I come from a family of spicy weaklings. Mom usually avoids it. Both Dad and I become blithering, sweaty, runny-nosed wrecks but always come back for more. Taisho12 appears to be the only one relatively unaffected, though his vice is wasabi (occasionally we would have to explain to him that sushi is also intended to be eaten with shoyu) which is very different in its effect. But I am A-D-D-I-C-T-E-D to mapo doufu, a spicy tofu and pork casserole that brings me to tears...of pleasure or pain, I cannot say which.

The odd thing is that I can't make it spicy enough. We discovered it at Spices II in the Richmond, and I order it every time (seriously - the waitress pretends like she's taking my order for the first time, but I know she's written it on her notepad before she even reaches our table). When I first set out to make this dish, my missing ingredient was the fermented black beans (and, as I discovered, the kind with ginger - use the Yang Jiang brand in the yellow box) which sounds weird but is vital to the flavor. So despite the title of this recipe, I am really on v3.2 or so.

Tonight I made this with a side of Szechuan long beans, and it was - eh - ok. Needs more spicy, for sure. I think I will up the ante next time and add more Szechuan chilis (and perhaps even chop them). Get the Costo-sized kleenex ready!

This is a story of subliminal messaging. Here's where it begins: this weekend, I was researching some Korean noodle soup recipes and came across a recipe for spicy Korean chicken wings that looked awfully tasty, which then reminded me of the yangnyeom dak recipe that Sabs and Randall made (which they confirmed was delicious). Then today I'm on Muni, and the New York Times ran a feature piece on the proliferation of fried chicken across the city which was then alluded to by Gawker (turns out, I'm either a yuppie or I'm rich as I'm just picking up on the fried chicken trend now), so naturally, what else could I possibly make for dinner but:

A little kara-age with some gyoza dumplings and the fixings. Now I'm wondering if I should be preparing myself for judgement day and if it will come in the form of a giant, fiery chicken.

Sabs and Julie talk about "life fulfillment" meals which I get - I totally get it - but tonight it took it took on a whole new meaning when I made kal-guk-su: thick flour noodles in a clam-based sauce. You may remember that we had a life-altering experience eating this dish at a local spot in Gongju near marketman's parents' house. So, inspired by the soo-jae-bee that wasn't quite right, we picked up some frozen clams at Kukje and gave it a whirl:

The result? Not quite the same as sitting on floor eating out of a hot pot, but a life fulfillment meal all the same. I already have a few ideas on what I might do differently next time...

That is to say, food that's good when you are sick, not disgusting food. marketman was feeling under the weather this evening, so I made him a big bowl of kalbi tang...kind of the Korean equivalent of chicken noodle soup.

Remarkably, he leapt up from the dinner table after eating and proceeded to wash all of the dishes.  I like to think it was my cooking, but something tells me it was my suggestion that perhaps he should stay home from the Cal-U$C game tomorrow if he wasn't feeling well.

Yes, that would be a banana slug --something I haven't seen since
camping deep within the redwood forests of Santa Cruz -- in our front
yard. The yuck factor is too much for me to even verbalize (but let's
put it this way: marketman was getting ready to pick it up using
Lily's poop bag until he saw it move. Nuff said).

There go my plans to have my very own port-a-potty. Seriously, though,
do people actually steal these???

As good as I am about cooking dinner virtually every night, I never bring my lunch to work. Thinking about and packing lunch is really the last thing I want to think about at 11pm. But thanks to a massive batch of kimchi fried rice (kimchi bokkeumbap...with Spam!) Sunday morning, I had gobs of leftovers, and gobs of leftovers tend to rot away in the fridge.  So here's my one-pot lunch:

My apologies to those sitting around me...nothing is rotting, it's just my fragrant fried rice. That's why the window is open.