#Glassa

[patriziazangrilli]

https://stock.adobe.com/it/contributor/208162194/Patrizia

Babà al rum "Mandarino in festa", su Adobe Stock.

[blessandro]

[st-twitter-sillies]

blushing n everything? 🥺

[blackcoffeemania]

It's ya boi

[tabathamodaedesign]

Pantone del giorno 04/12 - Canton

Il Canton di Pantone è una tonalità unica di verde menta dal sottotono blu-azzurrino: una nuance fredda, versatile e perfetta da indossare in tutte le stagioni. Ma se pensiamo all’inverno in arrivo e al Natale non possiamo fare a meno di pensare agli abeti innevati e ai dolci con glassa di latte e menta. E se vogliamo indossarlo nei giorni di festa, ben venga! Ci darà, infatti, un aspetto fine e…

[omsonsglassware]

undefined

Happy Winters

[yomersapiens]

Ho ricevuto in regalo un mini-panettone. Io non concepisco l’esistenza della pasticceria mignon. Mi sembra un abominio. Però tant’è, non è che ci potevo fare molto, oramai il danno era stato fatto e il mini-panettone consegnato. L’ho messo vicino al grande panettone in cucina. Quello che avevo acquistato in precedenza, perché io non compro cazzate mini. Non è un panettone così grande, sia chiaro, è un panettone di normali dimensioni ma vicino al mini-panettone sembra un colosso. Era ora di colazione e così è iniziato il dibattito interiore: quale dei due aprire per primo. Nella mia testa gli ho attribuito dei ruoli. Quello grande era il padre e quello piccolo il figlio. Forse avrei dovuto mangiare prima il panettone piccolo ma mi sono immaginato le ritorsioni del padre durante la notte che cerca di soffocarmi urlando “Hai mangiato mio figlio!!!” e io che mi dimeno e lui non sta usando un cuscino no, sta usando il suo soffice corpo che spinge contro il mio viso con vendicativa forza e allora vabbè, mi metto a morderlo e masticarlo e svento il tentato omicidio riempiendomi la pancia. Sono tornato in me per un istante, no non posso mangiare quello piccolo per primo è una cattiveria. Lui è innocente. Potrei iniziare dal grande. Potrei portare il mini-panettone fuori dalla cucina, per non fargli assistere al momento del taglio della prima fetta, ovvero l’amputazione di una porzione di corpo del padre. Forse dovrei tenerlo sempre in salotto e riportalo in cucina a panettone terminato. Immagino le sue domande. “Dov’è babbo? Era qui! Dove è andato papino?”. Sarei costretto a escogitare qualcosa. Ho reso orfano e miserabile Panettino (sì, gli ho dato un nome). Andrei a comprare un altro panettone e gli direi ecco, tuo padre è qua, mica era successo niente! “Papà! Sei tu!!! Ho temuto ti fosse accaduto qualcosa…” suvvia Panettino, calmati, cercherei di tranquillizzarlo, gli darei del paranoico. “Papà ma… sei diverso… tu, tu non eri al pistacchio… che strano colore… che strano sapore… dove è finita la tua glassa di mandorle?” e niente mi scoprirebbe in un attimo, mica è scemo Panettino e io posso provarci quanto voglio ma lui oramai ha capito. La moka inizia a eruttare caffè e mi riporta alla realtà. La decisione è tanto ardua quanto ovvia, non posso vivere così. Dispongo padre e figlio sul tavolo, estraggo due lame e ne impugno una per mano. Li rivolgo uno verso l’altro perché non voglio essere guardato e desidero si diano un ultimo saluto prima di affondare le lame nello stesso momento. Resto in silenzio un minuto e aspetto smettano di dimenarsi cercando salvezza. Lavo il senso di colpa dalla mia coscienza e dalle lame. Poi procedo a mangiare quello grande, perché è al cioccolato. Quello piccolo ha l’uvetta. Cosa gli passa in mente alle nuove generazioni. Uvetta. Ma siamo pazzi? Io non lo so qua mi sembra che si stia davvero perdendo il senno.

[giovaneanziano]

La mia ex, quella che mi menava e che mi stava spaccando un braccio in mezzo a una piazza perché volevo lo yogurt e non il gelato, ora scrive su FB un post dove condanna tutti i tipi di violenza.

Ho messo il like tattico perché A condivido a pieno e B ciao ti ricordi di me? Sono quello che hai messo a terra in piazza, con la converse sulla guancia e il braccio in leva che rischiavo tutto il cingolo scapolare, ti ricordi di me? Di quando non volevo il gelato ma il frozen yogurt con la glassa di cioccolato sopra e tu volevi il Gelato perché di yogurt eri stufa? Io si

[omarfor-orchestra]

Quello che cucino: cream tart salata, flan di asparagi con croccante di parmigiano, pasta al pesto di pistacchi e gamberetti, torta 4 strati con glassa a specchio, cestini di pasta fillo con feta, noci e asparagi

Mia madre: la sai fare la pasta con le cime di rape bollite?

[arcobalengo]

Ogni cittadino americano mediamente consuma 126,4 grammi di zuccheri al giorno. In Italia circa 70 grammi a persona. Voi direte, ma quando mai uso tutto questo zucchero? Sapete quanto zucchero aggiunto ha l'aceto balsamico? 15 grammi per 100 grammi di prodotto. E la glassa di aceto balsamico? Ben 44 grammi di zuccheri aggiunti ogni 100 grammi di prodotto. Ecco, ora immaginatevi mentre vi accingete a mangiare la vostra insalata presa per non ingrassare mentre la innaffiate abbondantemente di zucchero contenuto nell'aceto balsamico o addirittura nella glassa. Praticamente condite l'insalata con quantità enormi di zucchero....non parliamo della coca-cola, o dei succhi di frutta industriali ben carichi di zuccheri aggiunti. Ecco dove stanno gli zuccheri.

Disastro per il pancreas, per il cervello (up-down da zuccheri e relativa dipendenza), per la forma fisica con accumuli di grasso notevoli...

Giuseppe Masala

[itsbritneybitchandimback]

Comunque la combo: pomodorini, erba cipollina e glassa di aceto balsamico mi fa godere come una matta

[amamiofacciouncasinoo]

Io che voglio cimentarmi con le torte decorate con pasta di zucchero e glassa 🤡

[gelatinatremolante]

Se davanti a me ho una colomba io dovrò per forza staccare e mangiare almeno un pezzetto di glassa con gli zuccherini e le mandorle, è più forte di me e non potrò assolutamente farne a meno.

[dreaming-of-the-end]

12: a lesson in guilt, leadership, and broken glass

A/N: Cognate Inquisition: Part 2! Please comment/reblog if you like <3 New chapters on Sundays and Thursdays!

Links: [ao3] [wattpad] [masterpost] [previous chapter] [next chapter]  

Tags: @an-ungraceful-swan @seulgibabes @gay-otlc @fruityfintanfortythree @synonymroll648 @bookwyrminspiration @skylilac @song-tam @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @abubble125 @rainy-nights-and-fairy-lights @kamikothe1and0lny @arsonistblue @daphneisntreal @lemon-girl-in-devil-town @istanrandomfandoms @sunset-telepath @s0larismoon

Sophie’s eyes are narrowed in concentration, almost determination. Fitz envies her for being able to plan out her speech in her head and remember it perfectly when he has to search for what to say. He’s spent too long trying to decide what to address and what to let go in this Inquisition when he has never been able to let anything go.

I can start, she transmits. Her weight rests in his mind solidly, taking up space. What realizations has she come to over the past few weeks to take her from hesitant to confident? Leading has been instilled in her right next to impulsivity. They war for control. Since I started last time.

Fitz nods.

I think it bothered you that I’m the moonlark. That I’m supposed to be the leader instead of you, Sophie tells him.

And… she’s not wrong. But she’s not quite right, either.

That’s fair. I see why you think that, and it’s kind of true. It’s hard to see you taking control when I’ve been raised to take control. Fitz shifts in his seat. My dad wants me to be a councillor someday, did you know that? He’s been preparing me my whole life for it. I went to the Forbidden Cities both to find you and to gain perspective for when I lead the Elven world someday. I’m top of my class so I get voted in. I trained every day to win splotching matches and unlocked my nexus first, to develop and prove my mental capacity. These skills aren’t luck or genetics, I work for them. I work hard for them. So when you showed up and it was just given to you… I don’t know. I want to save people. I want them to look to me instead of you.

Sophie tilts her head to the side and tugs out an eyelash. This is kind of what he’s talking about: his tics and quirks have been trained out of him. Running his hands through his hair is acceptable; biting his nails is not. It’s resentment, but it’s not jealousy. He wouldn’t want to be in her position.

But I’m working on it, he adds quickly. I think this is something I can fix.

Sophie nods slowly. That’s good. Because— she hesitates. I never wanted to be a leader.

But you’re good at it, Fitz tells her. You are. Take more constructive criticism sometimes and you’ll be amazing. I worked at it, but you have it.

Sophie wrinkles her nose, not quite believing, but he means what he said. She used to be small, unassuming, hidden. She’s discovered more than corruption and friendship in the Lost Cities—she’s discovered herself. And Fitz hopes that he gets at least some of the credit for that.

My second topic, she starts, and he braces himself— is about Keefe.

Fitz feels his entire body tense. So she knows that he knows she likes him. She knows that he can barely stand to be in the same room as him for too long before he starts to lose control of his emotions. That his anger has reached the top of the barrel and he doesn’t know who it’ll burn when it spills.

But instead, she says, I know you’re in love with him.

“What?” he says out loud, not realizing that he’d forgotten to transmit until Sophie lets go of his hand.

“You don’t have to keep it a secret, Fitz,” she says gently, with a hint of a grin. “It’s fine, I promise.”

“There isn’t any secret,” Fitz argues. “I didn’t—I don’t—I’m not in love with Keefe.”

Sophie’s eyes widen. “Wait—shit, did you not know?”

“There isn’t anything to know, Soph,” he insists. “I told you that I wanted to kiss you. I told you that…”

“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it,” she says, tilting her head. “You know, Silveny saw you go to Keefe’s last night. She told me this morning. You were there for a while, weren’t you?”

Fitz shakes his head. “You’re not an empath.”

“I’m your Cognate,” Sophie says. “You love him.”

“I love—” His tongue stops working before he can say anything stupid, anything like you.

“I want it to be you.” Words delicately placed on a pedestal, spooned into a crystal bowl with a silver spoon. And relief at the interruption, because it wasn’t the right moment yet. Because it was too good to be true. Because the world was finally being fixed, reset, healed. Because he doesn’t trust luck, and he doesn’t trust goodness. Umber leeched that out of him with her shadows. "The only person I want to see on my match list... is you."

He didn’t think he was lying. He still doesn’t. Vackers aren’t supposed to tell lies.

My turn, he transmits instead of digging himself deeper.

Sophie studies him for a moment, eyebrow raised, and nods.

Are you afraid of me? Fitz asks.

No! Sophie responds quickly, defensively. Surprised, maybe.

Okay. He weighs the words in his mouth before he says them and decides that he is lying to himself. Now think about it and answer again.

Fitz, why would I be scared of you? Sophie asks gently. I’ve seen you at your worst, I think. Stabbed through the stomach by a giant bug, your leg broken, echoes fucking up your heart. I saw the image of you in that chandelier, remember?

He smiles a bit at the memory, less at the coupled hilarity and humiliation of it and more at her laughter when he told her about it. It felt normal, that moment. Like it was just the two of them and he didn’t even have to think about anyone else. But his smile fades too quickly.

I wasn’t asking if you’ve seen me at my worst. I wasn’t asking if you know me. I was asking if you’re afraid of me.

Sophie searches his eyes with her own. Sitting inside her living room, the light glows warmly off her face, illuminating pale skin in a pinkish halo. Her eyes are impossibly brown, impossibly unique, and he wonders why she’d ever think he could be in love with Keefe when she’s sitting right here.

Because of Alvar, Fitz adds when the silence stretches on for too long. Because of what I did to him.

Tried to do, Sophie corrects him. You didn’t kill him.

You don’t believe that, he counters. Her face falters into guilt, and he adds hastily, correcting himself, It doesn’t matter. I still tried.

Sophie’s tongue rolls around her mouth. She tugs out another eyelash, shrinking in on herself.

Is it because of Alvar or because of what I’ve done to you? he tries next, no longer having to ask to know she’s afraid.

I’m not scared of you, she insists, and he sighs. But she grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, familiar with their warmth. I was scared of what you’d do. I’m scared of what could happen to you as a result.

His mind flashes to what happened that day: the terror, the exhilaration and adrenaline, pressing buttons and flicking switches and making something happen, finally making something happen. He wanted to trap him. He wanted to hurt him so badly that he’d never try anything again.

When the orange goop started pouring into the cell, he didn’t move.

Biana clutched at his arm, but her shrieks and tears didn’t cause more than a ringing in his ears as he watched it happen. Fitz pressed his palm against the glass and Alvar’s hand matched his on the other side, another mirror. “Get him out of there!” Biana screamed in his ear (as if she couldn’t do anything herself when she must have known there was a switch that could set him free), but none of it got through to him, and soon Alvar’s face disappeared into the murkiness and still he stood there. Biana went quiet the moment the fluid crested their brother’s head and they watched him die.

They were supposed to be watching him die.

He was supposed to die.

“I wasn’t planning to kill him that time,” Fitz says out loud, another echo. That was what he said that day. Despite his non-photographic memory, he remembers that day in vivid detail. “I didn’t mean to.”

Sophie squeezes his hand. “I thought we agreed not to lie?”

“Then admit you don’t trust me not to snap,” Fitz retorts, snatching his hand out of her grasp and tearing it through his hair. “God, Soph. Aren’t you terrified?”

She’s sitting on her hands, and he knows it’s because she’s aching to pull on her eyelashes.

“Aren’t you terrified?” he asks again, and feels tears well up in his eyes.

…

Fitz took Alvar’s Radiant award off of the mantle.

The corners of the prism were sharp enough to draw blood, like his brother spent his time running knives around it to make it as deadly as possible. Still, despite the sting, Fitz held it as tightly as he could and hoped that the success will leak into him.

Lately, Alvar and Alden had been disappearing into rooms and having what Biana would call “mind-crushing useless grownup talks” and Della would call “father-son bonding” but Fitz knew had to be important, perhaps more important than anything Alden had ever done before. Besides, Alvar was still in the Elite Levels, which made Biana wrong about one thing: his brother wasn’t grown up yet. She just thought so because they weren’t even in school yet but Alvar had just won the Radiant and Della had put it on the mantle, so he was an adult. He was mature. He was the best.

And now, no matter what Biana or Fitz accomplished, even if they won the same award, he’d have done it first.

Fitz smoothed his thumb along Alvar’s name at the base of the prism, letting the light reflect beams of color through the glass.

“Hey, Fizzy.” Alvar blinked into sight in front of him, hand already ruffling his hair, and Fitz yelped, dropping the trophy. His brother caught it with levitation, and he watched in awe as it floated back to its place on the mantle. “Proud of me?”

“Yeah,” Fitz breathed, grinning up at him. A lock of hair flopped into his eyes, and he pushed it back into place. He didn’t like how high and squeaky his voice was, not when Alvar’s was deep and mature and sounded responsible. Making a conscious effort to lower it, Fitz said, “Can we play base quest later?”

Alvar laughed. “Not today, Fizz. I have an assignment.” He winked at him, and Fitz’s mouth dropped open.

“What kind of assignment?”

“A super top secret one,” Alvar said, tapping him on the nose. Fitz scrunched up his face in disappointment, and his brother laughed. “Don’t worry, Fitz. Someday, you’ll get to where I am.”

“I want to be you someday,” Fitz told him. Now, he knows that his young mind had mixed up the words. He didn't want to be Alvar. Only be like him. Just like him. A copy, a replica, something that wasn't quite the same but earned the same look of pride from Alden that Alvar always got.

But his brother didn't correct him.

“Of course you do,” Alvar said. “Who wouldn’t?”

…

Fitz clenches his fist and feels the sharpness of broken glass.

Sophie places her hand back over his.

They’d shattered that award on the entrance to Brumevale, watched the glass fly down from the steps and heard the cracks spread through it in the space of a single moment. In the space of a single moment, and achievements are broken and relationships are shattered and love is hidden away and lives are torn apart and—

I am terrified, she transmits.

She’d been in his head with the memory.

“Of course you are,” he says bitterly, like Alvar probably was that day. He hadn’t recognized it because he was a kid. Just a stupid kid, already filled up with all those lies. “Who wouldn’t be?”

[luposolitario00]

Non cerco qualcuno per non essere "solo" cerco qualcuno che mi arricchisca la vita un po' come la glassa o le varie decorazioni presenti in una torta, è pronta da mangiare anche senza glassa o decorazioni, ma diventa più bella se aggiunti.

Luposolitario00🐺

[fashionbooksmilano]

Torte nuziali d'autore

Mich Turner della Little Venice Cake Company, Fotografie di Richard Jung, traduzione di G.Peraldini

Biblioteca Culinaria, Lodi 2009, 159 pagine, 24x28,5cm, ISBN 978 88 95056319

euro 29,90

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Il giorno del matrimonio è una data da ricordare per tutta la vita, e dunque tutto deve essere perfetto. Se l'abito, i fiori e la chiesa hanno un loro preciso ruolo, parlando di ricevimento, la torta è, senza alcun dubbio, la protagonista. L'obbligo della tradizionale torta con la glassa bianca a tre piani è ormai un ricordo. Oggi la torta può essere spettacolare, emozionante e sorprendente. Dai lussuosi motivi in stile barocco alle più raffinate creazioni minimaliste, le torte nuziali della collezione di Mich Turner saranno senz'altro d'ispirazione sia per la futura sposa, sia per i pasticcieri. Infatti, «Torte nuziali d'autore» fornisce tutte le necessarie informazioni per poter preparare queste torte da favola. I suoi otto capitoli sono così suddivisi: Allestire la scena: Dove e come presentare la torta, l'uso di tovaglie, candele e fiori per creare un effetto scenografico ed un vero senso di evento; Affascinanti: Favolose torte dal fascino hollywoodiano, assieme alle torte sofisticate, eleganti, monocromatiche e imponenti per le quali Mich è conosciuta; Rosa di campagna: Torte belle e delicate, ornate a mano e decorate con rose di zucchero e fiori freschi, tra cui gigli e orchidee; Creative: Torte che vi permettono di dar sfogo alla vostra creatività, tra cui motivi dipinti a mano che possono variare in modo da adattarsi al vostro tema cromatico preferito; Divertenti e spiritose: Una moderna rassegna di torte nuziali con dolci dai colori accesi e sgargianti, assieme a torte al cioccolato dallo stile sontuoso; Stagionali: Una collezione di torte che hanno come tema le stagioni dell'anno, addobbate con fiori primaverili ed estivi, frutti autunnali e foglie invernali; Souvenir: Biscotti da usare come decorazioni, torte mono-porzione in scatola e bomboniere da portare a casa o da regalare in occasione di party organizzati per la sposa; Tecniche: Tutto quello che occorre sapere per ricoprire, glassare, decorare e presentare le torte qui illustrate.

14/03/24