Beginner’s Quiche in a Rice Cooker: One part recipe, one part journal, one part listicle


The term in French cuisine is: Emotional Rollercoaster
See also: Ultra-Lazy Method

[insert professional food photography according to your imagination]

1 Pillsbury pie crust that you’ve been staring at since Thanksgiving
3 eggs
3 cloves of garlic
1/2 can of chickpeas = garbanzos = cana
1/3 bag of spinach
some soy milk
patience sauce

1.) Unroll pie crust and let it warm up on the counter so you can easily mold it into your teeny rice cooker.
2.) The only research I did before going into this was to use butter to coat the rice cooker bowl before putting in the pie crust, so do that.
3.) Forget to saute everything.
4.) Mix together all ingredients in a bowl except for the crust.
5.) Cut the now-practically-melting-but-flexible pie crust into a Pac-Man shape. Fold/close his mouth and stuff it against the sides of the rice cooker.
6.) Pour in everything that was in the mixing bowl into the pie crust and top it off with milk or another egg if there’s space. Use that extra triangle for garnish.
7.) Continually run back to the kitchen every five minutes for the next half-hour because you’re not sure if it is going to burn into an ashy crisp or you will die of salmonella this very night.
8.) Be angry at the rice cooker for shutting off every 30 seconds and threaten to use the oven.
9.) Get out materials to finish cooking that damned quiche on the stove because your anti-materialist ideals forbid owning pie pans.
10.) Start to remove it only to discover that the rice cooker has a half a brain and cooked it PERFECTLY! It’s actually sliiightly undercooked which, as a cookie-dough lover is the same as perfect. Also, it doesn’t get all dried out like when you cook it in an oven. Turns out, when the rice cooker is on “cook” instead of “warm,” even for 30 seconds, you can trust that little guy.


my crystal ball tells that your mouth is watering



The Process


Encountering a renowned writer’s

Or professional artist’s description

Of still struggling with the haunting past

And the daily monotony,

I drown in a wave that condenses

Decades worth of suffering.


Hardly having begun this journey,

I have learned

That in order to defy the torments,

To live the creative life,

And to become true to oneself

Is not a finite rebellion

Nor an act of sheer force.


Instead, I continue to realize

New ways of seeing the chains,

To love the cycle

Of expression and transformation,

To add some bracelets to my weary arm,

And keep dancing into the night.



Finally the schedule clears

And I am ready with my humble guide

For the the open road

Of painted, curving lines.


I gaze out the right, rear window,

Examining the words

On the flat, horizontal landscape.

My eyes continue to spring back to their left corner

While the hypnosis fights a radio too slowly.

I ache to be there already.


At last this waking life melts

Into the author’s ancient dream.

Bad lighting and sleepy limbs,

No longer pain my weightless body.




Why do my eyes keep moving

Long after I have forgotten

The words I just read?

Everything I really see is still worlds, worlds away.

The Paradox


Here I am,

Admiring the “impossible”

Furious at the past

And disappointed by the present.

What comes next?

What should I be doing?

“It better be good!”

I screech at the walls,

Shaking them by their shoulders.

It better be worth staying here

So that I may someday go far far away.

The snow doesn’t last too long


my extremely professional photography ahem.

I) Can I give it a hug?


Heavy snow

Turns the long tusks

Of the evergreen’s branches

Into the shy old dog’s

Tired eyes.




II) Halo-gen


Drive too quickly

Along the interstate

And miss the lamppost,

Lonely in the humid night’s fog,

Transform into a radiant tipi.



My favorite part of snow is

Other people’s footprints.

I usually feel as if no one

Has ever been as strange as me

To have walked this path before.

On the white-feathered ground,

I can see the proof

Of not being the strangest.



How could we sum up

Everything that Shakespeare contributed

To Western culture,

To the English language,

To literature?


Or, Martin Luther King,

Mahatma Ghandi,

Harriet Tubman,

and Nelson Mandela

for human rights?


The list is endless

And always leaves me wondering

How you can do something important

Or be someone meaningful

Without a big name?


So I tell myself,

You have a long way to go!

Anything can happen.

They had to cut their toenails too

You know!