Asian or Garlic Chives

Bought the Asian chive flower heads from the Asian store. And I was planning on cooking then with eggs. However, some shiitake mushrooms beckoned. And a stir fry was born. 

Stir fry a bit of pork in a hot pan with oil, garlic salt and black pepper. Then add a can of sliced bamboo mushrooms. Then add sliced fresh shiitake and the chives. Stir fry until shiitake is done. Add oyster sauce and crushed cayenne peppers. 

A little note. Shiitake, the fresh mushrooms, work better in stir fries whereas the dried ones work better in soups. Their consistency has changed, you see, once they are dried. Yes, you do have to soak them in water. 

Not only that, but shiitake has a distinct smell to them. Earthy, sort of nutty… It’s not like the button, enoki or oyster mushrooms. 

So, if you do not like the shiitake smell, substitute them for oyster mushrooms instead.

Delicious! Serve with a side of brown rice. 


Confessions of a Murderer

Dear Father in Heaven,
Forgive me for I have sinned. I committed it most assuredly. It wasn’t my fault really. It just seemed to happen to me. I’m sorry that I went on a killing spree.

My mother rushed us out the door and pulled over. There was that McDonald’s out on Clover. I was given an Egg McMuffin, Father. The bread was enough to make me feel guilty. It would be enough to convict me. But oh, Father, the EGG…  I ate the unborn child of a chicken, Father. I am sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. It could have been the one chick that solved the deadly disease of Avian Flu. I think of what that chicken could have been. If it would look like it’s daddy or mommy. But Father, I was hungry. I ate that unborn child, Father. Will you forgive me? But Father, it was a double homicide. There was a slab of Canadian bacon there. One whole porker, Father! It was killed for me. Who knows, Father, what that one could have been? Perhaps another Babe that knows how to talk through spiders. It might have helped solve the crisis of hunger. It could have created a revolution to free all the pigs in the world! No more slaughter! Oh, Father! What could I do? I was so very hungry, you see. So, I’m so sorry, I’m sure you’d understand. Don’t you?

Then, Father, that wasn’t all. For lunch, Daddy bought me a $6 veal burger 6 inch tall. With lettuce, tomatoes, onions, mayo… Father! It was so good, that burger.  I’m sorry a baby cow was killed and they ground her up. Who knows what she could have been when she grew up?  Perhaps the one cow that would solve the riddle of this Mad Cow disease I keep hearing about. But Father, I couldn’t help myself. I’m a lout. The juices running down my plate, Father, was too tempting. Yes, I ate it while it was bleeding.  I’m sorry, Father. Please forgive me. It was because I was hungry. I’m sorry, too, for all the tomato seeds I led to slaughter. I know they are the tomato’s children. But I couldn’t help it, Father. There were so many. I couldn’t squeeze them all out of every nook and cranny. And they would be lonely, Father, since I was eating their mommy. I don’t know if I also ate their daddy. (Why do tomatoes have so many children?) So, they all went in my tummy.

And Father, I’m about to do it again. We’re at an expensive restaurant called Bien.  I am served their cedar grilled Salmon with the children of the squash. There is also the squash flowers deep fried in beer batter tempura stash. Oh, Father, what shall I do? I’ve also stolen a whole day’s milk from some baby moo. I’ve been drinking milk since daybreak. I suppose water would have been better, for heaven’s sake! But I remembered that even water were the babies of the rain, too. I can’t even begin to count the numerous children of wheat and oat and rice I’ve ingested again and again.  They were babies until someone ground them up for my sourdough bread and English muffin. Tonight, I’m having sweet rye. This is my current strife. Did I mention the sugar beets that were dug up in the prime of their life? I’m sorry, Father. I’m surely a beast. I’ve eaten half your species now at least. I’ve killed  them all. They’re mingling in my digestive tracts and intestinal wall.

Father, they said we’re having roasted chicken tomorrow from Tommy’s Grill. Will you forgive me again, Father? I hope you will. I’ll become the murderer of someone else’s mother. I cannot help it now. Just for living, I’ve truly become a murderer. Would it have been better, Father, if you had not allowed me to think too deeply about others? I don’t know. But I’m thinking of killing again, Father. Tomorrow, they’re serving sausages with melon and apples. And since we’re going to the movies, some popcorn and a hotdog and Snapple. I’m sorry, Father. I’m a serial killer now. It was my family, Father. They taught me this life somehow. I’m sorry, Father. Even if I turn vegan, I’d be eating the soybeans’ children. Someone told me that plants have feelings, too. I seriously don’t know what to do.