#very fussy about foods + couldn’t do like. texture in some ways???

[vigilantejustice]

sometimes i think there’s definitely something like. diagnosably wrong with my personality + the more i examine my childhood the more i’m convinced there’s an explanation.

got gifted a guidebook for the sims that had a SUPER detailed multi-generational tutorial playthrough which was just a cool way to highlight all the fun new mechanics of the game but kid me followed this tutorial with complete unwavering rigidity every time and felt like i was somehow playing the sims (a game with literally no rules) wrong or that it didn’t count if i didn’t follow the guide letter for letter what kind of...

[nad-zeta]

Mitsuhide- Mealtime Mayhem

Fandom: Ikesen

Pairings: Mitsuhide x Reader

Genre: Fluffffff

Words: 1700+

Comments: Eeeeep HAPPY BIRTHDAY MINEKO!!!! Whooop Whooop! //dances around ❤❤Hope you have the best day! ❤😳🥺! 🥺😳❤🌈 @mineko811

.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ

You reached for the doorknob of your shared apartment, key turning slowly as you went to step inside. Feet aching after the long day at work, you passed through the doorway, excited to greet your lover but instead being met with a puff of white smoke. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as a cough ripped through your chest. You dared to trudge deeper into the apartment, kicking your heels off and leaving the door ajar— in hopes that the smoke would disperse to hopefully at least restore some of your vision.

You felt around the room blindly, cautiously walking to avoid stubbing your unsuspecting toes against any chair legs or counter corners.

You spotted him there— amid the smoke— white hair blending in all so perfectly. That dense mist-like smoke creating an eerie feel of mystery and danger, perfect to disguise the mischievous fox within. You couldn’t help but think it suited him.

You sauntered up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing up onto the very top of your tippy toes to peek over his shoulder to see the absolute disaster he was creating. “Whatcha making there love?” you asked curiously, giving him a loving peck on the cheek.

Mitsuhide turned around, a snakelike smile plastered across his features as if there was nothing out of the ordinary— as if he wasn’t there setting your house on fire with his culinary train smash.

He expertly evaded the question— master of avoidance and deception— or so he liked to claim—standing in front of the smoking mess, to shield it from your prying eyes. “Welcome home, my dearest mouse,” he beamed, holding your cheeks hostage between his hands to keep your eyes focused solely on him.

To humour him or not to humour him, that is the question?

Making your choice, you ducked down around him, shaking your head at the scene in front of you. “What in the world? Are you trying to imitate your latest investigation?” you teased, shooting him a playful little grin over your shoulder.

“It’s nothing to be concerned with, my dearest; now pray tell how your day has been,” he hummed out, trying once more to distract you with hands falling onto your hips, nuzzling his nose against you lovingly.

“My day,” you started, sparing the dodgy pan a final glance before turning to shrug off your coat as you took up residence atop a nearby kitchen counter. “ Was busy as usual, nothing to write home about,” you reported nonchalantly.

It was a long and tedious day, filled with the usual work, politics and chaos, certainly not the most ideal way you wanted to spend your birthday. On the contrary, you wanted nothing more than to spend your birthday at home, with Mitsu. Guilt tugged at your heart when you thought back to the morning— being greeted with soft cuddles and golden eyes filled with a dazzling glint of excitement at the prospect of a day off. He rarely got time off, and your heart sank even further, knowing the amount of effort and strings that needed to be pulled to allow it. Yet alas, the universe had different plans for you, as shortly after hearing out all the thrilling plans he had made, you had gotten a call summoning you into work.

“Whiskey?” you sighed out, breaking the comfortable silence that fell between the two of you. Without waiting for an answer, you reach across the counter to take hold of the whiskey bottle and two glasses. You poured the golden liquid into the glasses, adding a few ice cubes before holding one out towards Mitsuhide.

“My, are you certain you would not like to write home about your day? The stiff drink certainly is telling, mouse”, he teased with amusement and hints of concern, swishing the knife in the air casually before cutting up some onions and throwing it with the unidentified contents of the still smoking pan.

“Would you write back if I do,” you met his tease with a tired smile, handing him his drink and clicking your glass with his.

Mitsuhide simply shook his head, chuckling while taking a sip of the golden rye. “If your heart desires it, little one, now wash up. Dinner shall be ready momentarily,” he nodded, turning back the pan and adding some water from the kettle with brows furrowed in concentration, causing even more smoke to rise up.

You hummed contently, hopping off the counter, changing from your work clothes into your PJs— not wanting to linger too long; after all, you did want a kitchen to come back to. You crossed the threshold of the dining room only to see Mitsuhide set out two bowls onto the dining table with a proud smirk plastered across his face.

You swallowed, preparing yourself for the horror that was the meal you were to eat. Making your way closer, you inspected the bowl of goo with wide eyes. “So what do we have on the menu tonight chef,“ you asked, slipping into your seat—hoping to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Mitsuhide shrugged and booped your nose in response, “just a simple meal made with love.”

You hummed, picking up a fork —ooh, you could not bring it over your heart to take a bite— so instead, you just moved the food around in the bowl like a fussy child at dinner time.

“Gracious, you’re not even touching your food, my love. Here, shall I help you.”

He scooped up a healthy helping of the sludge-like substance onto a spoon and held it out for you to taste. Your lips pursed, eyes narrowing at its contents. What in the 7 hells was this supposed to be? He brought the spoon closer to your lips, leaning forward to rest his chin on his other hand.

“Come now, little one, how are you to grow into a mighty mouse if you don’t eat the special birthday meal your husband lovingly prepared for you, hmm."

“I don’t think I will grow at all if I eat that; if anything, I think death will be imminent,” you quipped back.

“My my, how you wound me so, if you keep rejecting me, I may very well just burst into tears,” Mitsuhide sighed out dramatically, bringing his hand over his heart in mock hurt— yet the way his golden eyes shone told you he was anything but hurt.

“Fine! Fine!” you finally huffed out, turning your face back, wrapping your hand around his to bring the spoon to your mouth. Only a little taste, you thought with a gulp. You stopped short of your lips, praying to any and every god that you would be spared from the horrors of food poisoning.

Oh, how he tried, it warmed your heart, really it did, but the culinary genius inside you was screaming. Finally, you closed your lips around the spoon, letting the flavours coat your tongue; whatever it was, it was beyond fixing, so much so that you could almost hear Gordon Ramsay’s comments of the meal echoing in your head. Of course, the texture would be fine, Mitsuhide could execute that part well enough, but the taste, GOD, the flavour was a dead giveaway of a certain someone’s taste or rather lack thereof.

You swallowed the contents, trying to school your features into a carefree smile, only the delicate muscles of your face had not gotten the memo, instead pulling into a sour, scrunched up expression. “Mmm, this is great,” you managed to get out, sounding far less sincere than you had meant it to.

Mitsuhide, on the other hand, burst into a fit of cackling laughter. You realized then, you had been played. The cackling continued even after you narrowed your eyes, sending him an icy glare,” oh dearest, this is precisely why I love teasing you so.”

You crossed your arms and turned your face away with a ‘Hmpf.’

He tried to get your attention, but each time you turned away with a huff. “Has a cat caught my darling wife’s tongue,” came the amused words from the man you loved so dearly as he curled a stray lock of your hair around his fingers.

You dared to cautiously sneak a glance at him, only to see a broad grin littered with mischief. You quickly turned your face away once more, fearing he might see straight past your pouting facade. With mischief marrying his eyes, his hands moved toward your sides to tickle you mercilessly, “perhaps I shall use my skills as a detective to get you talking.”

You held out as long as you could, but the ticklish sensation caused laughter to bubble from your chest, “M-Mitsu s-stop, -stop,” uncontrollable laughter wasn’t the only sound to file into the room as your stomach let go of a large growl in hunger.

Of course, you had not eaten all day and, that, whatever it was, was less than satisfying to the taste buds.

Mitsuhide continued to chuckle as he shook his head, pulling out his phone to give it a sparring glance, “truly you amuse me to no end, my love.”

He leaned forward to kiss the tip of your nose while gracefully swooping up the unfinished bowl of goop. Taking elegant strides back to the kitchen, he shot you a smile from over his shoulder, “the pizza should be here soon,” the confession finally came.

Jumping from your seat, you ran after him. “You massive troll!” you accused, rolling your eyes and reclaiming your spot on the countertop to wait for the ACTUAL food to arrive while watching him clean his mess.

“How you flatter me so,” he purred out, slithering closer to you. That earned him another roll of the eyes, yet, you still found yourself inching closer to rest your forehead against his as you exchanged loving smiles. He met your soft lips in a fleeting kiss, then, hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“Happy birthday, my dearest,” was all he said, planting one more kiss onto your lips. You felt him slip something into your hair, and before you could question, his phone rang, causing him to turn on his heel and attend to it.

With a dazzling smile, you gazed upon the bellflower pin he had placed into your hair. His features softened as he matched your smile with one full of love for you. One thing was for sure, Mitsuhide may be an incorrigible tease, but you knew when it came down to it, he loved you with all his heart.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.    

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

[babysizedfics]

Back at it again with a couple more HC prompts, which imma just dump in one, and you can pick which ones you want. Puddles with the kiddos, family baking sessions when both are regressed, Ro wanting attention whilst Logan is reading, so climbing all over his book, how their reactions to new stuffies differ, regressed versus non-regressed birthdays.... Etc... 👍

okokokokok buckle up everyone

Puddles:

this is the only one where i have to be like .. i don't think so :0 see virgil can get very nervous when it rains because he's so anxious about 'is it gonna storm? will there be thunder? will we be hit by lightning? will there be a flood? what if one of us slips and hurts our head??' that he just cannot relax enough to be able to jump around in puddles because 'WHAT IF I SLIP IM GONNA DIE' and the wetness on his skin sets off the wrong sensory feelings so jumping in muddy puddles is a no for him (as much as he loves peppa pig)

and roman is a fussy little thing, he may not care as much for his appearance when he's small but i think he will still be conscious enough to notice if he gets wet hair and muddy clothes - plus i feel like roman's mood is quite tied to the weather, on dark days he tends to fee a little more gloomy, ao again not sure about this especially if he wouldn't have his baby brother there with him

Baking:

OH BOY so roman is a great cook okay? like chef level he has honed his skills so that he can make romantic meals for handsome princes, but baking? nu uh, too technical, he ain't got time for that. Patton is the baker of the house and makes cookies and cupcakes way too often for Logan's liking (but secretly he loves them of course, he's just concerned for everybody's teeths) but both CGs will cook dinner when the boys are little

When the boys are regressed they're not allowed much in the kitchen anymore. after roman tried to make breakfast in bed for his CGs and started a very small but very real fire he has lost some kitchen rights (ficlet coming to you at some point perhaps) and is not allowed in the kitchen without at least one CG. even if he can switch so quickly between headspaces, he ends up either 1) too stubborn to come out of little space, or 2) a kittle bit clumsy when he comes out of it

but to make up for roman being upset by this slight loss of independence (he is a big kid after all) patton and he do weekly baking sessions! and there's always a theme. most recently they had animal crossing themed cupcakes, a little mermaid themed jello (not technically baking but roman wanted to but little fish gummies in the jelly), and... the next one is a secret because i might put it in chapter 7 (: in fact chapter 7 will feature the first instance of this tradition!!

virgil has pyrophobia (fear of fire) and so is never keen to be in the kitchen while there's food preparation going on (but he was allowed to help with the under the sea jello!!) so roman and pattons baking sessions are an excuse for mama and baby bonding time! the tradition didn't start until after virgil's separation anxiety from patton had eased up a little so luckily there's barely any tears

mama baby bonding time consists of but is not limited to: sitting on mama's lap, doing puzzles together, (vee trying to suck on a puzzle piece and crying when he's told not to), mama reading baby books to vee, vee touching all the textures and flaps in the baby books, snuggles

Ro wanting attention while Lo is reading:

this is 1000% canon!! later in the series logan will often be at work in his room and have the boys with him because patton is busy with something or another. they realise they really do need to keep working for thomas' sake but manage to integrate the boys' littlespaces into it. Eg. logan dangling baby plastic keys from one hand to amuse girgil while he's typing with the other

but when it's quiet time, when patton is in virgil's room because the baby is having a nap and papa wants to watch over him, when roman hasn't been little because he's been working or simply not in the mood earlier that day, when logan is just chilling, just reading a stephen hawking book in the living room, when he's literally just vibing, roman can and will launch himself into logan's lap sending the book flying and logan isn't allowed to tell him off because 'I'm little now! i want attention now!! hi mom!!!!'

New stuffies:

AHHHHHHHHH this this this is so so cute!!

roman never used to care much for soft toys before okay? before he was ever a little sure he appreciated disney action figures (he used them to block out scenes he wrote for theatre productions and screenplays and fanfiction) sure he always had a soft spot for Mrs Fluffybottom his childhood toy, but she always just sat on a shelf, he never fet the need to cuddle her or play with her

but when he realises he's little, when he starts playing with vee, when he sees how much vee cares about his soft animals, when patton and logan buy him a present to welcome him to the littlespace family and it's a golden teddy bear (soon to be named Aladdin) with big brown beady eyes and a satin crimson bow around its neck? yeah big kids love stuffies too

and now whenever roman is gifted a new toy (soft or otherwise) he essentially gets the zoomies!!! his brain is going a million miles a minute with all the game possibilities and with the excitement of NEW PRESENT!!! and with the happiness that his caregivers thought about him and he's been a good enough boy to deserve gifts?? yeah he's so so so excited he canNOT stand still he runs around the house for a whole hour flinging his new toy around (yeah he's a bit rough with them and there's been more than one torn limp or loose eye but he doesn't care it just shows how much they're loved!)

Now virgil: this boy is very very very emotionally attached to his stuffies. when he was a "dark side" he couldn't have much soft stuff because it just went against everything the household stood for and he couldn't risk the others finding out about how not-scary he really was, but he allowed himself a single stuffed rabbit that was easy to hide and that he loved with all of his being. it was his security blanket and his one item that could offer him comfort in a oanic attack and his only posession that he felt was true to him and not true to the scary facade he put up to scare thomas and the "light sides" into listening to him

without spoiling anything, that bunny was left in that house when he moved to the "light sides"

and in his new home virgil started collecting soft toys whenever he needed comfort. everytime he felt unwanted, every time he had an anxiety attack, everytime there was a thunderstorm predicted for the next week he would get himself a new soft toy because that was the only way he knew to comfort himself. needless to say he's got a pretty big collection now. you might think he became desensitized to new toys because of how many times he had gotten himself a new one, and you might be partly right.

that is until for the first time ever he is given a stuffie by someone else... when logan buys him a soft toy in apology for accidentally revealing his regression to everyone ((yes i am writing this fic!))

it wasn't really logan's fault, virgil should have been more aware he should have been more careful he should have hidden it all better but the logical side was guilt-ridden nonetheless. virgil hadn't expected much to be honest, the sincere apology was enough for him

but when logan blushed and shyly opened a box and handed him a black cat stuffie? virgil had to fight very very hard not to outright sob on the spot. he simply took it, thanked logan shakily, and prayed that logan didn't point out the fact that tears were falling onto the fluff of his new stuffed friend Jiji

now whenever he gets a new toy it's different than before - it's not because he's upset and needs comfort, it happens less often now but it's more special, it could be for a holiday or as a way of saying he's been very sweet or just because patton simply couldn't resist this one because look at its cute lil eyes! but each and everytime he knows when he is handed a new toy by one of his family members it really means 'i love you'

and he buries his face in its softness - it used to be to hide his tears, but now he just can't help but squeeze it tight and close and let the feeling of love wash over him

Birthdays:

yknow that episode of steven universe where steven wears a regal cape and a golden crown? yeah that's roman whether he's little or not

seriously this kid is very much the 'it's my birthweek!' type

lots of singing, lots of 'but i'm the birthday boy!!' to try to get thtings he really shouldn't be getting (like a third cookie) (and yes patton caves every single time) (patton is eventually banned from making decisions on romans behalf during his "birthweek")

there's not much difference at all between little romans birthday and big romans birthday, he's just an excitable boy whether he's a kiddo or not - this may or may not make the caregivers question whether maybe he actually was a little before virgil's regression was revealed

(irrelevant but patton definitely makes the pun 'you're a little? a little what? finish your sentences silly billy!')

virgil hates his birthday. hates it.

too much attention, too many things that could go wrong, too much pressure on it being a good day. what if his anxiety is bad that day? what if he doesn't want everyone watching him open presents? what if he's genuinely terrified that people think walking towards him with a big grin, singing at him, and carrying a cakeful of literal fire is a somehow a fun activity??

when he first moved into the house he made it very clear that he does not have a birthday so don't even try to throw him a party

naturally roman and patton were devastated, but after a failed attempt at getting virgil to enjoy his birthday they obeyed logan's request that they not try to push the idea on virgil any further

but the first birthday after they become a little family, it's a bit different

they don't push it, not at first, but virgil does wake up to patton already in his room and cooing at him adoringly , immediately sending him into his regressed headspace

then he's given a new soft toy. that wasn't so bad

then roman let him choose what disney film they watched. that wasnt bad either

then logan cuddled him for an hour and they might have fallen asleep together not noticing the smell of vanilla coming from the kitchen

then there was a new paci, a new rattle, another new soft toy, and cake cut up into tiny squares so he could nibble on it with his fingers

there was no loud singing no big surprises no bright lights or fire or anything else that he hated about birthdays

there was only love and toys and comfort. so virgil really didn't mind birthdays much after that

[saxonspud]

Outcast - Chapter 8

You sat at the table, eating, and casting your eyes across the camp. It was the first time you had eaten on two consecutive days, since being taken by the soldiers. That seemed like ages ago, but in truth, it had only been a few weeks.

Your previous life all but forgotten, apart from the mark on your back, which was a daily reminder. It didn't hurt anymore, but you only had to put your hand to your back, to feel it. The memory of how it got there lingered, like the memory of the soldiers.

Dutch looked at you, gazing around the camp curiously, as you ate your food. He noticed how your eyes were locked on the O’Driscoll tied to the tree.

“That man your looking at, Nizhoni. He’s an O’Driscoll, our enemy,” Dutch explained.

You frowned, “Why Dutch not kill?”

Dutch chuckled, “Oh believe me, I’m tempted, but he’s more useful alive.”

You sighed, “Dutch good, Nizhoni bad. Nizhoni kill enemy, Nizhoni kill soldier.”

Dutch raised his eyebrow, and stared at you.

“Was this when you ran away from the soldiers?”

You nodded, “soldiers not kill Nizhoni. Nizhoni hide in mountain!”

Dutch nodded, “well I doubt you’ll find many soldiers around here, you’ll be quite safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

You looked over at the man, tied to the tree.

“Man prisoner. Dutch keep tied to tree?” you asked.

Dutch hummed, “maybe,” he hesitated, “lets go and see what he makes of you.”

You walked with Dutch, over to the tree where the man was tied.

Bill, the man who had tried to kill you, seemed to be questioning him.

When he saw you with Dutch, he stopped and glared at you. Given half a chance, you figured he would like it to be you tied to that tree.

The man glanced at you, then at Dutch. You thought he looked terrified.

“Now Nizhoni,” Dutch began, as he wrapped an arm around your waist, “this little weasel is Mr Kieran Duffy. You remember, Sadie, Mrs Adler?”

You nodded, “Dutch help in mountain.”

“Yes that's right. His friends decided to kill her husband, then they...well they did to her what the soldiers wanted to do to you!” Dutch concluded.

Bill looked at you, the glare was gone. It had been replaced by a look of pity. He had been a soldier, he knew the score.

“Nizhoni kill soldier. Not hurt woman again.” you stated.

Bill nodded, and looked back at Kieran.

You glared at Keiran with the same hatred you felt for the soldiers.

Kieran looked at you, fear in his eyes, then he glanced between Dutch and Bill.

“Please, don't...don’t let her...I heard about Indians...” he wailed.

“Then I suggest you start talking, boy!” Bill growled.

“Ok, ok, just...keep her away from me,” Kieran hesitated, “Colm, he’s hold up in a cabin, I can take you there, only...don’t let her touch me!”

Arthur walked over, and drew his knife, slicing the ropes.

“C’mon, you better not by lying boy. She’ll still be here when we get back,” he smirked.

Dutch chuckled, “You go with ‘em Bill, take John as well.”

Bill nodded, and followed Arthur, glancing over his shoulders a couple of times to look at you.

Dutch squeezed you gently, “nice work, Nizhoni. I think even Bill is warming to you. Now lets go and see if we can find Susan, get that shoulder checked.”

You both headed back towards the tents, Dutch still with his arm wrapped around you. As you passed his tent, you noticed that the woman who shared his tent, was gone. You thought nothing of it. The thought disappearing when you saw Susan appear from behind a wagon.

“Ahh Susan,” Dutch greeted, as he removed his arm from around you, “can you change Nizhoni’s bandage, I think all the jolting from the wagon caused the wound to bleed a little.”

Susan frowned, casting glances between you and Dutch.

She rolled her eyes, “Come with me, Nizhoni. Best if we do this in your tent.”

She grabbed some supplies from the back of a wagon, and you followed her back to your tent.

“Come see me once your done, Nizhoni. I’ll show you the rest of the camp.” Dutch yelled.

You glanced over your shoulder, to see him watching you, with his fingers hooked in his belt.

Once you were inside your tent, Susan closed the flap.

“Sit down, and I’ll take a look.”

She gestured to the cot, so you sat down and removed your tunic.

As she removed the bandage, she looked at the tunic,  you had laid on the cot.

“I think,” she began, “we should try and find you some… different clothes, Nizhoni,”

“Different?” you questioned.

Susan smiled, “yes, a little more substantial, like your winter clothes.”

You shook your head, “winter clothes, for mountain. These for now. Nizhoni make more. Nizhoni hunt for skins,” You stated.

“So much for Hosea’s suggestion,” Susan huffed, as she finished removing the old bandage.

Susan looked closely at the wound, it wasn't bleeding anymore, and the stitches had stayed intact. She gently wiped away the dried blood, and wrapped it with a clean bandage.

“How does it feel?”

You moved your shoulder, “not hurt. Good,” you replied.

Susan smiled, “just be careful, no going hunting yet, you don't wanna pull those stitches.”

You rolled your eyes, “need skins. Make clothes.”

Susan shrugged, “well I guess you could ask Charles, or buy some at the butchers in Valentine,” Susan rolled her eyes, “now I guess you should go find Dutch, seeing as he’s so keen to show you around.”

You put your tunic back on, and rolled your shoulder. You weren’t sure why you couldn't hunt. Your shoulder felt fine. You just needed to find someone to go with you.

You walked out of your tent, and glanced around. You weren't too keen to ask Charles, of all the people here, you felt he was more likely to judge you, for your past. Maybe some one else could go with you whilst you hunted. No one needed to know that Susan said you shouldn’t.

You headed over to Dutch’s tent, but stopped half way, when you heard shouting.

“I’ve seen you, Dutch Van Der Linde, arms wrapped around your little redskin! Am I not good enough for ya anymore, ya want something more exotic!” Molly shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous Molly, I’m just taking care of her,” Dutch responded in measured tones.

“You stay a way from her! I’m warning you Dutch, just stay away from her!” Molly screamed.

“Miss O’Shea, I suggest you go take a walk, and calm down, before you say something we’ll both regret.” Dutch growled.

You watched, as Molly stormed out of the tent, she saw you standing there, and stopped.

“You little savage!” She hissed, “You stay away from him!”

She rushed away from the tents, the colour of her face, matching her hair.

You wondered if that's what all the people here thought of you still. Bill, John and Abigail had already called you a savage, when you were in the mountains. Now Molly. You began to feel again, like you didn't really belong. You wouldn't run this time though. Hosea had been right. You shouldn’t sneak away, you should explain, or at least try to explain, why you should leave. For now, you would take refuge in your tent.

Your turned to walk back the way you had come, until you heard your name being called.

“Nizhoni, come here,” Dutch called out.

You turned around, and slowly walked towards him.

“Nizhoni not want trouble,” you muttered, looking at the floor.

Dutch gently took your chin in his hand and tilted your head, so you were looking at him.

“There wont be any trouble,” he whispered, as he gently swept a loose hair behind your ear.

You sighed, “Nizhoni not belong. Nizhoni savage!”

Dutch frowned, “you most certainly are not. You belong here as much as anyone.”

Dutch smiled and put his arm around you, as he walked with you, away from the tent.

“We’re all different, and we accept each others differences, that's what makes us family.”

You frowned, “Dutch like Nizhoni. Molly not like Nizhoni. Warn stay away!”

Dutch stopped and dropped his hand, so it rested on your bare thigh, the tips of his fingers gently moved across your skin. His other hand, cupped your cheek, and he gently turned your head, so you were looking at him.

“I do like you Nizhoni, I like you a lot. I’ll deal with Molly!” He concluded.

You looked him in the eye, and a hint of a smile crossed you face. You had begun to trust him again. He made you feel safe.

Dutch stroked you cheek with his hand, “You truly are beautiful, Nizhoni,” he whispered, as he kissed your forehead.

Your smile turned into a frown.

“Why Dutch put mouth on skin?” you asked.

Dutch chuckled. “Its called a kiss, Nizhoni. Its a show of affection. When you like someone.”

You tilted your head, “Dutch like head and neck?” you asked curiously, remembering the kiss he had given you in the mountains.

Dutch smirked, “very much, but I prefer...” He hesitated, “your lips.”

His lips pressed against yours in a gentle kiss.

After he pulled away, you touched your fingers to your lips.

Dutch smiled, “ain’t you ever been kissed before?”

You looked up at him, and shook your head.

Dutch chuckled, “c’mon, I better show you where we keep the horses!”

As you walked over to where all the camps horses were hitched, you saw the white stallion. Breaking away from Dutch’s grasp you ran over to it, running your hand over its neck.

Dutch walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. His hands gently resting on your bare torso, savouring the texture of your velvet skin.

You slightly turned your head, and looked up at Dutch, you smiled. You always felt safe and comfortable when he was near.

“Nizhoni ride this one!” You stated.

Dutch chuckled, his fingers gliding across your stomach.

“I don't think so, that's The Count, he’s my horse. He’s fussy about who he lets on his back.”

You looked at the stunning white horse.

“Nizhoni, need horse. Nizhoni hunt.” you stated.

Dutch gently turned you around, he gently rested his hands on your shoulders.

“Once you’ve healed I’ll get you a horse.”

You frowned, “Nizhoni need hunt. Need skins. Make clothes,”

Dutch shook his head, “I can guarantee Susan wont want you using your bow, until the stitches come out. Maybe you can go into town with Arthur, and the girls tomorrow. Buy some skins.”

You sighed, but nodded reluctantly. You weren't sure you wanted to go near a town, with all those white people, all that hate. You knew, though, that there was no way you would be able to go hunting until your shoulder was healed, or without a horse to ride.

[maeskitchen]

Feeding Fussy Kids (and adults) Advice

I was a fussy kid and unfortunately, am still a fussy adult who battles severe aversions to different foods every day. One of the biggest myths about fussy eaters is that they “choose” to be that way and it’s just a matter of getting over themselves.

I’m sorry to say that it’s probably something deeper that is structural or chemical within the brain that we haven’t quite pinned down yet (kids brains are still forming so it makes sense they would be susceptible to phases where this is more of an issue). I’m not a psychologist but I’ve lived my life with this cloud in my head, it’s been my constant companion and I know it’s not just a choice I make, it’s a legit mental phenomenon. Unfortunately, there are a lot of stigmas attached to this “condition” (forgive me for lack of a better word, I don’t want to come off ableist but I have no other way to reference it).

So, what do you do? How can you help someone eat a variety of foods, especially a kid when you’re concerned with their nutritional health? I have a whole host of tips! Please do read on.

1. Be patient, calm and an advocate for your child. This is not like commuting in traffic. Please, don’t allow your anger and impatience to take the wheel. You will do untold damage if you try to exert your will over a situation your child experiences as almost a life/death struggle.

For example, my particular aversion has a lot to do with texture rather than taste. If something is grainy, slimy, slippery, mushy and so on . . . putting it in my mouth elicits an instant fear and activates my gag reflex. Our gag reflex is a survival instinct. Forcing your child to try to overcome this in an almost interrogation-like setting and under threat from someone who is supposed to love them unconditionally just compounds the feeling of mortal danger. 

I sat at the dinner table once for six hours until my dad angrily sent me to bed because I couldn’t eat a veggie. I outlasted my father at his most terrifying not because I was trying to subvert his will but because my choice was pretty stark. I legit thought if I tried to chew or swallow something I didn’t like, I would puke until I died and I knew if I puked it up and lived (because I had done so before), he would get even angrier. In those days, corporal punishment was much more prevalent if you get my drift.

Think of it this way, when refusing food, your kid has gone into survival mode like a cat in a corner. How do you get that cat out of the corner? Do you scream and flail at it or do you get down on its level and coax it out? You want your child to trust you and eat what you’ve made? Love your child, be gentle and patient and give them time. Back off and try again another time if you aren’t making progress.

!!!Go to war for your kid if someone else is trying to manipulate or abuse them over this issue. They need you to understand and be on their side. You may be the only person who does so. Can you imagine how lonely it feels to be one your own in this fight?!!!

I fully believe the psychological warfare that goes on around food consumption contributes to eating disorders later in life. Lord knows, I have suffered them all.

2. Get your kids involved in the making of their own meals. Take the mystery out of what they’re eating. The standard wisdom of trying to “trick” your child by concealing what’s in their food is just so wrong headed. Again, you want your child to trust you, right? Laughing at them later and saying “see, there was onions in that and you didn’t even know” is such a hurtful, spiteful way of treating a person you love. Food is a basic necessity of life. Your child trusts you implicitly with their survival. Playing games with that trust will backfire. They will become more fussy and refuse more food because they will feel like you are duplicitous and a liar.

So, have them help you prep the food. Have them handle and cut the veggies they fear, for example. If your kid is too young, just have them watch what you do. Explain what you are making. The more familiar they are with each ingredient from every angle, the more likely they are to try them. Also, kids love to take ownership in things and pride in their creations. They are more likely to eat something that is “theirs”.

3. Learn some technique, take cooking courses if you can. Overcooking and undercooking foods, poor assembly, poor ingredient balance and so on all contribute to refusal of food. Sometimes, a spade is a spade. Maybe, the dish you think is alright is actually kinda awful. If you have the opportunity to learn some technique from cooking classes (look up your local community center, sometimes these are put on for very cheap). Better still, take your child to these classes if you can and use it as an opportunity to bond with them over food. 

4. Learn how to handle the dreaded onion. Onions are the number one ingredient on the “no eat” list. My tips are to mince your onion fine in consistent cuts for fussy people. Honestly, I still can’t eat them unless they’re diced in pieces smaller than 3 to 4 mm or 1/8 to 1/4 in. The trick when you use minced onion is not to put too much of it in a dish, use a third to half of what you would have used if the onion was cut in larger pieces to not overwhelm the dish with “oniony” flavor. Also, make sure they are sauteed and browned thoroughly (sometimes, this means in a separate pan to cook them down before adding them to a dish). Avoid big chunks of onion in anything. Large gobs of boiled onions are the worst. They tend to separate in layers so you get slime, a skin and mush. So unappetizing!!!

Onions can also be substituted for shallots and leek which have a similar flavor, but different texture and are more easily minced fine.

These tips apply to more than the onion, though. There are a lot of ingredients that if we just used a little less of them in the dish and paid a little more attention to their preparation, they would be readily consumed by fussy kids/people. 

5. Give up if you must. You are not a failure and your child is not a failure. Most kids grow out of their aversions or learn to deal with them in their own way. Get your kid some vitamin supplements and move on with your lives. Read menus ahead of time and plan outings that will reduce anxiety on them by finding out what food will be served and if they will have choices. Be firm in your defense of your child. Treat others who would pass judgement with dismissal and don’t ever, ever let them make your feel like you don’t have your child’s best interests at heart. Stare them down. Let them be pressed about it. Let it be their problem, not yours. 

[greg38mcall]

Our HGTV Urban Oasis Experience

Did you all see that this year's HGTV Urban Oasis giveaway house is located right in my backyard? That's right! This year it is located in Minneapolis, MN and you are going to want to hurry and enter to win this beauty!

Photo Credit: Tomas Espinoza for HGTV

I know many of you come here for our organizing and house projects, but this quick story is just too great not to share! And I would be beyond thrilled if one of my readers happened to win this amazing home.

I have really gotten to know designer Brian Patrick Flynn over the past few years, and he is one of the most generous and kind humans I have ever met. He is ridiculously encouraging, really supports independent artists and small businesses, has an impeccable design eye, and can find beauty in just about anything.

Brian is the designer of the HGTV Urban Oasis home and he asked ME to be the organizing stylist! Organizing a house that no one actually lives in is slightly different than my typical duties; it has its own set of challenges but it is a bit of a dream at the same time. You have to work within the parameters of specific sponsors and design styles and be sure it is editorial, while also being able to use beautiful props. The ideas still have to be relatable and sensible, which of course is my favorite part! I wanted the folks that are entering the giveaway to be able to see the organization as possible solutions that they would be able to incorporate into their daily lifestyle.

Photo Credit: Kelly Christine Photo for HGTV

After the organizing was complete and the Urban Oasis was being prepped for media, Brian asked me back again. This time he had me bring my crew to be photographed enjoying the Hygge lifestyle at the house! My oldest son had college prep and work so he couldn't be there, but my younger boys were absolutely thrilled to take part of a really fun HGTV photoshoot. These pictures were such a treat and we will cherish the opportunity forever. Kelly Christine was the photographer behind the camera and she did such a great job of capturing us as a family pretending to live our best Minnesotan lives. As you can see, they definitely wanted to show the relaxed, comfortable, family-friendly lifestyle that this home provides. My son couldn't believe that he had a once in a lifetime opportunity to jump on a sofa and get away with it!

Photo Credit: Kelly Christine Photo for HGTV

This year's Urban Oasis is a Modern Scandanavian Farmhouse, which is an extremely popular design aesthetic around here. It is not necessarily my personal style (I lean more colorful and traditional), but I was still able to find so much inspiration throughout the entire home. It instantly hugs you when you walk through the front door and the entire place feels like a cozy nordic sweater. It is layered with plush and textural textiles and has art sourced from really incredible talent. And don't even get me started on the finishes and hardware and oak kitchen cabinets... #sigh

Photo Credit: Rustic White Interiors for HGTV

You can tour the entire house here, and enter to win here (GO DO THAT NOW!). Although this post is somewhat of a "check out this cool home and our awesome experience", I also wanted to share some images of my favorite no-fuss organizing tips that anyone can incorporate into their living spaces.

__________

As soon as I was hired, I searched Overstock.com (the sponsor website) to recommend some of my favorite organizers ahead of time and crossed my fingers that everything would be fluid enough to work when I was finally able to see the home in person. My first day on location everything was a blank slate of freshly painted walls and empty cabinets and drawers. It was an experience in itself to watch the house transform as the team worked to install and style all of the rooms. TIP #1:  SELECT VERSATILE ORGANIZERS

Photo Credit: Tomas Espinoza for HGTV

My biggest money-saving tip is to try and source products that are versatile enough to work in a variety of spaces and can move and evolve right along with you. I knew I would be tasked with organizing the master bedroom closet and bedroom, the studio armoire, and many of the kitchen cabinets/drawers. The key items I sourced were a mixture of wire and woven baskets, spring-loaded drawer dividers, clear bins, wooden hangers, and glass jars. I was able to mix and match these items in each area that I touched, which made my job much easier in the end. I do believe in measuring and purchasing storage that makes sense for each project, but by selecting items in basic and natural finishes, you are guaranteed that they will stand the test of time. TIP #2:  SPRING LOADED DRAWER ORGANIZERS ARE AMAZING

Photo Credit: Rustic White Interiors for HGTV

I have mentioned before that sometimes I am the last to hop on any trend train, and for some reason I wasn't quick to take advantage of spring-loaded drawer dividers. This experience flipped me completely. I am IN LOVE. I used the dividers throughout the kitchen and I now want to be the poster child for these special organizing tools. They were so easy to use (ANYONE can install them in a jiffy), and they instantly created flexible drawer dividers for all the things.

I used them for the maintenance drawers, utensil drawers, and even to hold pots, pans, and lids in place. A bonus is that the natural finish of these particular dividers fit right in with the custom wood drawers. Swoon. TIP #3:  FILE YOUR CLOTHING

I know that most of you know this by now but it is always worth mentioning. File your clothing. If your clothing is filed, it is always easier to see exactly what you have. It is also infinitely easier to take clothing out and put it away.

BONUS TIP: Use small bins and baskets inside of your drawers to corral the little things like undergarments and accessories. Sometimes the most obvious ideas are the most helpful. TIP #4:  MATCHING HANGERS

Hangers have come a long way over the years. Wooden and velvet options are both readily available and are fairly inexpensive in bulk. Anytime you can, swap out all of your mismatched hangers for ones that match. It will instantly take your closets up a notch and help them feel more uniform and calm. BONUS TIP: Color blocking the items hanging in your closet will have a similar effect. I like to hang items in order by type first (jackets/cardigans, long sleeve, short sleeve, sleeveless), and then color within each category. TIP #5:  USE DEEP BINS IN DEEP CABINETS

Organizing deep cabinets and pantries is always perplexing. It is truly wonderful to have all of that extra space, but making sure items are not being lost in the back can be a major problem. It is my goal to find the deepest bins possible in this situation because they turn into instant drawers. These bins not only categorize everything, but they also take items from the back to the front in a single motion. Also, whenever possible I like to organize from shortest to tallest. If space permits I will also add lazy susans to the mix.

Photo Credit: Rustic White Interiors for HGTV

Another tip is to place your small appliances inside of the deep cabinets and relocate your more frequently used items and foods into your standard cabinets and drawers. Small appliances are generally only used on occasion, so it may make more sense to store them in places that aren't as easy to access as the items you use every day.

TIP #6:  A+ ARMOIRE

This house didn't have closets in the two main bedrooms (one styled as an office, another as a guest room), so armories were added in their place. We use armoires in our own home where we are lacking in built-in closets also, and I love that they can offer customized and space-saving storage opportunities.

I especially appreciate the option of adding them to a home office, as they are an ideal way to conceal anything from printers, electronics, and craft supplies, to cozy sweaters and work totes. A clear workspace translates to a clear mind.

TIP #7:  CLEAR SOLUTIONS

Speaking of clear... I love a good woven basket when I am actually trying to conceal and streamline visual clutter, so I find they are a great option for open shelves and in open areas. But when it comes to organizing behind cabinet and fridge doors, I say the clearer the better. Anytime you can quickly see what you have on hand, you are one step ahead of the game. It also allows you to identify items without the need for fussy labels. Heading to the grocery store? Clear jars and bins will give you a quick look at what you have and what you may need. TIP #8:  PRETTY AND PRACTICAL AT THE SAME TIME

Photo Credit: Tomas Espinoza Interiors for HGTV

If you are limited on space, or even if you just love to keep things right within reach, find creative ways to use the walls as both decor and storage. Just off of the mudroom, Brian installed the most darling rail system and I was absolutely obsessed over how it was used to display and organize the ordinary in such a beautiful and organic way.

TIP #9:  ENTERTAIN THIS IDEA

Dedicate a spare cabinet or drawer to entertaining essentials. Our homes are best when filled with folks we love, so be ready to entertain at a moment's notice by keeping a drawer stocked with your favorite linens, candles, vases, napkin rings, serving dishes, etc...

This eliminates the stresses that come with hosting last-minute dinner dates and happy hours, or at the very least, quickly and easily elevates the setting for a nice mood boost. TIP #10:  DRAWERS ALWAYS GET MY VOTE

I was recently having a discussion with a friend about kitchen planning and storage and whether she should install lower cabinets or drawers. Drawers always get my vote if there is an option between the two. I typically find that lower base cabinets are a recipe for that deep and dark area of doom (standard depth is around 24"). Sure, you can add pull out drawers and mechanisms inside of the cabinets, but you have to open the cabinet doors all of the way, navigate around them, and then pull out the contents. A drawer is a quicker way to access everything while ensuring nothing is getting lost. Drawers are also much easier for kids to use and maintain while maximizing overall space (no need to install any extra components).

__________

Last but not least, let's just celebrate this amazing backyard moment. I am so envious of this year's lucky winner!!

Photo Credit: Kelly Christine Photo for HGTV

Photo Credit: Rustic White Interiors for HGTV

Photo Credit: Kelly Christine Photo for HGTV

ALL STORAGE SHOWN WAS PROVIDED TO URBAN OASIS BY THE SPONSOR OVERSTOCK.COM. IN THE EVENT OVERSTOCK NO LONGER CARRIES THE SPECIFIC ITEM, I SOURCED A SIMILAR ALTERNATIVE

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ENTER TO WIN THE GIVEAWAY HERE

TOUR THE ENTIRE URBAN OASIS HOUSE HERE

SEE MORE OF OUR FAMILY PHOTOSHOOT HERE

Brian and I had such a great time working together that he invited me to take part in another HUGE project last month. I can't wait to share more!

from IHeart Organizing http://www.iheartorganizing.com/2019/11/our-hgtv-urban-oasis-experience.html

[thatonestupidcomic]

So uh, pretty sure I’m autistic...

Ever since I last went to the doctors I can’t stop thinking about it. My doctor said that my mum has told my psychologist that she believed I had autistic traits without realising I didn’t know, and after reading more about it so many things are clicking. Like now I’m wondering if;

-I wasn’t just a fussy eater, I genuinely couldn’t stand certain textures of foods.

-I’m not a weirdo for not eating my food in one forkful (aka getting a piece of meat, some veg, and some potato all at once) and instead eating each section one at a time with separation between each food group, I just hated certain textures and flavours clashing.

-I wasn’t ‘obsessed’ with zoo-zoo pets, then mlp, then Steven universe, then other shows. I just retained a lot of information and info-dumped at any possibility I could.

-I don’t have a short attention span, I just find answers in my head then move on to different problems, including things that aren’t related to a subject (literally, if I see 2 numbers or units beside each other I’ll find a way to turn them into some equation in my head lol).

-It’s not my anxiety causing me to hate eye contact, it’s the fact that it’s weird and hard to upkeep.

-I’m not a horrible kid for not always wanting to hug relatives (seriously, sometimes I love giving our hugs), I just didn’t always feel comfortable with it.

-I wasn’t non-commital, I would genuinely become very openly interested in doing something and would only stop because of the smug looks and sarcastic ‘yeah, that sounds great’ I’d get from my parents/gaurdians.

There’s probably twenty other things, like my leg bouncing and shit, but it just feels so good to get it off my chest. Off idk if I’m actually autistic, doc said I’d be very high functioning, and also said that he’d happily send me to be diagnosed but recommended I don’t do it unless I need to for some reason, which I agree with him on because, well, I’m not a kid anymore and understand how to take care of myself. But still, it’s just a relief to have a possible explanation lol.

It might also explain why I’m good with kids, because I know to actually fucking explain shit calmly to them lol.

[phillybaguettes]

Let’s break bread. Give us this day our daily bread. The band Bread. 

Yes, nothing brings people together like some good old fashioned bread, and at the top of the list of all-time great breads sits the mighty baguette. While Philadelphia is known for its classic Italian breads and hoagies, it’s never had much of a reputation as a baguette town. But as this one-post blog hopes to show you, we’re a city on the rise, like a baguette gloriously puffing up in the oven. And while it may not be obvious, there is no shortage of bakeries in this town churning out beautiful batons that would make even the gruffest Frenchman say “oui oui” with delight.

So one hot and humid summer afternoon, fellow baguette head Brian Chu and I set out to tour Philly’s quietly thriving baguette scene. First on our list was Artisan Boulangerie, a South Philly staple owned and operated by Cambodian immigrants André Chin and Amanda Eap. Chin honed his baking skills in Paris before moving to Philadelphia to open his own French bakery about twenty years ago. This is a no-frills joint that makes tasty pastries and breads each morning, then stays open til they sell ‘em out. They’ve been crushing it in a hip part of South Philly since long before the third-wave coffee shops and yoga studios joined the fray. Even though it was our first stop of the day, they were already pretty much out of everything, including baguettes! (get here early folks) But luckily, the charming Ms. Eap convinced us that a “banette” is essentially the same thing, but in her opinion, even tastier. We couldn’t say no to that, and quickly got to work on what turned out to be essentially a baguette with a big old paunch in the middle, gradually tapering to pointy ends.

Aesthetically, this bread is an absolute beauty, with precise flour-dusted ribbons wrapping around its soft bubbly bulge. While it was quite tasty, it was more reminiscent of a French bread than a baguette, lacking the crispy edges and airy middle that I crave. It’s doughy and chewy in the interior, and while I could see it being a great vehicle for a sandwich, it did not quite cut it on its own. 

From there, we ventured a few blocks east to the Bok building, the eight-story monolithic former public high school that has recently reopened as a hip space for small businesses and organizations, housing everything from a pre-school to a rooftop bar. We had our sights set on Machine Shop, a wholesale bakery that’s been operating out of Bok for a few years. While we knew they don’t sell directly to the public, we figured it was worth a shot to see if we could pop our heads in and check out the operation, and maybe ask them where to find a nearby retailer that carries their bread. As luck would have it, Bok’s security is fairly lax, and we signed right in and walked up to the fourth floor bakery to find co-owners Katie Lynch and Emily Riddell sweeping up the joint and getting ready to end their day by delivering bread to local restaurants. We sheepishly explained our baguette tour concept, and Katie was kind enough to not only give us a free baguette, but to tell us about the operation and show us around the small and charming space.

Whoa Nelly, was this a good baguette. Rustic in appearance, with a deep brown hue, and an organically irregular shape with nice crispy ridges and ends, you could almost see and hear how good this baguette was before even tasting it. Breaking the crispy and crunchy exterior revealed an impossibly airy middle, with big pockets resembling the moon’s craters. Each bite had the perfect combination of a satisfying crunch followed by a nice chew, and with the addition of salt and butter it was a baguette lover’s dream come true. This baguette utilizes sourdough instead of yeast, along with just a touch of whole grain added to the white flour, all of which, while not quite traditional, gives it a depth of flavor rarely found in baguettes. Moral of the story - get this baguette.

It would be tough to top, but from Machine Shop we hopped on our bikes and headed north to Old City to see what High Street on Market had to offer. The more casual sister restaurant to the ultra high-end Fork, High Street is a full service operation for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but also has a sort-of secret side biz as a bakery. While I’d only had their bread with meals, it is damn good, and I wanted to see if it might be worth swinging by next time I’m in need of a nice baguette to go. They have a number of loaves for sale, including a picturesque spelt baguette.

This was certainly the most Instagrammable baguette of our tour, a bit stouter than most, with deep dark ridges flanked by sensual white-dusted ribbons. Despite its beautiful appearance, the crust didn’t crunch and crackle as I had hoped, resulting in a baguette that was a bit too tough to break apart. The inside, however, was delightful all around, hitting the right balance of chewy and airy. It was a bit bland on its own, with a mild fermented taste that was not quite as pronounced as Machine Shop, but was hitting all the right textural notes. It was a great vehicle for toppings, and was absolutely beloved by French bulldog Xavi.

We were a bit full, a bit parched, but there was plenty more baguette bounty to get to, so we soldiered on to Northern Liberties to hit up the hip bakery and coffee shop Kettle Black. Though the owners/bakers were not present at the time, the friendly barista was happy to tell us that this joint opened because the French owners had been living in Philly for a while and just couldn’t get a baguette that lived up to their lofty expectations.

Well, those must have been some damn lofty expectations, because this baguette was an all around banger. Starting with a rustic appearance with deep dark hues from the ridges and ends, intermingling with the golden brown of the crust, this thing was a beauty with zero fussiness. Similar to the Machine Shop baguette, this baguette had the perfect combination of crunchy exterior and soft chewy interior, with the elastic and springy dough meshing about the porous craters. They use an all-natural fermentation process, but the sourdough taste was a bit subtler than our previous two baguettes. Definitely a baguette worth going out of your way for, and I’ll be back soon to check out their bagels and other goodies.

Next stop - another French spot with a significantly different aesthetic, the brightly lit, white-walled Center City bakery J’aime. This place has a very modern French vibe, with a pastry case full of dainty pastries and miniature quiches. While the focus here seems to be on the cutesy sweets, they do offer two baguettes, a “French” (which looked more like a French bread loaf than a baguette) and a sourdough. We opted for the sourdough, which despite its oddly round ends had a nice appearance, with precise and thin ribbons giving it a satisfyingly geometric vibe.

Unfortunately, just holding this baguette I could tell we were dealing with our densest bread of the day. Just as the sky was hinting at some heavy rain, it seemed the forecast was also calling for a heavy baguette - an arguably worse omen. The interior was lacking the large cavernous holes that we all know and love, with little tiny air pockets in their place. This was a doughy, chewy, and soft baguette, and on top of that it was undersalted and dry. While this place seems to be doing great work with the pastries, they are sadly lacking in the baguette game.

When we left J’aime, the wind was howling and it seemed that heavy rain was imminent, so we biked as fast as we could to seek some shelter, non-baguette food, and beer at Parc. Oh, we would also be getting a baguette there. Duh. Parc is a Disneyfied French bistro, one of the OG’s of the Stephen Starr empire. While the annoyingly high prices ($15 Frosé), the annoyingly bougie crowd (a healthy mix of tourists, Jersey-ites, and old people who live in Center City), and the annoyingly on-the-nose faux Frenchiness (pretty sure it says joie de vivre AND je ne sais quoi on the menu) make you wanna hate this place, they actually make some damn good French comfort food. In fact, my love of their baguette is what inspired this tour in the first place.

I’ve been hitting this restaurant up for all my baguette needs for years, because they’re baking them all day long, so it’s the ideal way to get a fresh-out-of-the-oven baguette at just about any time. While there’s nothing flashy about the Parc baguette, it’s so consistent and inoffensive that it’s the perfect vehicle for a pre-meal meat and cheese board. It’s never gonna steal the show, but this is a baguette you can set your watch to. Solidly middle of the road in almost all of the factors that we’ve been analyzing (crunch, chew, airiness, flavor, appearance), it’s hard to praise this baguette too much, but it’s also hard to find fault with it. For $3 and always fresh, there’s no reason I won’t be fighting through the crowd of befuddled old folks and out-of-towners to snag one of these the next time I need an impromptu baguette.

After a nice salade lyonnaise and beer at Parc, the storm had subsided and we ventured across Rittenhouse Square to Metropolitan Bakery, a Center City institution that’s been running the French baked goods game since the early 90′s. 

Right off the bat, Metropolitan set itself apart from the pack by offering a third of a baguette for a cool $1.35, definitely an appealing option for those that are craving just a taste of baguette. Sadly, despite this customer-friendly option, and their dope old-school French signage, the baguette itself was a disappointment. Similar texture and bubbly exterior to Artisan Boulangerie, it was very lacking in crunch. The soft crust gave way to an gummy interior that was laboriously chewy, and while the taste was solid, the unfortunate texture left much to be desired.

In Summary

Artisan Boulangerie (South Philly): Aesthetically pleasing soft and chewy blank slate ($3)

Machine Shop (South Philly): Boldly flavorful sourdough baguette with earthiness from a touch of added whole grain, a textural superstar with a most satisfying crunch and perfectly airy middle (Wholesale only, but available at various coffee shops and restaurants, as well as on site Friday mornings)

High Street on Market (Old City): Instagram-ready spelt baguette with a slightly fermented taste ($3)

Kettle Black (Northern Liberties): Delicious rustic baguette with deep dark crispy crust and springy air-filled interior ($3.50)

J’aime (Gayborhood): Neat and tidy appearance, but a bland and doughy interior ($3.78)

Parc (Rittenhouse): A baguette you can set your watch to. Hot and fresh any time of day and a simple crowd pleaser ($3)

Metropolitan (Rittenhouse): Unique value and a mild but pleasant taste, but an overly chewy texture and no crunch ($1.35 for a third)

[howterrifying]

+sherlolly because...mycroft is love

I think it's no surprise now to those of you who know me that I love Mycroft. This story is basically 90% Mycroft, or what I like to call 'Mycroft-centric', but set to a background of blossoming Sherlolly. It ended up Mycroft-centric because I've always had an issue with the way Mycroft was always made fun of regarding his weight and this rumoured love for cake. I got so fed up that I decided to write this to subvert all the things that had been said about him. I love Mycroft but I also particularly love writing Molly and Mycroft having a sort of real kindred affection for one another and a deep understanding between them. What can I say, they're my ultimate brOTP. :) Still has nice Sherlolly moments tho. So if you've come to read this, thank you so much! xx

:: CONTAINS SERIES FOUR SPOILERS ::

Hunger  ( also on FF.net and AO3 ) The cake place, as Sherlock had called it, was a simple cafe that Molly had picked for its low human traffic and of course, its delicious cake. The three of them, Molly, Sherlock and John, were halfway through their little birthday-do for the detective when John received a call from Mrs Hudson regarding little Rosie.

“It seems she’s running a fever,” said John, returning his phone to his pocket, “Sorry guys but I’d better dash.” After settling his share of the bill with Molly, John rushed out of the cafe and hopped into the first cab he could find. At this hour, the cafe really was quiet. Now that John had left, the number of patrons reduced from three to two. “So, how do you find this…cake place?” asked Molly, smirking slightly at him. “I appreciate the lack of humans,” answered the detective, “So you’ve chosen well again, Molly.” “Are you saying I’m not human, Sherlock?” Molly remarked in mock indignation. “No— No, no, I just meant—” “Relax, Sherlock,” said Molly with a laugh, “I know what you meant.” Sherlock smiled. Of course she would know what he meant. Sometimes, Sherlock was sure she knew him better than he did. He wanted to tell her he particularly appreciated the lack of humans because it meant there was nothing to disrupt his concentration on his time with her. Perhaps he would tell her another time. “I considered inviting Mycroft,” said Molly, taking a bite of cake. “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Sherlock remarked swiftly. “Why? Would he spoil the mood of this invigorating party?” she said with a laugh. “In a way. For starters, there’d be no cake left,” said Sherlock, smirking as he sipped his coffee. “Food has always been my brother’s weakness. Molly stopped to ponder what Sherlock had said and something did not sit right with her. “Hang on.” Molly said, putting her fork down, “Are you implying Mycroft was greedy as a child?” “Well, obviously. I never imply.” said Sherlock. “You should’ve seen him then.” “I have, actually. He’s shown me pictures.” “Since when?” asked Sherlock, frowning slightly. “Your brother and I have a good friendship, Sherlock,” remarked Molly with a smile. “It’s what saved you that afternoon of your fall, you know?” “As you both never cease to remind me,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. “You never cease to forget,” Molly shot back. A tricky silence fell between them for a moment. Sherlock, sensing that he had been callous again with what was clearly a very serious subject matter, poured Molly a fresh cup of tea, intending it as a peace offering. He pushed it gingerly across the table to her, softening his expressions slightly to convey his apologies, causing Molly to laugh. “It’s fine,” she said, accepting the tea gratefully, “I am genuinely curious though, why would you say that about him? I cannot see Mycroft ever having been that way.” “Are you sure you saw the right photos? Because if you had, you would definitely see why,” explained Sherlock, “He was always eating, for as long as I can remember, guzzling everything like his life depended on it. I don’t even think he was hungry when he ate sometimes—” “Ah.” “What?” “You’re absolutely right there,” Molly remarked thoughtfully. “Sorry?” “That he wasn’t always hungry. And certainly not greedy,” continued Molly. “Do you know why he was, as you say, guzzling all the time, Sherlock?” Sherlock paused to look at her, trying to see where she was going with this question. He started thinking back on all his memories of Mycroft polishing food off his plate and constantly reaching for food. “What did your mummy always use to scold you about?” Molly asked quietly, as though coaxing the memory out of Sherlock. Sherlock blinked hard at the question that certainly was not hard at all. There were many answers to that, but what was Molly driving at? “The usual, I suppose. Not wiping my muddy wellies from when I would play pirates at the beach… Or dissecting any dead rats I’d find in the traps using her steak knives…” “You don’t remember, do you?” asked Molly, leaning forward with a curious gleam in her eyes. “Remember what?” “You see, Mycroft did such an excellent job you never got chided for it ever again.” This was a puzzling statement and the detective frowned in response. Knowing Molly was going to continue, Sherlock stayed quiet, knowing that now was not the time to act smart or make possibly inaccurate deductions. Clearly, there was something she knew, and he did not. “Look down at your plate. How many bites of cake have you had?” The detective followed her instructions and stared down at his plate. Depending on the angle one took to look at it, no one would have suspected the slice of cake had had a bite taken out of it. “I ate the cherry. And I had a corner of cake. I might have another bite, seeing as sugar is the only high I can afford now—” “And what would your mother say,” Molly interjected, “if she could see your plate now?”

Memories were a funny thing. Sometimes, they remained buried with no chance of recollection whatsoever. Yet, in some cases, they sprang back to the forefront of the mind once the right switch was turned on. The memory played in Sherlock’s head like a perfect piece of cinematography. All the sights and sounds and smells came rushing to him as he suddenly recalled one particular night at the family dinner table. He could not have been more than four years old, but Sherlock was brilliant after all and had a vast store of memories from a very early age. Dinner had been served and while he had been hungry after a full afternoon playing outside in the garden, he had refused to eat a single morsel of his food. Sherlock’s brilliance had a setback, and that was the frequent and immense sensory overloads he would experience. The great speed at which he processed things was directly proportional to the tremendous sensitivity he felt towards his environment. Suddenly, Sherlock was acutely aware of how repulsed he had felt that one evening at dinner; how the creamed spinach felt too wet; how the boiled potatoes were too yellow; and how the carrots and gravy seemed to merge into the same colour and it just did not feel right. In his attempt to make his food palatable and not disturb him so much, Sherlock had tried prodding at it, rearranging it, mixing the colours or mixing the textures to find a combination that did not send his hairs standing. Then, a huge sharp pain had interrupted his rearrangement of his dinner when Mummy tapped the edge of a wooden spoon against his tiny knuckles. In an equally sharp voice, she had asked him sternly why he had not taken a bite of his food and chided him for being fussy and for playing with his food. The rude shock of her harsh voice and the slight throb in his knuckles had caused tears to well up in the eyes of young Sherlock. He remembered the tears and the frustration behind them because he had truly been hungry at the time but simply could not bring himself to eat the food before him. Such a struggle was something Mycroft had also been all too familiar with. After all, were they not of the same make? An infinitely more brilliant mind like Mycroft’s had dealt with the same battle of his senses and how they affected his experience of life. Everything that had plagued Sherlock as a young genius had also affected him before, except now, with seven years ahead of his younger brother, Mycroft had learned to manage. Whether it was the noise, the people, the food, the scents - Mycroft had learnt to manage. As tears had continued to spill from Sherlock’s eyes, he did his best to obey his mother, not wanting to risk hearing her terribly hard voice or another rap to his knuckles. Reluctantly, Sherlock had begun lowering his fork into what he perceived as neon yellow flesh of the cut potatoes on his plate. However, just as the silver prongs were about to poke through the powdery cube of potato, Sherlock remembered seeing Mycroft deftly reaching over, switching plates with him. Sherlock had stared in shock at the empty plate in place of his, while Mycroft had begun quickly devouring what Sherlock could not.   “He couldn’t have been hungry…” Sherlock murmured as the memories continued playing in his head. Molly merely lowered her heard and smiled. She could tell he had ventured somewhere obscure in his Mind Palace and did not want to disrupt this particular trip down memory lane. Once dinner time had been over, Sherlock was starving but relieved that his brother had saved him. Mummy had seemed pleased that all her children had finished their meals and had cheerfully cleared their plates. Mycroft, knowing that his brother would have been absolutely ravenous by now, had stolen into the kitchen and nicked a few ginger nuts from Mummy’s cupboard. There you are, Sherlock, Mycroft had said to his little brother. Nice and dry, these. And I picked the least lumpy ones of the lot, just the way you like them.You mustn’t go to bed hungry. It seemed this first memory then triggered a whole deluge of similar incidents. All of a sudden, Sherlock remembered not wanting to eat the honey on toast at tea time one afternoon because the honey had not felt ‘ready’ and its colour was all wrong and so had refused to touch it. His piece of toast had gotten so cold that the honey spread on top of it had almost turned to glass. Again, Mycroft had swept in and grabbed the toast off his brother’s plate, leaving it empty before Mummy could return to the dining room, sparing Sherlock another shelling from her. In these memories, Mycroft was still always eating, always stealing biscuits and cake  and stuffing his face with tremendous speed and almost with a sense of desperation. Except, it was neither hunger nor greed which motivated those responses. “You’ve spoilt my appetite now, Molly…” muttered the detective, as his recollection of his childhood slowly began to clarify. “Because now you remember how much Mycroft loves you?” teased Molly. There came coughing and choking sounds as Sherlock reached for his coffee and took a big dramatic sip, as though it could wash the thought away. Molly suppressed a chuckle but continued to speak.

“I know it’s hard for you, but I just— could not sit idly by and have you think he was some greedy, food-obsessed child,” Molly began. “He merely wanted to protect you. And still does.” Sherlock raised a cynical eyebrow before taking another slow sip of his coffee. “Are you about to suggest I do something about this?” he asked, eyeing Molly suspiciously. “I know that look in your eyes.” “Well, you could just call him, tell him you love him,” joked Molly. “Are you trying to kill me?” asked Sherlock with a smirk. “Would it?” Molly asked swiftly in return. “Would it actually kill you?” Her question was a weighted one, and it made Sherlock sigh quietly. He picked his fork up and took another bite of cake, chewing it slowly and thoughtfully.

“Maybe you should practice,” said Molly with a gleam in her eyes. “Practice?” he asked. “Hello, Sherlock,” she began, smiling at him. “Uh, hello…Molly,” answered Sherlock instinctively but a little unsure. “I would do anything to protect you,” she declared, “Because I love you. Now, what would you say in return?” He glared at her incredulously, amazed at how she was able to say such words so easily. How did she make something so heavy appear so light and effortless? Sherlock shook his head and chuckled softly. “He would never say that to me, you do know that right?” said Sherlock with a laugh. “It’d kill him.” “That is true,” Molly replied, “But you never know, Sherlock. One day, you or Mycroft might find yourselves literally at gunpoint and you’ll wish you’d done something.” Sherlock paused to reflect on her words. He certainly could not deny that his memory of Mycroft had been incomplete, resulting in the present-day misjudgement of his brother. Mycroft had never been greedy, had never enjoyed the taste of honey, and would have never taken more than he was allowed to. It frightened Sherlock that he had gotten something so fundamentally wrong about his brother, about his own history. He shook away the even more terrifying thought that there might be more he could have missed about their childhood. Sherlock made a note not to delete things from his memory too impulsively anymore. “I think you’re right, Molly,” said Sherlock at last, looking up at her. Molly smiled and gestured to his plate. “You going to finish your cake then?” she asked. “Yes, I think I will,” Sherlock replied, smiling as he picked his fork up. — The air was cold and daylight had yet to break. Sherlock stood outside the large mahogany doors and waited. Right on schedule, the doors opened and out stepped Mycroft, decked head to toe in his black running gear and wearing a look of surprise on his face. “What are you doing here?” asked Mycroft, “Has something happened? And why are you in running clothes?” “Same reason you’re wearing them,” answered Sherlock. “What, you’re here for a jog? At five in the morning?” Mycroft exclaimed, still somewhat in shock at seeing his brother, “Aren’t you usually at the morgue trying to show off to Molly Hooper or something?” “She does the day shifts now,” Sherlock answered without missing a beat. “And then you take her out to dinner in the evenings?” joked Mycroft. “On occasion, yes,” Sherlock replied unflinchingly, secretly relishing the look of surprise in his brother’s eyes. “Well, good for you…and good luck to her,” said Mycroft, “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” “Mycroft.” “Yes, Sherlock, what?” Suddenly, Sherlock could not articulate why he had come to see his brother. Perhaps it had not been clear to him either, but after everything Molly had made him realise, he knew he had to do something. “Mind if I joined you?” he asked. “We won’t have to chat, will we?” said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow. “These grounds are quite large and I should like to concentrate on conserving energy for my run, if you don’t mind.” “No chatting, just running,” said Sherlock with a nod. “Then I don’t see why you can’t,” Mycroft replied, nodding in return. It had been a quiet run, the two brothers side by side as they made their way around Mycroft’s entire estate. They returned, panting slightly as they stepped into Mycroft’s equally palatial kitchen. The older Holmes brother opened his refrigerator where its only contents was a single glass decanter of freshly squeezed juice. He poured himself a glass, knowing his brother would not be interested in any. To his surprise, his brother came to join him, pouring himself a glass too. “I brought you something,” said Sherlock, after he had downed half the glass of juice thirstily. “Whatever for?” asked Mycroft with a laugh. “Here,” said Sherlock, tossing a dark brown packet to his brother. “What’s this?” asked Mycroft. “Breakfast,” said Sherlock. “They’re ginger nuts,” said Mycroft. “Exactly,” Sherlock said with a quick smile. “I used to have them for breakfast, remember?” Mycroft paused to look up at his brother carefully. His puzzled frown soon softened into a small, warm smile. Mycroft looked away and stared out of his kitchen window into the green of his estate. “The bacon looked like twigs, you’d said. And the eggs were like ‘monster eyes’,” Mycroft recalled wistfully, “You were so small and frail.” “And you were the opposite.” “Yes, I was,” said Mycroft. “Mycroft.” “Yes?” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Both brothers turned away, both unaccustomed to any such displays of emotion, but were smiling secretly in the knowledge that the other was not looking. Their silence was interrupted by the crackling sound of a plastic packet being opened. “Fancy a ginger nut?” asked Mycroft, holding one out in his hand. “For old times’ sake.” “Seeing as I haven’t had any breakfast…” answered Sherlock, taking the biscuit from his brother. “Yes, I will have one.” Mycroft reached into the packet and took one for himself too. The two brothers stood where they were in the kitchen, quietly crunching on their biscuits. “Remind me, will you, Sherlock?” Mycroft said, suddenly. “To do what?” he asked, gesturing for his brother to pass him another biscuit. “To thank Molly Hooper,” answered Mycroft, hunting for a ginger nut with a texture agreeable to his younger brother. “Of course.” “Maybe I’ll take her out to dinner,” joked Mycroft, eyeing his brother. Sherlock stared back icily at Mycroft, inciting a laugh from him.   “I jest,” said Mycroft, offering his brother another carefully selected biscuit. “I certainly hope you are.” “Well, I wouldn’t want to undo what’s she's managed to accomplish.” “Hmm. Yes.” Mycroft smiled as he put the packet of biscuits down and walked casually to the sink to wash his hands. As the sound of running water filled the quiet kitchen, Mycroft thought about everything that had transpired that morning and could not help but smirk to himself. When he was finished, he turned the tap off and the kitchen went quiet again. “That said, brother mine,” Mycroft remarked, sauntering over to dry his hands on a small towel, “While it’s taken you about thirty years to offer me biscuits, I don’t recommend you take the same amount of time regarding Molly Hooper.” “What, to offer her biscuits?” said Sherlock, scoffing slightly. Mycroft laughed. Sherlock really was the idiot. “I believe it is words you have to offer her,” Mycroft said with a knowing half-smile. “Say them while they still mean something to her.” “Are both of you trying to kill me?” Sherlock exclaimed. “Believe me when I say, Sherlock, that if you didn’t,” Mycroft explained, “That might kill you first.” “Are you speaking from experience?” asked Sherlock, scoffing. “Perhaps,” Mycroft answered coolly. Sherlock stared at his brother, perplexed at his words. What frame of reference did his brother have that he did not? Was there more that he had missed from their childhood? Their adolescence? “It was from my time at MI6,” said Mycroft, answering the question in his brother’s head, “I’ll tell you another time when you feel like we need another…breakfast.” “Hmm, yes.” “Now, please, just take my word for it and go,” said Mycroft, waving his little brother away. With a smirk, Sherlock stole one more ginger nut and turned to leave his brother’s colossal home. With his free hand, he took his mobile phone out and began to text. To his surprise, she had texted him first. How did it go? - M It was fine. - SH Oh, that’s wonderful then. - M Where are you now? - SH On my way to the Bart’s refectory, why? - M Mind if I joined you there? - SH What? For lunch? - M Yes. Lunch. - SH But you never eat. - M It seems I have to once in a while. - SH What made you change your mind? - M My brother said it might kill me if I didn’t. - SH He’s right, there. - M So, the refectory? - SH Yes. See you soon then. - M See you. x - SH !!!!! - M :) - SH

[firstpuffin]

A life of boredom; I hope people can gain strength from this pt 1:

One thing that I hear again and again about people with mental illness or learning disabilities or even just with a far from ideal situation is that they feel alone. I’ll say first of all that I’ve never felt like this; I’ve never felt alone and I’ve never felt like a disappointment or like I’ve let down my parents. But I imagine that it would feel terrible.

  So I figured I’d put my rather boring story out there. It’s not one of success or any great tragedy; all things considered it’s been a pretty dull existence. But if it can help someone feel like they aren’t alone then maybe it’s worth it.

Also, I have no time to research a proper article.

  This entry is going to be more of a background to who I am and what I had to live with, with an actual sequence of events coming later. Nothing particularly bad ever happened to me, but there were a lot of smaller things that built up; you know what they say about straw and the camel’s back.

  I don’t really want to focus on the bad, I had a lot of good too. But you remember the bad, don’t you? While the good fades away.

 So first of all, I was originally inspired to write this when I realised that when I graduate from university this coming May, it will be exactly ten years since I graduated from high school. This is astonishing for a number of reasons: one, it doesn’t feel like ten years at all and two, I still feel like I’m sixteen years old. A sixteen-year old who can drink and who maybe should have accomplished more by now.

  There are other reasons why it feels wrong; I knew my best friend back in first school but we parted ways for middle school and by some holy shit level chance ended up in the same high school. And yes, we didn’t do the elementary to primary school thing; I only discovered that was even a thing during high school and I didn’t understand what it was. I went to three different schools and didn’t transfer once. But anyway, me and my pal have been pals constantly in the thirteen years since then; he introduced me to manga and to so many video game series and stuff. It’s also been roughly eleven or twelve years since I fell out with who had been up until then a constant in my life, but that’s for later.

  It doesn’t feel like I’ve done much of anything, at least not anything of worth in those ten years. Not until I came to university.

 Background: I am the youngest child in a family of four, my brother knowing what he has wanted since he was a child and worked constantly towards it. I would try to copy him and fail miserably. I looked up to him as someone who could do everything that I couldn’t.

  My dad was a straight-forward thinker who comes across to new people as stern and scary, but in reality he’s basically a big teddy bear (not in that way; in the more traditional sense). You just need to get past that cold facade first.

  My mother was overbearing but it was out of love rather than some other kind of twisted motive. I hesitate to talk too much about this lest it comes off badly, but it is a prime example of how the best intentions can go awry. She wanted me to be a child and so didn’t insist on making me do chores and instead did everything for me, so I never learned to be independent. Whether it was something to do with my combination of learning disabilities or just me as a person, I just let her do so. One of my greatest joys at university has been the independence, or more accurately the requirement to do everything myself. I love the cleaning the washing, the cooking.

  Oh my god, the cooking. I loathe food. Or at least I used to, I’m still not a fan. I now think I know why, but the original guess was that because I had rhinitis (think year long allergies; specifically a blocked nose) and couldn’t smell anything, that I couldn’t taste things correctly. I now know that being dyspraxic can mean an oversensitivity of the senses; like taste and touch. My dyspraxia meant that I disliked most strong-tasting foods. Or really food in general. Sure there were a few things I liked, like burgers or pizza, but no curry, no shepherd’s pie… really nothing with a sauce or herbs. Or onion. Or mushy textures. Or mixed textures.

  Guess what foods my family loved. Everything I hated. Mealtimes were the worst, I dreaded them. I genuinely feared going out to eat. And you know what made it worse? The complete and total lack of sympathy. I was fussy, I should just deal with it. There are children starving in Africa. So I did. I learned to eat things I hated for every meal, even when my peers would refuse to eat what they kinda maybe slightly didn’t like.

  But now I live alone and I have slowly increased the meals that I do actually enjoy, or at least don’t dislike. And it’s amazing. I don’t have to fear mealtimes anymore.

   Also, my parents didn’t do Christmas. Or Easter. Or Halloween. Or birthdays (although my mom tried to work around that). And Mom avoided fairy tales because she knew of their dark origins. You know, screw the current cheerful version of Cinderella; the older versions had body mutilations *gasp*. Bodily mutilations that…are not… in the current versions…

  Mom meant well, but most of my Disney knowledge comes from the Kingdom Hearts series. So that’s weird.

  And I’m actually kind of relieved that we never did Christmas, that holiday is a freaking mess.

 So what else? Well just for a bit of background, I don’t and never did experience sexual attraction. This may seem like an odd thing to mention but do me a favour and look around; sex is everywhere! And it’s very confusing to a kid who doesn’t even know what it means to be or to find someone attractive. Over time I’ve learned to see what is aesthetically pleasing, but that’s just the viewpoint of an artist. It was very hard for me thanks to that; and even harder when during high school, events made me think that I was bisexual (it was high school, who didn’t think they were bi?). I’m not going into them because I still don’t understand what was going through my head, but eventually I realised that I wasn’t technically bi, because I didn’t experience attraction. I now say that rather than being attracted to males or females, it’s more that I’m not not attracted to them.

  It’s weird, it’s confusing and hopefully you can understand why things were difficult for me. I’d be talking to my male friends when all heads turned to follow a shapely ass (I don’t get the appeal) and I would be wondering if they were listening to me (they usually weren’t). Still, it got some amusing responses from people who couldn’t understand.

 Next, I didn’t have a passion like my brother, I had no motivations to encourage me to work and even worse, I was smart enough that I could coast through school with acceptable grades and the constant nagging that “I had potential”; although I suspect everybody hears that. Still, with no skills to speak of and no motivation, I just lived. Without purpose. I kinda still do. The only reason I have any goals at the moment is to keep occupied.

  As a child, Mother was scared to let me go out, so I played the few video games that we had, watched the few television channels that I could, and read. Hoo boy did I read. My parents were keen on reading and so provided book after book and despite my dyslexia, I was soon waay above my peers. I was reading adult novels (no, not that kind; although one or two of the sci-fi books may as well have been) when I was in middle school (roughly around 9 and 13 years old; I can never remember). I firmly believe it was the reading that helped me overcome my dyslexia and look at me now, learning to write fiction and non-fiction and studying language. Of course, I have no social skills to speak of, so being able to go out might have been helpful.

I was also dyspraxic, but somehow I didn’t find this out until just a few months ago. Like seriously, I can’t blame anybody for this because it’s so extreme in its weirdness. My parents knew, adults I grew up with knew, even my brother knew; so how did I not? My assumption is that being dyslexic, I got the two very similar sounding words mixed up and for some reason people only focused on my dyslexia. It’s also pretty clear that my parents knew nothing about dyspraxia so that probably didn’t help.

  But the dyspraxia was a huge issue for me. I couldn’t play instruments like my brother or friends, because I didn’t have the motor skills; I couldn’t do sports because I would kick a football in 180 degrees from where I intended, and when you can’t kick a football your classmates hate you to an unreasonable degree, no doubt due to living in a football-oriented culture (which is probably worth another article all by itself) and you begin to hate sports; I couldn’t draw like my brother (like seriously, he can do everything I ever wanted to). I had no motivations, no goals and I never tried because I couldn’t do anything anyway.

This is going to be controversial but do you know what made things even worse? My parents were religious. Christian to be specific, but they go by “The Church of God” like literally every fucking religion so I can’t tell you exactly which denomination. They didn’t believe in hell so I was spared that trauma, and my parents always tried to be open about things like homosexuality (“we hate the act, not the people”) so all in all things could have been worse. But it was a small church with very few children and it wasn’t long before it was just me and this one boy. And it was so, so boring. There was literally nothing to keep a child entertained and we weren’t allowed to walk off. I ended up literally walking in circles around the edge of a room again and again and a-fucking-gain for hours. Thankfully I enjoyed walking but I think people started to realise there was a problem.

  I also wouldn’t get out of bed on Saturdays (because yes, the sabbath is actually on Saturday) and that definitely formed a weird habit. It’s pretty clear that I was depressed and so my parents eventually relented and let me stay at home. They were (and still are) convinced that I will return to the fold one day (I’m actually a hardcore atheist at this point). But that bad sleeping habit continued.

 So that’s the start. I was a kid with a technically undiagnosed learning disability that conditioned both my mind and my body, and that always sucks. I had people around me who were motivated and goal driven and worst of all, who were talented! And I struggled to do anything. Without goals, without motivation, and with a mother who was willing to do literally everything for me, I effectively did nothing. On top of that, I developed clear signs of depression that have since gotten worse, and worse over time.

  As I said though, things weren’t all bad. My parents loved me. None of us were particularly ill. I don’t know how many people I grew up with who had parents who had split and were uncaring. My hometown is full of people who have no desire to further themselves, who are happy to do nothing. I’m very lucky with my family.

Even if my brother is a snarky asshole.

[jenguerrero]

Do you have a pasta roller collecting dust? Oh, baby! Let’s break that thing out! I’ve been playing in an amazing pasta book for a week. The Ultimate Pasta and Noodle Cookbook. It’s just fantastic.

I couldn’t decide which recipe to ask permission for. Maltagliati with Creamy Lemon Sauce is the perfect first homemade pasta. As the author explains, “Maltagliati translates to “badly cut” in Italian.” It’s generally the scrap pieces from making more specific pasta like ravioli, so she has you cut diamonds and triangles in the sheets with a pasta wheel without any fussiness. And the creamy lemon sauce is the easiest and it’s delicious. It would be the perfect first pasta to tackle, getting you that wow at the table right out of the gate

At the other end of the spectrum, is a Ravioli with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe with a Browned Butter and Sage Sauce, showing you what you can do when you want to flex in the kitchen.

I couldn’t decide. So I asked for either one of those. A huge thank you to Cider Mill Press for giving me permission to share both so you can really taste that book! I’ll tell you all about the book first, then give you the recipes to try!

If you love it, please come and find me again, or hit that follow button! 😀

What do you need to make pasta? Everything I’ve prepared here uses just a KitchenAid KSMPSA Pasta Roller Attachment ($59), a Norpro Grip-EZ Pastry/Ravioli Wheel ($8), and a Fantes Gnocchi Board ($5), just to show that you don’t really need anything. You don’t. You could use a hand powered pasta roller, but it takes about 64-68 passes through the machine for one recipe, and I don’t want to make you all jealous with arms that toned. ;D

If you want to cut your sheets into spaghetti or fettucine, this set includes the roller and 2 cutters for $122. KitchenAid KSMPRA 3-Piece Pasta Roller & Cutter Attachment Set They’re nice if you have the money. A ravioli mold is nice. I have those, but didn’t use them here.

  My review of the book…..

The Ultimate Pasta and Noodle Cookbook By Serena Cosmo Hardcover

This is a beautiful book of global pasta. It’s nearly encyclopedic in its scope. The first 127 pages cover history, ingredients, equipment, cooking technique, and an encyclopedia of pastas that will delight any food nerd. The next 625 pages are recipes, and I used up a pad of sticky notes flagging potential dinners. The range is awesome. Then she finishes with a glossary, and a discussion of when shapes matter.

Who’s this book for? Anyone who loves pasta. If you want to learn how to make your own fresh pastas, with or without any previous experience, she’ll get you there. Her directions are really clear and thorough. She teaches well. The learning curve to get something slightly misshapen and delicious goes by quickly! If you prefer to buy pasta, and make your own dishes from it, you’ll love this, too. Ideas are rarely created in a vacuum, and I love it when authors mention their inspiration, and she does which adds to the overall charm. She gives manual and machine options, so you can go with your preference, and don’t need to get a bunch of equipment if that’s not your thing.

There are lots of beautiful photos in the book, but not for every single dish. That’s the only potential drawback I could find. And my kiddo flagged a few pastas like samosas that are mentioned in the encyclopedia section, but there’s no recipe for them. I already have a samosa recipe, so no big deal.

My pics and thoughts on the dishes that I tried: 1-5) Three-Egg Basic Pasta Dough – p 131. Excellent dough. It really does feel like playdough, just as she says. She gives instruction for two ways to make the dough. You can mix the dough by hand and then knead it for 8-10 minutes, or take a little help from a machine, and let the Kitchen Aid with a dough hook handle it while you sip espresso. I tried both, and actually a third method – a hybrid of the two in which I started by hand and then moved it into the mixer to finish when my kiddo asked for help with something. All worked beautifully. Budget a little time, because the dough needs to rest for an hour or two before you roll it into sheets.

6) Maltagliati – p 183 (uses the three-egg pasta dough). I hadn’t heard of this before. She explains that it translates to “badly cut” and that it’s traditionally make from all the leftover trimmings from making pastas like ravioli. She suggests cutting it into diamond and triangular shapes if you’re making it intentionally, which I was, because I needed it for the next dish. It seems like such a great first pasta to start with since there’s no need to be precise. She listed angel hair and some other very thin ones as alternatives, so I’ll probably cut my diamonds much smaller next time. 7) Maltagliati with Creamy Lemon Sauce – p 469. This sauce is divine and absolutely effortless. It has a bright lemon flavor, with the cheese as a background note. It balances perfectly with the pasta. They don’t overshadow each other. 8-11) Pork and Roasted Squash Potstickers – p 329. The flavor on these is fantastic! It makes enough filling to make these twice. She gives instructions for boiling, but I pleated and pan fried mine. If you want to, too, you need a big nonstick skillet with a lid. Add about 2 tablespoons of oil to nicely cover the bottom and heat over medium. Add the potstickers in a single layer with the seam up, add about 2/3 cup of water and pop on the lid. Let them cook for about 10 minutes. Add a little more water if it’s all evaporated at any point. Then remove the lid and give the pan a swirl, until they’re cooked through, are nice and crispy on the bottom, and they release from the pan. Repeat until they’re all done. `

12-13) Ravioli with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe – p 273 (uses the three-egg pasta dough) and Browned Butter and Sage Sauce – p 466. Delicious! She gives instructions for a pastry cutter or a ravioli tray mold. I just hand-cut them with the pastry wheel. Beautiful ravioli. Budget two hours for the dough to rest before rolling, and two hours for the ravioli to dry after to fill, seal, and cut them.

14) Fonduta – p 472. Oh my gosh! This is wonderfully decadent pasta, filled with cheesy goodness, and made even richer with egg yolks and heavy cream, and finished with a kiss of nutmeg and pepper, and a flourish of fresh parsley. Absolute perfection. This one’s our favorite. 15) Chicken Soup with Chicken Meatballs, Farfalle, and Spinach – p 381. Fantastic soup! The tomato paste adds a wonderful depth of flavor to the cheesy meatballs. I think it’s a kid pleaser because there were no leftovers in our house. 16-20) Garganelli – p 192. This one uses semolina pasta and it smells lovely. Instead of rolling out all four sheets one after another, I rolled them out one at a time, cut them, and formed them before moving on to the next sheet so they wouldn’t dry out. Pasta dough’s a kid magnet. My little girl walked into the kitchen, watched me rolling them, and I heard, “Can I try?” over my shoulder. She loved it and formed half of them.

21) Kira’s Garganelli Pasta with Cream, Ham, and Peas – p 533. Delicious. The sauce is very rich and easy.

Some others I have flagged to try: Farfalle (bowties) – p 170 * Orecchiette (lamb’s ears) – p 173 * Trofie (darling corkscrews) – p 186 * Garganelli (diagonally rolled squares with ridges) – p 192 * Potato Gnocchi with Truffled Cheese Sauce – p 223 * Arugula Gnocchi with Herbed Cheese – p 225 * Baked Spinach and Ricotta Gnocchi with Sage Butter – p 235 * Butternut Squash Gnocchi – p 237 * Spätzle – p 257 * Korean Rice Cakes with Uyghur-Style Lamb and Three Pepper Sauce – p 266 * Caramelle with Roasted Butternut Squash, Parmesan, and Gorgonzola Filling – p 294 * Culurgiones (potato filled) – p 298 * Herb and Cheese Filled Pansoti with Aromatic Walnut Sauce – p 302 * Pierogis with Potato, Onion, and Farmer’s Cheese Filling – p 305 * Manti with Spiced Meat Filling with Garlic Yogurt Sauce – p 312 * Pan Fried Pork and Cabbage Gyoza – p 348 * Miso Soup with Udon Noodles – p 372 * Penicillin Soup with Egg Noodles and Matzo Balls – p 387 * Phở – p 406 * Sesame Soba Noodles – p 411 * Ramen Noodles and Tofu San Bei – p 429 * Chicken Lo Mein with Bean Sprouts, Cabbage, and Carrots – p 435 * Shrimp and Tofu Pad Thai – p 438 * Fettucine Alfredo – p 470 * Gorgonzola Cream Sauce with Pan-Toasted Spiced Walnuts – p 474 * Puttanesca Sauce – p 494 * Asparagus and Ricotta Sauce – p 499 * Spaghetti Alla Carbonara – p 527 * Pasta with Pancetta, Hazelnuts, Orange, and Sage – p 529 * Truffled Mushroom and Pine Nut Sauce – p 555 * Roasted Poblano Pepper and Mexican Sour Cream Sauce – p 563 * Classic Fresh Tomato Sauce – p 565 * Spicy Anchovy, Caramelized Onion, and Toasted Breadcrumb Sauce – p 573 * Broccoli, Raisin, and Pine Nut Sauce – p 575 * Shrimp and Pistou Sauce – p 587 * Penne Alla Vodka – p 605 * Sausage Ragu – p 617 * Bolognese Sauce – p 629 * Sesame Stir-Fried Carrot Noodle Spirals – p 654 * Cucumber “Noodles” with Coconut, Lime, and Cumin Dressing – p 657 * Zucchini “Noodles” with Oven-Roasted Stilton, Radicchio, and Peaches – p 667 * Tofu “Noodles” with Chicken and Mixed Peppers – p 670 * Classic Lasagna with Bolognese and Bechamel – p 696 * Bacon Macaroni and Cheese – p 700

*I received a copy of this book to explore and share my thoughts.

THREE-EGG BASIC PASTA DOUGH

YIELD: A LITTLE OVER 1 POUND; ABOUT 6 SERVINGS / ACTIVE TIME: 1 HOUR / TOTAL TIME: 1 ½ HOURS

This recipe is your standard, go-to recipe when you want to simplify the pasta making process and still get delicious results. Suitable for hand- or machine-rolling, it forms a malleable and nicely golden-hued dough that is a pleasure to knead by hand since it resembles PlayDoh in texture and produces tender pasta. For best results, all the ingredients—even the flours—need to be at room temperature. Keep in mind that the thickness suggestions for each pasta shape are just suggestions. If you prefer any pasta shape slightly thicker or thinner, you are the master of your own dining destiny.

Suitable for fettuccine, pappardelle, tagliatelle, maltagliati, quadretti, farfalle, fazzoletti, cappellacci dei briganti, ravioli, ravioloni, caramelle, pansoti, tortellini, tortelloni, agnolotti, anolini, and cappellacci di zucca (butternut-squash stuffed pasta).

INGREDIENTS: 2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour 3 large eggs I egg yolk

1 Mixing and kneading the dough by hand: On a flat work surface form the Hour into a mountain-like mound. Create a well in the center, then add the eggs, egg yolk, and 2 tablespoons water. Using a fork or your fingertips, gradually start pulling the flour into the pool of egg, beginning with the flour at the inner rim of the well. Continue to gradually add flour until the dough starts holding together in a single floury mass, adding more water— I tablespoon at a time— if the mixture is too dry to stick together. Once the dough feels firm and dry, and can form a craggy looking ball, it’s time to start kneading.

Begin by working the remaining flour on the work surface into the ball of dough. Using the heel of your hand, push the ball of dough away from you in a downward motion. Turn the dough 45 degrees each time you repeat this motion, as doing so incorporates the flour more evenly. As you continue to knead, you’ll notice the dough getting less and less floury. Eventually it will have a smooth, elastic texture. If the dough still feels wet, tacky, or sticky, dust it with flour and continue kneading. If it feels too dry and is not completely sticking together, wet your hands with water and continue kneading. Wet your hands as many times as you need in order to help the flour shape into a ball.

Knead for 8 to 10 minutes. It seems like a long time, but it accomplishes two things. l. It creates a dough that is smooth and springy. 2. It eliminates any air bubbles and bits of unincorporated flour in the dough.

The dough has been sufficiently kneaded when it is very smooth and gently pulls back into place when stretched.

Mixing and kneading the dough with a mixer: Put the flour in a large bowl. Create a well in the center. Using a hand-held or stand mixer fitted with the dough (spiral) attachment, set the speed to 1 or 2 and slowly add half of the eggs and 1 tablespoon water while mixing. Mix until the wet ingredients have been fully incorporated into the flour, then add the remaining eggs and another tablespoon water and continue to mix on low speed until fully incorporated. Soon the dough will begin coming together in a single floury mass. Add water 1 tablespoon at a time—if the mixture is too dry to stick together. Add flour— 1teaspoon at a time—if the mixture is too wet and sticky. Once the dough feels firm and dry, and can be formed into a coarse looking and slightly tacky ball, it’s time to start kneading.

Turn the speed on the mixer to medium-high, typically notch 4, and mix for 8 to 10 minutes. The dough has been sufficiently kneaded when it is very smooth and gently pulls back into place when stretched.

2 Resting the dough: Wrap the ball of dough tightly in clear food wrap and let rest for I hour—2 hours is even better if you have the time. If using within a few hours, leave it out on the kitchen counter, otherwise refrigerate it (it will keep for up to 3 days). If you do refrigerate it, however, the dough may experience some discoloration (but it won’t affect the flavor at all).

3 Rolling the dough: Cut the dough into four even pieces. Set one piece on a smooth work surface and wrap up the rest in clear food wrap to prevent drying. Shape the dough into a ball, place it on the surface, and, with the palm of your hand, push down on it so that it looks like a thick pita. Using a rolling pin, roll the dough to 1/2 inch thick. Try as much as possible to keep the thickness and width of the dough “patty” even, as it will help the dough fit through the pasta machine more easily.

Set the pasta machine for the flat roller (no teeth) on the widest setting (typically notch 1). Now feed the dough into the rollers. As a rather rough, thick sheet of pasta comes out the other end, make sure to support it with your hand or fingers. Fold the sheet of dough over itself twice, as you would a letter, and then turn the folded dough on its side and feed it back into the machine again. Repeat this folding and feeding it back into the machine three more times. Ihis process is called “laminating” and it makes the dough more sturdy and manageable to handle.

Set the machine to the second-widest setting (typically notch 2) and feed the dough into the rollers. Again, support the pasta as it comes out the other side. Again fold it as you would a letter and feed it into the rollers on its short side; repeat this three more times.

Set the machine to the third-widest setting (typically notch 3) and feed the dough into the rollers. Again, support the pasta as it comes out the other side. Again fold it as you would a letter and feed it into the rollers on its short side; repeat this three more times.

Set the machine to the second-smallest setting (typically notch 4). Feed the pasta into the rollers. Again, support the pasta as it comes out the other side. At this point, there is no need to laminate the pasta.

Stop rolling at this point if making sheets of pasta 1/8 inch/2mm thick for pansoti, agnolotti, maltagliati, farfalle, and cappellacci dei briganti. If you like your fettuccine, pappardelle, and tagliatelle a little thicker, then this is the setting for you.

Set the machine to the smallest setting (typically notch 5). Cut the pasta sheet in half and feed it into the rollers. Again, support the pasta as it comes out the other side.

This last setting makes pasta sheets so thin (about 1/16 inch/ 1.5 mm thick) that you can see light through them. It is ideal for filled pastas like ravioli, ravioloni, tortellini, tortelloni, anolini, cappellacci di zucca, and caramelle, whose fillings can easily be overshadowed by too much surrounding dough, as well as fazzoletti and quadretti. If you like your fettuccine, pappardelle, and tagliatelle very thin, then this is the setting for you.

The just rolled pasta will be very delicate, so be gentle handling it. If the pasta sheet is too long to easily handle, carefully cut it in half. Lightly dust each sheet with flour and lay it on a surface lined with wax or parchment paper. Repeat all the above steps with the remaining pieces of dough.

4 Drying the sheets of dough: Pasta dough needs to be allowed to dry for approximately 15 minutes after it has been rolled out and before it is cut into strands or other shapes. This drying time makes the dough less sticky and easier to handle. Keep in mind that when the pasta is very thick or wide it will need to be turned over to ensure thorough and even drying (not necessary for thin noodles). Pasta sheets are now ready to be shaped or cut according to recipe requirements.

The notable exception to this rule is if you are making stuffed pasta. In this case, not letting the dough dry is best because the slight stickiness helps the pasta adhere better and creates a better seal.

5 Drying the cut pasta before cooking: Once fresh pasta has been cut (see the individual recipes), toss it with semolina flour and then place it on a lightly floured surface (again, with semolina flour) and allowed it to dry for at least 15 minutes before cooking. This drying period is important because it allows the pasta to dry enough to become firmer and less sticky, which prevents the pasta from sticking together as it cooks (shaped pasta also holds its shape better when allowed to dry slightly before cooking). More specific drying times are indicated in individual pasta recipes. Just note that the drying process can be fickle. Depending on temperature, humidity levels, and the size of the noodles or pasta, the process may take a longer or shorter period of time than stated in the recipes. It is probably best to avoid making pasta on very humid days. If you can’t avoid it, turn on the air conditioning or even a movable fan to help the air circulate more effectively.

MALTAGLIATI

YIELDS: 6 SERVINGS / ACTIVE TIME: 1 HOUR / TOTAL TIME: 1 ½ HOURS, PLUS 2 HOURS TO DRY

Maltagliati translates to “badly cut” in Italian; they are similar to fazzoletti (page 184) in that they are both pieces of thinly rolled pasta dough. But while fazzo/etti are cut into squares or rectangles, traditionally maltagliati were made from all the irregularly shaped trimmings leftover from cutting out the dough for pastas like ravioli, anolini, and agnolotti. Those pastas are generally made from pasta rolled out so thin, it’s almost transparent; I prefer to prepare maltagliati from scratch so I can make them slightly thicker, for a bit more chew.

Suggested sauce and pasta dishes: Puttanesca Sauce (page 494), Fresh Mushroom Sauce (page 551), Duck Ragu (page 600), Truffled Mushroom and Pine Nut Sauce (page 555), Maltagliati with Creamy Lemon Sauce (page 469)

INGREDIENTS: 1 recipe Three-Egg Basic Pasta Dough (page 131) Semolina flour for dusting Salt

1 Prepare the dough as directed on pages 131—133, rolling the dough to the second thinnest setting (generally notch 4) for pasta sheets that are about 1/8 inch thick. Lay the pasta sheets on lightly floured parchment paper-lined baking sheets. Let the sheets air-dry for 1 5 minutes, turning them over halfway (doing this will make them easier to cut).

2 Lay a pasta sheet on a lightly floured work surface directly in front of you. Lightly flour the sheet, then fold it into thirds lengthwise, like you would a letter. Using a pastry cutter, cut the folded-up pasta into rough diamond and triangular shapes. No precision is required, so have fun with it. Gently toss the maltagliati with flour and transfer to lightly floured parchment paper covered baking sheets. Repeat with all the pasta sheets. Allow them to air-dry for 2 hours, turning them over once halfway, and then cook. Alternatively, you can place them, once air-dried, in a bowl, cover with a kitchen towel, and refrigerate for up to 3 days. Or freeze them on the baking sheets, transfer to freezer bags, and store in the freezer for up to 2 months. Do not thaw them prior to cooking (they will become mushy), and add an extra minute or two to their cooking time.

3 To cook maltagliati, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Once it’s boiling, add salt (I tablespoon for every 4 cups water) and stir. Add the maltagliati and stir for the first minute to prevent any sticking. Cook until the pasta is tender but still chewy, about 2 minutes. Drain, add to the sauce of your choice, and serve.

MALTAGLIATI CREAMY LEMON SAUCE

YIELD: 4 SERVINGS / ACTIVE TIME: 10 MINUTES / TOTAL TIME: 25 MINUTES

Ideal for hot summer days, this refreshing pasta dish makes you feel as though you are having a lovely meal in Sorrento, the enchanting coastal town located on the Amalfi Coast. The lemon, so representative of the gigantically bumpy and canary yellow citrus fruits that grow abundantly on the area’s spectacular cliffs, breaks up the richness of the cream with its acidity, making the sauce piquant and feathery light. Because the sauce is so light, this dish is at its best when paired with a delicate pasta shape since larger pasta shapes would overwhelm it.

Other recommended pasta shapes: tagliatelle, angel hair, vermicelli

INGREDIENTS: Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided ½ cup heavy cream, more if needed ¼ teaspoon freshly ground white pepper, or more, to taste Salt ¾ pound maltagliati, homemade (page 183) or store-bought ½ cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving

1 Put a large pot of water on to boil for the pasta.

2 Put the lemon zest and juice in a 2-cup Pyrex measuring cup along with 4 tablespoons of the butter cut into small pieces, the cream, pepper, and a few generous pinches of salt. Put the measuring cup in a microwave and heat on high for 45 to 60 seconds, until the butter is fully melted. Cover and set aside.

3 When the pasta water is boiling, add salt (1 tablespoon for every 4 cups water) and stir. Add the pasta, stirring for the first minute to prevent any sticking. Cook according to the pack- age (or recipe) instructions, draining the pasta 2 minutes short of the directed cooking time. The pasta should be soft but still very firm. Right before draining the pasta, reserve 1/4 cup of the pasta water. Return the empty pot to the stove. Immediately turn the heat to high, add the remaining 1 tablespoon butter and reserved pasta water. Add the drained pasta and toss. Add the warm lemon cream mixture and the Parmigiano and cook, tossing continuously, for 2 minutes.

4 Divide the pasta among four warmed bowls and serve piping hot dusted with Parmigiano (or pass the grated cheese at the table).

RAVIOLI WITH SAUSAGE AND BROCCOLI RABE

YIELD: 4 TO 6 SERVINGS / ACTIVE TIME: 2 HOURS / TOTAL TIME: 3 HOURS

Ravioli are one of the oldest types of pasta, and related forms of this dish are believed to date back to early Roman times, though they don’t actually begin appearing in historical manuscripts until the 12th century. Filled with varying mixtures of meats, vegetables, and/or cheeses, they can be shaped like squares, discs, or triangles and are typically 1 ¾ inches wide. You can make raviolini using this recipe by placing ½ teaspoon of filling spaced 1 inch apart on the pasta sheets and then cutting them into I-inch squares. Similarly, you can make ravioloni by placing 2 tablespoons of filling spaced 4 to 6 inches apart on the pasta sheets and cutting them into 4- to 6-inch squares. I include instructions for making ravioli by hand and with a ravioli maker tray mold.

Suggested sauces: Browned Butter and Sage Sauce (page 466)

INGREDIENTS: FILLING: ½ pound broccoli rabe Salt 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil ½ pound sweet talian sausage, casing removed 2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced ¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes Freshly ground black pepper ½ cup Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese ½ cup freshly grated pecorino Sardo (preferable) or pecorino Romano

DOUGH: Three-Egg Basic Pasta Dough (page 131-133) Semolina flour for dusting Salt

1 Discard any discolored leaves from the broccoli rabe. Detach the florets from the tops of the stems, rinse under cold water, and set aside. Trim off and discard the last 2 inches of the stems. Using a sharp paring knife, cut off the leaves and place in a bowl. Peel the skin from the thicker stalks and cut them crosswise into thin slivers. Add the leaves and stems to a bowl of cold water, swish around to remove dirt, and then transfer to a colander. Rinse under cold water.

2 Bring a medium saucepan of water to a boil. Once it’s boiling, add salt (1 tablespoon for every 4 cups water) and stir. Add the peeled stems and cook for 2 minutes, then add the leaves and cook for 4 minutes. Add the florets and cook for 2 minutes. (Note: If the stalks are still crisp, they will remain bitter.) Reserve 1/4 cup of the cooking water and drain the greens. Once cool enough to handle, mince.

3 Heat a large skillet over medium heat for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the olive oil and let it heat for a couple of minutes. Add the sausage, breaking it into small pieces with a potato masher or wooden spoon as it cooks. Add the broccoli rabe, garlic, red pepper flakes, and salt and black pepper to taste, and stir. Add the reserved broccoli rabe cooking water and simmer until the sausage is cooked through and there is no liquid left in the pan, 5 to 6 minutes. Transfer to a medium bowl and let cool, draining off excess liquid—if any—that may accumulate. Once cooled, add the cheeses and mix well. Set aside. The filling can be prepared a day ahead; cover, refrigerate, and bring back to room temperature before proceeding.

4 Prepare the dough as directed on pages 131—133, rolling the dough to the thin- nest setting (generally notch 5) for pasta sheets that are about 1/16 inch thick. The pasta sheets will be very long on this setting. Cut them into 12 ½ -inch-long lengths. Lay the cut pasta sheets on lightly floured parchment paper-lined baking sheets and cover loosely with clear food wrap. Work quickly to keep the pasta sheets from drying out, which makes it harder for the pasta to stick together.

5 Forming the ravioli by hand: Place a sheet of dough on a lightly floured work surface and fold it in half lengthwise. Lightly tap on the folded edge to create a guideline. Unfold the dough so that it’s laying flat, the fold line now delineating two pasta strips that are still connected. Place balls of filling about the size of hazelnuts in the center of one pasta strip, spacing the mounds, from the top to the bottom of the strip, about 1 ¾ inches apart. Should the dough have become a little dry during this process, lightly moisten the pasta border with a fingertip dipped in water (it’s helpful to have a small bowl of water nearby for this purpose). Cover the filling with the other half of the sheet of dough. Using your fingertips, gently but firmly press down the dough around each filling mound. As you do this, try to push out any air from around the filling (this keeps the ravioli from coming apart in the water when boiling due to vapor pressure). Press one more time to ensure you have a tight seal. Using a ridged pastry cutter, slice between the mounds to create squares approximately 1 ¾ inches in size.

Forming the ravioli with a ravioli maker tray mold: Lightly dust the metal ravioli mold with flour, then place a sheet of dough on top. Gen- tly press the plastic mold over the pasta sheet to create depressions (should you press too hard and tear the dough, simply ball it back up and roll it through the machine again). Place approximately 2 teaspoons of filling in each depression. Remove any filling that falls on the surrounding dough. Gently tap the metal mold on the table a few times to help remove any air bubbles that may be trapped underneath the filling. Should the dough have become a little dry during this process, lightly moisten the pasta border with a fingertip dipped in water. Lay another sheet of dough over the mold. As you do this, gently press down with the palm of your hand to push out any air within the ravioli. Run a rolling pin over the surface of the ravioli mold until the ridges of the ravioli beneath become visible. Carefully flip the mold over and gently remove it. If some of the ravioli get stuck to the mold, gently tap one edge of the mold against the table. Gently pull the ravioli apart. Should they still be slightly attached to each other, use a ridged pastry cutter to cut them apart.

6 No matter how you form them, set the ravioli on lightly floured parchment paper-covered baking sheets so they are not touching. Allow them to air-dry for 2 hours, turning them over once halfway through, and then cook. Alternatively, you can place them, once air-dried, in a bowl, cover with a kitchen towel, and refrigerate for up to 3 days. Or freeze on the baking sheets, transfer to freezer bags, and store in the freezer for 3 to 4 weeks. Do not thaw them prior to cooking (they will become mushy), and add an extra minute or two to their cooking time.

7 To cook the ravioli, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Once it’s boiling, add salt (I tablespoon for every 4 cups water) and stir. Carefully drop the ravioli into the boiling water and stir for the first minute to prevent any sticking. Cook until they are tender but still chewy, about 3 minutes. Drain and serve with the sauce of your choice.

BROWNED BUTTER SAGE SAUCE

YIELD: 4 SERVINGS / ACTIVE TIME: NEGLIGIBLE 1 TOTAL TIME: 10 MINUTES

Piney and aromatic sage is the star in this classic pan sauce for a seemingly endless list of filled pastas, gnocchi, and dumplings. Browning the butter gives it a delicious toasty flavor. Use the crisp fried sage leaves as a garnish.

Recommended pasta shapes or dumplings: meat-, vegetable-, and cheese-filled ravioli, spätzle, agnolotti, and vegetable- and cheese-based gnocchi

INGREDIENTS: 6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into several pieces, plus I tablespoon for seasoning the pasta 8 fresh sage leaves Salt ¾ pound filled pasta like ravioli, dumplings, or gnocchi Freshly ground black pepper Freshly grated Parmigiano- Reggiano cheese for serving

1 Bring a large pot of water to a boil.

2 While the water comes to a boil, heat a skillet large enough to hold the finished pasta over medium-low heat for 2 to 3 minutes, then add the butter. Turn the heat up to medium and, once the butter melts and stops foaming, add the sage leaves. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the butter begins to brown on the bottom and the sage leaves become crispy. You will need to be very attentive during this step, as butter can burn in a blink of an eye. You want to make sure the sage is sizzling very gently so that it gets nice and crisp when finished, while monitoring it carefully to ensure it does not burn in the process. If sizzling too much, lower the heat and take the skillet off the stove for 30 seconds or so before returning it to the burner. Take the pan off the heat once the sage leaves are done. Remove the leaves from the butter and reserve as a garnish.

3 When the water is boiling, add salt (1 tablespoon for every 4 cups water) and stir. Add the pasta, stirring for the first minute to prevent any sticking. Cook according to the package (or recipe) instructions. Right before draining the pasta, reserve ½ cup of the pasta water. Return the empty pot to the stove. Immediately turn the heat to high, add the remaining tablespoon of butter and reserved pasta water. Add the drained pasta and toss. Now add the browned butter and cook, tossing continuously, for 1 to 2 minutes.

4 Serve piping hot on warmed plates, each serving topped with two fried sage leaves, a few good cracks of black pepper, and Parmigiano (or pass the grated cheese at the table).

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Serena Cosmo’s Maltagliati with Creamy Lemon Sauce AND Ravioli with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe with a Browned Butter and Sage Sauce recipes and Cookbook review: The Ultimate Pasta and Noodle Cookbook Do you have a pasta roller collecting dust? Oh, baby! Let's break that thing out! I've been playing in an amazing pasta book for a week.