Piping these cupcakes brought much joy to my heart. When I lined them up on my cooling rack, I almost did a little dance around them. Food and Wine didn't lie, these are fabulous batter and frosting recipes, especially if you are a butter cream frosting kind of person... and I am.

One last week of "classes", except it is unlike any class I've ever known. Filled with medical etiquette, financial planning, medical license... it is thoughtful, practical, applicable, and most importantly, skippable. The strange thing is, my class makes its best effort to make a presence. We fill most seats, bring our computers, ask questions... it's like we all realize this is our last chance to be a student.

A beautiful tart was made for a special birthday last Wednesday night. It was my first time attempting a tart and a wonderful Emeril recipe with a pressed on almond crust means my friend and I didn't have to roll any dough. It was as refreshing as it is beautiful, especially when chilled overnight in the fridge.

I went to my first wedding yesterday! Can't believe I've never been to a wedding either... but it is true. The ceremony took place in a downtown New Orleans Jesuit church, as breathtakingly beautiful as the most beautiful of New Orleanian churches. Pristine and ornate, with rows of wooden pew marked with iron cast Fleur De Li's at each end. Higher than it is wide, the space commands a hushed regalness that only churches can. The bride, walking down the isle with her dad, didn't feel like my classmate at all... but some ethereal creature enshrined in a glossy white gown, so beautiful I can only admire from a far. It is neither cheesy nor cliche, neither ordinary or predictable, but a singularly moving rite of passage that makes me wonder how anyone experienced it could ever consider the d word.

My new apartment has yellow walls, darker than lemon, lighter than dijon. It's the color of sunny egg yolk when whisked with sugar. I looked at three complexes before making a prudent, economic decision to rent not the newest or the largest, but a good compromise of all the things I'm looking for, while still fitting for a poor, heavily in-debt, over worked intern. Yes, that is the role I am all ready to play.

I almost bought a house today.

"Almost"... as in I got on the phone with a realtor, asked around about the interest rate, calculated some down payments, looked at floor plans, and seriously tried to imagine myself the owner of a piece of land (plus more).

As it turns out, my soon to be new city does not have a good rental market at all, esp close to the hospital. My friend, who was so damn determined to live in the same apt complex with me, was there for 2 hours before she called a realtor and bought a house in ONE day. She said to me -- I suggest you do the same. Simple as that... like buying a windbreaker. She couldn't begin to understand (and I can't begin to explain to her) how UNprepared I am to buy a house. It's not even about the lack of money in my bank account, or that I've only spend 48 hours in the city, or that I've never even paid for my own electricity let alone a mortgage...

No... it's not about that about all. It's about the deep unsettled feeling of dread that I am sure is what people refer to as the 6th sense. It's about needing to know that I am, still, free and unattached. It's about knowing that I am not ready to be attached... to a house... to a city... before I find someone special to share that house and city with. It's about not tearing down my back up plan-- when times get really bad I can always say to myself, it's only three years. I don't need a lawn and real neighbors and extra bedrooms to remind me that I own more than a kitchen aid in my new city

Also, when I do buy a house, I want to be over the moon excited, not feel like someone just enlisted me on death row...

To make a long story short, I am not buying. I talked to people and lined up a couple of places to look. If there is anything I have more of now than one month ago, it is faith. I have no doubt that things will work out just fine.

Magazine street shopping, Sucree gelato and macaron sampling, then a perfect cupcake from "Bee Sweet Cupcakes" to end a Saturday. So this is what it feels like to be young and carefree... not bad at all. :)

Blogging... disappointment.

Disappointment in others is really disappointment in myself. Why did I not do better, especially since deep down, I know better. So much easier to point fingers when the only person I should be disappointed in is me. And I was... I am... but now I must get over it before I seriously hurt my self-esteem. All of which is much needed when I start my intern year in June.

If something else has to absorb the residual frustration of the "B" situation, I blame it on the craziness of this year. Being back to NO after four months of away rotations, realizing I was still carrying the remembrances of a ghost that left long ago, I NEEDED a distraction! Of course I knew it would end no other way. But, as one of my favorite movies quoted: Surprisingly wonderful things can happen, even late in the game.

I wanted it to apply to me so badly.

But... something wonderful did happen, just not the form I wanted.

As far as THAT's concerned... its a whole different game... and I'm not late at all.

I should have posted the result of Match Day two days ago, but I couldn't imagine describing it coherently on paper. My excitement was uncontainable and radiated every which way. I must have hugged a million people and floated so high on a cloud it was actually VISIBLE.

Seriously! One stranger said -- you look like you're floating on a cloud! I told her I AM!

I don't think I actually believed that envelop could spell out my number one choice. I know people told me it would... but I never got my hopes up. If I didn't get it, eventually the disappointment would be all mine to swallow. And I didn't know if I could... in public... surrounded by happy people. But little did I know that I would be the happiest of them all! (I really might be...)

My excitement may seem naive... even to me. After all, the hardest part hasn't even started. But the past four years have not exactly been a walk in the park, and the many pep talks I have given and received never completely erased the sense of... doubt? Then Thursday happened. And I don't doubt anymore. Good things and bad things happen, who knows what the next three year holds. But one thing is for sure, I really am blessed. So I'm gong to be obliviously happy, even if just for this extended weekend.

Should I put on make up now and let it sit on my face for a couple of hours, or should I wait awhile so it has the fresh glow that I can never purposely create, but sometimes appears effortlessly when I look sideways? My hair I will have to blow dry soon, before the clip creates a permanent kink and strips any possibility of "volume".

These are the hard questions I content myself with on the morning of "Match Day". To ponder on the harder questions takes me dangerously close to sulking and pessimism, which I do not want to trudge into just yet. My violin teacher said wherever I go, it's up to me what I turn the experience into. There is truth to it. I turned medical school and New Orleans into a place (in life and in this world) that I'm sad to leave. Is that my doing or a stroke of luck? After four years of being uncomfortable in my own skin, the universe decides to throws me a bone and give me some friends that will love me no matter what... I believe people call it "unconditional".

Whatever the envelope holds, I'm leaving New Orleans for sure. It's good to leave when I have so much fondness for the city, when there are still stores and restaurants I want to explore, when even the shady neighborhoods (and there are many) I look onto with hopeful expectations. I have waited a long time to begin buying fleur de lis memorabilia. Nothing crazy, like a door mat... something more subtle, like subliminal messages of happiness that I can leave all over my new apt.

Would it be narcissistic of me to say that there is nothing ordinary about my life because of all the extraordinary people in it?

I hope not, because driving home from Baton Rouge at 10pm last night, I felt like the luckiest person in the whole world. I was so grateful to spend the day with my host family and old roommates that I, momentarily, made peace with all the current anguish in my life - Match Day anxiety and all.

I have been looking forward to cook dinner for my host family, whom I haven't seen since last September... to surprise Randy with an early birthday cake, to test out Michelle's recipe for the most moist Amaretto Chocolate Cake, to catch St. Patrick's Day parade with Laura... I missed the house, the lake, the kitchen, the long driveway with its canopy of pine trees, my amazing host family, Mark and Mary-Anne, being together with the girls under one roof, dashing around the kitchen looking for pots and pans, and praying Elaine's unpredictable oven pulls through.

As soon as I stepped into the house, I knew where everything is. I pulled open the fridge and pantry closet checking stock, noting what we need to buy to make dinner and what they already have. I leaned my elbow against the cool marble counter, thinking of the old one that split down the middle when I put hot biscuits on top (I was reassured a million times that I didn't break it, it was already broken)... I sat down by the kitchen table, thinking of all the times I sat there to study, to stare at the lake, to pretend to study, to day dream, to cry over boys...

It was 55 degrees and raining. The St Patrick's day parade route was filled with people. I kept maybe three beads and gave the rest to Randy and Elaine's grand kids (who, in turn, gave me a stuffed tiger football with a tail). The bean dip made my stomach turn. Laura and I ran through the rain and an empty golf course to get back to the car. We were so drenched and cold she couldn't feel her hands and my mascara ran down my face (which doesn't happen even when I cry during movies)... But can I tell you, honestly, I had a BLAST.

Laura's Pork Chop with Orange Soy Glaze and Udon Noodles was so delicious, even when Whole Foods runs out of Udon Noodles and we had to substitute with fettuccine. And I was so grateful she calmly took over the entree so I can concentrate on my roasted potato and mushroom salad with mascarpone (Fine Cooking, Feb/March 2009) and Parmesan-roasted cauliflower (Barefoot Contessa at Home, 2006), which also turned out amazing. We also made mango salsa, which Laura tells people is a Tian invention. :)

At end of the night, Randy told me to keep the house key, so I can come home whenever I want.

This is yet. A Chocolate Amaretto Cake so moist and delicious that it lives up to the beautiful shape of the Williams and Sonoma bundt cake mold. This mold is so distractingly beautiful I have to bath in the compliments for a full minute (or more) before admitting that, no, I didn't chisel out the swirl one by one... But like I said, the cake is so good it doesn't even matter.

Libbie's Chocolate Amaretto Cake

1 package (18.25 ounces) plain devil's food cake mix

1 package (3.9 ounces) chocolate instant pudding mix

1/2 Cup vegetable oil

3/4 C whole milk

1/2 C water

1/4 C mayonnaise (can you believe it?!)

4 large eggs

1/4 C amaretto liqueur

1 tsp pure almond extract

1 C semisweet chocolate chips

Confectioner's sugar for garnish

1. Place rack in center of oven and preheat to 350 F. Mist 12 C bundt pan with veg oil spray and dust with flour. Shake out excess.

2. Place cake mix, pudding mix, milk, oil, water, mayo, eggs, amaretto, and almond extract in large bowl. Blend on low for 1 min. Scrape down sides. Increase speed and mix another 2 minutes more. Fold in chocolate chips. Pour into pan and smooth out.

3. Bake till cake springs back when lightly pressed, 53 to 56 minutes. Cool pan on rack for 20 minutes Invert and cool on rack.

4. Dust with powdered sugar or glaze.

They're pretty accurate with the baking time. Don't over bake!

I'm about to take the last test of my medical school career, I thought this moment is blog-worthy. The impending sense of doom and the butterflies in my stomach are all very familiar, like bad streets I've been forced to walk down too many times. Let's hope I make it through unscathed.

There are many "soft spots" in my heart; a special one is reserved for peacocks. They remind me of my grandfather and Sunday mornings all dressed up to go to the zoo. He said if I wear pretty dresses, the peacocks would be envious and spread their own feathers. I remember spinning around in front of their cage, showing off my dress, willing them to do the same...

When I saw these note cards in BnN, I had to get them... Just like the peacock dress from Banana, just like the peacock hair clip from China...

I met a boy with the cutest smile. The kind that elicits a mirrored happiness so spontaneous and true. I turn my head in his direction every chance I get and step into his path even when mine should not cross, only to see that smile once more. Just as quickly though, he turns the corner, walks away. Sometimes we turn our heads at the same time and I feel like the star in a French movie... minus the mist, minus the rain. But as he disappears out of sight I ask myself only one question -- did I just imagine that?

There is a certain sadness in reading old entries. I always try to recall the "past me" and compare it with the present. What changed? What hasn't? I find that my writing was so much more personal back then. I dared to put it out there more, not afraid to be corny. Now, I'm more guarded and aware. Just the other day I peeled off the Hello Kitty band aid because it seems not age-appropriate or work-appropriate or some other kind of inappropriateness (sorry, Maria).

Do you ever wonder how other people see you? I have this secret fear that I am completely off base when it comes to my perception of the persona I present forth every day. Of course I have asked my friends... but their answers are superficial. Maybe they don't want to tell me the truth. Maybe I tune out the truth because I don't want to accept it. Last night my friend said -- you're like a princess. What the ****?! I think he said it without giving it any thought, unaware of the effect it would have on me. I hate it when people do that!

I haven't studied for a test in quite awhile, dating back to Step II in September. That is why this Saturday morning, confronted by the upcoming Neurology exam next Friday, I find myself in an unfamiliar state of mind.

Am I... anxious about procrastinating?

I uploaded onto Facebook all the pictures I have been thinking of uploading, baked some short bread cookies, looked for cake recipes for my friend's birthday next week, dusted my computer keyboard, changed my blog format, updated my blog, re-read old blogs, and almost painted my finger nails...

Bobbie Flay was making mussels and fries (moules frites) on Throwdown yesterday and it only intensified my perpetual craving for mussels and fries. Since I can't drive to Houston for Cafe Rabelais or visit DC's Granville Moore, I called my friend for the closest best-thing: Cafe Degas. A most romantic French Bistro with covered balcony, twinkle lights, candles, and fresh flowers on every table. Nothing like harmless gossip and skinny, long golden fries dipped in savory fennel broth to chase away any weekday blue.

A French Quarter ghost tour leaves much to be wanted. My tour guide had cigarette in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a most circumferential speech pattern that makes me shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. My friend said - wow, I never realized how short your attention span is. For the rest of the night, I couldn't follow their conversation about the tour since I only paid attention to one single story about an Irish prostitute named "Marie". My friends wondered if I had gone on the same tour at all. :)

The tour starts at the Voodoo shop. Cost per person? 20 dollars.

It wasn't long before I needed a drink, or two, to get me through it.

Apparently this famous French Quarter restaurant is haunted... I can't tell you why, I wasn't paying attention to my tour guide.

Dinner, on the other hand, is a completely different story! Restaurant Stella! How could you not love a place with an exclamation mark in its name. The food isn't creole, isn't French, but rather Asian inspired. Edible art that is as delicious as it is beautiful, that is hard to come by outside of New Orleans.

I can't remember what this complimentary dish is, something with mango and lobster and taro on top... I do remember it was very delicious.

Lobster inside an egg? and truffles on top!

Spicy Asian Shrimp!

Scallops, Gulf shrimp, andouille potato hash, all in caviar butter....

Duck Five Ways! Foie Gras won tons especially received great reviews.

My favorite part of the meal: Banana Foster French Toast with candied walnut and plantains.

Just when we began to lament the end of dinner, nothing like complimentary coconut marsh mellows and softest dark truffles to cheer us up!

The end of another happy day playing tourist in the Big Easy! Yay!

Today is Fat Tuesday, the end of Carnival Season. I woke up at 6am to get ready for the last big parade by Rex, the oldest Krewe of all.

6pm. The TV is tuned to the local coverage of Mardi Gras. I'm feeling quite sad to see the end my first but hopefully not last MG experience.

The entire four years I've lived here, I have always left the city during Mardi Gras... Rotations, traveling, going home... The particular brand of "carnival" I associated with New Orleans has meant nothing more to me than bad traffic and more frequent than usual ambulance siren. So what was I missing? This year, while checking flights out, it occurred to me what a mistake it would be to leave my beloved city without ever experiencing its most (in)famous holiday. As soon as I thought of this, I couldn't bare to leave.

When navigating through chaos, the most important thing a person needs is an insider. I knew I found her when my friend's excited voice over the phone exclaimed "I love Mardi Gras and I LOVE to share my love of Mardi Gras with others."

Perfect! Share it with me!

Muses is an all women Krewe and their theme is always "shoes". It's a night time parade on a particularly chilly Thursday night. I wore my "almost" Mardi Gras coloured scarf and most comfortable walking shoes.

See these amazing shoe bracelets? You have no idea how hard I had to work to get one... Nothing indecent, of course. Just when I was about to give up, someone threw one at me. Please note the huge silver bead around my neck... A lot of hard work went into getting that one.

Rex is the early Tuesday morning parade. Never seen so many people so early so alert and ready to party!

This and a couple of pictures below are taken by my friend Sanyo... I have a serious case of camera envy.

Did they know it was the year of the Ox?

Why do we bother screaming and jumping for beads when they're EVERYWHERE?!

My beautiful parade buddies. Sanyo calmly took pictures while Thuy and I screamed silly for beads. I hung plenty around his neck though, as my own becomes quite heavy after awhile.

I did find the price for the dress. It was so high my heart hit the floor. It's insensible, even for my frivolous taste. That's the thing with Vogue. I have to keep that fantasy world separate from reality. It's dangerous when I start thinking "maybe if I don't eat or drink or buy anything for a year... I can buy this dress... so perfect for brunch..."

This dress in the latest Vogue reminds of the shirts I see my mom wearing in old photographs. Soft silk or chiffon that seems to move even in still frames, creating its own swirls of air. I am absolutely in love with it, and wish I could find a price tag to know how out of reach it really is.

Woody Allen looks old in the new Vanity Fair spread. Makes me sad...

I started Neurosurgery today. It wasn't bad at all. I'm waiting for my good luck to run out and the anticipation of doom is making me nauseous. I have to work very closely with someone that used to (but no longer) means the world to me, so it's important to keep a level head for the next two weeks. Must not revert back to old mistakes. I see people do it alllll the time. Must not be one of them.

Many years ago (four to be exact), my friend Michelle baked me a chocolate amaretto birthday cake so good it blew me away! I should have begged for the recipe right then and there except I never imagined that I would one day own a bundt pan. So... you can imagine how happy I was when she emailed me the recipe, with a surprise ingredient that I never would have thought of but could very well explain the magic of this cake. I'm going to make it before sharing the recipe, just in case my memory played a trick on me.

I'm not going to buy any more clothes no matter how lovely. I'm also going to stop buying cooking magazines and books until I've tried the ones in my recipe book, now bulging with clippings. I will, however, get the new Vogue... just soon as it comes out.

This Valentine's Day is bittersweet, just like the chocolate I used for my Chocolate Pomegranate Torte. The sweet part being my dear friend who threw a dinner party with lots of hearts and kisses. The bitter part being... well, you know who you are.

I can't help but recall the very first dinner party that ever took place in Thuy's apt, after the first test second year when we returned to New Orleans after Katrina. That was the first time I ever made bread pudding, with Thuy's recipe and supervision. To think that I almost chickened out and didn't think I had it in me to make a creamy custard.

For this dinner party, I decided to make the chocolate-pomegranate torte on the cover of December's FINE COOKING. My biggest fear when making any chocolate cake is that it turns out to be nothing more than a fancy brownie that took five hours to prepare. I had to fight every urge not to have a back-up chocolate cake, something safe and fluffy, preferably with buttermilk. But I know for my torte to even have a fighting chance against my friends' sweet-sensitive palates, it had to be the solo star of the dessert table.

So... I faithfully folded egg whites into the dense chocolate batter (72% cocoa); simmered, reduced, and strained pomegranate/cranberries to make a tart jelly; and early Saturday morning, I put a shiny dark glaze to cover the whole thing.

The end result, as you can see, is quite worth the labor. Something that tastes as pretty as it looks is a rare find. The sprinkle of fresh pomegranate seed makes it elegant yet sweet. And this glaze, while suspiciously shiny, still has the soft and earthy richness of fine dark chocolate.


The layer of pomegranate jelly between the torte and glaze is hard to see, but believe me its presence is quite necessary. A tartness to balance the bittersweet chocolate. The torte is actually quite moist, despite what this picture may show. Next time, I will use 70% chocolate instead of 72%. It turns out that had I read the article more carefully, I would have learned that darker the chocolate, the more crumbly and dry the cake will turn out to be.

The hand-dipped strawberries always look so heavenly in the Godiva store. So I bought some long-stemmed strawberries and made my own! Tuxedo styled. :)

Thuy... always the perfect hostess.

Doing the dishes... Not bad at all... :)