Jackie’s Easy Ramen Recipe

As far as I have been responsible for feeding myself, I have had a deep and steadfast affinity for all noodles. They are cheap, never go bad and versatile. I don’t give a fuck what Marie Osmond, Jillian Michaels or your gluten free roommate tells you… carbs are NOT the enemy. I get aroused by a good pasta and if you learn to make it at home for yourself, you can cut out a lot of the fatty, unhealthy bullshit ingredients restaurants add (same goes with salad dressing). Last night I experimented with an old friend of a noodle, Ramen, and was pleasantly tickled.

I haven’t cooked Ramen in years because it takes me back to a dark place… college. I know being that I am just 39% basic, one would assume I loved college and was in a sorority and like shared hotel rooms in Vegas to go to some day club cause I knew the promoter…but no. I fucking hated college. Hence while I only made it about a year and a half. I spent the better part of my collegiate days ditching class, doctoring fake report cards to send to my dad to see if fake straight A’s could wrangle me a few extra hundred a month, watching Barefoot Contessa, then going to Food for Less in pursuit of discount Branzino.

Unfortunately, once mid-month hit I usually had to resort to one fucking thing to sustain my beastly appetite, Ramen. So as you can imagine, we have a very sentimental and indifferent relationship, Ramen and I.

Last night, I went back in time along with a more highly developed culinary touch and gave my 5 year old emergency Ramen package a go and here is the easiest, most delicious, cheap, healthy asian noodle dinner you have ever tasted. Fuck you Ina.

What you need (for one serving #allbymyself #dontjump) 1 package of ramen noodles, 2 small heads of baby bok choy, handful of kale, 2 handfuls of shitake mushrooms (or whichever you like), 2 small thai peppers, ginger, 5 cloves of garlic, 1 shallot, ¼ lb of steak (I used stir fry style), one egg, teriyaki sauce, 1 ½ cups of veggie broth, fish sauce, low sodium soy sauce, lime, chives.

  1. Soft boil an egg in pot of boiling water, 6 minutes is perfection erection, remove shell and rinse under cool water to stop cooking, put aside.
  2. In same water (#resourceful) cook your ramen noodles about 3 minutes, throwout the flavoring packet – that shit will leave you bloated until 2018.
  3. Strain noodles and set aside.
  4. Over medium heat, add about 2 tablespoons of olive oil, 5 cloves of chopped garlic, half a thumb worth of peeled and chopped fresh ginger, 2 thai peppers (scrape out the insides these fuckers are HOTT) and half of a shallot chopped. Sautee until translucent.
  5. Peel leaves of the bok choy (throw out the tough inside part) and add to the ginger/garlic and toss until they soften about 2 minutes.
  6. Add mushrooms, sautee another 2 minutes.
  7. Add vegetable broth, few dashes of soy sauce, few dashes of fish sauce, juice and zest of half a lime and handful of kale, stire and let simmer on low heat until shit gets hott and all veggies are soft and wilted
  8. In separate pan heat up tablespoon of olive oil and add meat of your liking, sautee just lightly so meat does not get touch, add a dash of teriyaki to give some sweetness and throw in some sesame seeds if you got em.
  9. Add your ramen noodles and egg to the hot broth to reheat and then pour into a bowl. Slice the soft boiled egg in half and place on top.
  10. Add meat, handful of chopped chives, remaining raw shallot, lime wedge or zest on top of noodles and thank me later.



Bitch Throws a Dinner Party

I watch enough Real Housewives to know how to throw a proper dinner party. As much as I’d love to hire Kevin Lee to make everything “shi shi shi” I will have to be  my own transgender Asian homosexual party planner. Naturally my theme developed from an accessory, some cute Moroccan napkins I found and some fabulous new gold charger plates (you know you’re an adult when you have charger plates). Another adult move, I even made a fucking mocktail. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore – I mean we all know I’m not a huge fan of sobriety but I digress. I wanted my first dinner party to reflect not only my effortless domesticity but also what kind of woman I am. Deceivingly fancy, warm and … easy. I decided to delight my patrons with a Mediterranean menu because I am a selfish whore (JK – on the whore bit) and I could make everything ahead of time so I was still able to mingle and socialize.


CUCUMBER MINT FAUXJITO (which I subsequently added vodka too – a mocktail only gets you so far)



And nothing for dessert… I don’t fucking bake. Ice cream anyone?

Dinner was a hit (I think) and I feel like I have reached a new level of womanhood… kinda. #hostesswiththemostest Presentation1

Proper Bitch

I like to think I walk through life on the tightrope that teeters between really having my shit together and being a total haute mess. Needless to say, I am not exactly the authority on social graces. I have been very well trained to keep a somewhat refined and charming persona in public but behind closed doors I am like an animal. I eat things off the floor, talk way too much about my digestive issues and can usually be found in my Kardashian slash Golden Girl silk pajamas (dry clean only) with a hair mask on eating a block of brie cheese. It’s not great but it works. If Emily Post thought racial profiling was hilarious, used the f word in excess, thinks utensils are optional, hated people who use the term “superfood” and could find emotional support in a dirty martini or an animal style cheeseburger- we would probably have a lot in common. Being that I am pretty liberal with my “manners”, I do believe in some form of social decency (only in public).

Stop talking about your fucking diet/work out regimen. I have made my distaste for fitness very clear. But some bitches just don’t know when to shut the hole. The worst is when girls who have blatantly hott bodies discuss their need to “head to Soul Cycle” or “seriously I need to lose 5 pounds, I am so huge!” SHUT UP. It’s a total cry for a compliment like “You’re body is amazing!” “I would kill a small puppy for your legs”. Gag me. Listen, I love a skinny bitch all day long. I am the first one to admit I’d love to contract some type of stomach worm so I could go on an involuntary hunger strike and then when I am all better really let myself go off the rails (calorie wise) to get back to my normal weight. The only time I have ever wanted to be an actress is so I could only go for roles that required weight gain. One of my best friends created the cigarette/ice chip diet and showcased tremendous results without bating everyone for compliments – that’s what I call proactive kids. Bottom line is, if you wear a size 27 or below just stop talking about your weight. It’s so boring.

Just stop.

Just stop.

Don’t be a cheapskate. Okay so you are at dinner, the bill comes. You ordered a blue cheese burger for $14.99 and your boring friend ordered a plate of steamed veggies and grilled tofu for $10.99… instead of splitting the bill 50/50 your friend insists to split it up so that you are accounted for the extra $4 you spent. Like… who ARE you? I knew a girl in college that would literally lose her shit if the bill was not properly separated regardless if my meal was only 1 motherfucking dollar more than hers. I just don’t get people… where in the world did you come from. Not only is it so awkward it’s just a downright character flaw.



Debbie Downer. The best yiddush word my Grandma Gloria ever taught me is the word farbissina.Someone who is farbissina is classified as someone who is particularly grumpy with a sour puss face. Also known as a total buzzkill. They never seem to be enjoying themselves. The food is cold, the music is too loud, my stomach hurts, my drink is disgusting, this party sucks, I hate my job, my boyfriend is a dick, on and on. Shoot me in the face. We all have bad days, slap a smile on in the presence of others or stay at home and binge eat like a NORMAL person. Everyone gets a few farbissina passes but if you are the constant buzzkill of your group it’s time for a reality check. Or some Lexapro.

Know when you have overstayed your welcome.. In my family, we all tend to linger and have developed a tradition of flickering the lights when the party is over and it is usually accompanied by my Grandma hollering “Get the fuck out.” Some people can just NOT take a hint. As I have said many times, subtlety is not a strong suit of mine. I can throw more shade than a 100 year old willow tree and nothing grinds my gears like people who overstay their welcome. I consider myself very gracious and accommodating (I never said it was genuine) but this bitch needs her private time and beauty sleep.

Learn when it’s time to shut the hole and be the listener. I’ll be honest, one of my favorite pastimes is talking about myself. I could go on for days. If I could play my Bat Mitzvah montage for every person I come into contact with along with personal highlights I would, but I am not that tacky. Through maturity I have learned that most people aren’t nearly as entertained by me as I am and one of the best qualities a gal can have is the ability to listen. It has been a rough road but I have really come full circle. Nothing is more painful than being verbally raped by someone who just won’t shut the fuck up. A simple courtesy question like “How are you” can open the door for 4 hour seminar covering the highs, lows and in betweens of the person’s life. The definition of conversation reads as; the informal exchange of ideas by spoken words. The key word in that being exchange. You talk a little, than listen a little… No one needs to hear a 4 hour story about your trip to the market, your childhood pet or your ex-boyfriends effing stamp collection.  Your entire family could have been eaten by mountain lion and this asshole will continue to discuss their serious disdain for the long lines at Coffee Bean like its the fucking apocalypse. Keep it cute, put it on mute or just get a diary… or a therapist (aka someone who is PAID hourly to hear your never ending woes).

Passive aggressive social media moves are for bitches. As a recent victim of a social media tirade (please reference:Social Media Suicide ), I can genuinely say nothing is less offensive than some dumb-fuck hiding behind a computer screen (I am not lost to the irony here) and criticizing you or your work while they are probably in their mother’s basement, elbows deep in a bag of Dorito’s, preparing for their afternoon shift at Jamba Juice. Anyone who reads my blog knows I sickly love any complaints I receive and in a sick way it makes me feel accomplished. I am currently adding that to my list of things to discuss with my future therapist… If I have ever hurt your feelings please don’t send me a 6 page facebook message accompanied by a de-friend.study-lonely-consumers-are-wasting-money-on-things-they-dont-even-like

Get it together.