34,752 pages read in total this year.
66 Books
17 Non-Fiction
39 Fiction
I didn’t write a review for all the fiction books I read this year because that would be an issue with how fast I go through them – it would cut into time I needed for other things, so I only wrote posts for the non fiction books but here’s a quick video showing all the books I read this year – enjoy!
Some books feel like an invitation to sit down with a warm cup of tea and rethink how you’re spending your days. Ikigai and Kaizen by Anthony Raymond is one of those books, blending two Japanese philosophies—one about purpose, the other about continuous improvement—into a digestible, motivating, and (at times) delightfully blunt reflection on how to live better. It doesn’t yell at you to wake up at 5 AM, build an empire, or bench press your own fears. Instead, it nudges you toward a more sustainable path, one where meaningful progress doesn’t require burnout.
Let’s start with ikigai, a concept that gets thrown around in self-help circles like a magic key to happiness. At its core, it’s the idea that life is most fulfilling when you find the intersection between what you love, what you’re good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for. That sounds simple enough, but Raymond does a great job of cutting through the fluff that often surrounds this idea. He doesn’t just present ikigai as an aspirational concept; he actually shows how it functions in real life, beyond the neat little Venn diagrams you see on Pinterest. The book makes it clear that ikigai isn’t necessarily some grand, world-changing mission—it can be something as simple as crafting furniture, teaching kids, or even making the perfect cup of coffee. The key isn’t in the scale of your purpose but in its ability to get you out of bed with a sense of meaning.
And then there’s kaizen, which is basically the quieter, less flashy cousin of hustle culture. Instead of urging you to overhaul your life overnight, kaizen is all about making small, incremental improvements over time. Raymond highlights how this philosophy, originally developed in the world of Japanese business and manufacturing, can be just as effective in personal growth. The magic of kaizen is that it sidesteps the all-or-nothing mentality that so many self-improvement books unknowingly reinforce. You don’t need to run a marathon next week, launch a startup in six months, or achieve inner peace by next Tuesday. You just need to improve by a tiny fraction today—and then do the same tomorrow. The book argues (quite convincingly) that small changes, when sustained, add up to something far more powerful than sporadic bursts of motivation.
Where Raymond really shines is in his ability to weave these two concepts together without making them feel like another formulaic “life hack.” The interplay between ikigai and kaizen makes for a refreshing approach to personal development—one that doesn’t demand immediate, radical transformation but instead encourages alignment and steady refinement. If ikigai helps you figure out where you want to go, kaizen keeps you moving without the exhaustion of trying to sprint the entire way there.
The book is also refreshingly realistic. While some self-help books sell you the fantasy that anything is possible with the right mindset (as if positive thinking alone will suddenly make you a concert pianist), Raymond is more grounded. He acknowledges that finding ikigai isn’t always easy and that continuous improvement isn’t always linear. There are detours, setbacks, and moments where progress feels painfully slow. But that’s where kaizen becomes invaluable—it reminds you that even when things don’t go as planned, you can still take one small step forward.
Beyond its philosophical grounding, Ikigai and Kaizen is also just an enjoyable read. Raymond’s writing is straightforward without being dull, encouraging without being saccharine. He doesn’t just hand you motivational quotes and send you on your way—he gives you something practical to hold onto, something that doesn’t fall apart under the weight of real-life challenges.
So, what’s the big takeaway? If you’re looking for a book that tells you to quit your job, move to Bali, and find your bliss, this isn’t it. But if you’re interested in a book that respects the fact that you have responsibilities, challenges, and a complicated life—and still want to make meaningful, lasting change—this one’s worth your time. Ikigai and Kaizen isn’t about chasing an unattainable ideal; it’s about crafting a life that feels rich in purpose and growth, one small step at a time. And honestly, isn’t that a more sustainable way to get where we’re going?
Few dishes in Malaysian cuisine are as bold, complex, and soul-satisfying as Laksa—a rich, aromatic noodle soup that embodies the multicultural heritage of Malaysia. This dish is a culinary masterpiece, blending Chinese, Malay, and Indian influences into a bowl bursting with spices, coconut milk, tamarind, and fresh herbs.
Laksa is more than just a soup—it’s a symbol of regional diversity, with each Malaysian state boasting its own unique variation, from the spicy, coconut-rich Curry Laksa to the tangy, fish-based Asam Laksa. No matter the type, Laksa is a dish that warms the soul, excites the palate, and tells the story of Malaysia’s vibrant food culture.
Laksa’s origins can be traced back to the 15th and 16th centuries, when Malaysia was a bustling trade hub along the Spice Route. Chinese traders, known as the Peranakan (or Straits Chinese), settled in Malacca and Penang, intermarrying with the local Malay population. Their fusion of Chinese noodle dishes with Malay spices, herbs, and coconut milk gave birth to what we now know as Laksa.
Over time, Laksa evolved into regional variations, each reflecting the local flavors and ingredients of different Malaysian communities. While the dish has since spread to Singapore, Indonesia, and even Australia, Malaysia remains its true culinary heartland.
A creamy, spicy, coconut-based Laksa that is deeply comforting and indulgent.
Key Ingredients:
✔ Coconut milk – Gives the broth its signature richness.
✔ Laksa paste – A blend of chili, lemongrass, galangal, shrimp paste, and turmeric.
✔ Rice noodles – Typically thick vermicelli or flat rice noodles.
✔ Toppings – Chicken, shrimp, tofu puffs, fish cakes, and bean sprouts.
✔ Garnishes – Hard-boiled egg, fresh herbs, and a dollop of sambal chili.
This version is widely loved in Kuala Lumpur and Singapore, often served with spicy sambal on the side for an extra kick.
A bright, tangy, and slightly spicy version made with flaked mackerel and tamarind broth instead of coconut milk.
Key Ingredients:
✔ Tamarind and torch ginger flower – Give the broth a fragrant, sour complexity.
✔ Fish broth – Usually made with mackerel or sardines, adding deep umami.
✔ Thick rice noodles – Chewy and slippery, perfect for soaking up the broth.
✔ Fresh toppings – Cucumber, pineapple, mint, onions, and chili slices.
✔ Shrimp paste (belacan) – A must-have for the authentic, pungent depth.
Asam Laksa is Penang’s most famous dish, ranked as one of the world’s best dishes by CNN Travel. It offers an explosion of flavors, from the rich fishiness to the tangy tamarind and cooling fresh herbs.
A refined, slightly less spicy Laksa from Sarawak (Borneo), Malaysia, known for its balanced flavors and light coconut broth.
Key Ingredients:
✔ A complex broth made with prawns, chicken, and a medley of local spices.
✔ Light coconut milk, creating a silky but not overly heavy soup.
✔ Thin rice vermicelli noodles instead of thick ones.
✔ Prawns, shredded chicken, omelet slices, and bean sprouts.
Sarawak Laksa is less fiery than Curry Laksa but deeply aromatic and flavorful, sometimes called “Breakfast Laksa” due to its popularity in morning markets.
No matter the type, a bowl of Laksa is an intense, multi-layered experience:
Each spoonful is a perfect harmony of spice, sourness, sweetness, and umami, making Laksa one of Malaysia’s most addictive dishes.
Laksa is best enjoyed fresh, piping hot, and loaded with toppings.
In Malaysia, Laksa is often eaten at hawker stalls, where locals gather to slurp up the aromatic broth with chopsticks and a spoon.
Laksa has spread far beyond Malaysia, finding devoted fans in Singapore, Indonesia, Australia, and beyond. In places like Sydney and Melbourne, Laksa has become a beloved comfort food, often served with a modern twist.
Even in the West, restaurants are now incorporating Laksa’s bold flavors into fusion dishes, such as Laksa ramen, Laksa pasta, and even Laksa burgers!
✔ Bold & Complex Flavors – Each spoonful delivers a perfect balance of spice, creaminess, and tanginess.
✔ Deeply Rooted in Malaysian Culture – A dish that showcases Malaysia’s diverse food heritage.
✔ Versatile – From rich coconut Curry Laksa to tangy Asam Laksa, there’s a version for every taste.
✔ Comforting & Satisfying – Whether for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Laksa is deeply nourishing.
Laksa isn’t just a dish—it’s an experience that captures the heart of Malaysia’s culinary brilliance.
I’ve always like sketching and painting – when I was a kid my favorite class was art. I actually was good enough to get a few different scholarship offers to art school but was talked out of going and instead went into technology and the rest, they say, is history.
I have a few sketch pads on my shelves filled with honest efforts to start drawing and painting again but they usually only have a few pages in them before life just gets too busy and I need to start prioritizing where I spend my time. I’ve always wondered if downplaying the need to create is leading to a more stressful life as it’s one of the things I truly enjoy doing. However, I find myself in a cycle where I pick it up again, I suck at it, I keep trying and get some skills back, then put it away only to repeat this cycle the next time I feel the need to start drawing again.
So I thought if I forced myself to create 50 pieces of art this year I’d kickstart those old habits and maybe pick up something fun again. I didn’t limit it to sketching or drawing, I included things like videos but only if they required something creative (like rotoscoping, green screens, etc.)
As to what to draw? That actually was a bigger challenge. I searched out daily sketch idea websites and they seemed OK. I had a book ‘sketch with dad’ where my daughter and I would take turns drawing in the book and I did a bunch of directed draw videos with my son teaching him how to draw by following along with him.
One old sketchbook idea reared its head when I was digging out some old art books – I had planned to draw all the creatures in the D&D Monster Manual (original version, TYVM)I don’t know how long that project has been simmering but I thought hey – I need some inspiration on days when nothing else is working so I’d randomly pick a monster and then draw it using the book/websites as a source.
Here’s some things I learned: I absolutely suck at drawing human faces. I mean, it’s embarrassing how bad it is – like a knockoff version of the uncanny valley. One of the things I want to work on after this 50 for 50 thing is done is just drawing faces one after another until I can make a person not look like a homunculus.
That being said – I did enjoy drawing and even when it didn’t turn out good I learned something about proportion, anatomy, and texturing.
Embarking on a culinary journey to explore global cuisines is akin to unlocking a treasure trove of flavors, traditions, and stories from around the world—all within the confines of your own kitchen. It’s an adventure that transcends mere cooking; it’s about immersing oneself in diverse cultures, understanding their histories, and appreciating the unique ingredients that define their culinary identities.
Diving into unfamiliar recipes can be both exhilarating and humbling. There’s a certain thrill in sourcing exotic spices you’ve never encountered before or mastering a cooking technique that’s entirely new to you. Each dish becomes a lesson, not just in culinary arts, but in geography, history, and anthropology. It’s a hands-on way to experience the world, one plate at a time.
I first thought lets make it 50 countries I’ve never cooked a dish from before but when I checked my notes I saw that would make this pretty much impossible as I’ve been picking various dishes to cook from other countries for years and if I limited it that way I’d be hamstringing myself. I did set a rule that where I could, I would make something new from that country instead of repeating a dish (I broke this rule with Italy since I’ve been cooking Italian food my whole life and I’d need to dig deep to find something)
The first 10-15 countries were easy as I zeroed in on the most popular cuisines globally and did some light research to find dishes that were representative of that country. It was fun learning about why each food was relevant and cross referencing different recipes to see if there’s a common consensus (ChatGPT is great for this task) once I got past those low hanging fruits I actually found a few websites that would let you randomly pick a country and I rolled the proverbial dice each week and tried to cook a dish from whatever country it landed on (hence some of the more esoteric choices)
Most of the time I was able to identify a dish that was representative and source the ingredients locally but sometimes I had to special order ingredients for more exotic dishes which was fun as then I’d have to try to find a use for those ingredients after I made the dish (Soups, it was all soups)
I kept track of the countries via a map API in my google sheet and it was fun watching the countries fill in as I made each dish.
In essence, learning to cook new foods and experimenting with diverse ingredients is a celebration of cultural diversity and a testament to the unifying power of food. It’s an invitation to step out of your culinary comfort zone, to taste the world, and to bring a piece of it into your home. So, don your apron, gather those exotic spices, and embark on a gastronomic adventure that promises to enrich both your palate and your understanding of the world.
f the 1900s produced a single album that defined not just a moment, not just a movement, but the entire human condition, it’s What’s Going On. This isn’t just Marvin Gaye’s masterpiece—it’s the masterpiece. It’s the album that took soul, R&B, and protest music and wove them together so seamlessly, so beautifully, that you almost forget it was born out of pure heartbreak and rage. It’s the most important album of its time, and the most hauntingly relevant album of ours.
Before What’s Going On, Marvin Gaye was Motown royalty—the voice behind silky, romantic hits like “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” But by 1971, he wasn’t in the mood for love songs. His brother had just come back from Vietnam, traumatized. The country was in turmoil—civil rights protests, police brutality, poverty, an endless war overseas. And Marvin himself was in crisis, mourning the death of Tammi Terrell and questioning everything, from his music to his faith to the very country he called home. Instead of giving the world another Motown hit, he gave them this: an album that asked the hardest, simplest question of all—what’s going on?
It starts with the title track, and from the first notes, you realize this isn’t just a song—it’s a spiritual awakening. Those saxophones don’t just play, they breathe. The layered, conversational vocals sound like ghosts speaking from another dimension. Marvin’s voice is smooth, pleading, aching as he delivers the line that still echoes half a century later: “You know we’ve got to find a way, to bring some lovin’ here today.” It’s not just a protest song—it’s a prayer.
Then comes “What’s Happening Brother,” a song so intimate it feels like a letter home from war. It’s about Marvin’s brother, yes, but it’s also about every soldier, every displaced person, every lost soul trying to find their way back to a country that no longer feels like home. And just when you think the album can’t get heavier, “Flyin’ High (In the Friendly Sky)” slides in, a devastating, jazz-soaked meditation on addiction, delivered so delicately that it almost feels like floating—until you realize it’s really about falling.
The genius of What’s Going On is that it never stops moving. The songs flow into one another, seamlessly, like a single unbroken thought. “Save the Children” is a desperate cry for the future, “God Is Love” is a hymn disguised as a groove, and then we hit the track—“Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology).” Who else, in 1971, was making environmental protest music and making it sound this good? It’s as smooth as silk but as urgent as a siren, and the fact that it still applies today, maybe even more than it did then, is either proof of its timeless brilliance or an indictment of everything we’ve failed to fix.
And then there’s “Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler),” the album’s haunting, gut-punch of a finale. It’s not just a song—it’s an entire system breaking down in real time. Marvin lays it all bare: crime, poverty, war, systemic injustice. And yet, the groove is hypnotic. He’s telling us the truth, but he’s making sure we feel it. When that final, ghostly reprise of “What’s Going On” fades out, it feels less like the end of an album and more like a warning: this isn’t over.
Culturally, What’s Going On didn’t just shake the world—it changed it. It forced Motown to grow up. It paved the way for artists like Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield, and Prince to be as socially conscious as they were musically innovative. It made soul music deeper, richer, more urgent. And five decades later, it still stands as the single greatest artistic statement ever made about America’s struggles—because tragically, so many of those struggles still exist.
There are albums that define genres. There are albums that define generations. And then there’s What’s Going On—the album that defines humanity itself. It’s the pinnacle of the 20th century, not because of its influence (though that’s undeniable), not because of its sonic brilliance (though it’s flawless), but because it speaks to something bigger than music. It’s the album that asks the right questions, the album that dares to care, the album that never stops being true.
And if we’re still asking what’s going on in the 21st century, maybe it’s because we still need to listen.
Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker isn’t just a war movie—it’s a 131-minute stress test for your central nervous system. This isn’t one of those big, sweeping, patriotic spectacles where war is just a backdrop for heroism, camaraderie, and some dude writing sentimental letters home while soft orchestral music swells. No, this is war as pure, undiluted anxiety. This is war as an abusive relationship between a man and a bomb suit. This is war where every trash bag, abandoned car, and suspiciously placed goat could be the last thing you ever see. And the best part? You get to spend all of it inside the increasingly unhinged mind of Staff Sergeant William James, played with reckless brilliance by Jeremy Renner.
Renner’s James is not your typical movie soldier. He’s not here to brood about the morality of war or deliver grand monologues about duty and sacrifice. No, this man treats bomb disposal the way a daredevil treats BASE jumping, except instead of a parachute, he has a pair of wire cutters and a questionable amount of impulse control. He’s the guy who looks at a bomb that could level a city block and thinks, “I wonder how close I can get before this thing turns me into confetti.” He sweats adrenaline, makes every safety protocol weep, and approaches each explosive like it just insulted his mother. The man is addicted to war, which the movie kindly reminds us is “a drug.” Yeah, no kidding.
And while James is out here treating life like a Call of Duty lobby, his team—played by Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty—spends most of the movie vacillating between barely concealed terror and wanting to punch him in the face. Mackie’s Sanborn is the no-nonsense professional who, shockingly, does not appreciate James’ bomb-defusing-by-vibes-only approach. Meanwhile, Geraghty’s Eldridge is the poor guy who looks like he wandered into this war zone by accident and now can’t figure out how to leave. Their dynamic is basically “daredevil maniac and the two exhausted guys who have to keep him from dying,” which would be hilarious if it weren’t also completely terrifying.
But what really makes The Hurt Locker stand out isn’t just the tension—it’s how relentlessly it drags you into the chaos. Bigelow’s direction makes you feel like you’re right there in the dirt, sweating through your shirt, wondering if the old man watching you from a rooftop is just a guy enjoying the sunset or someone about to set off an IED with his Nokia brick phone. The handheld camerawork, the rapid cuts, the eerie silence that hangs in the air right before everything goes to hell—it all adds up to a film that doesn’t just depict war; it immerses you in it.
And yet, for all its high-octane suspense, The Hurt Locker isn’t about action—it’s about obsession. It’s about how, for some people, the war never really ends, even when they leave the battlefield. James might be able to dismantle bombs with his bare hands, but he can’t dismantle the part of himself that craves the rush. There’s a moment near the end where he stands in a grocery store aisle, staring blankly at an endless row of cereal boxes, completely lost. The choices are overwhelming. The stakes are non-existent. There’s no life-or-death tension, no adrenaline, no purpose. He looks more afraid in that moment than he does when he’s facing down a car bomb. Because the truth is, war is the only place he truly feels alive.
So yeah, The Hurt Locker is a masterpiece, but it’s the kind of masterpiece that leaves you slightly nauseous, vaguely anxious, and questioning whether you should have watched something with talking animals instead. It’s a film that doesn’t glorify war, but it does understand the terrifying allure of it. It grabs you by the collar, drags you into the dirt, and doesn’t let go until you’re just as rattled as the men on screen. And if you somehow make it through the whole thing without stress-eating an entire bag of chips, congratulations—you’re either a robot or William James himself.
Borscht (борщ) is Ukraine’s national dish, a rich, deeply flavorful beet soup that has been enjoyed for centuries. Known for its brilliant red color, complex sweet-sour taste, and nourishing ingredients, borscht is more than just food—it is a symbol of Ukrainian identity, hospitality, and resilience.
Though variations of borscht exist across Eastern Europe and Russia, Ukraine is widely recognized as its true birthplace. Each Ukrainian household has its own unique version, passed down through generations, making borscht both deeply personal and culturally significant.
Borscht has been a staple of Ukrainian cuisine since at least the 14th century, originating in Kyivska Rus’ (modern-day Ukraine and surrounding regions). Originally, borscht was made with hogweed (борщівник, borshchivnyk), a wild plant that gave the soup its name. Over time, beets replaced hogweed, creating the signature red color and slightly sweet flavor that defines modern borscht.
During the Soviet era, borscht was promoted as a pan-Slavic dish, but Ukrainians have always fiercely defended it as their national culinary treasure. In 2022, UNESCO officially recognized Ukrainian borscht as part of Ukraine’s cultural heritage, affirming its deep historical roots and cultural significance.
Borscht is a beet-based soup, often made with a rich meat broth, root vegetables, cabbage, and sour flavors like vinegar or fermented beet kvass.
Some versions also include beans, mushrooms, or smoked meat, depending on regional traditions and personal preference.
Borscht is richly complex, deeply satisfying, and uniquely balanced:
The flavors intensify overnight, making borscht even better the next day.
Borscht is enjoyed year-round, served either hot in winter or chilled in summer (Kholodnyk borscht).
Borscht is best enjoyed slowly, savoring its deep, layered flavors, often accompanied by a warm conversation among family or friends.
Though borscht is deeply Ukrainian, variations exist in neighboring countries:
Despite its regional variations, Ukrainian borscht remains the gold standard, with its perfect balance of richness, acidity, and sweetness.
✔ Deep, Complex Flavor – A perfect harmony of sweet, sour, and savory.
✔ Nutritious & Hearty – Packed with vitamins, fiber, and protein.
✔ A Cultural Symbol – Represents Ukrainian resilience and national pride.
✔ Versatile & Customizable – Can be made meaty, vegetarian, hot, or cold.
✔ Perfect for Sharing – A warm, communal dish enjoyed by generations.
Borscht is not just a soup—it’s a story, a tradition, and a taste of Ukraine’s soul. 🇺🇦
olos Lêvedos are sweet, fluffy, and lightly golden Portuguese muffins originating from the Azores, particularly the island of São Miguel. These yeast-raised, pan-cooked breads are similar in texture to English muffins but sweeter and softer, making them a beloved treat for breakfast, snacks, or as a sandwich bread.
Unlike traditional baked bread, Bolos Lêvedos are cooked on a griddle or iron pan, giving them their signature golden crust and tender interior. Whether enjoyed warm with butter, jam, or paired with savory fillings like cheese and ham, these slightly sweet, pillowy-soft breads are a staple in Portuguese households and bakeries.
Bolos Lêvedos date back centuries to the Portuguese Azores, a volcanic archipelago in the Atlantic Ocean. These islands have a strong bread-making tradition, with Bolos Lêvedos likely developing as a simpler alternative to oven-baked bread in home kitchens, where large ovens were not always available.
Over time, São Miguel Island became famous for these sweet griddle muffins, which were originally made for special occasions, religious festivals, and family gatherings. Today, Bolos Lêvedos remain a symbol of Azorean baking and are popular throughout Portugal and even Portuguese communities abroad.
Bolos Lêvedos are round, slightly flattened bread rolls made from a lightly sweetened, yeasted dough, then cooked on a griddle instead of baked.
Bolos Lêvedos have a unique texture and flavor:
These muffins are not overly sweet, making them versatile for both savory and sweet pairings.
Bolos Lêvedos can be enjoyed in many ways, making them a go-to bread for any meal.
Some modern recipes even use Bolos Lêvedos as burger buns, adding a sweet, soft contrast to savory fillings.
✔ Light, Sweet, and Fluffy – A unique cross between bread and a muffin.
✔ Versatile – Can be enjoyed with sweet or savory toppings.
✔ Easy to Make at Home – No oven needed, just a griddle or pan.
✔ A Taste of the Azores – A classic dish that reflects Portuguese island heritage.
✔ Perfect for Any Time of Day – Great for breakfast, snacks, or sandwiches.
Whether enjoyed on São Miguel Island or in a Portuguese café, Bolos Lêvedos are a taste of Azorean tradition and home-baked warmth.
Dublin Coddle is a rich, slow-cooked stew made with sausages, bacon, potatoes, and onions, originating from Dublin, Ireland. Known as a working-class meal, this dish has been enjoyed for centuries, especially on cold evenings or after a night at the pub.
Unlike the more famous Irish stew (which uses lamb or beef), Dublin Coddle is a celebration of pork, using ingredients that were commonly available in Irish households. The slow simmering process allows the flavors to meld beautifully, creating a dish that is simple, hearty, and deeply comforting.
The origins of Dublin Coddle date back to at least the 18th century, when it became a staple of working-class families in Dublin. The name “Coddle” comes from the cooking method—slowly simmering ingredients in a pot (coddling), allowing them to become tender and flavorful.
Historically, this dish was a practical way to use up leftovers, particularly sausages and rashers (bacon). Since it could be left to simmer for hours, it became a popular meal for Irish families on Thursday nights, when Catholic households avoided eating meat the following day (Friday).
Dublin Coddle is also famously associated with Irish writers like Jonathan Swift and James Joyce, who referenced it in their works, reinforcing its status as a true Dublin classic.
Dublin Coddle is a simple but flavorful dish, made by slow-cooking pork sausages, thick-cut bacon, potatoes, and onions in a broth until everything is soft and infused with savory goodness.
Some modern versions include carrots, garlic, or even Guinness for extra depth of flavor, but the classic Dublin Coddle remains simple and rustic.
Dublin Coddle is a dish of deep, slow-cooked flavors:
Unlike stews that rely on herbs and spices, Dublin Coddle’s flavors come from the quality of its ingredients, making it a truly satisfying and comforting dish.
Dublin Coddle is typically served straight from the pot, with its flavorful broth soaking into the ingredients.
Dublin Coddle is best enjoyed on a chilly evening, at a family gathering, or after a night out, making it one of Ireland’s most comforting and traditional dishes.
✔ Simple, Rustic, and Hearty – Uses basic ingredients to create deeply satisfying flavors.
✔ Rich in Irish History – A dish that has been loved in Dublin for centuries.
✔ Perfect for Cold Weather – Warm, filling, and ideal for chilly evenings.
✔ One-Pot Wonder – Easy to make, requiring minimal effort.
✔ Authentic Irish Pub Fare – Found in Dublin pubs and home kitchens alike.
Whether you’re enjoying it in a cozy Dublin pub or cooking it at home, Dublin Coddle is a true taste of Ireland. 🇮🇪
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