#Hoover stew

[monikafilefan]

Jingle Bells and Jealousy 1

I realized I never shared my newest fic I wrote on Christmas Eve here. There’s 2 chapters: 1 in Mulder’s pov and 2 in Scully’s.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on, our troubles will be out of sight

Mulder scoffs as he draws the final insidious lines onto the smiling image of Santa Claus in front of him.

“Better,” he chuckles wryly.

The black ballpoint’s ink bleeds through the red and white dessert plate where the now new and improved Santa stares up at him. He blows cookie crumbs and remnants of pecan pie off his paper plate to get a good look at his masterpiece. The cookies were bland, but the pie hit the spot.

He feels overdressed and uncomfortable next to coworkers in ugly Christmas sweaters surrounded by tinsel by the pound. Good pie just might be the highlight of the night, Mulder muses sourly.

In a surprising turn of events while wrapping up a post X-File department budget meeting with Skinner this morning, Scully had confirmed that, yes, she was planning to attend the Bureau’s annual Christmas party for the first time in a long time. Mulder almost laughed at her joke — seeing as how they’d both agreed years ago that holiday parties could only serve to further ridicule their spooky department of two — before Skinner boldly stated that he’d hoped to see her there with her plus one. And to Mulder’s utter shock, Scully had blushed, avoided his probing gaze, and nodded. Scully had a date? His jaw had clenched so hard his teeth hurt. From there, Mulder’s plans to spend a quiet Christmas break on his couch with his pretty partner and a carton of Beijing beef had crumbled quicker than the pie crust now littering his lap.

Through the years, we all will be together

If the fates allow

Sinatra croons about fated happiness throughout the Hoover’s reception hall as Mulder slumps further in his seat. He’s only been here a half an hour and already regrets coming. The only plus side is that Diana and Spender are out of town on a case — an X-File, and aren’t here to silently mock his bullpen misery. If Scully hadn’t dropped a last minute bomb about attending this bureaucratic shindig, he sure as hell wouldn’t have either. Should have saved himself the embarrassment, he knows. He should’ve gone for a run instead of stewing in his apartment for three hours before changing his mind and frantically dusting off his tux he didn’t need for front row seats to a waking nightmare cheerfully playing out in front of him.

He isn’t sure his heart can handle what his eyes cannot get enough of: Dana Scully is absolutely gorgeous. Though, she’s always been pretty to him. Even when she emerges from her one star motel room at five a.m., sleepy-eyed and grumpy, rolling her eyes at his new case glee, Fox Mulder is wholly enamored.

But now… Christ. It must be his sorrow kicking him while he’s down again, because Scully has never been more beautiful. The green, form fitting cashmere cardigan looks so good on her with its top two buttons undone and something red and lacy peeking out underneath. It’s festive, flirty. The fine lines of her collarbones rise and fall in time with her shoulders as she sips her wine amongst the crowd. But her luminous appearance is hardly the attribute that attracts him to his partner the most. Her mind, her stubbornness, her heart… all of her has made him fall foolishly and dangerously in love.

And she looks happy without him.

Mulder sighs, sick to his stomach. He doesn’t deserve her attention anyway. His attitude pretty much proved that in the bullpen earlier tonight…

They leave the meeting with Skinner in a blur as Mulder silently reels at the implication of Scully dating, feeling the invisible noose of self-deprecation squeezing tighter.

“I thought you were going to conveniently miss that budget meeting,” Scully comments when they enter the nearly empty bullpen. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Where you, go I go,” he casually admits, trying not to sound as possessive as he feels right now. Because it’s the truth and the promise he’d silently made on his knees as he’d sobbed by her bedside in the Oncology ward.

She huffs a laugh. “Is that an early New Year’s resolution?”

“Not really new.” Mulder flops down in his chair and contemplates further, watching her fiddling with the mess on his tiny desk. He wants to just ask if she’s seeing someone. If she’s finally gotten sick of his shit and moved on, but for the first time in his life, he isn’t sure he wants the truth. “So you’ve decided to attend the Christmas party this year?”

Scully stops stacking files of neglected background checks and gives him a meaningful look. “I have.”

“You don’t think this is just another way to punish us, or you, if you go?” He whispers while pointing a pencil toward Kersh’s office across the hall. “You know how they operate up here.”

“Does enjoying a little Christmas music and conversation really seem like discipline to you?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

“There’s pie,” she teases, pulling his discarded invitation he never read from the recycling bin and sliding it enticingly across the desk.

As much as he is itching to know more about her party plans, playing cool, calm, and collected feels less desperate. So he feigns disinterest and shrugs, “You know I’m picky about pie.”

Scully cocks her head and crosses her arms. “There’s me.”

“And you’re standing right here like always,” he offhandedly adds, hating his forced indifference more with every dismissive word that rolls off his tongue.

“Like always,” she mumbles. And out of the corner of his eye, he sees her shoulders slump, her arms falling limply to her sides. “Where I go, you go, but not if it includes socializing above subterranean territory?”

Something about the snide way she says that irritates him. Scully’s been just as pissed off about their reassignment to shit duty as he is and has never complained about being in the bowels of the basement with him. Not once.

Whatever reign he’d had on his internal turmoil snaps.

He spins around in his chair and points the pencil at her accusingly. “Am I too much of a loner for you now, is that why you’re bringing a plus one?” he hisses. “A date?”

“Excuse me?” A wave of anger rises within her sea blue eyes. Brow arched, she opens her mouth to rip him a new one he definitely deserves, but then seemingly reconsiders within earshot of others, tilting her head instead. “So what if I am?” she prods, sharp as a scalpel.

It’s unfair, he knows. His agitation and accusation. She’s never mentioned dating anyone before. Has never given him a reason to ask if she was, but the sudden white-hot flare of jealousy in his chest hurts more than her “oh brother” response to his recent love confession than he could have imagined.

Scully is staring at him like she wants to shove him against a wall and choke him with his tie. Mulder’s gut twists.

He tosses the pencil and stands. “Scully, I’m sorr-”

She holds up a halting hand.

“I’m going to the party tonight, Mulder.” Her voice is soft, a little shaky. “With or without you.”

Before Mulder can say another word, Scully turns on her heel and walks out of the bullpen, leaving him alone with a lump in his throat.

Now, Mulder’s heart hammers in time with the beat of the “Little Drummer Boy” echoing off the Bureau’s walls.

He had thought he could handle this soul-crushing feeling of heartbreak when he’d decided to come. He’d told himself he could push his own feelings aside for Scully’s happiness and show up to prove to her he’s really not a hermit intentionally holding her back in life. To remind her that he will do any thing for her. But now, confronted with the reality of her hand caressing another man’s forearm in a room riddled with mistletoe, he finds the sight of it is like a tabloid headline at a gas station checkout people are too ashamed to buy but can’t help indulging in a quick flip-through. Goddammit! His fists clench along the snowflake tablecloth. Like a train wreck, he cannot look away.

“Devil horns on Santa Claus, Mulder?” A.D. Skinner scolds wearily from over his shoulder.

Mulder startles and tears his eyes away from the woman he loves. He should have known he couldn’t wallow at a party in peace. “It’s Krampus, sir.”

“Looks about as cheerful as you do,” Skinner retorts.

Mulder pushes his defiled plate aside. “If I hear one more song about old Saint Nick, I might stuff my ears with marshmallows.”

“As much as you may deserve it after blowing the quarterly budget; again, a party isn’t a punishment, Mulder. Even when you’re off the files.”

The increasing ache in Mulder’s chest disagrees.

“You sound like Scully.”

“Then maybe you should listen.” Skinner nods toward Scully at the opposite side of the room. She’s smiling brightly as the same good-looking agent with dark skin and a gleaming grin hands her a glass of wine. “Agent Scully seems to be enjoying herself.”

“She deserves it,” Mulder mumbles moodily, doing a piss-poor job of ignoring the green-eyed Grinch gnawing a hole in his gut. And it doesn’t make it any less true, his closest, most cherished friend deserves the best.

“She’s said the same thing about you, you know,” Skinner huffs and shakes his head. The twinkling lights decorating the reception hall reflect off his boss’s scalp like a skin-colored disco ball. “Go on, show your tux a good time. Drink some eggnog, make some bullpen buddies. You know, live a little.”

“Dunno, Skinman. Sounds like a bad idea to me.”

“Jesus, Mulder.” Skinner reaches over and snags one of the bundles of mistletoe taped to the hall’s wall and shoves it into Mulder's palm. “Here, consider it my gift to you.”

“Uh,” Mulder blinks. “You shouldn’t have, sir.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Skinner rolls his eyes and pokes at the plastic flower. “For your partner. You know, the woman who — by some miracle, insists on defending you at every turn over the last six years. The same woman I overheard decline multiple dance offers already because of you.”

“How much punch have you had, sir? Because I saw Tom Colton pour a bottle of Jim Beam in there earlier.” Still, his hopeful eyes scan the crowd in search of Scully’s beckoning ones. But her back is turned, her date brazenly tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Mulder’s heart sinks to his shoes. “She couldn’t have said that about me.”

“Does she really have to?” Skinner asks incredulously.

Mulder tsks and flicks a stray chocolate chip across the table. “Considering she’s here with someone else and has ignored me since I walked in, I’d say so.”

“Well, even I know when your partner’s annoyed with you. More than usual, anyway.” Mulder can only shrug at the big man’s statement. He’s not wrong. “You didn’t tell her you were coming, did you?”

“No, I wasn’t planning to show up at all. Not until-” Mulder stops and groans, his last vestige of hope fading faster than his will to be here.

“Until you were you and jumped to conclusions without supporting evidence? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“The supporting evidence is currently palming my partner’s back,” Mulder grumbles under his breath as dark thoughts invade his brain. “You heard her in your office,” he says loud enough for Skinner to hear this time. “She’d planned to bring a date before I even knew she was coming.”

Skinner side eyes him. “How do you know she wasn’t talking about you?”

Mulder ponders that prospect as the festive music makes his head pound. He and Scully are in an emotional stalemate as of late. Both treading lightly, trying not to hurt each other, and he fears he's doing a shit job of it. It’s been a domino of disasters between Antarctica and his heated hallway confession, being booted from the files, the Diana debacle, and with Kersh breathing down their necks more and more has undoubtedly tugged hard on their tethered partnership. Mulder would be lying if he said he isn’t worried about losing her more than ever.

“Look, Scully and I are friends,” he responds solemnly. “Best friends. And yeah, I… well, you seem to already know,” he admits in defeat. Somehow, Mulder isn’t embarrassed to confess the unplatonic pull toward his partner to Skinner. His endless love for Scully is practically screaming at this point. “But I’m me. And she…”

“You’re too smart to be this stupid,” Skinner mutters, exasperated.

“Hey,” Mulder scoffs. “She has a date who looks to be the exact kind of man her family would love to see sweep her off her feet. Anyway, I don’t ever want to be the reason she can’t have what makes her happy.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mulder,” Skinner leans down close. “Last month Agent Scully put her ass — and mine — on the line without a second thought to rescue yours from the Bermuda Triangle for a reason. And that’s just one of the recent stunts she's pulled that could’ve cost her her job, and her life. The crazy thing is, I don’t think she cares as long as you’re by her side in the end.”

Mulder clears his rapidly thickening throat to speak, but Skinner shoots him his Shut The Hell Up And Listen look.

“And you’re sulking?” Skinner continues, chuckling to himself. “I know you’re angry about your reassignment. Rightfully so, but now is not the time to show it. You’ve gone head to head with Cancer Man, jumped off a bridge and onto a moving train — and whatever other insane things you’ve done behind my back, let alone Kersh’s, so I know you’re brave enough to haul your ass across this room and enjoy yourself.”

Mulder can’t help but smirk. “Now that’s a pep talk.”

Skinner loosens his candy cane striped tie as his eyes search the crowded room.

“I’ve never known two people so irritatingly stubborn in my life. Consider this my gift to you. Go ask Agent Scully to dance, and apologize for… well, everything, and use that mistletoe for God’s sake.” He slaps a heavy hand on Mulder’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “She’s waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass. Don’t blow it.”

Mulder’s mouth hangs open as the A.D. saunters off through the crowd with an unusual pep in his step. If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think his boss just offered him fatherly advice. He scrubs his hands over his eyes and catches a familiar flash of red hair across the room, feeling a rush of renewed bravery take hold. The big man is right. What the hell is he doing torturing himself instead of seeking out the reason he’s come here?

He wipes the crumbs from his lap and weaves his way through the throng of buzzed and festive Feds. It looks like Kris Kringle threw up Christmas itself here. There are decorations everywhere. As Mulder rounds a corner to follow Scully out into the hallway, an upbeat song blares through the speaker near his ear.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time

A group of women in red velvet and green lace bump into him and ask him to dance, tell him how good he looks in a tux, but Mulder doesn’t care. Not when Scully is fifteen feet in front of him, talking awfully close with the man Mulder now recognizes as another new agent in the lab. Her handsome, science nerd date with his hands gently cupping Scully’s arms, smiling sweetly at her as she nods up at him. Mulder freezes. With breath caught in his chest, he watches by the wayside in horror as the man seemingly leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Scully’s upturned lips.

What a bright time, it's the right time

To rock the night away

Mulder’s heart nearly stops.

An explosion of emotion flares in his gut. Frustration, sadness, disappointment… Anger. Anger at himself, at the lucky bastard kissing his one in five billion. He grits his teeth, swallows hard against the molten burn of it all, and turns around before Scully sees the misery on his face.

Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet

That's the jingle bell

Maybe this is what was supposed to happen tonight: fate telling him he deserves whatever shitty cards he’s dealt. But fuck, he loves her. He loves her fiercely and wants her to be happy. Whether it’s with him, or someone else, it shouldn’t matter as long as she’s living a life she chooses. A life she deserves.

It shouldn’t matter, but goddammit, it does.

So Mulder tamps down tears, and walks away.

That’s the jingle bell

He stalks out of the hall and bursts his way through the double doors, relieved to escape into the snow covered streets. He frantically searches his pockets for his car keys when his fingers get caught on the mistletoe’s hard plastic petals. Instantly, his nose stings and eyes water. He’s not sure if it’s from the pain of his heart shattering or the icy December air. He doubts it matters.

He doubts anything does, anymore.

That’s the jingle bell rooock

[phillippadgettwrites]

I love jealousy stories! Can you give us some good jealous Scully? Maybe it’s been stewing a long time or maybe Mulder got tired of her turning him down for dates and starts stating someone else. Just make her seethe with jealousy please???

One for The Road

Rated X / 3429 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully dials the number for the house phone from memory, then takes a big gulp of her wine. She listens to it ring once, twice, three times, four. She knows the machine will pick up after the fifth ring, and she prepares to hang up before she hears the outgoing message. Either she’ll hear her own voice, which will make her sad because he still hasn’t changed it, or she’ll hear his voice, which will make her sad because he has. She’s halfway through the fifth ring, about to pull the phone away from her ear, when he finally answers. 

“Hello?” he says breathlessly, like he was running for the phone.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out right away. She closes her eyes and forces herself to speak before either he hangs up, or she loses her nerve completely. “Mulder, it’s me.”

There’s a pause that’s a bit too long for her liking. Longer than a “shocked but happy to hear from you” pause. More of a “shocked and wondering why I’m hearing from you” pause. 

“Scully,” he finally says, her name leaving his mouth on a blustering breath. “It’s been a while. Are you okay?”

A little pang of something painful and beautiful spikes in her chest. He still cares about her. At least there’s that. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she reassures him. “How are you doing?”

She closes her eyes as she waits for his answer, unsure how explicit it might be. She wants to know, but she also vehemently doesn’t. If only there were some way to have both at once. Shroedinger’s knowledge of your ex’s love life. 

“I’m good,” he says, a polite non-answer. The kind you give to the checker at the grocery store or the coworker you don’t really like. The kind you give to your former partner who cut contact with you months ago to preserve her own sanity. 

“That’s good,” she says, disgusted by their milquetoast small talk. They used to talk about everything, and now they don’t talk at all. She takes another gulp of her wine.

He waits for her to explain why she called, and she waits for him to ask. 

“Did you need something?” he says when the silence becomes unbearable. 

I need you to wait patiently for me forever, she thinks. I need you to never, ever love anyone else. 

“I found some things of yours,” she says tightly, then clears her throat. “I must have accidentally packed them. I thought maybe you’d like to come by and get them.”

She already hates herself for being so petty. So immature. It’s really not like her, but then again she’s never loved anyone in her life the way she loves him. She’s never lost someone it hurts this much to lose. 

Mulder makes a little curious sound, and she feels hopeful that her plan will work. 

“What things?” he asks. 

“Um, some knick knacks,” she says, glancing at the pile of junk she managed to assemble. “A couple things you used to keep on your desk at the Hoover. Odds and ends. Sentimental things.”

Mulder has become increasingly sentimental with age. Year over year she continued to find little treasures tucked away around the house that looked to her like trash, but that he begged her not to throw out. She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or horrified when she found out he’d stashed the panties she was wearing the first time they had sex in a shoebox next to a set of tickets from a Knicks game he took her to—their first “real” date. 

“I hadn’t noticed they were missing, so I guess I don’t really need them,” he says, and she can picture him running his hand over the back of his neck as he’s prone to doing when he’s debating something. “You can keep them or throw them out, whatever you want.”

Her heart sinks. She was fairly certain he’d take the bait. Things he kept on his desk at the Hoover. That should have been irresistible.  

“Will you please come get them?” she says in a low, melancholy voice. “I don’t think I can bring myself to throw them out, but having them here is…It’s still difficult, Mulder.”

She’s not really putting on an act as much as she’s dropping it, but the impact is the same. He hears the hurt in her voice, the acknowledgement that she misses him and mourns their ruined relationship, and even if he’s no longer moved by her ten year old panties, he’s moved by her. 

He’s quiet for a few beats, and when he says, “Yeah, okay,” she has to suppress a victorious whoop. “Can I come by now? I can be there in half an hour.”

“Okay,” she says quickly, “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as she hangs up, she drains her glass and pours another, then hurries to her bedroom to get dressed. She needs something sexy, but casual enough that it won’t look like she’s trying too hard. And she needs her water bra. 

This is all very much beneath her, she’s marginally aware of that. It’s quite pathetic, actually, and she should probably be ashamed of herself, but she’s not. She just has a very deeply held conviction that Mulder belongs with her, and thus any other woman who weasels her way into his life is encroaching on Scully’s territory. She doesn’t think this consciously—that would be far too catty and anti-feminist. But clearly that’s how she feels, given the way she’s responding to the news that Mulder has a girlfriend. 

She hasn’t spoken to him in months, not since the night that she tearfully told him she’s afraid she’ll spend the rest of her life mourning the loss of him if she doesn’t get some space from it. And space he has given her: complete radio silence. She was starting to think she was doing much better, maybe even truly moving on, but then she ran into Debra Kaufman at the Shop N Save and nearly dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor when Debra asked her if she’d, “Met Fox’s new thing.”

“I’m sorry?” she’d said stupidly, open carton of eggs in hand, waiting to be examined for cracks. 

“Oh, I figured you’d have met her since I see you over there all the time. You still drive the gray Explorer?” Debra had asked, one hand on her rounded hip. 

Scully felt heat rise to her cheeks at the realization that her Wednesday night drive-bys weren’t as covert as she’d thought they were. 

“Yes, but I haven’t had the pleasure,” she said blandly. “How long has he…” she started, then caught herself. Gossiping in the grocery aisle is hardly her style. 

Debra layed a sympathetic hand on Scully’s forearm and smiled at her sadly, which made Scully’s eyes immediately well with tears. 

“A couple months,” Debra said gently. “She’s a nice gal, but not nearly as pretty as you.”

Scully stands in her walk-in closet, wine in hand, and flips through skirts and dresses, slim-fitting slacks and casual sweaters. She’s not totally sure what her goal is, she just knows that if Mulder is dating, he must be doing much better. And if he’s doing that much better, maybe when he looks at her there will be something behind his eyes again. And maybe if he sees her, and if he feels that thing he forgot how to feel, and if she sees him feeling it, then maybe there’s still hope. 

She picks up something she bought on a whim but has never worn: a black velour jumpsuit with a deep neckline and three-quarter sleeves. When she tried it on in the fitting room she felt bold and sexy, but outside of her fantasies she rarely has occasion for either boldness or sexiness these days. When she imagines Mulder seeing her in it she feels excited, and so the choice is made. 

She puts on heels and his favorite perfume, and decides that if he comments on her appearance she’ll tell him she’s going out tonight. Maybe she’ll let him think she has a date, depending how things go. She’s examining herself in the full length mirror, admiring the way the jumpsuit hugs her ass, when she hears the doorbell. She pulls the door open prepared to put on an air of sexy aloofness, but the second she lays eyes on him her unaffected facade crumbles. 

He looks good. Really good. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, and his face is clean-shaven. She can already smell his cologne, the one he used to wear before William, and between the reaction from her heart and her cunt she’s disoriented and lovesick. 

Realizing that she’s staring, she snaps her eyes up to his face to find him taking similar stock of her body, his eyes lingering on the deep V of her jumpsuit where she’s pushed as much of her cleavage as possible to center stage. She pulls in a deep breath and he clears his throat, averting his eyes to the door jam and then back to her face. 

“Hey,” he says with a bob of his head, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. 

“Hi,” she says back, trying to regain composure. “Please, come in.”

He hesitates, giving her a quick head-to-toe glance before he steps through the threshold. Scully walks down the hall toward the living room and he follows behind her, so she makes a point of switching her hips. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” she calls over her shoulder, then bends down to pick up a small box full of the items she used to lure him here. 

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” he says haltingly. She looks over her shoulder and catches him staring at her ass. “I have somewhere to be.”

She stands up and turns around, propping the box on her hip. She hadn’t planned to ask about her, but it just comes out. 

“Plans with your girlfriend?” she says tartly, and she gets some satisfaction from the panicked look on his face. He doesn’t want her to know, which she takes to mean something. 

But then the panic fades into irritation. His jaw shifts and eyes harden a little. 

“You’re the one who wanted out, Scully,” he says, indignant, “not me.”

It hits her like a slap in the face. She never wanted out. In her experience, it was him who left her, mentally and emotionally if not physically. 

“Well,” she says tightly, handing him the box, “it seems like you’re doing much better than you were before.”

“I am,” he says. “But I seem to recall some stipulation about sticking around for better or for worse. I don’t think you’re supposed to pick and choose.”

Her throat is becoming too tight, warning her of impending tears. He’s being uncharacteristically mean, and she doesn’t understand why. 

“I tried, Mulder,” she squeaks, then swallows against the lump in her throat. “I held on as long as I could.”

His shoulders drop and his face falls. He shifts the box to his other arm, and she can tell that he’s debating hugging her. 

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry.” He looks at his watch and clucks his tongue. “I have to get going. Sorry I can’t stay longer.”

She nods and follows him back to the door, and then out into the driveway. He unlocks his car and then leans across the driver’s seat to set the box on the passenger side, and Scully takes the opportunity to both admire his ass and scan the interior of the car for any feminine looking items. Mulder rights himself and turns around, leaning against the open door frame. 

“It was good to see you,” he says earnestly. His eyes flash over her body so quickly she could have blinked and missed it. “You look good,” he adds. 

Scully looks down at her own outfit, smoothing her hands over her hips. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You do, too.”

“I’ve been running again,” he says. “I’m training for a half-marathon, actually.”

This makes her smile. 

“That’s good, Mulder,” she says. “I’m really glad that you’re doing well.”

He smiles back, nods. There’s a little beat of hesitation before he steps forward and opens his arms, and she falls against his chest with a heavy sigh. Her arms wind around his rib cage and she squeezes him tight. He smells like home, feels like safety. She doesn’t ever want to let go.  But she feels him loosen his grip on her, so she does the same, leaning away a little until she can see his face. He looks right into her eyes, really sees her, for the first time in a long time, and she’s missed him so, so terribly much. She remembers his girlfriend, some nameless, faceless woman who wasn’t there for all the hard parts, but is getting the best version of him now, and it makes her angry. It’s not fair. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to get better and come back to her.

Continue Reading on AO3

[silverskulltula]

fallout: new vegas bleed me dry sex any% post-game commentary for those who made the correct decision not to watch: the goal was to do red lucy's quest starting from a new game as fast as possible since she falls in love with you for your egg-collecting skills. I made an energy weapons crit build character and went north from goodsprings to black mountain and cut north to repconn headquarters. I got the matter modulator and a fuckton of microfusion cells. I then stole everything in the silver rush once I got to freeside. I also got veronica and ed-e and collected the snowglobes for goodsprings, hoover dam, the mormon fort, the strip, and the test site when we eventually got to the lucky 38. we made a detour to the tops to seduce benny and fuck him to death (since it was valentine's day.) we sold the snowglobes and killed mr. house. we bought the unique recharger pistol in novac (which we really didn't need since the unique plasma rifle was more than enough.) we got boone's beret and left him to stew about his dead wife on valentine's day. we then got the unique gauss rifle (very important.) NOW we started the quest. we did vault 22 for the mantis eggs and then got the rest of the eggs up to the deathclaw eggs without much of note happening. I got to see mean sonofabitch absolutely LAUNCH a fiend with his sledgehammer. we went to quarry junction last and I stealth-crit the dealthclaws with the unique gauss rifle and only used about half of my total microfusion cells. I took the last eggs to red lucy, completed the quest, went to her bedroom, then called time and quit the game because poorly-acted sex sounds are not safe for twitch.

happy valentine's day! if anyone else tries this I'll be fucking surprised but I'd kill to hear how you would do it. energy weapons just seemed like the fastest way to get OP for free besides like the alien blaster which funnily enough would be in the exact same place as the gauss rifle. the free ammo in repconn/silver rush and the low strength/skill requirements for the gauss rifle are just too good for becoming a killing machine as quick as possible without exploits

[moveslikekeithrichards]

I'm so sorry but the spaghettios and beef stew stories are so funny when you say the dog helped you clean it up

Like I'm imagining you grumpily cleaning the floor and walls and the dog is just happily chowing down beside you

truly and its irresponsible pet ownership but what happened this time was since it was a just small portion of spaghettios i just put him on the leash & brought him into the Forbidden Room (he cant go in there bc he scares the hoes) (cat) & let him hoover up the loose spaghettios while i was like reaching across the kitchen with the sink running trying to wipe sauce off the walls & dislodge spaghettios from the dogy gate. i dont usually give him peoplefood but i was like Pancho I Cant Do This Without You. with the beef stew that dog simply ate all the stew before i could do anything & spent the next 5 days licking Stew Residue off everything

[spooniechef]

Roast Chicken (1 spoon)

That thing I reblogged the other day about how a roast is basically perfect spoonie food is entirely right. It’s fairly simple - just involves a bit of seasoning and sticking something in the oven for awhile while you do something else. It makes a lot of food all at once, so you don’t have to cook again for awhile. Best of all, the leftovers can be used in all sorts of ways, not just as A Roast Dinner. Sandwich fillings is one of the most common ones, but the meat from a roast can also go into risotto, student alfredo (or whatever Hoover stew equivalent we’re going with), fried rice, paella, basically nearly anything you like. Plus, while the initial outlay is a bit of sticker shock, given how much you can get out of a roast means you’re probably spending less money for more food, especially since you can get away with using cheaper cuts of meat if you’re slow-roasting.

The first thing I learned to roast myself was whole chicken. As with everything else, there are as many ways to roast a chicken as there are people, so I’ll provide the basics for how I do it, and a lot of notes.

Here’s what you’ll need:

1 whole chicken

1 tbsp vegetable oil (or garlic puree)

1 tbsp salt (other spices optional)

Fruit / vegetables / herbs for stuffing (see notes)

While stuffing’s generally seen as a side dish, that can be baked in the oven separately, rather than necessarily in the bird. The main point of stuffing is to keep the meat moist and juicy, so whatever you’re putting into the cavity should have a fairly high water content. Onion and garlic are my go-to items, along with a few sprigs of fresh sage and thyme and rosemary from my balcony garden, but you can also add celery or carrots or whatever other vegetable you like. Or fruit, even - it’ll give the chicken some interesting flavour, depending on what you’re going for. I normally go with citrus - lemon or orange - but apple also works very well. So it all depends on what kind of flavour you’d like your chicken to pick up. My favourite is still one small onion (quartered), 3 cloves garlic, one small orange (quartered) and the sage / thyme / rosemary above.

Incidentally, the salt’s important because it and the oil will help get the skin nice and crispy. I use the garlic puree because it’s oil-base and gives the skin some extra flavour, though I also generally add a bit of pepper, some paprika, a little bit of celery salt ... whatever spices I’m feeling at the time.

Here’s what you do:

Pre-heat oven to 390 F (200 C; fan assist 180 C, gas mark 6)

Rub your chicken lightly with the oil or garlic puree and add spice to taste; let stand for at least 20 minutes. While you wait, stuff your chicken with the vegetables, fruits, and / or herbs.

Cook chicken for 20 minutes per pound, plus an extra 10-20 minutes; until the juices run clear (meat thermometer placed into the thickest part of the thigh should read about 82 C / 180 F)

For crispier skin, turn up the heat to 425 F (220 C, fan assist 200 C, gas mark 7) for the last 15 minutes or so.

Let rest 20 minutes or so before carving

Again, there’s very little about this recipe that needs changing to make it easier. My only recommendation is lining the bottom of your roasting tin with tin foil because it’s easier to throw away a piece of tin foil than it is to scrub out a roasting tin. I’m pretty sure that doing that wouldn’t interfere if you’re using the juices for gravy, but since that’s a little too much faffing and stirring for me, I couldn’t tell you. I just use the gluten-free granules from the supermarket if I want gravy.

So there you have it - meals for almost a week out of a couple of hours’ mostly non-effort. When I do chicken, I tend to have the leg quarters as meals, save the wings for snacks, carve the breasts for use in risotto or fried rice or sandwiches, and then boil the remains for stock, particularly now that I’m making risotto and soup more often. So you can get an awful lot of value out of a good-sized chicken, especially if you have a big enough pot to boil up a good amount of stock. It’s also fun to experiment with what you use to stuff the cavity and spice the skin, so there’s endless variety to be had.

[backintimeforstuff]

A Love Letter to the Greatest Love Story Ever Told ~ September 10th, 2023

I’ve thought about writing something vaguely soppy about the X-Files for the longest time now. It’s been stewing in my head for months. But I’ve probably been subconsciously thinking about it for years. 

I am so glad this show existed. 

For everything it did, everything it said, all the crazy, unhinged things it came up with in the name of the truth is out there. As Dana Scully once said: I wouldn’t change a day. I want to remember how it all was. I think what it comes down to is: This show has never made me anything but extraordinarily happy. I have loved every single second of it. I think I always will. I first saw it when I was eight-years-old. It's one of those stories that never leaves you. No matter where I’m at in my life, irrespective of what I’m doing, or how many other interests I have, I will always find myself returning… here. To the basement office underneath the J. Edgar Hoover Building. To the blinding lights and the Government conspiracies. To you’re my one in five billion and Joy to the World.

For all its talk about starlight, and faith to keep looking, this completely nonsensical, sometimes actually terrible, sci-fi show about UFOs actually held so much more meaning than you could ever expect of it. With a little help from David Duchovny, I'll just say this. Sometimes these things are over-plasticised and simplified. But this was never like that. This show would’ve been completely forgiven if it talked about nothing but little green men for one or two seasons before calling it a day, but instead, it looked up into the stars after nearly a decade, and said: maybe there’s hope. And I hope they know how important that is. 

Something that’s particularly bittersweet now is one of Doggett’s lines in Sunshine Days. 

“Why are people still watching a 30-year-old TV show?” 

And Scully immediately replies: “Because they were the perfect family.” 

Because it means the world. Because wonders never cease. Because I am always happy to find a reason.

 Not that I never needed one. 

Another of my favourite lines in the same episode is: 

The X-Files will go on forever. 

And maybe it will. In the heads of cultists and conspiracy theorists, in the hearts of TV nerds who never really had other friends. To the people who saw this entirely unhinged show about aliens and found something more than they were ever expecting to. One thing that’s always stood out to me is… how incredibly human it is. How incredibly profound it is. Not only is it a love story, but it’s a love story in every possible regard. Not to take the words out of the mouth of a nameless reviewer, but, it had everything. A love for life. A love for truth. A love for one another. 

And how on earth do you write a love letter to the greatest love story ever told? The truth is, I don’t think you can. You just have to go back to the beginning again. To Bellefleur, Oregon. To standing out in the mud and the rain. To the motel fires and Billy Miles. To sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted. To September 10th, 1993. 

Y'know what? I just might.

Happy 30th, old friend. ✨❤️👽

[hasufin]

Pricey

I’ve been following Dylan Hollis’ TikTok channel for a while now - it’s actually the reason I even got an account on that platform, though I am starting to post a few videos.

I love the videos talking about old recipes. Townsend’s 18th century cooking, Glenn & Friends, even Max Miller. Each one is a fascinating window into one of the most important aspects peoples’ lives.

Dylan almost exclusively does vintage 20th century cooking - 1920s through 1970s. This, necessarily, covers quite a bit of Great Depression cooking.

The Great Depression was no joke. TBH, when I think about it I realize how very little I know or understand about it. But there is no dearth of recipes for feeding people on little to no money - Hoover Stew, Milkorno, Poor Man’s <insert thing here>, and so on.

Now, necessity is the mother of invention. Some of these are awful, some are remarkably good. All of them use foods which would have been cheap at the time.

And that’s a thing which is really quite remarkable. Great Depression cookery focused very heavily on shelf-stable foods. One of Dylan’s most popular recipes is peanut butter bread, because rather than relying on eggs and butter, it uses peanut butter. The Wacky Cake doesn’t use butter, eggs, or milk. Many also use raisins (cooked in water) in lieu of sugar.

However, several recipes use maple syrup. There are recipes which make use of lobster(!) but which make reference to the high cost of oats. Glenn of Glenn & Friends has also commented how hard it is at times to find recipes of the era which are practical: they often call for ingredients which were cheap then, and terribly expensive now.

I honestly find it utterly fascinating how this can work. Today, the biggest contributors to cost in food are processing and perceived luxury. Lobster and maple syrup are pricey; eggs, butter, and sugar are generally the cheapest parts of my foods. Cornmeal (once considered unfit for human consumption) is more expensive than white flour. Of course, it’s nonsense anyway because whole wheat flour is more expensive than either of those (????).

Granted, especially today, if you intend to put down serious money, you don’t buy flour: you buy the bread. prepared foods are invariably more expensive than the ingredients, which at least makes sense; it’s been that way since Roman times at least. Though what is most expensive has moved around a lot. Today, bagels are cheap - though, to be fair, the things we get in the store are wretched shadows of the true, fermented bagels of the past. But stroll through the frozen aisle and ask how much a meal from there costs compared to cooking it yourself.

Still, it’s really something to see how formerly expensive foods are now cheap, and cheap foods have become luxury commodities.

[dankusner]

Ruby ’n’ Omertà

THE MOBSTER'S INSIDE LIFE

The Explosive, Inside Story of the Mobster Who Controlled America

By Sam and Chuck Giancana

Warner Books. 357 pp. $22.95

With its melange of Mafia history and conspiratorial politics, "Double Cross" has raced up the national bestseller lists, propelled in good part by the movie "JFK," which has helped catapult some half-dozen books purporting to solve the Kennedy assassination onto the lists in recent months.

"Double Cross" is merely the latest, but also the most insidious.

This book solves almost everything.

"Double Cross" tells the tale of onetime Chicago Mafia boss Sam Giancana, and is written by -- or allegedly written by -- his younger brother Chuck (actually his stepbrother, though the book de-emphasizes this) and Chuck's son, also named Sam, who hardly figures in the book.

I say "allegedly" because the book is such an inventive stew of nonsense that I sense the gleeful hand of a ghostwriter.

The code of omerta doesn't run deep in this family.

In 1984, Sam Giancana's daughter, Antoinette, with Thomas Renner, published "Mafia Princess," also a bestseller, about her dad's life.

All this should serve as a cautionary tale to current and retired Mafia bosses: Spread the wealth among your family unless you want them to take out contracts on you -- book contracts.

"Double Cross" essentially interweaves two narratives.

One is of Chuck's relation -- or non-relation -- to Sam.

Chuck evidently envied, admired, feared and resented him.

Dependent on him for approval and livelihood, Chuck lived much of his life in Sam's shadow, until Chuck finally changed his name to escape the notoriety it brought upon his family and struck out on his own.

Chuck's story is rather depressing.

But sad sack Chuck also claims that "the mobster who controlled America" used him as his confidant, and so now all the dirty secrets can be told (though not verified).

This is the tale of Sam Giancana's criminal empire, built up from his Chicago street gang, the 42s, and integrated into the Al Capone mob.

It's difficult enough for biographers to agree on their facts regarding past presidents.

But when it comes to professional psychopaths like mobsters the task is hopeless.

"Double Cross" takes facts such as the CIA's involvement with Giancana to assassinate Fidel Castro, and Giancana and Jack Kennedy's simultaneous affairs with Judy Campbell, then piles on half-truths, lies, warmed-over gossip and garbled fairy tales.

Well, then, according to the book, Chuck learned from his brother that Sam was one of the gunmen in the Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929 that established Capone as Chicago's undisputed crime boss; that Giancana knew that Huey Long was assassinated on orders from New York bosses whom he was cheating; that Giancana got the contract to kill Las Vegas casino operator Bugsy Siegel; that the Chicago mob "owned" Presidents Franklin Roosevelt and then Harry Truman, whose career they promoted; that the mob pulled strings to keep crime-buster Sen. Estes Kefauver off the Democratic presidential ticket; that athletes in Giancana's pocket included Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays, all of whom used to party in New York mob boss Frank Costello's Washington Hotel suite; that Joe Kennedy was in Giancana's debt from bootlegging days; that Giancana got Costello to cancel a hit on Joe Kennedy and in return Joe swore that when his son Jack became president he would owe Sam a big one; that Costello fed J. Edgar Hoover tips on fixed horse races in return for laying off the mob; that Giancana engineered Vito Genovese's heroin bust, which effectively ended his criminal career; that Giancana partied at the Cal-Neva Lodge in Lake Tahoe with Jack Kennedy and assorted prostitutes; that Giancana had sexually compromising pictures, tape recordings and films of Kennedy, but Giancana's CIA friends persuaded him not to use them; that Frank Sinatra, who set up Judy Campbell with both Sam and Kennedy, was Giancana's conduit to the Kennedys; that Giancana got Jimmy Hoffa to skim millions from the Teamsters for Kennedy's campaign; that Chicago Mafia money bought West Virginia and Illinois for Kennedy, crucial for his election to the presidency; that Richard Nixon got Giancana's people highway contracts and helped his man in Texas, Jack Ruby (hullo Jack!), avoid testifying before Congress in 1947; that Sam worked with the CIA to try to assassinate Castro in Cuba, ; that Giancana secured for the CIA the financial services of Michele Sindona, consultant for both the Sicilian Mafia and the Vatican; that the CIA bugged comedian Dan Rowan's home for Giancana, who suspected him of an affair with Giancana's girlfriend, singer Phyllis McGuire; that after his election, Kennedy used Angie Dickinson and Marilyn Monroe to deliver messages to Giancana; but that when the Kennedy brothers double-crossed the Mafia and went after mob figures and Hoffa, then Giancana, who had promoted Monroe's career, had her murdered with a Nembutal suppository to create a scandal that would implicate Bobby Kennedy, then ending an affair with her; and that Giancana conspired with other top Mafia bosses, as well as Hoffa, Vice President Lyndon Johnson, Nixon, top CIA officials, top military officials, top Dallas police officials, top Texas oilmen etc. etc. to assassinate Kennedy, with Ruby serving as Giancana's point man in Dallas; that Giancana later arranged to have Bobby Kennedy assassinated too; that Giancana placed a contract on Hoffa before he himself was murdered in 1975, prior to his scheduled appearance before the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence; and so on into the long black night.

The only crime this book doesn't solve is the Lindbergh kidnapping. But maybe Giancana's great-great-grand-nephew and second cousin's niece will collaborate to solve that one.

The reviewer, who has written about the Mafia before, is the author of a short-story collection, "The Off-Season."

[duranduratulsa]

The Famous Hoover Stew | Great Depression Era Cooking

[keefwho]

January 10 - 2024 Wednesday

11:25pm

4.5/10

This morning I didn't clean much, I did a little tidying but everything was pretty clean already. For breakfast I made a really good corned beef hash sandwich with bell peppers, onions, and mozzarella cheese. I was extremely against drawing today and was a day ahead of schedule so I made the decision to adjust my schedule today to focus on whats necessary. On stream I played an hour and a half of Kerbal which was fun despite the stupid bugs and dropped frames I had to deal with. Daisy seemed to feel bad about not being able to think of what to draw, I know she wants to be creative but struggles with it like I do. After Kerbal I worked on the next commission for an hour while we watched our shows. I was slow at drawing today and I'm not sure I like how I'm doing on the comm so far. After stream I did my workout and watched Henry make soup. He had almost all the same ingredients I use and he always finds legitimate recipes to go off of so I knew I was onto something. I took a quick shower and tried making Hoover stew for lunch again. It came out about the same as last time, pretty not good but I ate it anyways. I think I know what to do next time I wanna try, I want to get this recipe to be good. After lunch, which took a long time to cook, I did today's request which was a weird little chibi character outside of my usual expertise. I had meant to draw a little more but again I made the decision not to because I didn't want to and it served little purpose. Instead I did my yoga today with my new yoga mat. Then I worked on my secret project for about 45 minutes. My new headphones came in and I used them while working. I'm going to try to make them my focus headphones to preserve their high quality by not getting used to hearing it all the time. Daisy invited me to Just Dance so I could join in and get XP on 2024 edition songs. I learned how important hand twisting/tilting is on some songs rather than just velocity. But sometimes hand motions are hard to see, especially when it's going quickly. After dancing, my 7pm cutoff time meant no more creative stuff. I started up KSP briefly before Daisy joined the server VC and did a Monster High Frankie unboxing she got today which was very fun. In bed we watched a great episode of Bojack and then I started Kingdom Hearts for her which had JUST finished downloading. She was up pretty late, maybe partly because of me. I'm up late too because I didn't want my nightly routine to interrupt our time.

Today was a little rough. I had to deal with the self guilt of feeling lazy despite trying to work on a couple things. My tummy also hurt maybe because of both breakfast and lunch. My gums still hurt a lot and aren't getting to heal because I gotta chew my food. I was trying to mush my chicken and fries with my fork before eating it first just to do less chewing but it was too crunchy.

[foxboy-96]

sitting in the front room of the flat i share with my girlfriend. stew is cooking on the gas hob and she’s hoovering our bedroom. i finally made it guys.

[sfarticles]

Chili’s humble beginnings heat up with history Classic dish also features a myriad of variations

https://www.timesherald.com/2023/03/23/chilis-humble-beginnings-heat-up-with-history/

Beans or no beans . . . seems to be the question or debate when it comes to chili. The dish is popular on restaurant menus, and in competitions that occur throughout the year to determine the best chili recipes.  And there are chili organizations including the International Chili Society https://www.chilicookoff.com/  whose mission is “to uphold the same core value of our founders by bringing together to enjoy healthy competition and America’s great culinary creation—CHILI. Our mission is to continuously improve chili while raising money for charities and non-profits year-round.”

Their mission is interesting, because we think of chili as a winter dish, however, as stated in their mission, chili competitions are popular events year ‘round. Notice, too, it is America’s creation. One thing that I learned in researching the dish is chili’s history is somewhat blurred.

A newer chili cookbook to join my collection is “Seriously Good Chili Cookbook: 177 of the Best Recipes in the World,” by Brian Baumgartner of the Emmy-winning show “The Office” where he played the accountant, Kevin Malone (2022, Fox Chapel Publishing, $24.99) His passion of making chili did not go unnoticed. He was invited to be a judge at the 2021 World Championship Chili Cook-Off sponsored by the International Chili Society.

Baumgartner mentions that the history of chili is “even a bit heated.” He said, “By many accounts, it is a red-blooded American dish; it did not originate in Mexico. In fact, Mexico denies any association with chili, and only a handful of spots serve it. Parts of Mexico that do serve chili only do so to please tourists.”

Was it in the 1880’s at San Antonio’s downtown, known for its famous Hispanic outdoor vendors called “chili queens” where the dish was first introduced? It is said that chili became popular outside of Texas at the San Antonio Chili stand during the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. Then, in the early 1900s chili parlors sprung up beyond Texas.

Baumgartner’s book gives myriad stories about the origins of the humble dish. He writes, some historians said, “the earliest versions of chili were made by the poorest class of people to stretch what little meat they could afford.”

“A Southwestern Native American legend claims the first chili con carne recipe was written in the 17th century by a mysterious nun, Sister Mary of Agreda of Spain.”  Another theory, “in 1731, a group of sixteen families emigrated to Texas to what is now San Antonio, from the Canary Islands. Historians say the women in those families would make a spicy Spanish stew that became known as ‘Soup of the Devil.’”

There is a cowboy story, too. A recipe from 1850 by Texan cowboys took dried beef, fat, pepper, salt and chile peppers and made “chili bricks” that were later rehydrated using very hot water. This became their go-to food during their long travels.

Baumgartner writes that “the Texas prison system made such good bowls of chili that inmates would rate each jail based on that provision alone!” Would you believe that once prisoners were released, they would request the chili recipe because it was what they missed most?

He writes about “Chili Goes Hollywood.” In 1936 Chasen’s Restaurant owner kept his recipe secretive. Famous people or their chauffeurs would come to the back door to buy the chili. The icons included Jack Benny, J. Edgar Hoover, Eleanor Roosevelt. He writes, “it is even said it was Clark Gable’s last meal and that Elizabeth Taylor had 10 quarts sent to her while she was filming Cleopatra in Rome, Italy.”

Several sources mentioned that President Lyndon B. Johnson, a chili lover said, “Chili concocted outside of Texas is usually a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing. One of the first things I do when I get home to Texas is to have a bowl of red. There is simply nothing better.” Rumor has it that his wife, Lady Bird received many requests for her recipe, so she had her staff print cards with the Pedernales River Chili recipe. It was named after the location of President Johnson’s Texas ranch.

Baumgartner said, his goal in writing the book “is to share a collection of seriously good recipes—whether they are passed down from days of old or new and original takes.”

Whether it be Texas or Cincinnati chili, beans or no beans, meat or no meat, you’ll enjoy Baumgartner’s sense of humor, and his travels to find the best chili from people of different cultural backgrounds, and differing tastes. One thing, though, every chili recipe has one thing in common…chili pepper. He writes, “by making these recipes yourself, you’re taking part in a once-in-a-lifetime journey I went on myself to find them.”

It is clear that this humble dish is much more than its simple ingredients. The stories about its beginning are as varied as the ingredients used in making the perfect chili. It’s time to get out your biggest pot and make a batch of America’s iconic dish. Below are a few recipes from Baumgartner’s book.

For the award-winning recipe, by Sean Griffith at the 2018 International Chili Society World Champion Chili Cook-Off visit  https://bit.ly/3ndZlPU

Maybe your creation will take first prize in a chili competition! Here are some upcoming competitions held throughout the country https://www.chilicookoff.com/cookoffs/list

Brian’s Seriously Good Chili Recipe by Brian Baumgartner

The headnote says, “This is it, folks. My own personal go-to chili recipe. Has it been passed down for generations? No. But it serves as my own best chili recipe that I cook all the time. Don’t be afraid to play! Like it spicier? Add red pepper flakes or Spicy Bush’s Chili Beans. Like it thicker? Feel free to cook this over the stove all day. (Just add water as needed for best consistency.) I felt it was important to add my personal favorite recipe to this book but know that it is always changing. I love exploring new flavors and employing new techniques every time I make it – so you should feel free to make any adjustments.”

Photo: Fox Chapel Publishing

1 tablespoon grapeseed oil (or cooking oil)

1 large yellow onion (or 1 cup shallots), chopped

1 green bell pepper, chopped

2 cloves garlic, diced

2 pounds lean ground turkey (or lean ground beef), undrained

One 6-ounce can tomato paste

One 24-ounce can diced tomatoes

One 16-ounce can tomato sauce

½ cup water (optional)

½ teaspoon black pepper

2 teaspoons salt

4 teaspoons chili powder

2 teaspoons ancho chile powder

3 teaspoons oregano

1 teaspoon sugar

1 (16-ounce can) Bush’s® Pinto Beans in a Mild Chili Sauce, undrained

1 (16-ounce can) Bush’s® Kidney Beans in a Mild Chili Sauce, undrained

Garnish: shredded cheddar cheese

1.     In a large pot, sauté the chopped onion, green bell pepper, and garlic in oil over medium-high heat. I like to use grapeseed oil because it’s a little less oily.

2.     Add in the ground turkey or beef. Before the meat has completely cooked, add the tomato paste. Finish browning the meat completely.

3.     Stir in the remaining ingredients, except the beans and the cheese. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat. Cover and simmer on low heat for 30 minutes (or longer until the desired consistency is reached), stirring occasionally.

4.     Then, 20 minutes before serving, add the beans. You can’t add the beans in right away or they get mushy.

5.     Finish with sharp cheddar cheese. Any leftovers are easy to freeze.

Makes 6-8 servings

Slow Cooker Cheesy Chicken Chili

by Amanda Dorich from Windber, PA

The headnote says, “This is no ordinary chicken chili! It is made in a slow cooker and is full of secret ingredients, but, most importantly, it is extremely cheesy. Everyone loves topping their chili with cheese, but putting the cheese into the actual chili is even more delicious and adds great texture and flavor.”

photo: Amanda Dorich

2 chicken breasts

2 (25-ounce cans) diced tomatoes and green chiles (I use Rotel)

2 (25-ounce) cans corn

32 ounces chicken broth

1 packet dry ranch seasoning

8 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled

Salt and pepper, to taste

2 tablespoons chili powder

1 tablespoon cumin

1 tablespoon garlic powder

8 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Garnishes: extra cheese, Fritos® corn chips, hot sauce

1.     Beginning with the chicken at the very bottom, add all the ingredients to the slow cooker except for the cream cheese, cheddar cheese, and toppings.

2.     Set the temperature to low and cook for 6–8 hours or high for 4 hours. Halfway through the cook time, add the cream cheese.

3.     When you’re ready to eat, shred the chicken and add the cheddar cheese. Give the cheese a few minutes to melt, then serve with your desired toppings.

Makes 6 servings

Vegan Pumpkin Lentil Quinoa Chili

by Kaleigh McMordie from Abiline, TX

The headnote says, “This recipe uses canned pumpkin to lean into the fall feeling, while also thickening the chili without hours of simmering. I’m very much an omnivore and often feel let down by vegetarian chili recipes, so I set out to create a vegetarian chili that still has the stick-to-your-ribs feel of traditional beef chili. Using both quinoa and lentils lends the familiar texture of chili con carne while also adding plant protein that you may not always find in vegetarian versions.”

Photo:  Kaleigh McMordie

1 teaspoon olive oil

1 red bell pepper, diced

1 small onion, diced

2 carrots, diced

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup dry (uncooked) quinoa

1 cup dry (uncooked) lentils

1 (15-ounce can) low-sodium black beans, drained and rinsed

1 (15-ounce can) low-sodium diced tomatoes

1 (4-ounce can) diced green chiles, mild or spicy

4 cups low-sodium vegetable stock

1 (15-ounce can) pure pumpkin purée

1 tablespoon chili powder

½ tablespoon cumin

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

½ tablespoon smoked paprika

Garnishes: cheese, sour cream, avocado, cilantro, sliced jalapeño

1.     In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat.

2.     Add the pepper, onion, carrots, and garlic. Cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring, until the veggies are slightly softened.

3.     Add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine.

4.     Cover the pot and reduce the heat to low. Let simmer for 30–45 minutes, stirring about every 15 minutes.

5.     Serve the chili hot and garnish with any toppings you like, such as cheese, sour cream, avocado, cilantro, or sliced jalapeño.

Makes 7+ servings

Stephen Fries is a newly retired professor and coordinator of the Hospitality Management Programs at Gateway Community College, in New Haven, CT. He has been a food and culinary travel columnist for the past 14 years and is co-founder of and host of “Worth Tasting,” a culinary walking tour of downtown New Haven, CT. He is a board member of the International Association of Culinary Professionals. Email: Stephen@stephenfries.com For more, go to stephenfries.com.

[sleepingstates]

low cal hoover stew recipe

[spooniechef]

The Dinner Diaries, Day 1 (fried rice, 1 spoon)

My eating habits are not the most orderly things in the world. I thought it might be a good idea to actually try documenting what I eat for a month or so, just so that I've got some kind of record. Also means that I've got a bit more scope for throwing out recipes, even if they are simple, basic, "Everyone must know how to do this" recipes. Because who knows? Maybe people don't, or maybe I do it in a way that people might find easier.

I'm not generally a breakfast person so I had coffee and a couple of gluten-free chocolate digestive biscuits. For those not of the British persuasion - digestives are sort of the plainest cookies in existence, sommetimes elevated by dipping one side in chocolate. So it kind of feels like ready-made oat-bread toast spread with Nutella. I guess that counts as breakfast, more or less.

Skipped lunch because my so-called 'breakfast' was too close to the lunching hour for me to be very hungry, but around 3:30, I had one last slice of my Admiral's Gingerbread (recipe in last post - oh, hey, I have a hand mixer now! Making that monstrosity inspired me to get one). Not because I ran out, precisely, but because my stepfather was in the neighbourhood and he likes baked treats, and since I couldn't eat all of the rest on my own before it got stale, I gave him the last two slices so that they'd have a good home.

Dinner, though - that was my triumph. See, I did a pork roast last week, and a roast chicken the other day, so I had a little bit of roast pork and a lot of roast chicken, the former needing to be eaten basically now. But I had plans in that direction. Nothing says "use up the last bits of cooked meat before they go manky" like fried rice. The recipe that follows is going to be a little vague, but I'll leave notes.

Here's what you'll need:

Rice

1 onion, quartered and sliced

4-6 cloves garlic or 1-2 tablespoons garlic puree

Whatever meat you happen to have handy, cut into chunks (about 1" or so)

Various vegetables (for the purpose of this, we'll say frozen mixed veg)

0.5 thumb-length fresh ginger, grated (or 1.5 tablespoons ground ginger, separated)

Approximately 1/3 cup soy sauce (or tamari, if you're gluten-free)

Other spices to taste (I like a dash of ground coriander, personally)

Like I said, this is so vague because so much is according to taste. Fried rice the way I do it is basically the Hoover Stew of rice dishes, so it's basically "throw stuff into the pot according to taste, heat, FEAST". So take just about everything with a grain of metaphorical salt, okay?

Here's what you do (or here's what I do):

Boil the rice however you would normally (I generally use a pot even though I have a rice cooker because I can just throw in a cup or so of frozen mixed veg just before the rice is cooked and let them finish off together); set aside

Ditto vegetables, unless you've cooked them with the rice

Heat some oil in a pan; sautee the onions with half the garlic until the onions are transparent

Add your meat, the half-tablespoon of ginger, and about a third of your soy sauce (and other spices to taste); heat for 3-4 minutes, stirring once or twice, until the meat is warmed through

Add the rice and vegetables, dump in the rest of the soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and all other spices and heat on low for maybe five minutes, stirring regularly so that the soy sauce mixes evenly into the rice

I find this way works because it's not a lot of effort, but still layers the flavour better than just dumping everything in all at once.

So dinner was Fried Rice A La Spoonie, and dessert was a can of peach slices. So there was one balanced meal out of today, anyway. I do have leftovers so maybe there'll even be lunch tomorrow! That would be a step in the right direction.

This is my week off after three weeks of nightmare at the office, which has left my spoons at an all-time low, but I do have plans for interesting meals this month. I have duck legs - a slight extravagance but they were on sale - and the fixings for a good bacon and eggs breakfast and plans in the direction of a Wacky Cake. But mostly, honestly, I hope you'll be patient with me as I mostly try to finally get my eating habits in some semblance of order. Whether or not I'm very active, pain does burn calories, and one meal per day is probably insufficient.

[the-valianter-valkyriest]

"I'm not hoovering," Maxwell spat out, lips tight as hands clutched the Codex tightly, pointedly keeping his eyes on it. It'd been months already, but only a fool would miss the prolonged tension between the two, "If you think I'm planning anything, I'm not. And if I were, I'd hardly be so obvious about it," he wasn't planning anything, but it was a lie to say, if he were, he wouldn't attempt some warning, "I'm not the man I used to be. That man died long ago, you should understand." the words were no less sharp and yet... the shadow of hesitance lingered. A... test. Yes, he died after he'd -- hands tightening further, body revolting against the memory -- but there was a second meaning behind his words, implied behind eyes focused on the Valkryie. He wasn't sure why he bothered, he knew that her memories were (enviously) gone. And even if they somehow weren't, it didn't matter. None of it mattered. He wasn't sure why he tried.

Admittedly, to anyone else, Wigfrid would have been doing a great job at appearing rather normal.

Of course, it was to be expected from someone like her... When everything was already a calculated act, to shroud one's undesired reactions was child's play. And had it been anyone other than Maxwell there, hovering over her shoulder, they would have probably never noticed the way her frame tensed when he drew near to her... The way the more fervorous nature of her body language helped disguise how infrequently she could bring herself to look him in the eyes.

"Lööming, then... Döes it matter? What dö yöu want."

What had he wanted from her now...? What'd she done? Had she known retreating to the ponds to give her face and arms a thorough scrubbing would have drawn his attention, perhaps she would have reconsidered... Was that predator instinct that deeply ingrained in him?

Beads of water slipped from the sides of her face, highlighting the darkened circles beneath her eyes (that hadn't been his fault, of course. She was always working herself. She was like that before he came within an inch of her)... They dripped down her chin- down her neck. Ran down past the discolored strip that'd been left there.

(That one, though...)

His words almost seemed to drift through her as he spoke... Had she been able to hear them at all, at first she made little indication of it...

But they stewed there up in her head for a moment- they must have- and all at once it was as if something clicked. Resonated... You couldn't call it an epiphany... That would imply a lack of confusion.

Wigfrid doubted she'd felt a greater sense of confusion in the past few months than she had in years.

"... I.... I dön't-"

A pause.

"... I think either öf us wöuld be fööls tö believe we've ever been in a pösitiön tö understand möst anything at all... Nöthing invölving yöu especially..."

There was no malice... No spite... Though perhaps there should have been. It was all she knew how to say... All she could say, really.

When some whirring mass of incoherent thought pressed so firmly at the back of your mind... Well, you'd be a fool to do all but disperse them, wouldn't you? Or at least attempt as such.