#and the pancakes don’t have any nutmeg or cinnamon or anything

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

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[parkswritessometimes]

Escapees of IRIS Part 3

[Part 1 ][Part 2]

Chase squints his eyes as the rays of the sun hit his face, waking him from his slumber. He rolls over, spotting his new roommate Jackie sprawled out on the couch. His legs and arms hanging off the cushions with a spiderman comic book half open on his chest. A smile spreads across the former dad’s face at the pure silliness of it all. His limbs all twisted up in sheets, the comforter pushed to the side without a care. Chase has to fight the instinct to tuck Jackie in properly as he gets up. He creeps to the door only letting his toes touch the carpeted floor. He turns the knob slowly and steadily and pushes the door out without a sound.

Chase’s eyes wander around the small living room. He didn’t get much time to really take in the entire place last night. A pile of leather bound books  next to a mountain of crinkled paper sits in a corner, while a bunch of old laptops and red string sits in the other. A bookshelf that looks like it was from the dumpster filled to the brim with comics and old English literature. Framed photographs of everything from silly pictures of Marvin and Jackie to old wilted flowers line the walls. 

The entire apartment smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and freshly chopped wood giving the small place a feel of autumn. Blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes cover the floor and couch enhancing the cozy homemade feel. Chase dragged his finger across one of the blankets, the fuzzy texture brought a smile to his face. He would definitely be taking that later. 

“Are you just gonna wander like a lost little kitten, or do you want some breakfast?” Chase whips around, a gasp caught in his throat. The green haired one-the magic one- stands in the kitchen, random ingredients strewn about. His smile is gentle and his eyes tired. 

“Marvin. Hey.” Chase gives a small chuckle as he tries to process Marvin’s existence. “You scared me.”

“I get that a lot. Go on. Sit.” Marvin motions to the small kitchen table, littered  with opened envelopes, spreadsheets and pens. Chase moves it all aside as he looks back at Marvin.

“You-You don’t have to pamper me. Honestly a bowl of cereal is fine.” Chase protests as Marvin starts to place each dish down in front of him. Chase has to stop his mouth from salivating as looks over the whole spread. Hashbrowns grilled to a perfect crisp, pancakes thick and fluffy, bacon that will give the most satisfying crunch, and in the middle of it a big omelet stuffed to the brim with meat, cheese and vegetables.  

“Yeah, no. Iris didn’t give you enough food and I think Jackie would kill me if we didn’t go all out.”  Marvin replies, filling his own plate. “Besides, we gotta take care of each other.”

“Take care of each other?” No one had cared for Chase Brody since September 27th 2016. When the ink on the divorce papers dried and Stacy took his whole life away. Why would these two be the ones to change that? Last night was a fluke, something of pity. At least that's what Chase wants to think, needs to think. It will be so much easier when they leave.

“I know you doubt us.” Marvin says, interrupting Chase’s thoughts. “I know that the last few years, hell decades, have put you through the worst of the worst. But Chase, we will protect you. We will keep you safe. I promise.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you doing this?” That is the one question that keeps coming back to Chase. There was always a motive, a reason. These two can’t be any different.  

“Because you’re like us.”

Chase stares at Marvin, his eyes darting around the mage’s face as he tries to make sense of the cryptic statement. How is he anything like them? What would a drunk homeless man have in common with a mage and a superhero?  Won’t it just be safer to just chuck him back out onto the street? Avoid this mess all together. Chase continues to pick at his food as he mulls over the question.   

“What was her name?” Marvin blurts out, trying to make some conversation. 

“I-I’m sorry what?” Chase stumbles over his words as he tries to process the question.

“Her name, ya know, your daughter?” 

Oh. His daughter. His little ball of pure sunshine and energy. He feels his heart break all over again as memories of her bright smile flooded his mind. Her laugh, her energy. All the daddy daughter dates they’d go on. All the last minute shopping trips for school. Helping her put on the cutest little dresses as Stacy yelled down stairs for them to hurry up. Those were the days. 

“My daughter’s name was Chloe. I wanted to name her Hope, but my wife- Stacy- didn’t go for it, so Chloe was a compromise, cause apparently Chole means hope but I think Stacy might have just made that up.” Chase feels his lips curl into a melancholy smile.The thought of her bringing a sense of bittersweet love into his heart and tears to his eyes. 

“Why Hope?”

“She was everything I could ever hope for. All my thoughts, and dreams, and love, it all shifted in an instant. I became hopeful again.”

“That’s…That’s really sweet.” 

“Yeah, well, she’s gone now.” Chase brings down the fork into his hashbrowns with a force he didn’t know was possible. The table shakes under the force, nearly knocking Marvin’s mug off the table. The wall that had been torn down the previous night is now back up. Good. Keeping these two at arms length is for the best, less heartbreak for all when the inevitable happens. 

The two resume eating in heavy silence. The awkwardness palpable between the two of them. Chase can tell Marvin wanted to say something, anything. Most likely a worthless apology, or even worse a “kind” way to say “if you’re going to be such a dick get out of my house.”. But neither of those came. He watches as Marvin fidgets with the cloth napkin, tying it into knots only to take them apart. Over and over. Guilt crawls up Chase’s spine, an apology was ready on his tongue but right as his mouth opens Marvin speaks up.   

“Jackie and I aren’t blood brothers. But we grew up in IRIS together. We understand what it’s like, losing everything.” Chase closes his mouth shut as he watches tears fall into Marvin’s lap. “I uh-I was taken into IRIS captivity when I was three and Jackie got taken when he was five They-They killed my family, my town, everything I had was gone. I watched them shoot my own mother right in front of me.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, they pillage towns, kidnap kids, tear apart families, and unleash horrors onto the world. Jackie and I, we just try and put back the remaining pieces.” 

“Is that how I’m like you? My family was torn apart and…”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” It takes a moment for Chase to process everything. They’re all broken. Traumatized men who had every scrap of happiness taken from them. Every family member, every piece of their identity, stolen. Through some crazy fate of the universe they all found each other. He can feel that wall put up just minutes ago start to chip away. 

They are all in the same ocean of grief, waves pounding over their head, the kelp twisting around their legs pulling them down. And instead of tying weights to his ankles, they offered him a lifeboat. A free ride out of the storm and back to land.   

“Hey, good morning.” Jackie yawns as he sits down at the table. “Ooo! Bacon!” Chase watches as this ray of absolute sunshine reaches over the table pushing everything aside to get the breakfast food of his choice. 

“You’re doing the dishes, I hope you know that.” Marvin teases, as the light comes back into his eyes as he looks over at his brother.

“Oh what?! Not fair!” 

“Yeah, it is fair!” 

Chase feels something spark in his chest as Marvin and Jackie laugh and joke with each other. It’s small to be sure, but he can feel it. The warmth of laughter, the joy of words, the happiness that other people brought. He hasn’t felt this in almost two years. 

This flicker of hope, comes to light. His first instinct is to feel guilty, snuff out the flame before it could grow any bigger. How dare he try and be happy again. How dare he try to find love and kindness in a world that has done him so wrong. How dare he try to find peace after what he did. His mind begs him to smother this spark with cigarettes, alcohol and pain. To do what he has always done and leave. Leave everything that caused the little spark to emerge. 

But another part of him begs for this flame to live. To give it a chance to grow a blaze into something bigger. He wants this flame to bring warmth and light into his life again. He wants to throw as much kindling as he could into the little candle and pray it would turn into a wildfire, giving it a chance to melt the iceberg that had become his heart.  He will let Marvin and Jackie bring light into his world.         ��

 

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Thank you to all my Beta Readers! Literally the only people holding me accountable.

What? Parker posting on time? When they promised?? Is this witchcraft?!

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[Part 4]

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Tag List:

@brokentimewatch

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[youmightaswell]

Die!

The Mystery of the Apple Pie Spice

As you know I just hate everything about fall, right down to things that one thinks fall smells like – like apples, cinnamon, pumpkin. Tonight, though, I just made a large cup of decaf coffee and had the impulse to put some apple pie spice in it. I wanted to rub salt (or in this case cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg) into my autumnal wound. But it reminded me of something weird. Probably too weird to try to explain in writing. So when you read things I write you might get the impression that I am really psycho, and maybe internally I am – my internal monologue which I sometimes share with you might seem off-kilter. However, in person, I promise you I come off as being normal, funny, some say attractive…

Anyway, this tiny apple pie spice jar was given to me by a friend a while ago – maybe like three years ago. (Now, typing that also makes me wonder how long dried spices are supposed to last. I probably have some in there for over 10 years. How embarrassing!) My friend was moving from his apartment to a tiny studio and didn’t want to have to pack anything. So he threw out literally everything he owns save for important papers like passports, etc. He gave everything else away. He only re-bought very basic things like a pot, a set of silverware, 7 pairs of socks, underwear, etc. He said it would be cheaper this way than paying for a move and also he wanted to become a minimalist.

When he was moving he had me come over and take anything I wanted. I took all his spices. All were pretty much never opened and brand new and by the brand Penzeys. I love that brand of spice. I had never had apple pie spice which makes sense bc I don’t make pies. But over the years I seem to use it all the time- to add to oatmeal, muffins, chia seed pudding, tea, cider, pancakes… I use it weekly BUT here is the very Twilight Zone thing about it: It never gets any less in the tiny container. I just looked at it when I put it in my coffee and it is still almost full – like maybe 20% used but I have been using it consistently for more than THREE YEARS. I always think about this every time I take it out of the cupboard. At least once or twice a week I think: This has to be a magic spice because it is never going to run out. It’s gotten to the point where I purposely try to use it – and use A LOT of it – to get it to finish just to prove that I am not insane and it is not magic. But lo! Tonight I used it for coffee and it seems like there is EVEN MORE OF IT IN THE CONTAINER. The tiny container is nearly completely full. WTF? Is something supernatural going on here or am I losing my mind? What a great short film this would make. I feel it is something that Miranda July would make – a short film or a vignette in a film about a magic spice jar and a woman who notices it never gets empty.

Jane Campion, an Australian filmmaker did this series of film vignettes that I saw years ago. One was about people remembering the words to songs wrong but then remembering them while they are doing odd things that they thought were depicted in the song. In it a man has always gotten the words of the Monkees song, Daydream Believer wrong. He has always sung it day jean cleaner for some reason, truly believing those were the words. Then one night he is bending over his tub washing his jeans and starts to sing what he believes are the words to Daydream Believer and stops and wonders why anyone would write a song about something as esoteric as washing jeans. And he wonders how the song got so popular.

Peel: An Exercise in Discipline was unveiled in 1982 as Campion was embarking on another short with Gerard Lee and Veronika Jenet called Passionless Moments. The black-and-white short chronicled a series of vignettes in which many people do mundane things throughout the course of the day. Some of these moments include a fat man doing yoga, a boy trying to get some food before a bomb goes off, a woman alone in her room, two neighbors eyeing each other, a man cleaning his jeans in a tub as he sings the Monkees’ Daydream Believer, and other stories.

Passionless Moments’ sense of style came from Campion’s desire to find something engaging in the mundane. She and Lee shot all of the vignettes in the course of a day and created images that were quite compelling. An example of this comes in the first segment where the fat man looks at words while turning doing his yoga. It’s among the many moments in the short that Campion wanted to show that even something mundane can be extraordinary. A series of vignettes make up this wry take on the mundane scenes of everyday life. Campion and Lee imbue the film with radical humor and artfulness. You’ll never hear the Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” the same way again.

I guess I like that art can be made about anything – the odder or more mundane the better.

[Related: Penzeys used to be like THE spice. The go-to good brand. And their stuff is still good. I love their paprikas – they have three: California, Smoked and regular. But now in the last year there is a new brand that is getting tons of attn. It’s called Burlap and Barrel. It’s quite expensive. Even more expensive than Penzeys. It’s like $10 for a tiny container. But I am dying to try it. I think you can only buy it online. Someone I watch on YouTube works for them writing their newsletters. She is a food writer and works in test kitchens. The more recently I saw them on Shark Tank. They didn’t get a deal but they are flourishing. It’s the hip spice co.]

[acabecca]

Evie Hart + Johnny Storm // Supernova series

*

"I know it's not fair to say this, but I don't have anything without you. If I don't have you, I have nothing.” - for @fyeahsuperverseocs angst prompt event

*

The clattering of pans in the kitchen stirred Evie from her sleep and she sat up in her bed, running at her eyes groggily as she pulled herself up with a sigh as she glanced at her clock on her bedside table.

2.57am.

There was only one person who would be dumb enough to let themselves onto her floor of the Baxter building at this time of the morning, and she really did not want to deal with him right now; not when things were still so tense between them, the sting of their breakup still fresh to her, even after three months.

But she knew she had no choice. From the sounds of things he was about to make a huge mess that she’d be left to clean up, and so she begrudgingly threw the duvet off her and trudged out of her bedroom.

“Johnny?” she called, squinting against the light and biting back a laugh when he jumped, banging his head on the underside of the cabinet. “What are you doing?”

Johnny’s head emerged from inside the cupboard, a pout on his lips and his knuckles rubbing just above his ear, the spot he had obviously bumped when she’d startled him.

He beamed when he spotted her standing in the doorway.

“Heeeeey! Evie! I’m makin’ pancakes, you want some?” he asked, gesturing you the mixing bowl and ingredients scattered on the worktop.

“It’s three in the morning,” Evie took a step further inside the room, her eyes surveying the mess he’d already created, flour dusting her floor and one broken egg lying in front of the fridge. “And also, you don’t live here. Go make pancakes at your place.”

“I don’t have-” he paused, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and one eye closed as he carefully poured milk into a measuring jug. “I don’t have all of this stuff!” he glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Whose shirt is that?”

“Yours. Forgot to pack it up with the rest of your stuff. You have flour in your hair,” Evie sighed, taking the milk carton away from him and wiping the top of his head. “Are you drunk?”

Johnny grinned. “Obviously.”

Rolling her eyes, Evie moved the mixing bowl to the side and put the milk back in the fridge, grabbing a dish towel and scooping up the smashed egg. “So, you just decided to let yourself into my place and make yourself breakfast?”

“Like the way you make pancakes,” Johnny hummed, and Evie snorted when she heard the scrape of the chair being pulled out at the table. “They taste better when you make ‘em. Secret ingredient is love.”

“Secret ingredient is cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg, and it’s not a secret,” she told him, pouring the milk into the bowl and mixing the batter together. “Sometimes blueberries-”

“Put those in!”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why not?”

Evie knew he was pouting without even turning to face him. “Because I wasn’t expecting any midnight callers to raid my cupboards, demanding I feed them. What are you- I mean, why did you come here? There’s a diner down the street.”

“Told you,” Johnny hummed. “Like the way you make ‘em. With love.”

“Well, these ones are being made under duress, so they might not be all that nice,” she murmured.

“…Not made with love anymore, huh?” he asked in a whisper and Evie paused, taking a breath.

“No,” she shook her head, her voice quiet. “Not anymore,” she poured some batter into the pan, ignoring the sound of Johnny standing up from the table behind her as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “You have to stop doing this, Johnny.”

“Doing what?”

He was closer than she expected, but his voice was still quiet and she could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head. Evie shrugged, flipping the pancakes over and grabbing a plate out of the cupboard.

“Showing up whenever you feel like it. Acting like nothing’s changed. Everything has changed.”

“…Could change back, though.”

Evie swallowed thickly, finally turning round to face him and leaning against the worktop as she cocked her head to the side. He looked so young stood in front of her now, his hair disheveled and his cheeks pink from alcohol, one eyebrow raised and a small, hopeful smile on face.

He looked like the Johnny she had fallen in love with, the cocky but sweet boy she had gotten to know, different from the Johnny Storm the public had grown to love.

It made her heart pound in her chest, her fingers itching to reach out and run through his hair, to fix the collar of his shirt, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop herself from touching him.

He had broken her heart. She had to remember that. Had to remember that he was no longer her Johnny, no longer the Johnny she had loved. He was somebody else now. Somebody who had a different girl - sometimes two - on his arm every night. Somebody who got invited to club openings and celebrity events, who had his picture appearing in tabloids, who had to be available at the drop of the hat in case the world needed saving.

“Things will never go back to how they were, Johnny,” she kept her voice void of emotion, her stomach churning when she saw his face fall. “It’s different now. You’re Johnny Storm. The Human Torch. Bonafide superhero, girls falling all over themselves to be with you. Why would you want things to go back to how they used to be?” she laughed softly, turning back to the pan and scooping the pancakes out onto a plate.

“Because I miss you,” he admitted, and Evie screwed her eyes shut. “I know I have no right. I know it's not fair to say this, but I don't have anything without you,” he murmured, his hands landing on her waist and his chest pressed against her back, his nose nudging the spot just behind her ear. “If I don't have you, I have nothing, Eve.”

“Here,” she turned in his arms, holding the plate up between them and shoving it towards his chest so he had no choice but to let go of her and take hold of it. “Your pancakes are done. You can bring the plate back tomorrow. Or don’t, s’not like I’ll miss one plate.”

“Evie-”

“I want you to leave, please,” she interrupted. “It’s late, and I’m tired,” she pushed him gently towards the elevator and his shoulders slumped as he allowed her to guide him off of her floor.

“I don’t- I need a fork-”

Letting out a strangled noise of frustration, Evie stomped back towards the kitchen and grabbed a fork, before making her way back over to her ex-boyfriend and shoving it at his chest.

“There you go, enjoy the pancakes, enjoy the hangover. Goodnight, Johnny!” she pressed the button for the elevator repeatedly. Really, it was the early hours of the morning; who could possibly be using it right now? Why wasn’t it already there waiting, since Johnny had obviously taken it up to her place?

She could feel her resolve cracking the longer she stood there, her finger jabbing at the button and Johnny staying silent as he watched her carefully.

“…How come you’re wearin’ my shirt?”

“Because I- it- it was just there. I forgot to put it in your box of stuff when I sent your things back with Sue and then I- I don’t know. Sometimes I just- I like sleeping in it? It’s comfortable.”

“S’why I left it at your old place,” Johnny shovelled a forkful of pancakes into in his mouth, syrup dribbling down his chin as he stuck his tongue out to catch it. “Don’t want it back. You can keep it.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just don’t make a habit of letting yourself in here, alright? I can’t promise I won’t clock you over the head with a pan next time, what if I think you’re a burglar?” Evie offered him a weak smile. Johnny sighed, his gaze shifting to the plate in his hands.

“I didn’t mean for turning up and letting myself in here unannounced,” he muttered, his eyes widening slightly. “I mean, I am sorry for doing that, of course. But I meant, I’m sorry. For doing what I did. For how I treated you. For hurting you.”

“Johnny-”

“Please let me say this, because we both know I’m gonna lose the nerve when I sober up,” he interrupted as he reached out to take Evie’s hand in his, his fingers sticky with syrup. She pulled a face. “I think you were the best thing that ever happened to me, Evie. An’ I fucked it all up, an’ I know I don’t deserve another chance but, if you ever take pity on me and decide to give me another chance, I promise it’ll be better this time. I’ll be better. I won’t mess it up again because I know what it’s like to not have you. I know what it’s like to lose you now,” he finished quietly, the corners of mouth turning up into a small smile as his eyes searched hers.

Taking a shaky breath, Evie cleared her throat and pulled her hand out of his grasp, reaching out and wiping her hand on the t-shirt he was wearing. “You have sticky fingers,” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

She looked up at him, her arms crossed over her chest as though she were putting a wall up between them, and Johnny sighed as he heard the elevator doors ping open behind him.

“You should, uh… You should go,” she gestured behind him and he nodded, walking backwards into the elevator. “Enjoy the rest of the pancakes. Drink some water before you go to bed, and make sure you have some painkillers for when you wake up.”

“Always takin’ care of me, huh?”

“Well, someone has to,” Evie rolled her eyes, and Johnny snorted out a laugh.

“I’ll drop this back off tomorrow,” he tapped his plate with the fork.

“It’s okay; just sleep off your hangover.”

“No, I’ll come down tomorrow afternoon-”

“I won’t be here,” Evie rubbed her forehead. “I, uhm. I have a date.”

Johnny’s jaw went slack, his shoulders visibly deflating and his whole body felt numb. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so…” she paused, avoiding his gaze with a sigh. “Johnny, I… I heard what you said just now, but… I need someone who can tell me how he feels when he’s sober. I need someone who doesn’t have to lose me to want me.”

The elevator doors began to close and Johnny stumbled, quickly shoving his arm between them to keep them open. “Yeah, I… I get that. Is he- who is he?”

“Just some guy,” she shrugged weakly. “My sister in law set us up. His name is Steve, he seems… nice.”

“Nice,” Johnny repeated.

“Nice,” Evie nodded. “Easy, y’know? Normal guy, ex-military, works security now. He’s-”

“I should go,” he said quickly, dropping his arm back down to his side. “Thanks for the food, sorry again for waking you up and letting myself in. It won’t happen again. Goodnight, Evelyn.”

“Uh, yeah,” she blinked, watching as he disappeared behind the closing doors. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

taglist: @sgtbuckyybarnes @starcrossedjedis @jewelswrites-ish @lukespatterson @mer-writes @hiddenqveendom @if-you-onlyknew @raith-way @foxesandmagic (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald

She comes back the very next day.

It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair. 

Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there. 

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person. 

“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face. 

Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable. 

“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling.  “Do you have any bananas?”

Idiot. 

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought. 

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house. 

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.

Reid really hated it. 

“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him. 

Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”

Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house. 

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes. 

He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips. 

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such. 

Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses. 

It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.

Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone. 

But then the door does bust open. 

He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone. 

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”

She stops talking. 

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.” 

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex. 

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.  

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce. 

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated. 

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them. 

It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.

“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--” 

He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still. 

Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk. 

He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”

God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago. 

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week. 

He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now. 

“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”

His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm. 

“How much nutmeg did you use?”

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does. 

“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face. 

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon. 

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this. 

“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.

“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital. 

And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nods, “definitely.” 

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table. 

“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly. 

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time. 

He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”

Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles. 

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart. 

“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes. 

He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.

“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.” 

He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”

Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods. 

“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”

Jesus, she’s going to kill him. 

“Why don’t I come over and help?”

Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”

It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--

Right--

He shakes his head. 

Oh.

“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies. 

He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down. 

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience. 

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”

She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance. 

“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

“You can’t go back there, baby.”

Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest. 

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t. 

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving. 

“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away. 

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.

[ythmir-writes]

Fictober 2019, Day 9

Prompt: “There’s a certain taste to it.” Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Le Comte/MC Rating: general audiences

The afternoon air was finally cool and crisp after a long and extended warm and arduous summer. She always looked forward to experiencing that first breath of calming chill in the air and there was a skip in her step now as she walked from the public library back to the Comte’s mansion.

The colder winds was a signal of sorts that another year of living with the greatest names of history was coming to an end.  

Even after spending three years with them, she still could not believe it.

As she closed the gate to the mansion, she wondered if she should do something special for dessert for the boys to mark the changing of seasons.

So she headed for the kitchens. Sebastian would be busy with dinner prep so she could bounce ideas with him. Back in her time, fall was popular for two things: Halloween, and fall-themed drinks.

Halloween, or at least, the one she and Sebastian were used to, had not been invented yet and she figured that vampires and scary costumes were not the best thing to mix. So maybe, something pumpkin-y?

Where to get it though? Her experience with the flavour had always been commercial side. She could try to recreate it but it was going to take time and a lot of experiments.

All the more to ask her fellow time-traveller then.

However, as she donned her apron and entered the mansion’s kitchen, the man who was busy behind the counter was the one she least expected to see.

“Comte?” She asked, surprised to see the grand master of the mansion wearing an apron very similar to hers. Not only that, he was surrounded by Sebastian’s usual cooking materials, and something that smelled savory was cooking in the big pot behind him.

Wait. Not exactly Sebastian’s usual.

“Oh.” The Comte looked up, surprised and then just the faintest bit of what looked like a blush. “Sebastian said you wouldn’t be for another hour.”

“What are you doing here, Comte?” She asked, stepping closer. And saw that he was not only cooking, it looked as if he was trying his hand at baking as well. His apron was coated with flour dust, and some of the containers on the table looked like they contained sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon, among others.

“Well…”  The Comte Saint de Germain hesitated, and then waved at the table in front of him. “I’m watching the stew.”

She did not move.” 

“Ah. No use hiding it now that you’ve found me out.”

She raised her hands. “If you don’t want to be disturbed, it’s okay, I could just find Sebastian and – ”

“It’s quite all right.” The Comte scratched at his cheek. “To be honest, I finished a sample and I needed someone to taste it for me.”

“Okay.” She answered, doing her best to contain her excitement and the rush of relief that he had not chosen to keep this a secret. Whatever it was the Comte was trying to do, she wanted to be part of it. “What do we have here, then?”

“Well.” The Comte turned around and headed for the counter behind him. “I’m trying to recreate a certain dessert I’ve had in one of my travels.”

“Right.” She said, looking at the ingredients before her, trying to guess what it could be.

“It’s a little bit sweet but has a bit of kick to it.” the Comte turned back, and was carrying a tray with two pieces of bread, both of which were topped with a generous serving of something white. “I’m not sure if I got it right though.”

“It looks tasty!” She exclaimed, leaning closer to take a whiff. “Is that cinnamon?”

“Yes.” The Comte placed his hands on the table.

“What is it?” She asked, noticing his hesitation.

“That’s exactly it. I can’t remember the name. I remember it wasn’t English sounding though. I was passing through a marketplace and chanced upon it. I’ve never seen it again.”

She raised her brows. The Comte forgetting a detail as important as a name seemed to be unlikely but here they were. So even the grand master had his own quirks. “Or, it could just be a plain cinnamon bun.”

For a moment, he stared at her with wide horrified eyes and she scrambled to say something else, a remark, an excuse for her being so un-creative – something to remove the look of utter shock on the Comte’s face when all of a sudden, he laughed.

A hearty, shaking his shoulders, and closing his eyes kind of laugh.

And a contagious one too. Then again, she always felt better whenever she saw the Comte smile. As if just by seeing him happy made the world a better place.

“Goodness, of course.” He finally said. “A cinnamon bun.”

“I don’t mean to say there isn’t a more nuanced name…”

“No, no. I think you’re right.” The Comte looked at her. “Living all these centuries has made me quite the complicated thinker, I think. Making things more conspiratorial than they really are. When the truth sometimes is just right there for us to see.”

He motioned to the bread. “Well, if you may, ma cherie?”

“Oh! Right, right of course.” She took the bread and fork offered to her, sliced off a small part and tasted.

It was nothing short of bliss. She closed her eyes, savoured the taste of cream and the kick of cinnamon on a perfectly baked bread. She took her time chewing, wondered if her tongue could be blessed by any ordinary cinnamon bun from hereon out.

“How is it?” the Comte asked.

“It’s delicious!” She answered. “I think you did a perfect job here. I’d never had anything nearly as good.”

The Comte let out a breath, shoulders relaxing. “The cinnamon isn’t too strong?”

“Not at all.” She said.

“Good. You think the others will like it?”

“They’ll love it!” She answered. “Except, Theo though. Because pancakes is top tier already. I don’t think he’ll be appreciative of this.”

That earned her another laugh, a shorter and more subdued one. But gods above, it was rewarding enough.

“So. I just want to tweak it a little bit. The taste is there, the cinnamon is my foundation, but I need it just a little bit more.” The Comte motioned to the rest of the ingredients. “Help me with the rest?”

“Sure, absolutely.” She said. “But, I’m just curious. Why are you so keen on getting a pastry right?”

“Have you noticed it’s been a bit colder recently?”

She nodded.

“There’s a certain taste to it.” He finally said, his eyes misting at the memory. “A bit of falling leaves, the chill in the air, almost certainly like – ”

“The taste of fall?” She asked.

“Exactly.” He looked back at her, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled.

It was just one of his many smiles, and yet her heart felt full of it. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to memorize that smile, to commit the moment to memory and keep it in the deepest parts of her soul. But even as she soared at being the object of his smile, nothing could have prepared her for what came next.

“It’s something else too.” The Comte leaned forward, a little bit playful, a little bit enticing. And her heart, then already racing, felt as if it could burst out of her at any moment.

“You came here around the same time.” The Comte eyes seemed to burn into her, and he whispered. “And it’s a taste that reminds me of you.”

[igrublocal]

The Takeout’s fantasy food draft: Best pumpkin spice items

Takeout DraftTakeout DraftFood. Fantasy sports. Debating over Slack. Welcome to The Takeout Draft.

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Every week, we will select a topic of conversation from the food and drink world. Takeout writers will then field a team via the snake draft format. After five rounds, The Takeout commenteriat will vote on who they believe was victorious in that week’s draft. At the end of 2020, the staffer with the most weekly victories will select a charity of his/her choice that The Takeout will make a donation toward. (The 2019 victor, Kate Bernot, selected the U.S. Bartenders’ Guild National Charity Foundation.)

The previous  drew many passionate voters who were more than ready to reminisce about summers past. After a tight race throughout the first day of votes, Aimee Levitt pulled ahead and scored a well-earned victory with expert picks like garlic fries and lemon slushie (as well as an unexpected swerve toward lobster rolls in the final round). Congrats, Aimee!

This week’s draft is nothing if not seasonal, and it’s equally likely to delight and disgust you: Best pumpkin spice items. Is this a joke? Maybe. Are we about to take our Draft duties very, very seriously? Absolutely.

G/O Media may get a commission

Now let’s cozy up to fall’s coziest flavor.

Marnie: Okay, let’s kick it off with the acknowledgment that Aimee winning the Best Ballpark Food draft is appropriate, since she’s the biggest (only?) baseball fan of the three of us.

Allison: Everybody loves hot dogs.

Marnie: And garlic fries. This Draft will be tough to win people over with. But Allison’s got first crack at it.

Allison: Wait... I have the first pick? I can’t remember the last time this happened! I’m so overwhelmed!

Marnie: Use it wisely

Allison: Alright, so obviously my first pick has to be the iconic pumpkin spice latte. It’s the crossover item that made us a pumpkin-crazy nation.

Marnie: OF COURSE

Allison: Once upon a time, back in the Dark Ages, coffee and pie were two entirely separate things. No one had dreamed they could be together in one cup.

It changed the way we see everything. There would be no Cronut without pumpkin spice lattes. No sushi burritos. Why have one when you can have both?

Marnie: Do you think its popularity is deserved?

Allison: I am a devoted black coffee drinker, and I still get a PSL whenever the first crisp day of fall arrives, and one on Thanksgiving morning.

Allison: I don’t know how anyone could drink them regularly, but they’re a nice treat. And, nowadays, a good reason to get out of the house.

Going out to get a PSL is not an errand. It’s an event.

You need a special outfit that includes a soft sweater, and maybe a scarf. You need to inform everyone you know on social media before, during, and after.

Marnie: That would have been my first pick too. So now I’m in a lurch. But I’ll say Pumpkin Spice Tea. Because we always talk about how it’s really just spices like clove and nutmeg and cinnamon, and those are nice in a warm drink beyond coffee.

This photo of a cheese-stuffed pumpkin in Always Add Lemon is enough to make you kick yourself for…

Allison: You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever tried this. How does it differ from chai?

Marnie: It’s probably just like any number of other warm spiced teas, just with pumpkiny marketing. But Trader Joe’s “Pumpkin Spice Rooibos” tin is adorable, dammit!

Aimee: Of course it is.

Marnie: I fall for it every time. And it’s not as sweet as a PSL.

Aimee: Well, few things are. But maybe if you dumped in a few tablespoons of sugar?

Allison: Or actual pumpkin...

Aimee: That would spoil it! It’s about the SPICE!

Allison: What about blending pumpkin with maple syrup, and putting a spoonful of that in your tea?

Aimee: Huh. That could either be really good or amazingly terrible.

Marnie: TBD.... First pick, Aimee?

Aimee: Pumpkin bread!

Marnie: Oh damn, of course

Allison: There has never been a day where a pumpkin bread has been in front of me and I didn’t eat the whole thing.

Aimee: I especially love the recipe in Joy of Cooking. It’s sweet and spicy and perfect.

Marnie: The “spicy” makes all the difference. I think it should make your nose wrinkle a little.

Aimee: But I also love the pumpkin challah in . I made a couple last week and they make the best French toast.

Allison: I used to make a pumpkin brioche and use it to make bread pudding. It was pretty damn amazing.

Marnie: You were born for this draft

Aimee: I was actually torn between waffles and pancakes, but I love waffles more, so that’s what I’m going with.

Allison: I have not had these either, and am wondering how these particular waffles have been pumpkin spiced.

Is there pumpkin in the batter? Poured on top?

Aimee: In the batter, and mixed with the ginger, cinnamon, and cloves.

Marnie: Does it need cream cheese drizzle on top to really sing?

Aimee: Oooooh, yes, that’s genius!

Allison: I’m thinking of the recipe I did last year for butternut squash pavlova, but making the topping with pumpkin and putting it on a stack of Belgian waffles.

Marnie: Aimee’s double whammy of delicious pumpkin spice carbs has me reeling. How can my second pick compete?

Aimee: I believe in you!

Marnie: I will say pumpkin spice Cheerios. Getting to drink pumpkin spice cereal milk is a lovely way to start the day.

And it’s a nice contrast with all the hot pumpkin spice stuff we usually eat and drink

Allison: Oh GODDAMNIT that was my pick!

Marnie: HA!

Allison: I was apprehensive about buying that, but I had to because of the pumpkin spice bet I have with my husband. When we tried them, the Cheerios made the milk taste like pumpkin pie custard.

Allison: We bought like 20 boxes so we could enjoy them all winter. It was a fine decision.

Marnie: Allison, what’ll you choose now that I’ve swooped into the cereal space?

Allison: I’m going to take pumpkin spice ice cream, much for the reason you picked the Cheerios—it’s a nice cold option, in contrast to the PSL and so many other pumpkin spice’d foods.

Aimee: With caramel sauce and lots of whipped cream! Maybe pecans?

Marnie: Ooo, any particular brand?

Allison: Remember those Talenti layer things I love? They’ve got a pumpkin pie one now with pie crust and stuff.

Marnie: DAMN I want to try that

Allison: What’s also nice: we’re all so ready for fall the second Labor Day is over, but it’s still hot. And even though it’s hot, I’m STILL wearing a cute jacket outside, out of principle.

Marnie: True. We need pumpkiny items for the last legs of summer

Aimee: With the hot sun of summer but the cool breeze of fall...

Allison: I anticipate eating a LOT of ice cream over the next five weeks or so.

Next up: pumpkin pie toaster strudel. You can debate the need for pumpkin spice-anything all you want, but when you see pumpkin toaster strudel, it’s like “this makes perfect sense”

There’s nothing to quibble about. It’s a thing, and it should be a thing.

Aimee: This is true. It’s like a pie.

Allison: If anything, the pumpkin spice latte walked so that pumpkin spice toaster strudel could run.

Aimee: That’s beautiful. Brought a tear to my eye. (Pumpkin spiced tear, of course.)

Marnie: Only major downside of toaster strudel is that you absolutely have to warm it, whereas a Pop-Tart is flexible and can be eaten room temp. But a warm toaster strudel really is amazing

Allison: What I don’t like about pumpkin Pop Tarts is that they should be better. It’s like, if Pop Tarts respected us, it could be amazing. But they don’t. They phone it in.

Aimee: I feel that way about most Pop Tarts.

Marnie: Okay, my third pick might be....controversial. But hear me out: pumpkin pie

Aimee: Ha ha!

Marnie: The original pumpkin spice item

Aimee: It’s true! It’s so obvious, no one even thinks of it anymore. Someone should call it pumpkin spice pie.

Allison: Pumpkin pie is one of my favorite “bed pies.” Have I told you about that concept?

Marnie: Sounds self-explanatory

Allison: I wrote about it a few years ago. It’s essentially a family bonding experience where we all stay in bed and eat an entire pie together from the pan while watching old cartoons, like Garfield’s Halloween and Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Pumpkin is ideal for this.

Allison: The filling isn’t going to plop out all over the sheets. And the crust isn’t ultra crumbly

Aimee: Ah, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have bits of fruit falling all over the sheets.

Allison: If made well, you can pick up a slice of pumpkin pie and eat it with your hands. Just like pizza (non-folded, of course). I very much encourage both of you to try this.

Aimee: And you can squirt the whipped cream directly into your mouth. No mess!

Allison: You understand me, Levitt!

Marnie: AIMEE

Aimee: Rolled in lots of cinnamon sugar.

Marnie: STOP TAKING THE GOOD THINGS WHILE I FAIL TO THINK OF THEM

THAT’S....CHEATING, SOMEHOW

Allison: I have not had a good doughnut in a while, and now it’s all I can think about.

Marnie: So just to be clear, we’re not talking about a filled doughnut

More like a cider doughnut, but pumpkinified?

Aimee: Well, I suppose you could... but yes, I was thinking of the cakey doughnuts. I love cider doughnuts so much.

Marnie: Yes please

Aimee: Oh, yes. With a variation for the stove!

Allison: Here’s your variation for the stove: fry it in hot oil just like any other doughnut. There ya go.

Aimee: My next pick is pumpkin spice oatmeal. With lots of brown sugar.

Marnie: Interesting—does it come in that flavor or do you add the spices to make it that way?

Aimee: Quaker does make that flavor, but I’ll bet you could just add the pumpkin spice if you want to do homemade.

My philosophy is that anything that tastes good with cinnamon would also taste good with pumpkin spice.

Marnie: Yes, I can’t imagine anyone being all in on cinnamon but out on nutmeg. Cloves? Mayyyyybe divisive. But it all seems to speak to the same palate

Aimee: Warming spices!

Allison: And it’s coldest in the morning! This is science.

Marnie: How does the pumpkin factor in if you make it yourself? Pumpkin puree right in there with the oats?

Aimee: The beauty of pumpkin spice is that there doesn’t have to be pumpkin. Only spice: the blend of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, allspice, and cloves.

Allison: Yup! You can just stir it right in, with a bit of spice, and maybe some maple syrup to sweeten.

Marnie: I’m going to try to court the CPG crowd with a busy, on-the-go pumpkin spice item: the Spiced Pumpkin Pie CLIF Bar

Allison: Never eaten this! I had a Clif bar once in the early 2000s, and that was the end of that.

Marnie: Yeah, you either love them or hate them. I love that they actually feel substantial, like you just had breakfast. Regular granola bars never make me feel that way. And the Pumpkin Pie CLIF Bar comes with a drizzle of icing that, in my opinion, could stand to be paired with a lot more pumpkin spice items.

Pairs great with coffee! People are going to hate me for this but it’s my truth!

Aimee: That’s fine. You have every right to it.

Marnie: Aimee, do you have a firm stance on CLIF bars?

Aimee: I do not because I’ve never had one.

Marnie: I somehow think you’d despise them.

Aimee: I think so, too, which is why I’ve never had one.

Marnie: Last two picks, Allison!

Allison: Alright — my fourth pick is pumpkin butter. What makes this so great is it has the power to make anything into pumpkin spice.

Marnie: Here’s my question with pumpkin butter: what does it work best on? I can never figure out what to apply it to

Allison: You can stir a spoonful into your oatmeal, or put it on ice cream, or into your coffee or tea. Literally anything.

Warm milk! Pancakes! Toast!

Serve it with pork chops, smear it on cookies or graham crackers.

Marnie: Has an application ever failed spectacularly??

Aimee: This is like the shrimp scene in Forrest Gump.

Allison: ^^^and shrimp is a bad place to use apple butter.

But if you don’t know how to restrain yourself when feeding yourself pumpkin butter you should just stop cooking. Let other people do it for you. You can’t be trusted.

Allison: Very! I shared my super-easy apple butter recipe here last fall. You can do that with cubed pumpkin, or canned. As always, just keep an eye on things, because it’s all visual cues on that one. The line between apples and pumpkins in fall desserts is very thin.

I don’t believe that apple butter needs to be a fussy, complicated thing to make. You shouldn’t…

Marnie: That’s a good utility pick and I feel like the voters will reward you for it.

Unless you mess it all up on the last pick.....

Allison: Don’t think I am, because I’m reaching into my personal back catalog again and going with . You know me and pudding.

Marnie: Picking your OWN RECIPE on the final round is A POWER MOVE

Allison: Damn straight it is.

Marnie: I begrudgingly respect this decision

Please tell us what makes it a worthy pick, for those of us who haven’t tasted its majesty yet

Allison: Pumpkin pudding is much creamier and luxurious than pie! And easier to make, in a way. You don’t need to fuss with the oven, and don’t need to worry about making a pie crust. I make a pie crust better than anyone, and honestly do enjoy the process, but it adds a good amount of time to the process.

Sometimes you’re okay with waiting a few hours for pie. And sometimes you’re like “I want pumpkin something within the hour,” and this is what can get you there.

Marnie: A shortcut to immediate pumpkin spice intake is key

Allison: Exactly. There’s a ton of variables I consider when coming up with recipes.

One of them being “how long do I have to wait before I eat this dessert”

Aimee: That’s always an important one.

Marnie: Sometimes you don’t need to consider cook time at all. Because sometimes the thing you want is not edible in the least. Folks, my last pick is a pumpkin spice candle. To make EVERY room in the house smell delicious, not just the kitchen!

Aimee: Ha ha!

Marnie: It is a far-reaching, long-lasting pumpkin spice item. Perhaps the most cost-effective, too.

Aimee: AND if you don’t like pumpkin, it’s still mostly a pleasurable experience.

Marnie: A signal of the changing seasons! Coziness incarnate. People of all palates can agree on smells, can’t they?

Allison: I believe I have at least ten of these in my house right now.

Even if it’s not fall outside, it can be fall inside, whenever you damn well please. You guys need to try lighting up one of those bad boys in April and see how that changes you.

Aimee: As long as they’re not those cinnamon brooms. I don’t know why, but they annoy the crap out of me.

Allison: What are these cinnamon brooms? Another midwest thing?

Aimee: They sell them at Trader Joe’s. They’re in the front where you first walk in, with the pumpkins and the plants, so you can’t avoid them.

Marnie: They look sort of sinister

Aimee: Exactly. They’d be good for witches, but they smell like cinnamon which is somehow not exactly witchy.

Anyway, last pick goes to Aimee! What’s it gonna be?

Aimee: My last pick is... pumpkin spice cotton candy. Mostly because I would really like to find out if you can taste the spices.

Marnie: Does.....does it exist outside of your mind?

This is the first time I’ve really thought about cotton candy having a flavor. Isn’t it usually just sugar, in technicolor?

Allison: I do not like cotton candy, and yet I want to try this.

Aimee: Once I tried a rosé cotton candy and it tasted like rosé if you did the taste equivalent of squinting.

These people are geniuses!

Marnie: I’m excited to let this Takeout Draft loose upon the world.

Aimee: Because no one is tired of pumpkin spice yet!

Who won this week’s Takeout Draft? Vote in the comments.

[mensbodybuildingtips]

The Right Whey: Tips And Recipes To Shake Up The Way You Use Protein

Water and healthy protein ... Protein as well as water. No matter exactly how you mix it, the combination is simply ordinary stagnant. So when was the last time you made a protein shake with anything however water, whey, and a shaker cup?

We thought so.

The irony of all this is triggered by the truth that whey protein solutions go to their advanced best. Yet, despite protein being at its absolute finest in taste, in bioavailability and in easily blended solutions, exactly how numerous of us still stand at the kitchen sink, fill up a cup up with semi-cold water, dump an inside story of healthy protein in, and shake, after that almost plug our noses as we down it?

At this factor, you're possibly objecting, assuming "I get on a diet - exactly what else should I mix with my healthy protein?" There is some truth to that - specifically if you have a total healthy protein that has a great fat resource included, as well as no sugar, however a pleasant preference. Formulas vary so considerably, it is possible you have a protein you actually like that in fact tastes good.

Whey Protein: Diets vs. Mass

Line up 10 leading brand proteins and also you might locate extremely various dietary assays on each label. Some will differ in whey type, while others contain greater than just whey, such as casein or soy, or vary in the sweetener or flavor utilized to earn the formula palatable.

Each will certainly also include a different macronutrient break down - with more or much less carbs or fats, and a broad swing in the variety of healthy protein grams. Add to that the number of tastes in each brand, as well as the fat resource in each brand name. Some proteins will feature a beneficial medium-chain triglyceride (MCT) such as coconut milk or oil, and others will simply mix in whatever emulsifying fat is cheapest.

Sweeteners also differ widely, and also could consist of every little thing from ordinary old sugar to corn syrup, high-fructose corn syrup, Splenda, Nutrasweet, or the even more all-natural and also healthy Stevia.

Give or take components, of those 10 healthy proteins, you can most likely separate them right into 2 classifications: Those fit to mass-building as well as those to dieting.

Typically, healthy proteins that attend to diet programs will showcase 25 to 35 grams of protein, no to 10 grams of carbs, and absolutely no to 12 or 15 grams of fat. Those fit to mass gains will include anywhere from 30 to 40 grams of protein, 15 to 40 grams of carbohydrates, and 5 to 20 grams of fat.

The excellent aspect of having such variance in proteins is that you can prefer to either use a protein on its own as a dish substitute during a diet plan, or as a meal replacement throughout a mass cycle, without having to add other foods.

But we think that if you locate a healthy protein you such as - and that's normally driven by components, high quality and preference - we assume you're going to persevere. So how does one adapt his/her preferred protein to be a year-round formula, as well as what criteria should own that choice?

Choosing a healthy protein that is formulated for diet plan, versus mass, has its benefits due to the fact that you could constantly contribute to the formula using a shake - you can not remove ingredients.

Shakes that claim to be meal substitutes or are mass-monster owned do not constantly have the most effective top quality ingredients either. They are usually rife with fillers that are not healthy and also can trigger fat storage space in the off season.

We assume it's far better to earn your own.

We are frequently asked: What does it cost? healthy protein do I require in a day in order to fulfill my objectives? We such as to take the center of the roadway as well as have you include or subtract from there. Whether you're dieting or intending to get mass, right here's a good guide that you could customize:

Daily Intake Based on 1 to 1.5 grams of Healthy protein per Extra pound of Bodyweight

Bodyweight

Grams of Protein Required

125 extra pounds = 125 to 188 grams of protein

150 pounds = 150 to 225 grams of protein

175 extra pounds = 175 to 263 grams of protein

200 extra pounds = 200 to 300 grams of protein

250 extra pounds = 250 to 375 grams of protein

Another method to take a look at protein requirements in the diet is by portions of calories allotted:

Daily Calorie Requirements/ Percent of Protein (20-40%)

1500 calories = 75 to 150 grams of protein

2000 calories = 100 to 200 grams of protein

2500 calories = 125 to 250 grams of protein

3000 calories = 150 to 300 grams of protein

3500 calories = 175 to 350 grams of protein

4000 calories = 200 to 400 grams of protein

5000 calories = 250 to 500 grams of protein

The biggest reason a bodybuilder cannot gain weight in the off season, or fails to keep it during a diet, might be that they does not take in adequate healthy protein. Yet the various other factor may be lack of strategy behind times a protein shake is blended as well as ingested.

Here's a good rule of thumb:

BEST TIMES TO HAVE A PROTEIN SHAKE

First thing in the morning - Complying with a fasting state you'll place yourself right into favorable nitrogen equilibrium immediately.

Between meals - Make these easy trembles that simply fill up the void and also maintain you in positive nitrogen balance.

Pre- and Post-Workout - Protein shakes before as well as after exercises can be loaded with included nutrients to sustain workout as well as healing: Creatine and also Nitric Oxide for pumps as well as power, as well as Glutamine and BCAAs for recovery.

Evening - If you're diet programs, yet do not wish to comply with the 'Don't consume after 6 p.m. rule' have a healthy protein shake or more (one with couple of carbs as well as reduced fats) to optimize nitrogen balance during sleep as well as maintain the metabolic rate burning.

Think you know a lot about whey healthy protein? Right here are some facts in order to help you utilize it

WHEY WISDOM FOR BOTH GAINER and LOSER

WW1: Throughout mass cycles, you can enhance protein uptake with fast-digesting carbs, such as waxy maze or add your own to shakes that contain hardly any carbohydrate.

WW2: The very best weight gainer shake has a carb-to-protein proportion of 2:1. No commercial blends around actually attribute that - always placing even more protein in the mix than carbs. Make your very own with this ratio in mind.

WW3: If you are adding added fat to a blender shake for mass-building, add great fats, such as Omega-3s: walnuts or walnut oil, peanut butter and flax seeds as well as flax seed oil.

WW4: A suitable diet plan must have an Omega-3-to-Omega-6 ratio of 2:1. To include even more Omega-3 foods to your mixer drinks - without the fat - add foods such as spinach, watercress, kale, mint and also oatmeal. Mint leaves make a fantastic enhancement to any chocolate shake.

WW5: Whether building mass or dieting, maximize your post-workout shakes by adding recovery aids, such as glutamine, arginine, waxy maize, beta-alanine, and branched-chain amino acids (BCAAs), along with additional vitamins An as well as C, and trace element, such as potassium.

WW6: The difference in between Whey Isolate as well as Whey Concentrate: Separate expenses much more as well as has a higher bioavailability rating of 98 percent, and nearly no lactose. Concentrate has lactose, has a reduced BV rating of 80 percent, as well as is less costly. For weight gainers, a whey concentrate could be the best option since it's greater in calories.

WW7: In spite of hearing that it's always much better to consume "entire foods" supplementing with whey healthy protein is hassle-free, requires no refrigeration, is much easier on the stomach and less dental filling, has a greater BV compared to a lot of foods, as well as is strengthened with vitamins you may not get eating just entire foods.

Tips for Easy Mixing:

All proteins advertise that they are conveniently combined, however exactly how numerous lump cost-free trembles have you had in the last 10 years? Because it's always a lot much more tasty to consume alcohol a shake that has been blended to a smooth uniformity, here are some suggestions in order to help:

Use a blender or food processor or glass and mix - don't utilize a shaker cup. No blender? Combine with a fork, not a spoon, or little mini-whisk

Add protein as well as water right into the glass a little each time. Fifty percent an inside story of protein mixes much better with 2 to 4 ounces of water.

Let it rest for a couple of mins before alcohol consumption, after that blend again.

WHEY SHAKE ADDITIONS and RECIPES

The possibilities are limitless for drinks as well as much of exactly what you can mix in relies on your very own taste as well as just how versed you remain in just what food mixes produce desirable preference. However mixing whey protein trembles ought to also be a calculated means to obtain specifically just what you need at any type of offered time throughout your day.

Foods You Can Mix Into Shakes:

Milk

Cream or half-and-half

Fruit (iced up for added density, or fresh)

Fruit juice

Coconut water

Brewed coffee (or granules for taste and also pick-me-up)

Nuts and nut butters (peanut, almond, walnut)

MCT oils (coconut oil, coconut milk, or Cap-Tri)

Cereal (Kashi, grapenuts, oatmeal)

Greek yogurt

Ice cream or frozen yogurt

Pasteurized egg whites

Pudding and dessert mix

Extracts (almond, vanilla, mint)

Spices (cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg)

You can also mix protein, thinned down with water, right into points like pancake and also mashed potato mixes to lend a higher healthy protein value to your carbohydrates.

Dieter Shakes:

Coconut Chocolate Mint Shake:

1 scoop of vanilla whey protein

1 small container of coconut water (not milk)

1 teaspoon Dutch process cocoa

3 or 4 mint leaves or mint extract

1/2 packet of Stevia

Chai Tea shake

Whey protein

Sugar-free Chai mix

4 tablespoons Non-fat Greek yogurt

Water

Weight Gainer Shakes

Maple-bacon-nut butter B-Fast Shake (Like a bacon-maple syrup pancake breakfast)

Unflavored or vanilla whey protein

Cooked crisp bacon, (ground into dirt in mixer)

2 tbsps maple syrup or 1 tbsp maple extract

1/ 2 cup raw oatmeal (ground in advance into dirt)

Pasteurized egg whites or whole eggs

1 tablespoon peanut or almond butter - or 2 tablespoons walnut oil

Whole milk

Berry-ana Peanut Butter Shake

Vanilla whey protein

1 Banana

5 frozen strawberries

1/3 cup heavy cream

Pasteurized egg whites

1/4 cup oatmeal

3 tablespoons peanut butter

[kittyandco]

News

Oh, the third day in a row. Morning sickness. Again, she sat bent over, on the verge of hurling. It was becoming harder to hide her illness from Terra, who slept in the room adjacent. Kitty glanced through the doorway at him as she recovered, watching him snore in her bed. Relief rushed over her, and she slid out of the bathroom once everything was alright again. 

She danced about the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients for breakfast while her decaf coffee brewed. Hopefully the faux caffeine would distract her from the migraines, too. That, and the sweet substances she mixed in it. For now, she stayed quiet as possible, mixing up some batter. As she poured in the extras -- cinnamon, nutmeg, and anything else to pizzazz the pancakes, she perked her head to watch Terra walk in. 

“Morning, Kitty,” he mumbled against her hair as he kissed her head. It was soft from having just been brushed out, a delight to his fingers that tumbled through it as he watched her. 

“Hi...” She smiled, but divulged in thought. Terra furrowed his brow, noticing a sign or two of dissociation, quietly assisting her. 

They sat themselves on the couch, holding their plates in their lap, stacked with pancakes and topped superfluously. Every now and then, Kitty would send the side-eye, contemplating as she sipped her coffee. She ate hastily, too, removing the normal breakfast conversation. 

Terra noticed her behavior. This was how she acted when she had something to say, and wouldn’t. She would keep quiet, playing the scenario over in her head before speaking at all, even topics unrelated. “Um, Terra.” She stood, wading to the kitchen to put her dishes away. 

“Yeah?” He followed. 

“I’ve been sick lately... I dunno if you’ve noticed...” her thoughts trailed off, unsure still where to take it. 

“I have noticed. And other things.” 

Kitty inhaled, closing her eyes as her breath shook.

Just don’t think about it. 

“I’m... I’m pregnant.” Her eyes shifted aside, and squeezed shut for a second, bracing herself for his reply. 

“What? Kitty...? That’s... amazing.” 

She looked his way, hearing the joy in his voice. He was so happy. So happy, he enclosed her in his strong arms, just close enough to feel her tremble. She wasn't far along, he figured, but feared his own strength, cradling her as the only precious thing in this world. In any world. "I'll take good care of you both."

"I know. I was scared, but I... I couldn't be with you. You've always fought off my fears for me, or made me face them somehow. Like right now... I'm facing my biggest one." She exhaled, having kept such thoughts inside for so long, expecting this moment never to surface. These were things that made her love him... but not ones she bothered to verbalize. Now was as good a time as any, as panic and relief simultaneously waved through her. Panic from complications... the process... the sensation of pregnancy. Relief from trust, love, reassurance.

"Please, don't be afraid. We can handle this together." His calloused hand rubbed up her arm, mussing the sleeve of her sweater, a somewhat bewildered smile still planted on his face. It seemed soon for this... but Kitty was the love of his life, and deserved his protection and respect. Like a princess deserved her knight.

[littlecrookedheart]

Amen, Amen • Like You're Made of Glass

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC)

Rating : MATURE. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE NSFW, but it will be dealing with mature themes, such as death, possession, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, murder, and other graphic elements. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 5,138

Author’s Note : The perspective switches happen more often in this chapter and will from here on out. Teeny warning for emetophobia. Happy Halloween! 🎃

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Disclaimer : I do not own any characters other than Ula Santiago and Matt Pivouz (and Remy.) I’ve added a bit of a flare to others for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @spectrelier @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight

"...Love, soft as an easy chair..."

Noah stirred in his bed, half awake, the scent of cinnamon pancakes wafting through from the kitchen. A gentle, dreamy voice came from the other room, the familiar tune a lullaby for his already wary head. The curtains had been drawn allowing sunlight to fill the room. Noah began to flutter his eyes open, but instead winced and turned over, tucking his hand underneath the pillow.

"....Love, fresh as the morning air...One love that is shared by two.."

Noah's brows furrowed, rubbing his face more into the pillow, drawing the blanket over his head.

"I have found with you..."

He opened his eyes, listening.

"....Like a rose under the April snow.."

Noah darted up, scanning the space around him, heart pounding in his chest.

"Mom?"

**

"...I was always certain love would grow.."

What the hell? It's eight in the morning. How did she even get a key? How did she - Jane?

"Come on, sleepy head! Pancakes!"

She just...what?

I'm swinging my legs off the bed, it's like a magnet is embedded into my core, pulling me to follow her. God, please don't let this be a trap. Why am I praying? I don't even...

"Mom? Jane?"

"In here, honey!"

Everything shifts, and all of a sudden, in in my parents house again. I hear bassy steps behind me, and it's Jane, running down the hallway, almost tackling me when she crashes into me for a hug.

"Morning, Janie."

"Mornin'!" she says, her hair looks like a rats nest, all tangled up on the back of her head. She's rubbing her nose up and down, a weird quirk she always had. Mom's humming now, that same song. She always sang this to us, especially on Saturday mornings. She'd make pancakes with the season, fruit in spring and summer, cinnamon and nutmeg in the cold months. Only one thing is missing from this picture -

"Hon, come sit down. Breakfast is ready," mom's saying, setting plates in front of Jane and me, Dad still glued to the TV in the living room. I guess nothing's missing after all.

"In a minute!"

"Mama, do we got syrup?" Jane says, swinging her legs off of the chair. These moments are always so weird, seeing her so small and me being....me. Watching it unfold like a film but being inside of the screen. Banging on the surface from within, but nobody can hear me. They're all too focused on the story.

"Noah, you know your shirt got a hole in it?" Jane's outstretching her arm, pointing at my chest. I'm bending down to look, but she flicks my nose before I can see the absence of this 'hole.' She starts to giggle. "I got you!"

I'll laugh, too. "Yeah you did!"

Jane's telling a story, but I don't hear her words. Instead, I'm focused on her movements, how her hands talk with her. She's reaching them up to mimic a dog's ears, scrunching her nose... laughing. And now she's looking at me, chewing her pancakes, asking me something. Okay, okay, let the sound in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

"Did ya?"

"Sorry Janie...I spaced out."

"You went to space?"

No. I wasn't listening. "Uh....yeah."

"Yeah right Noah! Where are your moon boots then? I said did ya know that Dan's mom is gonna get a bounce house?"

"She is?"

"Yep, for the party."

Dan's mom did get a bounce house for his birthday party one year, I think when we were five. I don't remember this conversation, I don't remember these moments. But how many have I forgotten? How many memories are now just phantoms in my head? I think of Jane in her best moments. She haunts me in my worst. I wonder how many more there are of each of them... One of us will run out of moments before the other. I fear that will always, in every possibility of my outcome, I will run out first.

**

Noah's body jolted as he awoke, coughing over the side of his bed. No cold sweats or headaches came from this dream, which for him, was borderline miracle material these days. It was still dark out, time lingering around four in the morning. He sat up, blindly feeling around the floor by his feet for his pack of cigarettes, finding them in a pile of clothes. He lit one, taking a long drag while simultaneously shivering. Shaking his head, he shuffled into the hallway to turn the heat on.

He reached over, feeling for the thermostat switch, when his fingers hit ice in the shape of fingers. Noah froze, closing his eyes and counting to seven in his head. With no light in the room apart from the cherry of his cigarette, he reached for the light switch that he'd flipped so many times in the darkness, but couldn't find it.

What the hell?

To his left, there was a shuffling, a raspy groan coming from the living room. Noah caught his breath, reviewing seconds in his head, and thought of the pillow fort. He quickly turned the corner, flicking the lights on.

Nothing. No one.

Noah pressed his back against the wall, rubbing his eyes. He looked around again, enough light in the hallway to illuminate the space where the thermostat was. He turned to flip it on, petrified in place when his finger hit the switch and lined up next to someone else's. This time, though, Noah was face to face with it, staring into sinister, incessant darkness, nothing and everything all at once.

He took a deep breath, his eyes glazing over. He didn't speak, he didn't fight - he just fell to the ground, his knees crashing to the floor, a cracking sound splitting in the air. The darkness encased him, spiraling into his nostrils and throat, holding him down as it filled his lungs.

He gasped, and the room filled with light. Noah choked on his own breath, nearly falling to the floor over the side of his bed.

What in the fuck was that nightmare?

A loud knocking came from the front door, Noah's face scowling in annoyance. He sat up, reaching for his cigarettes. His fingers didn't find them at first, moving to the clothes pile he'd dreamt of. He grabbed the pack and walked out of the room, mumbling under his breath. "Fuck this."

**

"Um?"

Matt is at my door, holding a coffee out to me. It's still pouring rain.

"Hi. Can I come in? I didn't bring an umbrella and this wind is wicked."

Take the cup, idiot. Move aside.

"Yeah." Double lock this fucking door. Say thank you. Sit down. Act like a normal human being. Breathe.

"You good?" Matt's asking, sitting on the couch. This room is a mess, I wasn't expecting-"Noah?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." No, I'm not.

"What's eating you?"

What isn't? Isn't that where we are now? I want to tell Matt that the darkness is, that Jane is, that this entire world is. I want to tell him that I actually might be scared, but that? That is weak. And me? I'll never be weak again, not if I can help it.

"Fine. Don't tell me. Drink your coffee while it's still hot." He's drinking his, cozy in my house, not a care in the world. What a hand of luck.

Why can't I tell him? This is maybe the one person alive who will hear me, who will believe everything I say. Why can't I trust him? Even enough to say something about the dream. Drink your god damn coffee, Noah.

"I..um, I'm sorry."

"What?" Matt looks at me like I just spoke a language that doesn't exist. "What are you sorry for?"

Sit down. Breathe.

"I haven't talked to anyone about Jane before."

"Better late than never, right?"

Nod. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I tell him about the dream, feeling eyes on me from the hallway again. I don't have to see them to know exactly what's there.

"It's like I can still feel it curling into my body, like a toxic snake filling me with poison."

Matt's standing up, pacing.

"Talk about some inception type shit. I'm sorry, man. Look, I don't know how, but we will end this. I've got a feeling in my soul about it."

"Get those often?"

"Enough," He's rolling his eyes, smiling at me. "Don't be a smart ass."

Shrug. Drag. Coffee. Is this my life now?

"Do you have any food in this dump?"

"You're a fucking angel with these compliments. I look like shit, I live in a dump."

"Are either of those things lies?" Matt's opening cabinets, letting them bang closed on their own. He won't find anything. I can't remember the last time I was concerned with groceries.

"Do you not eat?"

Shrug. "I do."

"Black coffee isn't a food group."

"I eat."

"Noah, seriously. You aren't doing yourself any favors by starving."

Truth is, I'd rather starve than spend the night heaving in the alley, the watchers feeding on making me barf my guts out. I'd rather have hunger pains than the singing Jane leaves in my veins.

"Come on," Matt's standing by the door, looking out the window. "There's a corner store a block away. We're getting you some food before the rain starts again.

That corner store is where I walk every day, sometimes twice a day, to satiate my nicotine addiction. But I'm shaking my head, I can't do it. I can't risk it.

"I wasn't asking you." Matt tosses my hat at me, plopping back onto the couch. "Indulge me."

I don't know why I'm saying it, but fuck, I guess I am.

"Fine."

**

Noah stood up, stretching over his head. Matt waited patiently by the front door, relaxed against the wall. His foot caught in a plastic bag handle, knocking his knee into the corner by the hall. He jerked down, grabbing it, inhaling sharply.

Matt's brows creased, his eyes locked on the deep scarlet and violet pattern down Noah's knee.

Had that been there before?

"Noah, what happened?" Matt pointed at Noah's fresh bruise, wincing. "That looks gnarly, are you alright?"

Noah turned away, quickly continuing to his room. Matt rushed over, putting his hand up so Noah couldn't close the door.

"Dude, back off!" Noah yelled, backing away.

"How am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what's going on?"

Noah squared his shoulders, seeing red. "Why are you even trying? Why do you even want to? You don't know a single thing about me! You see some guy on the news a couple years ago and just so happen to remember his face exactly? You remember my name? You show up at a bar down the street from my apartment? How did you even know my address? Why did you come here?!"

"Because I don't want you to die, Noah! You're worth something. You need to know that."

Noah paused, grasping the door handle. He looked at Matt, thinking for a second, and closed it.

Matt went back to the front door, lingering for a moment, waiting for Noah to come out of his room. When he didn't, Matt ran a hand through his hair and buttoned his long, black coat, walking out into the rain.

-- 

**

How many cigarettes was that? Four? Chain smoking. I'm a chain smoker, I guess. Mom always said I'd become one, one of her many ideas of who I'd be. Mediocre, sad, unsuccessful. At first I wanted to prove her wrong, but these ghosts had other plans. Now who am I, other than a ghost, myself. A phantom. A whisper. Dressed up as myself, a living shadow of everything I could never become. A poet. A chef. A restauranteur.

I wanted to be a voice, a shout, a resovior of proof for one too many of those wrinkled old flesh sacks who stood around Jane's tulip pink casket, snickering my way, and at eight fucking years old, hearing whispers that the wrong kid died. Pretending not to hear whispers that the wrong kid died.

Instead I became a footnote, a drowned out exhale in a forest fire. I'd fix my tie and fake a smile, thanking the phonies who stood in front of my face and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Noah. I know how hard this must be."

They never knew. They never could have.

Tell me more about wanting to throw yourself in front of her, take her place. Tell me more about her voice calling out to you, that god damn whistle screeching in your ears. Tell me more about being shrouded around your twin sister's corpse as the light in her eyes faded to black. Tell me how her voice sounded as it broke away. Tell me how she never left. Tell me she loved you. Tell me everything will be okay. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

I need a cigarette.

**

Noah stepped into the living room, checking out the window for rain. There were dark clouds ahead, but no precipitation, so he stepped out into the afternoon. His foot hit something, almost tripping him. A paper bag sat on the doorstep, a sticky note attached to the side. Noah bent down to grab it, and scoffed as he read it.

Noah

Seriously, please eat something. Take this to the church so nothing bothers you. I'm sorry I over stepped.

- Matt

Noah balled the excess from the top of the bag in his hand, tossing it onto the couch behind him, putting his shoes on as he closed the door.

The corner store was only down the street, visible from the edge of the road where the apartments were, but Noah hated the walk. He used to love them, the feeling of brisk air filling his body, the sound of cars going by, faint bass playing from within them. These days it was just another route full of obstacles, voices to ignore, people to pretend he didn't see. But when you're a chain smoker, you'll do anything for a nicotine fix, that subtle groan of anticipation as the match strikes. That's what he did, anticipate.  

Stare at the ground, imagine gray streets, devoid of life and a surplus of blood stained porches. Withered. The flicker of a ghost in an old haunt. The end. The beginning. The road to the fucking corner store.

**

I hate the way the bell rings when I walk in here. this store is always empty, reside from old stickers line the door like nobody around here knows how to wipe down a surface. Maybe I should take my own advice, since I live in a fucking dump. Fuck Matt.

"Same as usual, Noah?"

Remy owns the store, and weirdly enough is the only person I've ever seen behind the counter. His beard is long, full, matches his mane of hair. I wonder how he moves so freely, that much hair would weigh me down, probably. More than I already am.

I'm fucking starving.

"How much are these?" I'm pointing to candy bars, as if sugar could help me in any way.

"Two thirty nine," he says, playing on his phone. Does he even know what I'm pointing to? Does he care? Or is he like me, zoning out, auto pilot switched to 'on.' Think he sees his dead sister? Think he wants to suffocate, too? $2.39 is a rip off. Plus, I don't really have extra.

"Uh..yeah, the usual." I hand him a fiver, he slides me my pristine new pack of Camels. Perfect transaction.

"Noah?" coming from the isle behind me. Do I dare? Should I give it the time of day?

"Noah? I'm scared."

But I can't ignore her. Not when she says that.

Jane stands in the isle closest to the door, her hands behind her back. I'm kneeling down, my knees feel like gravel. Push it away. One, two, three-

"Noah? What are you doing here, niño?"

An instant. One second before my shoulder becomes a cesspool of nails, digging through my muscle and embedding into my bone. Ula's hands are blades in my skin. Clench my jaw. Stand up.

Say something, fucker.

"I dropped a quarter, it's no big deal."

"Oh! You had me worried, Noah. Here, let me give you..." Ula pulls out a ten dollar bill. "I thought I had one but I don't!" She's laughing. Her laugh is wholesome, like a mother's should be. Like my mother's used to be, before the death of her precious daughter and the divorce from her hell bent husband. Before she lost her sunshine. She always reminded me that I was rain, dark, cold, desperate. Somber. Exhausting.

I'm shaking my head. "Thanks Ula, but I'm fine. I just came for these," I'm holding up the pack. She nods, smiling sweetly.

"You like the empanadas?"

"Empandas!"

"Yeah, they were delicious. Thank you."

"Would have been better with that spicy sauce of yours. You'll make this again for me soon, yes?"

I haven't made it in two years. I hardly remember what even goes in it. But I nod, because Ula has become a beacon of hope for me. Maybe in another life, she'd work with me at Baby Jane's. In another life, there'd be a Baby Jane's.

--

**

Back at his apartment, Noah plopped onto the couch, nearly smashing the paper bag of food that Matt had left on his porch. He yanked it out from beneath him, peeking inside. He checked the clock on the wall, laced his shoes back on, and headed out to the church.

--

**

I could stare into this bundle of trees for hours. When I look just right, I can see Katai. I can see  Jane. I can see the memory of my group of friends, young and fearless, stamped into the air in cinders and smoke. The images always dissipate, but they also always burn, a brand in my arm. Ignite in my veins. Boil my blood. Just walk through. Just get it over with.

How do people run marathons? For me, even taking steps across a clearing is heavy, as if cinder blocks are tied to my ankles. Therapy will teach you cool new tricks about taking steps. Just work it out, they say. One foot in front of the other is prosperity, you're moving, as long as you're moving forward, you're not living in your past. Don't live in your past. They don't teach you how to walk on glass.

My dad used to say that our eyes are the window to our soul. That seems pretty fragile. If we all crack, become pieces of stained mosaic, if we all cut our hands on the shards, will we crumble? It only takes a gust of air to make a paper man fold. What's your kryptonite when you're made of glass? A pebble? A marble, crafted of your own material, spun with color and beauty. Souls are all just glass fragments, pieced together by bandaged hands and one too many scars. God, I don't want to shatter.

What is it about these woods that makes them normal? Just bark, leaves, whistle of the wind. What makes them less dreary? Here I feel almost weightless, here I feel whole. This church is like an anchor, one with broken windows and crumbling bricks but one that feels like a home. It feels inhabited, by more than just my bones, perhaps the thoughts and fears Matt has left here.

That's another thing you'll never be told in therapy or in school, souls leave traces. I can sense my own traces leaving me, my soul becoming less and less full. They stay on sidewalks slick with rain and the hallway in my apartment, they get left behind when Jane appears. They're consumed, taken, just like me. Just like me.

Push the door open, close it behind me. The air in here is fresher than outside, and drier, somehow, despite the raindrops trickling in from the storm earlier. There are four pews remaining, broken and splintered, all spaced apart. I wonder what happened to the rest, why only these remain, why someone came in and selected the others. Were they cleaner? Newer? Were they whole?

I sit in this seat, on this particular pew, and I wonder. Run my hand along the back, with the grain, lean back. Open this bag and eat the sandwich Matt gave me. There is nothing but silence. Nothing but what is. There are no eyes on me. There is no Jane. There is no retching. Screaming. Blood. There is nothing, here on this pew, except me, and the chips in my hand. I can't remember the last time I could eat without counting. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe I can beat this thing.

--

**

Noah gathered the trash from his meal and crumpled it in the paper bag, pushing it aside. He propped his feet up along the pew, pulling his beanie off and leaning back, closing his eyes. He jumped at the sound of what could be a rock hitting the window, walking over to check for vandals. He questioned why, knowing that the church wasn't his property of his responsibility, but he felt a need to protect it, if he could. Nobody in sight, Noah began to head back to his seat on the pew, when a loud clank came from the window again. He turned, a look of confusion on his face, and peeked out the window again. He jumped back in surprise and winced as a larger rock smacked into the glass, leaving a wide chip exactly where his face had been.

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself, carefully stepping over fallen beams and puddles, grabbing his beanie and pulling it back onto his head. Two more rocks smacked into the window, one of them cracking the pane, making way for the next to shatter a corner. Noah looked back, his face twisted into a puzzle, rolling his eyes as the final rock broke through the glass.

"God damn it, Jane."

**

What? What could she possibly want? To terrorize me some more? Rhetorical. Of course that's what she wants. And I am gullible, like a fool, a mouse crawling back to the same trap repeatedly to get his taste of cheddar. I know the wire is going to snap. I know it will kill me. But fuck, if I don't always go back.

There's nothing out here. No people, no Jane, no idea where those fucking rocks came from.

"Noah?"

What? That voice is unmistakable. It's like being transported back in time, a voice I never expected I'd hear again.

"Katai?"

"Over here, Noah."

Katai is standing in an overgrown garden, I think? Just beyond the church. My feet can't move fast enough. I can't reach them before they're gone, nothing remains when I'm there, when I finally break through this gate, thorns pricking my skin as I shove it open.

"Katai? I'm here! Come back!"

Nothing. Just cement covered in ivy, so much dirt and a weathered bench. Fuck it, I'm sitting. Maybe they'll come back. Maybe this isn't a trap.

**

Noah's feet rested on cement slabs, copper and death colored leaves blanketing the ground. Mud caked to the bottom of his shoes, a cold breeze whipping his hair in the wind. Noah looked around, his thick eyelashes fluttering in the wind, the red around them seeming to heal. He glanced down for a moment, a trace of movement having swept by, his eyes catching on carved words near his feet. He stood up, crouching down to move leaves and mud away from the ground. His body went cold, a moment of shock encasing him. Below his feet, under mud and caked cicada casings, under years of wear and leaves that had settled, was a flat cement headstone.

        Noah Marshall

 Dear brother, beloved son  

          2000 - 2008

**

....No. I'm..I'm not dead. Am I? I didn't...what?

There are more. Dirt, mud, my broken fingernails. Blood, breathe one, two, three, four, five, six, seven - Mom. Dig, dig, breathe. Dad. What? Katai. Andy? No, no, no, no, Stacy? No. Ava, Lucas, Lily. Dan. Me.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Did...that say I died fourteen years ago? I need to read them again. Go back, check again.

They're gone. How could they be gone? Grind my jaw. Scrub my face. Clear my fucking head. I'm not crazy, I didn't imagine that. I couldn't have, I wouldn't have. Fuck, did I? Fuck, fuck, fuck. One, two, three, four, five, six-

"Hey."

Katai. A trick of the light? My mind? Jane's idea of a joke? Don't look up, bury my hands into my eye sockets, seeing splotches is better than seeing red. Better than seeing blood. Better than seeing Katai crumble into ash.

"Do you remember that day you needed help on your language arts project in middle school?"

....What? Katai is sitting next to me. The world is gone. Just pale ivory, warm light surrounding the two of us. It feels like we are on the inside of a lightbulb, radiating a gentle glow.

They put their arm around me, smile. I smile, too. Nod.

"I was in that obscure literature phase." Katai laughs, a small smile on the edge of their lips, "I told you my favorite quote. 'If you get to hell, go down all the way : there's heaven-"

"Everything returns."

"Everything returns."

"I miss you, Katai."

They don't say anything, they're just smiling at me. Soft, warm hands, rays of light shining through their body.

"Everything you can imagine is real."

Katai goes transparent, and so do I. My hands feel metal, but I can't see anything. White. Blinding.

I'm back on the ground, back against the wrought iron fence. There is no bench. There are no gravestones. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. What is this place?

And was it fashioned by good or evil? God or his best friend, Satan? The one who needed the most prayer, who never received any, who would do anything for you so long as you'll burn with him, I'm already burning, I'm already boiling, I'm already red hot fucking branded with Jane's claws at my throat. Maybe he can cut me a deal. Maybe he feels sympathetic for me. Maybe he returns, too.

There's someone here.

**

Noah stood up, nearly falling over as his feet lost their balance. His hand gripped the iron, leaving prints of black reside on his palm. He wiped it on his pant leg, spitting on his hand to clean it off. He jumped over the fence, grimacing as he landed on his left knee. He quickly maneuvered to the other side of the church, where he stopped short, staring in dismay.

A towering derelict building stood in the center of a courtyard, surrounded by statues and small monuments. A cemetery, one that stood for ages, and to Noah's delight, not an illusion. The wind carried leaves across the ground, tangling them in the dense, formerly overgrown, dead grass. The air suddenly chilled, the scent of decay and sulfur in the air. In front of a backward facing stone statue of a praying angel stood a man, his unearthly wailing breaking the silence.

As he grew closer, he noticed the man's black bracelet, his posture, his height. He observed the outfit, the uncanny chestnut hair, the beanie. Extending his arm out, he gripped the shoulder of the man, forcing them to face one another. Noah gasped before stumbling backwards, crashing down to the ground, his back colliding with a tall, ancient headstone.

He rushed his gaze back upward, and for the first time in twenty two years, Noah Marshall locked eyes with himself.

The sound of his wailing was deafening, blood pumping harder in Noah's ears as he drew closer. He forced his eyes open, walking with uncertainty, his mouth agape, lower lip trembling. Ice filled his lungs, his eyes, his heart. His body felt warped, as if it weren't his own. He tried to hold back a sob, choking on emptiness, nothing coming or going.

He watched himself turn toward the backwards angel, hitting his knees in prayer. Noah stared in utter disbelief as the otherworldly, crestfallen, completely oblivious version of himself ran his hands along the angels wings and gown, unintelligibly mumbling to her.

That's when he heard it, the humming. The song his mother sang, low and hypnotic, the sound of a deep growl underneath the poetic tune. Noah slowly circled around to the front of the angel, attempting to drown out his alternate and the volume of his cries.

His vision blurred, when he saw her, his body uncontrollably trembling, chest aching, eyes darting for an out.

The angel's gown, her hands, her hair, all recognizable to Noah, the features he'd know anywhere. Jane. Her face had been crushed off, as if he'd taken a sledgehammer and obliterated it.

**

GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! One, two, three, fuck counting, left isn't clear, four, five, six, right is jammed, seven-

**

The angel statue doubled in height, and like a glitch, it's arm darted out, clasping a stone hand around Noah's throat. She dangled him in the air, her laugh like the crack of a whip and the outcry after, her faceless head turning to the side.

Noah kicked his legs, his shoes scraping mud onto her cement dress, her screaming and growling a high pitched drill in his head.

**

Is this how it ends? I die at the hands of a statue? I die outside of the only place I've felt safe since I saw her in the facility? I never thought I'd last this long. I never thought I'd be everything I dreamed, anyway. No friends. No life. No Baby Jane's. Now it's here, in front of me, fading away. Maybe when this is over, Katai will be there. Maybe Jane will be, too. The real Jane. Not this monster.

I'm coming for you, Jane. Amen.

-- **

"Noah? Noah! Noah, wake your ass up!" Matt's hands slam down on Noah's chest, compressions and breaths clouding the air. "Breathe, Noah. Please!"

Noah's chest raised, a loud cough erupting from within. He rolled to the side, clutching his ribs, coughing still. Dark, vein like imprints on his neck and bloodshot eyes, his left eye clouded with broken vessels. Noah sat up, catching his breath. Matt handed him a bottle of water, which he snatched, trying to down it.

"Slower." Matt reached his hand out, pulling Noah to his feet. "Can you walk?"

Noah did a quick assessment of his stature, finally nodding at Matt.

"Let's get inside."

[meatismurderbutalsodelicious]

Peking Duck for Beginners

Ireland is all about the produce and the farming. It’s about tender beef, lamb and pork, fresh seafood and bountiful, beautiful poultry.

All at remarkably reasonable prices compared to say our former homes in New York and Hong Kong. Admittedly, when you choose to live in two of the most expensive cities in the world, costly groceries and the dreaded “gourmet stores” and “artisanal” anything comes with the territory.

Not so in Ireland. While downtown Dublin and some of the more affluent towns have shops and markets with pretensions, the major supermarkets and local produce stores, butchers and fishmongers overflow with reasonable prices, gourmet quality products.

I walked into the local Centra supermarket on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and saw they had fresh duck for sale, an almost 5-pound bird, locally raised, for €6. Yes, you read that correctly. And these were beautiful!

Thanksgiving was upon us and both Bob and I are not much for sentimentality these days, what with the United States verging on failed state status. 

But, you know what? I've always hated Thanksgiving. Don't miss it. The forced bonhomie. Turkey. Weird relatives. Shit television and phony patriotism. This year, with added death.

And turkey’s are too much work with too little reward—the breast meat is notoriously dry, and the dark meat often cooks first before the rest of the bird, so in the end you need gravy and cranberry sauce to save it. 

So, with that in mind, I pulled together a pretty authentic Peking Duck recipe. 

Full Disclosure: I Googled a lot of recipes and while many of the fast and easy recipes use honey to create the glaze, as well as using jarred Hoisin sauce, I wanted to go with as many natural ingredients as I could find to make it as homemade and natural as possible.

Ingredients

1 4- to 5-pound whole duck

1 2- to 3-inch cinnamon stick

3 1-to 2-inch pieces of fresh ginger

1 tablespoon cilantro/coriander seeds

1 tablespoon Chinese Five Spice (if not available, 1 teaspoon of ground nutmeg)

1 teaspoon white pepper

2- to 3 cloves

1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar

2- to 3-tablespoons light soy sauce

2- to 3-tablespoons dark soy sauce

1 tablespoon honey

1 orange, quartered

2 to 3 green onions

½ cup plum sauce or Hoisin sauce depending on availability

1 teaspoon palm or brown sugar

One large scallion, finely chopped

One stick of celery, finely chopped

A handful of fresh cilantro/coriander, roughly chopped

I left the duck out to come to room temperature and let it become more pliable. Ducks are fatty fowl with a meat that has a sweet, almost beef-like quality. 

Don’t let the size of the duck fool you, in all honesty, one duck barely feeds to adult grown men, so if you’re going for a party of four to six, I recommend TWO ducks and a lot of side dishes. LOL!

In a traditional setting, the Peking Duck is slow roasted, hung indirectly over the fire in giant earthen-ware ovens with the rendered fat dripping away, keeping the meet juicy and the skin crisp. 

All I got is a gas-oven, so, improvisation is key.

While the duck came to room temperature, I made the paste of what was to become the the basting sauce.

Take half the cinnamon stick, chop two to three inch slices of peeled ginger, a handful of the cilantro, the cilantro seeds, white pepper, salt and cloves, the five spice or nutmeg and throw that into a food processor. 

Now, I read multiple recipes and watched several videos and decided it was easier to cut to the chase. 

Peking Duck is defined by its aromatic sweetness, its crispy skin and succulent flesh kept moist by the slow-roasting method which renders the fat through the meat on its way out of the bird.

So, instead of just seasoning the cavity of the duck with a portion of the paste, I opted to stuff the bird with two quarters of an orange, three to four-inch pieces of ginger, the other half of the cinnamon stick, crumbled, two to three star anise and and a tablespoon of cilantro seeds.

My concern was first and foremost keeping the duck meat moist. This was my first attempt at slow-roasting a duck of any kind and I wanted to assure maximum flavor and tenderness.

Next, I added two tablespoons of light soy sauce, one tablespoon of dark soy sauce and a tablespoon of vegetable oil to the spice paste to create the sauce that I was going to baste the duck in prior to, and during the roasting process.

I used a roasting tin with a tray that’s about three-inches deep. I lined it with tinfoil and added about an inch-and-half of water. 

Next, with a sharp paring knife I pierce the duck’s skin, about a dozen to 20 piercings on the top of the duck and the bottom. You want all the fat to render out during the cooking process.

As you begin to brush on the sauce and prepare it for cooking, pre-heat your oven to C200-F390 degrees for at least a half-hour.

Once the oven is at the desired temperature, place the duck in the center rack of the oven and lower the temperature to C120-F250.

This was about a five-pound duck, so every thirty minutes, I would take the duck out and turn it over on the roasting tray. I would also pierce the skin, as during the cooking process, the skin tightens and sometimes the initial piercings reseal.

I rotated the duck every 30 minutes for 3 hours. Each time I flipped the bird, I would brush over the remainder of the glaze. As you start to run out of glaze, just add some soy sauce to the mix, to extend the sauce. It’s already packing a lot of flavor, so you’re not diluting it at this point, since most of the herbs and spices are on the duck.

Following the three hours, I turned the over to the grill for 15 minutes to get a nice crispiness to the skin. Watch it carefully as you don’t want it to burn.

Next, I chopped up celery and scallions into a fine julienne, as well as fresh coriander/cilantro. You can use either plum or hoisin sauce with the small pancakes. Plum is preferred, but might be hard to come by if you don’t have a dedicated Asian market.

I’ve tried to make this as authentic as possible, and while visually, it lacked the beautiful deep orange sheen of a Peking Duck from an authentic Chinese restaurant, the flavors were spot on and I can’t recommend this recipe enough for fans of the dish. 

Enjoy! 

[anamorales]

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners

Sharing 25 meals that my kids will eat, no matter what. It’s always hard to find kid-friendly recipes and home runs, so I’m sharing the goods in this post! 

Raise your hand if you’re SO sick of cooking right now. I’ve been in a cooking funk for pretty much all of ‘Rona (and yes, I’ve complained about it here on the blog quite a bit. I’m sorry for being a big ol’ whiner.). I think with everything else on the list (distance learning, trying to keep P from injuring herself, trying to shuffle in my own work and workouts amidst the madness), cooking just doesn’t feel like this fun leisure activity I used to enjoy so much. It just feels like a means to an end, and the end consists of me cleaning everything up before starting the process all over again. Thankfully, the girls are awesome eaters and are adventurous, so even when I have one of those clean-out-the-fridge nights to see what happens, they’ll try pretty much everything.

Please keep in mind that I’m not an RD, but here are some of the tips for feeding kiddos that I’ve found helpful:

– Always serve at least one thing you know they love. This way, if they’re not a fan of the meal, there’s something else on their plate that they enjoy. I always try to serve each meal with at least one fruit and one veggie so they’re getting in enough nutrients during the day.

– Encourage a polite bite. They don’t have to eat anything they don’t want to eat or try, but we encourage them to take at least one polite bite. Sometimes that means they end up loving it and finding a new fave!

– Respect kiddos’ intuitive eating. They’re really excellent at listening to their bodies; eating when they’re hungry and stopping when they’re full. We don’t tell them they have to eat “x” amount of bites or clean their plates. If they don’t eat much and I know they’re going to be hungry later, I just pop their dinner in the fridge to heat up if they’re begging me for a bar at 9pm.

– Switch up the greens rotation. It can get so easy to fall into the broccoli, green beans, and zucchini sides for a green vegetable but the girls get sick of them. I try to switch it up by picking up different things (like artichokes, Brussels sprouts, stir fries), making chopped salads with our entree, or the Caesar salad kit from Costco. The girls go crazy for it.

For today’s post, I wanted to share some of my go-to recipes that are home runs for the whole family. I feel like these are hard to find, so when you find a good recipe your kids love, you definitely want to keep coming back to it. I’d love to hear any of your kids’ favorite meals, too, if you wouldn’t mind sharing in the comments below. We can all share some ideas and inspiration with each other during a kind of blah cooking time.

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners

Breakfast:

French toast with berries and sausage. The kids LOVE French toast. They could probably eat it for every meal and be totally happy. I crack two eggs into a bowl and add a splash of coconut milk creamer or almond milk, some vanilla, lots of cinnamon, and nutmeg. I dip each slice of Dave’s Killer Bread (or brioche if I’m feeling fancy) into the egg mixture and cook on the electric griddle. I add more cinnamon before flipping. The kids have gotten really used to having French toast or pancakes most days of the week since we’ve all been home, but for busy school mornings, I make extra servings over the weekend and freeze them to heat when we’re in a rush.

Chia pudding with banana and peanut butter. This is an awesome make-ahead breakfast. I just add a cup and a half of almond milk to a jar, along with 4 tablespoons of chia seeds, lots of cinnamon, and some maple syrup to sweeten. I stir and let it sit in the fridge overnight. In the morning, I put it into two bowls and top with sliced bananas, peanut butter, cinnamon, and honey.

Avocado toast with a scrambled egg. I make sourdough over the weekends and freeze it to enjoy during the week. In the morning, I pop the bread into the toaster and then top each slice with mashed avocado, sea salt, and lemon juice, and serve with a side of scrambled eggs.

Egg burritos. Another fave on-the-go breakfast. I just scramble 3 eggs on the stovetop and add a handful of shredded cheese to the eggs when they’re done cooking. I spread butter onto warm tortillas, top with eggs, and roll up. If we take them with us in the car, I wrap each burrito in a paper towel and then foil so it stays warm until we leave.

Pancakes (of course) with turkey bacon or scrambled eggs. This is our go-to pancake recipe! Like most things, I make a ton and freeze them.

Smoothies! The girls LOVE smoothies for a quick breakfast or afternoon snack. If I’m making them on the fly, I’ll add almond milk, frozen bananas, frozen fruit, spinach, chia, MCT oil, honey, and peanut butter. Otherwise, they really love the Daily Harvest smoothies (code FITNESSISTA gets you $25 off your first box!).

Lunch:

Bagel with cream cheese, sliced apples, and veggies with hummus.

Turkey sandwich with cheese on Dave’s Killer Bread with Primal Kitchen Ranch dressing and cheddar.

Omelette with cheddar and a side of leftover veggies from dinner the night before, and jelly toast

Pizza on an english muffin. Even better = Papa John’s pizza. Let’s be real here.

Grilled cheese with sliced apples, and veggies with ranch or hummus.

Tuna salad with Simple Mills crackers and sliced avocado. This is my go-to tuna salad recipe.

Nachos!! Chips, top with cheese, melt in the microwave. Add black beans, salsa, guacamole, and boom. Lunch is served.

Dinners:

Egg roll in a bowl

Sushi roll bowl. This is one of our family’s very favorite easy dinners! SO satisfying and quick.

Ina Garten’s lasagna. This one is a bit more labor-intensive but a huge hit. It really is the best lasagna.

Super cheesy chicken enchiladas (I serve these with beans and rice).

Chicken and broccoli casserole with a side salad. <— I mentioned above that the girls LOVE Caesar salads so I’ve been buying the salad kits at Costco. Bonus: it takes 5 minutes to put together.

Steak, roasted asparagus and baked potatoes. The Pilot makes awesome steak on the grill and we all go crazy for it. (I have red meat once every couple of months or so.)

Turkey meatloaf with sweet potato fries and a salad.

Turkey chili with cornbread. I top the chili with cheese, avocado, and lime juice.

Chicken tortilla soup with avocado, lime juice, and sour cream.

This chicken and veggie soup with a piece of sourdough.

Any type of stir fry. I recently got one from Trader Joe’s that had tons of veggies and chickpeas, and sautéed it on the stove with red onion, salt and pepper. I added shrimp to the mixture to cook, and poured some Primal Kitchen teriyaki sauce on top. Everything was served on top of rice (cooked in the Instant Pot). It was awesome!

Easy pasta dish. While Banza pasta boils, I’ll take chicken sausage and sauté it on the stove with garlic, spinach, and add sun-dried tomatoes. When it’s done, I’ll add Banza pasta, some butter, and parmesan. It’s SO easy (like 15 minutes!) and the girls go crazy for it.

Some of their favorite snacks:

Perfect Bars (or any bars really).

Jerky. They especially love these maple jerky sticks.

Any fruit. I try to switch it up each week! We always have bananas, berries, apples, and usually grapes on hand, but I try to get at least one or two different things each week, like cantaloupe, watermelon, pomegranate arils, persimmon, pears, peaches, whatever the market has that looks good.

Applesauce pouches. I get the giant box of organic pouches from Costco.

Hard-boiled eggs.

Energy balls. You can play around with flavor variations depending on what you have in the pantry.

The infamous snack plate. This is a beloved afternoon snack and is like a kids’ version of a charcuterie board. I’l just add a bunch of snacks to one large plate and they’ll share while they play outside or watch a show. It usually has chopped bars, sliced fruit, berries, cheese, jerky, pretzels, trail mix, pickles, whatever I have on hand.

So there ya go! Some of the girls’ very favorite meals. I’d love to hear your family favorites and take all the inspiration I can get! Please share your faves in the comments below.

xo

Gina

My go-to healthy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners are here.

The post 25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners appeared first on The Fitnessista.

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners published first on https://immigrationways.tumblr.com/

[jonasmaurer]

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners

Sharing 25 meals that my kids will eat, no matter what. It’s always hard to find kid-friendly recipes and home runs, so I’m sharing the goods in this post! 

Raise your hand if you’re SO sick of cooking right now. I’ve been in a cooking funk for pretty much all of ‘Rona (and yes, I’ve complained about it here on the blog quite a bit. I’m sorry for being a big ol’ whiner.). I think with everything else on the list (distance learning, trying to keep P from injuring herself, trying to shuffle in my own work and workouts amidst the madness), cooking just doesn’t feel like this fun leisure activity I used to enjoy so much. It just feels like a means to an end, and the end consists of me cleaning everything up before starting the process all over again. Thankfully, the girls are awesome eaters and are adventurous, so even when I have one of those clean-out-the-fridge nights to see what happens, they’ll try pretty much everything.

Please keep in mind that I’m not an RD, but here are some of the tips for feeding kiddos that I’ve found helpful:

– Always serve at least one thing you know they love. This way, if they’re not a fan of the meal, there’s something else on their plate that they enjoy. I always try to serve each meal with at least one fruit and one veggie so they’re getting in enough nutrients during the day.

– Encourage a polite bite. They don’t have to eat anything they don’t want to eat or try, but we encourage them to take at least one polite bite. Sometimes that means they end up loving it and finding a new fave!

– Respect kiddos’ intuitive eating. They’re really excellent at listening to their bodies; eating when they’re hungry and stopping when they’re full. We don’t tell them they have to eat “x” amount of bites or clean their plates. If they don’t eat much and I know they’re going to be hungry later, I just pop their dinner in the fridge to heat up if they’re begging me for a bar at 9pm.

– Switch up the greens rotation. It can get so easy to fall into the broccoli, green beans, and zucchini sides for a green vegetable but the girls get sick of them. I try to switch it up by picking up different things (like artichokes, Brussels sprouts, stir fries), making chopped salads with our entree, or the Caesar salad kit from Costco. The girls go crazy for it.

For today’s post, I wanted to share some of my go-to recipes that are home runs for the whole family. I feel like these are hard to find, so when you find a good recipe your kids love, you definitely want to keep coming back to it. I’d love to hear any of your kids’ favorite meals, too, if you wouldn’t mind sharing in the comments below. We can all share some ideas and inspiration with each other during a kind of blah cooking time.

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners

Breakfast:

French toast with berries and sausage. The kids LOVE French toast. They could probably eat it for every meal and be totally happy. I crack two eggs into a bowl and add a splash of coconut milk creamer or almond milk, some vanilla, lots of cinnamon, and nutmeg. I dip each slice of Dave’s Killer Bread (or brioche if I’m feeling fancy) into the egg mixture and cook on the electric griddle. I add more cinnamon before flipping. The kids have gotten really used to having French toast or pancakes most days of the week since we’ve all been home, but for busy school mornings, I make extra servings over the weekend and freeze them to heat when we’re in a rush.

Chia pudding with banana and peanut butter. This is an awesome make-ahead breakfast. I just add a cup and a half of almond milk to a jar, along with 4 tablespoons of chia seeds, lots of cinnamon, and some maple syrup to sweeten. I stir and let it sit in the fridge overnight. In the morning, I put it into two bowls and top with sliced bananas, peanut butter, cinnamon, and honey.

Avocado toast with a scrambled egg. I make sourdough over the weekends and freeze it to enjoy during the week. In the morning, I pop the bread into the toaster and then top each slice with mashed avocado, sea salt, and lemon juice, and serve with a side of scrambled eggs.

Egg burritos. Another fave on-the-go breakfast. I just scramble 3 eggs on the stovetop and add a handful of shredded cheese to the eggs when they’re done cooking. I spread butter onto warm tortillas, top with eggs, and roll up. If we take them with us in the car, I wrap each burrito in a paper towel and then foil so it stays warm until we leave.

Pancakes (of course) with turkey bacon or scrambled eggs. This is our go-to pancake recipe! Like most things, I make a ton and freeze them.

Smoothies! The girls LOVE smoothies for a quick breakfast or afternoon snack. If I’m making them on the fly, I’ll add almond milk, frozen bananas, frozen fruit, spinach, chia, MCT oil, honey, and peanut butter. Otherwise, they really love the Daily Harvest smoothies (code FITNESSISTA gets you $25 off your first box!).

Lunch:

Bagel with cream cheese, sliced apples, and veggies with hummus.

Turkey sandwich with cheese on Dave’s Killer Bread with Primal Kitchen Ranch dressing and cheddar.

Omelette with cheddar and a side of leftover veggies from dinner the night before, and jelly toast

Pizza on an english muffin. Even better = Papa John’s pizza. Let’s be real here.

Grilled cheese with sliced apples, and veggies with ranch or hummus.

Tuna salad with Simple Mills crackers and sliced avocado. This is my go-to tuna salad recipe.

Nachos!! Chips, top with cheese, melt in the microwave. Add black beans, salsa, guacamole, and boom. Lunch is served.

Dinners:

Egg roll in a bowl

Sushi roll bowl. This is one of our family’s very favorite easy dinners! SO satisfying and quick.

Ina Garten’s lasagna. This one is a bit more labor-intensive but a huge hit. It really is the best lasagna.

Super cheesy chicken enchiladas (I serve these with beans and rice).

Chicken and broccoli casserole with a side salad. <— I mentioned above that the girls LOVE Caesar salads so I’ve been buying the salad kits at Costco. Bonus: it takes 5 minutes to put together.

Steak, roasted asparagus and baked potatoes. The Pilot makes awesome steak on the grill and we all go crazy for it. (I have red meat once every couple of months or so.)

Turkey meatloaf with sweet potato fries and a salad.

Turkey chili with cornbread. I top the chili with cheese, avocado, and lime juice.

Chicken tortilla soup with avocado, lime juice, and sour cream.

This chicken and veggie soup with a piece of sourdough.

Any type of stir fry. I recently got one from Trader Joe’s that had tons of veggies and chickpeas, and sautéed it on the stove with red onion, salt and pepper. I added shrimp to the mixture to cook, and poured some Primal Kitchen teriyaki sauce on top. Everything was served on top of rice (cooked in the Instant Pot). It was awesome!

Easy pasta dish. While Banza pasta boils, I’ll take chicken sausage and sauté it on the stove with garlic, spinach, and add sun-dried tomatoes. When it’s done, I’ll add Banza pasta, some butter, and parmesan. It’s SO easy (like 15 minutes!) and the girls go crazy for it.

Some of their favorite snacks:

Perfect Bars (or any bars really).

Jerky. They especially love these maple jerky sticks.

Any fruit. I try to switch it up each week! We always have bananas, berries, apples, and usually grapes on hand, but I try to get at least one or two different things each week, like cantaloupe, watermelon, pomegranate arils, persimmon, pears, peaches, whatever the market has that looks good.

Applesauce pouches. I get the giant box of organic pouches from Costco.

Hard-boiled eggs.

Energy balls. You can play around with flavor variations depending on what you have in the pantry.

The infamous snack plate. This is a beloved afternoon snack and is like a kids’ version of a charcuterie board. I’l just add a bunch of snacks to one large plate and they’ll share while they play outside or watch a show. It usually has chopped bars, sliced fruit, berries, cheese, jerky, pretzels, trail mix, pickles, whatever I have on hand.

So there ya go! Some of the girls’ very favorite meals. I’d love to hear your family favorites and take all the inspiration I can get! Please share your faves in the comments below.

xo

Gina

My go-to healthy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners are here.

The post 25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners appeared first on The Fitnessista.

25 kid-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners published first on https://olimpsportnutritionde.tumblr.com/

[chompincheesecake]

CRÉPES

This will start like normal as a recipe review and then morph into more of a how-to, so bear with me.

These are not vegan because they contain eggs and milk. In America I made them with almond milk instead of dairy milk, which I actually liked better. I’ve also heard an alternative recipe (still unfortunately uses eggs but suitable for people with whom gluten is not compatible) that I’ll be attempting and uploading the recipe to soon-ish.

The original recipe can be found here: https://www.marthastewart.com/335089/simple-crepes

I will be annotating the recipe below.

INGREDIENTS -1 CUP FLOUR (so I actually have measuring cups now but elected to eyeball it) -1 TBS SUGAR (yeah…something like that…I also added some honey) -¼ TSP SALT (I was going to make fun of this before remembering that this exactly what I did–salt brings out the sweetness of anything) -1.5 CUPS OF MILK (I actually measured this) -4 EGGS -3 TBS UNSALTED BUTTER, MELTED (I eyeballed some coconut oil–refined doesn’t have the coconut smell)

So I’m going off-script from here because I have strong opinions about making crépes.

When you’re making crépes, unless those crépes are being used as the vessel to eat another thing, you will always add other stuff. First thing you need to decide is if you want a sweet or savoury crépe. I almost exclusively choose sweet because my tastebuds aren’t advanced and I’m a child. Also because my experiments with savoury haven’t been excellent and they intimidate me.

When I make sweet crépes, my big three: nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla. You’ll probably add a little more of your sweetener. I also usually add a little citrus for acidity (in the US I used lemon juice, today I squeezed a lime in).

There’s a saying in French that gets used often in kitchens referring to pancakes and crépes that translates to, “the first one goes to the dogs.” Two big reasons for this: 1) your pan usually still is not quite in the perfect temperature zone, so your first one isn’t cooked the same way the rest will 2) you’re the dog in this situation: don’t serve food without taste-testing. What is wrong? Texture too fluffy? Can’t taste your cinnamon? Needs a lil’ something-something else? Fix it now. Keep adjusting between crépes until it tastes the way it should. Today I went through two before realizing I forgot the vanilla. I can’t be serving my Thai grandma crépes without vanilla, this is her main experience with Western food!

I usually use a ladel to portion out batter. Just a small amount in the center of the pan, then literally tilt the pan to spread that batter out evenly across the pan. When it can slide across the pan without sticking, flip it over and count to ten before sliding it off. Seriously, these things are thin, you’re basically cooking the other side for show.

Your pan should either be extremely nonstick or well-greased when making crépes. This recipe has enough oil built in that it shouldn’t give you much problem, but it’s certainly something to be cautious about any time you make crépes.

After, enjoy plain (since you added all of those spices) OR put on some toppings! Popular ones for sweet crepes: -powdered sugar -nutella -jam (especially if there’s a little tartness, it compliments the citrus you added to the batter) -peanut butter?? -chocolate syrup -whipped cream

Play around with different flavors! Today I started daydreaming about chocolate-ginger-orange combos I could make by adding some cocoa powder and a smidgen of ginger to the crépe batter and then making an orange sauce with a little more ginger zest. Or a pumpkin spice one by swapping some pumpkin pie filling for an egg and adding some cloves and allspice. Crépes are really lovely just because of how flexible they are.

Have fun!!

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

@yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend: ugh, I had my gallbladder taken out about ten years ago. No fun...although I felt much better after I was all healed; I wouldn’t wish gallbladder attacks on anyone!!

Here’s some fluff to make you feel better!! :)

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean looked up from his book to see Sam leaning against his doorframe, an odd expression on his face.

“And before you say anything, just let me say…” He trailed off, looking like he'd just swallowed a mouthful of pond sludge.

“Before I'm 50, Sam.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Look. I know you've got this whole repression thing going on, your ‘if I don't talk about it it isn't real’ plan of attack, or defense, or whatever it is, but I really think you're going to have to face this head-on at some point, and I'm thinking that point is going to be--”

Dean tried. He really did. But this was too much. He did not like where this conversation was headed.

“Sammy! I have two things to say to you.  1. You're rambling. Stop. And B. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Dude. He's baking a pie.”

Dean froze. Cas was...baking? Pie?

Dean heard Sam say “Apple. He bought the crust but he's making the filling..” but it sounded like he was far away, or maybe underwater. His brain was too full of Cas to listen to Sam now.

Cas. Baking a pie. Cas didn't eat pie--Cas didn't really eat anything. Sam barely ate pie. So if Cas is baking a pie, did that mean it was for…

And Cas didn't cook. Back when he was human he raved about peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, and he could make passable coffee, but Dean had never seen him so much as fry an egg. And now…

But it didn't mean anything at all.

Right?

Dean shook his head, hard--not denying anything, not really, just trying to steady his thoughts. He gripped the book, not realizing he was bending pages. Sam shot him a look, and Dean wondered if he looked as queasy as he felt.

It just wasn't possible. Was it? Cas was just trying out a new skill. Or something. Dean wouldn't let himself even consider the alternative: that Cas was trying to tell him...something.

I'm really messed up when I can't even think the words, Dean thought, cringing.

“Alright,” Dean said, sounding much more confident than he felt. “Alright.” He stood up and strode past Sam, who watched him go, open-mouthed.

“Wow,” breathed Sam, after Dean was gone. “About damn time.”

*********

There are humans who do this every day, thought Castiel, bewildered.

The words in the cookbook were so simple, so orderly. Cas was good at following directions. So why was this so impossible?

It had seemed like such a good idea. He'd been watching Dean, the way he always did. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by his need to do more than just look at the jade-eyed man. He opened his mouth, determined to speak, certain that this was the time. Before he could make a sound, Dean looked up and smiled, and Cas was once again struck dumb.

I once heard Charlie say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, he'd thought. Dean likes pie more than anything else. If I bake him a pie, he'll know that I love him, even if I can't get up the courage to actually say it.

It had been a good idea in theory. In practice, however, Cas was out of his depth. Who knew it was this hard to peel apples?! He knew about measuring cups--Dean used them when he made pancakes--so the flour was easy. But he didn't know what to do about the cinnamon and nutmeg and salt and sugar. What was the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon? He stood in front of the open silverware drawer, feeling helpless. There were just spoons. The one Sam uses in his tea is the same as the ones everyone uses at the table, he thought. This is a very confusing system.

The secret ingredient is love, Cas thought suddenly. I read that somewhere. As long as I love Dean, I'm sure the pie will be perfect.

As for the rest...he'd just have to guess.

After a few minor setbacks (that bag of sugar had been far more fragile than it had appeared) he had the filling mixed and in the pie pan. After the mess with the filling he was especially glad he'd decided to go with the ready-made pie crust. The thought of trying to roll out dough made him inwardly quake.

I can wield an angel blade, he thought, but somehow I am defeated by a rolling pin. And spoons.

Flour, brown sugar, butter: the crumble topping. Cas doubled the recipe. This was something he remembered from a long ago conversation with Dean..

“Mom used to make this apple pie, it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. It didn't have a crust on top, it had this buttery-sugary-melty stuff on top instead. That was my favorite. Mom said the secret to the pie was twice as much topping. I've never baked it myself, but I can still taste it…”

By the time Cas got the pie into the oven he was fairly certain there was more crumble topping on himself than on the pie, but it didn't matter now. The pie was baking. Now all he had to do was wait. And worry about what Dean would say. He set the timer, turned to find a place to sit and wait, and found himself staring into Dean's green eyes.

*********

When Dean saw Cas in the bunker’s kitchen, he almost burst out laughing.

Had Cas ever been so flustered before? And when was the last time Cas made a mess of anything, bloody beheadings and the like excluded?

But then he saw what Cas was doing, really saw. Apple pie with crumble topping. Extra crumble topping.

He remembered, Dean marveled. Cas remembered.

I love him.

Dean could barely breathe, just thinking the words in his head. He didn't know if he could say them out loud, but he had to try.

He kept quiet, watching, while Cas put the pie into the oven.

Okay, he thought. Now or never. Stay or go. He planted his feet, and when Cas turned around their eyes locked.

“Dean,” Cas said, and Dean wondered how he'd never seen before that the angel loved him, too.

“You're wearing an apron,” Dean said.

“Yes. I was concerned I might make a mess.”

Dean looked pointedly around the room before deliberately gazing at Cas, eyes glinting with mirth. “I'm not sure the apron helped much,” he said, barely containing his laughter. “Your hair, your..everything..is covered with sugar.”

“The bag was made of only paper. When I opened--”

Dean closed the distance between them. It was too much, the smell of apples and cinnamon in the air and the sight of this perfect angel standing in front of him with sugar dusted lips. Before he could talk himself out of it he had Cas’s face in his hands and their lips were together, and there was sugar and cinnamon and CAS, and it was better than any pie Dean had ever tasted.

When they stopped to breathe--was it hours later, or only moments?--Dean stepped back, unsure. “Cas. Was that, uh, okay?”

Cas smiled. “Yes, Dean. That was very okay.”

Dean relaxed and pulled Cas in again. “I love you, you know,” he said shakily. “I have for a long time. But I didn't know how to say it.”

Cas pulled back just enough so Dean could see those blazing blue eyes. “I didn't have the right words either. That's why I baked a pie.”

[sweetseda]

Peach Vanilla Bean Jam (a canning recipe)

Peach Vanilla Bean Jam

Studies have shown that preserving food by canning is intimidating for 99.9% of people who are trying it for the first time. Okay, I just made that up. I don’t know of any studies, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that this is an area of homemaking that can be totally overwhelming. Head space? Processing time?! A bubble remover?!? Ack!

Take a deep breath. You can do this, and jam can help. Seriously, it is a great place to start.

Simply chop the fruit, add the sweetener and spices (which can be changed to fit your tastes), stir in some pectin, and simmer until the mixture has thickened into jam. Fill the jars, fit with lids and bands, and slide them into the water for ten short minutes at a rolling boil. Done! And you will have a bunch of bright, beautiful jars filled with summer fruit lining your pantry shelves.

Since you are typically dealing with half-pint or pint jars for jam, you don’t even need a large canning pot. As long as you have a pot that is big enough to cover the jars with 1-2 inches of water with room for the water to boil, you’re good to go!

Last year I made Food in Jar’s Pear Vanilla Jam and fell head over heels in love. Small pieces of fruit swirled with vanilla beans made for the perfect, simple jammy combination. It was my first time using liquid pectin, and I am kicking the boxes of powdered pectin to the curb. Liquid pectin results in a softer jam, as opposed to the firm jam that water bath canning with powdered pectin often produces. This jam tastes more like freezer jam. Who doesn’t love freezer jam?

Pomona’s Universal Pectin (Amazon) will also give you a softer, more spreadable jam, with the added benefit that you can control the type and quantity of sweetener.

This was also the first recipe where I used real vanilla beans. I had seen vanilla beans in the fancy grocery stores where I shop (Costco.), cloaked in secrecy inside their sophisticated slender glass cases. They just seemed to taunt me as I pushed my extra-wide cart through the spice aisle.

I automatically translated “scrape vanilla beans” to “add vanilla extract” in recipes. And I’m pretty sure I am the last person on the face of Pinterest to buy a jug of vodka to make my own vanilla extract. It was clearly time to take action. By purchasing in bulk online, vanilla beans are actually a pretty inexpensive ingredient that add a great boost of flavor and texture.

By the time my 160 pounds of peaches were dwindling down to 20, I was starting to lose steam. I had processed 56 quarts of Canned Peaches and needed a change in my life. I settled on jam, but most of the recipes I looked up involved cinnamon and nutmeg. Those are great cozy flavors to slip into fall, but it was 85-degrees out, I was wearing flip flops, and I wanted something summery and light. I’m high maintenance like that.

Then I remembered the Pear Vanilla Jam. Peaches + Vanilla? Yes.

This jam is beautiful in the jar and delicious on, well, pretty much anything. Because it is softer, it could easily double as sauce on pancakes or ice cream. Go crazy, people. This jam will drive you to it. And if you are new to water bath canning, remember that jam is a great place to get your feet wet.

Peach Vanilla Bean Jam

Inspired by Food in Jar’s Pear Vanilla Jam + Peach Jam Makes 6 pints

Ingredients

10 c. peeled, chopped peaches 6 c. sugar 2 lemons, juiced 2 vanilla beans, split and scraped 2 packets (1 box) liquid pectin

Fill your canning (or other large) pot halfway with water and place it over medium heat. Wash 6 pint jars and rings; keep jars warm in the dishwasher or canning pot. Put the lids in a small pot of water and simmer for 10 minutes to soften the seals.

Add the chopped peaches and sugar to a large pot, stirring occasionally. Bring to a boil and add the lemon juice and vanilla beans (both the scraped beans and empty pods) to the peach mixture. Continue to cook the jam for about fifteen minutes. Add both packets of pectin and bring to a boil for five minutes. Remove bean pods.

Turn off the heat under the jam and fill jars, leaving 1/4″ headspace. Wipe rims with a clean cloth and apply the lids. Screw on the bands and lower into the water.

Are you new to canning? Be sure to go through our Home Canning Guide posts for a beginners guide, equipment suggestions, and recipes!

**************************************************

I purchased these Madagascar Vanilla Beans (Amazon) last year. The price and positive reviews convinced me to purchase these online. They are far cheaper than any local options I found, including my beloved Costco. The quality has been excellent.

Looking for more?

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