#+ mayo both slices

[fauvester]

okkkkk I've officially perfected the egg sandwich

[fingertipsmp3]

Does anyone else just like… not give a fuck if they’re chopping vegetables evenly

[christianotaku22]

People put a plain slice of cheese in between two bread slices?!?! (Not counting grilled chesse, it slaps when toasted. But like. PLAIN????)

I was reading a thing where an American was saying that Europeans are weird for putting butter in sandwiches and like ??

So, do Americans not put butter in their sandwiches? Like, I get if you’re having cream cheese, or PB&J or something else with a bit of moisture in it, I don’t have butter with that either, but what if you were having, say, a cheese sandwich, a normal one made with just cheese, I’m assuming you wouldn’t have a slice of cheese between two bits of dry bread. So what would you have? Do you use something instead of butter/margarine, or do you just not have that kind of a sandwich?

This might seem a random question, but I actually need to know this for the purpose of writing fanfic.

[implalazz]

DAY ONE OF EATING BETTER: SUCCESS!!!! Had my toast bruschetta & a very orange heavy smoothie for breakfast & for lunch I just had a spicy tuna sandwich with miso & some sweet green tea

[manicpixiedreamtransladyperson]

Made one fine BLT. Fried the bacon with paprika and white and black pepper, and then glazed it with soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey, and sriracha. Seasoned the tomato with salt, pepper, onion and garlic powders. Toasted bread with garlic mayo on one side and sriracha mayo on the other.

Highly recommend playing around with BLT flavor profiles!

[fuckingrecipes]

Do you have advice on the art of sandwiches? I feel like i my best sandwich at home is still leagues below the worst sandwich ive bought at a restaurant

Since sandwiches are infinitely variable, I'm going to assume you're trying to make my favorite sandwich: the Turkey Club, sandwich style not sub style.

Your goal is to MAXIMIZE FLAVOR.

Thicker bread. Standard slice size for bread isn't going to cut it, here. You want thick-slice bread.

Sourdough, or French Bread not 'White' bread. You want it chewy, with a thicker crust. Hearty.

Extra-Heavy Mayo. Restaurants do not use standard mayo from the grocery. Extra-heavy mayo has a higher ratio of egg yolks, giving it a richer flavor and thicker consistency for both spreading and using in tuna or egg salad. It's also more of a warm ivory color, rather than 'white.'

Instead of yellow deli mustard, try a ground-whole-seed mustard. It has a spicier, richer profile, and a little more vinegar.

Be generous with condiments. You're making a good sandwich, not cutting calories.

SEASON your sandwich. Dust the vegetables - salt and pepper goes a long way! Dried oregano, onion powder, garlic powder are also champs. My fave is to take a spicy blend (like a fajita seasoning blend) and sprinkle generously over the mayo before adding other stuff.

Lettuce CRUNCH is important. Include the pale crispy parts in your sandwich, not just the soft green leaf parts. Use romaine and arugula, not 'iceburg' lettuce, which has next to zero flavor.

If you're using texture leafy greens like arugula, toss it in a vinaigrette before piling it onto the sandwich. The vinegar zing makes a statement.

The tomato should have a strong flavor of its own. Salt & pepper on ripe tomato is heavenly. Make sure your seasoning hits the tomato.

If you're adding onion, make sure the slices are super duper thin-sliced. Like, mandolin-thin. Translucent-thin. Red onion is king.

If you want it toasted, make sure the cheese and meat gets hot, but the greens/tomato/onion is added afterward so it stays cold and crisp.

Don't be afraid to STACK IT TALL. CRAM IT FULL! How many sandwiches from restaurants feel impossible to fit in your mouth at first glance? Most of 'em. Make it big. With the meat, especially, they often CRAM the meat in there. No single-layer of ham slices here.

It's ok to MIX MEATS. Fry up some bacon (extra crispy!) or crisp up some pepperoni and layer it with your turkey.

Once you're done, wrap your sandwich in parchment paper (not WAX paper, there's a difference), then slice in half. By wrapping it, you force all the ingredients to smush together and start blending flavors. This makes 'em all a little better and stops them from sliding around, so it's easy to get a bite with every ingredient at once, and stops the sandwich from actually falling apart.

--

Honestly, the biggest 'secrets' of sandwich making is:

MAXIMIZE FLAVOR. USE RICHLY FLAVORED INGREDIENTS.

SEASON ALL YOUR SHIT FOR MORE FLAVOR

DON'T BE AFRAID TO PILE ON MORE GOOD SHIT.

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[markatoto]

fan of breasts?

chicken breasts? yeah! they are, maybe & arguably, one of the most delicious part of the chicken. well, maybe next to drumsticks (which i personally prefer for things like fried chicken, or soups). in particular, i like to use chicken breasts for making katsu, which, lemme tell ya, i'm no expert cook, but id like to think that i do a pretty good job.

matter of fact, if you want an extremely simple recipe, here's how i personally make chicken katsu (all off the top of my head, so some slight details might be missing, so please bear with me):

you'll need a few ingredients

panko (any sort of breadcrumbs will work, but panko is just the brand i use)

cookin' oil (usually simple vegtable oil will work)

the actual chicken breast, of course

the ol' traditional: salt and pepper

one egg (u dont need any more than one egg, typically)

if u wanna make things extra crunchy, having some corn starch mixed in with garlic powder + onion powder for some extra seasoning. maybe even a scoosh of paprika for that yummy (i personally like using this filipino chicken mixture called "crispy fry", which is usually used for fried chicken, but it works here too. it's usually meant for fried chicken drumstick, but what is katsu but a different kind of fried chicken)

anyways, here's how u wanna do things:

take out your chicken breast, pat it down with a paper towel so that it aint wet on the surface and either: slice it so that the chicken breast is about inch and a quarter (or so) thick OR use a mallet to make it around that thickness. youll want your chicken flat as possible, but not too flat! i think you know what i mean.

salt and peppa that mothafucka, both sides (OPTIONAL STEP 2B: it's at this point id probably mix my chicken breast with the starch mixture/crispy fry. it just gives a lil extra flavour and crunch that i enjoy. but this is just me, u dont really gotta do it)

crack open an egg and put it in a bowl. MIX IT UP

put your flattened (and maybe crispy fry seasoned) chicken in the egg. get it drenched, you want that panko to stick to that shit

what i like to do is i like to put panko in a plastic container with a lid, then i put the chicken in the container, close the lid up and just SHAKE it so that its nice and evenly coated. super simple and fun and WAY cleaner to deal with after the fact LOL

pop your oil in your pan. put in generous amount, enough that your chicken wont necessarily be drowning, but enough that your chicken will be sufficiently fried. heat that up until the oil reaches that perfect temperature of around 350'F (that is THE temp for doing any deep frying)

pop your chicken on the pan and leave it frying on the one side for, id say, approximately 4-5 minutes. youre going to have to keep a close watch on it. make sure that panko is that GOOD crispy brown on each side. over all it should take you like…. 7-9 minutes for your katsu to be done.

BEFORE YOU EAT... make sure the internal temp of the chicken is around 160 - 165'F. if it is, it's good to go. take it out and, what i like to do is get a plate and pop on a paper towel to let the katsu dry off all the excess oil. even though its off the pan, that shit is STILL cookin, so youll want to leave it alone for like… a minute or two. plus if you eat it now you'll totally burn your tongue and that's the WORST feeling in the world

and after all that, your katsu is done! get some jasmine (white) rice, put on some katsu sauce and some japanese mayo with a lil bit of furikake for that slight seaweed flavoring and youll be GOOD to go!!

so yeah, i guess you can say i'm a fan of breasts.

[peppermint-toads]

ghost dealing with his pregnant southern wife’s cravings (aka you introduce simon to tomato mayo sandwiches). tw: pregnancy, a little smut, eating/food, a little vomiting. i didn’t proof read this

ghost loved coming home to you after tedious days doing paperwork on base.

whatever you were going, he’d wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head and sighing. he probably smelled like man. gross, sweaty man, but you never commented on it.

when you fell pregnant he loved holding you like that even more, seeing your belly start to poke out as he gazed downward.

one night, he came home to you standing in front of the kitchen counter, arm gently sawing back and forth as you sliced a tomato.

he took his normal position, humming and closing his eyes. when he opened them again, he took in the scene in front of him.

“what is this, love?”

never did he expect you to cook for him, especially when you became pregnant. but maybe every once in a while when he came home particularly starving, he’d steal a bite or two of whatever you were making.

but lately, your meals had gotten a bit strange.

and really, it was his own fault. as soon as you’d so much as hinted at wanting to have simon’s kid, he had you anchored down to the hilt of him as he stuffed you with his cum.

“it’s ummm, tomatoes and sourdough, and mayo.”

you tilted your head back to look at him.

“that’s it?”

you shook your head, hair going staticky on his t-shit.

“salt and pepper, too.”

you watched as his face pinched into a grimace.

“hey!” you scowled. “don’t look at me like that mister beans on toast.”

you turned fully, playfully shoving his chest.

“used to eat this all the time as a kid. everybody kinda did.”

simon cracked as he saw embarrassment creep onto your features, like he’d made you feel gross for craving it.

you were often victim of trying new british “delicacies,” so it was only fair that he return the favor.

“alright, i’ll try one.” he shrugged.

he offered to help, but as always you refuse it. he watched as you slathered a generous layer of mayo onto each side of the bread, setting thick slices of tomato on top, and finishing it with enough pepper to make simon sneeze.

he winced when you handed him his plate, and you were suddenly nervous.

“it might not be that good, tomatoes being out of season and all.”

you both tuck into your sandwiches once settled on the couch, your preferred spot these days.

simon was pleasantly surprised. maybe a little too much mayo, but he was delighted.

you on the other hand, were gagging after taking a bite. it had you making a haste exit for the bathroom, where you found a familiar place on the floor, heaving into the toilet.

when you returned to the living room, sheepish, simon had discarded any evidence of the sandwiches and had put a pot of water on the stove to boil for plain noodles, one of the only things you could stomach recently.

“sorry si, i didn’t mean for that to happen. it’s just—”

you began to choke, suddenly overcome by emotion. he pulled you in tight, your face pressing into his shirt.

“i know love, i know.”

his hand smoothed up and down your back steadily until he felt your breathing return to normal and heard your sniffling stop.

“why don’t you find a movie, and i’ll finish up in here.” he nodded towards the kitchen

you did, finding a movie both of you would like, even though simon never really watched the screen anymore. he was too focused on you, watching your little belly rise and fall with every breath.

[sirhamburrger]

always forever (o. miya x manager!reader)

"you know you've got me in your pocket//you don't just have to wait around"

cw: a little bit fluffy, slice-of-life, emotionally constipated reader, clueless-not-clueless osamu, osamu channels his inner senshi

wc: 510, one-shot

a/n: this was originally a whole series i stayed up a whole night to plan, but i scrapped it before i even joined tumblr lol

"look who's early today," you call out absentmindedly from the porch of the sports hall, looking up from the itinerary on your phone. osamu flips you off, his other hand stuck firmly in his club jacket pocket as he walks over to you in large strides. 

"am i not allowed to be punctual anymore?" he grumbles. "i know 'tsumu's shenanigans've got your expectations lowered, but still."

you bite back a laugh.

"where is he, anyway?"

"snorin' away in his bed.”

"he's going to be late, isn't he?"

"he might be," osamu says uncharacteristically cheekily.

"you can go ahead and wait inside. i need some fresh air," you mumble almost imperceptibly, all your attention centred on your phone once again.

he stops and stares at you.

"how long've ya been here?"

you flush, feeling almost guilty. "don't worry about it, okay?" you try to move away from him, but he grabs onto the sleeve of your club sweater. 

"how many hours of sleep did ya get? have ya even eaten yet?" 

your silence speaks volumes as osamu sighs. "i'm always tellin' ya, ya need enough food and enough sleep, 'n ya never listen," he grumbles as he drags you, protesting, into the sports hall. "lucky for ya, i made breakfast for two." he sits the both of you down and sets a blue lunchbox on the ground in front of you. "eat."

you open it to find the most appetizing onigiri you've ever seen in your life. four large rice balls stand side by side in the plastic box, rice grains well-packed and nori neatly wrapped around each one. 

you stare at osamu in wonder. "you made these?"

"why're ya so surprised? ya already know i'm a good cook." he picks up an onigiri, prompting you to do the same. 

cautiously, you take a small bite off the top, and it's like an explosion of flavours in your mouth. the perfect saltiness of the tuna with the creaminess of the mayo, plus the crunch of fresh green onions is heaven on your tongue. "wow, that's really good," you say, once you've swallowed. 

osamu chuckles as you go in for another bite. "glad you like it."

"'m glad you've decided you'll go into food service. it means i get to eat you out of house and home."

"yeah, well… i wouldn't mind that at all."

“huh.” you sit back, smiling. you cross your legs. “you underestimate me greatly.”

“no, i think i know ya well enough.” he's sprawled across the steps now, a lazy smirk on his face. “don't tell me two years of knowin’ ya doesn’t count for anything.”

that's two years, now, in which you haven't yet mustered up the courage to tell him.

for now, though, you sit beside him on the porch of the sports hall, and enjoy the time you have with him. after all, there's always tomorrow, and there's always forever.

you get the feeling he already knows. or maybe he doesn't. but that's okay. no matter what, you're sure he'll always be waiting for you.

borders by @saradika-graphics!

haikyuu masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[artaxlivs]

Let Me Be Your Man (I want to hold your hand)

CW: none * Rating: Mature (frottage) * Pairing: Steve/Eddie * Prompt: Mixtape

“Okay! Okay! I’m coming!” Steve yells when the pounding on his door gains momentum to add to its volume. Grumbling, he peeks out the side window and sees one of the kid’s bikes thrown down in his lawn. Little assholes. 

When he yanks the door open, Mike Wheeler is just raising his fist to pound it against the door again. “I need your help.” His face is red and sweaty with exertion as he shoves past Steve into the house. 

Immediately, Steve reaches into the umbrella stand and pulls out the only thing in it - his nail bat. “What’s happening?” He asks, rounding toward Mike, “Why didn’t you radio or call? What is it? Vecna? Jocks? Where’s everyone else?”

Mike skids to a halt and stares at Steve incredulously. “What? No. Put your bat away, dumbass.” He rolls his eyes. “I need your help.”

Relaxing just a small amount, Steve lets the top of the bat rest on the entryway floor. He probably looks as confused as he feels. “What? Why are you saying it like that? What kind of help?”

Mike huffs, throws his hands up and spins on his heel, stalking into the kitchen. Before Steve follows, he counts to ten, puts his bat away and curses the day he started dating Nancy Wheeler. Always the goddamn babysitter.

At the breakfast counter, Mike is deflating, shoulders drooping in what looks like defeat, chin braced in one hand, elbow pressed against the cool tile. With the other hand he’s tracing the lines of grout between the tiles.

On a whim, Steve detours to the fridge, loading up his arms with the makings for sandwiches. Back at the counter, he pulls out four slices of Wonderbread. “So - what brings you to my door?” He shakes the mayo and Mike nods so he starts to slather it on two of the pieces. Mike nods again to the mustard so Steve slathers that on the other two. Giving Mike the time to gather his thoughts.

“Um, well…I, uh, I like someone.” Mike sighs, looking down at the tile where he’s still tracing the lines. 

Someone not a girl. Someone. Will. It’s gotta be Will. Steve has seen the way that they both look at each other when the other isn’t looking. He and Robin have talked about it, about which one to approach first to let them into their elite Hawkins Gay Club which currently has two members. Not one and a half, Robin. Being bisexual still means he’s a whole gay. Dang it.

“Cheese?” Steve asks, peeling his own out of the Kraft plastic wrap. When Mike nods, Steve pulls out a second one for him. “Turkey or ham?” He pops open both and proceeds to put both on his own sandwich.

“Both, please.” Mike says and then jumps down, well, steps down because his gangly legs are much longer now. He goes over and grabs the salt and pepper from the back of the stove lip and sprinkles some of each on his, raises an eyebrow and when Steve nods, he sprinkles them on Steve’s as well.

Fancy.

“You want lettuce and tomato?” Steve says, slicing his own. Mike does not, he does go into the pantry and grab a bag of chips though because the kids are way too comfortable in Steve’s house apparently. 

“I need your help making a mixtape.” Mike says as sits back down.

Steve frowns. “Why are you here for a mixtape and not at Eddie’s? He’s the music guy.” And really - that’s a no brainer.

Groaning, Mike flops his head down his folded arms on the counter, narrowly missing the bag of chips. “Eddie cannot be trusted to make mixtapes. I was there for four hours, Steve. FOUR HOURS. And all I got was a lesson on ‘real metal versus sell out metal.’” He groans again. “He was so excited to help me but then we just recorded an hour of Black Sabbath songs. W- this person doesn’t even like metal!”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Steve gives Mike an encouraging smile as he cuts their sandwiches in half diagonally. Who cuts sandwiches across the middle? Vecna probably. Monster. “Mixtapes aren’t just about your favorite songs or even their favorite songs. It’s songs that you want to share with them and songs that remind you of them. And, of course, songs that tell them how you feel about them.” He plates both sandwiches and slides Mike’s across the bar. “It helps to know who the person is because mixtapes should be personalized but as long as you know their music, I can probably help you.”

Chewing the first bite slowly, Mike nods like he’s agreeing or gearing up to talk. Steve grabs them each a soda out of the fridge, sliding Mike’s over and taking the bag of chips. “My sister really loved the one you made for her. Well,” He reaches into the chip bag and pulls out a handful before pushing the bag toward Steve, “she still does actually. She plays it sometimes.”

Steve stops with his hand half inside the bag, “She does?”

“Yeaaaah.” Mike drags it out, putting a chip in his mouth but then talking around it. “She said it was the tape that made her realize she needed to break up with you.” Steve makes a little grunt of outrage but Mike pushes through, waving his hand to stop Steve from interrupting. “No, no, she loves that tape. Seriously. She said that listening to it made her realize that you’re the kind of guy who loves forever. But that you loved this girl she made up, she was pretending to be, even though she knew she’d never be that girl again…not after…you know.” He shrugs his bony shoulders and looks down at the counter again.

Without thinking about it, Steve’s eyes flick up to look out of the kitchen window where he can see the corner of the pool. He nods, saying dejectedly, “Yeah, I get that.” 

“And sometimes, when Jonathan is being Jonathan, she listens to it to remind her that you saw her as strong and brave - that’s what she said, strong and brave - before she even saw herself that way.” Mike opens his sandwich and puts down a layer of chips on top of the meat, squishing the top slice of bread back down before taking a bite. These kids are such weirdos. With his mouth full, he continues, “She said it reminds her that she doesn’t need Jonathon. Or any man. That she won’t settle for a life she doesn’t want. Not even for a guy like you.”

“Huh.” Steve replies, taking another bite of his own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “A guy like me?” 

Rolling his eyes, Mike makes a sound like he’s tasted something bad and says, “Yeah, don’t get a big head. You still suck.”

Steve snorts. The audacity of this kid is truly admirable. He’s still not sure that makes him feel better but Nancy deserves to get what she wants so he can be happy for her. Even if his tape is part of what drove her away. He shakes it off, though, “Okay, so what type of music does this person like?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening going through the tapes and albums Steve has and making a list of the ones that Mike has that he thinks might work. Then they pair them down to make an album that flows, “like a story” Steve tells him. The playlist has a song by Bowie because really every playlist should. One from The Smiths because Steve knows Will loves them even though he doesn’t mention that part to Mike. Mike picks the one metal song that Eddie suggested that he thought made sense, they all sound alike to Steve so he doesn’t pay attention to which one it is. The others are sprinkles of songs both boys have shared memories about.

“It’s really the last song that matters,” he tells Mike. “You’ve laid the groundwork for blending your stories together and that last song is the one you have to be brave with. The words matter. That’s the song where you say what you wanna say. Even if it’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done.”

Mike nods slowly, like he’s really focusing on the meaning behind Steve’s words.

The last song, after the Mike and Will songs, after it’s clear that this is a story of the two of them together , is “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” by the Beatles. It’s the only song like it on the whole tape so it stands out clearly. It’s a love song without being slow and romantic. It’s honest. And it says, “let me be your man.” So there are no wrong pronouns. Again, Steve doesn’t mention it. 

After running by the Wheeler’s to pick up a few of Mike’s tapes, they pull by the trailer park and Mike runs in to borrow the one that Eddie suggested. At the trailer door, Eddie looks over at Steve waiting in his car and gives him a head nod. Smiling fondly, Steve wonders if those two know how dorky they look in their matching Hellfire shirts and cut off jeans, if Eddie is aware that Mike is trying very hard to be as cool as he thinks Eddie is. Probably not. Eddie is pretty oblivious. 

Case in point, Steve’s been hitting on him for weeks with not a single sign that Eddie is aware of it at all.

Maybe Steve should make him a mixtape. He gives a little finger wave that Eddie returns, looking thoughtful as Mike lopes back to the car with his goofily long arms and legs flailing and throws himself into the passenger seat. Steve backs out and drives away, watching Eddie get smaller and smaller in the rearview.

Steve picks them up burgers on the way back to his house and then they lay on his floor next to his big fancy stereo, recording the songs in order, from tape to tape. When they get to the Beatles song, Steve makes an excuse about cleaning up the kitchen and leaves Mike with the tape insert and a pen. 

When he comes back, Mike’s folding a piece of notebook paper and tucking it inside the case as well. He must have had a lot to say. His eyes are a little red rimmed but Steve pretends not to notice of course.

In the Wheeler driveway, after he helps Mike dislodge his bike from where they half tucked it into the Bimmer trunk and just let the lid sit on it because it doesn’t actually fit all the way, Steve leans against the car with his arms and ankles crossed, trying to look as relaxed as he can. He wants to say something, let Mike know he’s a safe person to talk to. That they’re alike. He’s not sure how to without scaring him, though.

“Uh…thanks for this, man.” Mike snorts a laugh and gives that snotty side smile of his, “Maybe Dustin’s right about you.”

Steve grins, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods solemnly, “You don’t totally suck.” But then he grins back all cocksure like the almost sixteen year old that he is.

Scoffing, Steve kicks out and hits one of Mike’s bike tires with his shoe, “Thanks, asshole.” Pushing off the car, he starts to turn away but then, “Hey, if it’s who I think it is, you can talk to me - I…I get it. Understand?” He makes sure he catches Mike’s eye so the kid can’t look down and away like he usually does. Steve sees the flash of fear but it’s quickly replaced with hope, maybe even trust.

Mike just nods and Steve gets out of there before he embarrasses the poor kid again. On his drive home, he rolls the windows down, turns his car radio up too loud and sings along, uncaring that he’s probably out of tune. 

Steve’s been home for maybe an hour when someone knocks on his door again. There’s less noise this time but it’s still just solid pounding without giving him the chance to get to the door. Everyone he knows is an asshole apparently.

“Alright, alright, keep it in your–” He yanks open the door and finds Eddie standing there still wearing his ripped cutoffs and his Hellfire shirt. Well, the version two that he designed for the club when he handed it down after graduation. “-pants.”

Eddie smiles, sly and flirty, “You sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “What are you gonna do when I call your bluff someday?” Because although Steve has been honestly flirting with Eddie, Eddie’s just been over the top hitting on Steve with innuendos and double entendres that don’t mean anything serious. Well, Steve can’t tell if they mean anything serious at least.

Which is part of why Steve hasn’t at least tried to make a move.

“We’ll see when that day comes I guess.” Eddie leans in and taps on Steve’s chest with the tip of his pointer finger. “I made you something Big Boy.”

There’s a circle of burning fire in the spot where Eddie’s finger was. His touches always seem to leave flames in their wake. Steve wonders if Eddie feels them, too “Is it dinner? Because I already ate with Baby Wheeler.”

“Nope.” Eddie drags out the “p” making a popping sound. “Baby Wheeler mentioned you were helping him with his mixtape - said you were some kind of expert.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Steve nods, admitting, “I don’t know about expert. Sorry, though, didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“No, no, it’s cool.” Eddie leans his shoulder against the door jamb which is weird because he’s usually pushed past Steve to make himself at home by this point. Or Steve has invited him in. But they’re just standing here in the open doorway. “Besides - Wheeler informed me that I suck at mixtapes. Something about telling a story and not shoving metal down people’s throats.”

Steve crosses his arms defensively, “Don’t take it personally. You’re great at dragon stories. Gotta leave something for the rest of us to be good at.” He’s looking down so he misses the expression that accompanies the scoff Eddie gives but it sounds exasperated.

“Well.” Eddie says, bringing Steve’s eyes back up to him as he pulls a cassette tape out of his vest pocket. “Anyway, here.”

It shouldn’t make him feel the way it does. But it does. Steve’s heart flutters and his stomach swoops and the finger that brushes Eddie’s as he takes the tape feels like it’s charged with lightning. He’s still not sure, though, it could be that kind or it could just be Eddie trying to prove that metal is the best.

Before he can stop himself, he asks, “You made me a mixtape?” And the hopefulness in his voice is as clear as day. But then it’s met with a look in Eddie’s eyes - fear, denial, like he wants to take it back, so Steve pivots, teasing, “Is it an hour of metal? Did you do a voice over?”

Rolling his eyes and stuffing his hands into his vest pockets, Eddie hisses, “No. Jerk.”

After a moment of indecision, Steve asks hesitantly, “Do you..do you wanna listen to it together?”

There’s fear in Eddie’s eyes again and he takes a wary step back, “Uh - no. No, that wouldn’t be a great idea.” He swings his arms, snapping and bringing the flat of one hand against the curled first of the other before pointing finger guns at Steve. It’s so horribly awkward that Steve is filled with hope again. “Uh, yeah, it’s, um, it’s just for you, man.” He’s clearly nervous and waves of anxious energy are almost rolling off of him as he spins and walks away, throwing a confident, “See ya Harrington!” over his shoulder but Steve’s not fooled at all. 

“Oh you will, Munson.” Steve calls after him, slow smile growing when Eddie’s shoulder’s visibly hunch before he leaps into his van and pulls away, tires practically squealing with the force of him gunning it. 

Huh. Interesting.

Closing the door, Steve goes over to the phone on the entryway table where he leaves his keys and Family Video vest every night. He dials and after two rings, Robin picks up, “Thank you for calling Family-oh damn it, I mean, hello?”

“You’re such a mess.” Steve snorts.

“Fuck you Harrington, you’re such a mess!” She whisper shouts, because if her dad hears her cussing, she'll be grounded until she leaves for college.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.” Steve assures her. “But listen - Mike came over earlier–”

“Mike?!” She actually shouts this time. “Is there a Code Red? What happened? Why didn’t you call me?” There’s the distinct sound of her rolling off of her bed and scrambling for shoes or clothes.

“Calm down, you ninny.” He sighs. “We are scarily alike.”

“Duh.” Then she makes an oof sound as she flops back onto her bed.

“I thought the same thing because when does Mike ever willingly talk to me?” 

“Like, never. Unless it’s to make fun of you – ohhh wait, did he come to talk about Will?” She squees. “Did the baby gay come to get advice from his babysitter?”

Steve laughs, switching the phone to his other ear and sitting down on the carpeted stairs. He should have made this call from his bedroom where he could have laid on his bed, too late now. “Sort of? He asked for my help making a mixtape for ‘someone’ but didn’t tell me who and I didn’t out him by asking but when I dropped him off at home, I hinted that I knew and he could talk to me.”

“Ohhhh Steve, that’s so adorable. If I remotely liked any of your children, I’d be touched.” She straight out lies because they all know she adores Max like a little partner in crime. “Why you though? Why not Eddie?”

“That’s what I said!” He laughs and then dives into telling her the whole story. Eddie’s metal sell out lesson, the hours of pouring over music, Nancy’s love of his mixtape that he made for her back in high school. She comments and laughs at all the right places because they are of one mind, as always. Then though, then, he drops the bomb.

“So, the reason I’m calling is because Eddie showed up at my door. With a mixtape. For me. And he declined my offer to listen to it together.” Steve twists the cord around his finger, waiting until the skin turns red before unwinding it.

“Oh my god! What’s on it?” She shouts, “And why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I don’t know what’s on it. I haven’t listened to it yet.”

“Why not, you dingus?!” Robin screeches then she adds in a subdued tone, “Do you think…?” 

In an equally subdued tone he replies, “I don’t know. I think that’s why I called you first. I’m a little scared to get my hopes up.”

She makes a little noise of agreement. She’s been there.

“And I just…I’m not his type at all. And I know that. But he’s so…” Steve sighs and lays back on the stairs awkwardly, it’s not comfortable at all but it’s keeping him focused. “He’s loud and brash and annoying and I like that because I’m not. But he’s also sweet and squishy and brave and so fucking funny. Argh.”

“And you already got your hopes up when he dropped it off and you don’t want to be disappointed?” Robin asks gently because she really does know him so well.

“Yeah,” he tells her in a hushed voice. “His face when he handed it over, Rob. He was nervous. And then he practically ran away.”

“Well, idiot, you won’t know until you listen.” She says matter-of-factly and he can almost hear her brushing off her hands and standing up. “Buck up. You want me to come over and listen to it with you?”

“Nah. I want to hear it the first time on my own.” That way he can cry before he has to face her if that’s where this is going. “I’ll call you if I need you, though, k?”

“You know I’m always here for you.”

He does.

After they hang up, Steve doesn’t waste anymore time. He doesn’t want to give himself any time to think so he heads into the living room and pops it into the tape deck he and Mike had just recorded ‘someone’s’ tape on. Laying back on the floor he lets the first song play. 

He doesn’t recognize the first chords but the recording itself is kinda fuzzy, like it’s a live version of something. It’s an acoustic guitar, slow but building. When the voice comes in, Steve sits up and turns toward the speaker. It’s Eddie.

I was always trapped. Drowning in this small town, Dragged down by small minds To the bottom of the lake. Spent most of my days  on the run from myself. Running from the me I wasn’t ready to be. Trapped in this small town  with these small minds. That is, until you. Until there was you. You stood your ground. Stood up for mine, too. And I never ran as fast  as I did to you.

There’s a guitar break. It’s beautiful, simple, a slow melody that builds with Eddie’s voice almost trembling when it comes back in.

You’re the boy The boy who stops the world. Stops it from spinning Out of my reach. I want to run to you. But we’re stuck in this town With these small minds, That drag us down. I just wanna be free Free to love you. I only wanna run If you���ll catch me.  In this small town In this small town

The song fades out and there’s the sound of Eddie’s breathing, it catches like he’s going to say something but then exhales and the recording clicks off. Steve speeds through the tape and flips it over and does the same to the other side. The rest of it is empty. He plays the song again. Listening with his eyes closed this time.

Then he jumps up, ejects the tape, grabs his keys and fumbles with the lock on the way out. He doesn’t let himself think. Just plays the song over and over for the fifteen minute drive to the trailer park. All the lights in the trailer are on and the music in Eddie’s room is blaring loud enough that Steve can hear it in his car with his own music still on.

He still doesn’t stop to think, just rushes out of the car and up the steps to pound on the door and when Eddie opens it with wide eyes and a healthy dose of fear on his face, Steve thinks for a second that he should say something, confirm that it’s a song written for him - about them both - but he can’t. Or he’ll chicken out. 

So, instead, he just steps into the trailer, forcing Eddie to take a step back, pushes the door shut behind him and whispers, “Too many small minds out there.” And kisses Eddie. 

It’s a good kiss too. Steve cradles Eddie’s head and tilts him just enough that he can get the perfect angle to …what’s the word in all those trashy books? Ravish. Steve ravishes Eddie’s mouth. It’s not sweet, it’s desperate and filled with need and when he finally lets go, Eddie’ lips are swollen and kiss bitten.

“I hope that song was telling me you like me or this is going to be a very awkward conversation.” Steve says when Eddie’s eyes flutter open.

“I’d have made you a whole mixtape but Wheeler told me this afternoon that the final song is the one that really matters.” Eddie grins then, wide and impish, swooping in to catch Steve’s mouth with his own. When he comes up for air, he whispers, “Besides, where was I gonna get an hour of ABBA songs?”

Growling, Steve walks Eddie backwards until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he sits. “I’m more of a Springsteen fan, actually.” He says as he climbs into Eddie’s lap and swoops down for a kiss.

It’s frenzied and graceless, like the two desperate kids they still are. Neither of them old enough to buy a six pack of beer and both overflowing with the sexual tension they’ve built up between them. Steve can’t seem to stop kissing Eddie long enough to do anything more than grind himself down against Eddie’s lap. 

Luckily, Steve’s been in his old basketball shorts all day and Eddie changed into sweats sometime after he’d gotten home so there’s nothing but a few layers of cotton between their rock hard boners. 

Jesus, it feels like the first time Steve dry humped with some girl back in freshman year. But like, a thousand times better. Not just because they both have dicks but because it’s Eddie .

He rolls his hips, brushing their aforementioned dicks together and swallows Eddie’s groan. Eddie’s hands are on Steve’s hips, guiding him as he rolls them, flexing his hands around the softness there. When Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hands slip around and squeeze his ass, cupping it and helping him press their laps together. One of them whines as their dicks slot together just right and they both thrust against each other. 

“Stevie, fuck. Yes,” Eddie swears, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Then his tongue is back in Steve’s mouth, sliding along Steve’s, sucking on his bottom lip. He licks and nips and bites his way down Steve’s throat, probably leaving bruises and Steve should care about that but he doesn’t.

“Eddie, Eddie - I need,” It’s too fast, Steve knows he can last so much longer than this but he can’t seem to slow down. “Oh, god.”

“What, Stevie?” Eddie manages between grunts as they rut against each other desperately, “What do you need?”

Oh god, he’s almost there, Steve feels the warmth pooling in his belly, the muscles in his legs straining, the droplets of precome sticking to his underwear and Eddie’s hard cock pushing against the length of his own as he cries, “You, fuck, just you.” And then he comes, arching and fucking against Eddie. One hand buried in the hair at Eddie’s nape and the other digging his fingernails into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie pulls Steve tight to his chest, one hand around his back, holding Steve close while he comes. Eddie’s still thrusting against Steve, rolling and pressing with his hips until he, too, arches and comes with a hoarse shout.

When Eddie relaxes back against the couch, Steve collapses in his lap, head resting on Eddie's shoulder, breath hot against his collarbone. Both fucked out and exhausted.

Minutes later, once the aftershocks have subsided for both of them and Steve’s sweaty forehead is pressed into the side of Eddie’s sweaty neck, Steve admits, “Fine, I like ABBA but who doesn’t? Those songs are catchy.”

Eddie snorts a laugh out. Then, it's a little gross, but they both start laughing and have to peel their damp crotches away from each other. Totally worth it, though, when Eddie brings Steve's hand up to his mouth, kissing the palm before he threads their fingers together so he can hold Steve's hand.

Thanks to @thefreakandthehair for hosting this challenge! It was super fun and I'm so glad I actually made it in under the deadline. Skin of my teeth!

Here's the Ao3 link if you want to drop me some love there - comments make my brain buzz and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the perfect Mike/Will or Steve/Eddie mixtape playlist!

[apothe-roses]

I Wanna Ride

Modern Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Part 3

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Summary: the deal is struck between you and Aemond

Warnings: none, really

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I’ve been really busy with work, and this part was kinda hard to write. That’s also why this is shorter

Word Count: 1.6k

“And he didn’t tell you what he wanted?” Aly looks over at you while adding a slice of turkey to the sandwich she’s making? You shake your head. It had been a few days since everything went down, yet you were still trying to wrap your head around it all. The fact that Aemond would consider helping you at all—foreboding debt aside—just didn’t make sense to you.

“Why does he have to be so cryptic and spooky,” Aly asks, adding a generous amount of mayo to the sandwich.

“Beats me,” you reply. A shout startles you both out of your conversation. You and Aly turn your heads to the living room area. Benji Blackwood and his two friends Kermit and Oscar Tully—“the muppets” as Aly likes to call them—are sprawled across Aly’s couch, cursing at a video game they’re thoroughly engrossed in.

“Oi! You tryin’ to wake your dad up?” Aly calls to them. Currently, Aly’s brother Sam was down the hall, trying to sleep off a migraine. The boys cringe slightly.

“Sorry,” one of the Tully boys stage whispers back to Aly. She sighs. “Anyways, lunch is ready.” In a flash, the boys were on their feet, making their way to the kitchen. Aly pushes the sandwich with the mayo mountain towards Benji.

“Would you like some sandwich with your mayo?” She teases. Benji scowls back, but his expression quickly morphs into a grin. The boys make their way back to the couch. Aly turns to you.

“Listen, if he tries to pull anything with you, just say the word and I’ll kick his ass. Then I’ll call Cregan and he’ll also kick his ass.” You laugh in response. “What’s his deal with them anyways? Are they friends?”

“Acquaintances is more like it. They get along well enough, but Creg’s friendship with Jace sorta puts him on thin ice.”

“…Yeah, I still don’t get it.”

“Look, rich people friendships are weird, okay?” Aly explains. “Sometimes it’s better if you don’t ask questions and just go with it. I find the truth usually comes out on its own time.” She starts resealing containers and putting them in the fridge. You follow suit, deciding to take her advice. You two clean in silence for a couple minutes, until your phone buzzes. You look at the name on the screen, suddenly feeling very nervous.

You show the conversation to Aly. Her eyebrows raise, and she notes the tense expression on your face. “You know you don’t have to do this right? I’m sure I could find some time to give you lessons.”

You think about it for a moment. Aly would certainly be a nicer teacher than Aemond. But her Raven is much different than your Meraxes. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking for an excuse to learn more about the enigmatic, handsome Targaryen.

“I don’t want to cut into your time with your family. I know how important it is to you,” you tell her. “Besides, we’re all adults. I can handle a little tough love.”

“Alright then. Lemme know if you change your mind,” Aly relents, leaving the kitchen. You turn back to your phone to text Aemond.

Saturday morning comes far too soon, and you find yourself heading back to Aemond and Aegon’s shop in the passenger seat of Aly’s truck. One of the doors is rolle up, and you can see Aemond working on a bike. He lifts his head when he hears the engine.

“Well,” you breathe, “here goes nothing.”

“Remember, I’m only a text away,” Aly reassures you. You grin then exit out the passenger side door. Before you turn away, you see Aly glare at Aemond, pointing at her eyes then at him before making a u-turn and driving off. You take a deep breath, then walk over to Aemond. By now, he’s standing and wiping his hands with a cloth. He’s wearing the same outfit as when you two first met, only this time the coveralls are unzipped with the sleeves tied around his waist. The white singlet he’s wearing does nothing to hide the definition of his chest or arms. A few streaks of grime decorate his body, along with a few tattoos. He’s not overtly bulky, but he’s definitely in shape. His biceps flex slightly as he cleans his hands; you try not to bite your lip.

You both stand in awkward silence, waiting for someone to break it. You decide to bite the bullet yourself.

“Where’s Aegon,” you ask, peering into the garage, but there’s no sign of Aemond’s brother.

“He doesn’t typically come in on weekends,” Aemond answers. “Prefers to sleep in.”

“Oh.” You’d hoped he’d be here; his easygoing nature could’ve served as a good mediator.

“So I take it you’re interested?” It takes a moment for you to realize he meant the training.

“Oh I’m yeah. But I want to know what exactly you’re hoping to get out of this,” you reply quickly. Get your shit together you mentally chastise yourself. He’s not worth it.

“Hmm, yes. I’ve been going back and forth on what I want from you,” he starts, setting the rag on a nearby workbench. He turns his back on you.

“And you’ve decided on…” you prompt. He drums his fingers on the table, silent. Then…

“The Conqueror’s Gala. I need someone to go with me,” he states. That’s it? He needs a date to some fancy event? You thought you’d have to do something like clean his house or shine his bike for a month. Not this.

“If you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, Targaryen-“

“No. Gods no. Nothing like that.” Aemond hastily replies. “My mother is always on my as about bringing a date. Normally, I’d just go with Helaena, but this year she’s decided to side with mum. They want me to prove that I’m capable of spending time with people I’m not directly related to.” His mouth presses into a thin line, and he averts his gaze. He starts drumming his fingers again. It looks like that’s something he does when he’s agitated. You let the silence simmer, silently enjoying the way his jaw clenched.

“Hmmm. I suppose I could spare one evening to get all dressed up and rub elbows with the Westerosi elite,” you sigh in pretend annoyance. He gives you a disgruntled look. “Trust me. It’s not the fun time you think,” he says sharply. Of course a cryptic like him wouldn’t enjoy social events. You try not to laugh at the thought.

“Well, fun or not, I’ll take it,” you tell him. His shoulders relax a little.

“Good,” he says stiffly. “Shall we?” he gestures his hand towards the bike. You realize it’s his own, the bronze coloring of the Vaghar catching the late morning light. You make your way over and take your seat. The bike has the same controls as your Meraxes, but his has extra side mirrors affixed.

Aemond leans over you, one hand on the handlebar and the other on the seat behind you. It takes all your willpower not to gawk at his arm.

“Alright,” Aemond says softly. “Now I want you to start the engine.”

You turn and look at him, incredulous. “You think I don’t know how to start a bike?”

Aemond levels a flare at you. “I’m just being thorough.” You scoff and roll your eyes, but you do as he says.

“Good,” he muses. He’s inches from your ear. The soft timbre of his voice sends a shudder through you. “Now what?” You choke out. You hate the effect he has on you.

“I want you to shift to first gear,” he instructs. All you can do is obey blindly.

“Good. Good,” he praises. He has you go through all the gears and how to break, giving a little praise each time you do something correct. It’s all painfully easy, and you should be insulted he’s making you prove such basic knowledge. Instead, you silently relish the rush of warmth you get with each praise. Hell, you’re almost tempted to get something wrong on purpose just to see how he’ll react? Would he gently explain the correction, or would he go back to being rude and insult you?

“Well then,” Aemond says, pushing off his bike. You mourn the loss of his warmth on your shoulder. “It seems you really do know the basics.” He drawls the last part. Oh yeah, that’s what it’s like when he insults you. You get off the bike, and he starts to wheel it into the garage. “But the Dragon Rally isn’t for the feint of heart. You’ll need to be able to ride long distances in potentially rough weather. You need to be adaptable, ready to make a decision at a moment’s notice. And that’s not even including the Rally itself.”

“What happens at the Rally?” you ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Aemond replies, turning his back on you. You scoff. “Yes. I would. That’s why I asked”

He smirks. “All you need to know is that you need to build up your endurance. I’d like to take you on a ride through the Kingswood when you’re next available. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll take more challenging treks. Sound good?”

You nod your head. At least you won’t have to have weird conversations with him when riding.

“Good. Check your schedule, and give me your next available date,” he says before pulling the garage door closed in your face.

You stand there in stunned silence. What the fuck is up with this guy?

You text Aly, and a few minutes later her truck pulls up to the sidewalk.

“Well that was quick,” she observes as you put on your seatbelt.

“You’re telling me,” you reply, looking back at the garage as Aly pulls away.

You were confused. You were intrigued. Something told you this was only the tip of the iceberg that was Aemond Targaryen.

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Taglist: @valeskafics @carriellie @let-love-bleeds-red @wintrr13 @queenofshinigamis @seabasscevans @fangirlninja67 @toodlesxcuddles @almostpurplelady @goldenpanda16 @aemonds-fire @yentroucnagol @tssf-imagines @n4tforlife @mooncalvin @julczimozart @kezibear

Bold means I couldn’t tag you

[shoku-and-awe]

Veggie lunch! Featuring @baronmagikcarp's delicious peasant bread (halved), roasted beets with dill sauce, and green beans with almonds. Recipes behind the cut. Yes, emotionally I still feel like some kind of fuzzy mold growing inside a forgotten tupperware but this was very tasty and fun to eat.

The bread looks like it has a very dense crumb (my yeast may be dead or dying; time to check!), but the texture was extremely pleasant and doughy. It was delicious and very crusty! My husband said it was the highlight of the meal, and I ate so much I feel slightly sick, but I still want more.

Beets: Wash, wrap tightly in foil, and roast at 210C until slightly soft. (This took at least an hour? I did it yesterday.) Chill, peel, slice, serve with dill sauce.

Dill sauce: Greek yogurt, fresh dill, green onion (supposed to be chive but they are still in winter hibernation), garlic, lemon, salt, pepper, and a little bit of mayo for fat. Mix it up. Taste continuously.

Green beans: While salted water is boiling, snip off bean ends and snap in half. Boil about 30 seconds, strain, and run under cold water until cold. Toast almonds in a skillet and add to green beans with melted butter, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Peasant Bread　 (Thanks again, @baronmagikcarp!) Make: Two 14-ounce loaves

4 cups (512 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons kosher salt 2 teaspoons sugar 2 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast 2 cups lukewarm water Softened unsalted butter for greasing

1) In bowl, whisk together dry ingredients 2) Add water, mix with rubber spatula until absorbed and sticky dough ball forms 3) Cover and let rise for 1 to 1 1/2 hours 4) Set rack in middle of oven and preheat to 425 F 5) Grease two 1-quart oven safe bowls 6) Using two forks, deflate the dough by releasing it from the sides of the bowl and pulling towards center 7) Separate into two pieces and transfer to bowls to rise for 10 to 20 minutes uncovered 8) Transfer to oven and bake for 15 minutes, reduce heat to 375 F and bake for 17 to 20 minutes more, remove to cooling rack (if pale, cook for 5 minutes more), let cool for 15 minutes.

Note from shoku-and-awe: I had to make the following modifications knowing my oven and because either my yeast is dead or my kitchen is cold/inhospitable even when it feels warm. (I've generally had difficulties baking since we moved here, both with yeast and sourdough alike.)

My dough had barely risen after nearly 90 minutes, so I proofed it at 40C for maybe an hour and it still did not seem to need deflating in Step 6. I did score it, though!

Since my oven is weak, I baked it covered in a pre-heated pot for 15 minutes, then uncovered it and went for another 20.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

Imagine, if you will, a scene. Perhaps it is a painting or a photograph, and perhaps it’s displayed on the wall of a public space. It is an image of a scene, frozen in time, depicting a room. On one side of the room is a dining room table, and the other is a kitchen with a countertop.

On the kitchen counter lies a series of objects. Firstly, a bag of hamburger buns, it is open, the twist tie sits on the side. Normally bags of hamburger buns this size have 8 buns, 4 on bottom, 4 on top, but this bag has 4 on bottom and only 2 on top. Beside that is a plate, on the plate are two hamburgers, one on top of the other, underneath them a puddle of grease far larger than just 2 burgers would make. Next to the plate is a stack of individually wrapped American cheese slices, and behind it are two crinkled cheese slice wrappers that have no cheese in them, only residue. Further along the counter is a jar of hamburger style sliced pickles, the lid is lying on the counter beside it and there is a fork sitting in the pickle juice, no pickles are currently impaled on the fork. Next is a plate with half an onion on it, there are a few pieces of diced onion next to the half onion, but not enough to combine to a full onion. Beside that, a bag of shredded lettuce, it is only half-full. Finally there is a container of ketchup with its lid flipped open, a jar of mayonnaise with a dirty knife resting on top of it, and an unopened bottle of mustard with plastic wrap on its lid. On the other side of the counter there sits an open bag of kettle cooked sea salt and vinegar chips.

At the dining room table, sitting across from each other at the table, are two girls. In front of each of them is a dirty plate, both plates having some chip crumbs, some grease, splotches of ketchup and mayo, a bit of melted cheese, a few pieces of diced onion, and on one of them, a slice of pickle. Beside the plates are cans of soda, one of them fanta, the other Dr Pepper. One of the girls has some ketchup on her face and on her shirt. The other is pointing at her face and holding a napkin. Through the screen door behind them you can see a grill. The coals are mostly white and there is no visible fire, only a few cinders can be seen. A bit of smoke rises off the grill, but not a lot.

Imagine you and your friend are in that public space, looking at this scene depicted on the wall. In a seemingly obvious observation, your friend comments that they think the girls in the picture just ate burgers. You agree, commenting that you could go for a burger right now. From behind you, a third person, who was not previously a part of the conversation, chimes in.

“Why are you saying the girls ate burgers? There are no burgers in their hands, on their plates, or even in their mouths!”

You tell the stranger that they’re ignoring all the obvious evidence. You explain that the women likely grilled the burgers, took them to the counter to put them on buns and add their toppings, and then ate the burgers together at the table. You say that the image clearly shows the women after eating the burgers but before cleaning up the kitchen, they might even go back for seconds.

The stranger continues, they say that there’s no evidence that the girls ate burgers because you can’t see them eating burgers in the picture, and furthermore there is no official statement from the painter/photographer/whatever that the girls ate burgers.

You point out that the picture has a labeled caption that says “burger night”. The stranger says that is unrelated, saying that if the title was “girls who just ate burgers” then they’d believe you that the girls ate burgers, but that, looking at the image, there is no explicit proof that the girls ate burgers.

You try again. You point out the image to the left of this one, a precursor image titled “shopping for burgers”. It shows the same two girls at a supermarket, their cart contains ground beef, burger buns, hamburger sliced pickles, sea salt and vinegar chips, an onion, a bag of shredded lettuce, a jar of mayo, a bottle of mustard, and a bottle of ketchup.

The stranger disagrees yet again. They say that just because the girls shopped for burgers does not mean that they ate burgers. They then point out that you said you could go for a burger, saying that it’s a clear example of you projecting burger-eating onto the girls in the picture.

You and your friend realize you could be doing literally anything else with your time, so you walk away, planning to go to the nearby burger place. The stranger calls after you, saying that they won.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First photo shows a mixed seaweed salad topped with toasted sesame seeds; in the background are bowls of pickled daikon and kake udon. Second photo is a close-up showing light shining through the seaweed. End ID]

わかめと昆布サラダ / Wakame to konbu sarada (Seaweed and kelp salad)

A wide variety of seaweed-based salads are made by Japanese home cooks. They may contain only a mix of seaweeds and a dressing, but may also feature vegetables including cucumber, carrots, lotus root (レンコン / はす), daikon (だいこん), corn, edamame (枝豆), or onion. Dressings are as varied as cooks, and may be based around sesame oil (ごま油), rice vinegar (米酢), miso paste (みそ / 味噌), ponzu sauce (ポン酢), or mayonnaise (マヨ).

This recipe is a good way to use up reconstituted kombu and wakame that were steeped to make soup stock. It includes instructions for two dressings: one based on rice vinegar and sesame oil, and another with a sesame-mayo base.

"わかめ" or "ワカメ" ("wakame") is likely from "若" ("waka," "young") +‎ "海布" ("me," "seaweed"); it is a particular species of edible seaweed (Undaria pinnatifida) that is farmed in Japan, Korea, and China. It is sometimes called "sea mustard" in English. Without further specification, "wakame" in a culinary context is taken to mean the leaves of the seaweed; these are the same leaves that are eaten in miso soup (みそ汁).

The etymology of "昆布" ("kombu" or "konbu") is unknown. It may be a phonetic Japanese reading of the Middle Chinese "昆布" (Mandarin: "kūnbù") (itself from "綸布" "*krūn pās," "green ribbon" + "cloth"), used to refer to various types of kelp and seaweed. In Japanese, the term refers to any of a few species of edible kelp from the Laminariaceae family.

Dried kombu is steeped to make one type of dashi ("出汁" / "だし"), a stock that is used in various soups and sauces. Once reconstituted, it may be steeped again to make 二番だし ("niban dashi," "second dashi"), sliced and simmered as one ingredient in a 煮物 ("nimono," simmered dish), or roasted and combined with other seaweeds and spices to make 振り掛け ("furikake").

"サラダ" ("sarada") is probably derived from the English "salad."

Note that the "seaweed salad" served at Japanese restaurants in the U.S. is not commonly eaten in Japan. It is shipped out to restaurants and stores pre-packaged, and is made with colored オゴノリ ("ogonori"; "agar" on ingredients lists), きくらげ ("kikurage"; "wood ear mushroom" or "fungus" on ingredients lists), and byproducts of wakame including 茎わかめ ("kukiwakame," wakame stem) and メカブ ("mekabu," wakame sprouts; both listed as "wakame" or "seaweed" on ingredients lists). You may be able to find this salad in the freezer section of your local Asian grocery store. If you want to approximate the texture of this salad at home, try buying some mixture of ogonori, kikurage, kukiwakame, mekabu, モズク ("mokuzu"), and/or ひじき ("hijiki"). Instructions for the dressing are below.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

For the salad:

2 cups total reconstituted kombu, wakame, hijiki, or other kelp or seaweed

Vegetable additions to seaweed salads are possible and common. Try adding some cucumber, julienned carrots, sliced lotus root, sliked daikon radish, corn, edamame, or sliced onion that's been soaked in plum vinegar for 15 minutes.

If you're including cucumbers, slice them, salt them, allow them to drain in a colander for about 10 minutes, then gently squeeze them of excess liquid, to avoid making your salad watery.

For dressing 1:

1 Tbsp unseasoned rice vinegar (米酢)

1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil (煎りごま油)

1/2 kosher salt

1/2 tsp vegetarian granulated sugar

1/2 tsp Japanese soy sauce (しょうゆ / 醤油) (such as Kikkoman's)

2 tsp toasted sesame seeds (いりごま)

To make U.S. restuarant-style seaweed salad, omit the soy sauce; replace the sugar with high fructose corn syrup; and add a pinch of cayenne pepper, 1/4 tsp of onion powder or yeast extract, and a pinch of MSG.

For dressing 2:

2 Tbsp vegan mayonnaise

1/2 tsp unseasoned rice vinegar (米酢)

1/4 tsp dried ground shiitake mushroom, or vegetarian dashi powder

1/4 tsp vegetarian granulated sugar

Drop of djion mustard

Pinch kosher salt

1 tsp Japanese soy sauce (しょうゆ / 醤油) (such as Kikkoman's)

Drizzle of mirin (みりん)

2 tsp toasted sesame seeds, ground in a mortar and pestle or spice mill

If you eat eggs, you can replace the first five ingredients with 2 Tbsp Kewpie mayo (キューピーマヨ).

For a halal version, replace the mirin with an extra pinch of sugar.

Instructions:

For the salad:

1. Slice kombu into very thin strips. Slice wakame into thin strips, or leave as-is, as desired. Slice other flat dried seaweed into thin strips or bite-sized pieces.

For dressing 1:

1. Whisk all ingredients except sesame seeds together in a small bowl. Toss with seaweed. Top with sesame seeds and serve cold.

For dressing 2:

1. Whisk all ingredients together in a small bowl. Toss with seaweed. Serve cold.

[hooved]

"eww how do you eat canned tuna, it's like cat food" alright cunt why don't i take two slices of sourdough bread, butter both sides of each, then take some canned tuna, diced red onions, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, lime juice, shredded cheese and mayo, mix it up, put that on the bread between a few slices of cheddar cheese, toast it in the oven until brown and melty, and you look me in the eye and tell me that tastes like cat food