate the rare occasion of me coming home. Sea cucumbers, not something one would see on the table everyday.

My step-brother has somewhat "bling-ed" my car and rice-ified it a bit more than I'd like. He put a pair of super bright xenon headlights on it, making my little Honda one of those much hated cars that shoot out blinding beams at unfortunate cars in front of them. I drove with my bright new lights last night, and felt like every other car around wanted to race me. On the upside, it is an advantage to have a mechanic in the family. Free car-fixin. Wee.

Mom is still sick, and I think overdosing a little on pain killers to help with this mysterious pain. The doctors still don't quite know what's wrong with her; it's been two months. This is depressing matter that I try not to think about.

It's been a pretty intense couple months, of deaths and illness, academic stress and life worries. I think I'm just beginning to come through the fog of a more than mild depressive period. Hopefully my mood will brighten with the increasingly beautiful (though a bit too warm) weather.

I finally heard from unnamed person of far far away, whom I heart. Really hasn't been that long since I last heard from him, little less than a month ago. Feel guilty for sending him many babbling emails and tried, unsuccessfully, to cut said person out my life. Not anyone's fault, just coincidentally bad timing of stressful events.

If person is reading this, I sincerely apologize for ramblings and negative feelings.

Due to little contact, I'll just leave that part of my life alone too, for now, and try not to think about it much.

Not the ostrich approach of burying head in the sand. Just whatever it takes to cope with the hurdles one come across in life.

Hungry, once again. Looking forward to having tasty and comforting Indian food tonight.

[LCD Soundsystems - Tribulations]

Chocolate Fudge Cake

Nigella Lawson's recipe for Chocolate Fudge cake includes this serving suggestion: "Serves 10. Or 1 with a broken heart."

How true. Girl with broken heart agrees.

Made chocolate mousse last night. It is surprisingly easy, and very delicious. Also found a recipe for chocolate and honey mousse which I'm eager to try.

Yummm... mousse.

On the satisfaction of setting things on fire

Burned a few things today - letters, postcards, photos, incense cones and cigarettes. Not books though, that would be sacriligious. It feels nice to have one's own cleansing bonfire. Almost wish I had more things to burn, as if the flames could wash away all my negative karma.

Makes me think of the improvised mudbrick ovens we used to make on the spot, on the bank across the stream from my grandparents'. We would stuff it full of sweet potatoes, freshly shucked corn and grill large salt and pepper prawns on the open flame near the top of the oven. Yum.

Off to burn more things. I'm not an arsonist, swear.

Hump day Wednesday.

Last night was great fun. I went to Aditi’s birthday celebration at Carmichael. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the girls and I didn’t realize how much I missed them until I saw them again. It felt like good ole UNITAS hall dinner for a while: a circle of people crowded around wooden tables full of food (the highlights of which were tiramisu contributed by Spencer and the vegan chocolate cake from George.)

We went out to Fuse after fooding, about ten of us. Somehow the number grew by at least 50% an hour after we got to the bar. It really made me miss UNITAS, and the sort of gossip/drama/bonding which happens on the hall. Everyone seemed so nice, especially after a few drinks. Aditi in particular was very, um, friendly toward everyone. *wink wink.*

That’s what I’ve been missing, socializing. Living off-campus and seclusion-prone, I spend too much time in my bright yellow and warmly decorated “hole.”

I now have a picture of a naked man having what seems to be anal sex over my bed. It’s rather suggestive, and mostly concealed. You only get to see the guy’s bent back, and the hand of another man pressing him to the bed. Courtesy of Nan Goldin’s book, The Devil’s Playground. The other naked person picture in the room is a fat lady from a book titled Lucian Freud: Naked Portraits. I’d like a wall taped full of tastefully done naked people- from fleshy nudes to frail figures, the whole range.

A cup of Lady Grey tea with a spoonful of Langnese country cream honey and grapefruit marmalade. “Moroccan spice” smoking in the incense burner. Hopefully the combination of all of the above will facilitate writing the still overdue 5-pager.

Interesting, and frightening at the same time. This is from the menu of a feast hosted by Trimalchio, way way back in the day: “Porcus Troianu: The famous ‘Trojan Pig’: an entire steer gutted and stuffed with a lamb, which is stuffed with a pig, which is stuffed with a chicken. Sauce au jus.”

Banana pudding then homework.

Random thoughts.

I don't know if I would call these aspirations, but wouldn't it be terribly nice to have some sort of a "sugar daddy." I think that would put me in the position of something like a gold-digger. What's love worth anyway? It causes heartaches. Treating relationships like business deals, minimalizing the role of emotion is much more tangible, less hurtful and puts money in the bank.

An ex-girlfriend of my handicapped (paralyzed from the waist down) step-brother is now one of the hottest actresses in Taiwan. She also has a throng of wealthy corporate CEOs fighting to make her their mistress. She has her pick of diamonds and luxury apartments offered to her on a plate. In exchange, she'll give them company (hot sex) and the prestige of having a glamorous and much coveted woman on their arms.

Just thoughts. I'm a dreamer and a romantic in the guise of materialistic cynic.

So the Tar Heels won the NCAA championship. (Go Heels!) And then Alli W's car broke down on our way to Franklin street. Stuck in the middle of the road. At half past midnight, we walked half an hour to Franklin. Saw the craziness, had a drink, then came home. I have a 5 pager I haven't started. I'm broke and in debt and spent most of my money on food. And all the more on food because I have been binge eating as a result of mild depression/stress. Ah, but it's food. And good food. Brioche pate chocolate peanut butter cream honey and cheese. And garlic and asparagus. And more. Not bad not bad.

More depressing thoughts, here's a list of people I know who has died within the last year: grandfather, mom's god-father, mom's best friend's mother-in-law, aunt's father-in-law, mom's friend Margaret's 22yr old daughter. And the only bright streak that's blessed this apartment as of late, Miss Alli G got highest honors on her senior thesis. Woo-hoo!!!

What lovely, somewhat disastrous evening. (make that a somewhat disastrous life). In the words of Mara the librarian, I'm a mess. *sigh*

Gnocchi parisienne with rosemary, basil oregano and garlic

Yummy recipe, but only moderately successful, since I wasted about 1/3 of the batter... not to mention constraints of not having neither a proper saucepan nor a pot. What came through in the bath was pretty good, if not a bit cold from sitting on the side of the stove for so long. Would make it again for sure, and I think I'll have a much better handle on making nicely formed gnocchis next time. Might get a pastry bag to make things easier. Hopefully the food will receive a higher mark than "squishy thing, tastes good."

I think I gained back what little weight I lost in France. Binge eating tendences seem to resurface whenever I come back to the states, or maybe a little stressed from having things to do after coming back from vacations.

A bit tired. Got less than three hours of sleep last night. Ideally, sleep would be an optional luxury; would leave much time for getting things done if I sleep a little less.

Thanks to everyone who asked about my mother. She's still about the same, and in pain. My step father really is quite good to her, and me as well. Really shouldn't take him for granted.

I lied. (personal baggage, read at own risk)

And I ran out of chocolate.

Never got around to Renaissance reading, and room is only half way clean. Perhaps I become too distracted in my efforts to multi-task: clean a little here, sew a little there, interspersed with text and quite a bit of crying.

Live life, let love and appreciate all the special people and things in one's life lest they disappear the next moment. It is a waste to dwell on one's personal sadness when the energy can be used to make someone else happy. All phrases which belong in the "easier said than done" category. Mom says them to me all the time now, while sighing over lost love ones.

She still needs an MRI, but disputes between worker's comp/insurance is preventing her from doing so. Our family doctor says she might need surgery. It's painful to listen to her describe her pain to me on the phone. I think she's worried about me as well, being able to take care of myself right out of college in case she will be unable to support me if she lost her job. She hasn't been able to work for a month. Our family has a history of arthritis and cancer, I hope she doesn't have the latter as well. She's trapped in bed, sitting up and moving about is so painful it makes her cry. Otherwise she's sedated with pain medication. She feels useless, and I'm useless to help her. Stupid medical bureaucracy.

I feel lost and infinitely inept. Also afraid to go home, afraid of becoming a sobbing useless mess when I get there and to look again at the reality of her illness. I feel somewhat trapped as well, immobilized by the tugging of many things- my desire to do well in school and my artwork, what I can do for mother, need to find a job and direction after college and so on.

In writing down the thoughts floating through my head, I think I've lost my point, and am getting rather hungry.

Why am I posting such intimate issues in a public space? Trying to avoid throwing my excess emotional baggage in any one person's way?


I'm buying another bottle of wine.

Easter Weekend

Feeling rather vulnerable. Still reading In the Devil's Garden and working toward reading about Renaissance architecture.

Mom's still sick, and resting in bed, while going through physical therapy three times a week. Going home this weekend to see how she's doing, and to make her food. Dealing with my mother is particularly difficult, as she seems to choke me with an invisible web of emotional obligations everytime I speak to her. Not to blame her though, in light of recent events: her father passed away this past summer, and just the beginning of this week, her god-father also left this world. I have never met my grandfather on my biological father's side, so mom's god-father was like a second grandfather to me. When mom and I were in Taipei, we would have big family dinners with their family all the time. In my last memory of him -I think he was around 70- he was still strong, wielding his dark wooden cane to discipline obnoxious grandkids. He had a good hand, and wrote beautiful calligraphy. He took a cup of jasmine tea and a piece of sweet Chinese sha chi ma cake for breakfast, and a stroll around the nearby park every morning. I went along on some of those morning walks, usually as the silent grandchild intimidated by the man who once ordered me off the dinner table for holding my chopsticks incorrectly.

Upsetting. Want to talk to somebody about personal frustrations, without burdening them with my problems. Someone not overly optimistic, not overly sympathetic; someone who is an ernest listener but realistic enough to tell me that such is the course of life. (Sincerest thanks to the wonderful person I talked to the other day, for your open ears and genuine support, and for everyone who cares.)

This state of mild sadness is nothing a hot bath, clean room and good chocolate can't fix.

In the Devil's Garden

Found a recipe for Banana ketchup in Stewart Lee Allen's In the Devil's Garden:

1 dried ancho chile
6 very ripe bananas, peeled and cut into chunks
1 1/3 cups cider vinegar, divided
1/2 cup raisins, preferably golden
1/3 cup coarsely chopped onions
2 garlic cloves
2/3 cup tomato paste
2 cups water
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon chili pepper
2 teaspoons ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon grated nugmeg
Big pinch ground cloves
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Big pinch of black pepper
6 tablespoons dark rum

1)Soak ancho chile in warm water for 15 minutes. Remove the stem and seeds.

2)Puree the bananas with 1/2 cup vinegar and put into a heavy saucepan. Puree raisins, onions, garlic, ancho chile, tomato paste, and remaining vinegar in the same processor and add to saucepan.

3)Add 2 cups water to the saucepan. Stir and bring mixture to simmer over medium heat, then reduce to low and simmer uncovered for an hour. If mixture becomes too thick, add water to dilute.

4)Add the corn syrup and sugar and all the spices, including salt and pepper, and simmer for another 30-40 minutes, or until it leaves a thick coating on the back of a spoon. Stir in the rum.

5)Remove from heat and allow to cool. Puree again and strain through a fine sieve to remove solids. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.

Sounds interesting.

Stumbled across an almost lewd episode of food porn from "chez pim" yesterday, detailing her 10+ course meal at French Laundry, complete with a picture for almost every course.

Now reading about food+sex+chocolate in Allen's book, and contemplating culinary orgies.

Back to work.

Day trip to Lyon

The following are some pictures of our day trip to Lyon while in France for spring break. It is all about the food. Thanks to Lili for the professional enthusiasm with which she documented the sights.


More fruits

Basilica de... j'oublie