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Author profile in the Springfield Republican, now online. A Spoonful of Promises, some black bean sauce, and me. Read the story here.
A very sympathetic and heartwarming review of A Spoonful of Promises in the International Examiner, a Seattle-based biweekly publication focusing on the Asian American community.
Thank you, Janet Brown! I’m so very glad you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Although no one who knows me would associate me with the word “diet,” I did do a short interview with “Today’s Diet and Nutrition” recently. My views–go ahead and roast the vegetables in butter!–were a little radical for them, but so far either there haven’t been any protests or the TDN editors have kindly shielded me from them.
Click here to read the one-page interview.
About a year ago, my good friends Jandro and Allison introduced me to Dua Belibis. (That’s Dua for short. We’re on a first-name basis. Never mind that “Dua Belibis” means “Two Ducks,” and as a nickname, “Two” is daft. But I digress.) Allison and Jandro had gotten theirs from Vishnu, who is married to a woman from Indonesia, which is where Dua Belibis comes from. I lost my heart to Dua instantly.
Thicker, fruitier, sweeter, hotter-per-gram, and way garlickier than the wildly popular sriracha, Dua Belibis is perhaps not for everyone. When it comes to getting the stuff out, Dua’s bottle is more crazy-making than a ketchup bottle. It comes out in either tiny, wimpy blobs or giant, incendiary blobs, and you inevitably get a gummy red collar of crusty sauce by the neck about midway through. Plus, it’s impossible to find, or so I thought till last week.
I had already combed the shelves of every Asian grocer in my area and shown the bottle to the regretful proprietors. I had done the Internet search. I was down to my last hard-to-dislodge 1/8-inch of Dua, which I was conserving by means of trying not to cook the things I like eating it with: fried rice, dumplings, chili, noodles. This self-imposed and untimely Lent was obviously unsustainable.
But this weekend, while tromping round the Bay with my son while in between readings of A Spoonful of Promises, I discovered the New Mei Wah supermarket on Clement St. A behemoth of a shop, I thought at first it was one of those Asian markets that looks like it’s going to have everything, but actually has nothing you want. But as it turns out, New Mei Wah is one of those Asian markets that looks like it’s going to have everything and actually does.
At least, it has Dua Belibis, right there in the Indonesian section. As to the rest, who cares?
Since Dua comes in bottles greater than 3 oz., there was no question of getting it onto an airplane. Prevailing upon the patience of my hosts, who drove me into Chinatown the next day, I went to the Stockton Street post office and mailed my Dua home. The postage was about $10, which is more than 4 times the price of a bottle of Dua.
Do you have any doubt that it was worth it?
- Because you love to cook.
- Because you hate to cook and just like reading about other people doing it.
- Because it’s less fattening than chocolate.
- Because you have no idea what to get your grandma, who already owns every cookbook ever published.
- Because you have no idea what to get your brother-in-law, who already has every kitchen gadget known to man.
- Because you were wondering, What’s the statute of limitations for shoplifting mushrooms?
- Because the little girl on the cover is just so dang cute.
- Because you have already spent $8.53 on Amazon, and you need another $16.47 to get the Free Super Saver Shipping.
- Because you are one of my relatives, and you have already run out of your first 50 copies.
- Because you need a recipe for Ring Dings with popcorn.
TSC’s cookbook interview with Joy Cardin, downloadable here. (minutes 1:49 – 18:15 on the download)
Today the Boston Globe is running an excerpt and recipe from A Spoonful of Promises in the Food Section. It’s adapted from “The Legacy That Wasn’t” (chapter 6 in the book).
Learning to Make Wonton Soup from Memories (12/07/11)
The photo is of my mom and me outside our house, in 1978. My dad can be glimpsed, holding the camera, in the background reflection.