Saturday, February 1, 2014

When Potstickers Stick

Last night's party was a fine event, with Burlington Place-like crowds, good food, and lovely guests from a United Nations of countries. I'll admit that proclaiming myself the Jiaozi Empress was a tad premature, since the little buggers fell apart in the boiling, frying process. I guess that's why they call them potstickers. But we had some delicious alternative jiaozi, plus a colorful mixture of Chinese and non-Chinese options, a brownie-crumbs-in-the-floor-paneling level of little ones, and a serious splinter group of whiskey drinkers. But even those who were not drinking for no-alcohol-January or pregnancy reasons seemed to enjoy themselves. I did.

And someday I'll wipe the hummus off the kitchen floor and wash the last wine glass. Left behind were a binkie, a backpack, and a blanket. Now that's the sign of a good party.  Year of the Horse, bring it.

An offering of deviled eggs, made with real eggs!
Looking slightly like a bio lab experiment gone terribly wrong, here are my vegetarian jiaozi.

Three of my favorite Beijing girls.

And then I found this in the laundry room. Mystery dissatisfied guests, I suspect. Or an art installation from Modern Art Toddler.

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