#Al dente pasta is my least favorite thing ever

[mychemicalroadworkahead]

Safe foods are wild cause I’ll have a meltdown then not be able to eat for the rest of the day but then when I finally can all I’m able to eat is a spoonful of peanut butter like what? My brain is so fucking weird

But also very happy that I still have all the same ones that I had as a kid and nothing’s been changed about them because I genuinely don’t think I could handle my life right now without Kraft mac and cheese cups

Plus side though: found a new safe food that checks all the boxes! Easy to make (literally just pop it in the microwave for 4 minutes), good texture, tastes great, not hard to chew, can be gotten into mouth without having to open mouth very much. And a bonus point for being vegan so I don’t have to worry about getting sick from it:)

[bump1nthen1ght]

Pack Tactics (Werewolf x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Male!Werewolf

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Established Couple, Angst with a happy ending

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2896 words

Summary: You are in a wonderful relationship with your sweet partner, Gray. But this far into the relationship, you’ve yet to tell him you have no intentions ever of having kids. You can’t help but wonder, how will your child-loving werewolf boyfriend will react?

Request: I live for very specific comfort! No pressure if this doesn’t inspire you or if you just don’t want to write it obvi.... but could I have a f!reader x m!werewolf where the reader is 100% sure she doesn’t want to have kids ever never ever in any capacity and is worried about how her werewolf bf is going to react, worried she’ll be dumped or something (ya know cause idk I feel like werewolves are built with a breeding kink and like into the whole having a lot of pups) there can be smut if you want!! I love me some dramatic angst comfort :)))))))

A/N: Sorry this took so long y’all, school and stuff has been kicking my ass. But writing this sweet little fic has been a nice reprieve from my work. Hope you enjoy!

“Alright, I’ll get the chicken, the asparagus, and the pasta. You’ve got the wine and the dessert?”

“Sure thing.”

The two of you nod, Gray stepping away from the grocery cart before you call out to him.

“And not one of those huge tubs of ice cream.”

Gray emits a dramatic whine, pouting.

“But the big one is 25 cents cheaper than those little pints. It’s practically free!”

You furrow your brow and pat him on the shoulder.

“Not if we don’t finish them, they aren’t. Now go.” Gray rolls his eyes, clutching his heart and throwing his head back. You playfully push him, walking away with the grocery cart and towards the deli section. You can see the top of Gray’s wild brown hair as he moves into the next aisle, his 6’5” form towering over all the little old ladies who usually crowd the store.

You’re browsing the chicken, trying to decide between 2 breasts or a full rotisserie, when a familiar sound reaches you.

“Oh! If it isn’t ____.” You forcibly paint a smile, fingers automatically clenched around the stellafoam package as you turn to see your next door neighbor Mrs. Star. Her teased, bleached blonde hair teeters on top of her head, bobbing back and forth with the clack of her neon blue heels. While you can respect the 60-year old for digging her feet in and refusing to update her wardrobe from the 80’s, her pension for gossip is a little less admirable. “Shocked to see you out and about, what with that big ol boyfriend of yours.” She says, blue eyeshadow crinkling into a wink and nudging you with your elbow. You wheeze a bit, quickly covering it with a laugh. “Back in our honeymoon phase, Richard and I barely left the bedroom. And he was half-way balding back then, not the babe-a-rama you got going over there.” Mrs. Star’s laugh reaches a pitch almost too high for your human ears to pick up, maybe even giving Gray 2 aisles over a headache.

“Well, y’know, gotta keep our energy up.” You wince, immediately berating yourself for that comment. Mrs. Star throws her hand up in a “oh, you” gesture, letting out another half-whistle half-screeching chuckle.

“Oh I do, honey, I do.” She sends you another dramatic wink, which you return with a shaky smile. The corner of your cart bumps into hers as you begin walking along the meat aisle, trying to forcibly end this interaction. But Mrs. Star pulls off an impressive turn with her cart and strolls alongside you. She does little to hide her wandering eyes, trying to piece together any juicy info from your groceries. “So, are you two trying for kids yet?”

The wheels squeal to a sudden stop, forcing you to choke on your saliva as the shopping cart’s handle digs into your stomach. You keep your gaze locked on the frozen steaks  and turkeys, already way past the chicken you meant to grab.

“Uhhh, no. We’re not really in the phase of our relationship yet.”

Mrs. Star clicks her tongue, pressing her hand to her chest in a show of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, dearie. Old habits you see, whenever a new couple moves in together I assume they’re halfway to the wedding already. You young kids like to take it slow, huh?”

You nod, hastily grabbing a package of buffalo wings, hoping for an excuse to escape this conversation.

Mrs. Star continues to walk by you, her cart blocking off any convenient means to leave unless you significantly pick up her speed. Her eyes glance over the sweats sat in a display in the center of the aisle, humming a small tune.

The end of the aisle is approaching, you’re almost home free! You ready your feet to book it with an excuse, but Mrs. Star clears her throat and begins to speak.

“Now dearie, I don’t mean to pry-”

What do you call these last 3 minutes, Star?

“But I’d at least pop on a ring on that finger soon. Someday someone’s going to snatch that boy up like a piece of meat, saying all the right things. Men got all those suspicions about over-the-hill pregnancies, his eyes might start wandering. That’s how my first divorce went, so I should know.”

You pull your cart to a stop, breathe catching as you look at Mrs. Star, shocked. You can handle some inappropriate questions, but to question your boyfriend’s loyalty and insulting your relationship is crossing another line. Your brows furrow with a simmering anger, your cheeks heating up as you're ready to let loose.

“Well, Mrs. Star, if you must know I have the most wonderful boyfriend on this side of the planet, and unlike your deadbeat first husband, he’s as loyal as they can be.” Mrs. Star looks at you, eyes widened and right hand halfway to grab a pack of oreos. You huff, pushing your cart away from hers and towards the cash register. Right before you leave her sight, you turn back to her with a simpering smirk. “Have a great day, Mrs. Star!”

Your heart is heaving with anger, prepping a rant to Gray about the horrible interaction you just had. On the other side of the store, you spot Gray, his curly hair all tussled, holding a large Rosé and a package of ice cream sandwiches. Just the sight of his back calms you a bit, excited for some delicious food and late-night cuddles. You jog a little towards him, but slow down when you see him crouch down, looking at something hidden from your sight.

You turn your shopping cart slightly, trying to peer behind his massive form, and freeze.

Gray’s sticking out his tongue, pushing up his nose, and making many more silly gestures to a baby in a stroller. The baby laughs, it’s chubby cheeks bright red as Gray blows another raspberry, thrashing its arms up and down with joy. The dad is laughing at Gray’s antics, leaning down and patting his kid on the head.

Gray promptly stands up, sending another big smile to the kid, before waving goodbye. The six-month-old waves back, uncoordinated and decidedly adorable. Gray laughs, turning away and walking towards you.

Your feet feel cemented to the floor, heart down in your stomach.

He’s a natural, you think, nausea building up in your throat.

Gray was the oldest of eight, not a large number for a werewolf family. You adored them, and they you, but Gray had a way of dealing with his youngest siblings. Whether it was letting them climb all over him like a jungle gym, or attending imaginary tea parties, Gray was a pro. He was the guy to cram himself into a tiny chair at the kids table, eating tiny cookies and cracking jokes. ‘Dad’ seemed to be stamped into his very being, the cuddly werewolf with a love of children. He’s any mother-in-law’s dream.

But all those sweet things turn sour when you think about what Mrs. Star said. Gray, moving on without you.

Gray’s eyes light up when he sees your cart, jogging over and holding up the bottle of wine like a prize.

“Hey!” He says, quickly sliding an arm around your waist and giving you a peck on the cheek. “I got your favorite, and those delicious mint-chocolate sandwiches.”

His happy voice and comforting touch help abate whatever it is your feeling, but the way Gray’s brow furrows tells you your  discomfort is present in your eyes. “Is everything okay?” His large hand comes up and rubs your shoulder. You give him a shaky smile, fighting away negative thoughts with a bat.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

---------

Wet fur presses up against your bare neck as you lazily stir the boiling water, Gray’s shifted muzzle now snug in the crook of your shoulder, the white flecks across his dark fur peeking into your periphery. Your free hand instinctively goes back to scratch between his ears, causing him to let out a satisfied huff, hot air blowing across your chest.

“That smells good baby.”

“It’s just salt and water Gray. The pasta’s barely al dente.”

Gray laughs, turning his head  slightly so he can press a small kiss onto your cheek.

“You could make even that taste delicious, ____”

You dramatically roll your eyes, pushing away his chin as he continues to peck and nip at your neck. After showering Gray always made sure to rub in some cherry-blossom leave-in conditioner into his fur. The artificial perfumes just lightly touch your senses, but the mental connection they have to Gray make them smell that much sweeter. You turn and give him a quick kiss on the lips, patting his shoulder once more.

“Do you mind setting the table? Maybe get started on those messy dishes?”

“No problem.” Gray mumbles, reluctantly pulling away from you and tugging up the towel that hangs loose on his hips. He barely needs to reach for your fancy plates on the top shelf, his chest muscles flexing and bicep taut. Even with his thick fur, you can see the bone of his clavicle which accentuates his long neck.

God, he’s so hot.

You think, smirking a bit as you continue stirring.

And all mine.

You hum, but the cheery mood you’re in quickly sours once you remember your conversation with Mrs. Star. That small seed of doubt seems to grow and leech from your chest.

2 years into this relationship and the two of you have only danced around the conversation of the future. You of course had agreed on living together, what your career paths looked like, even the potential of getting married in a couple years, but never kids. As two 20-somethings, you felt like you had all the time in the world.

But the thing was, you didn’t really need all the time in the world.

You didn't want kids. Even with your family or your neighbors needing that your opinion “might change some day,” you were confident in that decision. Not that you hated them, you just could never picture yourself being a mom. A fun aunt, maybe, but never a mom. It wasn’t even a point of contention in your own mind; The picture of you, your partner, and maybe a couple of pets thriving into your elders was bliss enough.

You sneak a glance to Gray, now clothed and back turned to you as he sets the table. He’s diligently folding the napkins into  fun shapes, a ritual he does every date night. From the hole in his jeans you can see his tail wagging, content as he hums to the low radio playing on the window sill.

A smile crawls onto your face, a small giggle escaping you as you watch Gray’s hips bob to the beat, silently mouthing the words. You snort as he does a dramatic little shoulder shift, Gray’s head whipping back towards the kitchen as you throw your hand over your mouth.

“What, don't you like my moves?” Gray says, shimmering his shoulders again, a large grin across his face.

“They could use some work, Kevin Bacon.” Gray clutches his chest, throwing his head back in mock pain.

“You wound me. After all these years, you would cut me so deep?”

“Sure would.” You turn back towards the simmering pasta, setting the wooden spoon on the rim and brushing your hands on your jeans. “Oof!” You squeak as you yanked away, Gray wrapping his arms around your waist, twirling you in a stumbling circle.

“And how ‘bout now, m’lady?” Gray simpers, eyebrow cocked. Your hands slap his chest as you laugh. He lets your feet back down on the floor, but keeps his arms locked around your waist. The two of you slow dance to the beat, and when the chorus hits, Gray gives his worst rendition possible. You bemoan and feign plugging your ears, but find yourself singing along anyway.

Everything about Gray is warm and bright, from his goofy grin to his excitable tail to his two left feet. He adds that pep of energy to your daily routine, pulling you out of an exhausting cycle for a quick jog to the beach or an episode of your favorite drama. Gray fills out all of those little spaces, makes them a little less gray.

Your head rests against his chest, feeling the fur through the fabric of his t-shirt as the two of you sway back and forth.

You want it to stay this way.

But that pestering weed squeezes your heart again, forcing images of Gray with a kid on his shoulders. Showing up to little-league football games with a big cooler and a “#1 dad” T-shirt. All those little moments, all without you.

You can’t fight the deep sigh, pressing your face even deeper into Gray.

Just let me have this. Just this moment, just for now.

-------

“Ugh, I think my stomach is going to explode from excess-pasta.”

Gray huffs, laying his head on your lap as the two of you slump onto the couch. His tail wags lazily, flickering back and forth as his legs swing over the coach's side, his long torso bunched up as he curls into you. The fur of his head is soft as you twist your fingers into it. “But I gotta say, what a way to go out.”

You giggle, losing your thoughts in his soft fur. Gray lets out another deep breath, nuzzling his face into your hand. You brush over his cheek with your  thumb, admiring the cheekbone you feel just underneath.

But that burning question refuses to leave your mind, and you ask it without even thinking.

“Do you want kids, Gray?”

Gray’s eye’s stay closes, his posture relaxed as he sinks into your massaging fingers.

“Hmmm, maybe. Never really thought too much about it. Why?”

Your throat dries up, mind reeling. It wasn’t even a definitive yes, but your heart is still reeling. Your fingers pause and Gray's eyes open. He shifts his head when he sees the look on your face, concerned. “Babe?”

You nod, eyes still wide, trying to fight off the inklings of a panic attack. Gray pushes himself up on his elbows, paw quickly coming to caress your cheek. “Baby, is everything alright?”

You find the energy to breathe, and suck in deeply. Your heart begins to slow down as you look into Gray’s yellow wolf eyes. You dig your cheek into his large palm, smelling the perfume of his conditioner.

“Yes, sorry, I just-” You pause, taking another deep breath. “I ran into Mrs. Star in the grocery store, and-I’m sorry I’m overthinking things.” You mutter, patting yourself  on the cheek as to snap yourself out of your mood. Grays other hand rubs the back of your neck.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here. Did she say something?”

“No-Well, yes. It’s silly, typical Star things. She just brought up how ‘ought to get started having kids, and it just-” You let out a shaky sigh, pulling away Gray’s hand with your own and looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t want to have kids, ever.”

In Gray’s eyes, you expect to….something. Confusion, disappointment, maybe? But instead, all you see is relief. Gray rests his paw on your thigh, squeezing it.

“_____, is that what you’ve been worrying about?” You nod, throwing your eyes back down, but Gray tilts your chin towards him. “If you don’t want kids, we won’t have kids. Simple as that.”

Your eyes widen and you pull your face back.

“Seriously? But-what if-”

“____, I grew up with eight siblings. I’m going to have to deal with more nieces and nephews then I can count on my fingers and my toes, I think I can handle not having kids.”

A weight lifts off of your chest and you slump forward into Gray, pressing your forehead against his clavicles as you let out a long, relieved sigh. He laughs, patting your back and kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this all day, I didn’t even realize you were so upset.”

You slap his chest, letting out another frustrated sigh. With him? No, but yourself, and Mrs. Star, for stirring up nightmares for no damn good reason.

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine for being so paranoid.” You press your chin up, pouty lips admiring your boyfriend's face. “I’m sorry for freaking out. She really got me into my own head.”

“No apologies needed baby.” Gray says, giving you a small peck. You send him a cheesy smile, chasing after his lips with a couple of small kisses. A low rumble growls out from his chest as you nip at his jawline. Behind him, you hear his tail begin to hump on the floor.

“Hmm, does that mean you feel better?” You nod, pressing another kiss into his pulse point.

“Yes, thank you for letting me get that out.” Another kiss, now on his Adam’s apple.

“Welp,” Gray says, quickly adjusting himself. In another second, you yelp as he picks you up by your butt, legs quickly wrapping around his waist, “Let’s give Mrs. Star something to talk about, hmm?”

You throw your head back with a laugh, clinging tight to his chest as Gray blows a raspberry into your neck. “That good with you, my lady?”

You nod, giving him another kiss on the lips as he carries you off into the bedroom.

Yeah, you have it good.

[clatterbane]

More not so photogenic lowish-spoons food tonight, but very tasty!

(I wouldn't normally want to put both things in the same pasta bowl, but we were low on clean dishes and I didn't feel like dirtying anything else up. Time to eat the broccoli first, to make room to maneuver the spaghetti around!)

Except I don't actually like it to get very crispy around the edges, and also just had frozen to use, as detailed here:

Bottled lemon juice is much better than nothing, and that's what we had today.

As for the basic comfort food type meaty spaghetti, I decided to try an easy one-pot version in the Instant Pot (again!). I know a lot of people really don't like the idea of doing that with pasta, but I've found that it does give consistently pretty good results once you get liquid proportions and timing down for a particular brand/shape.

The major reason, though? It's so much more accessible a cooking method for people working around various disabilities in the kitchen. Way easier--and safer--than fooling around with big boiling pasta pots as a wheelchair user, that's for sure! Or even asking someone else to handle the draining part at just the right time. 🥴 Which, of course, is just not gonna work with nobody else there to do it.

Garofalo and Barilla's gluten free pastas are the best for things like this, IME. They just behave a lot like the "regular" wheaty kind all around, and you don't need to worry about them turning into gross mush if you so much as look at them wrong. Some others are tricky enough with regular cooking, never mind pressure cooked.

Anyway, this basic recipe looks pretty close to the proportions I like to use:

Just about any pasta shape should work fine. And it also works great to just use frozen/refrigerated prepared meatballs, added right before the pasta layer. If they're still frozen, it'll just take a few more minutes to come up to pressure.

I was feeling ambitious enough today to chop up some onion, celery, carrot, and garlic to saute in with the meat. Took my own seasoning approach, as usual. For about anything like this, you will probably thank yourself if you use at least part broth (from crushed up cubes/powder, fresh, you name it) for at least half of the liquid--and adjust the other salty seasonings accordingly.

I find that it usually works best to cook pasta under high pressure for half the time you would normally boil it--plus an extra minute or two, especially if it's being cooked with tomatoes or other acidic ingredients. Usually let it sit for like 3 minutes before releasing the pressure. Better to err on the side of undercooking to start out with. You can fix that easily enough.

Once the lid is opened, time to evaluate and adjust as detailed here:

I like to let any kind of absorption cooked pasta sit and rest for 5-10 minutes before digging in, just like most saucy things straight out of the oven. IME it's good for both texture and flavor, besides not burning your mouth as easily! 😊

This ended up longer on the cooking tips than intended, but hey. I've been getting a lot more experience with these kinds of dishes now that I can eat them again, and some of it might be useful. Especially for other disabled/chronically ill people trying to stay decently fed.

[lokislittlesigyn]

1-5 for the weird asks :)

Helloooooooo Cozy my dear Cozy. <3

1. if you have a lighter, what color is it?

I.. I technically have a lighter but it's one of those long ones, not the fancy clicky ones, and it's not technically mine. It's dark red? I have a teal one somewhere around here too. I use it nightly because I light a candle each night to decompress (haha. like THAT works). I also have matches in my bag, though I've never used a match in my life. Idk, I like to be prepared.

2. pepsi box blue or cheetos bag orange?

CHEETOS ORANGE

I usually like blue more, but Pepsi is awful, and Cheetos are delicious. I can't have either of them though so maybe I don't get an opinion, lol.

3. do you like pasta?

LOVE it. I love pasta so much. Such a useful food! And so versatile! I like angel hair. And fettuccine! And rigatoni! And BOWTIES oh my goodness bowties are so charming??? I need it to be cooked more al dente though, if it's too mushy I can't handle the texture and feel sick. :S

4. how often are you on tumblr?

uhhhhhhhh Am I ever off tumblr nowadays? :'D I check it frequently. Honestly I'm "on" most hours of the day.. I just don't check it if I'm deep in work or in class.

5. are you only doing this because you’re bored?

Nope! I thrive on attention and love asking questions. uwu Asking questions is one of my favorite things because I know exactly what to think about, in theory.. Or at least, I know what the other person wants, and it can start a conversation,,, Idk I really like questions.

i also think questioning everything is very important and should be encouraged

[katyaton]

11 Things!

I was tagged by @sinkingorswimming and @scribeoffate  Thanks y’all!!! (And feel free to answer my questions if you feel like it too!) <3 

sinkingorswimming’s questions

What kind of pet would you keep if you had no limits on money, time, or space?

I want some sort of exotic cat, like a Savannah cat, and a fox!

What is your favorite color to wear?

Deep Royal Red

What song do you love even though other people say it’s cheesy?

Probably Friday by Rebecca Black haha

Where would you live with no restrictions?

The Scottish highlands have been the place I’d like to live for the past couple of years. Ever since I got to visit Edinburgh I’ve been dying to go back!

Cake or pie?

Oh jeez. This is a hard one. Cake is very good, but if were talking versatility I’ve gotta go with pie. Not only can you get sweet delicacies like key lime or apple pie, you can also get really amazing savory meals like shepard’s pie or chicken pot pie. You can live a balanced diet off of pie - you can’t exactly do that with cake. 

What do you curl up with on a chilly, rainy day?

My big woolly jumper I got from Oxford, a book or fanfic, and a blanket!

What is your favorite bird?

Owls! They’re basically a cat in bird form, which is prob why I like them so much 

How dark do you like your chocolate?

Chocolate around 60-70% cocoa is ideal for me!

What movie can you put on and feel comforted by every time?

Harry Potter. It is always on Freeform when they do their HP marathons, and I used to always end up watching it as a child and now when I have it on in the background it’s just comforting! 

What’s the last restaurant you ate at?

A really good local burger joint.

How do you like your pasta?

Al dente!

scribeoffates’s questions!

1. Are you a single fandom or multi-fandom person? 

Def multifandom. I have too many interests at any given time to just devote myself to one fandom.

2. What fandom(s) are you in right now?

I’m gonna consider fandoms that im in right now as things that im currently in an obsessive phase for: Merlin, Yuri on Ice, Stranger Things, Fullmetal Alchemist, Boku no Hero Academia

3. What book or series of books (or author) from your childhood has had the greatest impact on your life?

Again im gonna have to say Harry Potter. It really jump started my reading and obsessive nature, in a sense. 

4. How long have you been reading or writing fic?

I’ve been reading fic since I was 14 and writing since about January of this year!

5. What is your favorite fic trope?

Forced bed sharing, temporary amnesia, friends to lovers, time travel ... it’s hard to pick just one!

6. If you could be doing anything at all at this moment what would it be and why aren’t you doing it?

I’d be on vacation! (Or at least graduated from school). And the answers to those are easy: money and time, respectively!

7. What animal were you in a past life?

Prob a sloth let’s be honest

8. What is your favorite food?

BREAD

9. Are you missing anyone right now?

My sister who’s lived abroad for over a year now.

10. Is there a circumstance where you would find it okay to take a person’s life?

Yes. In a case of self defense where the person has intent to kill/harm, I would have no qualms taking their life if I had the opportunity. There are several other situations - in states where assisted suicide is legal in cases of dire terminal illnesses that cause nothing but pain/listlessness for the patient and both parties agree, I don’t see an issue there either. When culpability for heinous crimes (ie mass shooters) is irrefutable, I see no problem with the death penalty. Why throw away taxpayer money keeping someone so horrible alive?

11. What is something you appreciate?

Ahem .. anyway! Back to something more positive! There’s always the basic things like friends, family, and community, of course. But there are a lot of little things too, like a new ep of your favourite show coming out, or snagging the last slice of pie, or the crisp breeze that ruffles your hair as you walk outside. There’s a lot of little and large things in life to appreciate for sure.

My Question’s!

1. Do you deal with anger internally or let it be known to all and sundry? 

2. What was your least favorite subject in school? Your favorite?

3. If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

4. If you could push a button and get a million dollars, but one random person out of the 7 billion + people would die if you push it, would you do it?

5. If you found a genie’s lamp, what would your 3 wishes be?

6. What is something about your physical appearance that you love?

7. What’s the worst injury you’ve had?

8. If you could live in the universe of any fandom, which one would you live in?

9. If you could meet yourself from any alternate universe (without knowing anything about the society they come from) would you do it?

10. What is your personal DnD character alignment (ie. lawful good, chaotic neutral, ect.)?

11. If you didn’t have the biological need for sleep, what would you do with the extra hours in your day?

Tagging: @alipiee @mygeekcorner @rollertoasteroflife @burglethyturts @rubynovare @dreamsinteacups if y’all feel so inclinced, and of course, anyone else who wants to! (I would tag more but im shy and awkward so please do feel free!)

[zombieheroine]

The call of an ancient meme caught up with me when @thetygre tagged me on one of those really fun get-to-know-me posts. So here we go!

Always post these rules

Answer the questions given by the person who tagged you

Write 11 questions of your own

Tag 11 people

1. What’s the best worst movie you’ve ever seen?

Alien vs Predator is a gem and I stand by it. 

2. Favorite pasta?

Shapes or sauce? Cause I like penne, and how it’s al dente at restaurants. It’s left a good impression on me because the only other place I’ve had penne pasta is at a school cafeteria and there it’s over-cooked. 

But as what to eat with pasta, then avocado and two cheeses. It’s what I make when I want to serve something really good.

3. What is a corporate corruption scheme that you have supported with your money?

I have once bought a nail kit from those stalls at malls. I made the mistake of stopping for the first and the last time, and was too nice a girl at fifteen to say no and escape with my money.

4. What video(s) do you watch when you need to laugh?

Rauski of Laeppavika never lets me down. Finnish gamers yayy!  

5. Favorite mythological character?

I’ve looked up to the great witch Louhi the Mistress of the North since I was little and read my first version of Kalevala. 

6. Talk to animals or be able to turn into a plant?

Talk to animals! I would have a whole new field of linguistics to research. Finally a clear line of “what is language” could be approached exactly. 

7. What is a video game that you actively decided to stop playing?

Oh, I barely manage to start playing.  

8. A good habit that you want to take up?

Having a work schedule for writing and reading. It would really help me in the academia and with my art and reduce stress, but so far I’m merely stumbling through all of it.

9. Your favorite disease?

I always had a thing for the plague, but different poxes are fun too. I like anything that involves fever and visible symptoms like spots or bumps. 

10. What RPG class would you describe yourself as?

Shaman. The call of nature and magic is strong in me, but I would also like to smash skulls with blunt objects. 

11. A flight of dragons or a small starship?

STARSHIP. Let me got to space! Space space space!

*

My questions: 1. Animal that you feel kinship with? 2. The zoo or the amusement park? 3. A vice you admire? 4. What did you Mother warn you about? 5. Your entree of choice at restaurants? 6. A language you’d like to learn? 7. Tell us about a book/movie/game/series/etc. that stayed on your mind for at least several days. 8. What’s your personal experience/opinion on spirituality and religion? 9. Think about your favorite characters. What draws you to them? 10. A fandom trend you loathe? 11. Something that makes you feel joy.

I unleash this beast upon: @floweryhanzo @bonnini @nappi @demoog @warlordzana @corianten @lifewhatisthat @the-jade-dragon @akiko-natsuko @maidenmart 

and finally, @hanzospeaks but for you question 10. A social trend you hate

[abiteofnat]

CINDY’S WOOFTOP WAS A HIT...

Cause you can’t help going up there without emitting a “WOOF!” from the views, the foods, the tunes, and the unbelievably hip-yet-understated atmosphere. Atop The Chicago Athletic Association Hotel, a “Venetian Gothic” building from the 1890s (So old! So Cool! Read more about it here), sits Cindy’s Rooftop- better known as the holy ground of fancy drinks & after-work shenanigans. This is not where you bring Aunt Sally from South Dakota when she comes to Chicago to see the Big City; this is where you bring your insanely fashionable and cool mom for her, uh, 45th birthday dinner and where your dad may walk in and find you sitting at the Hamptons-lake-house-chic wooden tables drinking a glass of fine Villa Maria Riesling because everyone is 25 minutes late and you CANNOT sit in Cindy’s without a glass in your hand.

Fun fact: I drank that same wine three weeks ago when I walked out of my last DePaul University undergrad class e v e r and my wine-loving, wild-eyed best friend Sophia essentially made us gallop to Cindy’s for a  $14 drink to celebrate a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of tuition DONE! We stood on the balcony that overlooks the entirety of Chicago’s best parts, from Millennium Park to where the museums all sit along the water and a million boats & buildings in-between, and suddenly as we sipped wine and discussed our favorite university memories fireworks began shooting off the end of Navy Pier and created a beautiful display of glittering light in the sky. Is that not the city- which was my campus, as DePaul loves to say- sending me off into adulthood with the best goodbye??

Anyway, back to Mum’s celebration and discussion of libations. Once the party had arrived we settled into our favorite family activities: discussing the surroundings, the people, and of course the menu! Cindy’s offers an interesting mix between “vintage, beach-town chic” and “Anthropologie home section” so it’s a lot of soft tan & striped pillows, pebbled plates in soothing seaside colors, and then a lot of exposed wood and rope detail. But in a building from a very elegant time, so it’s done tastefully and for socialites that would have enjoyed it just as much in their whalebone corsets and hairpins as they did in ASOS rompers and wedges. The menu- ugh, this menu was made with my family in mind. Since we all stay pretty pescatarian (outside of chicken that the rest of them eat), we struggle to find places with plenty of options to share and taste amongst each other without it all being “salad.” Cindy’s got us covered though. After watching it go by a thousand times, the Bucatini Carbonara was mandatory. Imagine the most beautiful bowl of thick, spaghetti-like noodles cooked al-dente and tossed in crème fraîche & pecorino romano with peas stirred in; the texture was unreal. The sauce was thick but not too rich, the peas were the perfect punch of sweet and refreshing against the drama of the ground pepper, and the cheese on top must be straight outta Italy’s best cheese place because holy fuck. I could have just eaten that with a fork and been down ditty down down down.

We also got the Burrata- pictured- that came with a halo of “heirloom cucumber, seasonal citrus fruit, winter chicories, spiced pecans, citrus vinaigrette” (courtesy of their menu which worded it perfectly) and came with a grilled ciabatta that tasted like how bread should taste. The bread slathered with some salty, succulent burrata and then toped with a cucumber, greens, and a sour as heck grapefruit slice was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever bit into. The Crunchy Lettuces that were also part of our appetizer played into this; served in a thick peppercorn dressing and almost like a heavy plate of grub itself, the shaved carrots and roughage served as a great compliment to the light and very dessert-y feel of the burrata. This dish was the one my mom was most apprehensive of as it arrived due to hOW dressed with dressing it was, but then she ended up being the one using the excess to garnish EVERY OTHER PART OF THE MEAL. It was that good! We finished out the meal with some salmon fillets served on kale and cooked up just as salmon should be: smoky, cooked well, and flaking onto the fork easy breezy. I love love love how simple a good piece of salmon is; the buttery, crunchy exterior and a soft, flavorful inside reminds me why more people are vegetarian. Meat IS good! But that lil piece of salmon is just as far as I’ll go on these fancy splurge days. Sorry Salmon Sam :(

All in all, we were absolutely shocked by how incredible the level of food was. With views like Cindy’s offers, and the fact it’s in the heart of downtown along where a million offices are and where high class travelers staying in the dozens of local hotels can wander out for a night of wine and flirtation with coworkers, it’s a gold mine. They don’t actually need to be creating such well-done and carefully curated food, but they do, and it’s really amazing to know that some places just CARE about the dining experience of the customers. I get worried in big cities where people will go out to dinner even if the sky is falling- and where deep dish is considered a high-ticket item. Vom. I am very thankful to Cindy’s for the wonderful service (we put our waiter through hell with the amount of specifications we have and also because we’re very loud and cannot decide what to order to share when it is time, like ever) and also because I carried in a dozen Firecakes Donuts as they are Mum’s favorite and they immediately whisked them away to a cooler place AND served them on a slate platter WITH CANDLES FOR US! And brought them out for a birthday surprise! It was beyond wonderful and worth way more than the BYOD (bring your own donuts) fee they charged per head for us to do that.

Go to Cindy’s for that anniversary dinner coming up, for post-work drinks to impress your friends, to show off that new dress that’s begging for somewhere to go, and most importantly- FOR THAT FUCKIN’ PASTA OH MY GOODNESS. We left dinner for a sunset walk around The Bean feeling happily full and having had a great family birthday dinner, which is something I am always grateful to be able to do.

Should you think, “wow this is great for (insert occasion here)”, follow these tips!

1. MAKE RESERVATIONS FOR DINNER. This isn’t even a question mark, it is an exclamation point. We made 5 p.m. reservations and it was already pretty buzzing when we got there, and we were very thankful for a table amidst the amount of standing drinkers. It only got more full.

2. On that note, GO EARLY. You will want to see the city from when it’s entirely sunny and alive to when the sun is going down and the entire place is filled by the golden hour. It is so, so beautiful and you have a better chance of being on the outside patio for at least a few minutes while waiting for food to arrive.

3. SHAKE SHACK IS LOCATED DOWNSTAIRS. Unless you’re also planning to BYOD, grab a chocolate concrete with chocolate truffle cookie dough on your way out. Cute end to a date, too!

Until Next Time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie

[mariequitecontrarie]

All of Me: Chapter 11

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too.  Chapter Summary: Belle deals with the fallout of her impromptu overnight stay at Gold's house when rumors about the town's newest couple begin to circulate. @beastlycheese prompted: “Could I prompt a scene where they deal with the abuse because of their size differences?” Thank You: Amazing beta who saves my life @magnoliatattoo! Happy Birthday, sweetie! Thanks also to @sarashouldbestudying for letting me pester her with Italian questions! Artwork: @wizzygold A/N: THANK YOU for voting All of Me Best Rumbelle Fic and Best Trend in The TEAs! I love you guys so much!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Stay with Me (between Ch 9 and 10)

{On AO3} {On FF}

“Judge tenderly, if you must. There is usually a side you have not heard, a story you know nothing about, and a battle waged that you are not having to fight.”  ― Traci Lea LaRussa

Marco tossed fresh zucchini slices into a sizzling sauté pan and inhaled deeply. Was there a more comforting aroma in all the world than that of hot olive oil and garlic melting together? Bellissima! With a contented hum, he swiveled back to the cutting board to chop the rest of the vegetables for his lasagna bianca. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Madonna mia, it was two o’clock already! He rocked the knife against the board faster; he needed to hurry if he was going to have this batch ready in time for tonight’s first dinner reservations.

As he finished chopping the peppers, agitated footfalls sounded outside the door. Belle stormed into the kitchen, shoving the swinging kitchen door against the wall with a crash. Surprised to see her in the middle of the afternoon, Marco wiped his hands on his apron. “Buona giornata, Bella,” he greeted, then snapped his mouth shut at the mutinous expression on his sweet girl’s face.

“What’s so good about it?” She brushed past him and ducked into the refrigerator, emerging with the cassata cake he had prepared for tonight’s dessert special.

He watched her cut a large wedge and stomp to the booth in the back corner of the kitchen reserved for his staff to eat during their breaks. She plunked her slab of cake down on the table. Eyebrows raised, two of his waiters scurried out of her way, carrying their spaghetti lunches out the back door. He would have chuckled at their befuddled expressions, had Belle not looked so devastated. Her brow furrowed, marring her dewy skin as she glared at the cake in front of her.

“Something wrong, Bella?” He set down the chef’s knife and took a hesitant step in her direction. “You’re chasing my staff away.”

“I chase everyone away,” she said, chin wobbling as she rifled through bins of cutlery looking for a fork.

“Ridiculous.” He clucked at her, then brought over a fresh set of utensils and a starched napkin. “Anyone with any sense adores you. Is it Edith?”

“For once, she’s at the bottom half of my list of problems,” Belle shot back, then pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much.  

“Che cavolo! What problems?” he asked, growing alarmed at the anguish in her voice.

“It’s nothing.” She smoothed the napkin over her lap, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry. Besides, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not Signore Gold?” Marco clenched a dishtowel. He liked Gold, thought he was a wonderful match for his sweet girl, but if Gold hurt his Bella, he would summon his ancestors to haunt the man’s dreams for the rest of his earthly days.

“No,” she said, her expression softening as tears filled her eyes. “It’s not Gold. And don’t go dragging him into all this!”

“Into all what? You say it’s nothing.” He shrugged, offended that Bella would think he couldn’t be trusted with a secret. He was no chiacchierone, but he didn’t object to employing a little well-meaning guilt. He was Italian, after all. “I’m just an old man who makes pasta. Who am I to get involved in your love life?”

“I mean it, Marco.” Belle suspended her fork in midair. “Don’t call him.”

Anger bubbled under his skin, not unlike the spicy marinara simmering on the stove. Everything had been going so well. Bella was surely, albeit slowly, finding love and building a future. But now she was once again closing herself off to the world for reasons she wouldn’t tell him. She needed the comfort and confidence of his friendship more than ever. Friendship…of course! He nearly smacked himself for being such an old fool.

“I promise not to call Signore Gold,” he said, crossing himself. And he meant it. He wouldn’t call Gold. He would call Emma. And then she could call Gold. There was more than one way to skin a cat, si?

“Please, Marco, I know you want to help. Could you just leave me alone for a little while, though?” Belle begged.

Her voice was hoarse and her eyes red-rimmed, like she would burst into tears at any moment. Marco struggled between what she wanted and what was best: being alone was the last thing she needed. That was Belle’s entire problem—she internalized every struggle, and hid herself away from other people. Then, alone in the dark, she consumed her demons’ weight in fudge instead of facing them.

“Si.” Marco nodded solemnly, and stepped quietly back from the table. Leaving Belle to her own counsel for the time being, he scurried out of the kitchen to the telephone behind the bar. He punched in the number for the Storybrooke Mirror, hoping that Emma would answer instead of Gold.

“Bella, she stormed into the restaurant and cut herself a fettona of cake," Marco confided when Emma answered his call.

“Fettona?” Emma paused on the line. “Is that a new flavor or something?”

"No. Come si dice....how do you say in English?” He gesticulated wildly, not that Emma could see his arms waving as he searched for the words. “Ah! Big piece of cake.”

"Oh! Yeah, I think I know what this is about,” Emma said. “And I can feel you wringing your hands. Don’t worry. I’ll be right there.”

Groaning, Marco hung up the phone and mopped beads of sweat off his brow with the corner of his apron. Turning out perfectly al dente pasta creations during the dinner rush was nothing compared to this stress.

Her stomach tightening, Belle toyed with a sliver of toasted almond on top of her cake. Everyone knew they were a couple now, and it was only a matter of time before Gold thought better of his decision to get involved with Belle French. Nice going, Belle. In less than forty-eight hours, she had lost her shiny new status as Gold’s girlfriend. She poked and prodded the offending morsel as her mind played the events of the past days on a sadistic loop.

The visit to Gold’s had been idyllic, until her father and Edith had arrived to humiliate her. After their abrupt departure, she and Gold had managed to salvage the rest of their morning together, finishing their breakfast without another mention of her parents.

Had the mechanic at the garage looked at her strangely? All Belle knew was that everything had been fine—until yesterday when she’d picked up her car and gone back to work.

Word of Belle’s overnight visit to Mr. Gold’s home had spread faster than the oil leak the garage had discovered beneath her broken-down car. How and where the rumors started didn’t really matter; from the sidewalk to the library to Granny’s, everyone stared at her and spoke in hushed tones. Since she’d arrived at work yesterday, her brain had tortured her with round after round of the dreaded game Guess What Is Everyone Saying?

“Did you hear that Belle French is sleeping with Mr. Gold from the newspaper? Yes! He’s more than twice her age. I knew she didn’t get along with her stepmother, but I didn’t realize she wanted to replace her father…that’s so creepy!”

“I wonder if such a little man could actually please a woman her size? You know they do say the bigger the cushion. I’ll bet he needs climbing gear to get up there!”

“What if she rolls over and crushes him in bed?”

Less than twenty-four hours after an innocent overnight stay, their fledgling relationship had become everyone’s business, if not in fact, then in her overwrought imagination. Fresh tears filled her eyes and she dropped her fork and buried her head in her hands.

The argument in Gold’s foyer with Edith. The deafening silence from her father. While she’d been with Gold, Edith had rifled through her room again. She hadn’t said anything to give herself away, but Belle had known by the subtle way her things were shifted around. Edith was a sloppy snooper. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Yesterday afternoon she’d escaped the library to eat a quiet lunch at Granny’s and come face-to-face with one of least favorite people.  

When Belle looked up from her tuna melt and her dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, Ashley Boyd, Sean’s girlfriend, was sliding into the seat across the booth. She frowned down at Belle’s basket of fries and wrinkled her nose. “Wow, Belle. How do you do it?”

“Excuse me?” Belle asked, annoyed by the interruption. Mr. Darcy was about to propose to Elizabeth Bennet for the first time and she was in no mood for pleasantries.

“How do you eat all that? I can’t eat a huge, sandwich filled with mayo and butter and cheese in the middle of the day.”

“Special talent,” Belle snapped back. “Pairs really well with the fried ravioli I had for breakfast.”

“It’s not only that,” Ashley simpered. “I mean, you’re so brave...dating a guy that's thinner than you. Thank God Sean can span my waist with his hands. I wish I had your courage, hon.”

“I wish I had yours,” Belle replied sweetly. 

“Oh yeah?” Ashley looked confused.

“To date a guy another woman's already dumped. Now that takes moxy. As you can plainly see,” Belle gestured at herself, “the only seconds I like are the ones on my plate.”

Ashley stiffened, her eyes turning as cold as ice chips when it dawned on her that she’d been insulted.

Belle’s face had burned as Ashley stalked away, but her embarrassment was trumped by the satisfaction of finding her voice when confronted with someone horrible. I should not have said those things. She sighed—yesterday she'd managed to send doubt and regret on a brief holiday. Now they were back, and guilt had joined the party.

Then there was the scene she made at the library this morning.

Cordelia had pounced while Belle was trying to unload a shipment of new books before story hour. Bless her heart, she was positively effervescent—bubbling over about how handsome Mr. Gold is and pumping her for details on everything from their dinner to the movie they watched to what color and thread count the sheets were on Gold’s bed. Busy hefting crates of books and only half listening, Belle had grunted monosyllabic replies until Cordelia announced that if she were twenty years younger she would steal Gold away from Belle and marry him.

That had captured her attention.

“What do you mean, steal him away?” Seething, Belle rounded on Cordelia, her hands on her hips. Sweat was trickling down her back and between her breasts and her lungs were burning with exertion. She needed a snowball snack cake more than she needed her next breath, but she wasn’t letting that comment go.

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Well, that is…I meant to say…if you don’t want him, dear…”

“You can keep your man-eating clutches to yourself. Gold is mine!” Belle bellowed at the top of her lungs.

Everyone in the library had turned to gawk at her, no doubt wondering why the head librarian was screaming at her assistant during quiet time.

It was simply all too much. She had ignored Cordelia’s sputtering apology, ripped open a packet of snowballs, shoved one in her mouth, and stomped back to her office.

If the rest of the town didn’t already know about Belle French dating Mr. Gold, well, they would now. It would be even more humiliating when he broke up with her for subjecting him to public embarrassment.

Belle startled when Emma Cassidy appeared at the kitchen door, forcing her out of her thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest and arranged her face in a severe frown that she hoped said Do Not Disturb.

Failing to take the hint, Emma plopped down with her typical casual grace. She looked adorable in ripped jeans and a turquoise hoodie that brought out her green eyes.

Belle sighed, “Can no one read?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Next time she wanted to hide in the back of the restaurant and eat all the cake, she would tell Marco not to let anyone disturb her. “I don’t think I'm great company right now, Emma.”

“Let me be the judge,” she said pleasantly, propping her elbows up on the table. “Your face is gonna freeze like that if you aren’t careful. So what's up?”

Apparently no one could read or hear.

Belle dragged the plate of cake back into fork’s reach. “I already told you—nothing.”

“Likely story.” Emma pointed at the slab of cassata cake. “Do you really want that?”

Belle snatched up her fork and pointed it at a threatening angle. “Now you're going to start on me too?”

“Nope.” Emma held up her hands, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Guilt trips aren’t my style.”

“You don’t have to do this. Pretend to be my friend.” Belle didn’t need or want Emma’s pity. She certainly didn’t need her judgment, or her well-intentioned-yet-insulting encouragement to make healthier choices.

The blood drained from Emma’s face and she sank back against the bench. “Oh, I see. You think this is all about you.”

“What?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to be your friend? That maybe I need one too? Look, forget it. I’ll go.” Visibly upset, Emma stood, struggling to shrug her jacket over her shoulders.

“Wait. Emma, please. I-I’m sorry.” Belle shoved the cake back to the center of the table. “Stay. I have cake,” she offered stupidly.

“You know, Belle,” Emma said, “that day we went shopping? I had so much fun. I thought you did too, and I was so happy to just spend some time doing, ya know, girl things.” Emma grew uncharacteristically sheepish as she played with the zipper on her red leather jacket. “I don’t have that—lots of friends. Sure, I have Neal, and Henry, and Dad, uh, Gold… but no one I can just grab coffee with or whine about periods or anything like that.” She smiled wistfully.

Belle felt the flush of shame overtake her face as she rose from the booth. Walking over to Emma, she placed a tentative hand on her arm.

“Emma, I am truly sorry,” Belle said in earnest. “You’re right, I was being selfish. You’ve been wonderful to me; your whole family has. I’m honored that you would call me a friend.” Smiling, Belle gestured to the booth. “I could use a friend to talk to and a cake-eating partner. Join me, please?”

Emma smiled broadly and tossed her jacket back on the bench, eyeing the cake. “Looks delicious. Besides, friends don’t let friends scarf Marco’s signature dessert alone. Got an extra fork?”

Relieved, Belle handed her the spoon from her cutlery set. “We may as well eat it all. I’m already out of Gold’s weight class.”  

“It’s not a wrestling match, it’s a relationship!” Emma murmured around a mouthful. “Belle, ignore whatever crap that airhead Ashley was spouting and anyone else around town who’s blabbering. They’re jealous.”

“Ha! Jealous of what?” Belle dug into the cake and the smooth flavors and textures of rum-spiked custard, fluffy white cake, and chocolate filled her mouth. Why question people and their motivations when you could eat?

“Are you kidding? No one knows what to do with Dad. Beyond the business of running his newspaper, he keeps to himself besides you and us.” Emma dropped her voice and wiggled her eyebrows. “You've been in the beast's lair.”

Belle choked. “You did not just say that.”

“He’s so love-struck, you could strike a match to that ghastly mausoleum he calls a house and he’d probably thank you for it…wow, this cake is fantastic!” She turned around, looking for Marco, who was busy chopping and stirring, he and his sous chef  speaking to one another in rapid-fire Italian. “Marco, what is in this?”

“Special, secret recipe,” he said, dramatically drawing his finger to his lips.

Belle rolled her eyes, and when she turned back to Emma she was grinning. “What?”

“Wipe the frosting off your nose, Belle,” she said, tossing her a clean napkin. “Your white knight has arrived.”

At once, Belle heard the familiar cadence of Gold’s cane tapping against the tile and shot Marco an accusing look. He looked down in a rush, pretending to busy himself by slicing a loaf of ciabatta bread.

“Before you freak out and shout at Marco, I’m the one who called Gold,” Emma admitted, sliding out of her seat to make way for him. Pulling on her jacket, she smiled brightly as she turned to leave. “Just no make-up sex on the table, okay guys? You don’t want to shut Marco down for code violations.” She laughed as she scurried from the kitchen.

Gold shook his head at his daughter-in-law’s retreating form. “I don’t know if I could put up with her if she weren’t so perfect for my son,” he quipped, sliding into the booth.

Belle stared at the vinyl gingham-printed tablecloth as Gold reached across the table for her hand. She was finding it nearly impossible to look him in the eyes, frightened that she would find only regret in their warm depths.

“Gold, I’m so, so sorry.” Belle trembled as she tried to get the words out.

“Belle, hey.” He pulled his hand back in confusion. “Talk to me,” he urged.

She pushed the cake aside, no longer hungry. The way his brow furrowed in concern clenched at her heart, squeezing until Belle lost control and tears began to stream down her face.

Wordlessly, Gold slid out from the opposite bench at the booth, and Belle was certain he was about to leave, but he edged in closer, settling himself beside her so they sat thigh-to-thigh.

Belle caught her breath. Being this close to him made her nerve endings trip like live wire. Here he was, dashingly dressed in his signature three piece suit, not a hair out of place, and smelling bloody fantastic. She lifted her face to his and attempted a brave smile, but faltered when she met his piercing gaze. He stared at her intently, searching her soul, and she was mesmerized by the tenderness in his eyes. Mercy, had they always been flecked with amber?

It wasn’t fair; he was completely at ease while she practically needed life support to sit next to him.

His lip twisted as he fought a smile. “So you broke Leroy’s Kline’s nose. Threw a book at his head.”

“Heard about that did you?” she said feebly. 

“The library is right across the street from the paper.” He grinned, his white teeth flashing. “A bystander or two might have called in with an anonymous tip in the name of free press.”

“He was mean to you,” she reasoned, her neck prickling with renewed fury. “Calling you a hack. Saying that I was an awful person for…” Belle swallowed. “I didn't mean to break anything, but I suppose War and Peace is rather a heavy book.”

“Is that why you’re hiding from me, sweetheart?” He covered her hand with his. “Because of Leroy?”

Belle looked down. She didn’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway. “Among other things,” she evaded. “You wouldn’t understand.”

A sweet smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Try me.”

She shook her head. “No one wants to see us together.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said calmly.

Incredulous, she stared at him. “Haven’t you heard? The things people are saying,” she clarified.

Before she could explain further, Gold’s warm, slightly calloused hand closed around the back of her neck, his long, elegant fingers catching a few locks of hair. He hauled her into his arms with a strength that caused a gasp to slip from her lips. Before she could draw breath, his mouth was covering hers, his warm lips gently massaging, tongue teasing her lips apart in a bid for entrance. Helpless to deny him anything, Belle sighed softly and opened like a flower thirsty for rain. The kiss was deep, passionate, and Belle paid no mind to the waiters coming and going through the kitchen, or to Marco or the sous chef stirring at the stove.

He pulled away, cradling her jaw in the palm of his hand. “Sweetheart, do you remember the day we met?”

###

Up Next: Flashback of how Belle and Gold first met.

[docholligay]

A Visit to Valentino

This is a personal review/essay/what have you, quickly written, of when JIll and I went to Valentino, a fine dining restaurant in California. (That I am posting this may make sense later, but for the moment, simply enjoy it for what it is) 

We walked up to see a Maserati Quattroporte at the valet. I thought Jill’s head was going to twist off, she was rubber necking so hard, asking me what it was and how much it cost.

So we get inside and the maitre'd is right there, and I say, “I have a reservation. Two, for Doc?” and he, without looking at anything, immediately said, “Yes, of course” and led us to a LOVELY and romantic little table. The decor was positively SUMPTUOUS, all rich colors and gold leafing everywhere, lit softly, people speaking in hushed tones.

The waiter asked if we preferred still or sparkling, and as he brought us our complimentary prosecco, Jill leaned across the table and stage whispered “We don’t belong here oh my god I don’t know which fork to use” to which i replied that our money spent as good as anyone else’s, and you work from the outside in with the silverware and they will bring you more, and taught her the silverware positions for “pausing” “finished” and “did not like”

So he asks us about our menu selections, and jill gives hers and I give mine, and I order an old fashioned. The old fashioned had not been removed from the 60s--it was smoky and pert, lacking the sweetness that so often colors a modern take, and it only added to the feeling of old luxury in the place.

Our first course was a simple amuse bouche. Mozzarella and toamto with basil on a skewer, the tomato bright and juicy, the mozzarella creamy and seductive, almost like eating nothing at all but a feeling of richness. There was a small slice of Iberian Ham, and seeing as that’s 93 dollars a pound i decided to forget I was Jewish for 5 minutes, and i do not regret it in the slightest. The age had lent a soft saltiness to it that complimented the richness of the meat, but it didn’t seem fatty, it only seemed like pure flavor. Jill declared she’d like to make the best BLT in the world from it. The third piece was a small preparation of goat cheese, which jill gamely tried and said she could taste the goat--I don’t think that’s what she tastes, i think she tastes the grassiness of many goat cheese BUT WHATEVER.

My appetizer course was a vitello tonnato. Thin slices of veal, topped with a creamed tuna, which sounds preposterous, but oh, the tuna cream had mustard and dill in, and the richness of it absolutely enveloped the veal, giving it a velvety texture. I felt as if I barely had to chew and the richness exploded over my tongue. Jill even liked it. She got an intalian style sashimi, which was slices of fish in olive oil, and she loved the richness of hers as well.

JIll requested the wine list, and was treated to an entire bible of wine. There were so many options, and JIll settled on a champagne split. “I’ll take the Lanson Black Label.” she said. “Ah very good madam, the Lohn-sohn” he said, pronouncing it in the correct French. JIll turned to me as he left. ‘I thought it was from Texas! I can’t speak French”

My pasta course was a duck lasagna. The noodles were perfectly al dente and stood up to the fattiness and rich savory tomato of the sauce. There were no wasted moves here, as in so many lasgnae, every flavor seemed a distinct choice, and they married together into one of the most perfect things I’ve ever tasted. The sauce tasted like they had boiled it down with red wine which lent this deep lush earthiness to the sauce.

JIll ordered pesto. JIll does not like basil. Pesto is made of basil and nuts. It came to the table, and jill stared at it for a moment. She took a small taste and recoiled. “I don’t like basil.” she said, her face twisted up. “Honey, it said on the menu it was made of basil.” She looked at me with despair “I didn’t read it! I got overwhelmed half way through the menu and just picked something!” she looked back down at her plate. “I mean, I’ll eat it, I’m not gonna send back something in a Michelin starred restaurant because I can’t read” I started laughing, I couldn’t help myself, as she chased each bite with the well-appointed bread basket. ‘

In the midst, our waiter brought our split, and poured a tiny bit for Jill. Jill stared at him for a moment, until I nodded at her. “Honey, you’re meant to taste and approve it.” She quickly grabbed the glass and took a drink, nodding that it was delicious. And it WAS absolutely delightful, bright and sparkling on the palate with a light flavor of lemon in the aftertaste. I would buy it again in a heartbeat, it may be my favorite upper-class champagne I’ve ever had.

Then we had our mains--I got the branzino, which was slow roasted and falling apart, a very light and mild sauce with bits of tarragon that only added to the lightness and brightness of the fish. It was glorious, I had never had branzino and now I fear I may never again, I’m ruined. Jill had the short ribs, which she said were good but that her palate had been ruined by the ghost of basils past.

Finally, we got the dessert which was excellent but my least favorite course. It was a simple peach cake with candied strawberries, and it was beautiful on the plate, and not bad, but I thought the texture was a bit dense and heavy for such bright flavors. We were brought coffee and the bill, and so called a night to a three hour meal that was lovely and perfect, and I hope I can do again someday

[athina39]

home is where the heart is [ch9, excerpt]

i got a request to write out what i’ve got so far for ch9 for home is where the heart is, so here goes!

i only have the part below written out so far... (also, can you believe that fic is nearly at 30k already wtf why is it so longgg)

October brings an even harsher bite to the air, so Chuuya’s glad for the respite from the coldest autumn in recent history when he ducks inside the coffee shop two blocks away from his apartment.

There’s a picnic of sorts a few hours from now – members from both the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency attending in a show of camaraderie – and he’s not entirely sure how he got volunteered to help make the food, and more importantly, how he only got informed just an hour before.

(“No need to make anything fancy, I’ll gladly eat your sandwiches!”, Dazai had said as soon as he had dressed him in a warm bundle of coats.

“You’ll eat anything,” Chuuya had replied then, too sleepy for even the easiest perfunctory objection to being manhandled out of his own apartment so they could complete some last-minute grocery shopping for picnic-friendly food.)

And now Dazai’s somewhere out there, trailing after him, lugging the bags of groceries around with his stupidly skinny arms because it’s his fault he forgot to tell Chuuya that he’s signed them up for food duty.

Serves him right.

“Oh, you’re – Chuuya-san, right?” The cashier smiles sunnily at him, too cheerful for the cold Saturday morning. He looks down at his clothes – nope, no nametags on his person – then pats at his head – nope, no post-its on his face. She reads his panic about her knowing him by name and laughs cheerily. “No, I’m sorry, that was too forward of me. It’s just that – when your partner orders coffee for you, he always talks about you, you know? And he’s shown us your pictures too. He’s very proud of you.”

“Uh.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says very sincerely. “Did you want to try our newest blend? We’ve received some great beans from Indonesia yesterday.”

He has a feeling that she – and the entire staff – knows about his favorite blends already, but she’s trying to be polite and not admit that she knows that bastard’s order by heart already.

Still – it’s not her fault that Dazai’s mouth is the exact opposite of unflappable. “Right. That sounds great. And do you still have some of your Guatemalan beans?”

“Dazai-san always reserves an order for those, it’s fairly popular.” The café is cozy chic, but the expensive prices and exotic blends make them appealing to a certain set of clientele only. It’s not a wildly popular store with a noisy bustling crowd – and he’s usually thankful of such an environment, but he’s almost hoping for a commotion to distract him from this conversation. “He mentioned about you favoring it over all our other beans.”

“It’s great. Delicious.”

“We’re glad to hear that. Here you go, Chuuya-san.” She hands him his order, along with another paper bag of something he definitely didn’t order. “There’s some bagels there for you too – you like the one with cream cheese, right? And some of the scones Dazai-san always orders.”

It’s just because of the months of repeat orders.

It’s just because Dazai probably charmed the hell out of everyone here.

It’s just because of that, because there’s no other reason for her to smile knowingly at him, almost forgiving that he forgot buying their usual breakfast.

He ducks his head and leaves her with a \10,000 tip, because she seems like a nice, hardworking girl who deserves it from being inflicted with Dazai’s blubbering. And because he won’t have a chance to give her another tip ever, because he’s going to die of embarrassment. After he guts that bastard, that is.

And because he’s got amazing luck (‘great misfortune’, proclaimed during his New Year’s shrine visit) – the moment he escapes from the too-warm café, he nearly bowls against Dazai. For a moment, he’s annoyed at himself for having incredible balance, because the only way this morning could be salvaged is if he poured piping hot coffee right into the jerk’s face.

Dazai waves at the café, the clear windows ensuring that his greeting isn’t missed by the staff inside. “I see you met Yuri-chan. Did you have a nice chat? She’s probably the only other person aside from you who actually likes hats.”

“We didn’t manage to discuss that, I was too busy being horrified.”

“Eh? Did something happen?” Somehow, Dazai managed to negotiate the nearly-overflowing groceries into manageable bags. There’s a strain on his shoulders as he carries them, but it’s nearly unnoticeable. He can almost pretend that his arms aren’t too scrawny.

“You happened, damn it.” Chuuya walks briskly ahead, but Dazai’s longer legs make it easier for him to catch up.

“Ah, then it’s a good development.”

“It isn’t. I can’t show my face there ever again.”

“I’d make sure to show them more recent photos of you so they won’t be deprived of their Chuuya experience.”

“Urgh. Please don’t. What do you even tell them about me?”

“A shorty who’s definitely not a morning person,” Dazai says with a laugh, easily dodging the kick that Chuuya attempts to connect against his shin. “Hair sticking up in all directions and with a stupid morning breath, too.”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid morning breath, what the hell.”

“I get to experience it first-hand so I get to have a say on it.”

“Stop experiencing it then, asshole.” Chuuya huffs and decides to pity the idiot’s arms. Plus, there are eggs there and he’s not about to make the trip back to the grocery store because Dazai wasted them. “Give me one of the bags.”

“Just one? Take them all, Chuuya, they’re heavy.”

“It’s your punishment for not telling me about this ahead of time.”

“You went drinking with Yosano-san the past three nights, I didn’t get the chance!”

“You couldn’t have left me a note?!” Chuuya glares at the other’s shrug. “Or sent me a message?!”

“I was planning to doodle it on your face…”

“Don’t leave me a note ever, urgh.”

“Come on, I was going to use a washable marker.”

“Somehow I don’t trust that,” Chuuya remarks dryly, but helps keep the door open as they arrive at his apartment. Again, he’d rather slam the door on the bastard’s face, but groceries.

“I’m so hurt, Chuuya.” Dazai makes a mock-hurt expression that looks so fake Chuuya rolls his eyes in derision. “And so proud of you, you’re right, I’d have used a permanent marker. And probably doodled unflattering designs too.”

“I’m starting to think you’d rather not reach the picnic alive, Dazai Osamu.”

“Ooh, dark and serious.” Dazai makes a show of fanning himself after he sets the groceries down on the kitchen counter. “How would you try to take me down then, Nakahara Chuuya?”

“I’d bash your head in on my kitchen sink.”

“Eh, I prepared some trout there last night. It feels a bit unsanitary.”

“I’m going to kill you, not ask for your preferred murder scenario.” Chuuya frowns at the other’s complaint though. “Also, clean my sink up properly, damn it.”

“Maybe you can push me off the window? I bet the air feels nice flying down.”

“And what, give you a free skyboarding pass?” Chuuya adjusts his gloves then rolls his sleeves up. Dazai’s adjusting the room thermostat, fiddling with his own apron tie. “Also, my window’s bulletproof.”

“I’m sure you can find a way.”

“You’d drag me down with you, no thanks.”

“Don’t you think it’s a nice way to go? I’d make sure to hold on to you real tight.”

“I’d rather you don’t, you jerk.” The annoying thing is that it’s something that they’ve both tried before – Chuuya bashing Dazai’s head against his previous four-by-four tatami mat room’s wobbly sink; Dazai getting kicked out of a window and him subsequently dragging Chuuya with him on the way down, before shoving him to the ground first, Corruption activating in the nick of time. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“You were going to stop me from showing up on the picnic.”

“Urgh. We only have a few hours – start molding the meatballs, will you?” He’s already preparing to boil water for the pasta. Some pasta, some grilled fingerfood, some sandwiches. Maybe a few pitchers of detox water, because subsisting on soda is gross. “Would your colleagues prefer wine or beer?”

“You’ve dated most of them, you should know by now, right?”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have counted on you providing an actual answer. You got the meatballs?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll make them small enough so your tiny hands can hold them properly.”

“My hands aren’t tiny, fucker.” Chuuya pokes Dazai’s neck with one uncooked spaghetti strand. “Watch the pasta, I’ll set up the travel cooler for the drinks.”

“Pack your Glenfiddich for me?”

“I’m—I’m not going to bring a 40-year old Scotch for you! On a—on a picnic!”

Dazai hums, unimpressed. “You’re fine with letting your colleagues have your Boerl & Kroff Brut.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have quit the Port Mafia then, huh?”

—Ah, shit.

He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have.

“I’ll even trade you – I bought you the bottle of Egon Muller-Scharzhof Scharzhofberger Riesling Trockenbeerenauslese you requested, after all.”

—so Dazai’s ignoring his slip. Fine, he can work with that.

“I didn’t see any unfamiliar charges on my card. How did you manage to hide it from me?”

“I used my own, duh.”

“If you have a card – why don’t you ever use it then?!”

“Silly Chuuya, are you deaf? I said I used it already.”

“Why don’t you use it to buy the rest of your shit?!”

“Mm, it’s fun to see your reaction!” Dazai’s hands are a bit red from the mix of ground meat, tomatoes and some other spices. “Plus, you use them anyway, right?”

“Because you bought them using my money already!”

“Chuuya, your pasta – did you not want to cook them al dente?”

“Fuck—!” Chuuya hastily stores the bottles of wine inside the cooler, because proper temperatures and all are important in shaping how the wine will taste once opened. “Also, if that’s the case, then how much was the suit from last week? I’ll pay you back.”

“I forgot already.”

“It’s Alexander Amosu – it’s at least $90,000!”

“I threw away the receipts~~~♫”

“Urgh.”

“It’s a gift, midget. Don’t be rude about it.”

“URGH.”

[thewandrblog-blog]

My Top 10 Best Places to Eat in NYC

I miss the food in New York City. A lot. It's expensive as hell, but as I continue to travel and discover new places, I still haven't met it's rival. The prices are warranted. So I got to thinking about which places I miss the most and where I would go right now if I could teleport there.

The thing is, there are so many restaurants in the city, with such a high rate of turnover, that you'd never have the opportunity to discover them all even if you went to two or three a day for the rest of your life. You just wouldn't be able to catch up! Discovering the best places to eat here is a true "word-of-mouth" experience. So, allow me to give you a head start...

Without further delay, here are My Top 10 Best Places to Eat in NYC, and why they are my favorite:

 10. Artichoke Pizza

Address: 114 10th Ave, New York, NY 10011 (Chelsea)

I know a few people who would rate this even higher than #10 on their list. It's a New York City Staple. It's not the NYC pizza you're thinking about. The slices are giant, yes, but you won't find another slice like their signature Artichoke version. My friends from Australia were blown away.

It's a favorite late night spot after a show at The Webster or a night out downtown. Take out available (and likely) as seating is limited. You haven't been to NY unless you've tried a slice of Artichoke Pizza. 

 9.  Chelsea Thai

Address: Chelsea Market, 88 10th Ave, New York, NY 10011 (Chelsea)

In the mood for authentic Thai? Look no further than Chelsea Thai, which is located in another place you don't want to miss- Chelsea Market. I'm kind of a Thai food snob, having lived there for several months, and I always look for the homage to Buddha on the wall when I walk into a Thai restaurant, which is a good luck tradition in Thailand.

The staff is very friendly, very talented, and very Thai. They were even happy to make me some off-menu classics. I worked in this building for Major League Baseball for a while, so we got to know each other pretty well. I definitely filled up a loyalty card or two.

 8. La Pulperia

Address: 1626 2nd Ave, New York, NY 10028 (Upper East Side)

I discovered this place when I was hired to help out on a commercial film shoot all over the city. This is one of the places the commercial was highlighting in the city, and I soon discovered why. The owner, who I spoke with in length, is a creative Latino whose passion is to put a creative spin on latin american cuisine. Classics from south american countries like Mexico and Argentina are fuzed together with influences from Italy and Spain, and every dish is instagram-worthy. Also noteworthy is their cocktail menu- it's on point. 

 7. Drunken Monkey

Address: 338 E 92nd St, New York, NY 10128 (Upper East Side)

Best Indian Food I've had outside of my Indian friend's mother making it for me in their home, ever. This is not your traditional Indian Food experience, which is often accompanied by buffet-style food and oddly decorated dining rooms.

This is a beautiful hole-in-the-wall restaurant with the perfect low-lit ambience, an extensive bar, and traditional Indian dishes that blow me away every time I eat there. Luckily, I lived walking distance from it! Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. 

 6. Momo Sushi Shack

Address: 43 Bogart St, Brooklyn, NY 11206 (Bushwick)

This place was a favorite of my buddies in Brooklyn, who brought me there 50% of the time we went out to eat. They couldn't get enough of it, and I don't blame them. It's delicious.

Their ramen and sushi dishes always hit the spot and the cheerful chef never failed to impress or come out and say hello and have a chat with us. There's also some pretty amazing sake options there- and I don't even like sake. The lemon one, though- so good. Order it. And the pork belly ramen with the egg if they still have it. Go for lunch, and then go next door for dinner (see #1). 

 5. The Burger Joint

Address: Le Parker Meridien, 119 W 56th St, New York, NY 10019 (Midtown)

You'd never know this place was here unless you were fancy enough to be staying at Le Parker Meridian near Central Park; it's sneakily located in a hidden corner behind one of the customer service desks on the first floor. The only thing that gives it away are the intensely long lines circling out from the entrance.

Luckily, I've never had to wait long because I always tend to go there a little bit earlier than most people tend to be ready for lunch I suppose. I'd recommend you do the same! Be ready to order when you get to the window- shouldn't be hard since the menu is pretty simple (hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and fries), and keep on eye out for the various celebs that have inked their names on the wall amongst the thousands of others.

 4. Russ & Daughters

Address: 127 Orchard St, New York, NY 10002 (Lower East Side)

This Jewish restaurant is still somewhat new (opened in 2014) from a dine-in perspective, but the store has been around for over 100 years now and is a long-standing New York City favorite. The dining experience, which felt like an old-school diner, featured a creative cocktail menu, and traditional Jewish fare with tastebud-tantelizing seafood, cream cheeses, and freshly baked breads. I've traditionally hated bagels with lox and such, but this place changed my perspective. Everything was super fresh. 

 3. Tacombi

Address: 30 W 24th St, New York, NY 10010 (Flatiron)

This traditional Mexican Food joint impressed me. It was huge inside, darkly lit, with a bustling atmosphere of people who already know about how excellent the food and drinks are. As with Thai food, I'm a little hard to impress when it comes to Mexican food, having lived there for over a year, and coming from someone who lives with two Mexican chefs. The tacos are legit and it's a fun please to be with a small group of friends.

You'll get an order sheet similar to one you might get at an asian restaurant to lesson your ordering struggles and expedite delivery. You're going to want seconds, and probably thirds. I wish I knew about this place sooner into my stint in The Big Apple. 

 2. Gennaro

Address: 665 Amsterdam Ave, New York, NY 10025 (Upper West Side)

My roommate at the time somehow knew about this unsuspecting Italian restaurant out of the hundreds of them that exist in the city, and even after having visited Italy, I can still say that it's some of the best Italian food I've ever tasted. The pasta is cooked to al-dente perfection, the red sauce is heavenly and succulent, and they have my favorite red wine to accompany it- Cantina Zaccagnini Montepulciano d'Abruzzo by the bottle.

I've taken several people to this restaurant, including native New Yorkers, and they're all as impressed as I am. I order the same thing every time because it's so damn good that I can't get enough of it: Rigatoni con Melanzane (rigatoni with eggplant in a red sauce). Me want now.

 1. Roberta's

Address: 261 Moore St, Brooklyn, NY 11206 (Bushwick)

Wow. Wow. Wow! This might be the best restaurant in NYC. It is to me at least! And I think it's my second-favorite in the entire country, only being trumped by Rose's Luxury in Washington, DC. They remind me very much of each other actually, offering outstanding pasta dishes like none you've ever tasted, and creative pizzas whose ingredients are masterfully paired.

This is my favorite pizza in the world, and I'm from the Connecticut which is apparently home to the best pizza there is (sorry, Pepe's). The wine list is extensive as well, and a wonderful accompaniment to their food menu. A word of advice- just like Rose's, they do not take regular reservations unless you're coming with 10-16 people, so get there early to put your name on the rotating list. 

I hope you have the opportunity to try at least one of these places; I'd recommend trying them all while you're alive and capable! Share the love, and tell me about your favorites below! Now that I'm about ready to pass out from hunger, I'm going to go look for something decent in my new home of Fort Collins, CO. Boy do they have some catching up to do...

[mcmontague]

Good Noodle

When I was little my favorite dish was buttered spaghetti noodles

Every time my mom would make it for me

without fail she would always burn a few of the edges

of course, me being the good child I was

I’d complain

Every time, she’d tell me to suck it up

that if I had any patience I could simply cut that tiny burnt piece off

and realize that there is plenty of good noodle left

it is in these small moments

that my mother teaches me to see the good 

My mother has a way with words

rather I should say

my mother has a way with life

When she isn't burning spaghetti

She's probably dancing somewhere where there is no reason to dance

Or laughing far too loud for whatever the occasion is

I am always amazed how my mother creates joy

Even in places it was never intended to grow

And I am no gardener 

but perhaps I could be a garden

the fruit of her labor

at the very least I try to be an understudy 

I watch her as she watches herself in the mirror

she poses and smiles

my mother always thinks she looks good

because my mother always looks good

But me?

There are days when I see myself

as more burnt edge

than good noodle

So when I look into the mirror

and I force myself to remember the lines she taught me

on the days that I get it right

every insult ever hurled at me 

falls away to charred ashes

my reflection makes me want to bust out the finest dance moves my mother's memory has to offer

I dance my way to a floor full of people

Crashing their bodies against each other

Trying to shimmy the sweat away

Like water escaping a colander

In this moment

We are not burnt edges

We are al dente perfection

We are the exhale to every held breath

the faith behind hope

We remember that life is worth living

because every day bookending it was just a burnt edge

that has been cut off

And on the days that I get the lines right

I almost convince myself to not be afraid

of all the burnt pieces inside of me

or all the burnt moments ahead of me

It is my last few months as an almost adult

before i become the real thing

and the world is rushing up to meet me at my doorstep

but I still don't know if I’m good enough to answer

So I decide to distract myself and make pasta at midnight

Because there's never a bad time for pasta

As I rinse the noodles

I realize I've burnt the edges of my spaghetti

It tastes like joy in the most unlikely of places

I laugh too loud for being alone in my kitchen

But all I hear is my mother telling me that everything is going to be just fine

[soap3rz]

Plan your visit (and reservation requests) accordingly!

The given address goes to a Steampunk cafe specializing in games and coffee–another novelty era ripe for nostalgic yearning but not the one we were looking for. Where the hell is this place? The first time I had visited Volstead’s Emporium in Uptown, Minnesota I was accompanied by a friend who was already privy to the location. Half the appeal of a secret speakeasy hidden away in a niche part of town already known for it’s fanciful coffee-shops, coin operated video game arcade clubs, and ‘hot yoga’–is that it’s a destination prided on the fact that you kind of already need to know where you’re going. Like being a member of an Eyes Wide Shut sexy, Eleusinian Mysteries kind of cult meeting or a pirate marauding around the Caribbean looking for the Isla De Muerta–an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. Being ‘in the know’ about Volstead’s Emporium adds a lot to its notoriety. Going to their website offers no assistance–there is no address, no online menu, no pictures or an extensive proselytizing ‘About’ page. It’s tough to know this place even exists, or what it is, unless you become one of the initiated via word of mouth.

We were driving around Uptown one evening where, during a traffic stop, I recognized the location we were at–and that down that seedy, familiar-looking alleyway nestled behind the Steampunk cafe was the secret speakeasy I had wanted to take my boyfriend to for ages. It felt like a re-discovery and I hastily tried to remember where it was for next time, when we would plan our visit and get to transport ourselves to a faux, 1920’s era den of libations.

~

For those who need a quick History lesson to refresh–the Temperance movement in the United States won a political victory from 1920-1933 when the entire country went “dry”. Meaning, the 18th Amendment to the Constitution was drafted and the production, sale, and transportation of alcohol was banned. To enforce this draconian rule, the government passed the Volstead Act (Where our friendly Emporium likely took its name from) which went a step further in defining the intoxicating substances that were banned and the punishments that came with breaking these laws. The rise of bootlegging, gangsters, and speakeasies–secret law-breaking establishments selling banned booze–became a direct consequence and the 1920’s is forever remembered with these associations. 

~

Unfortunately, memory is only as good as it is served. Turns out, when the summer construction is hazardous and the Happy Hour besought motorists are honking more persistently than a skein of geese, it can be a bit frustrating to try and remember a scattering of location markers after finally getting lucky finding a parking spot. Had I known that the large, neon gleaming sign for beer and bratwurst king New Bohemia resided across the street from our desired crime scene alleyway, our journey on empty stomachs might have been easier to bear. Once found, walking down said alleyway gives off an appropriate air of sleaziness, and as sweltering as the heat often gets in the summer, I was just thankful it wasn’t garbage from the line of dumpsters that marked our path. Hanging a left midway, there’s a smattering of apartment balconies claustrophobic-ly clustered together and in the small back of the building obstructed by vents, there resides a large bolted metal door with a creepy red serial killer light hanging above it. A most welcoming destination, if I ever saw one.

Yeah this seems…

…safe?

 “It’s all you, babe.”

I took this initiative with the fervent composure of a Flapper girl, who had likely already spent most of the evening dancing the Charleston to extinction, and rapped the door with my knuckles like I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. The slot in the door opens and a pair of eyes greets you–“Yes?”

“We have a reservation for two!”

“Name?”

The door is unbolted and we entered into a stairwell devoid of any identifying features aside from the bookie wearing a surprisingly dapper get-up. “Enjoy” is all he says as he goes back to manning the door. It’s up to us to take ourselves down the stairs and to the basement where we stand momentarily confused, there are at least three doors to choose from–not one of them marked with a sparkling Go Here to Drink sign to help us out. We could just make out the muffled sound of chatter and glass clinking enough to try Door Number 1–which ended up leading us into a time machine.

Managed to capture before the place got packed!

An oft overlooked aspect of any dining experience is the ability to transport a patron. This can happen with really good food–it’s much easier to feel like you’re on the coast of Sorrento enjoying a bowl of pasta in a white wine sauce when the spaghetti is al dente and the clams are cooked to perfection and you’re even given a shot of limoncello to chase it all down with. But atmosphere is just as important too and at Volstead’s–you do feel like you just stepped into a 1920’s speakasy which would make even the most classy of bathtub gin stirrers proud.

There are no windows and the establishment is dimly lit, there’s a piano and a jazz player in the back corner strumming soft melodies with the tempered line of the bartender shaking drinks. People are laughing uproariously all around, likely amplified by the low ceiling and general jovialness that comes with a really well mixed cocktail. It’s welcoming–and cuts the tension had while trying to find the place to begin with.

The Old Fashioneds here are one of my favorites in the state: Bourbon, applewood smoked demerara, and house blend bitters.

We were seated at a booth across from the parlor tables, draped with curtains we could easily pull for more privacy. It felt like we were only missing poker chips and the acrid smoke of cigars hanging in the air to set the mood into one in need of a police raid. For another brief moment, I felt like a femme fatale who was clandestinely meeting with a surly detective across from me, who was cloaked in a make-believe fedora and interrogating me on my whereabouts the night Tommy the Gun was murdered–all under the veneer of a heavy sepia filter. Or that was just the Old Fashioneds talking.

Volstead’s is a novelty experience, a way to feel like you’re in a piece of history for the night–surrounded by good drinks and food to boot. There’s a library room where you could sit and partake in a re-imagined game of Clue wearing monocles and dinner jackets, a large dial safe loitering under the stairs where surely the funds of nefarious mobster money ventures is well hidden, and there is even a telephone booth in the back by the restrooms for even the most ardent Doctor Who fan to enjoy. Voldstead’s is straight up cool so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

The scene of the crime, where Mrs. Peacock allegedly bludgeoned Colonel Mustard with a copy of Marie Kondo’s Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.

No one warned us about the framed mirror on the wall of our booth, that it would swing open and the waiter would grin as we jumped in surprise, serving as a portal in which to take our food and drink orders. I think the waitstaff probably finds most of their amusement in this gimmick–and it’s certainly a fun experience to team up with your waiter on. There is a buzzer under the mirror when you’re ready to order and there was at least one more incident where the frame creaked open like a horror movie prop with no waiter to be found, only for him to pop up into view a second later and ask what we’d like–to more jump scares from us. It’s hilarious.

Bwaaaahm

Now all of this is fine and dandy, right? But the main attraction of any dining establishment is the food. And oh boy, does it not disappoint. The first time I went to Voldstead’s, I chose a guilt-free zucchini carbonara with added shrimp that was surprisingly complex and topped off the evening with warm, gooey bread pudding. This time, I went with the usual favorites my boy detective and I usually partake in at other restaurants–the first test for us being the charcuterie plate. I finally learned how to properly pronounce “charcuterie” when I embarrassingly ordered it incorrectly and my windowed waiter set me straight–not sure whether he was smirking at my inability to speak French or because I was recovering from another fun jump scare. Not to be a gerkin (no old fashioneds were consumed in the making of this dad joke), but I’m pretty easy to satisfy when it comes to charcuterie plates–the server had me at spicy salami, spec, and capicola. I was so excited I didn’t even pay attention to what the cheeses were.

Mmmm, gerkins

Next, I ordered the most basic sounding ‘Steak & Potatoes’ which was anything but and I got it cooked a beautiful, medium-rare despite ordering it just medium, but hey–they were just looking out for me and my philistine steak preparation ordering ways. This is one of the better steaks I’ve eaten and I didn’t need to drop a $500 tab at Manny’s to enjoy it–this gorgeous hunk of meat is up there with the bavette I had at 112 Eatery and the steak I had at a (now closed) restaurant outside of New York City I had visited in high school that was apparently one of Elvis’ favorites.

8oz Bavette, herb potatoes and grilled asparagus with peppercorn cognac sauce. #NeverForget

Though any sane person would be full at this point and I was working on my second cocktail (Like Clockwork–Cognac, Bourbon, Dolin dry, Amaro Nonino, Orange Bitters, Expressed Orange–definitely got me all good and “bezoomny”!), a place can’t be sufficiently done and tried until you order a dessert and a regular, black coffee. Now, it should shock no one to know that I can be a bit of a pedant about certain things–and coffee is one of those things. I’ve worked in and out of the coffee industry for the better part of 8 years as a barista and on the corporate level slinging office work. It’s not particularly hard to find quality, well-sourced beans and it is even easier to brew them right. A restaurant can tell me a lot about how much they care about every aspect of their commitment to quality and food by how good their regular brewed coffee tastes. I’ve been disappointed in establishments that otherwise provide good meals but then serve up bitter, black water mudd that tastes like it had been sitting for more than 2 hours in back. I move from disappointed to irritated when this crime is committed by an authentically-declared French or Italian restaurant where ending your meal with a good coffee is tantamount to the cultural experience. One sip from Volstead’s chosen brew and I knew this place really was every bit as great as I knew it to be.

Tiramisu because I’m ‘basic Italian’

The tiramisu I ordered for dessert wasn’t bad either–and as your resident swarthy Italian-American, I’ve had plenty of tiramisu in my day. The only thing about it I found particular to note, was how the lady fingers weren’t soggy and absolutely drowning in booze and/or coffee. Unlike me this evening, of course.

So, dear reader, consider yourself well and in the know about Volstead’s Emporium in Uptown, MN. I’ve now passed on the secret to you–and if you’re in the area or visiting the Twin Cities, I hope that you take a moment to stumble around W. Lake St. attempting to find it. But shhhhh–don’t tell your dinner companion(s) about the mirror window.

Volstead’s Emporium: A Hidden Speakeasy in Uptown, MN The given address goes to a Steampunk cafe specializing in games and coffee--another novelty era ripe for nostalgic yearning but not the one we were looking for.

[lambpain82-blog]

Antipasto Tortellini Pasta Salad

Antipasto Tortellini Pasta Salad. This packed potluck favorite includes multiple cheeses, meats, olives, peppers, and more to create a hearty Italian-inspired summer side dish.

I’ve spent basically the entire summer trying to think of a creative pasta salad recipe to really excite you guys. Something drastically different but still a crowd-pleaser, making use of exotic mix-ins and unexpected ingredients. Because honestly, I love (a good) pasta salad, but I couldn’t bare to choke down another boring bite of mayonnaise-slathered macaroni or barely-dressed swirly pasta with sliced olives and chunks of pepper jack, let alone post it here.

But every time I thought I had a delicious idea, it sounded too out there. No one wants a polarizing pasta salad. Nobody has a deep desire to drive all over town to find ingredients. Not a single soul out there would jump at the idea of a pasta salad that takes more than 30 minutes to prepare. So the idea was put on the back burner to revisit next summer, giving me another 300 or so days to think about it. 

In fact, when my mom asked me to make a pasta salad for her annual barbecue, I didn’t even consider the blog. I just rushed through the grocery store and snatched up an assortment of your usual Italian-style ingredients, tossed them together an hour before the party, and thought nothing of it. There were no balls of burrata or drizzles of a harissa honey dressing. There was nothing really shocking or innovative. Just another average pasta salad. 

Except it wasn’t.

I almost feel like some sort of fraud posting a “recipe” here that requires so little effort and is mostly thrown together. But when people rave about Antipasto Tortellini Pasta Salad like it’s the holy grail of your entire culinary career, you don’t fight sharing the recipe. You make a post for it.

So here’s what the salad includes: 

Cheese tortellini.

Pearls of fresh mozzarella cheese.

MORE CHEESE. (Sharp provolone, to be exact.)

Pepperoni.

Sopressata.

Red onion.

Cherry tomatoes.

A mix of pitted olives.

Sliced roasted red peppers.

Whole pepperoncini peppers.

Fresh basil.

Dressing.

And here’s how people reacted to it:

“I’m not even going to eat a burger because I’m on my fourth plate full of pasta salad.”

“I really can’t stop eating this tortellini salad.”

“Is the recipe up on your blog?”

“MORGAN, PUT THE RECIPE UP ON YOUR BLOG.”

“Please, for the love of god, put the recipe up on your blog this week so I can make it for Labor Day.”

Clearly, the people have spoken. 

And I know it sounds like I’m awfully negative about the Antipasto Tortellini Pasta Salad throughout this post, but it’s really because I didn’t expect it to be so amazing. But I loved it just as much as everyone else did (and I had many platefuls to prove it). This is one of my favorite pasta salads I’ve ever eaten. I’d say it’s tied with my Smoky Shrimp Pasta Salad with Chipotle-Honey Vinaigrette.  

I made another big batch for photographing, and I finally just finished it after a few days of eating pasta salad for both lunch and dinner. I’m not even sick of it. In fact, I might have to make it again this weekend.

Now, I’m going to be honest: If you’re starting without anything already in the pantry, buying all of the ingredients can get a little expensive. There’s a lot in this pasta salad. I always have roasted red peppers and pepperoncinis on hand, and we’ve got more basil than we know what to do with from our summer bounty. But if you have to scale back, don’t be afraid to. This pasta salad is versatile, and you can absolutely tweak it to work for you. That’s the great thing about antipasto– you can really get creative with your mixture of meats, cheeses, and other add-ins!

But I love it best as it is, with a balance of rich, fresh, and zippy ingredients that’s got me craving another bowl as we speak.

Print

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Ingredients

For the Antipasto Tortellini Pasta Salad:

20 ounces cheese tortellini,

1 1/2 cups grape or cherry tomatoes, sliced in half

1 1/2 cups mixed pitted olives

1 cup (5 ounces) chopped pepperoni

1 cup (5 ounces) chopped sopressata

1 cup mozzarella pearls

1 cup (5 ounces) chopped sharp provolone cheese

3/4 cup sliced roasted red peppers

1/4 red onion, diced

8 whole pepperoncini peppers, optional

6 fresh basil leaves, sliced into thin ribbons

For the dressing:

1/2 cup olive oil

1/4 cup red wine vinegar

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon dried oregano

Pinch of red pepper flakes

Kosher salt, to taste

Instructions

Cook the tortellini in salted water according to package instructions, until al dente. Strain and rinse with cold water to prevent sticking.

Add the tortellini and remaining pasta salad ingredients to a large bowl. Set aside.

In a large jar or blender, combine the dressing ingredients and shake or blend until well-combined. Pour the dressing over the pasta salad and toss to evenly distribute. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours.

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Source: http://hostthetoast.com/antipasto-tortellini-pasta-salad/

[oovitus]

Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream

Feels as though it’s been a while since I posted a recipe! I’ve been cooking, but most of what I’ve made has been either a tried-and-true staple—like this soup or these braised beans—or recipes from Power Plates, which I’m happily revisiting for the first time in a long while. Mixed in with all of the familiar favorites are a few new meals, and these smoky lentil kale stuffed sweet potatoes with pumpkin seed cream are one of them.

On Tuesday morning, I stole a little time to visit the new 365 by Whole Foods market in Fort Greene. I’ve been a fan of Whole Food’s 365 products, including affordable canned beans, pasta sauce, tomato paste and canned tomatoes, veggie broth, spices, and more, for a long time, and I remember being really excited when I learned that the product line would be evolving into markets across the country.

Whole Foods Market 365 offer similar values and the same quality and focus of other Whole Foods stores—fresh produce, organically grown food, big selections of vegan products—with a focus on more affordable price points, smaller stores, and a more streamlined shopping experience. One of the upsides of my local Whole Foods are their size and selection, but I really appreciated how compact the Fort Green 365 market was: I was able to navigate the aisles and check out in what (for me) is record timing.

I also loved the focus on 365 products, from bagged produce to canned legumes to nuts and dried fruit. I’m used to seeking those items out for the price point, and it was nice to see them displayed so prominently. While the focus is decidedly on affordable, quality everyday cooking staples, the store also has plenty of specialized vegan options: I was super excited to see a fully stocked vegan cheese section, plenty of vegan meats, and a hot and cold bar for meals-to-go!

One of my favorite recipes from Power Plates—one that I’ve revisited a few times since the book was published—are the Moroccan stuffed sweet potatoes, which feature fragrant spiced lentils and greens. This recipe was inspired by those, but it’s quicker, easier, and more streamlined. There are less spices and seasonings and a different flavor profile altogether—this time a smoky one. I used smoked paprika to make that happen, but a vegan bacon could be used instead, or in addition to it, for extra smokiness.

It was easy to find everything I needed for the recipe at the market. I picked up a bag of black lentils (they got much paler as they cooked, which is why they look brown here!), onion, sweet potatoes, and the pumpkin seeds with which I made the cream. The idea was to replicate Mexican crema, which is usually a little tart; I find pumpkin seeds to be ever-so-slightly bitter on their own, and I added a squeeze of lime juice to the mix for good measure. There’s a bulk bin section at the store, and pumpkin seeds are also sold bagged (as are other nuts, seeds, dried fruits, and grains).

While I was stocking up for the recipe, I also picked up a few other things I needed, including brussels sprouts (this week’s pick for veggies to roast for bowls and salads), herbal tea, and canned beans. Next time I’m nearby, I’m excited to stop by the Orwasher’s bakery on the ground floor of the store and see what vegan breads are available.

In the meantime, these potatoes. What I crave most when I’m super busy is food that feels grounding to me, and potatoes always do. So do earthy lentils and cooked greens. The recipe is just what I need right now, and it’s an easy one to batch cook: the potatoes and filling can be prepared separately, if you’d like to make either in advance, and the you could even split preparation of the filling up by cooking the lentils a day before sautéing them with the onion and kale. If you store the potatoes and filling separately, they’ll hold up better as leftovers.

And if you don’t have time for the cream, a pre-made vegan sour cream will work nicely, or you can skip the topping altogether.

Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream

Print

Recipe type: main dish, entree

Cuisine: vegan, gluten free, soy free, tree nut free

Author: Gena Hamshaw

Prep time: 5 mins

Cook time: 45 mins

Total time: 50 mins

Serves: 2 meal-sized or 4 smaller servings

Ingredients

2 medium sized sweet potatoes, scrubbed

¾ cup black, brown, or green lentils (or 1¾ cups, or one can, cooked lentils)

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 medium white or yellow onion, chopped

½ teaspoon smoked paprika

½ teaspoon ground chili powder

½ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons tomato paste

½ cup vegetable broth

1 small bunch curly kale, thick stems removed and chopped

Crushed red pepper flakes, to taste

For the pumpkin seed cream:

½ cup raw, shelled pumpkin seeds, soaked for at least 2 hours and drained of soak water

½ cup water

2 teaspoons lime juice

¼ teaspoon salt

Instructions

Preheat your oven to 400F. Prick the skins of the potatoes with a fork and transfer them to the oven. Bake for 45 minutes, or until fork tender all the way through.

While the potatoes bake, bring a salted pot of water to boil. Add the lentils and cook for 25-35 minutes, or until tender (you can use a slotted spoon to try some; if they're too al dente at 25 minutes, keep boiling). Drain the lentils.

To make the cream, add the pumpkin seeds, water, lime juice, and salt to a food processor or high speed blender and blend till smooth and creamy. Adjust the salt to taste.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and sautee for 5 minutes, or until clear and soft. Add the paprika and chili, salt, tomato paste, and broth and give everything a good stir. Add the kale and cook for 5-7 minutes, or until the kale is completely tender. Fold in the lentils and add an extra splash of broth if needed. Add crushed red pepper to taste and adjust salt to taste.

Cut the potatoes in half and top each with a generous scoop of the lentil mixture, followed by a few tablespoons of the pumpkin seed cream. Serve.

3.5.3229

I don’t live close enough to Fort Green to make the 365 by Whole Foods market my regular grocery shopping destination (or to take advantage of the membership program, which sounds cool), but it’s steps away from the Atlantic Avenue subway stop, which means it’ll be easy to shop there and get groceries home when I’m nearby. In the meantime, I’m happy for what it’s adding to the city: an-easy-to-navigate market with a definite neighborhood feel.

I’m still playing catch up over here and making peace with the fact that things will probably feel chaotic till I graduate from my program in May. In the meantime, earthy, filling, nutritious food does wonders to keep me calm. And I’m really looking forward to Passover with my chosen family tomorrow.

Wishing you all a good holiday weekend, if you’re celebrating/observing, and I’ll be back with the weekend reading roundup soon.

xo

This post is sponsored by Whole Foods Market 365. All opinions are my own. Thanks for your support!

The post Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream appeared first on The Full Helping.

Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

[gardencityvegans]

Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream

https://www.thefullhelping.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Lentil-kale-stuffed-sweet-potatoes-2.jpg

Feels as though it’s been a while since I posted a recipe! I’ve been cooking, but most of what I’ve made has been either a tried-and-true staple—like this soup or these braised beans—or recipes from Power Plates, which I’m happily revisiting for the first time in a long while. Mixed in with all of the familiar favorites are a few new meals, and these smoky lentil kale stuffed sweet potatoes with pumpkin seed cream are one of them.

On Tuesday morning, I stole a little time to visit the new 365 by Whole Foods market in Fort Greene. I’ve been a fan of Whole Food’s 365 products, including affordable canned beans, pasta sauce, tomato paste and canned tomatoes, veggie broth, spices, and more, for a long time, and I remember being really excited when I learned that the product line would be evolving into markets across the country.

Whole Foods Market 365 offer similar values and the same quality and focus of other Whole Foods stores—fresh produce, organically grown food, big selections of vegan products—with a focus on more affordable price points, smaller stores, and a more streamlined shopping experience. One of the upsides of my local Whole Foods are their size and selection, but I really appreciated how compact the Fort Green 365 market was: I was able to navigate the aisles and check out in what (for me) is record timing.

I also loved the focus on 365 products, from bagged produce to canned legumes to nuts and dried fruit. I’m used to seeking those items out for the price point, and it was nice to see them displayed so prominently. While the focus is decidedly on affordable, quality everyday cooking staples, the store also has plenty of specialized vegan options: I was super excited to see a fully stocked vegan cheese section, plenty of vegan meats, and a hot and cold bar for meals-to-go!

One of my favorite recipes from Power Plates—one that I’ve revisited a few times since the book was published—are the Moroccan stuffed sweet potatoes, which feature fragrant spiced lentils and greens. This recipe was inspired by those, but it’s quicker, easier, and more streamlined. There are less spices and seasonings and a different flavor profile altogether—this time a smoky one. I used smoked paprika to make that happen, but a vegan bacon could be used instead, or in addition to it, for extra smokiness.

It was easy to find everything I needed for the recipe at the market. I picked up a bag of black lentils (they got much paler as they cooked, which is why they look brown here!), onion, sweet potatoes, and the pumpkin seeds with which I made the cream. The idea was to replicate Mexican crema, which is usually a little tart; I find pumpkin seeds to be ever-so-slightly bitter on their own, and I added a squeeze of lime juice to the mix for good measure. There’s a bulk bin section at the store, and pumpkin seeds are also sold bagged (as are other nuts, seeds, dried fruits, and grains).

While I was stocking up for the recipe, I also picked up a few other things I needed, including brussels sprouts (this week’s pick for veggies to roast for bowls and salads), herbal tea, and canned beans. Next time I’m nearby, I’m excited to stop by the Orwasher’s bakery on the ground floor of the store and see what vegan breads are available.

In the meantime, these potatoes. What I crave most when I’m super busy is food that feels grounding to me, and potatoes always do. So do earthy lentils and cooked greens. The recipe is just what I need right now, and it’s an easy one to batch cook: the potatoes and filling can be prepared separately, if you’d like to make either in advance, and the you could even split preparation of the filling up by cooking the lentils a day before sautéing them with the onion and kale. If you store the potatoes and filling separately, they’ll hold up better as leftovers.

And if you don’t have time for the cream, a pre-made vegan sour cream will work nicely, or you can skip the topping altogether.

Smoky Lentil Kale Stuffed Sweet Potatoes with Pumpkin Seed Cream

Print

Recipe type: main dish, entree

Cuisine: vegan, gluten free, soy free, tree nut free

Author: Gena Hamshaw

Prep time: 5 mins

Cook time: 45 mins

Total time: 50 mins

Serves: 2 meal-sized or 4 smaller servings

Ingredients

2 medium sized sweet potatoes, scrubbed

¾ cup black, brown, or green lentils (or 1¾ cups, or one can, cooked lentils)

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 medium white or yellow onion, chopped

½ teaspoon smoked paprika

½ teaspoon ground chili powder

½ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons tomato paste

½ cup vegetable broth

1 small bunch curly kale, thick stems removed and chopped

Crushed red pepper flakes, to taste

For the pumpkin seed cream:

½ cup raw, shelled pumpkin seeds, soaked for at least 2 hours and drained of soak water

½ cup water

2 teaspoons lime juice

¼ teaspoon salt

Instructions

Preheat your oven to 400F. Prick the skins of the potatoes with a fork and transfer them to the oven. Bake for 45 minutes, or until fork tender all the way through.

While the potatoes bake, bring a salted pot of water to boil. Add the lentils and cook for 25-35 minutes, or until tender (you can use a slotted spoon to try some; if they're too al dente at 25 minutes, keep boiling). Drain the lentils.

To make the cream, add the pumpkin seeds, water, lime juice, and salt to a food processor or high speed blender and blend till smooth and creamy. Adjust the salt to taste.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and sautee for 5 minutes, or until clear and soft. Add the paprika and chili, salt, tomato paste, and broth and give everything a good stir. Add the kale and cook for 5-7 minutes, or until the kale is completely tender. Fold in the lentils and add an extra splash of broth if needed. Add crushed red pepper to taste and adjust salt to taste.

Cut the potatoes in half and top each with a generous scoop of the lentil mixture, followed by a few tablespoons of the pumpkin seed cream. Serve.

3.5.3229

I don’t live close enough to Fort Green to make the 365 by Whole Foods market my regular grocery shopping destination (or to take advantage of the membership program, which sounds cool), but it’s steps away from the Atlantic Avenue subway stop, which means it’ll be easy to shop there and get groceries home when I’m nearby. In the meantime, I’m happy for what it’s adding to the city: an-easy-to-navigate market with a definite neighborhood feel.

I’m still playing catch up over here and making peace with the fact that things will probably feel chaotic till I graduate from my program in May. In the meantime, earthy, filling, nutritious food does wonders to keep me calm. And I’m really looking forward to Passover with my chosen family tomorrow.

Wishing you all a good holiday weekend, if you’re celebrating/observing, and I’ll be back with the weekend reading roundup soon.

xo

This post is sponsored by Whole Foods Market 365. All opinions are my own. Thanks for your support!

[Read More ...] https://www.thefullhelping.com/smoky-lentil-kale-stuffed-sweet-potatoes-with-pumpkin-seed-cream/