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straight-into-the-animus · 3 years

Text

A Place For Crows To Rest Their Feet (French Fryes)

Cause some people were interested in the idea of older French Fryes apparently and I thought I’d try my hand at it.

Song title and fic inspo from Marbles by The Amazing Devil

Read on Ao3

Arno felt old.

Well, he was old. It was made sure of that when at his last milestone birthday that everyone decided to overload the cake with candles representing his age. He had been able to laugh it off as a joke then. But now everytime he looked in the mirror and saw a new wrinkle near his eyes and mouth, he scowled.

When he saw his favorite music being relegated to the classic station, he flipped the channel.

And when it was cold and rainy and shitty outside and he had difficulty getting out of bed, he grumbled.

Jacob always just laughed at his perturbed expression and would say that they didn’t need to get out of bed anyway and would snuggle in for a few hours more.

Even though he knew Jacob never meant anything by the things he said, it still made him feel bad. His husband was only a few years younger than him. But the problem was he didn’t look that bad, and if he felt old he never told Arno. He was already aging like fine wine. Arno felt like aged milk.

Jacob had noticed once before, when Arno pointedly avoided looking in the mirror while they were hip to hip in the bathroom getting ready for the day.

“‘ou a’righ’?” He asked around a toothbrush.

“Hmm?” He asked, toweling off and looking over as Jacob spat out the paste and washed his mouth out before trying again.

“You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. You just seem… off. Didn’t even hear one ABBA song in the shower, either.” He smiled a bit, trying to get Arno to copy. Which he did, but it was gone rather quickly.

“I’m fine, mon amour. Just tired, still.” He wrapped the towel around his waist, pecked Jacob’s cheek and made to leave, but got pulled back. Jacob kissed him deeply, the taste of mint still on his tongue and making Arno hum; his husband’s mouth was still practically sinful after all this time. Jacob pulled away and then went back in for one more peck on Arno’s lips, leaving both of them smiling.

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Arno said, meaning it completely as he left to go get dressed.

He tried to make sure that was the end of it, or at least to keep it out of sight of Jacob. But then his pride went down like a kick in the balls when he woke up one morning and saw the roots of his hair turning gray. Like ash gray. Like old gray. He’d gone out to the shops immediately and found the darkest box color for his hair that he could and shoved it in the back of their linen closet the minute he came to his senses.

Really, it was a bad idea. If he did it, he’d have questions no one wanted to hear and explanations he really didn’t want to give. And Jacob would find out anyway. But it was an impulse purchase he didn’t think through and so he hid it until the time was right, if it ever would be.

And then Jacob noticed him as he entered the living room and let Arno in on their small couch to watch whatever inane reality show they both liked, and then he forgot about it, because how could you remember anything at that point?

It didn’t take too long for his husband to find it out, though.

“Care to explain this?” Jacob said, coming into the dining room where Arno was trying to clean, and Arno turned too quickly at the tone in his voice and stubbed his toes on the thick table leg.

“Merde-!”

“Jesus, Arno- Don’t try and die on me now.” Jacob went over quickly as Arno sat in one of the chairs, placing something on the table as he pulled up the other chair next to Arno’s. Arno waved him away and curled up his hurt foot to rub it.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Drama queen. Do you need me to get the first aid kit? Or do you think you’ll live?”

“You’re hilarious. Have I mentioned that before?”

“Only on days that end in “y”.” Jacob replied, and Arno stewed a bit. It didn’t take long for him to look over at whatever it was Jacob had brought into the room, and he grew a bit pale. Jacob, of course, because he had such a great eye when he wanted to, noticed immediately. “Figured it was yours.”

Arno didn’t grace him with a response at first. But the silence wouldn’t give.

“I found some gray hairs.” He mumbled.

“Yeah… Those tend to happen when you make it a few decades.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it! I don’t want to get old, Jacob. I’ll be… Gross, and senile, and you’ll hate me.”

“Please tell me you’re joking. You are joking?”

Arno flexed his hurt foot and quickly set it down, making to leave but stopped as Jacob grabbed his wrist and sat him back down in the chair.

“You know what I like so much about you getting old?” Jacob didn’t wait for Arno to answer. “It shows you made it.”

Arno almost made a rebuttal, but stopped when he tried to parse through the words and actually think about them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve known you for decades.” Jacob still held Arno’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “Since Uni. And you did the dumbest shit. I’m surprised we’ve gotten to this point without you needing a liver transplant.”

Arno looked down. He knew exactly what Jacob was talking about. He had been twenty two and having daily panic attacks about leaving university to actually be a person. Most relationships with girls and some guys were limited to one quick go in bed and then he was gone in the morning.

Jacob hadn’t been much better off emotionally, or financially, but at least he knew how to handle his shit better. They made an interesting match that way.

“You’re getting old because you’re alive. And I get to see that.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well it isn’t.”

Silence overtook for a few minutes as Arno looked down and Jacob studied him.

“Then I guess you must really hate me looking old.” Jacob said.

“I could never. And the difference is, you look good. You still have cute waitresses flirting with you despite the ring.”

“You mean from the diner last week?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Leanna had to be forty. And she was just being friendly.”

“She certainly wasn’t giving extra ketchup to me.”

“I would’ve given it to you.”

“So generous.”

“One of my best qualities.” Jacob murmured as Arno’s eyes remained dropped. A hand moved up to Arno’s cheek, and he realized Jacob’s pointer finger was tracing the lines near his mouth and the crows feet on his eyes. “Didn’t marry you for nothing, you know. I knew what I was getting into. And even if you turn out to be a grumpy old hunchback who can’t walk, I would still choose you if I had the choice.”

Arno felt his eyes start to glass over the longer Jacob spoke. It wasn’t some great speech. It was simple, and short, and matter of fact, and just… Jacob. Just as he had been for decades. And it sounded just as sincere now as it sounded when they were much younger men and first said they loved each other. And it was as sincere as when they had finally gotten married not even a decade ago. Arno had a shaky smile and squeezed Jacob’s hand, allowing the other one to keep exploring the tracks in his face.

“‘Sides,” Jacob purred as he leaned in closer, a gleam in his eyes, “being older just means you’re full of experience. And how could anyone say no to that?”

“Jacob-” He didn’t even know where he was going with his sentence, but it hardly mattered when he felt a warm pair of lips on his neck, making their way up his face. He turned his head at the right time and caught Jacob’s lips with his own. They both smiled, a soft thing.

“I love you.” Arno said.

“Love you too. Drama queen.” Jacob smirked as Arno rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Maybe stop putting up such high standards and I’ll consider taking a step back on my quest for perfection.”

“Sorry, I can’t. I gotta put in work to keep you in love with me. Sure as hell it isn’t my personality keeping you locked up.”

“Certainly not.” Arno snorted, leaning in and resting against Jacob. The man held him for a minute before speaking again.

“You believe me yet? That you’re good? And we’re good? Even if you get old?”

“I’ll work on it.” Arno admitted. Whether it was what Jacob wanted to hear or not, he was still welcomed in and let to rest for a while longer.

“Let’s move this to bed so we don’t stiffen up, eh?”

“You’re not going to carry me like you used to?” Arno asked teasingly as Jacob helped him stand up out of the chair. The man shrugged.

“Can’t. I’m too old.”

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But Arno laughed until he coughed, anyway.

They ended up throwing the box color out with much prejudice. And when Jacob started growing his own gray hairs, looking like a salt and pepper shaker, Arno just ran his fingers through each one while they watched inane reality television.

So. I ended up creating a whole other backstory for these two but found I couldn’t fit it in to the story, lol. If you’d be interested in that as well, let me know.

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request! If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here but absolutely no pressure on that front. Have a wonderful day and thank you for reading!

#assassin's creed #french fryes #arno dorian #jacob frye #my writings

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thegeminisage · 4 years

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hey liz i've been thinking a lot about story structure lately and i wanted your take on how you decide what structure your stories will have? i know there's that "you have to do what your story needs and tells you to do" thing but these bitches dont ever tell me anything they just multiply so. thoughts? - bma

(as an aside, i don't know whether involving medium would change many things but it may be worth considering. mainly i think medium is just a matter of arrangement and that the story would be for most intents and purposes the same no matter how you choose to tell it. i guess you could argue that structure is arrangement in itself and intrinsically tied to medium but i sort of feel like it is secondary arrangement, if at all? like if you consider time as an element to outline -- the time IN the story (how things happen to your characters) is not necessarily the time you’re telling the story IN (how you are telling your reader that things are happening) aka internal chronology doesnt equal your work’s pacing? or should it??? does this make sense? i dont think so. i am sorry.) - bma :|

NOOO dont be sorry ur making total sense

i think there’s 3 thots to unpack here (medium, structure, & chronology) & i’m gonna start with medium bc it’s easier. im also putting it behind a cut bc it’s gonna get just stupidly long and rambly. i’m sorry in advance if it’s not helpful to you, i have a lot to say for someone who has never taken even one single class on writing and as a result doesn’t know jack shit (there’s a tl;dr at the end dont worry)

about MEDIUM:

so like ok i’m just some goof-off with a HS degree who writes fanfiction but In My Very Super Qualified Personal Opinion, i don’t think that most of the time medium is intrinsically tied to STRUCTURE of the main storytelling arc...i think the art of storytelling itself is distinct from the medium you choose to tell the story IN. this post puts it better than i ever could but basically for me, i feel like the story itself is sort of the raw, malleable concept, and the medium you choose to tell it in is how you convey the information??

like in a book, you can say “she forgot her keys” and in a film you have to show her smacking her forehead, heading back into the house, and swiping her keeps off the counter. you can’t TELL in film, you have to show. similarly i regret every day i cannot perfectly describe a facial expression with words when i see it so clearly in my head. for audio-only podcasts that are dialogue heavy out of necessity you have different limitations than you would for, say, animated music videos with no dialogue at all. games allow for more interactivity and exploration while sacrificing accessibility, tv shows allow for more length while sacrificing, uh, a big hollywood budget...medium affects the kind of story you can reasonably tell which is why some stories are better suited to one medium than another. i think trying things in other mediums is a good way to stretch your storytelling muscles but with enough skill nearly any story could be told in any medium. i think when trying to decide on a medium you just gotta weigh the pros & cons and what you feel comfortable with/what you think would be most effective/what would evoke the strongest reaction

re: structure:

firstly “do what the story tells u to do” is a little silly like...the story isn’t sentient. come on. that’s like “i can only write when the writing gods inspire me” there are no writing gods! inspire yourself! it’s all in our weird messed up brains! ok anyway.

this is, again, just how i do things, and i am 700% self-taught so take it with a grain of salt, but when i sit down and start blocking out a story from scratch i don’t...actually consider the big structure at all! sorry if that’s not helpful to you. i like to make a list of everything i want to happen, and then put it together in a few different orders to see what looks best. and when i’m finished, whatever i have just like...IS the structure i go with, with perhaps minor tinkering to make it flow more smoothly. (i think this might be in the same spirit as “do what the story tells you” with less bullshit and more Agency Of The Writer.)

for long and more complex projects, i actually usually have several lists - one list of stuff that is, for example, the Action Plot (the kingdom has been cursed, i’m tracking down my serial killer sister to bring her to justice, i’m running from djinn who wanna kill my dad, i’m trying to bring my dead not-boyfriend back to life). then i have another list for Character A & Character B’s romance or whatever. and maybe a even another one for solo character development (magicphobic prince learns to love magic, former werewolf hunter figures out his family is a cult, half-demon learns to embrace his own nature). and as many lists as we need for however many Main Characters and or Plots/Sideplots

how i order the lists: individually first. don’t mix them together to start with. when deciding the order of an individual list i like to, for example in a romance arc, use escalating intimacy. “A and B have dinner together” is naturally gonna go way sooner than “A and B kiss” or “A and B talk about A’s angsty backstory” because that’s more satisfying. draw it out, good/important stuff last, dangle that carrot so we have a reason to keep reading! for singular character development, it’s basically a straightforward point A to point B...if i want my guy to start hating magic with everything he is and end up being very comfortable with it, i have to put “reluctantly uses magic to save his own life” WAYYY before “casually using magic to light torches and reheat his cold stew.”

the tricky part for me is when i’m done with these lists and then i need to mix them together To Pace My Whole Story. (this is usually why i wind up with a rainbow colored spreadsheet.) i don’t like to put too many things too close together because then the pace feels uneven. even if my Action Plot is only a thinly veiled excuse for romance and character development, i still don’t want to focus on a romance for 30,000 words and then go “and oh yeah in case you forgot Serial Killing Sister is still coming for your asses.” the more sideplots and major character arcs you’re juggling the harder it is to get an even distribution, which is my main concern always

and like, generally, whatever i have when i’m finished...is my structure. (sorry.)

i don’t know much about the classic 3-act or anything like that, but i usually can divide them up into 3-5 big arcs based on story turning points. sometimes i take a scene out of one arc and put it in another because it fits better and i like for my shit to be organized, but usually by the time i’m finished with all that, that’s what the final story is mostly gonna look like. (there have been a few exceptions when i realized i needed extra scenes/changes while i was MID-DRAFT and let me tell you that murders me EVERY time. it happened on the merlin fic i’m currently posting and that was like my own personal hell.)

this is also where thots about chronology come in:

i think time CAN be an element of this if you WANT it to be, but it doesn’t HAVE to be. if you want it to be, i would consider it just another “list” like character development or the romance arc.

i usually plot without considering Time very much...to me, it’s all down to the events you want to show, and however much time it takes is the byproduct. if you want to show something from a character’s chilhood but then tell the bulk of it when they’re adults, that’s one thing. if you want to show a scene from their childhood, teenhood, young adulthood, etc, that’s a different kind of pacing?? i usually do it this way so i can regard time like wordcount: it takes as long as it takes. 3 days or 3 years, a 1.5k drabble or a 100k epic...overall, my LARGEST CONCERN is that even distribution. in the same way that i don’t want one chapter to be 30,000 words when the rest are 10,000 words, i personally am not a fan of huge timeskips offscreen

(because this where i think someone’s own internal chronology DOES matter...this is just a personal preference, as a reader i have a hard time really comprehending, say, a year timeskip or a 10yr timeskip when all i did was turn one page. like, a year is such a long time. i can’t even begin to describe how different i am now to how i was a year ago. it’s the same for character development. time IS development and as a writer i’m not really comfortable having that take place offscreen - for main characters, at least. it’s just too jarring. a little prologue with something happening 10 or 20 years ago is usually fine, but for the most part, i’m not a fan. ...i can do one chapter per year a lot easier than i can do two chapters in childhood and the other 8 in adulthood. of course you can play with this a LOT with nonlinear storytelling, which is a whole other very cool thing, and someone skilled in their work can keep me sucked in no matter what, but imo if you don’t want to risk throwing your reader out of your work it’s better to keep things steady)

HOWEVER sometimes time IS an element u wanna consider outside of just making sure your shit is evenly distributed...if your heart is moved to tell a story in a specific timeframe, over a year, or from solstice to solstice (this was almost the timeline for my merlin fic and then i changed it), for the first six months of a friendship, or even a huge journey in the span of a single day (toby fox had a lot of success with this one lol).

i think it can help to choose a start and end point for your chronology the same way you do for character development (prince goes from hating magic to being ok with it, story takes place from ages 8 to 25, or from new year’s eve 2038 to 2039, whatever) - that way you can keep your distribution even, if that’s a thing you want to do...even if you have a lot of skips you can still note what happens offscreen to make it work better in your head? like, if you just make it another List, another column on your spreadsheet, when you’re in the early stages of organizing you can be conscious of it and make sure it’s playing into the story the way you want it to

anyway these r my thots im SOOOO SORRY this is so long lmao. brain machine broke today which is why i had to ramble more to explain myself. the tl;dr in case ur brain is melting out of ur ears & u didn’t sign up for an essay:

imo medium is totally distinct from storytelling tho ofc some stories are better suited to some mediums

structure? i don’t know her. i plot w/o regard to structure and then if it looks funny i mush it into a more structurally sound shape

my main concern when structuring anything, including time, is an even distribution of Events and a steady rate of escalation

structure to me is just what i have when i’m finished plotting. i’m sorry one day i’m gonna take a writing class

internal chronology matters to me personally because i have a little bit of time blindness but maybe not to everyone, i know many very successful stories where they disregarded that entirely to no ill effect

writer’s block isn’t real! everyone just needs more rainbow spreadsheets

thank u for asking I HOPE i didn’t make you regret it too badly lmao and that at least a little of it was helpful!!

#personal #liz loves writing #liz answers asks #brit marling anon #i couldn't figure out how to answer u without walking u thru my entire process #so that's what i did and that's why it's so long. very sorry.#im gonna set this up to reblog itself at the time u sent ur ask so that ur sure to see it!!#edit: there was SUPPOSED to be a cut on this but tumblr put it in the ASK?? i can't seem to fix it. rip

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craniumhurricane · 4 years

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FINALLY finished one of my @bellarkebingo fics!

@kindclaws suggested established relationship and prank wars. I did it in modern setting so I checked alternate universe (any kind) off as well. Ignore the other colors, I didn’t save this photo in parts so it’s marked with my wips.

fool you once, shame on me

[ On AO3! ]

The whole thing had honestly started as an accident.

One of Clarke's coworkers made an offhand comment about the cleanliness of her workstation which, in true Clarke fashion, meant she had to prove anyone and everyone wrong, sending her into a cleaning frenzy. Unfortunately, that energy didn’t just keep to her place of work.

Their place was never dirty, by any means; Bellamy was used to cleaning up after his sister, so tidying up after himself and someone else was just habit at this point. But after the thing at work, Clarke made a declaration about pulling her weight around the house and thus "Clarke's Spring Cleaning Project" was born… nevermind they were a couple of months well past Spring. Unpacking boxes that they haven't touched since they moved from their apartment into their house 5 years ago, only to then turn around and use those same boxes for sorting the donations from the trash which was certainly economical. She even had plans for the attic, which honestly even Bellamy is too scared to go in there; it's why most of their holiday decorations are in storage containers in the garage instead.

The crowning jewel of Clarke’s project came this past weekend in which she spent cleaning, rearranging, and even painting their kitchen.

"This color is much more cheerful," she had told him, along with, "And doesn't the silverware make much more sense in this drawer?"

Bellamy didn't mind. And honestly? It did make more sense for the silverware to be in that drawer.

It's early the next Monday morning when he stumbles into the kitchen and gets the coffee pot going, completely unable to start his workday without having a cup. He's still groggy so it takes him two tries before he remembers that Clarke moved the mugs too.

He's waiting patiently, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and when the coffee is finally ready he pours himself a generous cup and doctors it up with cream and sugar. He's taking that first blissful sip and as soon as the liquid touches his tongue… he spits it out all over the counter.

"What the hell?" He manages between coughs.

Bellamy takes an experimental, tentative sip like somehow this one will be different from the first. At least this time he manages to spit the god awful stuff back into his cup. He grimaces and glares at the liquid like it's personally betrayed him.

He glances around before his eyes land on the ceramic sugar container on the counter. Slowly, Bellamy pulls it towards him and sticks his pinky inside, bringing the white granules to his tongue. The taste of salt makes his face screw up.

Bellamy eyes the salt container next and brings it over to repeat the process. Sugar.

It’s still too early for him to properly process this so he just makes another, proper, cup of coffee and goes about his morning getting ready. He kisses Clarke on the forehead goodbye before she’s even gotten out of bed and writes her a note and leaves it on the counter in front of the coffee machine.

Bellamy gets a text from her later when he’s unlocking the door to his office at the University saying, “Sorry! Thanks for the heads up!” and honestly that should have been that…

To be fair, he didn't plan on seeking revenge. All of the pieces just sort of fell into his lap. Or rather, fell into his desk drawer after he confiscated it from a student.

It's a couple of days later in the week and Clarke's decided to try one of those websites where you type in all the random ingredients you have in your house and it tells you a possible meal you can make with what you got. They usually have to do this once or twice a month because they forgot to put something on the grocery list and they don't feel like ordering takeout again.

She walks out of the kitchen carrying the pot of gumbo or goulash or whatever it's supposed to be (stew maybe?) and brings it over to the table. Bellamy watches intently, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and tries to hide it behind his glass of water.

“Well, at least it smells good,” Clarke says and sets the pot on the trivet. She plops down in her seat and then immediately shoots out of her chair due to the sound it makes.

Bellamy can’t contain his laughter after that, not that he's really trying anymore.

“What the hell?” she asks, brows furrowed in confusion. She moves the cushion on her chair to find a whoopee cushion underneath it. Clarke lifts it up with something like disbelief on her face before she turns her focus on him and stares with a frown.

Bellamy’s still chuckling, “Consider it payback.”

Clarke purses her lips but he can tell she’s trying hard not to smile. “I'm sorry,” she starts as she sits down again and waves the whoopee cushion back and forth, “are we 12?"

"Funny enough,” he says as he starts ladling food into their bowls, “I confiscated that from some frat kid in my Ancient Civilizations class that probably has the IQ of a 12 year old."

She laughs at that as he sets her bowl down in front of her. "You know the salt and sugar thing was an accident, right?"

Bellamy shrugs as he sits back down, "I know."

She shakes her head and then blows up the whoopee cushion so she can squeeze the air out directly in his face.

He smirks. Now he knows it’s on.

A few days later, they're both up at the same time, Clarke having to get up earlier than usual for a new exhibit opening at the museum. He's shuffling behind her on their way to the kitchen and nearly has a heart attack when he tries to cross the threshold. Someone put saran wrap from one side of the doorframe to the other, just high enough so that someone is able to walk under it while he gets a face full of plastic.

His "what the fuck!?" is drowned out by his wife’s laughter. Bellamy threatens to withhold her morning caffeine, but they both know that's an empty threat.

He retaliates instead by putting bubble wrap under the rug that leads to their bathroom one night after she's gone to sleep. It succeeds in scaring the literal piss out of her at 3am. (That one kind of backfires because it scares him awake too and somehow he ends up on the floor.)

It's the next week when Clarke strikes again, sticking with her tried and true plastic wrap. Bellamy almost breaks the damn bottle of his body wash with how hard he tries to squeeze the soap out. Apparently that wasn’t enough because she covered the openings of his shampoo and conditioner too. Jokes on her though cause he doesn't mind smelling like her citrus wash and shampoo all day.

He tries something a little more creative next and hides all of her right shoes so she's forced to go to work with two mismatched left flats.

Since apparently this opens up work attire as a new area for their so-called torture, she hides all of his ties except for the novelty one Murphy got him as a gag gift that has rubber ducks on it. She makes sure to take a picture and send it to their entire friend group.

Bellamy knows, logically, that they could stop at any time. But the pranks are harmless, even a little exhilarating, as they wait to see what the other will do next. They still kiss each other good morning, binge watch sitcom reruns curled up on the couch in the afternoons, and make love at night. They’re not even that subtle about it, each one having caught the other looking up pranks online which prompts Clarke to politely inform him that if he fills her Oreos with toothpaste that she would definitely divorce him.

It startles him a bit when, about a little over a month after this whole “prank war” thing started, she meets him at the garage door when he gets home with a smile on her face. He's wary, to say the least.

"What did you do?" He asks, wondering if he’s missed a sign taped to his back all day.

She chuckles softly, "Nothing. But I have a surprise for you.”

She takes his hand and leads him to sit down on the couch while she perches in front of him on the coffee table. Her hand never leaves his and now she’s brought the other one into the mix so his is sandwiched between her small ones.

"I'm pregnant."

He feels his breath hitch and his heart stop. But then his head starts to weigh in and he narrows his eyes as her.

"That's not funny, Clarke."

She blinks at him, opens and closes her mouth a few times before she finally speaks. "What, you think I'm lying?"

"Come on, clearly you stole this from Brooklyn Nine Nine. We just rewatched that heist episode the other night.”

Clarke let’s go of his hand so she can drop her head into her’s and groan, "Oh my God, Bellamy.”

He’s not done though; he’s more than a little miffed. "Where did you see this prank going exactly?” he has to ask.

"It's not a fucking prank,” She snaps at him. “And if I have to pee on a Goddamn stick in front of you to prove it then fine."

She's clearly upset about this which makes him more inclined to believe her. And really, deep down, Bellamy knows she wouldn't lie about something like this. Something they both want.

All the same, he follows her without protest as she drags him into their bathroom and makes him sit on the edge of the tub while she rifles through the cabinet under the sink, grumbling the whole way as she does it.

When she's done; she sets a timer on her phone, crosses her arms, and stares at him while they wait. She’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a pout.

Her phone goes off and she continues to look at him but her stare turns pointed, eyes shifting from him to the stick and then back to him. His palms are sweaty and he doesn't know why but he reaches across her for the pregnancy test on the counter

All the air leaves his lungs in a simple, "Holy shit."

"I'm going to hold this against you for, like, the entire pregnancy. And maybe the first few years of this kid's life."

She's probably still pretty pissed at him but she's looking at him with tears in her eyes so he figures it’s safe to lean forward and press a soft kiss to her lips.

She keeps her word. And when she says she's in labor, he’s sure to believe her.

#no one cares ashleigh #my fanfiction #bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #bellarke bingo #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #i've never been in a prank war so i asked all of my married friends what they do to each other #i also almost checked off bellamy blake + glasses #i think it was chash that said bellamy is always wearing glasses in her fics unless explicitly stating otherwise and honestly same

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whatcanicookwith · 5 years

Text

Gluten Free Chicken Stew

I got a request for this but I’m going to be honest; I didn’t measure anything, didn’t really pay attention to what I did, and actually briefly forgot I made it as it was simmering on the stove so

I’ll do my best @cryptid-on-a-rock

Tools

Soup pot

Big spoon

Paring or chef’s knife or any knife

A cutting board would be useful but I didn’t want to wash mine :/

Ingredients

Three or four containers of chicken broth

Four or five russet potatoes or whatever potatoes you prefer

Five stalks of celery or so

Half a small bag of baby carrots

A bag of rice noodles or whatever noodles you like. Egg noodles are traditional for chicken noodle soup but I didn’t have any and idk if they’re gluten free tbh

Basic spices

A bag of pearl onions or one or two regular onions

Four or five chicken breasts

Two bay leaves

Directions!

Put the pot on the stove and turn the heat to medium high

Pour in half a container of broth or so and dump in the baby carrots and toss in the bay leaves

I do them whole because I didn’t want to chop them but cut them if you like

Wash your potatoes and if you’re like me you’ll haphazardly slice them over the pot and realize too late that it’ll splash almost boiling liquid on you ://

Let that simmer covered while you prepare your pearl onions (a bitch of a task I’ll pray for you) or regular onions

Throw that shit in the pot

Wash your celery and also cut it haphazardly over the pot and get burned yet again

Let that simmer while you cut your chicken into nuggets. I cut with the grain because I like the long stringy pieces of meat because i find they stay together better but it really doesn’t matter

Throw the chicken in the pot

Let everything simmer for basically however long you want it to. If you prefer your carrots to still have a bit of bite to them, it’s best to check after about 15 minutes. I just let soup simmer until I’m hungry enough to get some because I like for everything to be pretty soft.

Season everything to taste

I use salt, black pepper, tony chachere’s or however it’s spelled, honey, and either minced garlic or garlic salt

About 10 minutes before you want to serve your soup, put your noodles in

I cook with no regard for the size of my pot so I had to push the noodles down to make them totally submerged so they could cook

Don’t do that. Unless you plan to store it. The potatoes and noodles will absorb most of the broth and the rest is steamed off after it sits for a while, so you can put it in a ziploc and scoop some out for later, just add chicken broth to it before you microwave it.

Tips!

The soup will be fine

Leave it alone

Literally throw anything you want in here it’ll be good

It doesn’t matter how things are cut as long as they’re semi bite size

Season slowly and taste often

If you can, forget that you made it for an hour or so and then come back and it’ll be chicken stew as opposed to soup. The heat will have broken down the potatoes more and thickened the broth

#ignore the dirty skillet #my sink is fucked up #so dishes are a struggle #recipes #chicken #gluten free #stew #soup #my photo #my recipe

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littlebitoffanfic · 6 years

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Baking

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Character: Leatherface, luda, Hoyt, monty Relationship: Leatherface/reader Request: Leatherface x reader where reader Chan is a baker and chef so constantly insists on helping with cooking. Just simple. A.N: apparently I cant do simple. But if you’d like a part two that’s a little more simple (since I’d have an established story). You placed the freshly bakes cupcakes on the windowsill of your home, the aroma filling the house. They looked delicious and smell as divine, which you were glad of, because they hoped they would draw your visitor once again. You had seen him about numerous times. He liked to walk in the woods quite often but always hid his face behind masks. When you first moved into the house, you had been frightened of him. He was a big guy, tall and very muscular, but even in fear you couldn’t help but feel the smallest ping of attraction for him even then. It had all started when you put some mini pies on the windowsill to cool, and you came back to notice one was gone. Slowly, all the things you baked seemed to go missing. Only the ones that there were a quantity of, so big pies, cakes and such stayed intact, putting the idea it was an animal to sleep in your mind. But you soon met you visitor. You had been hiding at the side of the window, waiting for whoever to make an appearance when you saw him. You had planned to confront whoever had been stealing your baked goods, but when you saw it was him, you couldn’t. You had heard rumours about him, that he was a retard and stupid and that he was an animal. The man standing at your kitchen window was an outcast, much like you had been before. He didn’t need someone shouting at him. So you had spoke to him. He had jumped and started to leave when you called him back, telling him it was fine, that you had made them for him and he could take them all, if he wanted. Which he didn’t. he only took one then quickly retreated back to the forest. Slowly, but surely, you developed a kind of friendship with him. He started being you things to ‘trade’ for your baking after you had declined to take money. Jewellery, pictures, books, utensils, you name it. You had also learned his name. Thomas. It had happened because you wanted to know his name, but he never spoke. Whether mute or just the silent type, you still wanted his name. So you wrote down a few names you though he might suite. When he came again, you presented your list to him and ask if any were right. He seemed to pause and you saw his eyes light up, meaning he was smiling under the mask. Grabbing a pen, he circled the name “Tom” which you had written down and scribbled “Thomas” next to it. You still had that piece of paper. You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard a small knock on wood. Turning around, you saw Thomas standing at the window. “hello.” You greeted with a smile, running up to the window to speak to him. You loved having a constant visitor. “This is a new recipe, so I don’t know how they will taste. Will you give me feedback?” You asked, nodding to the cupcakes. Thomas nodded, ever helpful. He placed a book beside the plate which you quickly picked up and recognised the cover. “Oh Ive heard of this one. Its meant to be very good. I cant wait to read it.” You smiled, holding the book to your chest and smiling gratefully. He seemed a little nervous today and you could couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was until he placed a box on the windowsill as well. Frowning slightly, you placed the book down and took the box, opening it up to see meat inside. A red meet that was cut into chunks. “Do you want me to cook this?” You asked, and he seemed relieved that you understood, nodding quickly. “Okay, well, what about in a pie? Or a stew? Do you have any preference?” Thomas thought for a moment, before holding up one finger, meaning the first open. “Pie it is. When do you want if for?” You asked as you went and put it in the fridge, well awake that it was a warm day. he looked at the clock, which read 12pm, then held up 6 fingers. “6pm tonight?” You confirmed which he nodded to. “Are you having a family dinner?” He nodded, then pointed at the floor. It took you a moment to understand what he was meaning. “You want your family to come here to eat?” You asked, a little confused but he nodded, offering you a apologetic look. “Oh okay. How many are there?” He pointed to himself, then to you, then held up 3 fingers. “Okay, 5 is manageable.” You nod. “is pie with mash potatoes enough?” He nods, his eyes smiling at how quickly you had understood him. Even his own family weren’t always able to understand what he was trying to say. He took the cupcakes and left. --------------time skip------------ Glancing at the time, you brushed a stray hair out of your face. It was 5.50pm, only ten minutes before Thomas and his family arrived. You weren’t sure why you were meeting his family. Maybe they had asked about you, did they know of all the baked good Thomas got from you? Going back to the stove, you turned the heat down but continues to stir the mash, giving it a quick taste test before adding a little more salt. You heard the door bell ring and you quickly wiped your hands on a towel and ran for the door. When you opened it, Thomas was standing at the front, to his right was a man in a sheriffs uniforms, his face showing that of a man who had lived a hard life. There was a woman beside him, her hair whitish grey and she was a healthy pump woman with an obvious sense of self pride shown by the ironed flowered dress with pearls around her neck. To Thomas’ left was a man very similar to the one in the sheriffs uniform in age but not in style. He wore dungarees that hung loosely over his slim shoulders. He seemed to have a permanent slouch. So this was them. The Hewitts. “Please, come in.” You smiled, stepping back and gesturing into your hallway while holding the door open. “Thank you dear.” The woman said as she stepped in first before all the men. She ran the house, you knew it. But she spoke with such warmth to you without even knowing you. The men muttered thanks as they past you and Thomas smiled. He seemed to have got dressed up, with a clean red shirt and pressed trousers. you showed them into the dining room which had a table with placements already set up for 5v guests. You decided it was best to introduce yourself to the woman first. “My names [y/n] [l/n].” you smiled as you spoke to her, which she returned. “Luda mae, sweetie. And this is my brother, Hoyt, this is uncle Monty and I believe you have met my son already.” She pointed to each member as she spoke. “Thomas? Yes, I know him.” You smiled, nodding as you tried to remember the two mens names. “How do you know his name?” She asked, perplexed. So he must be permanently mute. “Oh, I wanted to know it so I wrote down some names I thought matched him on a piece of paper. I wasn’t far wrong.” You smiled as you moved to a small desk in the corner and pulled out the paper, offering it to her. She smiled as she looked at the writing on it. “Well dear, aint that sweet. Look.” She showed Hoyt, who frowned and eyed you up and down. He was obviously a man who didn’t trust easily. “If you’d like to take a seat. Dinner wont be a moment. Theres no seating arrangements so just wherever you feel comfortable. And theres wine, soft drinks and water on that table.” You pointed to a small side table you normally kept photos on but was now a drinks bar. “Got any beers, doll?” Monty asked, earning a elbow to the ribs from Luda. But you answered before she could chastise him. “Oh yes! Sorry, I forgot. Let me just grab them. Is Budweiser okay?” You scolded yourself for forgetting beers. “My favourite.” He smiled at you and you knew you had him on your side. Escaping into the kitchen, you let out a sigh of relief. They seemed like a lovely family, but tonight was going to be a long night. Pulling out the pie, you smiled at how perfect it looked. It was like a pie from a commercial. The top was a beautiful colour and it was crispy. Plating up, you tried to give everyone an even amount of pie and mash. You also poured some of the gravy into a container to place on the table for anyone who wants gravy on their mash or extra. Taking a deep breath, you picked up one plate in your right hand and placed another on your forearm like waitresses do, Lifting up a third plate, you made your way into the dining room. The family sat at either side of the table, leaving you with the head of the table. You were surprised, since you expected either hoyt or luda to take the top but you didn’t say anything. Luda would be on your right and Thomas on your left, with Monty sitting beside Luda and Hoyt beside Thomas. “Smells delicious, dear.” Luda smiled as you placed a plate in front of her. You got similar comments from Hoyt and Monty before you went to get yours and Thomas’ food. Once again, you took two plates on one arm and used your free hand to the gravy. “Will you say grace?” You asked Luda as you placed your plate and his down. She smiled widely before ducking her head. You mirrored the rest of the family as she spoke, keeping your head down until she finished. The first few moments were torturous as you waited for their verdict, but soon the hum of satisfied taste buds filled the room, making you let out a sign of relief. The rest of the meal was spend with idle chit chat. Luda asked you about your life, your hobbies, what you had done before moving to the little cottage. You asked her about her dress, about how long she had been here and about the family. Hoyt and Monty only offered some conversations, but spent the whole time stuffing their faces. Thomas might have done the same, except for the mask her still wore, which meant the mouth hole was a little more difficult to shovel food into. You wondered if he ate with his mask on all the time or if it was just since you were here. “Well, I don’t think ive ever tasted the meat that tender.” Hoyt smiled as he leaned back, his stomach full and his plate empty. “Yes, human meat is a little tough but I find if you marinate it for a couple of hours in the gravy, it really makes the dish.” You spoke nonclonally, not looking up from your plate as you cut up some meat and ate it. You felt four sets of eyes on you as you looked up. You couldn’t help but smirk at their horrified faces. Not because it was human. But because you knew. “How?!” Hoyt demanded, his anger not taking you by surprise. “Ive worked in many places, with many people. I have some… strange friends who make and sell the best chili you’ve ever tasted.” You shrugged, placing down your cutlery. “I honestly don’t mind. I know how hard it is to make a living out here and I know how dangerous a lot of travellers are.” If they hadn’t been surprised, they were now. “You aint real.” Monty piped up. “No way Thommy found a girl who cooks well and is fine with all this.” you saw Thomas’ head snap to his uncle, giving him a dirty look but you shrug, unable to hold back the smile. “Hey, I keep myself to myself mostly. But its good to have people you can trust.” You look at Monty, seeing a smile pull at his lips. “hot damn.” Hoyt laughed loudly, making everyone jump slightly. “Is everyone finished?” You asked, steering the conversation momentarily away from the topic. You didn’t really need to ask. All the plates were empty and Luda had placed her cutlery down last. Gathering up the plates, you went into the kitchen to give them some privacy. But you crept closer to the door to eavesdrop. “Shes good. We could use someone out this way. You know how they all run for the meat factory. Well, shes smack dap in the middle of us and the factory.” Monty said in a hushed voice. “But its another mouth to feed.” Hoyt hissed. There was a moment of silence. “Thomas is right. Shes stocked up here. She obviously get some stuff in from outside the town. I don’t think she would be any bother. Plus it would be nice to have someone around that’s Tommys age. He obviously likes her.” Luda was a little louder than Monty, but she seemed to smile at the end. You couldn’t help your own smile at the thought of the gentle giant having feelings for you, even if only as a friend. You decided now was the best time to go back, so you scooped up the pudding and plates before entering. “I hope you left room for dessert. Its a Victoria sponge cake with cream.” You smiled as you placed the large cake in the centre of the table. “Would you like to cut?” You offered Hoyt the knife. A tactical move. Even though Luda seemed to have the last word, he was the face. He was the one who would appear to be in charge and liked that. Smirking, he got to his feet and cut the cake directly down the middle then attempted to cut it from there, only to be scolded by Luda. “God sake, don’t cut it like that!” She got to her feet, elbowing him out of the way and taking the knife right out of his hand. “Damn woman.” Hoyt hissed as he dropped back into his chair. You had to cover your mouth to stop you from laughing. You could really tell they were brother and sister. Some things just never changed. Glancing to the side, you saw Thomas was looking at you. You could tell he was smiling under his mask and you lowered your hand to show your smile. Soon, there was cake being passed around, everyone drizzled theirs with some cream and you smiled at how the family didn’t treat you any difference once they knew you knew. As before, no one really spoke during dessert although moans of delight filled the room on the first bite. “I must bring Henrietta and Katy to you.” Luda suddenly said. “They are very fond of high tea and these cakes are to die for.” “Are they relatives?” You asked, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, cousins actually. Oh and Henriettas about your age. Might be nice for you to have people your own age about.” Luda nodded as she took another bite. She wasn’t wrong. You adored Thomas and his company, but being able to have a conversation with someone both ways was something you missed. Once everyone was done, you raised from your chair to clear the plates away and saw Thomas mirror you. You couldn’t help but smile softly as you collected the plates and he took the cutlery and left over cake and followed you into the kitchen. “I cut off some for you and your family to take home.” You called to him over your shoulder as you set everything down. Your kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it but you didn’t mind. You would happily clean it later. Letting out a yawn, you couldn’t help but stretch. You heard Thomas move closer to you and placing a hand on your back, silent asking if you were okay. “Yeah, just a busy night. I think im going to watch a movie later so I kinda want to stay up.” You tell him, smiling at the contact. He tilts his head ot the side and you understood what he meant. “I was going to watch Saw.” You tell him but he shakes his head out of confusion. “You haven’t seen it? it’s a body horror movie. Theres 6 in total. I was going to marathon them for the next few day. Do you want to join me?” Thomas nodded his head vigorously, seeming excited by the invitation. You couldn’t help but smirk a little. The problem was that you were too good at reading Thomas. You knew he hadn’t just wanted his family to taste your cooking, he wanted them to meet you. By the way they spoke, they knew about you and Thomas seemed to have communicated a desire to keep you around. A man in his late twenties doesn’t just look for female company for friendship only, nor do they introduce them to their family for friendship. Thomas was a big man, he towered over any person and especially you, but he never intimidated you. If he really wanted, he could had forced you to do anything he wanted a long time ago. But he hadn’t. He had gotten to know you, he had listened to you and brought you things. Maybe he had got the ideas from old movie. Like a courtship. Not that you minded at all. He was a very attractive man, even with his skin issues. And you didn’t care about that at all. He was sweet, a gentle giant. You could easily fall completely in love with him. And maybe you already had. the two of you made your way back to the family. You gave them two large tins stacked on top of each other, one with the left over pie and the other with half the left over cake. “Thanks, dearie.” Luda smiled. You could tell she wanted to stay longer but Monty and Hoyt were anxious to get home to bed. It was dark out and nearly 10pm by the time they made their way to the door. Each told you it was nice to meet you and you returned the compliment. They didn’t question when Thomas didn’t follow them out, although you saw Hoyt send Monty a smirk and wink. Closing the door, you let out a sign of relief. “That went well.” You commented, seeing Thomas nod made you relax more because it meant it really did go well. Taking him by the hand, you guided him into the living room and pulled him down onto the sofa. Thomas followed you like puppy and once he was sitting, you cuddled into him as you switched the tv on. Thomas didn’t start to relax until a little into the movie when he wrapped his arms around your shoulder then tensed. Until you cuddled into him a little more, resting your head on his chest. You also told him that the couch had a reline function so he was able to put his feet up which you lay on the rest of the couch. Towards the end of the movie, you thought you would try something. Closing your eyes, you pretend to be asleep as the movie came to an end. You felt Thomas lean forward firs to sit up and then, once you didn’t move, to look at your face. He hesitated for a moment, before leaning back and reaching for something. You felt something drape over you and you knew it was the soft throw that had been lying over the top of the sofa. He covered you up then leaned backwards, seeming to settle down for the night. With his arms around you, he seemed so comfortable and at peace. Looking up at him, you felt him jump a little at realising you had woke up. But you pushed yourself up to press a chase kiss to his lips before ducking back down, hoping he would allow you to sleep here for the night. Which he did, in exchange for a few kisses in the morning.

#Texas Chainsaw Massacre #Thomas Hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #Thomas Hewitt/reader #leatherface #leatherface x reader #leatherface/reader

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Beyond the Nut Loaf

Coming up with new ways to make vegetables the main course wasn’t always easy for Deborah Madison. | Charles Amundson/Shutterstock

In an excerpt from “An Onion in My Pocket,” chef Deborah Madison creates a four-course vegetarian menu at a time when vegetarian fine dining was still a foreign concept to many

Deborah Madison is the author of nearly a dozen books on vegetarian cooking. Although not a vegetarian herself, since the publication of her first book in 1987, The Greens Cookbook, Madison has had significant influence on the way Americans eat and cook with vegetables.

In her new memoir, An Onion in My Pocket, Madison traces her path to the forefront of the vegetarian movement of the ’80s and ’90s. That path includes growing up San Francisco’s counterculture and decades spent as an ordained Buddhist priest, but perhaps the first clear indication that vegetables would play a major role in Madison’s career trajectory came when Madison took on the job as chef at Greens Restaurant. The vegetarian restaurant opened in 1979 as a part of the San Francisco Zen Center. There, Madison was tasked with creating a vegetarian fine-dining menu that would appeal to even non-vegetarians at a time when the nut loaf was considered by some to be the pinnacle of vegetarian cuisine. In this excerpt from An Onion in My Pocket, Madison explains how she made it work. — Monica Burton

Buy An Onion in My Pocket at Amazon or Bookshop.

Dinner was the meal that transformed Greens from a noisy, busy lunch place to a more tranquil restaurant. Tablecloths were laid out. Chunks of Swedish crystal held candles, and the dining room atmosphere turned quietly festive, a place where diners could take time with their meals while enjoying the unfolding evening sky and the eventual end of the day.

This is where I immediately took up the Chez Panisse style of offering a set menu rather than an à la carte approach. Now Greens offers a limited choice dinner menu, which I imagine makes it much easier to accommodate today’s more choosy eaters. But then we really didn’t have requests to cater to the special preferences of vegans and others. I’m not sure that there were vegans then. But that’s not what influenced my decision to go for a set menu. I simply felt it would work well for us because it would help introduce the concept of a somewhat formal four-course vegetarian dinner, which was still a foreign notion to a great many people.

How do you put together a menu for a meal that is meant to go on for a while, without the anchor of meat? This was the question I faced every weekend and how to answer it was a challenge for me, for us. I imagined it might be even more baffling for our customers, to have things all twisted about, to have what were usually appetizers suddenly become main courses. Some form of crepe? A vegetable ragout with polenta? Today this is hardly as problematic as it was then. Good vegetarian food — and Greens itself — has been around long enough that the meatless menu is not as mysterious as it once was. But in 1980 such possibilities were new, and people were unaccustomed to the idea of eating this way, without meat at the center of the plate.

There was another reason for the set menu. By being able to concentrate on a single menu and a particular progression of dishes, rather than having to produce a whole range of foods, I was hoping that we might be able to undertake somewhat more challenging fare, which we did. And having an ever-changing dinner menu was a way to accommodate all the new ideas that I had been putting in my notebooks, but it made for some dicey afternoons and evenings.

Most of the dishes we made none of us had ever cooked before, or even tasted before. We put our heads together and tried to figure them out before we started cooking. Of course getting that food from an idea to the table was a group effort. I could never have done any of it without the amazing staff I had. Jane Hirshfield, the poet, was then working with me. She was the most faithful and trusting right (and left) hand one could have. I’d ask Jane to make something I had only a vague idea about, and she would pleasantly say, “Okay,” and charge ahead without showing any worry or fear. I think she actually believed that things would work, and her assumption gave me the belief, or at least the hope, that they would, too. I wonder if she would have been so accepting had she known how thin the ice beneath us actually was.

Usually our untried dishes worked. But I held my breath a lot, hoped a lot, and I was continually anxious and always vaguely amazed when people let us know how much they liked the food. The best moment was when a guest would come into the kitchen and tell us, “The food was so good that we completely forgot there wasn’t any meat.” That was the highest compliment.

I’d never forgotten the good bread and butter that started the first meal I ate at Chez Panisse in 1977. Why not begin a meal with the best promise possible, good bread? (Remember, people ate bread then.) Those giant fougasse that Alice and I had bought in France impressed me with their bold shapes, and I thought we could make smaller ones suitable for two-tops or four-tops and just put them, still warm from the oven as they invariably were, right on the tables for people to break apart. A few slashes of the knife followed by a series of tugs, and an oval slab of rustic dough flavored with olive oil assumed the shape of a ladder or a tree. Sea salt and rosemary or sage were rolled into the surfaces and when the breads came out of the oven, they were brushed with olive oil. Their crusty perforations invited customers to pull off a rung or break off a branch. The crumbs scattering over the tablecloths said, “Relax and enjoy yourself; you don’t have to worry about keeping that tablecloth pristine.”

I tried to imagine some tired man dully anticipating a plate with a big hole in the middle where the meat would have been.

While we always had the bread, another thing I liked to do was present a table with roasted, salted almonds twisted into a package of parchment paper. This was an idea I gleaned from a few sentences in Elizabeth David’s book Spices, Salts and Aromatics in the English Kitchen, about a Somalian cook she had in Egypt, who twisted roasted almonds in paper to stave off nibblers. We could have put the almonds in a dish, but there was something about the rustle of that paper parcel being opened that warmed up the big dining room, especially early in the evening, before it filled. And of course, everybody likes a present, even roasted almonds.

First courses and soups weren’t a problem; we were pretty competent there. Salads made with the beautiful lettuce and herbs from Green Gulch were something we could count on to please. And from my time with Lindsey Shere at Chez Panisse, I was confident about making desserts to fill out the offerings from the Tassajara Bread Bakery. It was what to put in the center of the plate that I had to wrap my head around.

As I mentioned, our customers were not necessarily vegetarians. People came to Greens for the view, its growing reputation, maybe curiosity about what vegetarian food was like, but not because they were true believers. A lot of women came to lunch, then when we opened for dinner, they dragged along their husbands, who were probably looking forward to a steak, not to a meatless meal, on Friday or Saturday night. We had a good wine list, but I imagined the husbands would prefer to pair a Chalone pinot noir with a piece of beef over whatever we could offer. I tried to imagine some tired man dully anticipating a plate with a big hole in the middle where the meat would have been, should have been. He was the customer I worried about, and I thought constantly about what might fill that hole in the center of the plate. This was my big concern, what I lay awake thinking about.

I knew that it had to be something that caught the eye and proclaimed without wavering, “Here I am! I’m what’s for dinner! No need to look elsewhere!”

Of course, the “it” dish also had to be sufficiently familiar that the diner felt at ease. But it also had to have physical stature. It couldn’t be some shapeless thing like a plate of pasta or a stir fry or a vegetable ragout. It had to have substance and form, be something you could point to, look at, focus on. As one gets used to not eating meat, this problem pretty much tapers off and finally goes away, invariably returning on special occasions when, once again, the answer to “What’s for dinner?” has to be more than the name of a vegetable.

The most difficult kind of dish to present, and this was generally true whether there was meat present or not, was a stew, or ragout, which was too bad because these were dishes that I felt I had something of a gift for. Sadly, lunch favorites, like the Zuni Stew or Corn, Bean, and Pumpkin Stew, never made the dinner cut, and a dal, as appealingly as it can be made and garnished, didn’t either. Not then, anyway. A mushroom ragout, I found, did work, though, if it were paired with something that had a clear shape, like triangles of grilled polenta, a square of puff pastry, or a timbale of risotto. But the stew also had to have a very good and well-crafted sauce, and wild mushrooms helped enough that they became almost mandatory.

Years later, after having left Greens, I was visiting Calgary’s Blackfoot Farmers’ Market, researching my book Local Flavors. That chilly fall evening I ate at the River Café, a rustic building that sits on an island in the middle of a river. There the chef presented me with a vegetarian stew, which worked perfectly in her fine-dining restaurant although I think she made only the one serving since it wasn’t on the menu. The stew was based on winter root vegetables, but this handsome dish also contained black lentils and a potato puree and it was all circled with a rich, deeply flavored red wine sauce. The flavors were harmonious and complex. There were different textures to go to so that the dish was interesting to eat. It was also gorgeous to look at and extremely satisfying in every way. It was a perfect vegetarian entree. In fact, I was so impressed that I came up with my own version of it in Local Flavors. That was the kind of stew that worked at Greens, but you can see how many elements have to be there for it to really grab the diner.

Mostly I looked for dishes that could be folded, stacked, layered, or otherwise given shape. Tart-based and crepe-based dishes were shoo-ins when it came to form and they still are. Crust always helps provide definition and many things can fill a tart shell besides the classic quiche filling that had introduced the idea of a savory pie in the first place. Some possibilities were chard and saffron; roasted eggplant and tomato; artichokes, mushrooms, leeks with lemon, and goat cheese (new then); winter squash with Roquefort; goat cheese thinned with cream and seasoned with fresh thyme. A tart made into a single serving with the help of special small tart pans really stood out. It was far more special than a wedge, even if everything else about it was the same.

Crepes had the dual advantage of being familiar and being endlessly versatile. Personally, I don’t think crepes ever really lose their appeal; I still make them and people always like them. Plus there are a great many things you can do with crepes. At Greens we made them using different flours — wheat, corn, buckwheat, masa harina — and filled them with an assortment of good things, then folded, rolled, or stacked them. Today I season a crepe batter with saffron and herbs and serve it in place of bread. I also use quinoa, spelt, and other flours that have since entered the culture in the batter. The Many-Layered Crepe Cake, inspired by a Marcella Hazan recipe, not only was one of the most delicious entrees we served, but, when cut, its eight exposed layers told the diner that a lot of care had gone into her entree, and surely that counted for something.

I didn’t see any need to offer meat substitutes when vegetables could be so stellar on their own.

Timbales — those vegetable and herb-saturated custards paired with sauces — also made good entrees with their solid yet tender textures and attractive shapes. The basic idea came from Julia Child’s Art of French Cooking, but we expanded on it, changing the size and shapes of our timbales so that they could transcend their original role as a small garnish to a meat dish and assume their position as a main course. Roulades, or rolled soufflés, were light and pretty to serve with their spiraled interiors showing the layers of filling. Being egg based they went especially well with spinach, chard, sorrel, and mushrooms, or sauces based on these vegetables, such as the sorrel-mushroom sauce in The Greens Cookbook. Filo pastries assumed the form of spanakopita but not the flavor as the fillings changed to include vegetables other than spinach (such as artichokes), plus nuts (like hazelnuts), and cheeses other than feta.

We were careful about serving pasta as a main dish. A main dish had to have some volume so that it lasted for a while, but a large portion of pasta could become tiresome to eat — and it could chill down before it was finished if people were eating slowly, as they generally were when enjoying dinner and conversation in a restaurant. Yet there were many intriguing pasta recipes to explore, especially filled or layered ones. If we did serve pasta as a main course, we made our own dough, formed it into crescent-shaped agnolotti, and filled them with things such as herb-flecked ricotta, butternut squash with toasted pecans and sage — not common then — or a mixture of roasted eggplant and pine nuts. We might feature wild mushrooms in a lasagna. Simpler pasta dishes appeared as smaller first courses, where they could be eaten more quickly, without being too filling.

Cheese and Nut Loaf was the kind of seventies vegetarian dish that I dreaded meeting up with. I didn’t see any need to offer meat substitutes when vegetables could be so stellar on their own, but when a senior student brought in a recipe that her sister had sent her with the promise that this was a truly fantastic dish, I felt obligated to try it. We did and unfortunately people loved it. There was no big mystery as to why they liked it so much, despite the funky name. Nut Loaf was insanely rich with roasted cashew nuts, pecans, a miscellany of grated cheeses, cottage cheese, eggs, mushrooms, and finally, a little bit of brown rice to give all this fat something to cling to. It was dense, chewy, and good in an obvious sort of way, the way sausage, bacon, and meatloaf are good. Once we put it on the menu as a lunch special it was hard to get rid of. We served it just like meatloaf with tangy tomato sauce; turned it into a meatloaf sandwich, grilling it first over mesquite; and we used it to stuff peppers and cabbage. It made a few appearances on the dinner menu but I always found it embarrassing to serve. Still, people loved it.

In general, the dishes that had the best possibilities of succeeding were those usually served as first or second courses, or as (amplified) garnishes to the main dish in more classic cuisines. If I just shifted everything a notch and eliminated the meaty center, I could usually solve my main dish problem. Even a vegetable gratin worked if I made it in an individual dish and slid it onto a bed of wilted greens or perhaps a salad that benefited from being wilted by the heat.

At that time I had a tendency to cook richly, using plenty of butter, eggs, and cream when it made sense. I was unsure about bringing vegetarian food into a mainstream venue, and I knew that we could always make something good when we relied on cream or buttery crusts, and that customers would like them. Fat was easy to fall back on in this way. Also this was 1979 and the early 1980s, an era of cream, butter, and cheese — not just at Greens, but in restaurants everywhere. Our dinners were rich, celebratory splurges, not substitutes for home cooking. I can’t tell you how many people have told me they were proposed to at Greens, or got married there.

Think of this: When we first opened we had only one vegan customer, whom we nicknamed “Non-Dairy Jerry.” Jerry made a big deal about not having cheese in his meal and as he was the only one, we could easily accommodate his wishes. We could even give him a name. Today I suspect there are plenty of vegan, gluten-free, raw, grain-free, and other special eaters. But it is also true that now people find lighter dishes as appealing as the rich dishes that we offered then, even far more so than when we first got started and vegetarian food was pretty much a novelty and eating out was special, not just a way to find sustenance.

Excerpted from AN ONION IN MY POCKET: My Life with Vegetables by Deborah Madison. Copyright © 2020 by Deborah Madison. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Coming up with new ways to make vegetables the main course wasn’t always easy for Deborah Madison. | Charles Amundson/Shutterstock

In an excerpt from “An Onion in My Pocket,” chef Deborah Madison creates a four-course vegetarian menu at a time when vegetarian fine dining was still a foreign concept to many

Buy An Onion in My Pocket at Amazon or Bookshop.

I tried to imagine some tired man dully anticipating a plate with a big hole in the middle where the meat would have been.

I knew that it had to be something that caught the eye and proclaimed without wavering, “Here I am! I’m what’s for dinner! No need to look elsewhere!”

I didn’t see any need to offer meat substitutes when vegetables could be so stellar on their own.

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#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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orcpost-generator · 7 years

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The Right Ears, the Wrong Teeth

My first orctober drabble, got carried away so its a bit on the long side. It’s about a half orc who’s other half is elven.

He made heavy steps through town. Nobody would come closer than about eight feet, his very presence unnerved people. He was getting used to it. He didn’t like that.

The shopkeeper heard a ring of the bell at their shop’s door, what they turned to saw was an appearance they were not as fearful toward as others but equal in malice. The figure was tall, he had to duck under the door to get in, his skin a pale olive and his eyes a green as strong as his build. The man’s ashy blonde hair was tied up into a bun. Man was the most comfortable way they could describe him anyways. What unnerved him the most was his ears and his teeth. If one only saw his ears he would be thought and elf, but those teeth were those of an orc, his thick canines enforcing a strong underbite.

“What is it you need, Sven?” Said the shopkeeper with slight hostility.

“Just some salt, maybe some other spices. Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” Sven knew people didn’t like him even without knowing him. He scanned the store with his eyes, trying to avoid the shopkeep’s stiff glare.

The person behind the counter brought out a moderately hefty sack with “SALT” in bold letters, he then found a much smaller, empty bag. Sven really hated to go through this song and dance.

“I don’t understand why you never let me buy the whole bag.” Said Sven pointing at the transfer.

“It’s policy.” grumbled the shopkeeper.

Sven sighed and rubbed his temples, “but you let Sir Thomas buy at least two bags just last week…”

The shopkeep didn’t even look back up at him, they didn’t care. They placed the smaller bag near the place where he kept all the money as to not have it stolen. “Eight coppers.” they said flatly.

That was twice what Sir Thomas paid.

He made the walk back home. A humble farmhouse next to a field of cabbages with a couple chickens. His strong senses could smell his father’s cooking from a mile away.

The door swung open as he walked in, seeing an elven man on the shorter side even in comparison to the other villagers. He had an expression of warmth and tranquility he had appeared to be stirring something over an open fire.

“Aleck only gave us half a pound again, dad.” His tone was gruff and annoyed, a voice he could only use around someone like his father in this sort of living situation.

The elf’s expression scrunched into mild anger. “Aleck is a bigot. Elves have long memories but clearly they forgot without us their family’d be eating hot water for their meals.” He tapped the wooden spoon in his hand against the pot to drip the remaining liquid back into the stew. “Speaking of meals, lunch is served.”

The one advantage of having an elven father is his abilities to not make cabbage stew taste like cabbage stew, especially when such a thing makes up most of one’s diet. Sven went for the cupboard and grabbed a pair of bowls and spoons for him and his father and hurriedly returned. He wasn’t eager to eat but he was hungry.

The two were in near silence, Sven’s father was a quiet man. He found that most elves were quiet to some extent, that, or he was just loud. That was hard to tell for him. His father, on the other hand knew his silence could sometimes make moments like these awkward.

“Winter ‘ll be here soon, son. I’ve been thinking we should probably get into some sort of service other than cabbage farming, especially with the weather we’ve been having lately.” The cold air was making farm work harder to bear and soon it would be essentially impossible to farm the crop in ankle deep snow. Sven didn’t appear to have concern for this as he looked grimly into his soup.

“Is something bothering you?” The aged elf consoled softly, he saw how the village treated him and wasn’t always able to defend him, some days were worse than others.

“Why did you and mom give me a human name?” Sven rested his head in his hand solemnly.

His father took a deep breath. “I’ve lived many, many years, in all of those years, every man named Sven I’ve met had been an honorable individual. It’s a fine name even if it’s not from the land of your mother or my own, it suits you.”

Sven didn’t seem satisfied.

The elf continued, “I’ll tell you this: before winter comes you can stay with your mother for the season, no doubt she’ll be happy to see you.” Sven’s ears perked as he heard this.

It was something of a mild celebration for him the rest of that day. He was filled with a childlike excitement and had a spring in his step even throughout the grimy village that so despised him. In a week’s time, his father had arranged for a carriage passing through to take his son with them. Many villagers though he would be carted off for good but he and his son made sure to tell them off that he’d be back come spring.

The journey was rough, the carriage wouldn’t dare stop him near the large, jagged fortress in the distance. He hiked for at least an hour he finally approached the large iron doors.

Sven knocked. There was a long silence before a few latches opened and a familiar head leaned out of an opening window and gasped. As he looked up he saw a face he hadn’t seen in two years.

“Hi, mom.” He said waving nervously, “Dad said I could stay with you for the winter, I hope that’s fine.”

The window promptly shut followed by more silence mixed in the murmuring before the large, threatening gates began to swing out, the elvish orc making sure to step aside as to not get hit by the massive walls. Standing there firmly in the middle of the entrance was a hardy, older orcish woman, her arms outstretched toward Sven. He ran into her embrace and they shared a mutually tight gripped hug.

“Happy to see ya son.” She said, holding his head in her hands.

He loved his father and in rare cases his village, but here, with his mother, he almost felt at home.

#orctober #half orc #half elf #fantasy #drabble #orctober Drabble

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fungryandfabulous · 7 years

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Lee Lo Mei

For some reason, I was under the impression that Lee Lo Mei was the new restaurant by the people behind Ho Lee Fook, but actually I’m wrong. It’s opened by ZS Group, the people who opened Mamasita’s Cantina, and Moi Moi. I must say I have issues with the name: I had to explain to my (non-Cantonese-speaking) dining companion last night why I was so reluctant to say it out loud, as Lee Lo Mei is a pretty vulgar swear term. It roughly translates to “you fucker”, or worse. It is quite beyond me why anyone would call a restaurant that.

Located at the old La Piola space on Lyndhurst Terrace, it is quite attractive. It is separated onto two levels, with the bar on street level, and the dining area proper on the 1st floor. The design concept, and I guess actually the entire concept of the restaurant, is a hip, gentrified version of the classic Cantonese “cha-chan-teng”. Instead of going for a muted Wong Kai Wai-esque palate, Lee Lo Mei has gone for full-blown cartoon, throw all the colours and the wall and see what sticks kind of aesthetic.

It’s quite charming, if busy and overwhelming. We sat on stools (really uncomfortable for those of us past the age of 21, by the way) at a round table; and all the classic accoutrements of a cha chaan teng are there, including the pot of colour plastic chopsticks; the old-school ads advertising Green Spot, a soft drink that I thought was as universal as Coca-Cola growing up but is actually sold only in Venezuela and a few southeast Asian countries.

The menu is split into small plates, big plates, and claypot rice. For two people, we were recommended to try two small plates and one big one. Of course, because we are greedy, we ordered more than that.

To start, we tried the deep-fried taro dumplings, filled with confit duck leg. This is actually taro 4 ways, as it also comes with a taro chip, some taro sauce, and uh, I forgot the fourth one. Anyway, this is very tasty, and I liked the tiny (really really tiny) chunks of foie gras in the taro sauce, but the confit duck leg filling is also juicy and tender.

Next is a dish of pan-fried tofu skin, stuffed with stewed cabbage, served in a cream sauce and topped with Iberico pork julienned. This is one of those instances where hip restaurants like to substitute a traditional Chinese ingredient (Yunnan ham) with a “cool” one (Iberico pork), but it backfires because you really miss the classic one. The Iberico pork just doesn’t have that same nuttiness or nice braised texture that Yunnan ham does. Aside from that, it’s hard for me to say why this dish just doesn’t taste very good.

Our third starter is turnip cakes, deep-fried again. This I also found disappointing as the proportion skewed too heavily towards the deep-fried crispy outer layer, and there was too little delicious cooked turnip on the inside. It just felt like the most sterotypical of bad Cantonese cuisine: oily, greasy, yet bland.

Our main dish was a whole yellow chicken, baked in salt, and stuffed with sticky rice, topped with an abalone, and the whole thing wrapped in a lotus leaf. The positives of this dish are: the lotus leaf is really quite fragrant and imparts a delicious aroma to the dish; the chicken itself is quite tender. The negatives: that tiny abalone is absolutely tasteless and apart from being there for the presentation, I can’t really tell its function. There was also too little sticky rice, and it would have been even more aromatic if there were more Chinese sausage in the sticky rice. As it stands, it’s a bit bland, so I made copious use of the abalone sauce on the side.

Finally, for dessert, we ordered the one that’s just called “white”. It’s tofu pudding, tofu ice cream, sago and coconut. If it sounds like a lot, it is. But to give credit where credit is due, the use of dry ice did totally remind me of my childhood, when we would go to this one Cantonese restaurant that loved to serve us a fruit bowl amidst a billowing bowl of dry ice. But other than that, this dessert was also quite “meh”. Tofu in itself doesn’t have much flavour, and I could have done with a lot more coconut to amp it up.

Dinner for two, including a glass of wine each, came to about HK$1,000. That is actually probably the most unfortunate part of the decor and concept. It might have been less crowded and much cleaner than your traditional cha-chan-teng, but conceptually, it’s still a bit galling to bit sitting so uncomfortably (my back REALLY hurt!) and be expected to pay mid-to-fine dining prices.

Overall, the food is merely average, and I’m more likely to return to the bar downstairs for drinks and a spot of people-watching than I am to the restaurant upstairs.

#food #lee lo mei #lyndhurst #central #restaurant #cantonese

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ericjuneau · 7 years

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Reprise (Chapter 16) [Frozen/Tangled/The Little Mermaid]

CHAPTER 16: Room to Breathe

Not even the candles in the caravan dare fizzle.

"You knew her," Granny asked in a creaky voice.

"She was my mother... I thought she was my mother. She took me when I was a baby. When my mother... my real mother... was giving birth to me, she was having trouble. So they fed her this potion made from a magical golden flower. But they didn't know Mother Gothel had found it first."

"Use not that word for the witch. She is a mother to the devil only."

Rapunzel wasn't sure how to take that, so she continued. "The magic transferred to me. So she kidnapped me and took me to a tower. I never knew who I was or that I was the lost princess. Just that she was keeping me protected from diseases and thugs and things like that. And I wasn't ready for them. I was too gullible and naïve. But on my eighteenth birthday I met someone who helped me escape, and... well, we managed to take away the magic and she died."

Rapunzel closed her eyes and looked away, trying to shut out Gothel's death scream as she turned to dust. The caravan stayed silent, while tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She didn't know what else to say.

Ariel mouthed the words 'eighteen years?' to Elsa, who was just as astonished.

"Everyone! Leave us." Granny commanded. "And Nash..." She pointed her bony finger at Elsa and Ariel. "Treat these women like princesses. Or I'll hang you by your ears."

Nash backed away. "O-of course." He squirreled Ariel and Elsa out of the caravan without another word. Now it was only the old lady and Rapunzel, knelt like a woman at an altar.

"Rise, my child," Granny said. "Come closer."

Rapunzel leaned down. Granny's eyes were like black opals filled with stars. "I never knew she was one of you. If I'd-"

"Feh," Granny said. "Not one of us. Never one of us. May the devil boil her face in pitch until it cracks. Glamor hides the mark of Cain. A sundew's flower looks luscious to a fly, with droplets of water to sip. Do not forget this. Nature does not. It is full of deception. Man is no different. It is smarter than the sundew, and thus uses smarter traps. This is the advice I give you."

Granny twirled her finger around a swatch of Rapunzel's hair. "Eighteen years..." she uttered. "All that time... You have a greater spirit than mine, child. I've seen others descend into madness for less. Tell me, child--do you forgive her for what she did?"

"I... I don't know," Rapunzel said. She looked away.

"Well, don't!"

"Don't?" Rapunzel asked.

"She was a vain, selfish woman. She had no care for anyone who stood in her way. That is the worst kind of human being. If one can call her that."

"But... doesn't everyone deserve forgiveness?"

"What is forgiveness? The reprieve of sins? Release of the feelings of hate? No. She earned your ire. She took away eighteen years you can't get back. Eighteen years of your life. Forgive her nothing."

"I... I don't know. When I think back, I don't remember bad feelings. I became good at so many things--music and art and crafts and baking and climbing. I remember always looking forward to the next day. And I still do."

Granny lay back. "As so it should be, child."

Ariel and Elsa held their hands over the fire. Other gypsies sat near, but ignored them, laughing and eating stew.

"She really spent eighteen years locked in a tower?" Ariel asked Elsa.

"I guess so. I didn't know. I mean..." Elsa rubbed her hands together. "I knew she was kidnapped, but I thought she was just... raised somewhere else. I thought she lived a peasant's life, stolen by a crazed woman and raised as her own. I had no idea about the tower."

"She seems so... normal," Ariel said. "I would have gone crazy if I was her. I had the whole ocean to explore and it still wasn't enough. But now that I know what she went through, I feel, I don't know..." Ariel rubbed her shoulders. "Childish."

Elsa said, "When I was eleven, they closed off the castle to control my curse. We operated on minimal staff. Limited my contact with people. Especially Anna. Sometimes I'd find Anna sleeping outside my door, and I'd carry her back to bed. I rarely left my room."

"Wow. So you were kind of alike."

"But... my exile was self-imposed. Rapunzel believed it was for her protection. Mine was to protect others." She stirred the fire with a stick. "How she made it, I'll never know. She's a stronger person than me."

"She had no one, except her 'mother'. And Pascal. I had Daddy, my six older sisters, Sebastian, Flounder, Scuttle, a whole ocean of friends. Even on land, I started alone, but I made new ones."

"Land." Elsa looked at the sky. The sun was halfway behind the mountains.

"Oh no, I forgot," Ariel said.

"Excuse me?" Elsa asked a gypsy named Cooper. "Where are we to sleep tonight?"

"Figure you'll take one of our caravans. We can sleep under the stars." He pointed to a conestock wagon big enough for three. "I know she said to treat you like guests, but... er, honestly, that is the best we have."

"Fewest mouse droppings," another man interjected. "Due on that's where we sleep our hounds."

Elsa stood up. "Ariel and I are going to take a walk. Into the swamp."

"Er, you are?" Cooper asked.

"Yes. And if anyone follows us, they will regret it. Do you understand? I don't want any of your men in the trees following us."

Nash responded, "Ain't no one keeping track this close to camp. But you shouldn't be walking in the dark. What if-"

"You ask a lot of questions," Elsa said. "Do I have your word that we will not be followed?"

"You kept your word. I'll keep mine," Nash said.

Elsa held her head stiff as Ariel followed her. She brushed back the vines and the world dimmed. Pungent swamp gas had mellowed in the fall of evening. The dim lights of fireflies circled in the distance. Ariel used her trident as a machete, pulling back creepers and shooing animals.

"Do you have a plan?" Ariel asked.

"We need water. And we can't get it from them without raising too much suspicion."

"Right. They'll wonder why I'm taking such a long bath."

"If we can find a small pond, will you be okay? It's not salt water."

"I think I'll be okay. All I need to do is make it until morning."

They walked further into the swamp, following a stream up to its source--an overflowing pit of dark water. Moss overhung the edges, but it was clean as marshes went.

"I think this should do. We can't wait much longer anyways." Ariel took off her skirt. Elsa folded it while Ariel walked into the water, shivering from the cold.

She turned to Elsa, arms crossed over her chest. "What about crocodiles?"

"Can't you use your trident?"

"Not if I'm asleep."

"I can create a dome over the pond. Ice will keep everything out. But it might be a cold night."

"Better than being chomped on."

Elsa circled her hands. A white arc grew from one side of the pond, curving over the top. Ariel bit her lip as the hatch closed, leaving her with little light.

Elsa knocked on the dome. "You all right in there?"

"Just fine," Ariel said, lying through her teeth.

"I'll come find you in the morning. Have a good night."

Ariel played with the water while waiting for the change to come. Pain gripped her torso. She writhed, splashing against the dome's ceiling. When the transformation was complete, a lingering fire burned in her chest. She wasn't sure how much longer she could do this. Her mermaid body resisted the cold, but the darkness kept her uneasy.

Something scratched at the base of the dome. A badger curiously pawing at it?

Ariel sank into the water, hoping for the best.

When Elsa returned, she found Rapunzel by the fire. A Romani man played the lute while others laughed and clanked frothy mugs holding conversation with her. Three women weaved her hair with their bony fingers. "It's like working with spun gold," one cackled.

"Where's the red-headed one?" Cooper asked.

"She prefers to sleep alone. It's... it's how she was raised."

"That's a bit unusual."

"We're all a bit unusual," Rapunzel said. "I lived in a single room for eighteen years and my hair is seventy feet long." The gypsies laughed and continued their cups. Rapunzel's distraction had worked. "Is Ariel okay?" she asked Elsa.

Elsa sat down beside her. "I think so. She... found a pond, and wanted to 'sleep' there. I made sure she was protected."

Rapunzel nodded. "I asked Granny about Omis Ravir. She said the folk tale is that he lives in an old cathedral further west, deep in the woods. She's not sure if it's real or just a legend to scare people. Her people weren't exactly welcome near the church."

Elsa nodded. "Is he supposed to be a man? A monster? A wizard?"

"Granny wasn't entire sure. She thought it was once a man. But the stench of evil was so strong, she couldn't believe anything in there was ever human. She wouldn't even try burning down the woods, in case it survived and found its way out. Anyway, she promised to have us guided there tomorrow morning."

Someone handed Elsa and Rapunzel two bowls of steaming stew.

"Then... I guess all that's left tonight is to eat, drink and be merry," Elsa said.

In the morning, as Rapunzel finished hemming her stockings, she heard rustling vines. Elsa emerged, leading Ariel out. She was wearing Elsa's shawl.

"Are you okay?" Rapunzel asked.

"I can't w-w-wait to have this c-c-curse lifted," Ariel said. "I d-d-d-d-don't think I can d-d-d-do that ag-g-g-gain." Elsa rubbed Ariel's shoulders.

Nash finished tying his boots. The tin objects on his hiking pack jingled. "Ladies, I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Is it far?"

Nash shrugged. "It'll take about half the morning to get there."

"Maybe the walk will warm me up," Ariel said.

They left the camp behind and traveled across the prairie. A jade forest swallowed them up, full of dense thickets and jungle vines the color of parrot feathers.

Nash led, hacking at the brush with a short sword. In the beginning, birds chittered overhead. But now deep in, only the wind creaked old boughs.

"All right," Nash said. "This is far as I'm taking you."

"We're not there yet," Ariel said.

"I'm not going anywhere closer. Sorry, miladies. I know Granny said I'd take you all the way, but I've gone further than I feel comfortable. And I'm not taking one more step if I've got breath." He pointed. "Just keep going that direction. You can see the cathedral from here, if you've a mind to climb a tree. Just don't... aw, never mind."

"What?" Ariel asked.

"Nothing. Did you bring any weapons?"

Ariel held out her trident. Elsa flexed her fingers.

Rapunzel said, "Um, should I have something?"

"I wouldn't go in with anything less than a king's battalion." Nash sloughed off his backpack. "Let's see... maybe I can give you something. There's a decent knife. It's a bit chipped. Um... Maybe I can whip up a sling, but... no, I don't have any leather." He turned the pack around.

"How about that?"

Rapunzel pointed at a cast-iron cooking pan hung off the strap.

"This? It's an old fry pan."

Rapunzel, bright-eyed, nodded. "That'll work."

Nash shrugged and unhooked it. "Okay... if that's what you want..." Rapunzel held up the pan to her chest, grinning, while Ariel and Elsa returned confusion.

Nash put his back pack on and huffed. "Good luck, ladies. May rain fall to your south and the rainbow touch your shoulder."

They waved goodbye as he disappeared behind a tall oak.

Ariel used her trident to push aside the branches, searching for the path of least resistance. All the trees were old and gnarled. The farther they went, the more grizzled they got.

Ten minutes later, they reached a clearing. Vines and dead branches draped everywhere, giving the appearance of a sun-dappled rotunda scooped out of the forest. Just beyond lay a brick facade, covered in thick bushes and ropy ivy.

"We found it," Ariel said, squealing.

The forest, try as it might, couldn't seem to reclaim the cathedral as its own. Heavy trees obstructed access to anything but the front wall. Shards of stained glass windows poked around the frame, some with branches snaking through. Weeds had grown through cracked steps and hassock melded with stone.

"That's creepy," Ariel said, pointing.

A stone statue stood in an inset above the cathedral doors. It was as big as an elephant, but shaped like a grand lion or dog.

"Some kind of gargoyle or manticore." Rapunzel said. "Should we go in?"

Rapunzel and Ariel approached, while Elsa stood back, unnerved by the statue. She couldn't figure out why it stood out to her. Empty coal-black eyes stared out from a face constructed from thick discs. Spires flared out around its neck like a mane. Something about its architectural style seemed off. Or maybe it was the stonework. Elsa couldn't put her finger on it.

Then Elsa snapped her fingers. It was the only object in the glen with no moss.

Before she could tell the others, Rapunzel and Ariel stepped on the walkway. Something started humming. The stone veneer over the statue's eyes cracked. Bright blue whorls lit up, lifeless like glass.

Stone pebbles and shards spilled onto Ariel's and Rapunzel's heads. They stepped back toward Elsa.

The monster shook its head, raining dirt and dust. It leapt off its perch. The ground trembled on landing. It adjusted its haunches, dropped its jaw, and roared.

"Oh boy," Ariel said.

#Ariel #Elsa #Rapunzel #Tangled #Frozen #The Little Mermaid #Disney #fanfiction #Reprise #fanfic #disneyprincess #crossover

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helatherwhite · 6 years

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Easy Indian Lentil Curry Recipe

Looking for a tasty, frugal meal that's a snap to make? One taste of these Easy Indian Lentils and you'll be surprised at how satisfying and delicious lentils can be.

This savory lentil dahl recipe is a vegan stew that is rich, hearty, and delicious, but also super simple and inexpensive to make.

Our family loves curry.

Anything curry.

In fact, though we like experimenting with cuisine from all cultures, I would say that Indian is one of our favorites.

Now, before I go on, let me say that this lentil recipe isn't an intense, hot and spicy curry – so don't run away if you think that you are not a curry fan.

Really–you don't know what you are missing.

Most people who don't like curry don't like it due to its being spicy. This dish is not that, and in fact, it feels like a real comfort food to me. In fact, there another recipe on my site that actually does feature curry and that is in fact my most requested recipe–Pakistani Kima.

Think you don't like curry? You really should try BOTH of these recipes (these Indian Lentils and the Pakistani Kima).

I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Easy Indian Food

So you love Indian food like I do, right? However, we all know that making Indian cuisine can be quite time consuming. So when I can get the taste of Indian spices in a fast, one pot meal, then I get the best of both worlds.

I can have my cake curry and eat it too.

‘Cause these days, who has a lot of time to spend in the kitchen working on seemingly endless elaborate steps? I have many other things that need to be done.

Like photo albums. Those need to be done. Please don't ask how many years behind I am. I need to start a support group for moms with empty photo albums :-). Care to join me?

Anyhow, back to the recipe.

This recipe is adapted from a dish simply called “Red Lentils” by Southern Living.

It's a pretty “Blah” name for a truly amazing dish.

It's quick on its own, but really lickety-split in my pressure cooker. If you don't have one of these yet, put it on your Christmas list now.

I know, I should get better at planning meals, but it sure is nice to not have any idea what you are going to have for dinner at 5:30 and have dinner on the table at 6:15.

Well, with this recipe, you can get it done. You can literally have an amazingly delicious meal on the table–without resorting to packages filled with preservatives and who knows what else.

Done. In a fast 30 minutes on the store top or 9 minutes in the pressure cooker.

Mom is happy that she didn't resort to serving boxed cereal (that might have paint thinner in it??) and toast, and the family is happy because they aren't having popcorn, carrot sticks, and hard-boiled eggs (or sardines for my egg-allergic son) again because mom forgot to plan :-).

Yes, I know, you all are wondering why we don't just order a pizza, right? We're all gluten-free and oldest is also deathly allergic to dairy, so that's why….

What is Indian Dahl

Daal (which can also be spelled Dal/Dahl/Dhal) is a stew of lentils, cooked with delectable spices. Many dahls are made with red lentils, that interestingly turn yellow when cooked, and then are served with Naan. Naan is a popular soft Indian flatbread that you will have had if you’ve ever been to an Indian restaurant.

They taste amazing together.

Our family is gluten-free, so you traditional Naan isn't ever on our table, but I plan on developing a gluten-free or grain-free Naan, and in the meantime, as mentioned below, the flax bread on my blog tastes great with this. You could even wrap these Indian Lentils in these Buckwheat Pancakes as well.

Here are some other of my super fast recipes that are “go to's” when I'm short on time.

– Easy Baked Chicken Nuggets – Super Savory Hummus – Fast & Yummy Bean Dip – GF Chili Mac (and other super fast meals)

Ways to Serve Curry Lentils

Rice This dish tastes great served over rice (which, by the way, I can cook in 20 minutes flat in my pressure cooker. Woo-hoo!) I always use brown rice due to its higher nutritive qualities. There is some concern about arsenic in brown rice so source carefully or eat white rice if you prefer.

2. Pasta

It would be fabulous over gluten-free pasta or spiralized veggie noodles too.

3. Naan

Naan is the perfect accompaniment for this Indian Lentil recipe. If you're avoiding gluten, you can make or purchase a gluten-free naan or make this Focaccia Flax Bread for a gluten-free flatbread option.

4. Cauliflower Rice

Cauli rice is the perfect low carb / grain-free option and is what is pictured in the images on this post.

5. Add Ins

Next time I plan to add seasoned chicken pieces to this dish. Specifically, I think that sauteing small chunks of chicken in coconut oil and my Homemade All-Purpose Seasoning would be a wonderful addition.

My Chat Masala spice mix tastes great on this. We have this on our table at all times and put it on everything. Except – ahem – desserts :-).

If you are like us and you just LOVE curry dishes, see my recipe for Sweet Curry Powder – DIY – it is real winner and great money saver too. You can add it to so many dishes, including this one. Just trade the turmeric and cumin for the curry.

Enjoy!

This post may contain affiliate links from which I will earn a commission.

Recipe Notes for Indian Lentils

Onion options Instead of an onion, you can use 2 Tbsp minced onion plus a bit of water to reconstitute.

Broth options Here is a great place to buy bone broth. You can also find the same brand on Amazon. Vegetable broth is also fine – see my Homemade Vegetable Broth Mix.

Lentil Options Although this recipe was originally meant as a red lentil dish, you can use any kind of lentils and the main photos were taken of the dish made with traditional lentils. The glycemic index of red lentils is a higher so brown is a better choice if you're watching carb intake.Make sure that you read my post on How to De-Gas Beans. It's a must! The lentils in the following photo are red lentils. Note that red lentils turn yellow when cooked.

Basil options You can use fresh or dried basil, but fresh will yield a more dramatic flavor and presentation. If you choose to grow your own herbs, this post on the how to preserve herbs shows what to do with your bumper crop. If using dried, substitute in 2-3 Tbsp organic dried basil.

Easy Indian Lentils

This Indian Lentil Recipe is ready in a flash (as little as 9 minutes!) & is kid friendly too!

3-4 Tbsp organic coconut oil ((or other healthy fat))

1 onion ((diced))

8 garlic cloves ((minced))

28 oz chicken broth ((3 1/2 cups) (see Recipe Notes))

28 oz diced tomatoes ((of course, fresh is fine also))

2 1/2 cups lentils ((rinsed))

1 tsp organic turmeric

1 tsp organic ground cumin

1/2 tsp organic pepper ((optional. I left it out due to my youngest not liking spicy foods))

1/2 cup basil

salt ((to taste – I use about 2 tsp))

Melt oil in a large, heavy pot over medium heat.

Add onion and garlic. Saute 5 minutes or until the onion is soft.

Add broth and next 5 ingredients.

Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low.

If Using Pressure Cooker

Add lentils and bring to a boil.

Place the lid on the cooker and bring up to high pressure. Cook for 9 minutes on high (you may need a few more minutes since the tomatoes counteract the cooking of the lentils slightly. Conversely, you could add the tomatoes after cooking the beans and then let the resulting dish cook for a bit).

Let pressure come down naturally. Remove lid carefully.

Stir in basil and salt to taste.

If Using Regular Pot

Add lentils, and then simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, approximately 30 minutes or until lentils are tender. (Red lentils will cook quicker than brown or green.)

Stir in basil and salt to taste.

The above nutrition facts are estimates only. Please read my Nutrition Disclaimer here.

Voila!

Wonderful, fast, savory Indian cuisine in no time!

What would you serve with these Easy Indian Lentils?

The post Easy Indian Lentil Curry Recipe appeared first on Whole New Mom.

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