Thanks to Esau75 and his (p)funny comments I am contemplating dumplings and the art of cooking them all of a sudden. Brought up in the firm belief that one is not a real woman and not allowed to leave home unless one is able to cook the perfect dumpling – among an endless list of many more housewifey arts – I once again startle in wonder about the shit I grew up with. I honestly took pride once in producing a perfect steaming dumpling, cooked to perfection. And this was – beside the other household arts I was able to master – justification enough for my existance. Today, I still can cook that dumpling, but my pride (as bad as it is to even use the term pride, I know) stems more from the fact that my love cooks for me. Although he does it so well that I am quite overfed and look accordingly. Shit bad luck on my efforts to today’s other maxime: stay slim. But one can’t have it all.
The Steamy Dumplings, 089 (0815)
floatsome 