#Homemade Ratatouille

[tkhuluq]

French Ratatouille: Mastering the Art of Provencal Delight in Your Kitchen

Start a cooking trip to the sun-soaked areas of Provence with the timeless French Ratatouille. In this detailed assist, we will discover the art of crafting this classic recipe, showcasing the lively tastes as well as aromas that specify the heart of French provincial food. Sign up with us as we unwind the keys to developing the best Ratatouille as well as bring the preference of Provence in your table.

Area 1: The Significance of Provencal Food

Submerse on your own in the significance of Provencal food, where fresh veggies as well as fragrant natural herbs take facility phase. Ratatouille, a medley of seasonal generate, encapsulates the rustic beauty as well as durable tastes that personify the cooking spirit of the French countryside.

Area 2: Crucial Active ingredients

Uncover the crucial active ingredients that create the structure of a fascinating Ratatouille. From lively tomatoes as well as zucchini to vivid bell peppers as well as eggplant, each veggie adds to the symphony of tastes that make this recipe a party of Provencal bounty.

Area 3: Careful Veggie Prep work

Understand the art of careful veggie prep work, as we assist you via the correct strategies for cutting as well as setting up the active ingredients. Attain the best stabilize of appearances by making sure also food preparation, developing a Ratatouille that's not just aesthetically enticing yet a happiness to relish.

Area 4: Fragrant Natural herb Mixture

Discover the fragrant natural herb mixture that boosts Ratatouille to brand-new elevations. Find out the art of incorporating fresh  mint and tulsi, rosemary, as well as basil to boost the all-natural tastes of the veggies, instilling your recipe with the great smelling significance of Provence.

Area 5: Food preparation Strategies

Reveal the keys to improving the food preparation strategies that generate a Ratatouille with tender yet distinctive veggies. Whether you select stovetop simmering or stove roasting, we will assist you via the actions to attain that ultimate melt-in-your-mouth benefits.

Area 6: Discussion as well as Pairing

Understand the art of discussion to display the lively shades as well as layers of your Ratatouille. Uncover pairing ideas to boost your eating experience, whether worked as a standalone recipe, a side, or also as a fascinating covering for crusty French bread.

Verdict:

Finally, crafting French Ratatouille is an art that permits you to bring the tastes of Provence in your very own cooking area. With its lively shades, fragrant natural herbs, as well as unified medley of veggies, this timeless recipe records the significance of French provincial food. Dive right into our skilled assist as well as relish the happiness of developing a Ratatouille that's as fascinating making as it's to relish, bringing the preference of Provence in your table with every mouthful.

Tags : French Ratatouille, Provencal Cuisine, Rustic French Dish

[fadedtoneverland]

[2:37am] yes, chef | j.wy

cw: some smutty headcanons, chef bf!woo, gn!reader, food play, cum eating, woo is a bit of a freak near the end but we all knew he was, mostly fluff to make up for filth

✿ — chef!wooyoung who insists to cook you breakfast so you don’t have to start your day with cereal

✿ — chef!wooyoung who brings you soft, warm brownies as a housewarming gift for your family to show his love for you and your loved ones

✿ — chef!wooyoung who makes you miyeok guk for your birthday and when you’re sick, knowing the exact flavors you like

✿ — chef!wooyoung who makes you all of your coffee and matcha so you don’t have to buy overpriced lattes at cafes

✿ — chef!wooyoung who loves picnic dates and brings homemade bread and finely selected cheeses, while you bring the red checkered blanket and wine

✿ — chef!wooyoung who learns to cook you food from your culture, because he’s just so enamored by the endless possibilities of culinary arts through you

✿ — chef!wooyoung who gushes about the artistic genius of ratatouille and is his comfort movie

✿ — chef!wooyoung who back hugs you and rocks you gently while you’re stirring tomato soup in the kitchen, humming a simple tune

✿ — chef!wooyoung who loves cooking with you, because it’s his strongest love language and loves to see you smile from the pure joy you get from his food.

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who bends you over the counter watching you stir the cake batter for him, getting turned on just from your backside

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who wants to fuck you on the spot after you make him his favorite meal

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who makes you lick whipped cream from the tip

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who likes to do sloppy and filthy make out sessions with you after having some of the finest red wine he provided

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who finishes on your lattes to top them off specially (you know, and down it every time)

❤︎ — chef!wooyoung who slings on sweatpants after rearranging your guts to whip you up some congee with egg and bacon

fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[insertdisc5]

Hi again, I hope this ask finds you well as well. I have another question I'd like to ask, if you'll allow me. We know Siffrin's favorite food, and we know 3 of Bonnie's, but how about Isa's, Odile's, or Mira's? Sorry if this has already been answered, but I figured I'd ask to satisfy this other curiosity I had. Also, thank you for the kind words on the prior ask. I like to be polite as possible when asking questions online - anonymously or not - even to the detriment of a word/character limit.

anon I usually don't answer "whats everyones favorite [blank]" questions because i do believe it is the fans' turn in coming up with things. All the stuff i thought was important enough to come up with is already in the game and i dont care about the rest. but once again your good manners have bewitched me. Just this once I will make up something, on the spot, just for you.

I think odile likes, like, urchin sushi. I forget the name. Or maybe it's too reductive, to think shed like something i see as a little high brow. Maybe she likes a nice good homemade omurice. She has learned the good things are the easy things.

Isabeau i see as loving ratatouille. Like maybe ratatouille made by an adult when he was a child. Maybe the parents of a friend. Literal ratatouille movie man.

Mirabelle would like. Hm. I see her loving something that would surprise everyone. Maybe foie gras. And everyone would be like "DONT YOU KNOW HOW FOIE GRAS IS MADE" and shed be like yes... 😔... I only eat it during the winter holidays... I'm so sorry for liking foie gras. Or maybe vaugarde is even closer to fantasy france than I think and she eats it happily because it's fantasy france while odile and siffrin are like FOIE GRAS IS MADE HOW? yeah. you know I like a good culture shock

[daycourtofficial]

A Bite Sized Romance

Summary: you offer to make dinner for Azriel, but he gives you half-assed reasons as to why he can’t make it.

Author’s note: I love love love this idea it’s been floating around my head for a LONG time 💕

“Have you ever had ratatouille?” You ask Azriel, taking a bite of the dish in front of you.

Every Thursday, you and the shadowsinger go out to a different restaurant, usually in Velaris, occasionally in other courts. Seeing the shadowsinger could be difficult during the week, especially with your busy schedule, so you two set aside Thursday nights to eating dinner together.

Your brain had a hard time understanding that these were not necessarily dates, even though that is exactly what Cassian, Mor, the whole IC, and even Azriel and yourself call them.

“No, what’s rat patootie?” He says, taking a bite of his pasta.

“Ratatouille,” you correct, sighing wistfully, “it’s a traditional dish my mom used to make when I was a kid. I don’t think annyone in Velaris makes it. This dish kind of reminds me of it, but it’s not the same.”

You sit up, a smile stretching across your face. “Maybe next Thursday I’ll cook it for us. It’s so much better homemade - what do you say?”

He stills at your words, almost choking on his food. Through coughs he tells you, “surely there’s somewhere we can go for it, I wouldn’t want to trouble you with cooking.”

“But I like cooking,” you object. “And despite the copious amounts of meals we’ve shared together, I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for you.”

He doesn’t want to budge, so you pull out the big guns.

You pout your lip, making your eyes look as sad and endearing as possible, “please, Az? It reminds me of being a kid again. And I’d love to share that with you.”

Mother forsake him, he couldn’t say no to your sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbles, sure he’ll figure a way out of it before Thursday comes. Perhaps he could find a way to get impaled.

You squeal, “oooh you’re going to love it!”

-

Thursday was fast approaching, and Azriel was trying to use every excuse in the book to keep this dinner from happening. He told you Rhys had to send him on a mission that night, which you immediately turned around and went to Rhys’s office and asked him to send someone else.

Rhys, having no idea what you were talking about, sees Azriel in the doorway who tells him mind to mind, “come on, say you have to send me.”

Rhys sends the equivalent of a smirk to Azriel mentally and tells you, “my mistake, I didn’t realize what day I was telling him to leave.”

Azriel stood in the doorway and gave his brother the finger from behind you.

Azriel made excuses, all ranging from Cassian needing help with training, Feyre needing an escort to the Hewn City, even to Mor needing help with the upkeep of the horses in the guard. Every excuse was denied by his so-called family, not allowing him to use them as scapegoats. It was starting to make you suspicious.

Thursday morning after Azriel’s last ditch attempt to get out of the dinner, involving some excuse about Eris needing rescuing, you sigh, exasperated.

“Okay Az, it was just an idea. Clearly you don’t want to do it, so just.. don’t bother, okay? Go save Eris from whatever it is that’s attacking him.”

You turn, wanting to leave the kitchen before Azriel sees how much this actually upsets you. “That’s not-“ he starts, trying to grab you as you pass him, but you wriggle from his grasp, disappearing into the hallway up to your bedroom.

Az was sitting on the kitchen counter, wallowing in self-pity over how poorly he handled that situation, when Cassian walked in.

“And what do you have to be so upset about, pretty boy?”

Azriel lifts his head, looking at Cassian eating a stupid banana. Gods, he wanted to throttle him. “Oh no, I’m Azriel and a beautiful woman wants to cook me dinner, even though I eat dinner with her most nights and have weekly dates with her even though I deny anyth-“

Cassian stops, taking a bite of his banana. He looks up, and realization dawns on him.

“Oh my gods,” he says, his mouth full of banana. Azriel decides to play the denial game, because surely Cassian did not figure out the secret he’s kept guarded for several months while eating a fucking banana.

Cassian looked at him, turning to look up the stairs where you had left just a few moments ago, “you two?”

Azriel rolls his eyes, “we’re friends, yes.”

Cassian rolls his eyes even harder. “I’m not an idiot. You follow her around like a pitiful puppy,” he says, coming closer to his brother, “you two eat just about every meal together, but the one day she offers to cook for you suddenly you can’t find time for her?”

Cassian narrows his eyes at Azriel, “you ashamed of her or something?”

Azriel’s eyes widen, not only at Cassian’s question that he could ever be ashamed of you, but also at Cassian’s change in demeanor.

Cassian slips into the protective big brother role when it comes to you quite easily, Azriel thinks as Cassian puffs out his chest while he strides over to stand next to Azriel.

“Now why on earth would I be ashamed of her?”

Cassian inspects Azriel for a second before asking, “then why haven’t you told her?”

He pauses, then asks, “how long have you known?”

Azriel huffs, “known what?”

“That she’s your mate.”

Azriel stills at Cassian’s words. They liked to poke fun of Cass, calling him a dumb brute, but Cassian was no fool. If any member of his family were to discover his secret, it would be Cassian.

Azriel looks at him, “a few months. I’ve been… waiting.” He sighs, “I keep wanting to tell her and then I psyche myself out. Once I tell her, things will be… different.”

Azriel hates how quiet his voice becomes as he says, “what if she is ashamed of who the mother picked for her?”

Cassian’s chest deflates, all sense of protectiveness over you gone and replaced with protectiveness over his brother.

“Then she’d be a fool.”

Looking down, Azriel watches as Cassian’s foot gently nudges his own, a silent request from Cassian for him to look up.

“There is no way she would ever be ashamed of you or be upset that you’re her mate.”

The way Cassian is looking at Azriel makes him want to shy away, but Cassian keeps his gaze steady, almost locking Azriel’s eyes into place.

“I’d be willing to bet she has journals full of doodles where she draws little hearts with your names in it, and she also writes “Mrs. Shadowsinger”

The rise in octave in his brother’s voice causes a laugh to burst out of him, but Cassian continues.

“I once tried to sit next to you for a meal and I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as she did to claim her seat. Honestly, this will come as a shock to no one.”

Azriel looked back up at his brother to find him already looking at him, a soft gaze grazing his face.

“We’re happy for you two.”

Azriel scoffs, “I take that to mean you’ve already told Rhysand?”

Cassian starts walking away, going to pick up the remainder of his banana. “Oh yeah, we’ve had a bet for about a year now. Rhys thought the bond had snapped for her, but I knew it would be you. You’ve made me a much richer man, Az.”

Cassian bows in thanks, ducking out the door as Azriel throws a different banana towards the space he was occupying.

-

You had been sulking in your room for what felt like hours after Azriel’s latest rejection. You spent the whole time flipping between thinking about all the little moments that had you swearing there was something happening between you two, and each and every excuse he had made to get out of this dinner.

Was your cooking that bad? Was he tired of you taking up every one of his Thursday nights?

The two of you spent an absurd amount of time together - you ate most meals together at the house, you saw each other multiple times every day. Were you wrong?

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts, but before you can respond, the door is opening and Cassian pokes his head in. He has a hand covering his eyes, but he’s made a slit between his middle and ring fingers, allowing him to still see.

“Are you decent?” He asks, looking around the room.

He sighs at seeing you dressed on your bed, pulling his hand away from his face as he walks in, closing the door behind him.

You giggled, “Cass the whole point is to not see someone naked.”

He rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to you on your bed, “you don’t even want to give me a peak? I’ve had such a hard day, a little skin would make me feel better.”

You laugh, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it. He lets you hit him, pretending to fall dramatically onto his back.

“Tell Rhys I loved him,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to die.

You laugh at his foolish antics, but Cassian continues to pretend he’s dead. You lean into him, about to poke his face, when he grabs your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Now come on, I’ve got shopping to do and I need your help.”

-

After Cassian had left, Azriel spent some time trying to decide how he could make this up to you. He didn’t want to force you into accepting a bond that you didn’t know about by presenting him with food.

He paced his room, his long legs gliding across the wooden floors making no noise. His shadows were combing through the house, trying to find out where you had gone after your earlier spat.

Azriel replaced with pacing with purposeful steps as he headed towards his bedroom door, the perfect solution coming to him.

-

“Thank you Cassian,” you say, squeezing his arm your hand was tucked into.

“For what? My incredibly charming presence?” He smirks down at you.

You scoff, “I felt awful earlier but you pulled me out of my spiraling, thanks.” You say, nudging him a bit.

Cassian had gotten you out of your room and the two of you walked around Velaris, mostly people watching and talking.

He hums, “well, both of my brothers are idiots,” he says, getting a laugh out of you. “They take turns on who holds the idiot stick. Today it’s Azriel.”

“Do you ever hold the idiot stick?”

“Occasionally, very rarely, I will pass it between the two of them, so I only have it for a moment or two.”

You snort, looking down at your feet. If Cassian thought Azriel was being stupid, does he see what you see?

You start to ask him, to prod him for more answers about Azriel, when he pats your hand, turning your attention to where the two of you had ended up on this walk.

The townhouse.

Your brows crease in confusion as Cassian removes your hand from his elbow, pats your shoulder, and tells you to have a good night.

You start to sputter, wanting to know why you’re here. He shrugs, “I don’t question my orders.” He gives you a two finger salute before turning around and walking away.

You turn back around, looking at the entrance to the townhouse, afraid of what you’ll find on the other side of the door, but going up and knocking anyway.

The door opens, but no one is there. A small shadow swirls around you, moving up from your feet to your face, caressing your cheek before zipping off to the kitchen.

You step through the threshold and a new shadow comes and shuts the door, another two come and help you take your coat off and hang it up for you.

You walk towards the kitchen, where you can hear the clattering of plates and some delicious aromas filling the whole house. Inside the kitchen you find Azriel, with a frilly apron tied around his waist, putting the finishing touches on two plates at the table.

“What’s all this?” You ask him, doubt creeping in that this isn’t meant for you.

“Sit, sit,” he beckons, pulling out a chair for you. You look around the room, covered in flickering candlelight and flowers. He must have been working on this for hours.

You look down at your plate, the bright colors of ratatouille catching your eye. You gasp, wanting to know how much effort he went to find a recipe for it.

He takes off the apron, sitting across from you.

“I… made an ass of myself, and I’d like to apologize first and foremost for that.” You open your mouth to interrupt him, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish, I have.. a lot to tell you.”

He takes a deep breath, stilling his nerves. You look so pretty in the glow of the candles, and the slight concern you’ll hate him is enough to distract him, but he has to tell you this.

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you to cook for me. A few months ago we were in the library, reading, and I looked up and I watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, laughing at something in your book and I.. felt it.”

You’re in a trance, listening to him speak.

“I felt like I was dying and coming back to life, like your hand was wrapped around my heart, squeezing in time, keeping it beating. I made up some half-assed excuse to leave, because I needed to talk to Rhys.”

You looked at him, hoping your gaze would encourage him to continue.

“Rhys confirmed what I thought it was - the bond snapping. And I was terrified.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I was terrified if I told you, you’d deny the bond, you’d break my heart. So I… put off telling you. I couldn’t.”

He looks down at his lap, fidgeting his fingers.

“I kept trying to tell you, then I’d chicken out. Then when you offered to cook for me, I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let you accidentally accept the bond, accept me without knowing about it.”

He sighs, “I felt awful when I realized you thought I was rejecting you. Far from it. So I’ve uh.. made you dinner.”

You finally speak, “you made me dinner.”

“I made you dinner. And dessert, actually.”

Leave it to Azriel to outdo himself by finding the time to make dessert.

You weren’t letting a single emotion show on your face, and it made a shiver run up Azriel’s spine.

After what could have been hours, you slowly smiled, looking at him, “what kind of dessert did you make?”

He pauses, “I uh made you- us, uh chocolate mousse. I made two, but I thought we could share one.”

He looks at you, still not giving anything away, “if you want to, of course.”

He shifts, your silence making him uneasy.

“If you don’t want to accept it, I understand. I kept it from you, and I’m me, loving me would be rotten work- what are you doing?”

In the middle of his rambling, you picked up your fork, getting a nice helping of food on your fork, bringing it up to your mouth.

“Well, my mate made me dinner, and it looks incredible. Why would I not want to take a bite?”

He looks at you, a rush of emotions flooding him. Surprise, confusion, elation.

“But, but I can promise you to love me, to be my mate, it’s rotten work.”

You smile, “not to me it’s not.”

You pause, “not if it’s you,” and take a bite.

His chest sings, feeling warmth radiating throughout him. Feeling love radiate through him, and he realizes that’s you.

You keep eating the food, that hum getting louder and more vibrant, until you’ve cleared your plate, and stride over to him.

You grab his face in your hands, tilting his head so he’ll look into your eyes. “If you think I am not aware of who you are, what you do, your darkest parts, you are mistaken. And if you think I will shy away from those things, you are a fool.”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you swiped your thumb across his cheek, swiping it away.

You smile down at him, and he has never felt so loved, so whole as he does in this moment. His mate, the one person the cauldron deemed would understand him, just chose him.

He feels like that little boy, looked in the dungeon, daydreaming about being saved by an angel. And he has.

He stands up, cupping your face in his hands, “I was in love with you before the bond snapped for me. I’m not here just because the cauldron told me to be, let me assure you that.”

You smile, a heat creeping up your cheeks. “I’m only here for the chocolate mousse.”

He laughs, a genuine, roaring laugh.

You pull his face in close to yours, gazing into his eyes. “And I have been in love with you since the day after I met you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “the day after?”

You smile, “well I thought I was in love with you that first day, but then on that second day I heard you speak, and I knew no one would ever compare.”

You feel his happiness in your chest, as if his heart is also in your ribcage, yours and his intertwined, dancing through your chest together.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his mouth so close to your own your breaths are intermingling.

You smile at his thoughtfulness, his hesitation.

“Only if you promise to never stop.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Me? A Princess? SHUT. UP.

In which you become a princess for the night.

Warnings: Just a fluffy Halloween fic Pairing: Charles LeClerc X Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

If there was one thing you should have warned Charles about before you started dating, it would have been how much you were obsessed with Halloween. Ever since you were a little girl, you had been head over heels for the holiday, spending hours upon hours thinking about and then creating the perfect costume that year. You would never be caught dead in a mass market pre-made costume either. 

You got your love for the holiday from your mother, who had dressed you in homemade costumes every year since your first Halloween at six months old. It became a tradition from then on, first your mother always hand sewing your costumes until you were in your teens, when you finally took over the responsibility. Halloween had been the sole reason you had begged your grandmother to teach you how to sew: so you could take over the job of creating fabulous and intricate costumes when you were old enough. 

When you started dating Charles, you probably should have warned him that part of dating you during the month of October would include being roped into a couples costume. The first year you were together, Charles had gone as Lighting McQueen and you as Sally. The second year, you had convinced Charles to dress as Linguini from ‘Ratatouille’ while you had been Remy. But this year? This year you were absolutely tickled at the costume you had convinced Charles to do with you and couldn’t wait to debut it at the driver’s annual Halloween party ahead of the race in Brazil. 

“This may just be the best costume I’ve ever come up with.” You gush, looking at your reflection in the mirror as Charles came up behind you, rolling his eyes. 

“I look ridiculous.” He says, tugging at the shaggy wig you had somehow convinced him to wear. 

“You do not, now where is your keyboard?” 

Charles points to the bed in your hotel room where the blow up keyboard sits, ready to be slung around his neck. “What’s my name again?” 

You huff, adjusting the tiara that sits on the top of your head. “You’re Michael. How many times have we watched that movie since we started dating?” 

“I lost count after the 36th time.” Charles deadpans. 

Charles may be giving you a hard time, but just below his prickly exterior he’s secretly thrilled at this costume you’ve come up with. It’s easy for him: a pair of khakis, blue button up, tie and sport coat, backwards turned hat and pair of sunglasses. The only thing he could possibly complain about was the messy mop of a wig you insisted he wear but only because it was slightly itchy. The blowup keyboard that had M&M’s glued to the keys were a nice touch, he had to admit. 

“You’re such a liar, you love that movie and both sequels!” You swat at his arm, knowing that whatever couples costume idea you came up with, he would have gone along with no questions asked. 

Now it’s your boyfriend’s turn to roll his eyes. “You could have at least given me a real keyboard. I can play the piano, after all.” 

“If you’re going to complain all night, I’m leaving you here and have Franco be my bodyguard instead. I’m certain he’ll play along and that costume would be easy to put together.” You smirk, knowing how Charles feels about how…friendly the young Argentinian has been with all of the WAGs. 

Charles grabs you around the waist, hauling you to him. “Don’t you dare, mon amor.” He murmurs, lips a breath away from yours. 

“Then stop complaining and let’s go. Rebecca just sent me a text, her and Carlos are already downstairs.” You give Charles a kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a bright red kiss print, one that he doesn’t even bother wiping off. 

You grab the pair of wired headphones and tiny black sunglasses that complete your look and hustle out the door. George and Carmen had rented out the hotel’s entire restaurant tonight to throw their famous Halloween party, and had invited the entire grid along with most everyone from every garage on pit row. You knew it was going to get rowdy and you couldn’t wait. It was coming up on the end of a brutal triple header and these kinds of parties were always fun, but considering this was Halloween? You knew it was going to be one of your favorites of the entire year. 

Charles follows dutifully behind, blow up keyboard secured around his neck, as the two of you walk into the restaurant that night. There are a lot of people already there but it doesn’t take you long to find Kika and Pierre, who are dressed as Boo and Sully from Monster’s Inc. 

“Oh my God! Your Royal Highness!” Kika squeals when she sees you in your costume, sweeping into a low curtsey before throwing her arms around you. “You look so cute.” 

You laugh, hugging your friend back, pleased that she was able to recognize your costume without missing a beat. Behind you, Charles chuckles and pulls a few M&Ms out of his pocket, offering a few to Pierre who was dressed in a fuzzy blue and purple onesie. 

“The things we do for our women.” Pierre grouses, although just like Charles, Pierre would have dressed up as anything Kika had asked him to and the both of them knew it. 

The rest of the night is spent dancing, drinking, and taking a plethora of photos for social media. Everyone you encounter fawns over your costume and laughs when they realize who Charles is to your Princess. At the end of the night, you and Charles even take home the coveted ‘Best Costume’ award that has become somewhat of an infamous thing on the grid over the last few years. 

When the pair of you finally tumble into bed hours later, your feet throb from the stilettos but you have to admit, this was one of the best Halloween’s you’ve ever had. As you curl yourself into Charles, both of you almost instantly dropping off to sleep ahead of tomorrow’s busy media day, you can’t help but be thankful that you’ve somehow managed to become your own real life version of Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo. 

Tag List: @anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

[thewolvesof1998]

Fuck it Friday 🐺

Tagged by the wonderful @bekkachaos and @daffi-990

I am determined to finish this fic and your guys interested in it is helping, so here’s some more:

The thing is, it keeps happening, Eddie shoving homemade food at Buck — and on one memorable occasion with muffins that were more concave than round; Buck had still eaten three of them when Eddie had looked at him with his big, brown, sad eyes. Eddie makes food for Buck so much that it becomes their new norm, so he almost doesn’t even blink when Eddie pulls out-

“Is that ratatouille?”

“Yes,” Eddie says as Buck takes in his frazzled and frayed edges, the slight wild look in his eye and the spot of sauce on his temple and decides not to comment on how he looks like he’s just been in a fight in the kitchen. “You said you never had it before.”

“I did?” They had watched Ratatouille with Christopher the other night, it’s possible that he’d said that.

“Do you not want it?” And oh god, there are those Sad, Brown Eyes™ again.

“I didn’t say that, of course I want it, see,” Buck scoops up a spoonful of the dish and shoves it into his mouth and oh god that’s hot, “Delicious!” Who needs taste buds anyway?

Tagging:

@exhuastedpigeon @oureddie @wildlife4life @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples @diazheartsbuckley @drmellking @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @idealuk @try-set-me-on-fire @ladydorian05 @princehattric @devirnis @chaosandwolves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks

[bbitches]

Ratatouille (Azriel x f!reader)

pt. 2

m.list

ʚɞ = angst

Summary: You want to go out to dinner with Az, but Elaine gets in the way.

Warnings: Established relationship, not proof read

“Hey, Az?”

He did not respond.

Azriel was focused on his mission reports. Too busy to give his mate his attention.

His mate turned away, headed toward to door. Not even bothering to be disappointed in Azriel.

⋆ ★

It had been a tradition for the pair to go out for dinner together on Thursday nights for 200 years, even before they were mated. Never once had either of them missed their weekly dinner.

"I found a nice place in Day since you've never had ratatouille before. I figured you would like to try it, though ratatouille would be better homemade. Would you rather eat at the House instead? I could-"

Azriel let out a frustrated sigh and turned his gaze to his mate.

"Gods, Y/N, can you stop rambling? I'm trying to finish my mission reports."

As if realizing the damage he had done, he stalked over to his mate, putting his scarred hands on her shoulder. "Look, I can't make it to dinner this week. I promised Elaine to take her to the city. She wanted to spend time with me, and I already promised her I would take her to dinner. Being outside will be good for her."

She tried to force a smile. "But can't Nesta or Feyre take her? I'm glad Elaine's recovery is going well and that she is finding comfort in you, but I need to spend time with you too. This has been our tradition for centuries."

Azriel ran his hand through his hair. "Elaine needs me. She has gone through immeasurable trauma. This little tradition is in no way more important than her."

She tried to stay calm. "Little tradition? Az, I need you. You've barely been spending time with me, you come home late and leave early, I barely see you anymore. I need you too. I'm your mate, for God's sake!"

He let out a sigh of disbelief. "Maybe the Cauldron made a mistake," the words slipped out of his mouth. "Love, I didn't mean to-" She let out a weak laugh. Azriel tried to calm her by putting his hands on her forearms; she slipped away. "Oh, but you did." Tears welled up in her eyes. "You come back smelling like her every night. Her scent lingers on your leathers and your clothes. I tried to ignore it, I tried reassuring myself that - that you were a faithful male, but I guess I was wrong." She tried to salvage this relationship, she really did.

pt. 2

A/N: this is such a disaster lmfao, haven’t posted in a month or two, if you’re using light mode you won’t be able to see the dividers 💀 i could make a part two if anyone actually reads this. lmk if you want one. also this name is so unfitting for this fic 💀 it sounds so fun but it’s so sad

Copyright © 2023 Emory Belrose. All rights reserved. 

⋆

Translation of my work of any kind is not allowed and will not be appreciated unless consented to.

Please do not re-upload my work on any platforms without permission.

Any reblogs, comments, likes, shares, and follows are appreciated.

[leggerefiore]

A sweet and slightly silly idea:

The first homemade meal Ingo eats after returning from Hisui has him experiencing a flashback like Ego from ‘Ratatouille’, especially if it’s something that he used to eat a lot or has sentimental value. He gets the thousand-yard stare and goes dead silent before scarfing it down.

cw: short, fluff, post-pla ingo

Ingo's new oddities had been a bit distressing at first, certainly. His inability to recognise the places that should be familiar to him was the most concerning among them, but his many scars and fresh injuries also stirred worries. But, he was alive and mostly well. Memories scrambled yet somehow the same old Ingo. Amnesia could not keep a good train man from yelling out “All aboard,” it seemed.

There were many challenges in helping the poor man readjust to the modern day. His ability to navigate Nimbasa had become poor, but he was quickly relearning everything. There was some inherent distrust towards people, perhaps stirred by the environment that he had been in previously. He even seemed more on edge towards wild pokemon themselves, which made interacting with even passive pokemon, like Lillipup, an experience. Yet, old habits died hard as you saw him speaking softly to a wild Purrloin or seeming to be enchanted by the sight of a Litwick.

Now, all of that was important, but something had crossed your mind when you considered the health of your amnesic lover. He was now strangely muscular… His appetite seemed to have been increased from what it was before his disappearance. You hummed to yourself as it swirled in your mind. Had you made him something since his return? You realised it quickly. No, you had not.

Confirming that he was still at home by peeking into the living room where his old pokemon had surrounded him and demanded his attention, you rushed into the kitchen and checked your supplies. You appeared to have everything you needed. Slowly, you began to shape ground beef and work to make a lovely sauce to pair that Ingo had always seemed to enjoy. The smell in the air was a pleasant shift as sizzling sounds echoed out. Soon, you had a delicious hamburger made and prepared to Ingo's previous enjoyment.

Calling him to the table, you watched as he stared at the sandwich for a moment. The smell of onions wafted about while you hoped that he could still handle some level of spice. He sat still for a moment, clearly uncertain for some reason. You hoped it was not too much for him. It finally hit you that he had likely been on an entirely different diet in Hisui. Shame was just about to creep over your mind when he reached a hand out to grab the dish.

His hands instantly seemed to recall how to hold it as he brought it to his mouth to bite into it. He closed his eyes for a moment as distant memories seemed to just ghost around his mind tauntingly. Voices talking about various things with his job or day. A phantom hug around him with a faint kiss on his cheek. The cold air of the outside changing into something warm with the creaking of a door. Then, a single memory. One where his twin sat with him and you. He seemed younger, lacking their shared facial hair and bagged eyes. Laughter came from Emmet as a Joltik tried to run off with a piece of his bun. He felt a sigh come from him as he began to scold him, but was cut off by his Excadrill grabbing on to his leg and looking up at him with pleading eyes. What a mess, he had thought.

He came back to reality slowly, realising he was chewing his food for too long and finally swallowed it. His eyes drifted to you. You barely seemed that different from his memory. How much time had passed since then? Had Hisui just aged him. Ingo took another bite. You smiled at him sweetly.

“Do you like it, Ingo? I wasn't sure if you could handle the chilli oil you usually liked on it…” You scratched your head nervously. He had not even noticed the heat, honestly.

“I love it, dearest,” the words slipped from his lips with little thought as he gave a smile, “Thank you for making it for me.”

You both felt a little closer after so long apart.

(Then you realised he had not had processed cheese in a while. There was not saving him.)

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Would you like to be kidnapped and tied to a bed and fuck then get pampered afterwards so we can watch ratatouille while eating homemade apple pie

Yes 🥺

[chuck-snowbug]

Picture 1-3: Two Kinds of Japanese Sake(Kamotsuru & Kazenomori/賀茂鶴 ワイン酵母仕込み 純米酒 & 風の森 露葉風 507 2024冬仕込みタンク5011) feat. My Orange Beetle, Grilled Asparagus Sided with Homemade Mayonnaise, Smoked Chicken Thigh with Marmalade Jam Sauce, Steamed Corncob & Strawberry - April 2025

Picture 4: Leftover Breakfast feat. Blue Penguin, Next Day - April 2025

Previous Post:

[pureeoftheday]

03/30/25

hello dark’ness my old friend I’ve come to talk with you again

ingredients: mini yellow potatoes, leeks, king oyster mushrooms, garlic, homemade spicy chicken thigh bone broth, butter, veggie oil, salt, black pepper, apple cider vinegar, bay leaf, green onions

review: 10/10

god smiles on me despite it all because this is the best puree I’ve ever made in my life it is potato leek soup with king oyster mushrooms for extra volume. don’t listen to kenji or ratatouille or whoever listen to me. i’m donating the recipe here for you all because this is legitimately incredible.

no cream. confit the mini potatoes and grill the leeks WITH THE ENTIRE GREENS and mushrooms until charred. add grilled leeks and mushrooms, garlic to the potatoes in pot with some of the leftover confit oil/butter. cover smother until satisfied. season salt pepper acv to satisfaction. potatoes should be dissolved by now. add broth. simmer to satisfaction. take out bay leaves. immersion blend. top with green onions if you wish

[peachybutch]

How Good the RvB Main Cast is at Cooking, Ranked from Best to Worst

1. Donut

Donut gives off the vibe of one of those gay men with a baking channel on YouTube. This man's out here rolling up to the red team monthly dinner club with frenched rack of lamb with a pistachio mint crust and wine accompaniment, then earl grey souffle with creme anglaise for dessert. He spends hours experimenting with new and interesting ingredients. Remy Ratatouille, send-you-back-to-rural-France ass man. Donut's food fucks hard and everyone knows it.

2. Grif

You really think my man Grif loves food as much as he does and doesn't know how to make it? C'mon. He doesn't, like, relish the act of cooking as much as he does having a good plate of food at the end of it. And he's not typically much for sharing. But my guy makes a damn good short rib and bechamel lasagna. Give him the day to let something slow cook, and god damn.

3. Wash

Wash has been living off of MREs for probably his entire adult life, but I feel like he's got a few dishes he can whip out for a date night, or if he's feeling fancy. He knows how to read a recipe, and he has a pretty good idea of what flavors go together to make something good. He probably has a really nice papardelle with vinho verde sauce that he has sitting around in the back of his head for special occasions.

4. Tucker

Okay, Tucker isn't a bad cook by any means, ok? He's great with breakfast food specifically. It's just that he isn't especially fancy about it. He was probably, like, a line cook at Denny's in high school, so all his food tastes like food you would get at Denny's. Which isn't a bad thing! You would just never call Denny's "fine dining". He has his niche, and he does it well, and he never feels even a little bit inclined to do anything different or better.

5. Church (Alpha)

Church isn't much of a foodie right off the bat, but someone's got to pack Caboose's lunch, and he ends up learning how to cook fairly well after that. After a certain point, he figures out how to make things from scratch--mostly things like chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, pancakes.

6. Simmons

I feel like Simmons mostly lives off of shit like green smoothies and homemade granola. Like, hardcore, low carb, vegan, all organic, high protein diet. And, like, it doesn't taste BAD. But it definitely isn't the kind of thing you bring to the red team dinner club. He does make a really nice sunbutter brownie that he has to hide from Grif.

7. Caboose

Caboose has been banned from using any objects in the kitchen that involve a heat source--which isn't HIS fault! How was he supposed to know that you're supposed to take the spoon OUT of the mac and cheese before putting it in the microwave? That's just a recipe for a cold spoon! Anyways, he manages just fine without the microwave, thank you very much. He can make ants on a log like it's nobody's business. Cleaning up afterwards is another matter entirely.

8. Carolina

Carolina is one of the most competent individuals you will ever meet. She could kill you in under a minute, in 30 different ways, and that's just with her bare hands. The fourth time Sarge tries to recruit her into red team is by inviting her to the monthly dinner club. She shows up empty handed, and when Donut very politely asks what she brought, she replies that it's very interesting that they expected the only woman on the team to go all out with cooking. They move on. Carolina spent 5 hours in the kitchen this afternoon trying to figure out how to use the oven. But they don't need to know that.

9. Tex

Now, listen. Tex can't be called a bad cook, precisely, because that would require she cook for herself or others. Which is something she does not do. That's what Church is for, isn't it?

10. Sarge

Sarge refuses to step foot in a kitchen after the fifth shouting match about how flamethrowers are not a universally recognized kitchen appliance.

11. Church (Epsilon)

One time, while blue team is shooting the wind, Caboose asks Epsilon what his favorite breakfast food is. Instead of calling Caboose a dumbass, as per usual, he instead goes into extensive detail about how he eats computer keys like cereal. Caboose tries it. It isn't very good.

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 4

Part IV of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU

Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024

Prompts: Purple, Sunscreen, Swimsuit, Chest

Links to: Part I, Part II, Part III, Ao3

Midnight talks and confessions.

cw: brief reference to abusive family behavior

•••

But you know the truth,

I'd rather hold you

A sip of golden rose wine, a bite of homemade ratatouille. Logan felt sated. 

The seagulls chirped at the sun, slowly setting in the distance between the barely visible horizon and a strip of land—the tip of a gulf outlined by the edges of a few small towns and the low mountains. The sky was shades of purple, brushed with bursts of warm rays that blended into the deep, shimmering blue of the sea, as calm and comforting as the voices surrounding him at the table. 

"You have a bright future ahead of you," his dad told Finn, but he was staring straight into Logan's soul. "I know it."  

For a moment, Logan wandered back to that awful GQ interview Celeste had forced him into for his 20th birthday. A whole article about his early life and career. A child of art, it read, young and gifted. An athlete like few others, bound to go down in the annals of motorsports. 

People looked at him and saw a name, the past and present glory behind it. A polished smile, money, status, the luxurious life of a young millionaire. Lucky, they called him. And he really was, but for reasons other people might have found mundane.

Today he'd savored his greatest fortune, every single bite of it. And the cherry on top? A goofy redhead sitting by the pool with sunburned shoulders, a big sunscreen stain on the tip of his pointed nose, and a ridiculous bucket hat with tiny strawberries on it—a fan's gift that had somehow matched his sinfully tight swimsuit. 

"You want some more, mon ange?" Iva tempted Logan with another slice of Tarte Tropezienne. 

"You know I'd eat the whole thing." 

Noelle snorted. "Ouais, we're all aware, Lolo." 

"Okay, okay." Iva stood up from the table and grabbed the plate. "I'll put it back in the fridge before it's too late." 

At Finn's loud laugh, Logan turned to pointedly glare at him, only to be regarded with a blinding smile. "Wanna go out tonight?”

Logan shook his head, "You're tired." 

"A little, yeah." 

"And tipsy." 

"Maybe," Finn sipped the last of his wine. 

"Could have fooled me." 

"Why don't you two go make yourselves comfy?" Iva suggested. "Finn, cher, there's a jar of after-sun lotion in your bathroom. Put some on, will you?" 

Finn's tomato red cheeks blushed even more, up to the tips of his ears. 

"Thank you," he beamed. "For... everything." 

Many goodnights and sleep tights followed, and soon Logan found himself walking back into the house, Finn by his side, desperately gathering courage—to ask or to let go, he wasn't sure which. 

"Fish?" 

A warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. "What's up?"

"I... Um. My mom gave me something. Earlier..." Logan halted outside his bedroom. His head fell against the door, hitting the painted wood with a soft thud. "Would you..." 

Finn gently tussled Logan's hair. "I'll be right back."

Fifteen minutes had not passed when Logan heard a quiet knock at the half-open door. 

"Tremz," Finn's socked feet slipped on the marble floor. The temperature had cooled a bit, and Finn had opted for a warmer outfit for the night. He had his phone in one hand, eyes glued to the screen as he closed the door. "Look what Al just sent me."  

"Why are you wearing my socks?" 

Finn shot up. "Why are you wearing my t-shirt?"

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Touché. Let me see," he said, patting the soft spot next to him. 

"We're famous now," Finn handed him the phone. 

Logan tried to read his face. "Exactly how much wine did you have?" 

"I'm not drunk," Finn chuckled. "What I meant was that this picture is basically trending everywhere."

Logan took a closer look at said picture. It was a shot from the podium in Monza, he recognized—a close-up of himself, Finn, and Leo, drenched in champagne and covered in colorful confetti, all holding their trophies and smiling wildly. Logan could still feel the elation of that moment. "Why?"  

"Because, mon ami, apparently people think we're super hot."

"Oh God..." Logan groaned. He felt a burning blush spread through his body, head to toe. "Formula One sex symbols– What's that hashtag mean??"

Finn cracked up laughing. He took the phone back from Logan's hand and settled down on the sheets. "I'm sending this to Leo. I need to hear his reaction." 

Logan let his head drop to the pillow. "Speaking of the devil..."

"Who, Leo?" Finn shifted on his side to face him. "Looks more like an angel, doesn't he?"

It felt like torture to stare at him so close. 

"Are you going back to Italy before we leave?" Logan asked. 

"No," Finn picked at the hem of his own pillowcase. "You know we're setting up the upgrades for Texas. Why?"

"Sirius wants me at Silverstone on Monday. Come with me?" 

Finn gave him the softest of looks. It shimmered in the dimness of the room. "You take the enemy to your secret cave?" 

"Non," he laughed. "But I still get to spoil him with a night out in London and then a thirteen hour flight on a private jet." 

"Deal," Finn grinned. 

"I was thinking…" Logan began tentatively. "Maybe we could ask Leo to join us." 

Finn nodded quietly. "I'd really like to see him." 

"Good," Logan whispered, and waited silently while Finn's mind went a mile a minute. Something was bugging him, Logan could sense it. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

Logan blinked, still waiting. Anything, always.

"Those rumors... about Leo," he paused. "What's that all about?" 

"Bullshit," Logan sighed helplessly. "That's exactly what it is. You know that Sirius' family business sponsors Silver Racing, right?" 

Finn nodded, but didn't interrupt. 

"Well, when my race engineer asked for early leave... The Blacks tried to force their youngest, Regulus, into the job. But he refused, and Sirius backed his decision." 

"So..." Finn was trying to put the pieces together, but he couldn't know. The atrocities Sirius had confessed to Logan were hidden in a frightening corner of his mind that he refused to open. 

"They withdrew all the money, but it's not exactly public knowledge yet. We're talking about millions of dollars, all gone. They're awful people, Fish," he shook his head. "And Leo just showed up at the worst possible time." 

"Fuck..." Finn breathed. "That must be hard for him." 

"He's a tough nut to crack," Logan's lips twitched into a faint smile. "He knows what he's doing and doesn't need anybody else's sympathy. Even if he seems all shy at first."

Finn snorted. "Wouldn't dare call him shy at all." 

They had a great time, back in Italy. Somehow Logan had been impatient for Finn to meet Leo properly. After all the time they'd shared back at the factory in England, it just seemed right to bring those pieces of his life together. Leo was funny, kind, and so smart. They clicked perfectly together and apparently so did Leo with Finn. Logan had felt giddy watching the two of them sip champagne and chat and joke as if they'd known each other forever. He longed for more of those moments, of them. But what those tangled feelings made of him, he didn't quite understand. 

"Lo?" Finn's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Logan rolled over to the bedside table to get the present his mom had given him earlier in the afternoon. When he turned back, Finn was staring at him with a spellbound look on his face.

"Remember this?" Logan murmured.

Finn carefully took the silver frame in his freckled hands and stretched out on his back. God, Logan used to dream about that secret smile on nights that felt too empty and painfully lonely. Finn brushed his thumb over the old, fading photograph. Fifteen years old, to be exact. There was nothing but affection in the deep sigh he breathed out.

In the picture, a ten-year-old Finn was raising a golden cup to the sky with a just as young version of himself. Toothy grins on full display for the camera.

"Look at that cute little face," Finn teased. "You haven't grown any taller lately, huh?"

Logan slapped Finn hard across his chest, making him groan with laughter. "Fuck off," he retorted, but flattened his palm over Finn's pounding heart and let his hand rest there. "Tell me the story?"

"Hm?"

"The day we met," Logan looked at him expectantly. "I like the way you tell it."

So Finn did. He went back to the time he'd flown from New York to Montreal with his dad for his first international race. He had come home a few days later with a shared victory—a head-to-head photo finish—and a new friend he wouldn't shut up about.

Logan allowed himself to be lulled by those fond memories, by that deep yet gentle voice he'd become addicted to—the luring call of a siren, a melody echoing from a remote island in the open sea where Logan would undoubtedly have been shipwrecked and never left. 

Finn quieted as soon as he heard a soft snore. If he hadn't known better, he would have been offended at how quickly Logan had drifted off.

But how could he blame him? The house, Logan's bedroom, his bed. Those were safe places, a cocoon where they could hide from time to time and choose to be free, happy.

Nice always stirred up so many memories. Flashbacks of endless summer breaks, far from duties that had sometimes felt overwhelming on their teenage shoulders. Midnight swims in the calmness of a warm sea, cool drinks and casual talks at their favorite spot on the rocky shoreline. There had been plenty of shared glasses of whiskey under the moonlight of an empty porch and a quiet house.

And Finn's personal favorite. The early August nights, lying on soft blankets in the darkness of the backyard, carefree eyes seeking shooting stars.  

They had been eighteen and scared.

Look, there's one over there.

Nineteen and curious.

Where? I didn't see it!

Twenty, and aiming at the infinite sky.

Right there, Harz. Make a wish.

Twenty-one and lost.

A wish?

Twenty-two and discreet.

Ouais. So it comes true.

Twenty-three, and holding hands.

Oh. Okay, hold on.

Twenty-four and reckless.

What did you ask for?

Twenty-five and dreaming.

Can't tell you. I really want this to come true. 

They could have been happier. They could, together. 

Nobody had ever said no. No written rules. 

But Finn, what if…

I know.  

Finn tangled his fingers in Logan's hand, the one he'd placed almost protectively over his chest, and laid it ever so gently on the mattress. He carefully slid away from Logan's soft touch, and it tasted like a caress. 

The moment he sat up, he felt the burning tickle rise up his spine. When he looked down at Logan's peaceful face, tenderly smushed against the pillow, it all burst out in a choked sob. 

Finn used every ounce of his strength to convince himself to go back to the guest room. He probably owed it to himself, to them, so that history wouldn't repeat itself.

Just once. 

We shouldn't. 

Why not?

Because once is never going to be enough. 

The problem was, he didn't want to. Not anymore. The pull was there, stronger than ever, and it wasn't meant to be broken. Was it so selfish of them to wish to be each other's? 

They had drawn a line on a what if, trampled by seventy years of history where not a single driver had openly dated another man, let alone a rival on track. 

The jump into the void had seemed so high that they had simply resigned themselves to the fact that they couldn't do it.

Now Logan couldn’t to reach out to him, half asleep, and pull Finn back to nestle against his chest. He couldn't let his calloused fingers trace feathery patterns on his jaw, couldn't let his achingly frightened eyes share the lust, the need to be impossibly close. 

Logan couldn't, and yet he did. 

He did what they both feared would hurt them and break the safe thread that held them together.

“You should tell me to go,” Finn whispered, but it couldn't sound any less convincing. 

Logan's shaky answer floated in the small space between them, as soft as the pad of his thumb on Finn's lips. “What if… I wanted you?” He breathed. “Now,” He pressed his steady palm against the nape of Finn's neck. “Everywhere. Always.” 

Words failed Finn miserably. He thought of the silence, the distance. How wretched he had felt staring at those unanswered texts, how guilty. 

What would it take to really tear them apart? Was there anything that wouldn't lead them to find all the answers in each other? 

“Stay,” Logan leaned in closer. He looked gorgeous under the warm light of the reading lamp, green eyes screaming a long hidden truth. “Please, stay with me.”  

Logan's sharp breathing clung to Finn's skin. They huddled together as Finn brushed their noses, then their lips, barely touching. Silently asking. 

One last check—I want this. I want you. 

Logan moved first, finally closing the distance with an urgent kiss, fierce and burning and breathtaking, just like his grip on Finn's hair, pulling every last wisp of air out of his lungs. Finn cupped Logan's face in his shaking hands and deepened the kiss, more languid and gentle, unhurried. A promise. 

Just us, all night long. 

[nbula-rising]

Moroccan Ratatouille With Dates Servings: 6 to 8 Active time: 25 mins Total time: 50 mins

Ingredients 1/4 cup vegetable oil 1 medium yellow onion (8 ounces), halved and sliced 2 medium cloves garlic, chopped 1 medium red bell pepper, stemmed, cut in half lengthwise (seeds and ribs removed), then cut crosswise into thin slices 1 medium eggplant, trimmed (peeled or unpeeled) and cut in half lengthwise, then cut crosswise into 1/2-inch slices 2 medium zucchini, trimmed (unpeeled) and cut crosswise into thin slices 8 ounces pitted dates, halved lengthwise One (28-ounce) can chopped tomatoes, with their juices 2 teaspoons homemade or store-bought ras el hanout** 1 to 2 teaspoons granulated sugar (optional) Fine salt Freshly ground black pepper 6 stems to 7 stems flat-leaf parsley, coarsely chopped, for garnish

Steps

In a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat, heat the oil until shimmering. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until the onion begins to soften, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the bell pepper, eggplant and zucchini and cook, stirring, until the zucchini flesh picks up a yellow color but is still a little firm, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the dates, tomatoes and the spice mixture, stirring to combine.

Reduce the heat to medium or medium-low and cook for 10 to 15 minutes. Taste, and add the sugar, if desired, stirring to combine. Cook, uncovered, until the vegetables are tender, 20 to 25 minutes.

Season to taste with salt and pepper. Divide among individual plates and sprinkle with the chopped parsley. Serve hot.

**Ras El Hanout

Ingredients 2 teaspoons ground ginger 2 teaspoons ground cardamom 2 teaspoons ground mace 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground allspice 1 teaspoon ground coriander 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg 1 teaspoon ground turmeric 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper 1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper 1/2 teaspoon ground anise seed 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Gather the ingredients.

Place all of the spices into a bowl and stir to combine evenly. Transfer the spice mix to a glass jar and store it in a dry, cool place away from heat and sunlight for up to six months. Enjoy it in your favorite meat, tagine, and stew recipes.

Substitution suggestions + other tips and ideas:

If you can’t have onion or garlic >> use an infused oil instead. No dates? >> This might be nice with dried or fresh apricots. To make this a more filling meal >> serve it with quinoa, a white bean mash or as a side for grilled chicken, sautéed fish or roasted slabs of feta.

[alex51324]

Farm Box Cooking Saturday!

This week I made ratatouille, and also watermelon sangria!

The ratatouille used eggplant, zucchini, onion, garlic, pepper, and tomatoes from my farm boxes, and also some additional peppers and tomatoes that I bought at a stand that's on the side of the road on my way to work, and basil from a pot I have next to my parking space. The only grocery store ingredients were olive oil, salt, and pepper.

As long as you're good at chopping vegetables, it's easy to make! You start by sauteeing the onions and garlic in olive oil, and after the onions have softened, the peppers too. Then you put in everything else. Cover the pot to get the liquid to start cooking out of the vegetables. (In my case, I had to let them cook down a bit before I could get the lid on!) Simmer for about 15 minutes with the lid on, then take it back off and keep simmering for 45 minutes to an hour.

You can have it as a side dish with anything, or as a main dish over your carb (or carb substitute!) of choice. I did penne pasta.

My other big project was the watermelon; I made a tasty watermelon sangria using half the watermelon, a bottle of inexpensive pink wine, a cup of vodka, the juice from three limes, a cup or so of sugar, and some mint.

It made a lot.

The first step is to cut the watermelon up into chunks and blend it in the blender. Then you pour the puree through a fine mesh strainer, which gets you a bowl of watermelon juice:

And a big spoonful so of pulp:

You know that watermelon is mostly liquid, but it's still surprising how little you're left with after you blend and strain it. This is the pulp from one blender-full of watermelon; I blended the half-watermelon in about three batches. It was probably about a cup of pulp total--I'm not sure, because I gave it to Sophie as I went along. (Remember, there's no alcohol in it yet!)

The blending and straining is really the only hard part here; once you've done that you just pour everything else in and mix it up. (To make sure the sugar and mint were properly incorporated, I zipped them through the blender with a cup or so of watermelon juice, but you wouldn't necessarily have to do that.)

If you are serving this at a party, you can cut-and-scoop the watermelon like you're getting ready to carve a jack-o-lantern, and then use the rind as a punchbowl! Or if you're going to drink it all yourself over a period of several days, you can put it in an old lemonade jug or whatever. It is tasty and delicious!

You can also make a nonalcoholic version using lemonade or limeade (purchased or homemade) in place of the wine. I might try that if they give me another huge watermelon, because I realized after the fact that what I'd just done was give myself a fairly tight deadline to drink an entire bottle of wine and five shots of vodka. (It's not like I have to chug the stuff, but I don't usually drink alcohol on a daily basis, but to get through the whole jug before it spoils, I will have to do just that.)

Anyway! foo

With the other half of the watermelon, I'm making sorbet! I don't know yet how well that will come out, but you start by cutting your watermelon into chunks and freezing them:

Then you put the frozen chunks through a food processor with some more lime juice & a little sugar, and spread it back out into a shallow pan:

And then you pop it back in the freezer. The recipes I consulted are not in agreement about how many times you have to take it back out and stir it during the freezing process to not get a solid lump of watermelon ice; the options range from "zero; once you've put it through the food processor it's fine now" through a variety of actual numbers, to "if you don't own an ice-cream maker you pretty much have to eat it all within about 4 hours after when you did the step with the food processor."

So...I'll just see what happens, I guess! Anyway, it's pretty tasty: