#I did everything right for it too. Measured the leaves to water ratio. put it on the right tenperature setting. set a timer so it didnt

[gaydivorcetual]

found a passion fruit green tea... is this the start of my tea loving journey?

[please-return-to-villanelle]

Dani and Jamie fluff anyone?

Cafe AU

Title: Steepingly Splendid

Read below or check it out on AO3

Taking writing prompts for one-shots, send them my way if you want some more content about these two!

Jamie never considered herself an adventurous woman. Sure, she was a bit of a wild thing back in her youth, but as she settled into adult hood, she came to realize that routine and stability were essential to her own happiness. She worked her entire life to achieve this.

As a teenager, she escaped a dysfunctional home environment by fleeing her small town in the middle of rural nowhere opting to take up residence in London. While adapting to urban life, Jamie met Owen, a boy with a heart of gold. He soon became her chosen family and life-long friend. Together, they opened a café in the heart of the city.

Jamie and Owen made quite the dynamic duo. Jamie took on the roles of business manager and barista freeing up Owen to pursue his love of cooking by experimenting with pastry recipes sold at the shop. Needless to say, Owen’s creations were a massive success. Customers lined up around the block before opening salivating at the mouth for Owen’s baked goods. Jamie was able to supplement these goodies with a proper cuppa and collect their cash, of course.

The shop managed to make a humble profit during the first year which enabled them to live a comfortable life in London. Over time, they fell into a comfortable routine. Everything was nice and boring, albeit a little hectic the more popular the “Steepingly Splendid Café” became. Their solution was hiring a new employee to help Jamie carry the extra day to day work while Owen focused on crafting his famous baked goods.

Desperate for help, they hired the first qualified applicant on the spot. She was an American woman named Dani Clayton, newly arrived in London with a fierce determination to serve others and genuine drive to make people happy.  Jamie secretly suspected Owen hired her because he was desperate for a co-worker that actually enjoyed his love of puns.

Over the next week, Dani trained with Owen on the register. She seemed to take to it very quickly and even managed to deliver Owen’s signature appreciative catch phrase to customers with a straight face, “We appreciate your business a latte!”

Dani was capable of running the register solo in a matter of hours. Over the next few days, Dani worked along aside Jamie allowing Owen to spend less time in the front of the shop and more time in the kitchen experimenting with batters, doughs, and jams.  

Jamie felt a familiarity working with Dani despite never having a formal “get to know you” conversation with her. They worked seamlessly in tandem, as if Dani had always been there. At the end of the week, Owen and Jamie decided it was time to expand Dani’s skillset into full-fledged barista. They were hopeful the young American would catch on to brewing drinks as easily as she did to processing payments and charming customers.

To say Dani did not take easily to this, was an understatement.

It was as if her ancestors had desecrated a tea grove many moons ago making it impossible for Dani to make a drinkable cup of tea to save her soul. The moment she touched the leaves, everything went to hell. Truth be told, Jamie felt sympathy for the girl. She was clearly trying to get it right but was becoming more discouraged with each failed brew.

Dani poured the latest catastrophe down the sink. She rested her hands along the edge of the sink, body slumped forward as she released ragged breathes with her eyes shut. Jamie felt a sudden urge to do something, anything to comfort Dani. Seeing her defeated left an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. In her indecision, she shifted closer to Dani’s side. The sulking woman must have spotted her out of the corner of her eye. Dani quickly composed herself, trying to brush off her disappointment.

“Well, I guess tea isn’t really my thing.” Dani mumbled, the shakiness in her voice was not lost on Jamie. The underlying tone of sadness tugged at Jamie’s heart. In all the time that Dani has been around, she was like a constant ray of sunshine bringing laughter and joy to the café. Jamie was determined to restore Dani’s sunny disposition she had become increasingly fond of over the past week.

Jamie shrugged trying to convey an air of nonchalance. “It’s to be expected really. You did just come over from America and all. Yanks aren’t exactly famous for making proper tea.” Dani let out a genuine laugh, her posture straightening. She swiveled her head looking at Jamie with an appreciatively, flashing her pearly whites. Jamie felt a fluttering in her chest very much encouraged by Dani’s response to her lighthearted joke.

“Ha, I guess all those years across the pond put me at a disadvantage, huh?” Jamie couldn’t fight back the dopey grin that was surely plastered all over her face as Dani poorly mocked her cockney accent. It was adorable.

“Damn right. We’ve got to knock the bad habits out of ya. Turn you in into a proper Brit if you’re up for it?” Jamie quipped.

Dani’s smile grew wide enough to reach her eyes. “I’d like that.”

“All right. Brewing boot camp is officially under way.”

The timing worked out perfectly. It was their med-afternoon lull. Jamie made an arrangement with Owen to man the front of the shop and deal with customers while she took over the back half of the shop to teach Dani the art of tea making. Before getting started, Dani pulled out a pocket-sized note pad for which she scribbled copious noted throughout their lesson determined to get this right.

“All right,” Jamie began, “first thing is first. We have to boil the water.” She handed over the kettle to Dani, who proceeded to fill up the container until Jamie told her to stop. Then Jamie directed her over to the burner. Dani placed down the kettle, switched on the gas awaiting her next instruction.

“Perfect,” Jamie said. “Now we wait until it gives us the warning whistle. In the meantime, we gather the leaves.”

Dani scrunched her face in confusion, “I thought tea came in little baggies?”

Jamie smiled holding back laughter, “Well good thing I’m here to set things straight.” Jamie could have sworn she saw the hint of a creeping blush spreading across Dani’s cheeks. She brushed it off, blaming the warmth coming from the stove, and focused back to the task at hand.

Jamie grabbed a tin container of earl grey from the selection of tea on the shelves. She placed it on the counter alongside a ceramic tea kettle. She measured out the amount of tea to make a single cup placing it in the kettle. Dani watched with focused attention scribbling on her note pad, hanging on Jamie’s every word. Jamie explained a proper cuppa was all about balancing the type of tea leaves with the optimal water to leave ratio and timing out the steeping part just right. All were crucial for extracting the all the flavor notes. Dani nodded in understanding while scribbling on her pad. Once Jamie was convinced Dani had the methods down, she grabbed a second kettle instructing Dani to brew up her own batch.

Dani poked her tongue out in concentration as she measured the tea exactly as Jamie had done before, her slender nimble fingers delicately weighing the leaves placing them with care inside the kettle. Her glowing smiled warmed Jamie’s insides.

“Not bad for a yank.” Jamie commented.

“Thanks,” Dani beamed at the compliment.

Jamie was forced to tear her gaze from the captivating blonde when the kettle began singing its tune indicating the water was ready. Dani’s eyes lit up with excitement. She rushed over to the kettle placing her hand on the handle to remove it from the stove. Jamie didn’t have time to warn her before the blonde jumped back.

“Owwww!” She howled in pain. On instinct, Jamie grabbed Dani by the wrist ushering her to the sink. She turned the faucet on full blast submerging Dani’s burnt digits under the cool stream of water.

Owen, recognizing what was happening, ran to the stove turning off the range and disappeared into the back office emerging seconds later with a first aid kit. He left it one the counter next to Jamie and pop back up front to attend to a newly arriving customer.

Jamie barely noticed what was going on around her. She was singularly focused on Dani. Her breathing was ragged but calming as her hand cooled off. After a few seconds, Jamie turned off the water. She pulled Dani’s hand closer to inspect the damage which thankfully was minimal. Pink slender fingers angry from their encounter with the hot kettle but all skin intact without any hint of forming blisters. Jamie released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“I’m so sorry Dani I should have warned you sooner to use a rag. That kettle gets wicked hot.”

“I-it’s ok.” Dani practically whispered. Jamie was so focused on tending to her injury, she didn’t realize how physically close they’d become. She could feel Dani’s body heat radiating off her from the close proximity. Dani must have noticed this too but made no attempt to move away.

Jamie shook her head, “It’s not ok. How am I supposed to teach you the right way to do things if I’m flat out putting you in harm’s way?” She looked back up from Dani’s scalded hand held gingerly within her own meeting Dan't eye line. Jamie was mesmerized by Dani’s piercing blue eyes, her lips quivering slightly as if she were also processing a million thoughts and feelings in this very moment. A stray lock of golden hair cascaded across the side of her face. Without thinking, Jamie tucked it behind Dani’s ear gently brushing the side of her face.

Dani’s breath hitched. “Well there is one thing you could do?” She said breathlessly.

“You name it.” Jamie said her voice sounded small, unsure of what was to come next. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Dani, “You could kiss it and make it all better?”

The pounding in Jamie’s chest ceased for a beat. Her body tensed and palms felt clammy.  Unsure if this was cardiac arrest or the comings of a panic attack, she tried her best to process what Dani just said; but before she could do that, Dani ripped her injured hand from Jami’s grasp, stammering at the speed of light.

“I-I didn’t mean it like-, I mean, I just asked you to, to. Oh boy. F-forget I said anything, anything at all.”

Fortunately, Dani’s incoherent word vomit was cut short by Owen’s arrival. “Here you go! Ice cubes in a towel to the rescue.” He extended the offering to Dani who accepted, placing it into her injured hand.

“Th-thank you.” She said flashing Owen an appreciative smile and then casting a nervous glance in Jamie’s direction. Desperate to make things less awkward, Jamie wracked her brain for something, anything to say. Her mind was blank. All she could do was feel Dani’s presence clouding her thoughts, her last request to “kiss her” replaying over and over in her mind. With each passing second, it became more and more apparent that her innocent crush on this girl ran much deeper than she initially thought.

“Does it hurt?” Jamie eventually managed to ask, relieved her mind caught up to the the present.

“A little,” Dani whispered, “the ice is soothing.”

Owen beamed with pride. “It seems that was just what you kneaded.” Jamie rolled her eyes as he laughed at his own joke along with Dani.

They decided to try and salvage the rest of the day’s tea lessons the best they could. Jamie performed the functions of making tea while Dani observed taking copious notes. The two of them continued this teaching method until Dani’s hand healed. Over the course of the following week, Dani became more confident with her tea making skills. Her hand fully healed after a few days of icing and resting. She was able to go through the entire process on her own. She even received a few compliments from the customers. Owen even sampled as an impartial third party claiming her brew was “Tea-riffic.”

“Look at you, whipping up tea like you’ve lived her your whole life.” Jamie’s insides performing summersaults as Dani smiled at her like an angel.

“Well, I had an excellent teacher.” Dani said.

“Is that so?” Jamie replied leaning casually against the counter.

“Yeah, she’s a proper Brit and everything.” Dani was inching closer, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. A nervous habit Jamie picked up on during their tea brewing lessons. “She’s seems tough on the outside like she could take on the entire world if she wanted to, but deep down she’s a softy who cares a lot more than she lets on.” Jamie felt her face flush at the insightful compliment. She tried to brush it off by playing it cool which would have worked if Owen hadn’t interjected his own commentary.

“You can even say her caring for others is her special-tea.” Owen chimed in.

Jamie tossed a day-old pastry in his direction. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Owen captured the fumbling pastry, brushing crumbs off his jumper. He leaned over into Dani’s space whispering loud enough for Jamie to overhear. “Be wary of this one. Hell, hath no fury like a woman sconed.”

Jamie rolled her eyes in faux annoyance while Dani giggled in comradery with Owen.

Owen slung his bag over his shoulder heading for the front door before Jamie could retaliate with another pastry toss. “Well ladies I hate to leave you when I’m on a roll like this,” winking over his shoulder at Dani. “but my baking experiments are calling me home. Try to not let anything go a rye! Chow!”

Owen mercifully exited the building leaving Dani and Jamie to man the shop for the rest of the afternoon. “That has to be some kind of world record for most puns about cafés said in a bloody café.” Jamie uttered, grabbing a damp rag to wipe down the counters.

Dani smiled, “His commitment is impressive. Any other lessons for today?”

Jamie grinned as an idea popped into her head. She discarded the towel haphazardly on the counter opting to swagger over to espresso machine.

“Well, since you’re an American and all, we can skip the basics of brewing coffee and move onto something a bit more fun.” The metallic machine grumbling to life after she pressed the on button.

Dani’s eyes shifted nervously. “O-ok. What did you have in mind?”

Jamie grabbed a bar stool from the dining section. She placed it adjacent to the espresso machine tapping the seat as an invitation for Dani to sit. The angelic blonde settled into the seat, moving to take out her notepad and pen. Jamie tugged on the sleeve of her denim jacket. Danie froze, staring at her like a deer in headlights.

“You won’t be needing that.” She said in reference to the pad and pen, “Just want you to watch for now, ok?” Dani visibly relaxed. She stashed the writing instrument and tiny pad in her coat pocket. “Ok. I’m ready.”

Jamie beamed with excitement. This was her chance to show off in front of the woman that was occupying most of her daily thoughts. She streamed a single shot of espresso from the silver machine into a tall white mug and then placed next to Dani. Next, she poured a healthy amount of milk into a steel pitcher which she placed underneath the steaming wand frothing the milk. Jamie could feel Dani’s gaze with every action. It was intoxicating. Once she had the right velvety consistency, she turned her attention back to the attractive blonde woman memorized by her every movement.

Jamie looked at Dani. Tilting her head from side to side to mulling over which creation she should start with. Dani squirmed in her seat twirling her hair to dispel her nerves under Jamie’s scrutiny.

“Ahh, got it!” She said, struck with inspiration. Jamie tilted her head towards the mug as silent instruction for Dani to observe. She was enthralled as Jamie poured the frothed milk, twisting and turning the mug until her creation came to life. Her heart fluttered in her chest when Dani’s eyes widened in awe.

“Is that a tulip?” Dani asked.

“It is. You mentioned they were your favorite flower. What do ya think?” Jamie asked.

“It’s.. It’s just so, so..” Dani stammered unable to fully express herself.

“Brew-tea-ful?” Jamie supplemented with a lopsided grin. She was hopeful Dani would appreciate her play on words she spent way too much time coming up with in order to casually drop into one of their conversations.

Dani’s smile widened, a rosy tinge gracing her cheeks. “Yes, it really is.” The huskiness of her tone coupled with the small bit her bottom lip left Jamie weak in the knees. She swallowed a dry lump in the back of her throat, tearing her gaze from Dani’s lips.

“Think you’re up for cultivating your own flower?” Jamie asked, dangling the pitcher of frothed milk. Dani shot up like an excited child. She snatched the pitcher, grinning from ear to ear and nodding up and down with enthusiasm. Jamie poured out another shot of espresso into a tall mug and slide the brew across the counter in front of Dani.

Dani poked her tongue out in concentration as she assumed her ready position. Her body frozen with the steel container hovering over the fresh coffee. After a few seconds of stillness, Jamie felt like something was off.

“Is everything all right?” Jamie asked, concern creeping into her voice.

Dani sheepishly replied, “I-I don’t know how to start. Could you show me again?” Dani pivoted her torso, offering the milk vessel to Jamie

Jamie smiled. “We learn best by doing not watching. I’ll guide you as a compromise.” Dani nodded in agreement resuming her position of hovering the milk above the mug. Jamie moved to stand behind Dani. She placed her right hand over Dani’s hand steadying the steel pitcher with the other, she grabbed the mug.

“Is this ok?” Jamie asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” Dani said breathlessly.

“Ok, now place your free hand on top of mine.” Her smooth skin brushing across Jamie’s fingers sending a pleasant shiver along her spine before finally settling her hand on top of Jamie’s, clasping the mug. Jamie released a shaky breath inadvertently tickling the nape of Dani’s neck causing her beautiful blue eyes to flutter. As if on instinct, Dani settled back slightly into Jamie’s body. The pleasant scent of lavender invading her nostrils from the close proximity.

“Ok,” Jamie managed through controlled breathes, “Focus on feeling the motions.” She proceeded to recreate the foam flower. Moving the pitcher up and down as she poured the stream into the mug, while twisting the mug from side to side. Dani moved in tandem, her arms hovering and hips swaying as they nurtured the tulip to life. Once it was finished, Jamie placed both containers on the counter. She relinquished her hold on Dani’s hands and took a full step back. The distance allowed the fogginess in her mind to clear and the thrumming in her chest to quiet.

Dani picked up the mug examining their creation. Her fingers tapped nervously along the ceramic. She turned to Jamie, her face flush. “Well I certainly felt that.”

There was something about they way she said it that made Jamie’s heart swell with confirmation that this attraction wasn’t one sided. Jamie mustered her courage. “Dani…”

As soon as she said something, the doorbell rung indicating the arrival of a new customer. Dani jumped at the sound, walking swiftly to the register to greet the young couple that arrived. Jamie excused herself shutting herself inside the single stall bathroom for a much-needed moment of peace. She ran cold water over her face to calm down.

They didn’t revisit this conversation. Instead they fell back into their in tandem working routine. Dani took advantage of lulls to perfect her coffee art. This continued for the rest of the week. Everything was nice and boring just as Jamie had always liked, just as she had always preferred. That is, until Dani Clayton waltzed into her life filling her days with happiness and excitement.

Over the weekend, Dani was all Jamie could think about. She was so desperate to unburden the weight of her feelings, she rung Owen to talk it all over. He confessed he sensed this was what was going on all along, having known her for years. He had never seen her look this happy around another person and encouraged her to go with her heart on this one.

On Monday, Jamie arrived at the shop a full hour before they were scheduled to open. As business manager, she was responsible for receiving early shipments which typically arrived first thing Monday morning. She walked through the door into the dimly lit café, the blinds still drawn. She was confounded to find a light was left on in the shop and even more perplexed to find an apron clad beauty behind the counter.

“You know your shift doesn’t start for another hour, right?” Jamie asked walking towards the counter.

Dani ran a hand through her hair, “I-I know that. I also knew that you would be here at this time.”

“Oh.” Jamie said stopping dead in her tracks.

“Yeah,” Dani proceeded, waving Jamie behind the counter, “I don’t like how we left things the other day and so I feltlike I had to do something about that.”

Jamie approached Dani. “And what exactly is it you had to do?”

Dani smiled, “Be brave, for once.” She side stepped a few paces revealing several coffee mugs lined single file up along the counter. Jamie approached the mugs and saw, a question spelt out in frothed milk “K-I-S-S-?”

Jamie felt a gleeful smile spreading across her face. She must have looked like a smitten teenager which is precisely how she felt. “Who knew you were such a flirt?”

Dani quirked her eyebrow in amusement. “Is that a yes.”

Jamie stepped into Dani’s space leaning in, ghosting her lips, “Yes.”

Dani closed the distance between them capturing Jamie’s lips. It was brief like both women were testing the waters, getting to know each other. It was electrifying.

They broke apart, resting their foreheads together. Jamie snaked her arms securely around Dani’s waste pulling her in closer. As if on instinct, Dani wrapped her arms around Jamie’s neck holding her steady in place.

“And here I was working up the nerve to ask you out to dinner.” Jamie whispered.

They shared a laugh swaying in the café at Jamie’s admission.

“We should do that too.” Dani hummed. “After all, Owen owes me 10 pounds. We could put it towards out first date.”

Jamie felt butterflies in her stomach at Dani’s casual use of the word date which was replaced by confusion as to Owen’s role in all of this.

“Why does Owen owe you money?” Jamie asked out of curiosity.

Dani pulled back smiling in triumph. “He lost a bet with me. I have proof that you do secretly enjoy dishing out café puns.”

“I really don’t.” She admitted craning her neck closer to Dani, “I only made an exception for you.”

Dani whispered, “I hope I was worth the effort.”

“You most certainly are.” Jamie said closing the distance between them initiating their second, and much longer kiss.

[overdrivels]

Deleted TWtaH Scenes

[Original opening sequence for chapter 1]

The kitchen once held no less than twenty cooks at a time back in its hay-day at peak hours, and at least four during downtimes.

Now, there was no need for that many cooks, however. There were less agents this time, less funds which meant less provisions, and a dejected look inside the nearest fridge yielded even less ingredients that can contribute to a coherent dish.

The only fitting solution was the age-old family-friendly Overwatch (and Blackwatch, of course) version of Russian roulette: the "Surprise Menu".

The small pot of translucent slop bubbled gently by its lonesome atop a gleaming stove meant for the meals of thirty agents of varying tastes.

A ‘ping’ notified you that an order was placed. A quick glance at the name (Agent McCree) already had your hands grabbing for cabinet doors and bowls.

McCree always ordered from the regular menu, even when it contained things that he would leave untouched (like the octopus salad four days ago) or when it would have nothing he liked to eat (he leaves everything half eaten those days, except the bread—he usually asks for seconds regardless of the type).

The previous Commander Gabriel Reyes had forced him to choke down anything that was being served on the "Surprise Menu" that day for being a little shit. Jesse McCree can now eat anything, but the grimace on his face made it clear he would rather not.

Soldier 76’s ratio of “Surprise Menu” to “regular menu” was fairly even. He would take the tray and disappear for several short minutes before returning the tray, completely devoid of any traces of food. You were never sure if he ate all of it or if he has just eaten a little and chucked the rest, though a check of the base's garbage disposals just made you then wonder if he actually flushed the food down a toilet somewhere.

"Thanks, it was good," he would say when returning his tray. Only ever compliments. "Better than sewer rats," he had once said. Though, he did once admit the chicken was too spicy in one of your dishes.

D.Va bristled at the suggestion and demanded for more spice immediately after.

You endeavored to warn 76 of spicy dishes on the Surprise Menu and to find ways of adding more flavor to those of D.Va's.

The plastic tray echoed a finality against the window counter that bounced off the far away kitchen walls and rung in your ears.

You flip through the worn list hanging by the refrigerator nearest you.

Foods must be similar in portion.

Foods must be similar in consistency.

Foods of different color cannot be next to each other.

Foods of different temperatures cannot be next to each other—

You didn't even hear the doors to the cafeteria swing open.

Favorites (at least one for every meal):

Curry with soft beans (ABSOLUTELY no hard solids, no half-cooked beans. Chili is not acceptable substitute!!) Potatoes (plain) Extra short grain rice (extra water) Basmati rice (normal water)

**When cooking rice, wash four times (taste is noticeable otherwise)

A ‘ding’ of the overhead monitor alerted you that someone had placed an order.

Zenyatta did not eat, and Genji's limit was a cup of tea half the size of his fist and a sweet, but they enjoyed sitting near the kitchen window to speak with flashes of your hands and the clinking dishes set in front of them, but never for them.

[Deleted scene of Chef fighting back against Talon]

The video plays.

A team of six sweeps through the cafeteria, and immediately, he sees the issue which has the team swarming the kitchen door and the service window.

The lights were on.

Even though he knows of your fate, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear grasping at his chest. They split up into two teams. One checks the window–they signal to the other team around the corner, and they signal back, guns at the ready.

He can see them count down with each wave of their hand.

One.

Two.

Three–

Hanzo expected that when it happened, you’d walk out daintily, the same way you put down a tray noiselessly, the same way your fingers touch the marble service window, the same way you touch your fingertips together when in thought, the same way you gesture–all soft flourishes and curling fingers.

But no.

You stride out through the double doors like a storm, head ducked down to avoid any deviant bullets, armed with only a large soup ladle made to handle a meal fit for five and a deep furrow in your brow with a scowl to match.

And then you begin to swing. Not wildly, but small, precise sweeps of little circles and sharp flicks of the wrist that cleanly disarm the shocked Talon operatives before slamming the underside of their chins. Even he has to give a sympathetic wince when their teeth clack together, or even worse, when they don’t.

Up close, he can see you still wear your chef’s uniform, all white and emblazoned with the Overwatch logo right on the sleeves of your upper arms.

You only had three of them; the other three take their shots through the window.

He sees you reach back with your free hand inside the doors, and immediately, a metal door comes slamming down behind the window. The Talon operatives jerk back, lest they get their arms caught.

He’d never admit it, but he swears that his hair has just become a bit greyer after watching the surveillance video.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v1]

The meal is delectable, but he doesn't taste it. Countless experiences with chasing spirits and tobacco did not come without a price.

Even so, he makes a show picking at his food with enthusiasm. Just enough to show interest but not overly flatter and be taken for a fool.

[Filler]

“Cœur d’Artichaut.” The man flips the card elegantly between his long, thick fingers. “A leaf for everyone. A bit of love for everyone. Sounds good, no? Everyone deserves a bit of love."

He then holds the card still and places a gentle kiss on it, letting it cover his lips as he murmurs, "But what that means is to give and give and give until you’ve nothing left.”

The man takes a moment to pull out a pack of cigarettes and lights himself one, silently offering one to the disguised McCree. Not one to turn down such an offer, McCree takes one for himself, leaning into the flame when the chef holds the lighter to him, his dark hand cupping around the flame and McCree’s face. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that he can't be sure isn't because he's being polite. McCree just hopes the heat doesn’t affect the hardlight contours of his disguise.

A plume of smoke gushes from the chef’s mouth. The grey wisps caress his sharp cheekbones and winds itself around his head, allowing only his lighter eyes to shine through. It reminds McCree of a mythical creature.

"It iz a chef’s responsibility to take care of their customers. Cook ze best food for them. Love them with all our being. We chefs exist for them.” A bitter quirk of his lips accompanies the change in his tone. “We die for them. Their bodies are built on the meals we make, and so we must give as much as we can to help our customers face another day. This, of course, includes love."

"I see ‘love’ is a running theme with this restaurant. Could you tell me what you mean by ‘love’?" McCree raises his tablet and pen.

Just when he’s about to interrupt the silence with another inquiry, Richard takes another drag of his cigarette and stares out into the distance.

"Love,” he begins. “No greater form of love than to nourish another's body and soul. It can be as simple as a prayer or as complicated as picking out ingredients and cooking them in a way that is appropriate for that customer and that one customer only. There are many ways to love and show love. But to give and give and give love but not receive, even the greatest of lakes will run out. Love is an ingredient. Love,” he stresses with a wave of his hand, “iz not infinite."

"But love isn't an ingredient you can put on food, is it, sir?"

The chef's eyes slide over, fixing itself onto McCree's face for a moment, so piercing that he's sure he can see through the disguise. It sends shivers up and down his spine. He’s being measured, judged, like a fish on the chopping block.Mercifully, Richard looks away, letting the smoke rise out from between his teeth. Something like a laugh makes the smoke stutter.

"It is the food. It is the effort. The thought.”

“And so you plan on carrying on the ideals of the previous CEO?”

Richard barks a laugh.

“Of course not. That foolish, naiive child."

“Could you explain?”

“Mm. A naive, desperate people-pleaser. That sort of love means little. People like that ought to have more self-respect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a chef doing their best, is there?”

Richard waves his hand dismissively. “Of course there isn’t. But doing one’s best to satisfy their customer’s paletes is different from being a doormat.”

[Filler]

"That child does not understand that love can flow in many directions."

[Filler]

"I am here to restore the balance and clean up ze mess my...protégé...has made."

"Hm. So long as my protégé remains a child, then this toy will remain in my possession."

[Filler]

"Even chefs must eat."

[Filler]

"Do parents not give their lives for their children? It iz an obvious conclusion."

Protests and bitter memories that illustrate the contrary almost make it out of McCree's mouth. Instead he swallows them down and replaces them with a, "Of course. There's no parent who wouldn't."

No other lie has ever burned his tongue so.

[Filler]

“I hope this interview has been…enlightening…" There's something about the way that word is said that puts his nerves on edge.

"Oh, it has. Thanks very much for your time."

Richard scoffs, snuffing out the last of his cigarette against the heel of his hand. Tough son of a bitch. No wonder he and Reyes got along so well. The butt makes its way into a pocket instead of on the ground and Chef Richard opens the back door.

Over his shoulder, he calls, "Please do come again in the future. I look forward to reading your article. As thanks, we will have...surprise meatloaf waiting.”

McCree’s shoulders draw back tight and he fights every instinct to not stiffen and turn around. Instead, he keeps walking, a wry and defeated smile on his face.

“Oh, and tell that child that one should not preach about love if without having experienced it in full."

The smugness could not be any less evident, and the door slams shut, allowing the threat to linger in McCree's ears.

Sonnavabitch.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v2]

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he thinks he may know one or two. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

And that’s how he finds himself here, sitting in the very back of Cœur d’Artichaut, bathed in the afternoon sun with his laptop, pouring a tiny pitcher of espresso into his coffee. He never understood fancy places and their need for so much extra silverware and fine china when the food he’s eating is the size of a well-used soap bar.

At least it tastes better than one.

Glazing across the restaurant, he sees the person he’s supposed to thank, still talking to the General Manager, Argus.

With half the cup in his stomach, he puts his hands to keys and types.

‘Chef Richard Sauveterre, a chef of renown fame whose name is given reverence, not in written word, but through the mouths of those he has fed,’ the first few lines of his draft reads.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown, the remainder cascading down in a neat waterfall down his neck. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now the CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut. The heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone, is their motto.’

McCree pauses for a moment, licking at the scab on his lip, searching for the next words and filling himself with another deep sip of coffee when he can’t find them.

“Pardon the wait, monsieur Morricone.”

“Not at all, Chef.” McCree gets up from his chair and extends his hand. “I’m just glad you made time in your busy schedule for me.”

“Likewise.”

McCree was bracing for it, but the weight behind the chef’s handshake still catches him off-guard. It’s just one strong up-down motion with a firmness that softens as they let go, but it’s that immediate contact, that sheer presence that puts him off-kilter and reminds him that this man is not only a cook but also a world champion fencer who could give some of the lower and mid-tier members of Blackwatch a run for their money in terms of reflexes and sharp wit. It is not only his hands, but Chef Richard makes sure to lock eyes with him, pinning him down. While Gabe would look for weaknesses to be exploited, Chef Richard is looking for gaps to be filled.

At least Richard doesn’t greet him the way he greets Reyes: with more kisses on each cheek than should be necessary. Though he may have to attribute that distance to his current disguise.

McCree begins his usual spiel: who he supposedly is (Joel Morricone, freelance writer, likes long walks on the beach and freshly roasted coffee), why he’s writing this (following up on a previous article he wrote about the restaurant ousting their CEO), and a few general compliments to loosen up his interviewee.

In the midst of all that, Argus brings over Richard’s coffee and replaces McCree’s. Her movements are quiet and unobtrusive, befitting of a high class restaurant like this. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s forgiven him for having written an article about them firing their CEO, but he knows better. She definitely debated turning him away at the door when he tried to come in ten minutes ago.

In return, Richard gives a brief summary of who he is and his accomplishments, factually and without embellishments as though he were talking about someone else. The names of awards and institutions he gives are fancy and long and would probably be more impressive if McCree actually knew them, but all he can do is nod and ask probing questions that makes him sound like he actually knows more than he does.

If McCree didn’t know his history any better, he would have missed that the man glossed over the fact he led Overwatch’s kitchens for a good portion of its existence.

Past the initial niceties, McCree begins digging into the real reason for his interview.

“Prior to this position, do you mind telling me what you were doing and why did you come here instead?”

“I came because I saw some article about a former employee of mine leaving behind unfinished business.”

“And where did you come from?”

“My mother’s womb, where else?” he says dryly, and McCree damn near types that down.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.”

Richard smiles. “No.”

“O--kay. Let me remind you that this interview is confidential and you will be the first to review the contents before public—”

“I am aware.” Then he pauses as if reconsidering, his smile growing wider with a glint in his eye that makes McCree want to squirm in his chair. “If you must know, I was anchored.”

“Anchored?”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and McCree’s brain is working overtime trying to decipher his words and not let it show on his face.

Anchored. Tied down somewhere. Somewhere that you nor anyone else have been able to reach. McCree goes through all the iterations of what that could mean and he lands on either ‘prison’ or ‘out so far in the boonies that technology couldn’t reach him’. Either one is possible with this man.

“Right, next question.” He clears his throat. “Now that you’re here as the new CEO of Cœur d’Artichaut, what is going to be your strategy for the restaurant going forward and your current impressions of things so far?”

Richard’s eyes flit once between McCree’s disguised face and his own cup of coffee. There is a semblance of bitter fondness that lingers in the corner of his lips that is quickly covered by the rim of his cup. For the first time since this interview started, his demeanor shifts. McCree can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s no longer talking to Richard, a professional chef, but Richard, a person.

“Avoir un cœur d’artichaut.”

“Pardon?”

“‘I have the heart of an artichoke’. I love everyone who eats my meals, for everyone who has eaten my meals has a piece of my heart.” He sips at his coffee for a moment too long, . “This restaurant’s motto, ‘cœur d'artichaut, une feuille pour tout le monde’, iz something I had said a lot in the past.”

“So the restaurant’s namesake is from you?”

“The saying is not mine alone, but that seems to be so.” There’s a bitter twist to his lips like he wished it weren’t. “As for the direction of the restaurant, a lot of effort has been put already and I will not change what does not need changing.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“Yes. ‘Do it your own way.’”

“That’s it?”

“Did you expect a heartwarming speech?”

“Well, I was expecting something a little more personal?”

“Personal things should be told to the person in question, yes? And not to a...” Richard looks him up and down, real slow and deliberate. A shiver runs through McCree’s spine--the look would make a lesser person shrink in their seats and the way he says his next word would evaporate them from existence. “...mere reporter?”

McCree manages a grin. He’s seen scarier. “You’re right, you’re right. So if you don’t plan on changing the restaurant or giving any words, any menu changes?”

“I’d take away those awful pancakes,” he exclaims with a toothy grin and a flap of his hand, and McCree can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t have to guess as Richard continues. “This menu is like a baby imitating their parents. Too many recipes similar to mine, not original enough.”

“Oh?” McCree puts his hands to his keyboard again. Food seems to be the way to get this man to open up. “I’ve seen raving reviews for ‘em—”

“Bah. Shitty taste buds. Zis thick piece o’ dough cannot be called, eh, pancake. Babies will choke and the elderly will die of malnutrition, zis--non, non, non. Zis is something only someone with bad tastes could like. But ze compote! ‘Ave you tried it? That is the only thing that makes it menu-worthy.”

The rambling critique of your menu goes on and on and Richard’s accent only gets thicker as his excitement pours out in unstoppable waves. As disparaging as though remarks are, McCree can’t help but get the sense that Richard right now is like a proud father, and he wonders how he can convey that to you in his article.

“A chef must always think of their customers. This menu is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections.”

“Humans can eat most anything and survive, but it is a miserable existence. Gladden the senses, bring people together. Our dishes are made with love, but that love must come from somewhere. No chef can provide it all without having received any, and I will continue that mission here.”

[Filler]

“Please, stay for lunch. I do not wish to host a guest without showing proper hospitality.”

McCree suspects he’d probably be murdered if he does agree if not by Richard then by your own staff who already hold a grudge against him for having written an article about your forceful resignation without their consent. (A scoop is a scoop, and it made Richard come back to Gibraltar, so all’s well that ends well.)

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I think you’ve shown me plenty.”

“It will be on the house.”

“Really, I’ll come by another day. Lots left to do.”

McCree pulls out a handle from his bag and presses a button, the rest of the cane materializing as he uses it to get up. Chef Richard is right there beside him with a hand hovering over his elbow.

[Filler]

“The next time you come we will have our specialty for you prepared: Surprise Meatloaf. Oh, and no need to be concerned; insurance will handle both the trucks you and your friends destroyed.”

McCree turns around but the door clicks shut behind him, the heavy wooden door now much more threatening than before.

He grins wildly to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

That sonnavabitch.

[Deleted Scene of Reaper encountering Chef]

"Hello, dishwasher."

You turn and gasp at the stranger in the kitchen. “What the f—ATHE–!!”

The man explodes into a tidal wave of mist, and your mouth is covered with one large hand, claws digging to your face, the rest of your body held immobile by the darkness. “Now, now. No need for that, dishwasher.”

Dish–!!?

Paralyzing fear courses through you like lightning. You struggle to free yourself from the confines of...whatever it is that is holding you. You need to alert everyone. You need to get free. A threatening squeeze of your body--your spine pops a little and your recently healed injuries protest the rough treatment--and the bone mask in your face makes you pause for a moment.

“Now, be good; don’t call for help. I’m just here for a house visit.”

He removes his hand slowly.

“A house visit?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like it to be, brain buzzing with fright.

The mist detangles itself from your limbs cautiously, ready to strike and immobilize you against if you were to make a stray move. The blood rushes back into your head and brings spots to your eyes, drumming in your ears and making you more nauseated than you would've liked.

While you're busy trying to reorientate your body, the part-mist, part-man glides slowly around the kitchen, looking around. You can see him pause at some of the injuries the kitchen sustained during the Talon attack.

"Pity. That baker, Woo, really liked this countertop. She'd have a fit if she saw this."

Stunned, you stare at the wandering mist figure. "You know this kitchen, you know Patisserie Woo?"

He turns his mask toward you, and you’re sure that he’s raising an eyebrow behind it. The response, 'Obviously,' exudes from every fiber of his body. .

"Wait, who are you…?”

“Take a guess.”

You narrow your eyes, curling your fingers around your lips in thought. Someone who knows your past. Someone who knows you since you were a dishwasher. The chefs in this kitchen didn’t exactly have a high turnover, but there were very few people who knew you throughout your journey up the ranks. A man who first knew you as a dishwasher and called you such.

"Omar? Frederick? Johnny?"

“Try again.”

The fear and wariness ebbs away as the threat of death evaporates.

You search your memory. There's nothing familiar about this man except the way he stands, arms crossed and staring down at you. If you squint, you could almost overlap a memory with this figure.

“Come on, now. You picked up everything in this kitchen pretty quick. You can’t even figure this out for yourself?”

It hovers over the edge of your memory, just out of reach. Think, who is this person acting like? You’ve seen this behavior before.

The voice becomes soft, endearing almost as he utters, “Come on, dishwasher. You’re smarter than this.”

The image of a man, leaning against one of the counters during the lull between service, watching you attempt a new recipe with calculating eyes. You almost expect Head Chef Richard to appear behind him and slap him on this shoulder, watch them both get up and give each other a brotherly hug.

Your eyes widen.

"Gabriel.” Your mentor's voice and yours overlap in a breathy whisper. "Comman, commander Gabriel Reyes."

There's a hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “There we go, always knew you were a clever little thing, but I go by 'Reaper', now."

A slight flush goes through your cheeks, forcing out the icy sheen of fear that lingered in your veins. Even now, despite being on opposite teams, it is nice to be praised by the former Commander. However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted when you remember that this is Reaper--the Talon higher-up whom the recalled Overwatch were on the look-out for.

"What are you doing here?"

"House-visit," he repeats. You're not quite sure what that even means. "You're not supposed to be there."

Confused, you ask, "Be...where?"

Commander Reyes--Reaper--sweeps his arms out, gesturing at the kitchen in its entirety. "Here. You weren't supposed to be here that night."

Talon. The attack. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth and other protectively against your middle. Your wounds ache at the mention and quickened pulse.

“They were supposed to lure you out," he continues. "Leave the path open so that Talon can use the passage,” he rumbles.

"But I came back..."

"Right. Now I came to give you some information."

"Why would you do that...?"

He shrugs. "Because I'm feeling generous, maybe?"

A small laugh escapes the fingers covering your mouth. That can't possibly be true, but then again, he is--or was--Gabriel Reyes.

"You don’t trust me?"

It’s hard to trust someone who looks like the Grim Reaper come to life.

"I do," you say distantly. "Because I trust Command Reyes. And…” You hesitate. “And, you know, the Head Chef…he really loved you."

"That man loves everyone,” he scoffs. “Don’t bring him into this. Anyway," --he waves his hand around-- "don't you wonder about the attack that night?"

"Yes. Like how they were able to find the passage. It's only supposed to be known to kitchen personnel--wait." Something clicks in your head. "Were you the one who led everyone here?"

Reaper exhales something between a growl and a huff. "No, but someone in your little organization’s turned traitor."

The world got absorbed into a vortex, and you suddenly feel like you're free-falling or sinking or just dying. You can't breathe, you can't hear, couldn't think, not when reality decides to take an unexpected vacation.

You force out a shuddering laugh that sounds grating even to your own ears. "What do you mean 'turned traitor'? There's, there's no one who knows that would ever..."

You sink down to the ground, reality righting itself and your limbs feel like a ton of bricks or that you've been hit by them. It didn't really matter. You're trying to get your brain to function, to think. But the shock of his words were too much. You trust--trusted--everyone at your restaurant.

But...then...

“Turned traitor on you and your organization."

You clench your fists and bring them to your mouth.

"Reaper on premise! Reaper on premise! Repeat, Reaper is on the premise!"

"Took them long enough,” Reaper says at the exact same time you order, “Athena! Cancel the alert!"

"Command overridden. Reaper on premise!"

You give the man a weary look and he returns it with a shrug.

"Can I offer you a meal before you go?”

He laughs. “I don’t think you can make anything fast enough. Those Overwatch brats will be here soon."

You’re already walking to one of the refrigerators while he speaks and pull out a lunch box that was meant for Agent McCree before his mission, but given the circumstances, you’re sure it wouldn’t matter much. You can just make a new one anyway.

"Here you are."

He takes one look at the name written on it and tosses it right back at you.

"Give it to the brat. I don’t take sloppy seconds.”

You don’t even have a chance to retort before he disappears into a puff of smoke, slipping in beneath the door from which he came.

The kitchen doors burst open, Agent Soldier: 76 at the helm. And not a moment too soon.

“Kitchen personnel only!” you say, reflexively.

“Where’s Reaper?"

The other agents are spread out, alert, but some are looking around the place like it’s a tourist attraction. You cringe.

"I didn’t notice anyone here."

His sweeping gaze falls on you, and you’re suddenly an insect that’s been pinned, unable to escape from the piercing gaze of the ex-Overwatch Commander.

"Talk, Chef.” Nothing in his stance bodes any hint of compromise.

You know he doesn’t believe you. Not when you’re standing there with McCree’s lunch in your hands, wrapped and with no dishes around.

[Original scene of Hanzo’s first break-in into the kitchen]

He drops down from the top of the doors, only to freeze when you round the corner.

The words tumble out of his mouth ungracefully. “You’re a person.”

“Get out.”

The biting intensity in your voice is challenging enough for him to forget exactly who he is speaking to.

“I go where I wish.”

It’s the wrong answer.

He sees your eyes flash. In an instant, you’re trying to man-handle him out. Hands clumsily fisted into his gi, twisting, tugging, hips down and bearing weight against his bulk. However, you’re no match for a trained assassin. His reaction is too immediate. He has you on the ground, straddling your hips, pinning both your arms to your back with a hand, his other hand bracing himself on the floor by your head.

You try to buck him off relentlessly, like an animal.

“GET OUT!”

He grits his teeth, and presses tighter against your hands. Your breath comes out in a wheeze, and in the back of his mind, he’s aware that you will have trouble breathing.

“I do not take orders from a mere chef!” he barks.

You seize in his hold.

For a bone-chilling moment, he thinks he may have gone too far in his technique. His grip slackens just a margin.

You twist violently. He gets unseated just long enough for you to aim a knee up at him. He blocks it, and you are scrambling off the ground, hand reaching for something. Anything.

A ladle—you hold it out in front of you, the rounded end pointed squarely at his chest.

“Get. Out.”

He furrows his brow, aware that he’s all teeth and spitting fire. “Is that all you can say?”

“Agent Hanzo, you are forbidden here, get out.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

It’s Satya who stops the fight from the door, well within the boundaries of the rules set.

“Going into the kitchen is against Overwatch policy,” she recites coldly.

He can see you’re still ready to fight even though you are horrible outmatched. If he really wanted to, you’d be dead in an instant.

But those burning eyes promise him something more than a poorly attempted beatdown should he push the matter.

With a huff, he leaves.

She gives him a disapproving look, which he shakes off, angered.

[Filler]

The next day, he’s only mildly horrified to find two turrets stationed outside the kitchen doors, and is suddenly paranoid that there are many more waiting where they cannot be seen.

Hanzo does not know if it's you who ordered them or if the architect had done it off her own free will. (If he has to guess, you had explicitly requested it.)

The architect is extraordinarily good at her job--able to merely look at a building and understand the structure and blind spots even if she doesn’t fully appreciate the depth of this part of her skillset.

He could swear they’re all looking at him--glaring, even--ready to teach him a lesson for his transgressions.

It prickles at him.

[Alternate shopping scene with Chef and Hanzo]

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you'd be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn't have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn't hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you'd both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you'd like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that--something closer to home--or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it's the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn't help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don't decide soon, I'll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It's a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn't have to make fun of you.

“I'm really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you've seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

[Filler]

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.”

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands--it’s also very warm and very large--and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you--he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides--the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We...we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world--it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if--.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really--I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[Deleted interrogation scene between Chef and others]

The facts were laid bare before him once more in the morning when Hanzo speaks to Winston, Soldier, McCree, and a holovideo of yourself and Ana.

It is almost like a trial, the image of your listless face, turned away from the monitor, sits on the central terminal of the meeting room for everyone to see and judge. It's the first time Hanzo had seen you since you were carried out of the Cellar by Soldier--the Cellar which has been opened up by order of Winston and interconnected with Athena's systems, yet the secrecy of it's entire contents remained mysterious by effort of the Junkers and the AI herself. It may be a small comfort to you to know that not everything was defiled, but he doesn't know just how much you knew about the state of your kitchen.

But today's meeting wasn't about that.

You were told to deliver the facts of what you've been doing and your dealings for Overwatch. You did so, slumped in your bed without care for appearances or the usual politeness that came with your service, answers flat and pointed. Normally, this type of disrespect and blatant disregard for manners would earn his ire, but instead, it makes him uneasy.

It is not the look of an injured person on the sliver of your face, but your whole body told the story of someone who has given up after a long, harrowing effort.

You confirmed that you owned a restaurant, the card of which sat on Hanzo's scant dresser. It explained the service, the food, the aesthetic. It seemed so painfully obvious that Hanzo wondered why he never saw the connection before.

When questioned about the previous head chef, you admitted you didn't know where he was. You should have set off for France, but you knew he wouldn't go there. Some personal issues that you never understood and no one wanted to question.

You distantly confessed the amounts you've given Overwatch, the methods for contacting donors, and the sloppy way you went about verifying them. Even sloppier were your attempts to make the transactions seem legitimate and the lengths you went through to protect Overwatch, the donors, and your customers from the potential fallout.

All throughout, you refused to look at them or give excuses, only clinical facts and simple 'yes' and 'no's.

"Anything else?" you ask wearily.

"No, we will let you know if we require further information. You have given us enough for now. Please get a good rest," Winston says.

Nodding at them, you lean back into your pillows, and let out a bone-rattling sigh. Mercifully, the screen turns off

There is a deafening silence that follows.

They have been given a lot of information to digest and Hanzo, long grown out of the habit of writing down thoughts during a meeting, finds himself wishing that he had if only to organize the chaos that you’ve thrusted upon them.

It is an incredible tale, regardless of the number of times he had to hear it. The amount of danger, sacrifice, and sheer naivety involved

"The donors can claim ignorance then."

"It was well planned." Even Ana sounds slightly impressed, toying with the string of her teabag. "If the auditors checked, only Chef would take the blame." A smirk comes over her face. "Ah, doesn't that sound familiar, hm, Jack?"

The man grumbles something unintelligible.

"What's that, Jack? I did not quite hear you."

"The restaurant workers are just as guilty. They are accomplices." Ana rolls her eyes at Soldier's obvious diversion but allows it to proceed by sipping on her drink.

“The way it’s set up, only Chef handles the finances. On paper, as far as the other two go, they can say they didn't know about the operation...”

[Filler]

It's not safe for them to continue sending the money especially not after they had their run-in with the auditors. It wouldn't take long for an investigation to find both the restaurant and Overwatch guilty of money-laundering.

What is the best thing to do?

Hanzo's brows furrows, painfully tight as he rummages through his mind for the correct answer.

He is not well-versed in Gibraltar law and even less so with financial laws involving a charity like yours.

"It's smarter this way."

"Though how they plan on covering the gap is beyond me. The timing is too convenient and matches the auditors' investigation too well."

"Wouldn't it be weirder for them to stop?"

[cat-brodsky]

richard pipen is the worst pre-med student ever: death caps in the secret history

"Judy, what would you do if you had a hundred and three degrees of fever?” “I would go to the fucking doctor,” she said without looking away from the TV.

must i say anything else

This post may contain errors, and anyone is welcome to point them out.

@sadbabywltch gets a thanks for the inspiration

some context

"You studied medicine for a while, didn't you?” [Henry] said.

I knew this to be a prelude to some health-related inquiry. My one year of pre-med had provided scanty knowledge at best...

I’m going to cite some parts of The Secret History, but I cannot copy the entire text of the scene in question. If you haven’t read it, this scene won’t make as much sense.

This post contains extensive discussion of mushroom poisoning as a murder method, so consider yourself warned. This post also contains math and biology, so people allergic to either should turn back.

Richard Pipen knows absolutely nothing about medicine. And I intend to prove that.

on amanita phalloides

Aka, death cap. The most poisonous out of all known mushrooms - half a mushroom (30 grams) is enough to kill a grown human. If Henry had really done extensive research, he should know that - and he said that he has.

“You have no idea how much thought I've put into this. Even to the strain of poison. It's said to make the throat swell, do you know that? Victims are said to be struck dumb, unable to name their poisoner.”

He should also know that the throat swelling is a myth. A.phalloides cause gradual organ failure. Symptoms of poisoning occur twelve hours later, too late to seek treatment, and death generally occurs six to sixteen days after the poisoning.

He should also know that there are less toxic species of Amanita. For instance, Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) is a hallucinogen, and symptoms take only thirty to ninety minutes to appear. Considering that the entire friend group has already been taking drugs regularly, Henry could offer Bunny a lethal dose, ingest a small one, and seek treatment.

There is also Coprinopsis atramentaria - the common ink cap, or tippler’s bane. This mushroom is poisonous, even lethally so, if combined with alcohol. I don’t need to spell the murder method out.

But, of course, Henry is high Intelligence low Wisdom and obsessed with ancient history; if Claudius allegedly died via death caps getting mixed with Caesar’s mushrooms, then it must clearly be the best way to poison someone.

on advanced calculus

“Let's say we know, for instance, that x amount of the drug in question is enough to affect a seventy pound animal and another, slightly larger amount is sufficient to kill it. I've figured out a rough formula, but still we are talking about a very fine distinction. So, knowing this much, how do I go about calculating the rest?”

Quick reminder that Henry killed one dog and poisoned another.

I’m not going to do calculations on A.muscaria or any other method of murder - A.phalloides is what the characters were poring over. I’m going to explain the calculations as simply as I can, and then provide some references for those of you who are interested in biology.

The characters don’t have the internet available, but they have the whole college library, a virtually unlimited amount of money, and a town where everyone takes illegal substances at their disposal. What they need is a pharmacology textbook (to look up the necessary equations), a reference on poisonous mushrooms (to look up death caps), and perhaps a handbook on toxins. 

LD50 is what Henry is after - that is, “the dose required to kill half the members of a tested population after a specified test duration.” (I hope that the readers can already see that two dogs are not a large enough sample size.) LD50 is conveniently measured in mg/kg. We have the characters’ exact weights: Bunny is 86 kg, Henry is 97.5 kg.

Amatoxins are a group of toxins contained in A.phalloides, and the one that causes symptoms of death cap poisoning. LD50 of amatoxins in humans is estimated to be 0.1 mg/kg. Thus, Bunny would need to ingest 0.1*86 = 8.6 mg amatoxins, perhaps less, preferrably more, to be stone dead. Here I make an assumption that 0.05 mg/kg is not lethal; with Henry’s poor health, it might be. Henry would need to ingest under 0.05*97.5 = 4.87 mg to not be dead.

Oral LD50 for amatoxins in dogs is 0.5 mg/kg. Finding out the amatoxin content should be an easy calculation: X grams divided by 31 kg contains 0.5 mg. We know that X grams minus one gram failed to kill the other dog, so we can assume this is not low-balling the dose.

For the sake of ease, let’s say X = 31 -> 0.5 mg amatoxins in one gram of locally harvested, organic death cap. This looks close to reality. Per Yilmaz et al (2015) a death cap ingested by a patient contained 0.426 mg amatoxins per gram, and you can calculate that yourself.

And now a simple proportion:

0.5 mg (per gram) / N mg (lethal dose) = 1 gram / X grams (of mushroom)

Bunny: 8.6/0.5 = 17.2 grams (ingest more than that)

Henry: 4.87/0.5 = 9.74 grams (ingest less than that)

partway disclaimer

Of course, I wouldn’t stake my life, or anyone’s, on those calculations.

The toxin content of the A.phalloides can vary drastically depending on geographical location, season, maturity, etc. This could be remedied, I guess, by gathering a large amount of them, mixing them and chopping them into paste, then testing some of the mixture to determine LD50 and the amatoxin content.

From the data at hand, the exact content of amatoxins cannot be precisely determined. But, hey, Henry only needs to poison more dogs to find out!

and now for some more science

A.phalloides contains two main groups of toxins: amatoxins and phallotoxins, and also phallolysin. Phallolysin is not toxic if taken orally, so that’s out. Phallotoxins were found to have little contribution to death cap toxicity, perhaps because they are not absorbed through the gut. (Though it’s not certain whether the characters would have this information in 1982.) This leaves us with amatoxins.

Yilmaz et al (2015) describe a patient who recovered after ingesting approximately 0.32 mg/kg amatoxins (but after developing liver failure). This is why I’m assuming 0.05 mg/kg is non-lethal.

LD50 for amatoxins in dogs has been calculated for α-amanitin and methyl-γ-amanitin.

Garcia et al (2015) gives the amount of a-amanitin in different tissues of A.phalloides as follows (mg/gram dry weight): 0.67 to 0.78 in caps, 0.30 to 0.32 in stipes and 0.07 to 0.10 in volvas.

why richard is an idiot sandwich

Look, perhaps I’m misunderstanding what Donna Tartt has written, but Richard comes across as right for the wrong reasons. He’s right in that trying to non-lethally poison yourself with something so deadly as A.phalloides is a monumentally stupid affair. He’s wrong about everything else.

Faced with a simple calculation like the above, how does Richard go about it?

Equations about chemical concentration were never my strong point in chemistry, and they are difficult enough when you are trying to figure a fixed concentration in a suspension of distilled water; but this, dealing as it did with varying concentrations in irregularly shaped objects, was virtually impossible. He had probably used all the elementary algebra he knew in figuring this, and as far as I could follow him he hadn't done a bad job; but this wasn't a problem that could be worked with algebra, if it could be worked at all. Someone with three or four years of college calculus might have been able to come up with something that at least looked more convincing; by tinkering, I was able to narrow his ratio slightly but I had forgotten most of the little calculus I knew and the answer I wound up with, though probably closer than his own, was far from correct.

I didn’t know proportions required three or four years of college calculus. If the mushrooms are irregularly shaped, why not weigh them?

“It's a good try, but just by looking at it I can tell that it's insolvable without chemical tables and a good working knowledge of calculus and chemistry proper. There's no way to figure it otherwise. I mean, chemical concentrations aren't even measured in terms of grams and milligrams but in something called moles.”

There are different kinds of chemical concentration, and molar concentration is just one of them. “Something called moles”? A mole is, simply, an amount of substance that contains 6.02214076×1023 molecules (Avogadro number). This is sixth-grade chemistry. It’s also completely irrelevant here.

It’s a miracle Richard ever got into pre-med.

Henry, paraphrased: Oh, well, if I overdose - which I can totally figure out despite the fact that the symptoms take twelve hours to show when the damage is already done - I can just have some atropine. Atropine will totally counteract amatoxins.

...Never mind, Henry is also an idiot - though, at least, that is highlighted in-story. What does he plan on doing, drinking a whole bunch of atropine without knowing the precise dose he ingested?

“They are exactly opposite in effect. Atropine speeds the nervous system, rapid heartbeat and so forth. Amatoxins slow it down.”

No, they are not. To put it in plain English, amatoxins cause cell death - nothing about nervous system. Atropine basically counters the parasympathetic system, kicks your organism into fight or flight mode.

Do you know what atropine is an antidote to? Muscarine. It’s a compound found in certain mushrooms - such as A.muscaria, though only in trace amounts. Atropine and muscarine both bind to muscarinic acetylcholine receptors. Muscarine is not found in A.phalloides. Confusing amatoxins with muscarine is... I imagine it’s excusable if ancient Persian texts are your most recent source.

Oh, and one more thing while I’m at it.

“The Persians? I didn't know you read Arabic.”

In Persia (modern Iran), they speak Farsi, not Arabic. Oh, Richard. I imagine Henry took pity on him and didn’t correct the poor fool.

conclusion

There are two ways to engage with canon - from an in-story perspective (Watsonian) or an outside perspective (Doylist). I’ll leave you to discover what the third (Forsythian) perspective is.

From an in-story perspective, I am drawing the conclusion that both Richard and Henry are utterly inept at math, biology, medicine, and common sense; heaven only knows what “algebraic equations” they spent a good half hour going over.

From an outside perspective... well, if Tartt wrote all those errors purposefully, then it’s a nice bonus for any reader who knows basic medicine. If she didn’t, then I can fault her for not doing enough research. A middle ground is more likely: I’m certain that the 103F episode was intentional, but the Arabic in Persia wasn’t, since Henry of all people would lambast Richard for this error mercilessly.

half-assed references

Garcia, J et al. Determination of amatoxins and phallotoxins in Amanita phalloides mushrooms from northeastern Portugal by HPLC-DAD-MS. Mycologia, 107(4): 679-687. 2015.

Hooser, S.; Khan, S. Common Toxicologic Issues in Small Animals: An Update, An Issue of Veterinary Clinics of North America: Small Animal Practice: Ebook. Elsevier Health Sciences. 2018.

Tu, A.; ed. Handbook of Natural Toxins: Food Poisoning (1st edition). CRC Press.1992.

Wieland, T. Peptides of poisonous Amanita mushrooms. Springer-Verlag.1986.

Yilmaz, I et al. A Case Study: What Doses of Amanita phalloides and Amatoxins Are Lethal to Humans? Wilderness Environ Med. 26(4): 491–496. 2015.

[a-deadly-serenade]

Alchemy Between You & Me: Chapter 3: Tin [Guy of Gisborne/Reader]

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362053/chapters/67299466 

chapter below the cut.

chapter 1: arsenic

chapter 2: sulfur

A heavy feeling settles into the pit of your stomach as you gaze upon yourself in the mirror. Your hand trails across the hem of the dress that adorns your figure, the cotton fabric soft against your fingers, and decorated in various trims that only confirmed your suspicions that it must have been quite expensive.

You took another deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves as you prepared to leave, for today you’d officially begin work on the black powder. Closing your bedroom door behind you, a small part of your brain desperately hoped that you wouldn’t run into a particular someone, grimacing at the mental image of him gawking at you wearing the dress he’d chosen for you.

Clearing your thoughts with a shake of your head, you quickly darted down the hall and let loose a relieved sigh when you made it to the lab without any interruptions. Stepping inside, you allow yourself a moment to lean against the cool iron door, bracing yourself for the hard day of work ahead.

Walking over to the counter, you folded up your tight sleeves as best you could and got started.

First, you had to purify the saltpeter that would be mixed in with the charcoal and sulfur. This is what would take the majority of your time today, for the refined powder had to be thoroughly dried before being combined with the other two elements.

Tossing some wood into the fireplace, you grabbed a nearby candle and dipped the flame inside. After a few minutes, you had a roaring fire and you grinned triumphantly. This had been the biggest hassle to clean and it took about as much time scrubbing off the dust and soot from your hair and body as it did to clean the blasted thing.

Next, you placed a pot of water over the flames and began to gather up the other ingredients while you waited for it to boil.

When you heard the telltale signs of bubbling hot water, you carefully placed a handful of pieces of saltpeter inside the pot along with some wood ash you’d saved from when you cleaned out the fire pit. You learned this technique from your old teacher, a trick that he learned from reading a book by a fellow chemist that hailed from the Middle East. The wood ash served to strip the saltpeter of its other elements, mainly calcium and magnesium, to leave behind a purified powder. This would at last be sifted through a strainer to remove any impurities that remained.

The whole process took a few hours to complete and once the first batch was done, it was a simple feat of repeating the steps over and over again till you had sufficiently enough saltpeter to add to your mixture.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and you stepped away from the fire for a moment, dunking a towel into a bucket of cool water to wipe yourself down.

You hadn’t a clue how much time had passed, having been completely engrossed in your task. You’d also lost count on how many batches of saltpeter you’d purified at this point. Was this your fifth? Sixth?

Dumping the dried powder into the sift, you vigorously shook it from side-to-side, a plume of fine particles and dust billowing into the air around you. Thankfully, you had fashioned a make-shift mask from a spare piece of cotton fabric, although you had nothing to help spare your eyes from the relentless sting that always came when working with such refined materials.

You dab at the corner of your eyes with a clean washcloth and take off your mask to beat it clean against the sides of your desk. Patting your dusty hands on your dress, you carefully pour the saltpeter into a large jar, one of many that you managed to fill up during the span of the day.

Taking a step back, a pleased smile spreads across your face at the progress you’d made. This was surely enough to finally begin measuring out the ratios and the thought fills you with excitement.

You supposed now would be a good time to begin crushing the sulfur. A frown crossed your face at that. You’d always hated working with sulfur, it was greasy, dusty, and of course, it absolutely reeked. Any attempts to dull the smell were in vain, regardless if you did it near a window or lit a dozen candles.

Waving your hand in front of your face, you tossed the bowl of ground sulfur as far away from you as possible, but it was useless, the whole lab surely stunk of rotten eggs at this point.

Coughing into the crook of your arm, you pour yourself a glass of water and take a long and much-needed drink.

The sunlight waned through the windows and you took a gander outside. It was well into the late afternoon, a breeze ruffling your hair as you watched the townsfolk down below scurry about their day. Taking in a deep lungful of the clean, crisp air, you exhaled a long, exhausted sigh and wearily dragged your hands across your face.

You knew that you were pushing yourself to get this done and you also knew that should you rush the process, the final product would definitely be of much lower quality. Surely the sheriff did not expect you to have barrels full of black powder prepared by the end of the day? He was a little mad, but he wasn’t unrealistic.

Heading back to the counter, you grabbed one of the empty books he had brought by to be a ledger. Dipping your pen into the ink, you began to draw out a crude table in preparation for properly measuring out the ratios with the help of a handy scale.

A knock on the door causes you to jolt where you stood, your head whipping around to stare straight at it. It was as if you had a sixth sense, mind, and body both already knowing who stood behind the age-old iron before they even stepped in.

You feel your shoulders tense when they walk inside, irritation flashing in your eyes for a brief moment before you mask it with a forced smile.

Guy returns the gesture, smiling at you in greeting. He heads in your direction, his nose scrunching up slightly when he happened to stride by the large pile of sulfur.

“It appears you’ve been hard at work today, milady,” he said and his gaze flickered over to the glass jars filled with saltpeter.

“Yes, well, you’ve mentioned that the sheriff is a man who does not like to be kept waiting so I put it upon myself to begin work as quickly as possible,”

He seemed impressed by your tenacious attitude and took a step forward as he inched his head in the direction of your ledger.

“Are these your notes?”

“Yes,” you replied and pointed at the symbols that you etched into the table. “These all stand for the various compounds that’ll be used in the mixture. I was about to begin measuring them out when you decided to visit.”

He pointed towards the bowl of sulfur, his face contorted into a grimace. “Does that happen to be a part of your mixture?”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip in a vain attempt to hold back your laughter and you chuckled softly as you nodded your head.

“That’s sulfur. It’s what’ll help give it the kick that it needs. It’s incredibly versatile, however, I could never stand working with it. The smell is simply terrible,”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Reminds me of eggs that have been left for too long out in the sun,”

You laughed again and nodded your head in agreement. “It’s absolutely horrendous. Although, it is rather fascinating that it naturally comes from volcanoes,”

He cocked his head to the side, his dark eyebrows furrowing together, creasing his forehead. “Volcano…?” he repeated slowly as if you’d spoken in a completely different language.

You blinked, confused, and then the realization dawned on you. “Oh!” you exclaimed. “Right, you… most likely would have never even heard of them. There aren’t very many volcanoes in England…” your voice trailed off, immersed in an internal tangent on how best to describe them to him.

“It’s a mountain, enormous and intimidating in its stature alone, that hides a deadly secret at its peak,”

Guy took a step closer, his obvious intrigue apparent on his face.

“What sort of secret?” his eyes shined mysteriously under the light cast by the fire and candles and in your zealousness to teach him something new, you did not notice it at all.

“It is filled with molten magma!” you said with a loud gasp, hopping excitedly on the soles of your feet.

That certainly caught him off guard and he was perplexed as he mulled over your response.

“Mag… ma?”

“Oh, it’s melted rock that travels as water does upon a riverbank. Sulfur is found inside magma once it has cooled enough to be refined from the ore,” you explained, as though it were the simplest concept in the world.

Guy stares at you, dumbfounded and you fear for a moment that you might have overstepped and said too much. But then again, you were an alchemist, it was your job to know about something like this. You hadn’t gone and inadvertently offended him, had you?

He suddenly burst into a round of laughter, your anxiety slowly trickling away as you softly laughed with him.

“You are truly remarkable,” he said earnestly. “I admit, I’m almost a little jealous that you understand so much about the world,” his smile morphed into a half-hearted frown and he sighed. “There were times I wished for nothing more than to leave, to try and have another go at life,” his tone was light, but the look on his face told you otherwise and you were shocked at this sudden vulnerability.

His expression changed, bewilderment enveloping his bright blue eyes before it was quickly stomped out and replaced with a vague veil of disgust. “Forgive me,” he said. “I merely wanted to say…” you noticed him inch ever closer, your gaze flicking down to his arm and back up to his face.

“That even if I cannot physically travel this world, I’ll be able to vicariously experience it all with everything that I’ll learn from you,” his hand tentatively reached out to grab your shoulder but out of reflex, your feet pulled you back, and you shrunk away from his grip.

There was an instant tension in the room.  

Guy looked almost hurt that you’d done such a thing, however, the confusion came out first.

“Why do you recoil from me?” he wondered and he sounded genuinely upset.

Your heart started hammering in your chest and you took a step back, attempting to put some distance between you two. You feel tongue-tied, unsure of what to say. How could you explain that you’d heard about who he really was? That he had frightened a woman so terribly that she burst into tears when she spoke of him?

Placing yourself on the opposite side of the wooden counter, you face him with wide eyes.

He hesitated to lean in closer to speak with you, opting instead to stand with his arms folded across his chest. “Have I done something to upset you?”

You fidgeted where you stood, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “No…” you said carefully. “No, you haven’t. At least not personally,”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at the shift in his tone and you huffed, defiantly placing your hands on your hips. “Sir Guy, what is this about? Unless you’ve come to assist me in making the black powder, I suggest that you take your leave.”

He was taken aback, his mouth parting open slightly from shock. “I merely asked you a question,”

“Yes, one that I find to be rather inappropriate,” you retort. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to work.”

You turned to walk away and start measuring out the sulfur when you heard him start walking after you.

“Just a moment—”

“Sir Guy!”

The two of you froze and your heads simultaneously whipped around to find Lady Marian standing at the door. Her green eyes were set right on Guy, her expression stern and unperturbed at the look he sent her way.

“Lady Marian,” he said with a sneer. “What brings you here?”

“I’d heard that there was a guest staying at the castle and I wished to formally introduce myself,” she said cooly and flashed you a knowing smile. “Was I intruding on something?”

Guy opened his mouth to send a sarcastic reply her way, but you beat him to it and said,

“No, my lady, Sir Guy was just leaving,”

He was stunned into silence, his gaze now on you. For a brief moment, a deep and tumultuous lament flashed across his face, but all too soon his jaw clenched and he held his head up high, unsuccessfully masking that you’d undoubtedly torn his ego to shreds.  

He gave you a terse curtsy and hurriedly departed from the room, coldly striding past Marian without so much as a nod of the head.

Instantly you let out a long sigh of relief. Your shoulders sagged and you leaned against the counter for support, eyes fluttering shut as a heavy weight lifts from your chest.

The door slams shut and Marian’s boots tap softly against the stone floor. You feel a hand gently yet comfortingly squeeze your arm and your eyes open to find Marian standing before you, a kind smile on her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

You nod your head and smile gratefully at her. “Yes, I’m alright, thank you,”

“What happened?”

You gestured for her to follow you and she did, the both of you taking a seat on some stools that you’d placed near one of the windows.

“It started off perfectly fine,” you admit and take a deep breath, the cool evening air settling your nerves. “He asked me about some of the materials I’d be using and I had no problem explaining that. However...” you sighed, your head hung low in mild embarrassment. “Our conversation must have had a deeper effect on me than I thought, for when he tried to reach out to me, I turned away from his touch.”

“Oh…” Marian said quietly.

She was deep in thought for a moment and you suddenly recalled that the two of you had been interrupted the day before, there was still more that she had to tell you.

“I can see that you already know that which I’m about to speak of,” she said softly and you slowly nodded your head. Her lips were pressed together thinly and the features of her face were taught, laced in a mixture of anxiety and a bit of frustration. “There is no point in keeping it from you any longer. You deserve to know why your apprehension is well warranted... why I've come to despise Sir Guy of Gisborne,”

A chill runs down your spine however, you remain quiet, and silently wait for her to begin.

“Guy and I… at one point…” she heaved a heavy sigh and said, with her head bowed remorsefully, “Were to be married,”

“WHAT?!”

You squawked and nearly keeled out of your seat from total shock. “You were to be what?”

“It was not my choice,” she snapped. “I… I had found myself in a rather precarious situation and the only way to get out of it was to marry him,”

You looked upon her in complete bewilderment. What could have possibly happened wherein she had to marry Gisborne to avoid certain doom?

“Care to elaborate?”

She faltered, unsure, but then something clicked behind her eyes, a resound resignation that she silently agreed to with a subtle nod of the head.

“Guy discovered that I had been colluding with Robin Hood,”

“Robin Hood?” you repeated, the name sounding so familiar yet so mysterious at the same time. “Robin Hood? Robin… Robin… wait,” you said, mystified by your own conclusion. “You mean Robin of Locksley?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “He left around the same time you did, to go and fight in the Holy War,”

“No,” you gasped, horrified. You had heard stories of the terrible things that took place on the battlefield, hearing rumors on the state of the war-torn mind. Men would come home riddled with invisible scars, some so deep that it changed the very nature of their soul. Had Robin experienced something similar and fled to the woods to lead a life of solitude?

“He came back after four years of service and experienced first-hand how the state of this country had deteriorated. At first, he attempted to use his influence to push the sheriff into bending to his own moral compass but, I’m sure you can imagine how well that went,” she chuckled softly and you did as well.

You’d only been here a few days but you could immediately tell that Vasey was the sort of man that despised being undermined. You briefly wondered how long Robin lasted as a noble till he took to the woods to escape living under Vasey’s rule.

“It’s because of those morals that he finds himself an outlaw,”

“An outlaw?” you’re stunned. You hadn’t heard anything about him being an outlaw!

Marian raised an eyebrow up at you. “Did you not know? He saved three people from Locksley who were due to hang and was labeled as a disturber of the peace ever since. Have you never heard the sheriff ranting about a man called Hood?”

“No, I—” your voice trailed off and you frowned. “I had no idea. All that I heard is he lives in Sherwood forest now,”

“You haven’t a clue about what he does?”

“No!”

She laughed and gazed at you in disbelief. “Well, let’s just say that a certain sheriff would be an awful lot richer if Robin Hood was not around,”

“No,” you gaped and then burst into an obnoxious round of laughter. “Nooo! There’s no way that Robin…” one look at Marian’s face made you snicker behind your hand as you say, “He steals from the sheriff?”

“Yes,” she replied, a big grin on her face. “He returns it back to the people, where it rightfully belongs,” all too sudden this smile fades away and she sighs.

“These… these last five years have been incredibly difficult,” she muttered and anxiously kneaded her hands together. “The taxes that go towards the King are outright robbery and the way the people are treated if they can’t pay them is horrendous,” her voice is bitter, laced in disdain. “I… I always tried my best to help in any way that I can, but, that’s what ended up putting me here,” her gaze flicks to the side, a swift sadness overwhelming her.

“I assisted Robin in preventing a plot to kill my father, along with a few others that openly support King Richard,” she explained and you gasped.

“He tried to have those that serve on his council murdered?”

Marian nodded her head and she lowered her voice as her eyes cautiously darted around the room. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while that the sheriff has been working in tandem with various other nobles in a plot to dethrone the king,”

“That’s...” you stuttered. “That’s ridiculous. He’d be committing treason!”

“Not if they manage to get Prince John on the throne,”

“Are you saying that Prince John is participating in a coup?”

She frowned and leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. “I cannot answer that definitively, however, I strongly suspect that it is true,”

You were dumbfounded and albeit, a little terrified. If the sheriff was secretly staging a coup to usurp King Richard, what else was he capable of? He was a lot more dangerous than you initially thought, giving you all the more reason to be exceptionally careful around him.

“But…” she said forlornly. “That is not the true reason for why I am here. You recall that I mentioned I was to marry Guy, yes?”

“Of course,”

“I agreed to it completely under duress, the reality of being hanged for assisting an outlaw constantly waved over my head. When the day finally arrived, well…” she chewed on the inside of her cheek and then pouted, shyly looking away from you as she swayed in her seat. “I...may or may not have refused him at the altar… and punched him… and took off on horseback… with Robin,”

You stood there, stupefied, an array of mental images reeling around inside your head. Marian punched Guy? Marian eloped with Robin? Along with the news that the sheriff was supposedly staging a coup-d'état, this was almost too much for you to handle.

“You punched him?” you stated firmly. “Punched?”

She nodded her head. “Yes, punched.”

“And then you eloped with Robin?”

“That is correct,”

She was so serious, in both tone and demeanor, that it only took a few seconds for you to crack and burst into another round of loud laughter. Marian quickly follows suit, and soon, the two of you are practically howling, clutching your sides as her words truly sunk in.

“You really punched him!” you almost shrieked, but immediately lowered your voice as you added, “Guy! In front of all the wedding guests?”

“And the priest!” she giggled. “One mustn’t forget him!”

“How could I!” you said shrilly and cackled behind your hands. “Oh, that must have been exhilarating,”

“You have no idea,”

“I’m almost a little jealous,” you admitted with a sly smile. “I wished I would’ve gotten the chance to do that to one of the men my father pushed me to court,”

“Oh, I can only wish you success in any future endeavors,” she mused and the two of you chuckled.

“But…” you said, your laughter dying down as you eyed her with pity. “It’s because of that you’re here…”

You hadn’t intended to kill the mood, however, the reality of her situation was much too serious to be overshadowed by what she had done, even if it had been well-deserved.

“Yes…” she replied solemnly. “Guy had come to my house a few weeks later, bringing with him a fury I had never seen before. His wrath was swift and before I could even stop him, he had set fire to my home,”

“What?!”

Her lip trembled slightly and she nodded her head swiftly, biting down on the inside of her cheek to prevent any tears from falling. “He burned my house down and ordered that we both be placed under house arrest, my father and I,”

“Your father is here?” you exclaimed. “In the castle?”

“Yes,” she gasped and clicked her tongue when a few tears managed to slip past her defenses, stubbornly wiping them away. “This has been the hardest on him. He has been in such poor health the entire time we’ve been here and they hardly do a thing to help him,” she spat.

“What’s wrong with him?” you wondered and leaned forward in your seat, hands clasped in your lap.

“I… I’m not sure,” she admitted. “However, I can tell you that he is very weak, sometimes feverish. He needs medicine and water and a decent meal for once, but I know that shall never happen,”

You shot up from the stool and Marian jolted in surprise, staring up at you with wide eyes.

“Not on my watch,” you said firmly and gave her a determined stare. Briskly walking over to one of the counters, you shuffle through the jars you’d carefully organized and gathered up a variety of medicinal herbs. Cutting up a piece of cotton fabric, you sew it together to form a small bag, dumping the contents inside and sealing it with a bit of extra thread.

“Here,” you said and handed it to Marian. “Grab a mug or two from over there,” you instructed. “I’ll boil some water that we can take over to him,”

“What is this?” she asked and closely inspected the bag. “Is it… is it medicine?”

“Yes,” you replied and carefully picked up a rock you had placed in the fire, dropping it inside the pot of water to get it boiling much quicker.

“It’s a mixture of herbs that will help with the symptoms that you described,”

“You’re trained in medicine?” she gets up and heads in the direction of the spare mugs, grabbing two and bringing them over to you.

As the water started to simmer and bubble, you gently let it drain into the two mugs, smiling at her. “It is just as important for me to understand the functions of the human body as it is to understand the functions of the universe. Although I will admit, I am much more knowledgeable in alchemy than medicine,” you added sheepishly.

She had a tight grip on the mugs, her eyes shimmering like gemstones in the light of the fire. “Thank you…” she said softly, rendered speechless by your kindness.

You gave her another smile and then urged her to lead the way to her father’s bedroom. She briskly yet cautiously walked through the halls, not wanting to spill a single drop of the precious hot water.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a wooden door and handed you one of the mugs to knock and signal her arrival.

“Come in,” a weary voice replied.

The first thing that you notice upon entering the room is the pallor of his skin. It is pale, sunken in, his expression hollow. However, when his eyes land on Marian, they light up and he smiles.

“Marian…” he whispered, relief washing over him. “What a surprise, I wasn’t expecting you today,”

She placed a gentle kiss on her father’s forehead and tenderly brushed back some of his thinning gray hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better now that you’re here,” he said and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Marian smiled warmly down at him, but she could tell that he was trying to remain strong in front of her. He knew how much she worried about him and for that he never wished to be any more of a burden on her; she already had enough to deal with.

“Father, I brought someone with me,” she said and beckoned you forward.

You shyly cleared your throat and gave him a wave. “Hello,” you said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,”

He eyed you skeptically yet stuck out his hand in greeting nonetheless. “I am Sir Edward of Knighton. And you are?”

You introduced yourself and he acknowledged your name with an indignant hmph.

“She is a friend of mine, one that comes bearing some knowledge of medicine,” Marian said firmly and reached into her dress pocket to procure the small satchel of herbs. “She said that this should help alleviate some of your symptoms,”

He turned to look at you, surprise etched on his features. “Really?”

“It’s a simple combination of herbs that will help with the chills, aches, and pains that Marian informed me about,” you explained. “All you need to do is steep this bag into a cup of hot water and drink it while it’s still hot,” you handed Marian one of the mugs and she dropped the bag inside.

After a few moments of letting it steep, she handed it to her father and he took a cautious sniff before downing the contents in one go.

He hummed pleasantly, his eyes shut in delight as he relaxed in his bed. “Why this has warmed me down to the very bones,” Edward said with a delightful glimmer in his eyes.

You grinned. “I’m so glad. I was furious when I found out how not only you’d been treated by the sheriff, but your daughter as well. The fact that he thinks he can get away with such callous acts…”

“It’s because he can,” Edward said sharply. “There is no code of honor anymore, not when men like Vasey are in charge,” he grumbled to himself and placed the empty mug on his nightstand. “You took a risk helping me today, young lady, and for that, I am forever grateful.”

“Nonsense, my lord. I am a partially trained physician, this is all just a part of my job,” you gave him and Marian a mischievous grin and they both chuckled.

“It does set my mind at ease knowing that there is now someone like you watching over my daughter,” he said fondly. “These past few months have been… rather difficult,”

“Marian has become an invaluable friend to me,” you said honestly. “And as long as I’m around, you will not have to worry any further about receiving proper medical care,”

Marian’s head whipped around to face you, her mouth parted open in astonishment. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course!” you exclaimed and stumbled back a bit as Marian tackled you into a hug. Your quiet laughter rang out in the room as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders to pull her close and return the embrace.

When she pulled away, she had tears pricking at the corner of her eyes and sniffled a bit, dabbing at her nose with her sleeve. “You are too kind,”

“It’s the least I can do,” you said. “The bag that I gave you lasts for a good three to four cups, but after that, the herbs begin to lose their potency. When you run out, simply stop by my lab and I will make some more,”

“Bless you, my dear,” Edward said and gently clasped your hand between his. “I never thought I’d see the day… meeting such a selfless soul in this castle.”

Giving his hands a squeeze, you exchanged a few more pleasantries before you, unfortunately, announced that you must return to your work. Bidding Marian and her father farewell, you retraced your steps back to the lab and walked inside, a content smile on your face.

This instantaneously vanishes when you see someone standing in front of the fire. That someone being...

Guy.

Your feet are rooted to the spot, your heart leaping into your throat as dread settles into the pit of your stomach. There was no positive outcome you could foresee to explain him being here. Had he come to toss you in the dungeons for your insolence? Take you to the sheriff to be dealt out a proper punishment?

With his back turned, you couldn’t discern a thing from him and cautiously took a step forward.

The sound of your footsteps seemed to finally alert him that he was no longer alone, turning on his heel to gaze over at you with wide eyes.

You halted in your tracks and looked back at him, stare unwavering and patiently waiting for him to make the first move.

Surprisingly, his gaze falters and he appears almost timid, glancing down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck.

It certainly caught you off guard.

“I’m sorry if I startled you just now,” he said gently. “I only wished to see you again, so that I could apologize,”

Your eyebrows rose up in surprise. You definitely weren’t expecting that either. From what you could tell, his intentions seemed genuine and for a moment, your walls came down and you took a few steps closer to Guy. Folding your arms against your chest, you stare up at him incredulously, dubious as to whether or not he’d apologize for the right thing.

“My behavior earlier, it was completely inappropriate. I… I should not have acted the way that I did and I apologize if I overstepped my boundaries,” he cleared his throat and then placed his hands behind his back. “I can only hope that this did not completely soil our friendship,”

“Friendship?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Are… are we not friends?”

You frowned and unconsciously rubbed your arm. “I… I do not know…”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes and he sighed. “I see… it appears as though you’ve already made up your mind,”

You could not help but feel a little sorry for Guy, it was apparent that this meant a lot to him. Perhaps he’d read a bit more into your friendliness than you would’ve liked? Well, you can’t exactly place all of the blame on Guy. You had been rather fond of him the first night you met. However, things were different now, and it felt almost impossible for things to go back to the way they were knowing what you knew now.

“Nevertheless,” his voice pierced through your thoughts. “I personally believe that actions speak louder than words, so, if I could ask you to follow me,”

He walked up to you and you stepped aside, allowing him to pass as he tugged on the iron handle and held the door open.

You observe him with an air of suspicion and cautiously headed out of the lab. He kept his distance, leading you down a few corridors until you ended up in the castle courtyard.

When you reached the stairs he picked up his pace and sped down them, ushering his silent thanks to a man that stood nearby, his hands occupied with the reins of a gorgeous horse.

It was an enormous stallion with a beautiful dark brown coat that shimmered black in the evening sun. His mane was long and coarse, dark as night, and he had a white stripe down his forehead, topped by a cute pink nose.

You looked to the horse than at Guy, whipping your head back and forth for a few seconds until you finally understood.

Oh. This horse was for you.

“Sir Guy, I…” you stuttered over your words. “This… I cannot accept this,”

“Why not?”

“I… it’s… it’s too much. I would not feel right accepting something so lavish,”

“You are an important key-player here in the castle,” he said and smiled down at you. “We’d like only to remind you that we value your work, that’s all,”

“So this isn’t some sort of consolation prize?” you asked sternly.

“Well,” he said, his cheeks flushed slightly. “It would be a lie for me to say that wasn’t entirely the case,”

You sighed and took a step forward, allowing the horse to sniff your curled fist, his ears twitching as he assessed you.

He let out a snort, blowing some hair out of your face and you giggled, reaching up to stroke his lovely mane.

“Do you like him?”

You glanced over at Guy and offered a smile in his direction, your eyes glazing over fondly as your horse started to gently nibble on the tips of your fingers. “I do. However, I hope you understand that I am not so easily won, despite such an extravagant gift,”

“Oh, I know,” he replied. “All that I hope for, my lady,” he gracefully places the reins in your hands, his touch lingering for just a moment before he folds his arms behind his back. “Is for us to be friends. But… I suppose I could stick with simply being colleagues for now,”

He was handling this surprisingly well and you had to wonder… did he really learn something from your argument?

You were still wary of Guy, Marian’s warnings constantly lingering in the back of your mind, but he was more than willing to respect your wishes. Perhaps this all could have been avoided if you had told him outright that you desired some space? Ah, there was no point in lingering on the ‘what if’s’ now.

You gift him a genuine smile and nod your head in appreciation. “Thank you, Sir Guy, hearing you say that means more to me than you know,”

His face lights up and he bows before you. “Of course, my lady. Feel free to take him out for a ride, I’m sure he’d enjoy it,”

“At this hour?” you gasped. “Oh no, surely the sheriff would not approve of me going out so late—”

“It’s fine,” he assured you. “If the sheriff disapproves, he can take it up with me,”

“Are you sure?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Now, go before I change my mind,”

You beam up at him and hoist yourself up onto the back of your horse. He’s strong and gives his head a shake when he feels you pull on the reins, but he quickly relinquished control, staring straight ahead as he awaited your orders.

A strange sensation bubbles up into your chest and before you can think to stop yourself, you look over your shoulder and call out, “Thank you, Guy, I shall be back soon,”

His eyes glimmer with a mixture of emotions and one, in particular, makes your heart skip a beat until you tell yourself you’re thinking too much into it. You flash him one last smile before squeezing your horse around his barrel and urging him into a gallop, running through the streets of Nottingham and out into the colorful fields of Sherwood.

[flutadventures]

Happy Birthday to Me Part Two

The following is a documentation of all the other meals I made on my birthday weekend:

Unagi Gyoza with an Italian Twist

I found unagi gyoza on sale in a Japanese supermarket and was really excited, I’ve never seen gyoza with such a filling before and the ingredient list looked really good too - these included broiled eel, leek, cabbage, bonito stock, and sake. They were a tad expensive, but for the novelty value and the fact that I’d probably have to pay 3 times more for the same quantity in a restaurant I thought “Ah fuck it why not, it’s my birthday lol”. 

I initially didn’t think of doing too much with it, just the most basic steaming. But then I realised I didnt have any of the usual dipping vinegar to go with it, which was then I thought - why not try an alternative? Crema di Balsamico with its tangy-sweetness immediately came to my mind. And  then I went one step further by pan frying just the one side in butter, to get it crispy just like it’s sometimes sold outside. And to balance all this heartiness I had my very own homemade cucumber salad on the side, german-style(or at least, my interpretation of it). I really don’t think there is a need to go into lengthy detail on the how-to here. 

It turned out well, although I probably could have steamed the gyoza a tad longer. Moral of the story, look for alternatives when you don’t have something, the end result can be pleasantly surprising, as was the case here. The tangy-sweetness of the balsamico balanced the richness of the unagi nicely. 

Summer “Grilled” Prawn salad 

This, ladies and gentlemen and children (as Turkish airlines has the habit of announcing, which I find very cute lol) - is by far my pièce de résistance, at least for this Birthday Weekend Menu thingy. I’d two jumbo prawns leftover (of course this was planned), and I wanted to do something different from what I’d made with them the last meal (rich tomato-based pasta). I tried to think up antonyms to the adjectives I would use to describe that previous dish, and I came up with the words fruity and light and summerish. Not that tomatoes(as per the last dish) aren’t summerish, but in this one they’re left uncooked and refreshing. I’m rather proud to say that I came up with this one almost entirely by myself. 

Ingredients

-Jumbo Prawns; 2 

-Quinoa; 1 portion

-Cherry tomatoes; a handful 

-Mint; a few leaves

-Butter

-Orange-Pepper spice mix; 1-2 pinches 

-Pomegranate vinegar; a splash

-Mango vodka; 2-3 splashes

-Pepper-garlic spice mix 

-Crema di Balsamico

-Salt 

-Truffle olive oil / Any salad oil (e.g. pumpkin seed, walnut, olive)

Special Equipment

-Blowtorch 

-Container for shaping quinoa bed, shouldn’t measure more than a palm's width across. 

Instructions

1) Toast quinoa in pan with some butter till nearly golden brown, put in rice cooker with ratio 1:1.5 water to cook. Add 1-2 pinches of salt to water.

2) Halve cherry tomatoes. Set aside. 

3) Chop mint. Set aside. 

4) Clean and devein prawns. Remove sharp parts. Slice down middle. Season with pepper-garlic seasoning or any seasoning of choice. Rub with butter.

5) Put prawns in small, shallow dish with butter. Steam. WATCH CLOSELY. The moment the prawns turn pink, count to maybe 5 seconds and switch off the flame. They will still continue cooking a little. 

6) Pour a couple of splashes of mango vodka into the shallow dish, making sure it also touches the prawns. Use the blowtorch to blast the dish. The vodka should light up, as it did for me, and the bluish-orange flames will lick the prawns, charring them while infusing them with a smoky mango taste. The flames lasted nearly a minute in my case. When cooled, remove head. 

6) Quinoa should be done by this time. Put into shaping container. Add chopped mint, orange-pepper seasoning, truffle olive oil, pinch of salt, toss thoroughly. Use serving plate to cover container, and flip. The tossed quinoa should form a loosely-packed but relatively neat circle in the centre. Arrange the halved cherry tomatoes around it, and drizzle balsamico. 

7) Rest prawns atop quinoa bed. Try to arrange artistically. 

8) Drizzle pomegranate vinegar atop prawns and quinoa bed. Serve. 

Verdict: It was beyond amazing and honestly turned out way better than I had expected.I was worried it would somehow be too greasy/salty, but no! Everything blended exceedingly well together, complementing each other. The frutiness from the mango vodka, the orange-pepper seasoning and the pomegranate vinegar kept the salad light, and the shreds of mint leaves added a nice herbal edge to every bite. And the prawns. God the prawns. They were even more tender than the ones I’d made yesterday (probably because stricter time control, I literally turned off the flame the moment they fully turned pink). Crunchy yet tender. And the intermingling of the different flavours, oh so delightful. The balsamico on the side also added a nice dipping option for the already naturally very sweet prawns. 

This was easily one of my top ten best dishes I’ve ever made. And relatively easy even! Excluding cooking time for quinoa, it all took a maximum of 45 minutes. 

I had this with a pleasantly sweet bubbly Moscato d’Asti on the side. Perfection.  

Paneer Kebabs 

So, I was at the Indian superstore recently, and I finally managed to get what I’ve been meaning to for some time - paneer. I love palak paneer, I almost always get it when I go to an Indian restaurant. But I wanted to try cooking something different with it. Greek-turkish-italian influences came to my mind. Paneer reminds me somehow of feta and mozzarella, and I was initially going to do some version of a caprese salad, but instead of balsamico I use a honey-based dressing. But then I wanted to push things a bit further. So, here’s what I did:

Ingredients

-Goat butter; 2 dabs

-Cherry tomatoes; a handful

-Onion; quarter of a medium sized one 

-Paneer cubes; a handful

-Pepper-garlic seasoning

-Mini paprika; 1-2 

Special Equipment

-Skewers (the ones I found are actually meant for rouladen but hey, whatever works, right?)

Instructions

1) Halve cherry tomatoes. Slice mini paprika. Slice onions. Set aside. 

2) Heat up goat butter in pan till nearly sizzling. Put in paneer cubes.Let them fry, till they have a crispy exterior. Don’t forget to flip them. Add in onion slices halfway, if you’re a wuss like me who doesn’t eat raw onions. But they will probably be done before the paneer, so remove first, so that they don’t become too soft.  

2) When all paneer cubes are fried, remove from pan. Quickly throw in sliced paprika and tomatoes and toss them around in the browned goat butter to heat them up quickly. 

3) Skewer them in any order which you’d prefer. Drizzle balsamico over them for flavour balance to the greasiness. 

4) Serve with a refreshing salad on the side, in my case my homemade cucumber salad. 

Fun note: Goat butter loses its slightly off-putting goaty smell when it’s browned. Delectable.

I was initially tempted to just toss it all together as a kind of salad, but extravagant birthday me ruled against it, with the excuse that “when else are you gonna have the damn time/energy/will to do this fancy shit”. Skewering the different ingredients took longer than I expected, but the presentation was fun, added to the special factor. It was fun trying paneer like that, not drowned in curry but rather as a standalone thing almost. Had a rather nutty flavour, and went well with the juiciness of the tomatoes, sauteed onions and paprika. I still want to try the honey drizzle thing though. I think it’d be a bomb brunch thing. With sparkling wine on the side. Mmm. 

German Cucumber Salad 

Since it features so often as a side dish I might as well make a quick documentation of it. I always liked Gurkensalat when I was living in Germany, both the yoghurt as well as the clear version.  I was sad for a while that my current living places didn’t have this. But then I realised, wait a minute, this is actually really easy to make, lol. So, here goes:

Ingredients

-”Natural” yoghurt i.e. sour yoghurt, not any of that smooth sweet shit lol; 2 cups

-Japanese cucumber; 2 medium

-Sugar; 2 tablespoons (I used brown, but white is probably preferable because colour) 

-Onion; quarter of a medium-sized one

-Dill; 1.5 heaped tablespoons if dried

-Salt; a pinch 

Serves: 4-5 portions

Instructions

1) Thinly slice cucumbers and onions. I like mine really thin, like thinner than paper thin. I personally prefer the texture more when it’s like that.

2) Mix yoghurt with dill, sugar, salt.

3) Throw in cucumbers and onions. Mix. Hey presto it’s done. 

Note: I don’t add any other liquid, because the cucumbers release quite some water overnight, so that the next day the liquid component of the salad reaches a consistency that I find just right - thinner than yoghurt, but not watery. The spiciness of the raw onion is usually mellowed out a lot by the yoghurt. 

Usually stores for about a week I’d say. Perfect complement to any kind of greasy food, or even just as a refreshing snack really. 

So, that marks the end of this round’s Birthday Weekend Menu! I had so much fun thinking up recipe ideas based on whatever ingredients I had (yes, cherry tomatoes and balsamico feature a hell lot lol), guided by the principles of extravagance and flavourfulness. I did feel extra special eating them. Plating/Presentation really adds a lot to the dining experience. 

Next series of posts coming up will probably have to do with office lunches that can be served cool/room-temperature, because I have developed an aversion to the taste of microwave-heated food. Already drawn up a whole list of recipe ideas, can’t wait to try them!

[love-skincareroutine]

How To Remove Chlorine From Skin After Swimming

New Post has been published on https://skin-care-routine.com/skin-care-routine/how-to-remove-chlorine-from-skin-after-swimming/

How To Remove Chlorine From Skin After Swimming

A. How To Reduce The Chlorine Smell After Swimming?

Many swimmers ask about it, so we decided to share with you some tips on how to remove chlorine odor from your body and hair after a swimming session. The odor comes from chlorine and chloramines applied to the skin and, in fact, there are many ways to get rid of them.

1. Hot bath right after swimming

Immediately after leaving the pool, take a hot shower and simply wash your hair and skin with regular soap or shower gel. Also, give your hair a conditioner. In 99% of cases, it is enough to get rid of the smell and feel comfortable when leaving the pool. If that’s not enough, keep reading, as we still have some ideas for you!

2. Vitamin C

Vitamin C naturally neutralizes chlorine and eliminates odor. The question is how best to use this? For fans of home remedies, we recommend lemon juice – just squeeze a lemon and dilute it with water (1: 4 ratio), apply to the body and let it dry. Another form is vitamin C crystals, which can also be diluted with water. Either method should work, but if you don’t want to take too long, you can use lotions and shampoo products as well.

3. Always wear a swimming cap

This is one of the easiest ways to comb your hair in the pool and will naturally keep it dry and away from the smell of chlorine. It also protects some types of hair from discoloration.

4. Wet your hair before a swimming workout

This is an additional tip to the previous one. To prevent your hair from absorbing chlorine in the pool, you can rinse your hair in the shower before entering the pool.

5. Swimming pools with ultraviolet light and ozone

This is our final and definitive tip – if you are struggling to get rid of the chlorine smell, you can also look for a pool that keeps the water clean without using chlorine. What should be looked for are pools with ozone or ultraviolet light – the latter do not use chemicals to clean the water.

6. Measure your swimming with the Swimmo training watch

Knowledge is the key to becoming a winner. Find out more with Swimmo. Swimmo is a next generation smart swimming watch. Monitor your swimming. Set goals to stay on track. Swim smarter with IntensityCoach ™, PaceKeeper ™ and heart rate monitors.

  B. Skin Care For Swimmers: Everything You Wanted To Know About Getting Chlorine Off Of Your Body

Goodbye Chlorine manufactures anti-chlorine products for swimmers’ hair and skin. Click here to see our entire product line or shopping guide.

1. What is a good soap to remove chlorine from the skin?

Look for soaps with two properties:

They are made for swimmers and contain chlorine-removing ingredients.

Moisturizer. A good soap is rich in glycerin, which helps keep your skin hydrated.

Chlorine dries and you need to remove it after swimming. Find a soap that neutralizes chlorine and moisturizes your skin. This is the best possible combination. See our soaps here.

2. What is a good liquid soap for swimmers?

The mildest and most moisturizing products allow a good facial wash. If you like using soap, our handmade soaps are great. If you prefer liquid soap, try our shower gel.

3. Why is it important to remove all chlorine from the skin after swimming?

Chlorine dries and damages the skin. The health benefits of chlorine pools are indisputable, but leaving chlorine on your skin after swimming is irritating. In people with sensitive skin, this residual chlorine can cause itchiness or a rash (commonly known as a “rash with chlorine”).

4. How do I remove the chlorine smell from the skin?

The smell of chlorine on your skin is actually residual chlorine that remains on your skin after swimming. You need to remove the chlorine to remove the odor. This is more difficult than it looks because chlorine is a difficult way to stay around. Use a product that removes chlorine, such as our liquid swimmer soap.

5. What is the best chlorine neutralizing soap?

Look for soaps made with special ingredients to neutralize chlorine. Our soaps and shower gel remove chlorine after bathing. It really comes down to a preference between soap and shower gel. We find it easier to get shower gel at the pool and using soap at home between baths is the most convenient solution.

6. How do you not smell of chlorine after swimming?

The smell of chlorine long after you swim is evidence that there is still chlorine in your body. To avoid the smell of chlorine, chlorine must be removed after bathing. Use products like anti-chlorine shower gel to remove chlorine after a swim.

  C. How to Keep Chlorine From Wrecking Your Hair, Skin, and Swimsuit

When the temperature rises, I want a refreshing dip in the pool. Swimming is by far my favorite summer activity. One thing I don’t like about swimming is chlorine. Each product we offer has been independently selected and verified by our editorial team. If you make a purchase using the included links, we may receive a commission. When the temperature rises, I want a refreshing dip in the pool. Swimming is by far my favorite summer activity. It’s a full-body workout that makes joints easier and makes me slimmer, healthier and more active.

One thing I don’t like about swimming is chlorine. If I’m not careful, my skin can be red and itchy and my hair can be dry and brittle. As I swim almost every day during the summer, chlorine also tears and fades my bathing suits long before the end of the season. In addition, I am currently concerned with damaging my freshly dyed hair. So I did some research and tested products to see what really worked. This I learned.

1. Choose a hair product

Chlorine is used as a disinfectant to kill harmful bacteria in the water. This prevents you from getting E. coli and other nasty germs, but it also removes the natural oils that protect your hair from damage and daily wear and tear. Since I don’t want my hair to turn into hay, I learned to coat my hair with hair products before jumping into the pool. Oil and silicone based products are the best. I used silicone-based hair serum to calm frizzy hair and protect hair from heat. Another option is coconut oil, which also adds shine and moisture to my dry hair. Other products on the market are designed specifically for this problem. I am currently using Phyto Plage Protective Sun Veil ($ 30; jet.com). Contains castor oil and protects hair from the harmful effects of the sun, salt and chlorine.

2. Get wet and protect your head

Before jumping into the pool, I like to dip my hair in the shower. This slows down chlorine absorption because your hair acts like a sponge and absorbs less water when wet. Then I put my locks in a rubber or silicone cap. I know it doesn’t block water completely, but it slows down the process.

3. Get special hair cleansers

Some swimmers also smell chemicals from the pool after bathing and other activities. This is because chlorine binds chemically to hair and skin. Therefore, you may need more than just soap and water to wash it. You can buy a special shampoo to remove chlorine and the buildup of minerals, such as copper, that can turn your hair green. I used a product called TRISWIM Shampoo ($ 11; amazon.com) that softens my hair while adding volume. It smells like citrus fruits, which also helps to remove the smell of chlorine. Malibu Swimmers Water Action Wellness Shampoo ($ 14; amazon.com) is another option. It also serves as a liquid soap and is gentle enough to be used every day.

4. Opt for natural remedies

It is cheap to use apple cider vinegar, which acts as a natural clarifier. Just add a part of vinegar to four parts of water and pour it over the freshly washed hair. Then, do a final rinse. You can also prepare a citrus lift for your dry hair. Carbon dioxide from soda and acid from citrus juices work together to detoxify hair and remove impurities like dirt, chlorine and salt. If that sounds like a lot of work and you don’t do it yourself, you can get vitamin C concentrated in a SwimSpray chlorine removal spray bottle ($ 10; amazon.com). I tried this product and, although it was not very good for my hair, I found it was a quick and easy way to get the stink out of my swimsuit.

5. Take care of your skin

If you stay in the pool for a long time, you will develop dry, chalky skin and sometimes an itchy, red skin rash. Again, the culprit is chlorine, which removes the surface layer of oil that normally retains moisture from the skin. There is not much you can do about it in the water, but when you get out of the pool you go straight to the shower, take off your suit and wash the skin chemicals with plenty of soap and water. If you have sensitive skin or the pool is very chlorinated, you can use a special liquid soap TRISWIM

6. Keep your eyes healthy too

Contact lenses can absorb water like a sponge, just like your hair. This is bad news, as prolonged exposure to chlorine can irritate the corneal surface and cause redness and itching in the eyes. If you are like me and need corrective lenses to see six inches in front of your face, you will have to throw away your contact lenses as soon as you get out of the pool. I find it cheap to have daily contacts that I can only use for swimming, while I use monthly magazines for everything else.

Another option is to buy prescription swimming goggles. You may not know this, but they are surprisingly affordable. Prices range from $ 20 to $ 60, depending on the brand. You can get them from Speedo or TYR, but I like the aquagoggles because they make it easy to customize the recipe for each eye.

7. Take care of your bathing suit

Frequent swimmers know that chlorine can damage not only their skin and hair, but also their swimsuit. Over time, the fabric will tear, the color will fade and the elastic will break. He can also turn his white suit to yellow. The next time you buy a new swimsuit, be sure to check the label to see if it is resistant to chlorine and fading. A high level of spandex is an advantage, as it will help your outfit maintain its shape. You can also look for a satisfaction guarantee. Lands’ End has this policy and covers all your swimwear.

[undertalethingies]

Don’t Forget Me (Please)

A twelve year old Sans sat on a bench.

He wasn’t supposed to be there, of course. He was supposed to be in lockdown like everyone else, hiding from the human who’d apparently already proved that they had no qualms about killing monsters.

He personally thought that they probably wouldn’t be doing much killing if they weren’t being attacked on sight. It seemed really dumb to try to kill someone for their soul and then get mad when they fought back.

And whatever, right? He was safe anyway. No one ever found this bench, since it was in a weird place and kinda out of the way. A human wouldn’t find it because they’d be too busy trying to get to the castle faster so they could try to leave.

That was another thing Sans didn’t get. Why have the Royal Guard running around like headless chickens to try and capture a human when they’d have to pass through the palace to leave anyway?

Sure, the humans overall seemed pretty warlike, considering how many separate nations and stuff they had up on the surface, but that didn’t mean that any given member of the species was just some crazed murderer. Judging by the kind of trash that fell into the underground, they had to be pretty technologically advanced, especially since they didn’t have any trash to copy. They had to do it all themselves, so at least some of them must’ve been smart, right?

Sans took a whoopie cushion out of his pocket, inflated it, and blew it at the echo flower next to him so it would make fart noises forever.

That was another thing. Humans had invented whoopie cushions and most of the associated gags. That meant humans couldn’t be all bad, because bad people would never invent something as awesome as whoopie cushions.

Sans continued to idly contemplate humanity, fully believing that his conclusions would never be tested.

--

Sienna rested in the room with the bridge puzzle, her signature cowboy hat tugged low over her eyes. She took a polishing cloth out of her pocket and ran it over her gun a few times, a nervous habit her mom had never been able to break her of. 

She was starting to think she might not see her mom again. She’d do everything in her power to get through the underground alive, of course, but some of the monsters down here were really strong, and the sheer amount of people that wanted her dead was terrifying.

Even scarier was that she was almost out of bullets, even though she’d never planned to use any at the start of this.

Her favorite poncho was stained with dust, that clingy white stuff monsters turned into when she shot them. She didn’t regret it, no. Every kill she’d made had been in self defense, but she still hated the necessity of it.

Looking around the room, she didn’t see any monsters anywhere, though she knew there could be some hiding in the reeds. She also knew she’d encounter more if she continued on, and she just wasn’t ready yet.

She decided to mess around with the bridge seeds instead. Maybe if she could get all four of them into the water fast enough, she could ride them down the river to some nicer place.

Carefully, she took each seed and placed it on the edge of the water, just barely balancing on the small ridge that separated Waterfall’s spongy earth from the flowing water.

All at once, she pushed the seeds off. They sprouted into a bridge and she hastily leapt on before it could be washed down the stream.

Sienna cautiously got to her feet on her improvised boat, holding her arms out to keep her balanced. She was doing it! It had really worked! 

She let out a laugh of pure joy.

Maybe now she could leave peacefully!

Just as she was getting excited, her seed bridge came to an abrupt stop, causing her to tumble forward.

Before she hit the ground, a blue glow enveloped her, stopping her momentum entirely.

“geez, i don’t even know you and you’re already falling for me,”

--

Sans was still sitting on the bench when he heard a wild laugh from just outside the room. Curious, he turned his head, just in time to see some kid falling over from where they’d been standing on some bridge seeds.

He knew faceplanting was bad for those fleshy types, so he grabbed their soul with blue magic to stop their momentum. Because he couldn’t resist, he coupled his timely assist with a pun.

“geez, i don’t even know you and you’re already falling for me,” He said, winking and finger gunning.

The kid got shot back to their feet with a wild look, pulling an actual gun out of a holster at their side and pointing it at him.

Sans was confused, to say the least. “uh, normally if people don’t like my jokes, they just groan at me. no need to start taking out the weapons, y’know?” He gave them some side eye that they one hundred percent deserved. Seriously, who pulls a weapon over a joke? Who down here even had a weapon?

“Are you gonna try and kill me?” They demanded, and he noticed that their arms were shaking just slightly.

Sans tilted his head. “why would i do that? it’s not like you’re a-” Sans paused for a moment, taking in the dust on their pocho and the fear in their face. Suddenly, he remembered that there was a human in the underground. 

“oooooh. you’re the human, aren’t you?”

“Yeah! What’re you gonna do about it?” 

He deliberated for a moment, bringing his hand up to support his chin. His eyes narrowed and he made a long “hmm” sound.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, making a bony clacking sound. 

“i know!” The human tensed. “i’m gonna do absolutely nothing.”

Their jaw fell open, producing a comical expression of surprise. “You’re not going to try and kill me?”

“nope,” he popped the p.

Their eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re not going to try and capture me? Not going to shoot magic at me or try to break my legs or set me on fire?”

“did people actually do that? you look like, eight,” Sans couldn’t imagine what he would have done if people had done all that to him. He felt somewhat horrified, but he kept it to himself, hiding it behind a jovial grin and a friendly tone. He didn’t know what people had done to this human, but they were pointing a gun at him with their finger on the trigger and he knew all too well that it would only take one shot.

“Of course they did! Monsters have done nothing but try to kill me since I fell down here!” There was something raw in their voice as they said it, and he couldn’t suppress a pang of sympathy.

“that does sound pretty sucky,”

The human rolled their eyes. “Gee, you think? I just want to go home and see my mom again, and there’s literally only one monster in this whole place who’s been actually nice to me,”

“wow, is it me?” Sans asked, fluttering his eyesockets.

“No. You’re weird and suspicious. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell you’re trying to sell me here,”

Sans mimed a dramatic gasp, placing his hand over his heart and looking to the side. “how could you, human whose name i don’t know. i thought we had something special here, with our forty seconds of interaction,” Dropping the hurt tone, he said in a more serious manner, “and of course i’m being nice to you. you’ve got a gun pointed at me and you look like the twitchy type.”

The human gave him a searching look, like they were trying to telekinetically implode him, before nodding, flipping the gun’s safety back on, and sticking it back in the holster all in one fluid movement that made him question how a little kid knew how to operate a handgun in the first place.

“That’s fair. You planning to attack me now that I’ve got it put away?” They asked.

“i don’t really see the point, to be honest. you’ll die pretty much irregardless of my actions, so why should i get blood on my hands?” 

They glared at him. “So you’re only refusing to fight because someone else’ll do it for you?”

Sans thought for a moment, and shook his head. “not quite. more like… i dunno whether i agree with killing every human who falls down here, and it’s not like the king is gonna listen to some kid about it, so i can at least make him face the consequences of that decision himself,” He explained.

“and we have to get to the surface somehow, right? the underground can’t support monsters indefinitely. the clock’s been ticking since we got sealed down here.” It was wrong to kill kids for freedom, it had to be. But what other choice did they have? It was seven humans measured against thousands of monsters, and while both options sucked, there was a pretty clear winner, in Sans’ view.

The kid’s eyes widened. “So you guys are gonna die if you stay down here?” 

“not all of us, necessarily. but monster society as it is will probably completely break down within fifty to seventy years, going by the ratio of population growth to how many farmable fields we’ve got,”

“Why not just stop having kids?”

Sans blinked. Then he flashed back to a human book he’d found in the dump a few years ago and was pretty sure he knew the source of confusion. 

“monster kids don’t work like human kids. they kinda just pop up wherever there are large concentrations of magic. that’s why we know there aren’t more than a handful of monsters living on the surface, is because the barrier sucks up all the magic on earth to stay powered,”

“That’s so weird, dude.” They looked like they were about to ask follow up questions, but Sans didn’t want to talk more about the inevitable decline of his species, so he spoke before they could.

“what’s the surface like, anyway?”

The human raised their hand and made an a aborted gesture, before flapping their hand. “Uh. It’s, a lot of things? It’s kinda big, so there’s a lot going on,”

Sans was absolutely floored by this stunning revelation. He’d never guessed that the surface might be large, of all things. “i was kinda hoping for specifics, kid,”

They shrugged “It’s hard to sum up, okay? I guess the country I live in has a lot of parks and stuff?”

“i’ve heard of those. they’re like big areas of land cordoned off for animals to live in, right?” 

“Some of them are, I guess. I think most parks are just big tourist attractions, though. But I guess they have to be? Since it’s not like the government’s gonna give them enough money,”

??? Sans was confused. What did they mean, the government wouldn’t give proper money? Wasn’t that the whole point of having it in the first place?

“the government won’t give them money?”

“Well yeah, bastards are too busy lining their own pockets to give proper funds to necessary amenities. Even insurance is privatized,”

“what’s insurance?”

The human looked at him, and blinked very slowly. They raised their hands as if to gesture a point, before once again lowering them to their sides.

“Monsters don’t have insurance?”

“i mean, we might. you still haven’t explained what that even is,” Judging by their vaguely shell shocked expression, he was guessing it was something pretty universal.

“Insurance is like… If you get in a car crash, or your house burns down, a company will give you a payout based on the damages, and in exchange you give them a set amount of money, which they put into a pool, which is where they get the money to pay their clients from,”

“that’s just a pyramid scheme with extra steps,”

“How do you know what a pyramid scheme is but not insurance?”

He shrugged. “monsters have scammers too. ask me about jerry sometime,”

They gave him a dubious look before continuing. “Anyway, insurance isn’t quite a pyramid scheme, mostly because it’s pyramid schemey-ness pretty much only exists to combat the healthcare system, which is infinitely, infinitely worse. Also, what do you guys do if you have a disaster you can’t pay for if none of you have insurance?”

“why would you have to pay for a disaster?”

“The people doing the repairs have to get money from somewhere, right?”

“the government???” 

“Your government actually cares about you?”

“yours doesn’t?”

“It’s the government? Wouldn’t that be obvious?”

Sans could clearly see that this line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere, so he decided to ask about something else confusing they’d said. 

“what did you mean when you said your healthcare system was a pyramid scheme? how does that even work?”

The human made a face. “Lemme just give you an example. So, some humans have this disability called diabetes, and they need to inject a chemical called insulin semi-frequently so they don’t die,”

Getting a sense of where this might be going, Sans prepared his sense of horror.

“Insulin costs about $2.50 per bottle to manufacture. I know you guys probably don’t use the same monetary system, but just try and guess how many dollars it costs to buy,”

Sans figured that it must be bad, given the human’s seeming assurance that this would prove their point handily, so he guessed high.

“fifteen dollars?” 

The human chuckled without a trace of humor. “Try 50.”

Sans was physically incapable of paling, but he gave a valiant effort. “but you said they need it to not die,”

“Yep,”

“and 50 is a lot?”

“Yep. Especially since they end up needing a lot of it.”

The rictus of a grin on their face raised another question in his mind. How did some probably-eight-year-old have this nihilistic an outlook on life? (Later he would look back on this thought and giggle to himself)

“how old are you, anyway? you seem to know a lot about this,”

“I’m twelve,”

Sans blinked. “wait, we’re the same age? that feels so weird, i’ve been calling you kid this entire conversation,”

“You’re twelve too? Damn, you act like you’re thirty,”

“i could say the same to you,”

“Why’d you assume I was younger than you anyway? I’m way taller than you,”

Sans sniffed. “i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that,”

“Why? It’s true,”

“i take everything nice i thought about you back. you’re by far my least favorite human,”

They rolled their eyes. “And how long ago did the last one fall?”

“like forty years, what’s your point?”

The two snickered.

“you know, it’s kinda a shame there’s a war. i think i would’ve liked to be friends with you,”

They smiled, the motion bittersweet. “Yeah. Same to you. I should go,”

The human turned, walking from his life as quickly as they’d entered it.

“wait!” He said just as they were about to turn out of sight.

They rotated at the waist so that they could see him without turning all the way around. “What?”

“you said your mom is on the surface, right? if you tell me your name, i could make sure news of you gets to her, in case… you know.”

They looked slightly touched. “Yeah, okay. If I’m gonna die, let me be remembered as Sienna Auren, instead of just ‘the girl with the gun’,”

Then they paused. “You should tell me your name too, so I can think of you as something other than ‘that weirdo who gave a pickup line to someone he was actively at war with’,”

He winced slightly at the distinctly unflattering description. “sans.”

“Goodbye, Sans. I’d say see you, but I probably won’t.”

And then she left for real. The only human he’d likely ever meet, in and out of his life in less than twenty minutes.

--

Sans sat on the bench, his head tilted back to regard the only stars the underground could lay claim to. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and flipped it, but he didn’t catch it and it landed in the river.

How long would she live? How many more times would she fire that gun? how many times would she have no choice?

Each second she spent in the underground, each step she took, was a countdown ticking to the demise that awaited her in the castle with the king. Her poncho was stained now with dust, but how long would it take for that to be mixed with blood? 

How long would it take for the sixth human who fell into the underground, the girl the same age as him who hated those who ruled the world she came from with such ferocity, who searched for the surface so her mother could see her once more, how long would it take for Sienna to be nothing but a body in a coffin and a soul in a canister?

What a world, where children were sacrificed at the idol of freedom.

Sans couldn’t cry. He wasn’t capable.

He hugged his knees to his chest and wondered why it was him who was left with her memory.

“i guess…” He began, his words directed at nothing more than the knowledge that he now must grieve for someone he didn’t even know, because no one else would.

“i guess i just…” He broke down laughing midway through the sentence, and for someone who couldn’t cry, his giggles sounded remarkably like sobs.

He pushed himself to his feet, the rough wood of the bench scraping at his fingers. He tore his gaze from the lights above, for he had no wish right now that was in their power to grant. He pulled his hands to his face, covering his bone dry eyesockets from the judging view of the stars above.

“i just wasn’t ready for the responsibility.”

He went home like he knew Sienna never would.

[coffeeandteaarenecessary]

Cold Brew Coffee

I could ramble about how cold brew is the superior coffee and all of that jazz or I can just tell you how to make it and you can see for yourself. It’s perfect for summer because it’s more caffeinated and it’s also cold so you know. There’s that. Anyways, everything is under the cut-

Prep Time: Like, less than 10 minutes in total. Y’all think I timed this shit? No one cares about the prep time if it’s less than an hour let’s be real

Total Time: 12-36 ish Hours. You don’t have to do anything during this time really except wait. Cold brew takes a while. 

Appliances

French Press- preferably glass or ceramic (I will explain at the end of the post)

Coffee Grinder- Optional, only necessary for whole bean coffee

Bamboo Skewer- Optional, you don’t have to use it but it helps

Spoon- This would be what you use instead of a bamboo skewer

Water Filter- Only necessary if your water is vaguely metallic (unless you don’t mind that)

A non-metal pitcher or bottle- cause it’s called cold brew....

Refrigerator- ... to make it cold

OPTIONAL:

Ice Cube Trays

Liquid Measuring Cup

Freezer- I Will Explain

Ingredients

Water

Good Whole Bean or Ground Coffee- this doesn’t have to be super expensive coffee but I find coffee with more fruity undertones makes really smooth cold brew. Please Do Not Use Pete’s Coffee Or Dunkin Coffee, why do you want your cold brew to taste like dirt? You will be sad. Just use coffee that you like that doesn’t taste like dirt.

OPTIONAL:

Confectioner’s sugar* 

Simple Syrup*

Creamer**

Chocolate Milk**

Milk**

*Obviously Use Your Favorites Not All Of Them Unless That’s What You Normally Do. I Will Explain Why at the end of the recipe

**Same deal, use your favorites

Process

Grind your coffee (how much you grind is relative to the size of your french press but it is more than you think) You’re aiming for about a 1:12 Ratio (coffee grounds to water. Obviously mess with this to your liking, I lean towards a 1:10 ratio but 1:12 works too)

Pour coffee into the bottom of french press

Add just enough room temperature to kinda cold water for all of the grounds to be covered but not filling the french press (This blooms the coffee, and you will thank me later)

Stir so all the grounds got wet (remember that bamboo skewer? This is when you use it)

Wait Five Minutes (again, you will thank me later. This gives the coffee time to bloom)

Fill the french press with the rest of the room temperature to kinda cold water leaving enough room to fit the top on with the plunger pulled all the way to the lid. Ideally, grounds should just barely or not touch at all but not have too much room that you can clearly see the separation 

Leave At Room Temperature For 16-24 Hours (In my experience, 12 is too weak. Lean towards 24 if at all possible. Longer won't kill you, it will just be stronger. Yes I know I said 12 hours but like, do you want more flavorful coffee or do you want bean water? The choice is yours)

Plunge your coffee grounds down to the bottom and immediately pour into a nonmetallic container (like a water bottle you don't care about.) This prevents your coffee from getting weird metal flavors we are trying to avoid

Refrigerate (or if you have ice available and are willing to risk watered down coffee or you drink your coffee faster than I do then just ignore this step. You've already waited a day to taste the fruits of your labor, a little longer is worth it. Or if you followed the optional steps previously feel free to consume immediately.)

Pour into a drinking vessel of your choice and add mix-ins of your choice (or drink it black if you roll that way. I do not. My coffee should almost taste like coffee ice cream and be almost as cold)

OPTIONAL: 

Pour extra coffee into measuring cup and sweeten using preferred ratios. 

Then pour into ice cube trays and freeze. This prevents watered down coffee if you choose to be impatient and means you just get e v e n more coffee. Once you do this you can never put ice in your coffee again

Promised Explanations And Other Possible Questions

So why no metal french press? 

Well, metal and coffee are not friends. It makes your coffee really acidic and tastes weird. It’s the same reason you don’t want to use any vaguely metallic water, ideally, the coffee should have a full kinda fruity flavor along with whatever else the coffee says it should taste like. The goal of cold brew is to get as much of that flavor into your mouth at once. 

Why a french press in general? 

That’s the coffee maker I have, okay? I gotta work with what I got.

Are there other ways to make cold brew?

Yes. Use a method that works for whatever coffee maker you have.

Why use room temperature water?

Because the whole point of cold brew is that it never sees heat. If the water is too cold the coffee won’t bloom right and if the water is too warm you risk acidic and bitter coffee.

Do you have to bloom the coffee? 

No, you don’t have to but it's a nice extra step to take and it takes five minutes-ish. That’s like... two songs on a playlist. 

Why is cold brew superior to hot coffee? 

The simple answer is because sometimes if your water is too hot when you’re making the coffee it makes the entire pot of coffee taste acidic and no one likes acidic coffee (at least I don’t). Cold brew avoids all of the potential acidity of hot coffee and its cold which means you can enjoy it in the summer without feeling like you are closer to heat exhaustion. Plus you never have to worry about burning your tongue.

Why shouldn’t you use normal sugar? 

I mean it’s not like I can stop you. The short answer is when you try to dissolve regular granulated sugar it doesn’t want to in cold or room temperature liquids. Seriously you can test it if you want to. It ends up getting kinda clumpy at the bottom of your cup which makes it harder to clean.

Why did I add chocolate milk? 

Well if you use your favorite chocolate milk (preferably one that’s on the sweeter side) you can easily make an iced mocha without heating up hot chocolate and then letting it get cold and you can also then skip the sugar and the creamer if you are watching how much sugar you consume. I find to make a good iced mocha using cold brew you need about a 1:4 ratio (about 1/5th of the drinking container for the chocolate milk).

What have I found to be the perfect ratio of mix-ins in my cold brew? 

For a sweet cream creamer (Look for the purple natural bliss), I found about a 1:5 ratio works (one part is about a 1/6th of whatever container I am using to drink my coffee out of. This isn’t baking, science isn’t necessary). If I’m turning leftovers into ice cubes I do about a 1:4 ratio of creamer to coffee. This means my ice cubes aren’t really ice cube-y but it tastes really really good. 

Do you have to use dairy creamer? 

No- use whatever kind of creamer you want or don’t use it. At the end of the day, it’s your coffee. I just included it on the list because I could and I also told you how to make ice cubes that don’t water down your coffee.

What do you have against Pete’s Coffee and Dunkin’s Coffee?

I just think they taste super gross. There is no way to make any of their coffee drinkable for me. Dunkin is good for Donuts only.

Play with the balance of your cold brew. Enjoy your cold brew. Welcome to the world of nice and smooth coffee. It is so worth the wait.

[edmontontouris]

The Basically Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookie test went off without a hitch and boy, did I learn a few things. I am a decent baker and my family loves what I make. I (humbly) brag that baking is my superpower. But wow… way to make me feel like I am a rookie Basically… Let me tell you what happened.

But first, you can find this week’s recipe here.

The very first thing the instructions say is to read through the recipe so there are no surprises. I learned that from my mom when I was 10 and starting out as a rookie. It is super important in this recipe because you need to chill the cookie dough for two hours. This isn’t a quickie.

The second thing I did wasn’t in the recipe but I have watched enough Bon Appétit to know that room temperature eggs are important. I have never ever EVER used room temp eggs until this recipe. I put 3 eggs in a bowl and covered them in hot tap water while I melted the butter. It took about 5 minutes. While it was melting, not browning, I weighed my flour.

I had a scale that I received as a gift from my ex. To weigh my food. This was the beginning of my eating disorder. I have used the scale for cooking but I know the scale was a cheap thing and worked well enough for Weight Watchers but it isn’t precise. I bought the scale the BA test kitchen recommended on Amazon and it arrived two days later in a snow storm. I also purchased an oven thermometer. This was eye-opening as well, but I will get to that later.

Where were we? Right, the scale. It has a tare feature which is essential. I put the bowl on the scale, set the tare (which means it cancels out the weight of the bowl and the other ingredients so you can precisely measure the next ingredient), filled and levelled 1 cup of flour like Martha Stewart taught me. I needed 125g of flour. My one-cup measure was 150g.  25g MORE THAN I NEEDED. Ohhhkaaay… scooped out the extra flour. until it read 125g. Set the tare and added the buckwheat flour along with the rest of the dry ingredients. Set this aside.

Normally I would mix the wet ingredients and then sift the dry overtop. But I followed the instructions exactly as written. That meant separate bowls for everything. I put a new clean bowl on the scale, tossed in my melted butter. set the tare, added the sugars and whisked. This was also new for me. I would normally pull out the Kitchen Aid stand mixer and over beat until light and fluffy. The instructions called for 30 seconds of whisking. I set the timer and began. at the 15 sec mark, I thought I was done. but the timer said otherwise, so I kept going. It made a huge difference. It went from combined to glossy. This is the point where I thought I had whisked enough – nope.

I added one egg and mixed until combined, then added the yolks one at a time.

Here is what I learned about room temperature eggs.

They are easier to separate, the white breaks free almost instantly.

They break up like a dream.

They combine almost instantly without the extra fuss of smashing the yolk to break the membrane.

Room temperature eggs make a huge difference!

Then I folded in the flour and gently combined to minimize gluten production. The batter felt light and delicate, never have I ever had delicate cookie batter. I folded in the coarsely chopped chocolate (I never would have bought good bittersweet chocolate before either. WOW is the only adjective that fits.)

The batter is still wet at this point but is said to chill for two hours. I put a plate over the top of the bowl (please stop using single-use plastic) and popped it into the fridge.

Two hours later…

I hung the oven thermometer in my oven and preheated it 350F. When the oven reached the temperature I checked the thermometer.

Ummmm yikes. I did some more reading and the thermometer recommended I wait for two cycles of the oven before checking again. My oven clicks as the elements turn on and off. I waited…

Hoorah! I don’t know what I would have done if it didn’t work. Notice the elements are off and not red.

I rolled the cookies as directed and added bonus chocolate to the cookie balls.  I didn’t use parchment because I am trying to reduce my use of single-use items. I put two sheets into the oven as directed and set the timer for 4 minutes. After four minutes passed, I switched the racks in the oven and checked the thermometer. Leaving the door open for a few short seconds dropped the temperature back down to 300F! Did everyone but me know oven temperatures were fickle? I pulled the cookies out at the 4-minute mark and decided they needed two more minutes because they were still wet looking.

This was the point where you were supposed to sprinkle more salt. My kosher salt is not delicate nor do I have flaky salt. I live in Canada and don’t have the same brands the BA test kitchen suggested, Morton’s or Diamond salt, my salt would have been chunky so I omitted the extra salt. Good thing too. These cookies had enough salt/sweet contrast for me.

I had enough batter for two more cookies. So this time I baked them for eight minutes without opening the oven to achieve the soft chewie cookie. It worked! The cookie was much lighter in colour with two minutes less.

But look at the oven temperature!

When I bake my cookies I place one tray in at a time and keep the oven closed at all times. My first tray is 10 minutes, then I reduce the time, the last tray is 7 minutes. So I instinctively knew my oven was not consistent. It is 20 years old. After I replace my roof shingles, I think this is the next new purchase.

I learned so many new things! Not all sugar is created equal unlike what Chef Michael Smith said. Dark brown sugar will react differently to baking soda than light brown sugar. Plus it has a deeper molasses flavour. If that is what you want, do it! But the science of the dry ingredients changes, so be aware. Room temperature eggs are where it’s at and give your oven lots of time to preheat.

To recap, these are mine on the left and Basically on the right. The buckwheat gives an earthy nutty quality that is fine but not my favourite. I love the bittersweet chocolate more than I thought I would and the sweet/salty ratio is delicious! Would I make these again? Absolutely. These are not a snack cookie, its a one and done for dessert kind of cookie and the recipe only makes one dozen.

    The recipe teaser for next week looks like some sort of quick bread. Perhaps banana bread. I am here for it! Let me know if you made this and how it turned out fo you.

  Basically: Cookies The Basically Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookie test went off without a hitch and boy, did I learn a few things.

[gta-5-cheats]

Gadgets 360 Staff Picks: What We Bought, and Loved in 2017

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Gadgets 360 Staff Picks: What We Bought, and Loved in 2017

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Looking back at 2017, we rounded up the favourite gear that the Gadgets 360 team bought over the year, with phones, game consoles, and some offbeat items as well. Here’s a look at everyone’s favourite gadgets from 2017.

Abhinav Lal: OnePlus Bullets (V2) Of my few tech purchases this year, the OnePlus Bullets (V2) earphones stand out. The earphones thus far have served me well, offering balanced sound, a comfortable fit with plenty of different sized earbuds to choose from, pretty decent hands-free reception, and solid build quality across the board. They look quite good too.

Buy OnePlus Bullets (V2)

Aditya Shenoy: MacBook Air After patiently waiting for sales on e-commerce sites, I managed to pick up the one gadget that I have been waiting for: the MacBook Air. I wanted one since I started working but the price always put me off. I managed to buy the updated MacBook Air on PayTM for Rs. 44,250 after all the cashback and discounts. At that price, the MacBook Air was a no brainer.

After using the laptop for close to 3 months, I can say that it is probably the best purchase I made this year. It is lightweight and is easy to carry during my commute to office. The processor is powerful, 8GB of RAM helps me multitask easily, and the battery life is simply impressive.

Buy MacBook Air

Akhil Arora: Nintendo Switch Of all the purchases I made this year, the red-and-blue Nintendo Switch has been my favourite. I can’t imagine why anyone would opt for the dour, colourless grey Joy-Con scheme. For someone who spends two to three hours on the road the days I commute, it’s been worth it simply for that time. Instead of spending it reading (mind-numbing and frustrating) news on my phone, I’ve invested that time in games that make me smile, laugh, or cry.

The Switch is perfect for on-the-go entertainment, not just because it has been the source of some of the best games this year in Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Mario Kart 8, and Mario + Rabbids, but also because you can pause at any moment, unlike TV shows and movies, which I’ve never been too fond of viewing on small screens anyway. It has its flaws, as the battery life and internal storage aren’t great, but that’s fine. It’s turned my most useless hours into the most fun.

Buy Nintendo Switch

  Aman Rashid: Beats X 2017 has been the year of the death of the headphone jack. Almost every other top tier phone manufacturer doesn’t have a headphone jack on their flagship device. And that brings me to my best tech purchase this year: the blue Beats X. Initially I used to think that the transition will be difficult, but I’m glad I went the wireless route. The audio quality is great, the fit is comfortable and it charges from 0-100 percent in like 20-25 minutes.

And on top of that, I’m able to squeeze out two days of use from them on a single charge. Though it’s true that wireless earphones have their own set of disadvantages and on top of that to get a decent pair of them will cost you around Rs. 10,000 – 12,000. But if the price is not an issue then I can surely say the Beats X won’t disappoint.

Buy Beats X

Ankit Chawla: Mi Air Purifier 2 I live in New Delhi and we have been plagued with the world’s worst pollution for the past few years. After reading up on the benefits, I picked up a couple of units of the Mi Air Purifier 2 for me and the folks.

There are better air purifiers in the market but this one hits the sweet spot with the price and its minimal UI. Setting it up is super easy and everyone at home is now hooked onto the Mi Home app, tracking PM2.5 levels all day. And, yes, we had a safe Diwali this time around.

Buy Mi Air Purifier 2

Gagan Gupta: Amazon Echo It’s a tough year to single out a single tech purchase that has been a game changer for me, since there were just so many of them. But gun to my head, I would pick the Amazon Echo. I was a bit concerned when I picked it up at launch, and I did have some trouble with the app initially, but now it’s a very crucial part of my bedroom. It reads out the news to me when I’m up, it plays ‘morning music’ when I’m getting ready for work, and it even keeps my kid entertained without having her to look at a screen for extended durations. Though I don’t use it as often as I would like, it rarely disappoints when I ask it to do something. It has inspired me to make my home ‘smart’ with the Echo speaker as the main control point.

Buy Amazon Echo

Gopal Sathe: Nintendo Switch After a lot of hemming and hawing, I bought a Nintendo Switch this year. Nintendo’s newest console reminds me a lot of my favourite console ever, the PS Vita, but with the added advantage of letting me plug it into the TV and game on the big screen without buying anything extra. The ability to start playing from your couch, and then just pick up the Switch and keep going is amazing, and makes even a (nearly) seven-year-old game like Skyrim shine again.

Buy Nintendo Switch

Jagmeet Singh: Apple Watch Series 2 While Apple launched the anticipated Apple Watch Series 3 with LTE support earlier this year, I bought the Apple Watch Series 2 as the new gadget in my bouquet a few months back. I didn’t find it worthwhile to spend more on the Series 3 as its standalone voice calling feature is not yet available in India. Moreover, I can get all great features of the latest Apple Watch version right on my wrist – even at a lower price.

The Apple Watch Series 2 has a water-resistant build that makes it a perfect wearable for daily use. Also, there is a built-in GPS antenna that provides me with accurate distance and speed measurements. I’m not a fitness geek, though. There is a large number of watchfaces, and I own various wristbands and cases to personalise my Apple Watch. The best thing about the Apple Watch is its seamless connectivity with an iPhone. This is something that convinces me to pick my Apple Watch each day I leave my home. The Watch offers me real-time notifications as well as allows me to attend voice calls or reply to new messages or emails without bringing out my iPhone.

Buy Apple Watch Series 2

Jamshed Avari: iPhone SE 64GB People are often surprised to hear that I don’t buy every single top-end phone that comes out. The truth is that while I do love using the latest and greatest devices, I have a mental block when it comes to spending so much money. This year, I picked up a iPhone SE 64GB online at a great price right around the time that it was being phased out, which means it was already a year old. I think it offers tremendous value, with pretty much the same hardware as the iPhone 6s.

It’s going to receive iOS updates for quite a few years and the processor handles all my dozens of apps without any hiccups. It takes great pictures, though this is admittedly one area in which it lags behind more up-to-date models. Apple finally got its entry-level pricing and storage capacity strategies right, and I wholeheartedly recommend the current 32GB and 128GB models every time they’re discounted online.

Buy iPhone SE

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  Naina Gupta: LG Q6+ This year, I decided to change my smartphone that had already started to look old and dated. After going over the endless smartphone options satisfactorily, my eyes stopped on LG Q6+, which was launched this year. The LG Q6+ packs a FullVision display that has an 18:9 display aspect ratio. I am more of a person who loves binge-watching shows on my phone and this year’s hotly adapted trend of larger-than-usual mobile displays came as a delight with Q6+.

Other that this, I love clicking photographs on my phone as the camera is good enough for novice photography (I’m not a good photographer). The only thing that concerns me is the battery life, but this doesn’t stop me from loving this phone.

Buy LG Q6+

Pranay Parab: Apple AirPods I bought the Apple AirPods in 2017, thanks to a sale that brought its price down to Rs. 9,000. Initially I was too scared to use it while running (“What if it falls?”, “It’s not waterproof, will sweat damage AirPods?”) but since when did that stop a Gadgets 360 staff member from taking a chance? That is how AirPods became my favourite headphones for listening to music while running. Now I sync music to my Apple Watch Series 2 and go for a run without my iPhone. Yes, that means I’m out of touch with people when I’m out running but it’s good to be offline once in a while. From short 5km tempo runs to half marathons, I’ve run all distances with the AirPods and faced no issues. That’s why AirPods are my favourite purchase of 2017.

Buy Apple AirPods

Ravi Sharma: iPhone 7 Having been in the Android camp since I purchased the Moto Defy in 2010, I finally decided to move over to the iPhone side this year. Though not a fan of a closed ecosystem and not much impressed with iOS on my iPad, I still decided to go with iPhone 7 because I was tired of replacing Android phones once a year.

iOS on the iPhone 7 offered more features than I expected it to, and several synergies with the iPad that made working on two devices very cohesive. The iPhone 7 experience has been good enough so far to make it my favourite purchase of the year, ahead of the Amazon Echo Dot.

Buy iPhone 7

  Rishi Alwani: Xbox One X Last year I singled out what was known as Project Scorpio – Microsoft’s answer to the PS4 Pro – as 2017’s hottest piece of tech. Now known as the Xbox One X, it’s delivered on most of Microsoft’s promises. From cutting-edge visual fidelity in current titles like Halo 5 and Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus, to the ability to play games from the original Xbox that released back in 2001 like Crimson Skies and Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, it’s my favourite tech purchase of 2017.

The Xbox One X has more or less replaced everything else that I usually game on when I’m at home. All that’s left is Microsoft India to realise that there’s real demand for iterative consoles (if sales of the PS4 Pro here are any indication) and release it here officially. Something for 2018 perhaps?

Buy Xbox One X

Roydon Cerejo: Sony MDR-1000X Call it a weird coincidence but like last year, my best tech purchase this year has also been a pair of headphones. This time, it’s the mighty Sony MDR-1000X noise cancelling cans. I’ve been itching to get my hands on either the Bose QC35 or the MDR-1000X for a while now, but when I found the Sonys for $299 (roughly Rs. 20,000), it was simply too good a deal to pass up. Other reasons for leaning towards the Sony more intuitive controls (touch-based) and the high resolution codec support (LDAC) for music. It’s only been about two months since I got it but so far, it’s been absolutely fantastic.

Buy Sony MDR-1000X

Sandeep Kumar Sinha: Vu 39-inch Smart TV After surveying the market, I found the Vu 39-inch Full-HD Smart TV as the best bet for my living room. The TV has a bunch of web services, including Netflix and YouTube among others, that mainly inclined my buying decision. And once I installed it in my room, I observed that apart from these integrated services, there are many good features that makes the Vu TV a compelling option. The A+ Grade IPS panel produces decent colours. The TV also has three HDMI ports and two USB ports that are enough to connect the screen with other devices. Further, the stereo speakers on the TV produce decent audio across my room.

The most attractive point of the Vu TV however is its affordable price, which is significantly lower than the likes of LG, Samsung, and Sony.

Buy Vu 39-inch Smart TV

Shubham Verma: Amazon Echo When Amazon announced that its Echo smart speaker range is hitting Indian marketplaces, I was completely convinced to get myself a unit out of the first batch of Amazon Echo. I got my Amazon Echo speaker in the beginning of November and have been using it sparingly. The personal digital assistants such as Google Assistant, Cortana, and Siri are already available in India where Google’s Assistant enjoys an upper hand, solely because Google and its services are driven heavily by the behaviour and usage patterns of Indian users. Having tried all of them, it was time to unbox the newcomer (to India), Alexa.

Alexa, Amazon’s voice assistant, has been adapted to suit to multiple Indian accents for English, along with integration with Bollywood, English, and other Indian regional music. Alexa’s promptness to listen to my voice, even from a reasonable distance, is quite admirable. Talking about the speaker itself, Amazon Echo is pretty decent at filling a particular space in your house with loud, clear, and distinctive sound.

Buy Amazon Echo

Yousuf Jawed: Apple Music 2017 has been more about app purchases and subscriptions for me. The one app to which I am consistently subscribed to is Apple Music. I used Airtel Wynk and Play Music, but Apple Music is the app which I like, for many reasons.

It has a nice UI, I can also see what my friends are listening to, and it help me to share their music taste and vice-versa. The music recommendations made by the app serve me well and are quite useful most of the time. It’s been six months since I got it, and I’ve no plans to change in 2018.

Get Apple Music

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Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas + Avocado Crema

Chicken fajitas and sheet pan suppers would seem like a marriage made in a busy home cook’s heaven. I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with the idea of chicken strips, bell peppers, and onions tossed in a Tex-Mex inspired marinade, oven-roasted for a few minutes, and plated up on a busy weeknight? Sadly, it turns out that the reality—like most fairytale Hollywood celebrity unions—rarely winds up as happily-ever-after as one would hope.

If you’re like me, you’ve no doubt been seduced by the noisy sizzle of fragrant onions and seasoned meat strips at a neighborhood Tex-Mex restaurant. (Psst! That sizzling cast iron platter? It’s just a prop to further a calculated marketing move called the “Fajita effect.” It doesn’t do anything other than make you drool while it overcooks your food.) I had high hopes of coming up with a one-pan approach to making restaurant-style fajitas, but my initial test batches were a let-down. The flavors were right, but the chicken, peppers, and onions ended up steaming in their own juices. I forced my family to choke down tray after tray of soggy, limp piles of meat and veggies swimming in orange-y liquid. Still, despite my kids’ insistence that I throw in the towel, I persisted.

Why? Because (A) I’m no quitter, and (B) I knew my flavors were right and sensed that a breakthrough was right around the corner. Also, (C) I don’t really care if my kids have to eat the same thing four nights in a row.

So I kept testing. I tried altering the cooking temperature, preheating the sheet pan in the oven before adding the ingredients, and adjusting the ratio of vegetables—all to no avail. Finally, Henry suggested that I raise the ingredients up on a wire rack—similar to what I do with many of my roasted chicken recipes (like this one and this one)—to see what would happen.

Spoiler: The rack worked!

The extra liquid released from the chopped up veggies and chicken drip through the rack, allowing the fajitas to cook more evenly when elevated! Just make sure you buy a sturdy, oven-safe stainless steel rack like this one. (Chrome racks can flake with time or vigorous scrubbing and may not be heat-safe up to 575°F, like stainless racks.)

No rack? I’m giving you fair warning that your fajitas will steam, and the vegetables will end up limp. It’ll still taste good, but you’ll want to tilt the pan and spoon off the extra liquid before serving.

Me? I’m going with the rack. See the difference?

While you’re waiting for your fajitas to finish cooking, you might as well whip up my simple dairy-free Avocado Crema as a topping, too.

This zesty sauce was developed as an accompaniment to the Shrimp Tacos in my exclusive One and Done! bonus e-book for those of you who have already preordered our cookbook, Ready or Not! This 40-page thank you gift is packed with 10 brand-new, never-before-seen one-pan/one-pot recipes. If you already preordered our second cookbook, you can download your copy here. Remember: My exclusive e-book bonuses will vanish into thin air come August, so don’t miss out!

Okay—ready to cook up some incredible Whole30-friendly Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas?

Serves 4

Ingredients:

¼ cup avocado oil or olive oil

3 tablespoons fresh lime juice

3 garlic cloves, minced

1½ teaspoons Diamond Crystal kosher salt

1 teaspoon chili powder

½ teaspoon ground cumin

1½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch strips (Step away from the boneless, skinless breasts. They’ll dry out.)

1 medium red bell pepper, deseeded, cored and sliced into ¼-inch strips

1 medium yellow bell pepper, deseeded, cored, and sliced into ¼-inch strips

1 small white onion, sliced into ¼-inch pieces

2 limes, cut into wedges

Green or butter lettuce leaves (optional)

Grain-free tortillas (optional)

Avocado Crema (see recipe below)

Avocado Crema

1 large Hass avocado

¼ cup full-fat coconut milk

¼ cup chives, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons cilantro, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice

½ teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Equipment:

Large bowl

Measuring cups

Measuring spoons

Lime juicer

Garlic press

Whisk

Chef’s knife

Cutting board

Rimmed baking sheet

Stainless steel wire rack

High speed blender

Method:

Heat your oven to 450°F with the rack in the middle. Place a stainless steel wire rack in a rimmed baking sheet and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk the lime juice, avocado oil, minced garlic…

…kosher salt, chili powder, and cumin. Set aside.

Add the chicken thigh strips to the marinade. (Chicken breasts will dry it. Please use thighs.) Toss in the sliced peppers, and onions, too.

Use your hands to combine well.

Plop the chicken and veggies onto the rimmed baking sheet… 

…and spread everything in a single layer.

Place the tray in the oven and cook for 10 minutes. Then, toss the chicken and veggies, and rotate the tray.

Switch to broil…

…and cook for  an additional 5 to 10 minutes or until chicken is cooked through and the peppers and onions are browned in places. Keep your eyes on the fajitas to make sure nothing burns!

While the chicken is cooking, make the Avocado Crema.  

Cut the avocado in half lengthwise and remove the seed. Scoop the flesh into a food processor or blender. Add the coconut milk, chives, cilantro, lime juice, salt, and pepper.

Blitz until smooth. Add some water to thin out the sauce if desired. Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed with salt, pepper, or more lime juice. You can refrigerate the crema in a sealed container for up to 2 days.

Once the chicken and veggies are finished cooking, pull the tray out of the oven. Serve the fajitas with lime wedges, lettuce wraps or grain-free tortillas, and avocado crema.

One last thing: Wondering how to clean the stainless steel wire rack? After everyone grabs the chicken and veggies off the rack, I take the pan ’n rack to the sink. Then, I flip the rack upside down, place it in the rimmed baking sheet, and cover it with warm soapy water. I let the rack soak while we eat dinner. When we’re done with our meal, I simply wipe the grime off the rack with a sponge. Then, I can either rinse it or put it in the dishwasher to finish cleaning.

But if I were you, I’d get someone else to clean—after all, you did all the cooking! Just don’t tell them how easy it was to make dinner!

Looking for more recipe ideas? Head on over to my Recipe Index. You’ll also find exclusive recipes on my iPhone and iPad app, and in my cookbooks, Nom Nom Paleo: Food for Humans (Andrews McMeel Publishing 2013) and Ready or Not! (Andrews McMeel Publishing 2017)!

Print

Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas + Avocado Crema

Prep 10 mins

Cook 15 mins

Total 25 mins

Author Michelle Tam

Yield 4 servings

Sheet pan chicken fajitas are perfect for busy weeknight meals! Plus, it’s Whole30-friendly, even topped with a dairy-free Avocado Crema! (But you gotta use a stainless steel wire rack or they’ll be soggy!)

Ingredients

¼ cup avocado oil or olive oil

3 tablespoons fresh lime juice

3 garlic cloves, minced

1½ teaspoons Diamond Crystal kosher salt

1 teaspoon chili powder

½ teaspoon ground cumin

1½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch strips (Step away from the boneless, skinless breasts. They’ll dry out.)

1 medium red bell pepper, deseeded, cored and sliced into ¼-inch strips

1 medium yellow bell pepper, deseeded, cored, and sliced into ¼-inch strips

1 small white onion, sliced into ¼-inch pieces

2 limes, cut into wedges

Green or butter lettuce leaves (optional)

Grain-free tortillas (optional)

Avocado Crema (see recipe below)

Avocado Crema

1 large Hass avocado

¼ cup full-fat coconut milk

¼ cup chives, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons cilantro, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice

½ teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

Heat your oven to 450°F with the rack in the middle. Place a stainless steel wire rack in a rimmed baking sheet and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk the lime juice, avocado oil, minced garlic, kosher salt, chili powder, and cumin. Set aside.

Add the chicken thigh strips to the marinade. (Chicken breasts will dry it. Please use thighs.) Toss in the sliced peppers, and onions, too. Use your hands to combine well.

Plop the chicken and veggies onto the rimmed baking sheet and spread everything in a single layer.

Place the tray in the oven and cook for 10 minutes. Then, toss the chicken and veggies, and rotate the tray.

Switch to broil and cook for  an additional 5 to 10 minutes or until chicken is cooked through and the peppers and onions are browned in places. Keep your eyes on the fajitas to make sure nothing burns!

While the chicken is cooking, make the Avocado Crema. Cut the avocado in half lengthwise and remove the seed. Scoop the flesh into a food processor or blender. Add the coconut milk, chives, cilantro, lime juice, salt, and pepper.

Blitz until smooth. Add some water to thin out the sauce if desired. Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed with salt, pepper, or more lime juice. You can refrigerate the crema in a sealed container for up to 2 days.

Once the chicken and veggies are finished cooking, pull the tray out of the oven. Serve the fajitas with lime wedges, lettuce wraps or grain-free tortillas, and avocado crema.

Notes

One last thing: Wondering how to clean the stainless steel wire rack? After everyone grabs the chicken and veggies off the rack, I take the pan ’n rack to the sink. Then, I flip the rack upside down, place it in the rimmed baking sheet, and cover it with warm soapy water. I let the rack soak while we eat dinner. When we’re done with our meal, I simply wipe the grime off the rack with a sponge. Then, I can either rinse it or put it in the dishwasher to finish cleaning.

Courses Dinner

Cuisine Tex-Mex, Sheet Pan Supper, Whole30, Paleo, Primal, Gluten-free, Chicken

The post Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas + Avocado Crema appeared first on Nom Nom Paleo®.

[ihavecolorfuldreams]

How to be More Prolific Than Van Gogh on Viagra

The word “prolific” comes from the Latin prolificus, which means, “to make offspring.” Which, if you think about it, is exactly what you do all day: Give birth to your creative brainchildren. The cool part is, the more prolific you are: The more profit you earn. The more love you spread. The more gravity you defy. The more legacy you leave. The more people you touch. The more purpose you fulfill. The more change you inspire. The more wisdom you amass. The more worlds you conquer. The more fans you accumulate. The more significance you realize. What did you create today? Whether you’re an entrepreneur, writer or ad agency art director, here’s a list of how to be more prolific than you ever thought possible:

1. Whatever you want to become, you can start being that thing (today!) by creating as much as you possibly can, as fast as you possibly can. Otherwise, if you put off being prolific until the right people stamp your creative passport, you’ll consign yourself to burning in the purgatory of wannabe. Remember: Being prolific beings with the mindset that you already are what you want to become. Are you acting as if? 2. Metabolize your life. That’s the singular source for informing your art. As Anne Lamout, author of Bird By Bird once said, “Art is whatever remains after the fire.” My question is: Does your life burn? If so, you’ll be more prolific than you ever imagined. As long as you focus on translating all that you experience into something more expressive. After all, art is nothing but the residue of a life fully lived. Screw being a great artist – focus on being a great human first. Bring all of who you are to your creative work and trust that the art will come. 3. Right isn’t as important as right direction.  Either way, when it comes to being prolific, what matters is that you simply get something down – every day. Maybe it sucks. Maybe it rocks. Maybe it’s just okay. Fine. Awesome. Perfect. All you need to remember is: When you put pen to paper, you have the power. When you put finger to keyboard, brush to canvas, blade to clay or reed to mouth, you have the power. Just begin with what is – you can make something beautiful out of it later. Are you willing to plunge forward planless? 4. Extend literary latitude.  That’s what prolific people practice: You don’t have to like something to learn from it; and you don’t have to get it to get something out of it. Sometimes bad work is exactly what you need to inspire good work. Your mission is experience what you experience with a posture of openness and possibility. Because if you give yourself permission, you can become inspired by everything in sight. And that’s when you start to crank out volumes of work that matters. Are you a mental omnivore? 5. Be a brilliant fixer. Whenever I’m reading, I’m writing. In my experience, it’s just too hard to separate the two. For example, when I’m not underlining passages, jotting down transient ideas, documenting adjacent thoughts or questioning the author’s arguments – I’m fixing. The cool part is, many of my best ideas came from something as simple as changing or adding a single word to an existing sentence. Examples: “A mind is a terrible thing to chase,” “A penny saved is an opportunity burned” and “All the world’s a page.” Your challenge is to incorporate some form fixing into your own creative process. You’ll find that it’s fun, challenging, energizing and the raging river of raw material never stops flowing. How are you improving on everything that’s wrong with everything else on the shelves? 6. Be careful not to slide into complacency. Yes, remember your victory dance. Yes, take pride in your creative victories. But don’t over celebrate.  Never trust the prosperity that accompanies prolificacy. Instead, regularly reinstate your humility with the birth of every new brainchild. As Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz reminds us, “Seek to renew yourself, even when you’re hitting homeruns.” Remember: The arrogance of past victory is the aerosol of future failures. 7. Get good at recognizing beginnings. The reason prolific professionals are masters at starting, progressing and executing their projects – is because they’ve perfected the art of seed spotting. They estimate movement value early. They see everything with the eyes of the future. And they take action on those concepts without delay. That’s the mark of prolificacy: Lots of irons in lots of fires. Working on multiple projects simultaneously. Doing so helps you create thought bridges, subconscious connections and unexpected integrations between (seemingly) unrelated ideas. As a result, you will automatically notice natural relationships and structures in your work. What’s more, your creative efforts are more productively deployed when you start multiple projects simultaneously. Yes, it requires considerable self-regulation to pursue multiple projects concurrently. But by shifting between ideas as circumstances dictate, you never get burned out and always execute without remorse. What did you start today? 8. Become a master of your disinclination. In the documentary I’m Your Man, songwriter and poetry legend Leonard Cohen reminds us, “You gotta go to work everyday, knowing that you’re not going to get it everyday.” The secret is cultivating an acute sense of when disinclination is around the corner. Personally, if I don’t get anything good after about an hour – I go back to bed. Sometimes for twenty minutes, sometimes for three hours. I’ve followed this rule for eight years and have never, ever failed to come back to the page refreshed and reenergized. What’s more, I almost always go on to pound out something amazing. Lesson learned: Discover what frustrates your ambitions. Know when you’ve got it, known when you’ve lost it, know when there’s no way in hell you’re going to get it, and know when you’re going to have to take measures to get it back. Hey, it happens. Resistance can be a feisty little bitch. Don’t be afraid to let her win every once in a while. Create around the constraint. It demonstrates humility for the process and motivates you to return with strength. What’s your policy for managing compositional paralysis? 9. Let less happen. Increasing your capacity to execute isn’t just about what you do – it’s also about what you avoid, what you stop doing and what you stop thinking. , I began thinking about my own ratio. And it occurred to me that one of the reasons I’m so prolific is because ninety-eight percent of the work I do every day, matters. No wonder I just finished my eleventh book at the age of thirty: Distractions are at an all-time low; execution is at an all time high. Better enjoy it now while it lasts. Lesson learned: Excise every ounce of fat from your process. Discard the irrelevant. Then throw your shoulder into the work that matters. Be lean or be left behind. Is what you’re doing – right now – contributing to your body of work or your ulcer? 10. Keep the reservoir full. Whether you’re a painter, entrepreneur, wood carver or throbbing-member-trashy-novelist, prolificacy – that is, cranking out killer work consistently – is a function of volume. As a writer, for example, I built my own content management system. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s certainly more sophisticated than a box of colored folders filled with ideas scribbled on cocktail napkins or random scraps of paper. Currently clocking in at about 75,000 items, my creative inventory is meticulously organized by topic, date, use, audience, etc. And every single day, I add more water to the reservoir. Some days more than others. But I do it every day, without fail. Which means my inventory is indepletable. And that’s the secret behind building your reservoir, regardless of the medium in which you work: It equips your daily practice with creative rations long before the artistic famine strikes. And when I say famine, I’m referring common distractions such as: Resistance, boredom, disinclination, laziness or that annoying fluffball Westie from next door who does nothing but yap-yap-yap all day long. How much water did you add to your creative reservoir today? 11. Insulate yourself from interruptions. Tolerate nothing. Even if you have to put a sign on your door reading, “Quiet. The art is coming.” Whatever it takes. This is your creative time, and it deserves to be approached as sacrosanct. Resist the temptation to be squeezed by your surroundings. Otherwise you become muddied by triviality, swept into the undertow of inconsequentiality. And that’s a surefire recipe for low productivity. The hard part is stockpiling enough self-control to be able to look at your most seductive interruptions – square in the eye – and say, “Nice try. But I’ve got work to do. Peace out.” Email is the worst. You have to close the window down or else you’ll never execute anything that matters. What interruptions are you afraid to ignore? 12. Never lose your ear for what’s happening around you. If being prolific has historically been hard for you, I’ve got some bad news: You problem isn’t writer’s block – it’s hearing damage. That’s all creativity is, anyway: Active listening. And it’s easy to screw up. Like Voltaire said, “Never let temptation pass lightly by – it may never come again.” Lesson learned: People who are prolific listen. And they do so with their ears, eyes, minds, hearts or whatever other body part is available. Lose that skill and you forfeit the entire game. Keep it healthy and you’ll never stop creating. What did you hear today? FINAL THOUGHT: Let’s turn to Cicero, philosopher and uber-prolific writer. In his book, On the Good Life, he explained the following: “Philosophers must not be judged by individual utterances they may choose to offer. They must be judged, instead, by all their different statements put together and by the degree of consistency and coherence with this whole body of doctrine displays.” KEY WORD: Whole body. Because you’re not just creating one piece. Or one song. Or one book. Or one project. Or one website. Or one piece of art. You’re contributing to an ongoing, smokin’ hot body of work. Because that’s what prolifics do. With or without Viagra. LET ME ASK YA THIS… How prolific are you? * * * * Scott Ginsberg

[asta1ns]

SEVILLE ORANGE MARMALADE

(LEFT TO RIGHT-Meyer Lemon, Seville Orange, Oxford)

  The oranges might be Spanish, but the marmalade is about as British as it gets.

The history of this breakfast jam goes back centuries. Like all citrus, Seville orange roots start in China but it was in Spain that this knobby sour orange gained a hold.  Marmelada is the Portuguese word for jam and the first were made from quince.  Records of crates of this membrillo-like paste arriving in England go back to 1495.  The story of Scotland’s Dundee marmalade starts with a Spanish ship carrying Seville oranges sailing into Dundee harbour in 1700 to seek shelter from a storm. Local merchant Thomas Keillor bought the cargo at a discount, but discovering the oranges too sour to sell raw, his wife cooked them with sugar producing the dark Dundee marmalade that made his fortune.  That’s the story. 

 In truth, marmalade in one form or another was already being made in the more prosperous houses of England and as the British Empire spread so did its marmalade. Apologies for the pun.

The appeal is understandable. In the depths of grey winter you can have a little pot of bright, shiny, tangy sweetness to lift your day. Or perhaps you want a dark, deep comforting richness of flavour to warm your morning.

Start searching the web for marmalade recipes and you’re liable to be overwhelmed with choice—delicate thin shreds in jeweled jellies, thick-cut Oxford, overnight-soaked and double-boiled. I thought I’d seen them all until I bumped up against recipes where the whole orange is poached for hours.

 How easy is that? I have an innate bias against the easy when it comes to food preparation, in that I tend to think that if it doesn’t require effort, it isn’t as good. I’m old enough now to know that it isn’t necessarily true. So I set out to test this poaching method against a good old overnight soak. My assumption was that the overnight soak would give me a peel with more bite and better flavour; the poaching would turn the peel to almost mush and the flavour would be cooked out of it.

I was wrong.

The poaching method produced a marmalade every bit as good as those where I juiced the oranges, scraped out the pulp, pips, and some of the pith, collected them in a cheesecloth bag, cut the peels into thin ribbons or  bits and then put all of it in a large stoneware bowl to soak overnight.

 With poaching, I just popped all the oranges and a lemon into a large pot poured in enough water to cover, brought the whole thing to a boil and then reduced it to a low simmer for about three hours. When I say easy, I don’t mean fast.

 Almost nothing about marmalade is fast. That is the attraction. The scent of oranges fills the house for at least two days. If that thought bothers you then you’re better off buying a jar from a small-batch maker.

My primary concern with the poaching method was not knowing when the oranges would be ready for the next stage. Poach too little and the peel would be like leather. Poach too long and it could all turn to mush. I opted for the spoon handle test. If the handle of wooden spoon easily penetrates the orange, it’s done. At this point I removed the oranges from the pot, left them to cool for about half an hour and then was able to easily cut them open and scoop out all the pulp pips and pith into a muslin bag. I should mention that I did this over the porcelain bowl rather than on a cutting board to catch all the liquids. Next came slicing the peel. It took no more effort than slicing a grape. For anyone with RSI concerns, this is the way to go.

  I’ll be making more marmalades using this method but not all, because sometimes I want a marmalade with more pith on the peel, and in poaching, most of it cooks away into the mix of pulp and juices. The pith not only contains the pectin, it holds the bitterness of the fruit and when making a deep, dark marmalade, that bitterness balances the treacly sweetness of the mixture. The most famous of these rich dark marmalades is Cooper’s Oxford Marmalade dating back to 1874. The key factor in this marmalade is the mixture is cooked for a long time at a low temperature, caramelizing and mellowing out the sharp bright notes of the jam. This is the marmalade Scott took to the Antarctic and Ian Fleming gave to James Bond. It’s marmalade with attitude.

I post these recipes with some hesitation because every maker I know has their own preferences and quirks. These two recipes make a marmalade that I like. They are far less sweet then any made by large commercial producers, and the peel pieces are bigger with more bite. If that sounds like your bit of toast, here you are.

POACHED SEVILLE MARMALADE

 Ingredients

 3-4 lbs Seville oranges (4 large or 6 medium)

1 lemon

5-6 cups water

approx. 6 cups sugar

 Method

 Wash and scrub the oranges and lemon in warm water.

 Put the oranges and lemon a large heavy pot and add enough water to cover. 5-6 cups should be enough. Bring to a boil and then reduce to low heat and simmer for 2-3 hours or until the oranges can be easily pierced with a wooden spoon handle.

Remove the pot from heat and remove the oranges and lemon from the pot and transfer to a large bowl. Leave them sit until cool enough to handle. About 30 minutes.

 While waiting, measure out the remaining liquid in the pot, make note of it, then return it to the pot.

 Within the large bowl containing the oranges and lemon, arrange a piece of cheesecloth to hold the pulp, pips and pith of the fruit. Working over the bowl, cut the oranges and scoop out all the pulp, pips and pith, transferring them to the cheesecloth. This is messy, wet work, but the bowl ensures than none of the juice or pectin will be lost. As each orange half is scooped out, the peel can be set aside on the cutting board. The lemon peel can be discarded, or shredded separately, and saved for use in other recipes.

   Tie up the cheesecloth and squeeze out as much liquid as possible into the bowl. This is where the remaining pectin is contained and it’s what gives the marmalade its jell or set.

  On a cutting board slice the orange peels into fine thin ribbons or chop into chunks. Whatever you prefer. Measure out the shredded peel and liquid and return all of it to the pot with the poaching liguid.

In my last batch I had five cups of poaching liquid and two cups of peel and pectin juice. This seven cups determines the amount of sugar to add. Usually my ratio of fruit to sugar is ¾ cup of sugar to every cup of fruit, but Sevilles are especially bitter, so in this case I use a 1:7/8 ratio.  Seven cups of fruit and liquids will take 6 cups of sugar*.

Add the sugar to the pot. Stir to dissolve the sugar and slowly raise the temperature under the pot until the whole thing comes to a boil.  Keep at a rolling boil until the mixture reaches 220F or passes the wrinkle test. About 15-20 minutes.

For the wrinkle test, before you begin boiling put a plate in your freezer. When you think your marmalade might be ready, remove the pot from the heat, spoon a small amount of the mixture on the plate and return it to the freezer. After a minute or two remove the plate and push the marmalade with your finger. If it wrinkles, it’s ready. If it wrinkles and holds that shape you have a hard set. If it wrinkles and then starts to slump back a bit you have a soft set. Your choice.

If it’s not ready, return the pot to the heat and boil again for another minute or two and test again. If it’s ready remove from heat, skim off any foam that might be remaining and then let it sit for about ten minutes before pouring into sterilized mason jars.

Give the jars a 10 minute water bath. (See the recipe for Red Pepper Cranberry Jelly if you’re unfamiliar with the water bath.)

OXFORD SEVILLE MARMALADE

Two things give this marmalade its dark colour and rich taste- the addition of brown sugar and the long slow cooking time before the mixture is brought to a final boil. Some recipes call for all brown sugar or the addition of molasses or treacle. I find these too strong and overwhelming for the oranges, so I mix half brown sugar and half white.

Ingredients

3-4 lbs Seville oranges (5 large)

1 lemon

cheesecloth

5 cups water

2 ½ cups brown sugar

21/2 cups white sugar

Method

Wash and scrub the oranges in warm water

Juice the oranges and lemon and put the juice in a large pot. Scrape out any remaining pulp and pips from the oranges and put in a cheesecloth bag.

Chop the remaining orange peels into pithy chunks or slivers. If you think the pith is too thick in places, slice it out and add to the cheesecloth bag.

Tie up the bag with string and add it and the slivered peel to the pot.

Add the water and bring the whole to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Low simmer. Barely bubbling, for about two hours until the peel is as soft as you want.

Remove everything from the heat and let sit until you can squeeze the cheesecloth bag without burning your hands.  When it’s cool enough to handle, squeeze all the pectin into the liquid and then transfer the entire mixture to a large sturdy stoneware or glass bowl, cover and refrigerate overnight. Some recipes leave extracting the remaining pectin from the cheesecloth until the next day. I find it flows out more easily while it’s still warm.

Next day, measure out the liquid into the preserving pan or large pot. Determine the amount of sugar based on the 1:7/8 ratio. Split the sugar proportions equally. This batch resulted in 6 cups of liquid and peel, calling for 5 cups of sugar in total—2 ½ cups of each.

Add the sugar to the pan and stir to dissolve, slowly, slowly raising the heat to caramelize the sugars, eventually bringing the mixture to a boil. Approx 20 minutes.

Keep mixture on a rolling boil until it reaches 220F or passes the wrinkle test (see above recipe). Given the amount of cooking that’s already gone on this can occur in under 10 minutes, although I’d expect about 15. Keep a close eye on it and stir!

Remove from heat and let sit for 10 minutes. This will prevent all the peel from floating to the top of your jars.

Pour into sterilised mason jars and give the jars a 10 minute water bath.

These marmalades will keep for more than a year in a dark cool cupboard or coldroom, and like wines, will mellow with age.

  *(I’m aware, in England the law requires at least 50 percent sugar for a preserve to be called a jam, but I get a brighter flavour, with the set I want, with less than that, and with proper sterilization and a hot water bath, I’ve never had to worry about spoilage.)

[agosnesrerose]

Studio Saturdays: Mixed-Media Planner

We’re waist-deep in January, so what better time to get organized and start a new planner? I was so taken by the planner featured in the article “Creative Days Ahead” by Dawn DeVries Sokol in the January/February issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine that I had to make one for myself. It seemed like the perfect project for Studio Saturdays.

If you haven’t caught planner fever, this project will convince you to get on board. Keeping a planner like this isn’t just about writing your to-do list; it’s about making something unique, using your favorite supplies and techniques, and documenting your creative life.

This Create Along series is in three parts: In Part One we’ll create the cover, in Part Two we’ll bind the planner, and in Part Three we’ll decorate the pages, using fantastic collage, painting, and layering techniques. If you’ve never made a book before, you’ve come to the right place. This project uses a repurposed book and a very easy binding stitch, so there’s nothing difficult or intimidating. If you’re a veteran bookbinder or book artist, you’ve also come to the right place. We’ll do some fun techniques for painting and collaging the cover, and the binding stitch is quick and eye-catching.

Let’s get started! Here are the materials you’ll need for Part One. Don’t freak out about the number of supplies—I urge you to use what you have on hand, and to experiment. This is all about making something that reflects you, so feel free to try something different, do a variation on a technique, or break free altogether. Some supplies, as you’ll see below, are optional.

• Book with an intact spine about 2″ wide: A book bound for the recycling center is great for this project, but make sure the book is sturdy, and the spine is not split or coming apart from the covers. The spine width is important—make sure it measures about 2″. The book I used is 6″ wide x 9 1/4″ deep.

• Utility or craft knife

• Scissors

• Sandpaper

• Ephemera, such as book pages

• Regular gel medium

• Paintbrushes

• Gesso (optional)

• Acrylic paint, white or ivory, and burnt umber, plus a variety of other colors in dark, medum, and light values

• White chalk pencil (optional)

• Paint pen (optional)

• Black permanent pen (optional)

• Baby wipes or paper towels

• Stencil

• Cosmetic wedge

• Soft gel medium, gloss or matte, or acrylic glazing medium (optional)

• Palette paper or palette

• Palette knife (optional)

• Acrylic ink (optional)

• Stabilo Woody Crayon, black (optional)

• Number stamps (optional)

• Stamp pad, black, permanent (optional)

Quick tip: When choosing the book for your planner, think about where and how you’ll use it. If you want to carry it with you, choose a small size. I knew I’d be keeping mine at home, so I went with a fairly big book—I also wanted larger pages to work on.

To remove the text block (the pages) from the spine, pull on one of the covers while holding the text block, and you’ll see them start to separate. Put the tip of the craft or utility knife blade in between the cover and the endpaper, and start cutting downward, making sure your hand is out of the way. Also make sure that you’re not cutting into the spine or any part of the book. Repeat for the other cover, and reserve the pages for later. Clean up any jagged edges along the inside of the spine with a craft knife, scissors, or sandpaper.

Use a utility or craft knife to cut the text block away from the covers.

The book I’m using was a prop leftover from a photoshoot, and it had been painted red. I left it that way because I already had the color in my palette. You can leave your cover the way it is, or, if you want to cover it completely, brush on one or two coats of white gesso and allow it to dry completely.

Collage some papers on both covers, leaving the spine intact. I used a variety of book text, but use whatever you have that’s interesting and has some contrast—this layer will show through, so papers with some kind of pattern is good. I adhered the papers with gel medium; allow this layer to dry.

The first layer of the painted covers starts with collaged ephemera.

Now it’s time to really have some fun. Paint a great big mess on the planner covers. Really go nuts and layer colors and shapes and brushstrokes, and make marks in the paint while it’s still wet with your fingers or the end of a paintbrush. I started with a palette of blue, teal, and turquoise, and added pops of red for contrast. I mostly used tube acrylics, but fluid works just as well. Use whatever you have on hand. If you’re incorporating complementary colors, wait for one layer to dry before going on to the next so you don’t get mud. If you’ve obscured the collage papers, knock back the paint a little in those areas with a baby wipe or paper towel. Let everything dry.

For the underpainting, get messy with brush strokes and colors.

Choose a design and paint over the first layer with a very light color (I used titanium white). You can freehand it or draw it first with a chalk pencil. Choose an open design that allows the underpainting to show through; I painted leaf shapes. If you have mad painting skills, now’s the time to turn them out. If you don’t, like me, simple shapes are absolutely fantastic, and you can’t go wrong. As before, make marks in the wet paint as you go. If you don’t like something, a baby wipe will take it right off. Let dry.

Brush on a light color, letting the underpainting show through.

Here are the planner covers after the second layer of paint. I drew some veins in the leaves with a paint pen. Also, you’ll see that I didn’t go completely up to the spine. That’s because we’ll be covering it later.

The underpainting shows through the white, creating depth and interest on the planner covers.

For the next layer, choose a stencil with a pattern that complements your design. With a palette knife, mix some acrylic paint with soft gel medium or glazing medium in a 1:1 ratio; I did this because I wanted the paint to be somewhat translucent, but you can just use the paint straight. Dip a cosmetic wedge in the paint, pounce some of it off, and stencil onto the cover, however you want the pattern to appear. Let dry. When my cover was dry, I outlined some of the stencil shapes and created some random dots with a white paint pen, and outlined the leaf shapes with a black permanent pen.

Stencil over parts of the design, using a mixture of paint and medium.

With a palette knife, blend a small amount of burnt umber paint and soft gel medium or glazing medium in a 1:1 ratio. Dip a paper towel into the mixture and lightly swipe it across the covers. I wanted to create a bit of depth and warmth with this layer, so I didn’t use a lot. A baby wipe will be your salvation if you apply too much.

A few swipes of burnt umber paint warmed the painted covers of this planner up a bit.

The next step happened because I made a big goof. Big. I thought the planner cover would look cool if I dripped some dark blue acrylic ink on it, but the drips were so large and ugly that I panicked and grabbed a baby wipe to try to take the color off. In the process of wiping it, I created a beautiful blue stain. This became one of those happy accidents that I will now use in a future project. Try this technique if you’re feeling up for it, but you can also skip it.

I don’t know if you’ve discovered Stabilo Woody Crayons, but if you haven’t, you should check them out. These big fatties are water soluble, and you can draw with them, or hit them with a wet paintbrush or water brush and get beautiful watercolor effects (Spoiler alert: I used them for my planner pages as well.). I used a black crayon with a water brush, painting around the leaf motifs, waiting about 30 seconds, and then rubbing in the color with my fingers. This created a kind of shadow/stain effect that I absolutely love. You can also get this effect with a black Stabilo All pencil, or plain watercolor.

A water-soluble Stabilo Woody Crayon added even more depth and shading.

I wanted to represent the year of this planner, so I stamped 2017 with the Montreal Large Numbers set by Michelle Ward, using permanent ink. Since the cover is textured I didn’t get solid impressions, so I filled in the spaces with a black permanent pen. I liked the way the zero looked, so I left that as is. I then added some dots on top of the numbers with the white paint pen, and enhanced some of the dots on the cover so they’d pop a bit more.

For the planner cover, the year was stamped with permanent ink and embellished with a paint pen.

Quick tip: To hasten dry time, use a heat tool. Be careful not to heat the area too much—acrylic paint can start bubbling.

Since I’ll be using this planner for a year, I need it to be sturdy. In the next installment we’ll reinforce the spine, collage the inside covers, and also bind the book. So you can get ready for next week, here’s what you’ll need:

• A piece of bookcloth 1 ½” taller than your cover and 2 ½” wider than the spine. Bookcloth can be found in some art supply stores, and online. You can substitute fabric, but if so, you’ll need dry adhesive, such as Grafix Artist-tac Permanent Dry Adhesive.

• PVA glue

• Glue brush

• Waxed linen thread, 4-ply, about 7 yards

• Bookbinding needle (you can substitute a sturdy darning needle)

• Bone folder

• Paper for the pages. Determine how you want to use your book, and choose your paper accordingly. I wanted to use wet media, so I chose 98-lb. paper from a Canson XL Mix Media pad. You’ll need 35 folded sheets. To determine the size for your planner, measure the pages from the text block. If those aren’t available, subtract ¼” from the height of the book, and measure from the flattened spine to the front edges of the cover (called foredges), and subtract ¼”. Your pages will be that height x double the width, and then folded in half. Based on my dimensions, my pages are 12″ wide x 9 1/8″ high. You’ll need 36 folded sheets.

• Scissors

If you have any questions on the techniques or supplies, please leave them in the comments. See you next Saturday! In the meantime, if you’d like to learn more about this article and other book-related resources, take a look at these great products from the North Light Shop.

See Dawn DeVries Sokol’s planner project in the January/February 2017 issue of Cloth Paper Scissors magazine.

Make your own custom three-ring binder, and turn it into a planner; see how in this Colorful and Custom Three-Ring Binder video with Erin Zamrzla.

Discover how easy it is to make your own travel journal in this Travel Journal video with Erin Zamrzla.

Delve into the world of artists’ books in the eBook Book + Art by Dorothy Simpson Krause.

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