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innytoes · 4 years

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Self-Insert January: Let’s Go Steal A Protégé

Yes I did write a self-insert fanfic of my own fanfic. Most of this was written in December and then um, January happened. This takes place December, probably before Christmas (and is obviously not canon).

Happy Self Insert month!

Being with Leverage, Jamie had seen a lot of weird stuff. Done a lot of weird stuff, too. But all the breaking into highly classified places and museums and pretending to be a circus performer and jumping off the Eiffel Tower did not prepare them for the magic portal that opened up in the ceiling of the Leverage Offices, or the lady that fell through it.

Luckily, their startled yell had summoned an Eliot, which meant that if this was the beginning of an intergalactic space war or some kind of mutant criminal rival of Parker’s, Team Leverage was going to come out on top.

Except Eliot actually put away his knife and greeted the lady, who struggled out of the squashy purple beanbag chair she landed on. “Hardison, Parker, Inny’s here!” he called.

“What the hell is an Inny?” Jamie asked. Was it a species of alien? Was Hardison’s Doctor Who obsession because they literally knew The Doctor? Honestly, it wouldn’t really surprise Jamie.

“I the hell am an Inny,” Ceiling-Lady said, before gasping and pointing at them. Which was concerning, to say the least.

“That’s Inny,” Hardison said, coming into the office and handing the lady one of Jamie’s Mountain Dews. Rude. “She’s from a darker timeline and drops out of the ceiling once or twice a year to catch up. And get inspiration for her fanfiction. Apparently we’re like, a TV show over there. What’s up, girl?”

“Is that why nobody is allowed to move the beanbag chair?” Jamie asked. They had thought it was some weird Parker thing. Or perhaps that it was on top of some kind of secret trap door to Hardison’s BatCave or something. They ignored the part about the fanfiction and the TV show. That was too Truman Show to think about. Though their brain was already going over actors they’d cast as the team. Eliot would totally be played by Chris Evans, right?

Inny stopped chugging the Mountain Dew long enough to shrug. “They used to live somewhere with way lower ceilings. Nearly broke something falling from this one.”

“Yeah, me,” Eliot grumbled. He nearly broke something again when Parker dropped down from the ceiling onto his back. “Dammit, Parker!”

“Inny!” Parker proclaimed. “How is Deeks?”

“Good!” the lady fished a beaten up phone out of her pocket. “He met some alpacas, wanna see?” Parker snatched up the phone and made delighted noises. Jamie peered over her shoulder. They had to admit the dog was pretty cute, and the alpacas looked very intrigued by their small, same-coloured, short-necked friend.

“How’s life in the darkest timeline?” Hardison asked.

“What date is it here?” the lady asked, looking around. “I mean, if you still know.”

“Why wouldn’t we know?” Parker asked, still swiping through dog pictures.

“Well, I mean, 2020, am I right?” Inny said, waiting for a reaction. She looked incredulous at their blank faces. “It is 2020, here, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Hardison ventured carefully.

“How dark is this timeline of yours?” Jamie asked carefully. Sure, it was a tumblr joke, usually reserved for stuff like the however-many-renewed-season of Supernatural when great shows were cancelled or whatever creepy feature FriendCzar had tried to impose that month.

The woman paused, frowned, then took a deep breath. “In response to the global pandemic of a deadly respiratory virus, President Donald Trump suggested on television during a briefing that people should inject or ingest bleach to kill the virus.” She took another big breath. “And that’s not mentioning the fact that he downplayed the seriousness of the virus while knowing how deadly and contagious it was, called it a hoax, made taking safety precautions a political thing instead of a public safety thing, and held massive super-spreader events.”

“Donald Trump?” Jamie asked. “The ‘you’re fired’ dude?”

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Inny responded, before taking another swig of her Mountain Dew. “Yeah, I mean, I thought the fact that Australia was on fire at the start of the year was going to be the only terrible thing I was going to tell you.” She laughed and shook her head ruefully, like that was some kind of funny joke.

“Australia was on fire?”

“Yeah. Parts of the US too, for a while. Orange skies. But since the country was basically on lockdown anyway, it wasn’t like it was very different to stay inside for that…” Jamie stared at the lady, then back at the adults. Parker didn’t look overly concerned, but then, she never really did. Eliot and Hardison were both frowning, though. There was no sign that this was some kind of elaborate prank Hardison was pulling on them with the help of one of Sophie’s acting friends. Besides, he was good, but not ‘fake opening a magic portal in the ceiling’ good. At least not within the five minutes Jamie had been in the other room.

After a litany of horrible things, which were apparently not even all of them, the woman stopped. “On the upside,” she said. “I perfected my banana bread recipe, Deeks met some alpacas, Leverage is getting a reboot, and I figured out why I probably keep dropping in here.”

“To remind us that things aren’t so bad like some messed up version of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?” Hardison guessed.

“Because Jamie is my OC,” she said, dropping a fucking bombshell like she just dropped out of the fucking ceiling. Jamie felt their brain fill with static, because no, they were a real person, and that either meant that this lady was full of bullshit, or, well, basically god. The Truman Show feeling returned ten times over. “This is my fanfic.”

Hardison recoiled a little. “No,” he whispered, fully understanding the implications of that. Hell, it was probably even weirder for him. Sure, knowing they were a TV show was probably cool, even more so with the reboot. But Fanfic Land didn’t fade to black and Jamie was pretty damn sure some kinky shit went on behind the soundproofed doors of their bedroom.

“Now, there’s two prevailing theories about this, as far as my internet rabbithole searches can tell,” Basically God Maybe continued. “Either I wrote this world into existence, because the multiverse is ever expanding and that is one of the ways it expands, or I just got some vibes from whatever crack between worlds keeps bringing me here and wrote down your shenanigans.”

At Parker and Eliot’s blank looks, Jamie clarified: “Basically, she’s either God or…”

“Some kind of shitty false prophet,” the lady on the beanbag chair beamed. “Probably the second one, honestly. My subconscious turns everything into a zombie apocalypse sooner or later, and you guys seem to be fine.”

Jamie whipped around to look at Hardison and Eliot, hopeful. “We’re fine, right?” they asked quickly. If anyone knew about a starting zombie apocalypse, it would be those two. Between Hardison poking around in basically every intelligence agency’s server ever and Eliot’s contacts, they’d know. God, Jamie hoped not. They were so not ready for a zombie apocalypse. Eliot hadn’t even taught them how to murder someone with an axe yet.

“We are definitely fine,” Hardison assured them.

“Yeah, I figured,” Not-God agreed. “If I had my say, Eliot would have stopped pining long before he did and kissed you guys.” Eliot grumbled and glared, probably because she was right. Parker patted him condescendingly on the head, which wasn’t helping matters.

The ceiling started crackling and glowing ominously. The lady put her can down as she slowly drifted off the beanbag, alien-abduction style. “Well, it’s been real. Be good, guys. Have some fun adventures. Ruin some rich douchebag’s day for me.”

“Will do,” Parker promised. “Say hi to your dog for me.” She got a thumbs up.

“Let us know how the reboot turns out,” Hardison said. Jamie figured it would probably fuck with the space-time continuum if she downloaded the show and brought it to them, but who knew. Maybe there was some kind of loophole for that, too. They were kind of curious to see what a Leverage show would look like. It probably had kickass fight-scenes.

“Stay safe,” Eliot said seriously. He’d been the most concerned about the talk of the pandemic, probably because you couldn’t punch it.

“Will do,” Inny shrugged. “I mean, 2021 can’t possibly be any worse, right?”

The portal crackled louder, which Jamie hoped wasn’t a sign. The lady was almost at the ceiling. She looked concerned, like she realised she just totally jinxed herself and the new year.

“Hey, just in case you are god,” Jamie called up. “Can you give me superpowers?”

The portal closed to the sound of laughter, and then there was silence. All that remained was a dent in the beanbag and an empty can of Mountain Dew.

“What the fuck,” they told the room at large.

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Parker said, before wandering off back to the blueprints she had been studying.

“I’m just gonna… check some things,” Hardison muttered, making a detour to the kitchen to grab a ginormous bottle of orange soda before getting behind his computer. “And buy a bunch of disinfectant and toilet paper, just in case.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, before bumping his shoulder against Jamie’s. “Come on,” he said.

“Come on where?” Jamie asked. “I’m having a bit of an existential crisis here.” If they were someone’s OC, did that mean that they didn’t have free will? Did it mean that all the cool things they had done the past year had only been because of some weird lady that fell out of the ceiling? Or did it mean-

“I’m gonna teach you to throw a knife so you can take out a zombie,” Eliot said.

Fuck that, the existential crisis could wait until 2am. They had more important things to do. Knife throwing would be fun and useful no matter if there was a zombie apocalypse or a pandemic, or they got superpowers.

#fanfic #self insert month #I wrote a thing #leverage #lets go steal a protege #HardisonxParkerxEliot #I almost didn't post this because of you know the civil war thing in the US #but then I thought wouldn't it be funny if this was pre-january and self insert Inny was just like: well fuck #dear americans I'm sorry #yes Deeks did meet some alpacas it was adorable

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hazbinextgeneration · 4 years

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Down The Rabbithole Ch4

It was....good to have someone around to talk to again wouldn't you agree? Someone who didn't expect a lot out of her, someone who she could laugh with, sing silly songs with, and ...be herself around again. Now don't get her wrong. It certainly didn't happen overnight now. She still was grasping at the sudden and huge concept that her old memories weren't just childish adventures of an imaginary friend and a whole bunch of the fairy tales and nursery rythmes she grew up with were actually real..or well WERE real, Chesire did mention that most of them were ancient history just repeated and long ago over, but I digress. She was expecting one of these days to just wake up and everything be gone and back to her normal life, but then she'd find breakfast made and waiting for her or finding Chesire all curled up beside her sleeping. He was kinda like a pet cat of her own that doubled as a best friend she could talk to and let reveal about her life. But some things were a little frustrating. One day she stacked books neatly on a shelf- Only to rush back into the room by the sounds of books falling down one by one and saw the site of Chesire looking wide eyed at the books and like a cat in those videos, was pawing the books off one by one. He seemed to snap out of it when she shouted at him to stop and apologized before snapping his powers and having them fly back into place. She told him he didn't have to use all this magic and cook for here but in his own words:

"You fed me. You gave me a home. You became my friend and showed me kindness when a lot of people wouldn't. I could have easily died. This is the very least I could do and it'll still be never enough in my opinion. Now hush and help me decide which scones looks better with this tea. I like macaroons. So sweet and delicious!"

He wasn't there sometimes and a few days he didn't show up, when asked he simply told her he had to spend some time in his world too, which she respected. He wasn't obligated to stay around if he didn't feel up to it and she certainly knew that she would be ok-ish without him. There was plenty of things to keep her busy, she still had the whole yard and fence to recover, and a job to find, didn't she? Which went about well as you think. Said fence was old and rusty and leaned in odd places, she had to REALLY put her back into it to push the awkward rusty poles into place, which left her pretty sore for the rest of the day. But the next day she stepped out to the smell of freshly cut grass and the sight of a tamed lawn and new white painted fence had taken it's place. When questioned he admitted to it, but only because she looked really hurt and tired trying to do it herself. It took a moment to explain to a confused talking cat that she REALLY DID appreciate his help but sometimes she WANTED to endorse the hard labor and he just tilted his head confused and blinked at her.

"I don't understand your human logistics. You could just as easily have me snap my fingers and everything you desire done will be finished in due time."

"It's not that! I mean it WOULD be nice to have everything fixed back up to the way it was, but humans, well most humans anyways, enjoy working for something. It makes us feel better getting it."....He cocked his head more and rose a brow obviously still confused and she face palmed, how does she explain this in a more simpler terms so a fairytale otherworldly cat would understand??...She looked back up at him dragging a hand down her face. "....OK! Lets go with one example. Uh...Um...Y-You know the story of Cinderella right?"

"Absolutely! Her glass slippers are still passed down in her family! Her great great niece looks so nice in them."

She rose a brow but shook her head and held up her hands. "Ok! Well you know how her fairy godmother granted her wish of going to the ball and meeting her future husband?" He nodded his head, of course he knew that. "Ok. Well you know why the fairy godmother did that right? It's because Cinderella worked hard everyday of her life and made an effort to be kind all the time, which with a step family like hers, it must've been hard. It's the same with most humans. Getting everything just handed to us on a silver platter without having to work for it just seems wrong, like there was no real effort to put into it to actually earn it. It's not about getting it done fast, it's just about that feeling of earning something." She pointed to herself. "I want to fix up the house and while I appreciate your attempts, and not in anyway discrediting you for what you've already done for me or for wanting to help, I want to be able to stand on my own two feet and show I can fix up the whole place."

He stood(Floated in the air-) and stared at her as she explained to him her feelings on the matter and hummed after a few seconds of it being done. "So....In order for humans to in their opinion earn something and be worthy of it they must work hard for it?"

She smiled and nodded. "Now you're getting it! After all an easy reward wouldn't be very good." She wracked her mind for another example. "Uh...Like let's say a princess has a whole bunch of suitors, and then she gets kidnapped by a dragon, and then a knight finds her, defeats the dragon, and worked very hard to rescue her. Wouldn't that make the knight more worthy to marry her than all the others?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, before nodding with a smile. ''Now that you mention it, it does seem you humans have more noble qualities than I thought.~"

She chuckled. "Now you get it. Besides wouldn't it get a bit annoying if everyone just asks you to use your magic to fix all their problems?"

He hummed, "I never thought of it like that before. Yes. I suppose it would get very annoying, I have other things to do with my magic than play life savior all the time."

"There you go! Now you're getting it! You can still help if you want to and I won't make you, but leave some stuff for me to do. Ok?"

He nodded and now that they had a better understanding she had less surprises. In fact she was made to make her own meals now, which she didn't mind cuz y'know independence in all, but now she could also show Chesire some of the recipes she picked up. He never even heard of a lemon marange pie until she made it for him and he puckered from the lemon flavor. Understandable. Not everyone enjoyed lemon, but things got a bit confusion when she tried to make pineapple upside down cake. She made it all the way and turned her back away from it for a second when she turned back and almost had a heart attack from Chesire using his magic to hold in place upside-down.

"What are you doing?!"

"Helping you with the recipe. I don't think you'll be able to make it stay upside down on your own will you?"

"T-That's not...Wait." She blinked. "Your Upside down cakes are ACTUALLY upside down?"

"Of course they are! It wouldn't make sense for it NOT to be. What's the point of having an upside-down cake if it's not made properly?"

"Huh. You'll have to show me your world sometime."

"Really?!" His tone radiated excitement as that idea was thrown at him and he giggled. "What a splendidly marvelous idea!! You could take my portal but...perhaps it would be better if not. There is dangers still left to be undangered."

"What do you mean?"

''Hopefully you'll never find out. Now let's cut this open! Im starving so to speak."

She let that one slide since no real harm was done. But he was still asking a few questions about her world that still didn't make much sense to her but it seemed he was used to different forms of things which was all but fine. The real things she was concerned with was the restoration of the garden and repainting the house. She didn't know if the roof was ok after all this time, but she guessed she was finally gonna find out wasn't she? She had been working on the back of the house for a few days now. As well as one could with old rusty garden tools and a small cat who found more fun in playing with the tossed weeds than helping her, but she didn't ask for his help and like before he was being more considerate in wanting to let her do her thing. She wasn't sure how many times she fell down on her behind trying to pull weeds out or tripped over another giant root in her granny's old flower bed. But all of that was put on hold when the first giant black storm clouds appeared and thunder gave out a warning of what was to come. Which came in the form of rain just a few seconds after. Chesire bristled and gave a startled meow as he jumped into her arms, and she ran like a bear chasing bees back into the safety of the house. Barging in just in time as the speed was starting to pick up the pace and rain down harder. Which left them now in this situation. Curled up on the couch, warm fuzzy blanket around her shoulder, and a purring magical cat curled up in her lap. And phone in hand. Her unlimited data plan was great for unlimited internet, though it was a little glitchy. One of the better things she did in her life. Might as well search for a job. I mean. She didn't have a car, and she couldn't just walk all the way to and from town everyday...And she already felt guilty for everything Chesire already done. If she found an online job then that meant she didn't have to walk all that way and could save up for a car and maybe get a job in the nearest town or something. After a while of surfing the web, a blue head popped back up and smiled at the strange blue screen.

"And what is this I wonder?"

"Hm?" She blinked and looked at him as he stared at the phone. "Oh. It's my phone. Im trying to find an online job but so far no luck. If my luck runs out I'll just try to open art commissions I guess."

....He blinked. "A...'phone'? What is that?"

"Oh, well it's a..Uh.." How do you explain to fairytale cat what a electronic phone is?....Maybe she should use another fairytale reference as an example? "Well...You know how magic mirrors or crystal balls show us stuff like other people and answer questions? L-Like the mirror in the Snow White story? You know how she would ask it every day 'Who's the fairest in the land?'''

"OH! So you have a small hand held magical mirror!"

She shrugged. "Sort of. It lets me talk to people, watch things, see fair away places, answer questions-"

"So it's more of a fortune teller's ball?" He nodded with a thoughtful look. "I understand now. I know of a great fortune teller where I am from! The descendent of the oh so wise Mr. Caterpillar!"

"That's one way of putting it."

That was probably the best she was ever going to get to explaining what a phone was to him- A flash of lightning flashed outside lit up the entire room along with a roar of thunder that shook the glass of the windows. Chesire bristled more and leaned back further into her blankets shielding the two from the cold air. She comfortly reached out to pat the poor slightly shaking fellows back and sighed. She didn't blame him for being scared of rain. After all she wasn't enjoying this anymore than him....Then she got an idea. She smiled and tapped the top of his head to get him to look up at her.

"Hey. You like tea right? How about I go make you a cup?"

He blinked slightly surprised up at her. "Really? Y-You'd do that for me? In this dire time? ...Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't ask you to do that for me. I'll be fine."

Her brow rose. "It would be the least I could do for all the things you've done for me. Here." She gently put her arms around him, enough to lift him off the couch and picked him up just as she stood up.Blanket falling of Allison's shoulder as she turned back around and placed the small cat back to where she was sitting just a moment ago. He blinked as said fuzzy blankets was drapped the top of his head and around him. Almost like a swaddled baby. She straightened back up and glanced back down at him. "There! Now don't you go anywhere. It'll only take like ten minutes tops." She slipped her phone into her back pocket. "Besides. I know I could use a warm drink right now."

He chuckled. But it was short lived by another loud thunder that shook the windows again and Chesire gave a startled 'Mmmrowl' and ducked under the blanket turning into a shaking lump under it. But that's not what made her stop and pause. A loud clanking sound itself heard before stopping after a bit. What was that? ANother loud thunder sound shaking the windows another soft but loud metal tapping noise and she snapped her head in the direction the sound was coming from...Sure enough ANOTHER thunder clapping. Another shaking. AND ANOTHER METAL NOISE!

"H-Hey. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?! I hear nothing but the sound of absolutely silence u-under here!"

Well he wasn't going to be much help was he? She rolled her eyes and looked- BOOM!! Another shaking. What was up with this giant storm!? Seriously?! And another tapping sound. This time DEFINATELY from her Granny's old meditation room. Raising a brow, she cautiously began slowly walking her way over there. The dimly lit room and rain outside wasn't helping her whole horror movie scenario running through her head as she got closer and closer. When she was finally in there...She saw nothing. Lightning lit up the entire room as ran still poured buckets outside. ....Then where was- Another thunder slammed the skies and shook the windows. Which also shook another thing. The giant mirror hanging on the wall tapped against it swaying violently and made the same tapping sound she had heard before. She gasped and ran to it. Not actually touching it when she got there but holding her arms out as if ready to catch this thing. It looked too big and heavy to lift by her tiny self, but it looked so freely hanging from the wall that it could fall and shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Which is what scared her.

Her head snapped over her shoulder. "Chesire!! The mirror's about to fall! Help me put it back into place will ya?!"

The shaking lump stopped shaking in an instant. All fear of ran and thunder and lightning pushed aside and that blue head snapped up and out of the blanket wide eyed. "THE MIRROR?! ALLISON, NO!!" He leapt from the couch and zoomed towards the tiny room. "WHATEVR YOU DO, DONT TOUCH THE MIRROR!!"

The rest of his warning was drowned out as thunder once again rang out and shook the house, this time there was no tapping as the mirror jumped off the nail and as she watched in horror as he fell on her, she thought she could hear Chesire shout 'Allison!!'. As it consumed her. A giant shattering of glass was heard as shiny shards spilt to the floor in the place the girl once stood, and shined when lightning struck the entrance way. A heavily breathing cat was floating there for a moment staring in absolute horror at the mess on the floor. He snapped two it. Little paws pushing around a few pieced before lifting up the mirror and still seeing no strawberry blonde woman. His paws went to clutch his head as the realization hit him harder than any lightning.

"By tea and biscuits...WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

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kristablogs · 4 years

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The history and mystery of America’s long-lost pickle sandwich

In this Depression-era stalwart, soft, chewy white bread (homemade or store-bought) is an ideal canvas for butter and pickles. (Jennifer May/)

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why bread-and-butter pickles are called bread-and-butter pickles? “I thought they were called that because they’re sweeter and less vinegary,” a friend tells me. “You know, smooth as butter.”

I had never questioned their name either, but rather quietly, to myself, word-associated bread-and-butter with “reliable”—just like the idiom. What reliable pickles! Always perfect for snacking, on a burger, or chopped up in an egg salad. But no, that’s not quite right either.

After decades in the dark, a lightbulb went off when I read this passage in Amy Thielen’s The New Midwestern Table (Clarkson Potter, 2013), this month’s pick for the Saveur Cookbook Club:

I realized the answer may be in the name itself: bread-and-butter pickles. Sliced pickled cucumbers layered between two slices of buttered bread was, allegedly, a Depression-era staple, due to the low cost and high availability of those ingredients. I say allegedly because there aren’t many contemporary sources that can confirm this, and those that do mention the sandwich (the blog Cottage at the Crossroads, Chef John Mitzewich of Food Wishes, and Marisa McClellan in an old Serious Eats post) report it through hearsay: “Supposedly…”; “I’ve been told…”

Why is it so difficult to find a hard, veritable source for this theory that bread-and-butter pickles were named after a sandwich? Seems simple enough, if not glaringly obvious.

The Joy of Cooking does include a recipe for bread-and-butter pickles, but no bread-and-butter pickle sandwich. Tomato lovers can, however, find a peanut butter and tomato sandwich in Irma S. Rombauer’s tome of American cooking, as well as a peanut butter and bacon sandwich, which leads to another sandwich rabbithole one could go down: the peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

There are plenty of accounts of the PB&P. The Times wrote about it in 2012, and even provided a recipe. Later, a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich also circulated the Internet. When I asked Jed Portman, editor of Midwesterner, he said, “I wish I had something of value to share. I’ve heard of peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, but I’ve never had one—much less the butter variant, which is intriguing.”

When a quick Google search for “bread-and-butter pickle sandwich” led me to a recipe on Smitten Kitchen, my ears perked up. But alas, the matching keywords were in a comment by a user, not by Deb Perelman herself. “I LOVE B&Bs!” the reader writes. “I make sandwiches of them on buttered white bread.”

Perhaps this is the point: The story of the bread-and-butter pickle sandwich lives not on the page, but, as many of the best foods do, in orature (oral literature). Word of mouth. Comments sections. Message boards. Facebook groups. The only way to find its elusive history, then, is to ask around.

It seems so obvious, yet when I asked my friends and even threw out a call to Twitter and Instagram (“Do you know this sandwich?”—like a wanted ad), I got multiple responses from experienced food editors and writers who said, “No, and I feel robbed.” Many others exclaimed, “Yes! But peanut butter, not butter”; “Yes! But mayo, not butter”; “Yes! But cream cheese, not butter.” Not butter, not butter, not butter.

And then ... one of my readers, Jessica Wharton, showed up in my inbox like a unicorn: Yes, bread, butter, and pickles.

Though Wharton was raised on these sandwiches, even she doesn’t know where they come from. “It’s a recipe from my great-grandmother and her family,” she tells me in an email. “I grew up in a rural farm town in Connecticut, but Connecticut honestly doesn’t seem correct to me as an origin, especially since besides my family I don’t know anyone who eats these either. It’s a thing we’ve always had every July or August when the cucumbers in the garden are ready and there are tons, and you’re not really sure what to do with all of them.”

I imagine my search for the story behind bread-and-butter pickle sandwiches will continue after the publication of this piece, and in its comments section.

For now, eager to try one myself, I made a batch of Thielen’s refrigerator bread-and-butter pickles with curry powder. I cut up some mini cucumbers (often called pickling cucumbers) and salted them to draw out moisture and to preserve their crunch. To make the pickling brine, I combined white vinegar, sugar, ginger, garlic, chile, mustard seeds, and curry powder, and brought them to a boil in a saucepan. The spicy steam filled the kitchen, like aromatherapy. After rinsing the cucumbers and draining them thoroughly, I sliced up a red onion and added it to the bowl, followed by the hot, golden brine. I let my pickles cool slightly, then packed them in old kimchi jars that were lying around and put them in the fridge.

I could only wait a few hours before making myself The Sandwich. I popped a couple slices of brioche into the toaster for a few seconds, only to soften them up. Next, I spread unsalted, room-temperature butter on one side, then laid a single layer of pickles—“overlapping slices” as Thielen suggests—on the other slice, and joined them together. I took a bite...and promptly texted three of my closest friends.

“You have to try this.”

It’s such a rare pleasure, as an adult, to experience a new taste, especially one that changes your mind about food. Who knew that pickles, for instance, could taste so much fresher, crunchier, more nuanced—leagues above the neon-green store-bought ones? Even more so when you’ve added a hint of curry powder for savory warmth? Who knew that soft buttered bread, which is already sweet and comforting on its own, could partner so seamlessly with its exact opposite: sharp, crunchy pickles? Who knew that this was the food pairing I’ve been waiting for all along?

The two together—butter and pickles—remind me of a cucumber and mayo sandwich, sure, like the kind you’d eat at English tea. In fact, Wharton wrote me back days later, after confirming with her dad, that their family tradition did indeed come from a very old recipe for English tea sandwiches. It is an entirely different experience, though, when you pickle the cucumbers yourself and swap out the mayo for butter. Its taste is surprisingly multi-dimensional, yet balanced. Whether you’re having it for afternoon tea or for a grab-and-go farmhouse lunch, the bread-and-butter pickle sandwich is, truly, the food of royals.

Update: One of the first recorded uses of the phrase “bread-and-butter pickles” can be traced back to 1923, when Omar and Cora Fanning of Illinois registered for a trademark (since expired) on the logo for their family pickles. According to a 1996 issue of the Feingold News, “Mrs. Fanning worked out an agreement with a local grocer, who gave her groceries—including bread ‘n butter—in exchange for the pickles.” Other related trademarks with the United States Patent and Trademark Office include “Betty Rae’s Bread & Butter Pickles” and “The Original Bread 'n Butter Pickles,” but no one owns just “bread and butter pickles.” Thank you to reader Nicolas Emerson for the tip.

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scootoaster · 4 years

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The history and mystery of America’s long-lost pickle sandwich

In this Depression-era stalwart, soft, chewy white bread (homemade or store-bought) is an ideal canvas for butter and pickles. (Jennifer May/)

After decades in the dark, a lightbulb went off when I read this passage in Amy Thielen’s The New Midwestern Table (Clarkson Potter, 2013), this month’s pick for the Saveur Cookbook Club:

Why is it so difficult to find a hard, veritable source for this theory that bread-and-butter pickles were named after a sandwich? Seems simple enough, if not glaringly obvious.

And then ... one of my readers, Jessica Wharton, showed up in my inbox like a unicorn: Yes, bread, butter, and pickles.

I imagine my search for the story behind bread-and-butter pickle sandwiches will continue after the publication of this piece, and in its comments section.

“You have to try this.”

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katkitpaddywick · 7 years

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Coming out to myself (warning, super long post, like over 2500 words)

I feel like everyone’s coming out story on the internet involves them having ‘just known’ since they were little. like in the case of girls liking girls (which i’ll probably use as an example the most because they’re obviously the ones I watched the most), they were always friends with the guys, and they had a crush on like their babysitter or something who was female, and they just knew, ever since a young age, and those kinds of stories being repeated over and over again really got in the way when i was trying to figure out my sexuality.

Flashback to when i was little- I didn’t even know gay was a thing until almost highschool. I never had any male friends, like at all, even though i went to a co-ed public school, and i hated sports. I never got any crushes on girls during primary school (at least none that i can think back to and realise what they were), i just had really close female friends. Basically the only things ‘out of the ordinary’ about me were that I wasn’t really into clothes (but what primary-schoolers are, really?) and that I didn’t develop any male crushes in primary school, either. I had super close female friends, i was in an all-girls choir for god’s sake (and still am actually), but I never felt anything at all.

Right at the end of primary school I discovered the internet and youtube and all that and I was suddenly exposed to all these lgbt people, but they never especially stood out to me. I didn’t feel any kind of extra connection to them, and still the thought of me being one of them didn’t even occur to me.

Flashforward to year 8 (first year of high school in australia), and I finally got my first crush. All my friends had dated already, some multiple times, and were starting to think I was weird and/or lying when I said I’d never liked someone. I couldn’t understand what they meant when they talked about butterflies (how could butterflies be a good thing? I’d only gotten them when I was scared!). And then, all of a sudden, I understood. I could feel my heartbeat going faster whenever my crush walked past, I got giddily happy after talking to them, and I stalked them on every social media (as you do). But still I didn’t even consider the thought of being gay. Because that first crush was a guy.

I finally felt ‘normal’ and I started getting way more into ‘girly’ things- I went out shopping with my friends, loved makeup, got more social media, and giggled about hot male actors.

Obviously, at this point in time, still not even considering that ‘gay’ was a thing I could be.

Then came year 9. In my choir, there was a lot of choreography, and in the top level (which i entered in year 9) there was a specialist dance group, audition only, which consisted of just ten girls out of almost a hundred of us. I’d always been a notorious overthinker (social anxiety, stress, insomnia, if there’s a condition that makes you overthink, i had it). So when I realised I enjoyed watching the girls (who were up to 18 years old) who were dancing a little too much, I got the tiniest bit of suspicion in my mind and my brain went spiralling down the rabbithole of overthinking, out of control.

Why do I enjoy watching them, they’re just dancing? I just admired their technique because I also kind of enjoyed dance. Maybe it’s just aesthetic attraction. It was logical- after all, girls are told to be beautiful, so of course I’m going to notice that some of them are beautiful. ...Could I be gay? Of course not, gay girls have guy friends and crush on girls and have short hair.

It sounds stupid to me now, but at the time, the only gay women I knew were from the media (and even that number was tiny)- Ellen DeGeneres, with her short hair and confidence and suits, Hannah Hart, with her wittiness and plaid and short hair, and of course the rare lesbian in a tv show or movie, with their boyish clothes and softball and short hair and all kinds of other things that became my idea of being ‘gay’. It never occurred to me that a quiet, nerdy piano player who’d die before picking up a softball could be anything like one of them. I still never seriously entertained the notion I might be anything but straight. After all, I was nothing like those lesbians I’d seen, and I’d crushed on a guy, for goodness’ sake.

A couple of months into that year, after nothing changed, i became even more confused and developed an obsession with the topic. I don’t know what I was trying to achieve, but I watched probably close to a hundred coming out videos, and read hundreds of articles for lgbt people, young and old. It was also around this time I joined tumblr, and made a few friends who were gay. And you may think, wow, with all those coming out videos to watch and so much information about the lgbt community nowadays, you must have realised so quickly!

Quite the opposite. Going back to the start of this story, every coming out video seemed the same to me. Yes, I did discover many women who had similar personalities or interests to me who were gay, and some who were completely different, but no matter how many videos i watched or articles i read or friends i had, all of them had something in common that I didn’t. They’d always known, ever since they were young. All of their issues in relation to their sexuality were about closetedness or homophobic family and relations, and all that. And I know that for most people, that sadly was an issue, but at the time it was incredibly isolating. I know I sound like a stupid, ungrateful prick for saying this, but for a while I wished that I had those same issues, that I had to be closeted because I’d always known I was gay and had homophobic parents.

Because in my 14 year old mind, having that experience would have meant certainty in my feelings, no more inner turmoil or wrestling between the constant sides of ‘gay or not gay’. Sure, I would have had external problems, but for me, those internal problems seemed so much worse. How could having to keep one tiny secret compare to tearing yourself apart with warring sides of your mind telling you different things, all day, every day? Eventually, to shut my mind up, I told myself I had to wait it out. Not constantly look for an answer, or a solution, just wait it out. I had to wait and see if I ended up crushing on a girl. That would ‘prove it’ for me. Waiting was an absolutely horrifying thought. How could someone like me, who had to allow at least an hour of overthinking time when I was figuring out what time to go to bed to get enough sleep, possibly just stop thinking about something? It seemed impossible.

But I tried my goddamn hardest. I threw myself into my school work and hobbies and friendships (which was where my overachieving kinda started- being busy was and still is my coping mechanism), and tried to forget and ignore. I got two academic scholarships and a mathematics scholarship, I began learning French and got a few awards for ‘academic merit and success’, I made a whole new friendship group (one where I didn’t have to worry over being judged or ridiculed for saying the wrong thing), and I felt happier, despite some tiny thing i decided with great certainty not to notice nagging in the back of my mind.

Then, on the Halloween of grade 9, everything I’d been suppressing- the social anxiety, the overthinking, and obviously, the ‘gay’- came to the forefront of my life. I’d been invited to two halloween parties. One for a friend from my old friendship group, and one for a choir friend, who attended a different school. I decided to go to the latter, as she’d promised it wouldn’t be very big, there’d just be movies and pizza and some of her school friends. I dressed up as a witch (how creative of me, I know), and can still remember to this day every single detail of that outfit. The night quite literally turned my life and thoughts on their head.

I was a bit overwhelmed at the party. I didn’t know anyone there but the choir friend. I made the token effort to introduce myself, of course- I’d always found it easier to be blunt rather than try to navigate the nuances of conversation, so my opening line was generally- “Hey, I don’t know anyone here and I’m not good at meeting people, but here I am trying anyway so what’s your name?” I got a few people’s names and chatted to them and nothing really eventful happened.

Then I met one of them in particular. I can remember every detail of her outfit as well, but my friends also know it, and I’d prefer this not reach my real life, so I won’t describe it. She was confident right from the get go, and her sense of humour was sarcasm and ‘spit out your coffee a few minutes later when you realise what they said’ innuendoes. I felt comfortable talking to her, more so than to anyone else in the room (I thought you’re meant to get tongue-tied?). She went with me to the food table because I’d been worried about trying to push through the mob of male teenage strangers, and she helped me open my soft drink (soda) can because I had no nails (I’d always bitten them, a side effect of the whole anxiety thing). All night, I was hyper-aware of where she was in the room. I got irrationally happy when she was just sitting next to me and crushingly disappointed when she went to talk to other people. In the space of half an hour, I went from wanting to go home to never wanting to leave.

Of course, I had to leave eventually. My mum came to pick me up at ten pm (the latest party I’d ever been to), and I went home. I got ready for bed and found myself just sitting there, with a giddy smile on my face. And, would you believe it, all this time, throughout the party, on the way home, and while I got ready for bed, it did not once occur to me I might have a crush on this girl. I was just really pleased with myself for getting over my anxiety and actually having a good time at a party, and actually making a friend at a party. I was sitting on my bed, looking at my giddy smile in the full length mirror across my room, and I remember seeing the ball drop, along with the smile. Cue the overthinking and anxiety attacks and crying. ‘What the hell is happening?’

I was never really ‘closeted’, at least, not entirely. My dad found out that night, as he let me cling to him in a tight hug and cry, then asked me what was wrong. I told him everything, everything i could remember, everything I’ve said in this story so far. I couldn’t figure out whether I liked her or not, and I told him that, but what my dad said was probably the best thing he could have, and I remember it word for word.

“If you’re thinking about it this much, there probably is something there.”

That sounds simple, but it blew my mind. If I’d just thought of that back at the beginning of the year when I was obsessing so much over it, I could have reached this point so much earlier.

He let me hug him and get the rest of the tears out, then told me to go to bed and leave the overthinking for when I wasn’t deliriously tired.

Anyway, that’s the end of the in-depth part of the story. The rest since then in relation to that particular subject has been on super-speed.

I became closer friends with that girl, but nothing more. I eventually distanced myself to try to get over it so I could just be friends. I still haven’t talked to her since that decision. I still have her number.

I began noticing a lot more cute girls, and I accepted that I did genuinely have crushes on some of those dancers. I haven’t yet crushed on another guy. I don’t know if I still even like them.

My closest friend knew right from the start, and a few of my other close friends knew a few months later, including the choir friend. Same goes for my mum and sister. My extended family still don’t know and although some of them are a bit progressive, some are very religious and I don’t want to take that chance.

I wouldn’t call myself closeted, but I wouldn’t call myself fully out either. Some of my friends know and I don’t try to hide it, but I don’t bring it up intentionally when I meet people, and many people in my life have no idea this whole story ever happened.

Anyway, the message of this got entirely lost in writing this. What I meant to say right from the beginning, is that I didn’t always know. I didn’t live in a homophobic area and have to hide what I’d always truly known I was on the inside. I didn’t have an external struggle. Mine was always internal, two warring sides ripping each other apart as I tried to find where I fit in a community that didn’t seem to have anyone with my story, tried to find whether I fit in that community at all. And I rarely, if ever, saw this kind of story in the media or on the internet. I still don’t. And that’s understandable, because people who lived in those homophobic environments had it so much worse, and they need their story told much more than someone who just had a few conflicting thoughts.

But every story should be represented, even if it’s only once by some tiny tumblr blog with almost no followers. For all of you who didn’t always know, who told yourself you couldn’t be part of the LGBT community because you didn’t fit the same experiences as the majority of them, this is the ‘coming out story’ for you. This is the story of a girl who didn’t always know. I still don’t know. I don’t know if I like guys or not, or non binary people, I don’t know if I’m bi or lesbian or pan or anything at all. Sometimes I can’t bear the thought of sexual contact with someone, other times I want nothing more. I’ve still never even been with a man or a woman, because I don’t know who I Iike and it terrifies me I might do something I’ll regret.

You don’t have to have always known. You don’t have to know now. It doesn’t have to be in black or white. It might be a thousand different shades of pink, purple, and blue. Or blue, pink, and yellow. Or black, grey, white, and purple. Or red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.

I wouldn’t call this a coming out story, at least not in the traditional sense. This isn’t about coming out to family, or friends, or the world. This is about coming out to yourself, whether you’re gay or lesbian or pan or trans or bi or anything. Coming out has so much stress and pressure surrounding it, because everybody wants a label. I wanted a label too, it made my feelings seem less scary, more manageable. But just remember, sometimes that label might be as simple as rainbow. Or ‘LGBT’. It doesn’t have to be in black or white.

You don’t always have to have known to be a ‘real LGBT person’. You don’t have to know now.

It doesn’t have to be in black or white.

Sometimes grey is okay.

#i don't even know if i'm going to post this.#this was meant to be like one paragraph but okay guess it's my life story #here ya go then folks #don't even know if tumblr will let me upload this it's so bloody long #i ramble too much #sorry for this trainwreck

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