#grilling meat

[gbgamebun]

She do be tryin'

Cream mod for Sonic Frontiers, not made by me. You can get it here~

[swipethelinen]

Grilled Balsamic and Soy Marinated Flank Steak Soy sauce, balsamic vinaigrette, onion, and garlic combine for a tasty marinade, ideal for flank steak before going on the grill. 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper, 1 tablespoon rosemary, 3 cloves garlic chopped, 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar, 1/2 onion chopped, 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard, 1/4 cup soy sauce, 1.5 pounds flank steak, 1/4 cup olive oil, 1 teaspoon salt

[miri-chuuei]

Grilled Balsamic and Soy Marinated Flank Steak A flavorful marinade made of soy sauce, balsamic vinaigrette, onion, and garlic is perfect for marinating flank steak before grilling.

[dylmei]

Grilled Balsamic and Soy Marinated Flank Steak A flavorful marinade made of soy sauce, balsamic vinaigrette, onion, and garlic is perfect for marinating flank steak before grilling.

[lustingfood]

Steak and Eggs with Chimichurri (x)

[daily-deliciousness]

Grilled lamb chops with peanut sauce

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

is it the devil talking when I see hibachis for sale at the local knife (and fancy kitchen gear) shop

[whitefireprincess]

BBQ Brisket Melts | All Things Cooking

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@rosekillermicrofic may 4 — hopeless — 1233words — cw: mildly pervy and sexual thoughts, nothing explicit though

no thoughts, just line cook! barty

A miracle.

The gods have heard Barty’s wishes and granted him this blessing.

Evan usually gets set up for dealing with the bar or counter but on rare occasions his lovely name gets jotted down in the column of servers/busboys. Today is one of those fateful occurrences which means Barty has at least 30% longer time windows of flirting his jolly ass off and burning food he’s not paying attention to curtsy of Evan’s slutty narrow hips in those damn aprons. Obscene things, those are.

Barty is currently staring at them as he blindly flips the burger patties one after the other, the stove sizzling animatedly. Barty is pretty sure he hasn’t blinked once since Evan has entered the kitchen again a minute ago to help sort dishes.

“So how’s your day been so far, Evan darling?”

“No,” comes back immediately. Not even a look thrown over his shoulder.

Barty’s grin widens. He puts more meat on the stove.

“Aw, c’mon. People been scant with tips already or what?”

Evan doesn’t reply, instead ripping off the notes from his pad and wordlessly striding over to Barty’s station, pinning them up.

Two of today’s specials, one cheesesteak and one portion of chicken for a caesar salad. And a little dick scribbled in the bottom corner.

“More people coming in than usual. Get a move on,” Evan says before briskly walking off again. Barty just so manages to get a whiff of spicy deodorant and whatever shea butter coconut extract beauty shit Evan uses for his curls before he’s gone again.

Barty sighs, looking after his pert little ass and long legs all the way until he’s around the corner. Then he readjusts his grip on the spatula and finally picks the patties off the grill, calling for Lily to collect them and assemble.

“They’re burnt,” she hisses, punching him in the arm with vigor. It hurts but Barty is too busy thinking about what type of underwear Evan might be wearing today. “Stop getting distracted by Rosier and do your damn job, chef.”

Barty hums, “What you think it’ll take to trick Evan into following me into the freezer room?”

Another hit. The same exact spot and Barty can’t help but hiss in pain this time.

Lily simply shakes her head, muttering Hopeless as she leaves.

Rush hour comes and goes.

Barty doesn’t let himself be bothered by the frenzy of it, bobbing his head to his playlist jamming over the old, staticy speakers while servers bustle around him like worker bees.

It’s meditative to him in a way and usually he sort of snaps out of it once it all calms down.

It’s when Evan asks him for leftover containers that Barty is brought back down to earth today.

The other boy is flushed in the face, slightly sweaty and hair messy with what can only be described as the final quarter of an eight hour shift look. It looks unfairly sexy on him.

The take out containers are in the cupboard over Barty’s head to his left side which he made sure to push all the way back during his break earlier.

“Yeah, they’re right here,” Barty says, nodding to the shelf.

“Grab two for me?”

Barty turns back to his meat again, teeth digging into his lower lip, grin straining his cheeks. “Nope.”

There’s nothing for a few seconds, only the background noise of the restaurant, the sizzling oil and Barty’s music.

When he turns again Evan is standing in the middle of the kitchen, rooted to the spot, blinking at Barty once. “‘No’?”

Barty hums, “Yeah, ’m pretty busy right now in case you can’t tell.” He shuffles a strip of bacon around as if to prove his point.

Evan’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into an obscene little pout, “You just have to lift your arm!”

“Sorry, no can do, Rosie baby.”

“You-” Evan huffs, “Hand me the fucking boxes, Crouch.”

“Can’t,” he replies airily, shrugging. “They’re pretty high up, too,” a hum, “I might not even be tall enough. I think you’ll have to walk your devilishly tall ass over here and grab them yourself.”

“Branleur,” Evan spits before reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His amber eyes glower dangerously at Barty and he has to suppress a deeply satisfactory hum, gut tightening and blood thrumming.

Evan yanks at the handle, opening it up to the ceiling before stretching up on his tiptoes to peer into it. He lets out a grumble, presumably at finding the containers to, in fact, be there but pushed all the way to the wall.

He’s only taller than Barty by a bit, an inch or two, maybe three, which means he’s struggling to reach the boxes too.

And it’s glorious and heavenly and so very tempting because Evan’s shirt is riding up in the back and, oh god, he has dimples there. Fuck, Evan has back dimples and they’re approximately half an armslength from Barty’s twitching fingers and it really requires visceral effort not to reach out and dig the pads of his thumbs into them. Push and maybe fold Evan right in half over the counter all together. Lick along his spine and bite into his hip bones, the smooth skin of his stomach, nibble at that one little mole right next to his navel that Barty was once fortunate enough to make acquaintance with and has since rubbed one out to more times than he could count.

When the other boy lifts back down he catches him staring, their eyes snapping to each other instantly.

“Don’t be a perv,” Evan comments, giving Barty a derogative once over and christ, no, don’t do that.

Barty laves his tongue along the corner of his own mouth, collecting spit that was threatening to drool, and uses a quick hand to adjust himself in his jeans.

Evan’s eyes follow his movement, arms crossing in front of his chest and a heavy breath punches out of Barty. He can’t help it, his mind is a powerpoint of all the different things he wants to do to Evan to make him lose this put-on condescending demeanor. Glimpses of the prettiest pair of eyes rolling back, eyebrows scrunching pitifully as Barty sinks into deliciously tight heat.

He desperately needs to get Evan alone with him. “Wanna smoke a blunt with me after closing?” he blurts.

And then Evan suddenly smiles. A downright cute little thing, all coy and syrupy sweet, poisonously candid. So viscous saccharine Barty feels it immobilize him like a glue trap and he groans in anticipation of the fatal blow Evan is about to deliver.

“Sorry, B,” he murmurs innocently, clicking his head, “no can do.”

It glides over Evan’s lips all strained and faux and with the most erotic little pitch Barty’s ears have ever heard.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his semi straining so heavily against the denim it would surely be visible without his own apron.

From one moment to the next Evan’s smile falls, having fulfilled its purpose, and he gives one last snootily look before he whirls on his heels and marches away, takeout containers in hand.

Just over to the other end of the kitchen where he bends down to grab some cutlery with which he will scrape the leftovers from the plate into the aluminum containers.

Doing so, Evan’s shirt rides up again, his ass jutting out and Barty vaguely registers the smell of burnt pork as he commits the muscle shift of Evan’s thighs and back into his memory for later.

[chillydownhere2]

Source Flickr

Mike Another Pint Please

[scoutingthetrooper]

tater tot bacon grilled cheese waffle

[yorufi]

May I request a Tooth Fairy grilling. the mental image of it is just funny. autism be damned this dentist can work a grill

this is my fav request so far (i put all my knowledge about american culture here /hj)

i want another event with greenlake cast where they go on a road-trip through the states (with TooF and Z as drivers) and have the most 🦅🦅🦅 american 🇺🇸🇺🇸 experience 🤠🤠🤠 ever. some shenanigans later and they have a grill cookout, because TooF was bragging about her new grill that she got on a yard sale and was waiting for a moment when she could finally grill. she comes out with a grill in this glory of an outfit (i thought about putting her in a moo moo, but this screams more homosexual)

i would love to put the rest of greenlake cast in a spectrum of queer fashion, but for now only Madam Z, Sonetto and Vertin

update: i found a better shirt for TooF grill outfit… regretting not checking twitter before that

[yfnkar]

omg IM LOSING MY MIND. THE STUDIO INVESTIGRAVE NEW YEAR ART HAS MASKS OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS RIGHT?!?!

NORMAL GUY ON TOP, THEN THE DOPPELS, THEN MANON OK OK OK?!?!

NORMAL GUY IS FLOOR 9 (THE ROOF)

THE DOPPELS ARE FLOOR 8

AND THEREFORE, MANON IS FLOOR 7.

THE BUTCHER FLOOR.

THE FUCKI MEAT FLOOR

[sid3buns]

DAY 1 of Blue Lock Rarepair Week for @bllkrarepairweek !

The prompt is cooking. Bris on a bbq date ; Barou will NOT let Isagi grill any meat.

[waddei]

this is so disgustingly raw someone fly this boy to my house i can fix him

[daily-deliciousness]

Grilled steak kabobs (whiskey marinade + glaze)