I love wings.

This is a no filter pure example of the beauty of gochuchang.  These taste perfectly Korean, like family, like life, like spicy, sweet, complex fire.  The description makes me think of something horrible like Guy Fieri, or the negative connotation of Korean heat (which has never in my experience felt like pure HEAT) with anger, so I won't get started on that.  Or did I already?

Either way, roasting wings is a beautiful way to get it done and almost works as well as deep frying them.  Just kidding, not even close, but it's pretty good.  I used a cooling rack, with foil, on top of a baking sheet, and I forgot to 1. rub those bitties in canola oil and 2. season them.  Truth.  I'd try it the correct way the next time, but it most definitely does not go wrong if you don't oil, salt and pepper them.  My mother?  never seasoned anything with salt and pepper while cooking.  Truth.  This was not always to her advantage, but I figured if Jane can do it, I can do it.  I'd also try it again with the cooling rack, not lined with foil, on top of a baking suit, lined with foil.  Gotta get that extra crispy crispy.

1. My mother's snack bowl for our day at the Jersey shore, coincidentally matching the latest Lucky Peach.  She asked if I actually spent $12 on it.
2. That basil plant is still alive.  This is a summer miracle.

One year later.

I like these views, these moments, these memories by myself.  Because it is a choice I get to make.


I have wondered, more than once, why I started it, but- I know why. It is a love song to my brother. It is an attempt to face both love and death.

I have been very frightened, for: I have had to try to strip myself naked. One does not like what one sees then, and one is afraid of what others will see: and do. To challenge one's deepest, most nameless fears, is, also, to challenge the heavens. It is to drag yourself, and everyone and everything and everyone you love, to the attention of the fiercest of the gods: who may not forgive your impertinence, who may not spare you.  All that I can offer in extenuation of my boldness is my love.

I came here a month after you died last year, right around someone else's birthday, and it was a summer of learning how to grieve and somehow function all at the same time.  Eat a hot dog, don't cry.  Hug your friends, don't think about the one you will never hear speak again. Cook dinner, don't panic.  Walk, breathe, repeat.  I did it, and I'm still doing it.

It is braving love and death forever.

I miss you, baby boy.

Top Chef: Kristen.

I didn't blog at all about Top Chef this season.

And you know who fucking won last week?  A Korean American Top Notch Female Chef.

After the debacle that was Crying Beverly last year and the bullies she let shit on her, we had Kristen who didn't throw Josie's stupid, ridiculous chuckling ass under the bus, who put out strong, simple food, who didn't have some ridiculous ass mean girls all over her dick, and who had some BOSS ASS MOTHERFUCKING HAIR. I am still confused as to how you can only afford to go to Korea with 10 g's, but I'll let that slide.

I love you, Kristen.  You have done me, us, my mother proud.  Goddess.

Taco Night

 Sometimes we have taco night, and on a rare occasion it looks like this:

1. Toasted Guajillo Chile Salsa
2. GUAC GUAC GUAC - No recipe.  Just avocados, lime juice, garlic, salt, pepper and jalapenos.
3. Cumin & Ancho Chicken - This smoked out my entire apartment.  I have mixed feelings about whether or not it was worth it.  Tastewise, yes, apartment smokehouse, no.
4. Mexican Rice - modified from a Rick Bayless recipe that has changed my life. I don't use peas because I sort of hate them, and in this case I used a mixture of bottle salsa and the chile salsa seen above.  Shit is bangin.