There once was a certain irrationality about altering an existing system, one that functioned fine as is, though could have incorporated greater flexibility (not that I'd ever admit). It was with time that I adopted a desire for evolution - to contemplate possibilities beyond those presented in hopes of providing upgrades in efficiency and efficacy.
Over the years, I've moderated the Blast with Sensory details. Beginning with over-mixed sweet potato cookies (I gag.) to the crafting of fanboards - bare of any knowledge on electrical wiring - to the recipes I now scale and adapt as needed, the Hero's Journey has fostered judgement, as well as its appropriate placement in varying circumstances.
As I munched on my final few Garden Spring Onion Pop-Pan Crackers, the idea of a savoury bun began to cultivate in my mind, rather abstractly I may add. These thoughts receded shortly afterwards as I grew distracted with 炒米餅 recipes, yet resurfaced at the sight of rotting shallots in the pantry.
Working June-style, I managed to salvage a small portion of the bulbs - an amount just decent enough for infusing into hot oil as my Pantry Quiche was setting. Some asymmetrical sections of luncheon meat had also been set aside during this process, diced finely, then pan-fried until crispy.
My initial concept had included shredded cheese as well, though the final product was swell without. Corn kernels would have supplied a sweet contrast, yet its exclusion didn't hinder the buns' profile potential.
Sunday Baking somehow always succeeds in swooping in when sugar therapy is needed. I've been on a chocolate kick recently, unsurprisingly, and a recipe to use up my overabundance of glutinous rice flour was more than welcome.
Inspired by SK, my smaller quantity of drumsticks were seared on cast iron until gently charred, then transferred to the oven to bake at 425 F for 35 minutes, covered with aluminum foil.
Again finding myself in a pinch with soon-to-expire produce, a starchy batch of Yukon Golds were steamed, blended, and combined with egg and flour in a dough-forming attempt. Regrettably having forgotten the pivotal step of thorough drainage, moisture seeped from the dough with every turn and every knead. I opted to freeze it in the name of time, and revisit on a later date.
The day arrived sooner than expected. Shapeless blobs were sectioned out, frozen once again, then pan-fried in salted butter to purge residual dampness and maintain shape. It was a painstaking, tedious procedure, but ultimately paired well with the red wine (canned) tomato sauce I had conjured up in my head. (Oh, and the caramelized onions that never fully caramelized.)