RecipeMuncher

In elementary school I remember my friends loving to smell the inside of my backpack because it always smelled like fried rice, or some kind of savory, greasy, oyster saucy food. Everyone loved the smell of my father’s cooking, unless it was daikon cake day. My mother prepared herself for the annual daikon cake steaming day by closing all the doors and opening the windows so the smell wouldn’t permeate every single part of the house.  Although now I don’t think she cares (...)