How to Make

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  • 2 cups flour
  • 1/3 cup water
  • 1 egg
  • 1/2 t. salt

Combine in medium-ish bowl and mush together until it’s like way smooth and pliable. Then, role it way thin… really thin. Cover the dough and place it off to the side.

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  • kale
  • carrot
  • green onion
  • ginger

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Finely dice that stuff and just eyeball the amount you’d like. Then mix it with

  • 3 eggs (scrambled)
  • frozen peas


Next, you’ll mix the filling with the sauce.


  • soy sauce
  • sriracha
  • worcestershire sauce
  • red wine vinegar

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Use a cup to cut small discs out of the dough and put the goop you just made in said disc.

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Now dip that in some soy sauce and eat it.

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You’re welcome.



Back when pokemon were just an idea, I was shorter and didn’t shave. I would attend events that were filled with others who were also shorter and didn’t shave, and usually one taller person who, I assume, did shave. Such events were called stuff like “kindergarten”, “birthdays”, and “Sunday School”. I would often attend these events for one of two reasons, either my parents had told me to, or because I had a minute desire to have friends around the same age as me. However, they all ended up the same, which is as follows:

10 minutes before leaving house for event- Excitement.


5 minutes till arrival at event- Mild anxiety.

car ride

At event- Pure unadulterated hatred for all that surrounds me.

i like arthur

I had a very strong dislike for other children. They were loud, often disrespectful, thought that the red Power Ranger was better than the blue one, and they smelt like someone else’s carpet. The adult who acted as overseer would often notice my distress and either offer me a toy, or food.

The offered toy was typically of no interest to me. It smelt weird, like the children around me, and it often had some sort of greasy residue on it, probably of french-fry origin. So I’d accept the toy with bogus gratitude, because I was polite, and would go back to loathing everything about my current surroundings. It seemed like the the proper thing to do.


The offered food was where the real danger lie. One event in particular that has clung to my memory like a bur on a dog’s butt is when my Sunday school teacher gave me a small cookie on a white floral textured napkin.


To my big, blue, five year old eyes it looked like a perfectly innocent chocolate chip cookie, which was and always will be like Lembas is to weary travelers. But I was deceived. Chewing on the first bite, I realized that it was neither chocolate, nor cookie. It was dried grapes baked into even drier oats.


The disappointment was staggering.


Now that I am taller, and shave, I make cookies on a regular basis. I typically bake them alone, and to 90’s grunge. If anyone asks to put a foreign object in the still moist dough, say a nut, fruit, or whole grain, I immediately excommunicate them from the premise and unfriend them on facebook.

I don’t bake deceit.

I bake TRUTH!