#Best Pizza in El Paso

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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You left it on a cliffhanger! You can’t do that!!!

But it's so fun! And also, hit 1k!

Here's another 1k!

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“Maybe you two are up for some company?” Eddie asks.

“YES!” Dove cheers. “Eddie, come over!”

Buck swallows. “We’re always up for your company, Eddie.”

“Okay, cool. Uh… We can bring pizza?” 

“That would be…” It takes Buck a moment to process Eddie’s syntax. “Wait. We?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. “Yeah, uh… Just got back from El Paso this morning actually.” 

Buck’s heart just about explodes right there on the highway. 

“Holy shit,” he says. 

Dove gasps. 

“Dude.” 

Buck hardly cares. 

“Chris is really home?” He asks. “Right now?”

“He really is,” Eddie confirms. And though the words are simple, Buck can hear the well of emotion in Eddie’s voice.

“O-okay,” Buck responds. “Okay… I’ll… You bring the pizza, and we’ll… I’m going to stop by the bakery and get that cake he likes.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Buck, no, it’s-”

“I’m doing it,” Buck says, already correcting his course in the Jeep.

He hears Eddie sigh faintly. “Okay. See you in, like, an hour?” 

“Can you make it quicker? We’ll be home in less than thirty?”

“So demanding,” Eddie says. “We can do forty-five.” 

“Perfect,” Buck grins. “That’s perfect. Uh, tell him I love him and I can’t wait to see him?”

“I will,” Eddie replies. “But he knows.” 

Buck is smiling so much it hurts. 

“See you soon, Eddie.”

“Bye, Buck. Bye, Dove.” 

“Bye,” Dove says back.

When they end the call, Buck doesn’t know what to do, other than keep driving towards the bakery. His eyes are stinging. His throat is tight. He knows he’s about to have some sort of emotional scene in front of Dove, and he doesn’t exactly know how to explain it. How much of what happened between Eddie and Chris should he tell her? It’s private and she’s a little kid. And he definitely doesn’t want her thinking that sometimes kids and parents get separated for several months at a time. He would die before sending her to Hershey.

God, come to think of it, they haven’t shown any interest in her at all. Whatever. Not the point. 

“Dad?” She asks, as he expects. “What’s happening? Why are you crying?”

Is he crying? He touches his face with one hand. Yep. He sure is. 

“Uh…” Buck starts, not sure how to best do this. “Well, Eddie’s son, Christopher, who you’re going to meet tonight… He was… He spent a while with his grandparents. And they live far away. So I missed him pretty badly, but he’s home now. So they’re happy tears, Dove. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Eddie’s son?” She asks. 

“Yeah,” Buck confirms. “Christopher. He’s fourteen.”

“Oh,” she replies. 

They’ve mentioned Chris in front of her before. He knows they have, more than once. And there’s a photo of Chris up in the house. Buck might not have sat her down and explained the situation or how much Chris means to him… But that’s mostly because he didn’t want her bringing it up in front of Eddie. Eddie who was in so much pain. 

“You’re going to love him, Dove,” Buck insists. “He’s funny and kind. He’s one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

Dove huffs a little. “Why did he go away for so long?”

And yep. Buck winces. It’s going to be complicated.

“He just wanted to spend time with his grandparents,” Buck lies. “There was a lot going on last spring and he thought some time in Texas might help.”

As close to the truth as he’s willing to get.

“Do I have grandparents?” Dove asks. 

Buck remembers the man who didn’t seem to care that his young daughter had just given birth in their dingy apartment, or that she’d then flushed the baby down a toilet. Yeah. No. 

“Well, my parents live all the way in Pennsylvania,” Buck explains. “So pretty far away. But sometimes they visit, so you might meet them one day.”

He actually isn’t looking forward to that at all. He thinks he’ll bit their heads off if they do a single thing to make her feel bad or lesser than. 

“But,” Buck continues. “I’ve always felt that Bobby is sort of like my dad, too. So if you needed help or-or advice from a grandparent, you should go to him.”

“Bobby,” she repeats. “Okay.”

Good. And if she ever gets pissed at him and runs to Bobby, it’s a fifteen minute drive. 

▪️▪️▪️

Maybe, with hindsight, he’ll think he did not handle Christopher’s arrival at his house that way in the best manner for Dove. But if that’s true, then he can forgive himself. He is completely overcome with emotion. 

Dove’s hair is still damp with pool water by the time the truck pulls into the driveway. Buck practically bounds out of the house towards them, like a dog excited that its people are home after a long day. 

“CHRIS!” He exclaims as the boy climbs out of the front seat. 

He doesn’t even take a second to glance Eddie’s way. All he can see is Chris. 

He’s taller. He’s grown. Of course he has. He looks older in other ways too. More definition to his jaw. Less baby fat in his cheeks. Buck feels a strange mixture of sadness and awe. 

Buck wraps him in a crushing hug. 

“Look at you!” He exclaims. “You’re so tall!”

“Hey, Buck,” Chris manages through being squeezed.

His voice is deeper too. What the hell! Eddie must have lost his mind. 

“I missed you so much,” Buck says. He lets him go, not wanting to suffocate him.

“I missed you, too,” Chris says, a little sheepishly. Like he’s thinking, maybe, about how Buck had little choice in the missing or being missed. 

“None of that,” Buck says very quietly. 

Chris looks up at him. 

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Buck says. 

Has he felt frustrated with Chris? Yes. Does he understand his choices? Also yes. It’s a hard place to be, loving both Eddie and Chris as much as he does.

[eddiesfagbriefs]

Hi! So many really good ones to choose from, so I'm gonna go with...

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Happy writing! 🥰

hi!!! thank you sm 🥰

five sentences from the “bobby’s coma” oneshot 📿:

Eddie stands, tucking the touch-warm metal of the rosary beads in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Buck doesn’t move from his hunched position, his elbows still propped up on the crisp sheets. “Hey,” Chimney greets, pointedly glancing between Eddie and Buck, a silent question written in the shape of his eyebrows. Eddie gives a half-shake of his head, which Chimney seems to accept, seeing as he just clears his throat and lifts the pizza boxes in a small gesture back toward the door. “I’m going to, uh, put these out in the waiting room, whenever you want some.”

five sentences from the pickup line ⚡️:

Chris doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s question, which is as much of a “no,” as if he had actually said it. It’s almost painful for Eddie to press further. “You looked like you were arguing with Jake yesterday when I was picking you up, does it have anything to do with that?” “Jack,” Christopher corrects with a scoff, “and we weren’t arguing.” Eddie wants so badly to bang his head against the steering wheel, but he’s driving, so that’s not an option; instead, he keeps his eyes forward and grits out, “then does it have anything to do with your not-argument with Jack?”

five sentences from if your wings are broken 🪽:

As Buck nears Phoenix, he tries to remind himself that he loves the open road. It just doesn’t feel like it today, considering he’s hiding something that could actually, tangibly ruin one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. But there’s nothing he can do now, his gas tank nearing empty at the halfway point between the two halves of his heart. He feels himself pulled to Chris, to El Paso, by the incessant urge to keep Christopher safe at whatever cost, even if it means straining his relationship with Eddie. Yet, still, some part of him wants nothing more than to turn around, the rubber band that stretches between Eddie and somewhere deep in Buck’s chest pulling taught.

make me write!

[alexisgeorge24]

28 janvier:

"No Rest for the Best", comme disent les États-Uniens majoritairement présents ici, et j'entame la fameuse randonnée "Vuelta al Huemul" dont je n'avais aperçu que la moitié en 2020, stoppé physiquement par le vent à mi-chemin. C'est une boucle de 70km et 2700m d+ qui se fait normalement en 4 jours, mais dont 3 sont aussi faisables. Après 10km de marche je me sens particulièrement en forme, j'avais déjà étudié les statistiques pour faire la boucle en 2 jours, je suis frustré de mes longues randonnées précédentes d'être stoppé par des sentiers difficilement praticables, je sais que celui-ci ne l'est pas, je ne serai probablement plus jamais aussi entraîné que maintenant, j'ai envie de briser mes limites, c'est décidé: je ferai la boucle en 2 jours. Mais restons humble et considérons tous les risques d'échecs. Le 1er qui me vient en tête se sont les crampes ou douleurs aux orteils pouvant m'immobiliser en fin de journée. Je fais donc une sieste technique arrivé au 1er campement (la fin du J1 si on fait la boucle en 4 jours) et je reprends ma route pour le 2e campement. La sieste de 40' m'ayant remplie toutes les batteries je resterai en forme toute la journée. Sur le chemin je traverse une petite gorge creusée par une rivière à l'aide d'une tyrolienne (j'avais loué un harnais), je longe une langue de glacier, double des gens qui ont commencé la veille la boucle, monte au col du Paso Viento et risque un arrêt cardiaque en voyant la vue derrière. Je pense que c'est la plus belle vue de ma vie... certains moines bouddhistes ont besoin de plusieurs réincarnations pour atteindre le nirvana, alors qu'il suffit d'un billet d'avion, un bus, 20km de marche, du matos de bivouac et un peu de dulce de leche pour se rendre où je me trouve actuellement en extase. Sorti de mon coma je continue vers le campement en ayant comme vue toujours le même paysage que je ne vais même pas essayer de décrire, même Proust ou Tesson n'y arriveraient pas. Comme j'arrive parmis les derniers au campement (je n'ai pas doublé tout le monde non plus) j'ai un spot de merde pour la tente, dans un endroit exposé au vent. Rappelons que je viens de passé le Paso "Viento" dans une région où Eole serait intimidé.

Bilan: 29km, 1500m d+

29 janvier:

Au réveil je me dis que je dois écrire une lettre à Décathlon pour leur signaler que leur tente ne tient pas des vents à 70km/h comme certifié, mais plutôt du 400km/h (c'est du moins ce qu'il m'a paru). J'en étais arrivé à un stade pendant ma nuit d'insomnie où je me disais que si elle craque "que" au bout de 4h (vers 02h00), je serai suffisamment reposé pour commencer mon J2 à la frontale. Finalement je démarre vers 06h45 alors que tout le monde dort toujours, je longe le paysage incroyable, monte au Paso Huemul et rejoins le terrain connu de 2020. Je fais le bonus du Mirador del Condor et je me retrouve devant un autre angle pour admirer le paysage toujours aussi féerique. Il souffle tellement fort j'ai l'impression d'être derrière un moteur d'avion lors d'un décollage. Puis j'entame une descente casse-gueule (mais non dangereuse) vers le 3e camping. Comme hier j'y fait une sieste avant de reprendre le sentier. 11km plus loin je passe le 2e gué grâce à une tyrolienne, et c'est à ce moment que je réalise que je vais réussir à finir la boucle comme prévu en 2 jours. Les 12km restants sont ennuyeux et j'accélère le pas pour vite me rapprocher de ma bière qui m'attend. Arrivé à El Chalten je suis fier de moi, j'ai explosé mon record personnel de distance parcouru en 2 jours: 70km ! Dont 41 juste le J2. Je ne me douche même pas, j'ai terriblement envie de ma bière et d'une pizza avant de me coucher au camping de la ville. En gonflant mon matelas je constate qu'il s'est encore dégradé, maintenant il y a 3 tubes qui ont fusionnés pour faire un gros cylindre. Cela devient très inconfortable d'y dormir dessus. Je décide donc de dormir à même le sol à partir de maintenant; s'il gèle alors je choisirai l'inconfort du matelas au froid du sol.

Bilan: 41km, 1100m d+

30 janvier :

Journée dediée au repos en attendant mon bus pour El Calafate. Aujourd'hui je la prends cette douche, et avec du savon s'il vous plaît. J'arrive à destination vers 20h00, le temps de me faire enfin un bon restaurant avant de reprendre un bus à 03h00 pour Rio Gallegos.

31 janvier:

Après une micro sieste à la gare routière, je prends mon bus pour Rio Gallegos. Arrivé à 07h00 et j'enchaîne avec un autre bus à 08h00 pour ma destination: Ushuaia. Ce n'est qu'à 600km (équivalent Paris - Grenoble) mais on mettra 15 heures pour y arriver, avec principalement de la pampa à traverser. Pour cause, un bout du Chili bloque l'accès direct à la Terre de feu, donc 2 fois la frontière à traverser. Et comme ce n'est pas déjà assez pénible de subir les contraintes douanière délirantes des chiliens, un des passagers du bus avait du canabis médicinale dans ses bagages et que les chiens ont reniflé... Autre obstacle: le détroit de Magellan. Bon du coup je repense à ce monsieur qui s'est perdu dans la région en pensant être au Cap Horn (faut ouvrir une carte pour comprendre sa surprise lorsqu'il comprit qu'il n'avait pas contourné l'Amérique) et je relativise sur mon temps de trajet. Arrivé à 23h00 je vais à mon hostel et je dors sur un lit, un vrai, sous un toit, derrière quatre surfaces verticales formant un carré bloquant le vent et à côté d'un mec qui ronfle.

1er février:

Le mec qui ronfle ne respire plus, quelqu'un a du l'étranger la nuit. Après quelques occupations logistiques, je pars pour le Cerro Medio, accessible directement depuis la ville. A 300m du sommet le vent est tellement fort que j'en rigole, mais pas trop, en ouvrant en grand la bouche je risque de me disloquer la mâchoire avec la force de l'air. Photo et retour au chaud dans mon hostel. Ushuaia étant hors de prix je ne me ferai aucun resto et utiliserai la cuisine. La ville, sans être intrasequement belle, est très agréable du fait qu'elle se trouve au bord du détroit de Beagle et dans les Andes. On y trouve une vrai vie locale, mais aussi beaucoup de touristes, ceux qu'on n'aime pas. La majorités est ici uniquement pour le nom de la ville, est venu en avions, fera une croisière vers l'Antarctique (5000eur mini), dépense sans compter faisant grimper les prix (pauvres touristes argentins), se déplace qu'en groupe de 4000 (en particulier un pays d'Orient), n'a aucun code de la randonnée (dire bonjour, ramasser ses déchets, ne pas chier aux campings, etc), bref, Ushuaia fait "trop" rêver.

Bilan: 14km, 900m d+

2 février:

Je me ballade dans la ville pour y photographier les montagnes avoisinantes depuis différents points de vue et c'est très beaux. Ca fait bizarre de se dire que cette même chaîne de montagne où je me baladais à 6000m d'altitude il y a 2-3 mois, plonge ici dans l'océan en formant des canaux et fjords rappelant la Norvège. L'après midi il pleut et j'en profite pour visiter l'excellent Museo Marítimo de Ushuaia, qui regroupent dans chaque aile de l'ancienne prison des expositions sur la région: histoire des explorations maritime, conquête de l'Antarctique, vies des bagnards et prisonniers (qui me fait relativiser sur la qualité de mes repas en bivouac), artistes en Terre de feu, une ailes laissée telle qu'elle. J'en ressors agréablement surpris de la qualité de ce musée. Rappelons que, comme la Guyane, cette région fut construite par des bagnards.

3 février:

Je me réveil pour la 3e nuit consecutive dans un hostel; trop de luxe, faut que je retrouve la nature. Bizarrement je dors très bien mais au réveil j'ai légèrement mal au dos... Je pense que je dois réapprendre à ma colonne vertébrale comment dormir sur un vrai matelas.

La matinée je fais l'excursion phare du coin: ballade en bateau dans le détroit de Beagle jusqu'au phare (...) du bout du monde, visite des lions de mer et cormorans, ballade sur une île, et moi je m'offre en bonus une baignade sur une plage isolée à l'écart du groupe que j'ai abandonné. Je me serai baigné au 69e parallèle Nord en Norvège, ici je me baigne au 55e parallèle Sud. J'en suis satisfait. L'après midi j'enchaîne avec une randonnée jusqu'à la Laguna Esmeralda puis continue jusqu'à la Laguna Ojo Del Albino où s'y jette un petit glacier. La météo est belle et les paysages sont sublimes. Phrase du jour: quand il fait beau, c'est beau. De retour à Esmeralda j'y plante ma tente. Je constate que le "camping" est remplis de PQ usagé ce qui me fait me decaller hors de la zone abritée (mais propre). Si un jour je suis président, je me battrai pour faire passer 2 lois: interdiction aux cons de faire des enfants, et interdictions aux cons de randonner dans la nature (sans ordre de priorité). Bref, les lumières proposées par le couché de soleil sont sublimes et tout le décors où je me trouve s'en retrouve enchanté. Au moment de préparer mon dîner mon réchaud rend l'âme et je mange mes haricots rouges sans riz et froid. Pas grand chose aura tenu 1 an dans la montagne...

Bilan: 11km, 750m d+

4 février :

Il pleut. Phrase du jour: quand il fait moche, c'est moche. Je retourne au parking où un uber m'a amené la vielle, et je répète un câble avec aucune voiture qui ne me prend en stop. Toutes sont quasi vides et il n'y a qu'une seule destination possible, à savoir Ushuaia. Au bout de 2km un taxi passe; lui évidement ne m'ignore pas. Il me dépose au début du sentier pour aller à la Laguna de los Témpanos. Comme il y a du brouillard, je vois à peine le glacier qui couronne la lagune. Je ne m'y attarde pas et rejoins la Laguna del Caminante où je pose la tente. La majorité de la ballade se fait dans la boue, dans la forêt, sous un ciel gris, parfois sous la pluie. La tente est deja trempée de la veille quand je la pose sous la pluie. Il en faut des journées pourries pour apprendre à apprécier les bonnes...

Bilan: 27km, 1200m d+

5 février :

Beau temps au programme et réveil à 06h00 pour en profiter. Visite du Lago Superior avant de me diriger au Cañadon de la Oveja. Incroyable formation d'un glacier en forme de tunnel où les couches de glaces / terre avancent en spirale. Des morceaux de glaces et des pierres tombent fréquemment donc je ne m'y attarde pas longtemps en dessous pour la vidéo. Je descends la vallée vers Ushuaia, rejoins un supermarché où je me pète le bide au lait + céréales, fais les provisions (repas froids je rappel car plus de réchaud) et enchaîne via Uber une ballade au Parc Tierra Del Fuego. Je traverse l'entrée sans payer puis longe la baie Lapataia sur 10km offrant de très beaux points de vue sur le détroit de Beagle et les sommets chiliens. Plusieurs plages sur le chemin me font faire des pauses où je pratique mes talents en ricochets. Le camping est paradisiaque; une île sur la riviere débouchant sur le canal de Beagle, au pied des derniers sommets des Andes, soleil sans nuages, un contraste totale avec la journée d'hier.

Bilan: 28km, 800m d+

[denimbex1986]

'Often, when it comes to art and those who create it, we want to believe there is a rivalry between artists. Why couldn’t I have created that masterpiece? Or why wasn’t it me who was gifted with an award over someone else’s creation? There is rarely a celebration of someone else’s work where other artists are proudly championing the work that went into it. That’s why the praise for Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer has meant so much to me, because other creatives have shared their love for Nolan’s work as well.

Now that the film has grossed an impressive box office for a Nolan film, other directors of Nolan’s calibre are talking about why a movie like Oppenheimer has become such a masterclass in itself. Not only is the movie now the high-grossing biopic, but the movie itself manages to change expectations and bring audiences into a three-hour epic. That’s what Dune director Denis Villeneuve told the Associated Press is so shocking about the film itself. “Where it is right now has blown the roof off of my projection,” Villeneuve said. “It’s a three-hour movie about people talking about nuclear physics.”

He went on to talk about how the box office shock about Oppenheimer proves that the idea of “content” versus art is moot when movies like Oppenheimer, which is the pinnacle of art, are breaking records. “There’s this notion that movies, in some people’s minds, became content instead of an art form. I hate that word, ‘content,’” he added. “That movies like ‘Oppenheimer’ are released on the big screen and become an event brings back a spotlight on the idea that it’s a tremendous art form that needs to be experienced in theaters.”

Then, there’s director Paul Thomas Anderson, who is known for his movies like Licorice Pizza and Boogie Nights and often brings his unique take on cinema to life in his work. His praise of Nolan is truly that of an artist giving his seal of approval to another working artist, talking about how many fans of Nolan will make dedicated effort to travel to see Nolan’s films in the best possible way.

“When a filmmaker as strong as Chris is pointing a finger at you and telling you where to go … you listen … and audiences have been rewarded for it,” Anderson said. “I know some film buffs who drove from El Paso to Dallas to see the film properly. That’s about 18 hours round trip.”

He went on to talk about the difference between seeing Oppenheimer in theaters on digital and on film, saying “I don’t think there’s anyone who could disagree—seeing ‘Oppenheimer’ on film is superior in every single way,” he added. “Not to mention, people are tired of asking, ‘Why would I go to a movie theater to watch TV?’ Good question … you don’t have to anymore … I would call this is nature’s way of healing.”

Artists recognize other artists

I don’t know when it became a game of who is better than who, probably at the start of the award system, but this constant need to put down other artists to uplift others has made it so we refuse to let them praise one another. Actors time and time again praise the performances of other actors because their art form is a collaborative one, but directors and writers are forced into a solitary world, and we don’t get to see that same praise shared for one another.

So, seeing Paul Thomas Anderson and Denis Villeneuve talking about what Oppenheimer is doing for cinemas, while also just praising the film for its ingenuity and ability to keep audiences engaged with its 3-hour runtime in a movie about physics, is fantastic. It will be interesting to see what happens with the movie as the award circuit gets underway and whether or not this is Christopher Nolan’s time (as he has yet to win an Academy Award). Until then, it’s nice to see the praise Nolan is getting from his fellow creatives.'

[jehovahhthickness]

Throwback to the day that I had one of the best pizza in my entire life in buttfuck El Paso, Texas

[tucanbakery]

From Tacos to Pizzas: Why Puerto Banús is a Mexican Food Lover's Paradise

Puerto Banús, a glamorous coastal hotspot in Spain, is not just about luxury yachts and high-end boutiques. It's fast becoming a haven for food lovers, particularly those with a penchant for Mexican cuisine. Imagine biting into perfectly spiced tacos or savoring the rich flavors of enchiladas while soaking up the vibrant atmosphere. But wait—there’s more! The culinary scene here isn't limited to traditional dishes; it also boasts an exciting fusion twist that brings together the best of both worlds: Mexican pizza Puerto Banus style. Whether you're lounging by the marina or exploring quaint alleyways, there's no shortage of mouthwatering options waiting to be discovered. Join us as we dive into the rise of Mexican cuisine in this picturesque destination and explore where you can find tantalizing pizzas that pay homage to this beloved culinary tradition. Plus, we'll highlight some fantastic vegetarian and vegan choices so everyone can indulge in these delightful flavors without missing out!

The Rise of Mexican Cuisine in Puerto Banús

In recent years, Puerto Banús has witnessed a culinary renaissance, with Mexican cuisine taking center stage. The vibrant flavors and colorful presentations of tacos, burritos, and nachos have captured the hearts (and taste buds) of locals and tourists alike. Chefs are experimenting with ingredients that showcase both authenticity and creativity. Fresh produce from local markets blends seamlessly with traditional spices to create dishes bursting with flavor. Restaurants dedicated to this cuisine have popped up alongside beach clubs and chic boutiques. Each eatery brings its unique twist on classic recipes while embracing the laid-back Mediterranean vibe. This gastronomic shift is not just about food; it's a celebration of culture. Culinary events spotlighting Mexican traditions attract crowds eager for an immersive experience filled with music, art, and festivity—making Puerto Banús a true melting pot for food enthusiasts.

Pizza with a Mexican Twist: Where to Find the Most Delicious Pizzas in Town

If you think pizza can’t be exciting, think again. Puerto Banús has embraced the fusion of flavors with its Mexican-style pizzas. Picture crisp crusts topped not just with classic cheese and tomato but also spicy chorizo, fresh jalapeños, and zesty salsa. One standout spot is La Casa de la Pizza, where creativity reigns supreme. Their "Mexican Fiesta" pizza features guacamole drizzle that elevates each bite to a new level. Another hidden gem is Pizzeria El Paso. They offer a unique twist on traditional favorites by incorporating black beans and cilantro into their toppings. Don’t forget to check out Taco & Pizza Corner for their delectable nacho-inspired pie—an explosion of flavors in every slice! Each restaurant boasts its own flair while celebrating this delightful culinary crossroad that makes dining in Puerto Banús an unforgettable experience.

Vegetarian and Vegan Options in Puerto Banús

Puerto Banús is not just a destination for meat lovers. The rise of vegetarian and vegan options has transformed the culinary scene, making it inclusive for everyone. Many restaurants are embracing plant-based ingredients, creating dishes that honor traditional Mexican flavors while catering to various dietary preferences. You can find delightful tacos filled with roasted vegetables or lentils, bursting with spices and served in fresh corn tortillas. Guacamole made from ripe avocados paired with crispy tortilla chips remains a favorite among vegans and vegetarians alike.

For More Information :

Take Away Pizzas

Best Pizza in Marbella

Pizza Delivery Marbella

[theindieinformer]

The Indie Informer Celebrates One Year

This week marks The Indie Informer's first birthday and the party was one to remember. The entertainment included Ak-xolotl, Cocoon, Paleo Pines, El Paso, Elsewhere, and so many more!

Episode 1 This week marks The Indie Informer’s first birthday and I’m celebrating in the best way: With indies! Including: Ak-xolotl, Cocoon, Paleo Pines, El Paso, Elsewhere, Ugly, Apico, Pizza Possum, Lies of P, Super 56, These Doomed Isles (EA), Spirited Thief, and Moonstone Island. Support Videos This show is made possible by The Indie Informer’s generous supporters who joined the site’s…

[dreamketchers]

We seem to have a problem with the food in El Paso. The problem is we eat too much of it!! Mexican is our favorite and they have some of the best Mexican food in the US. This trip we tried the Tiki Room for Hawaiian and Grimaldi's for Pizza. Our repeat favorites are Kiki's, L & J, Rosco's, and in Las Cruces you HAVE to try El Jacalitos! (at El Paso, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmZUrREoS2c/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[lopithecusfanfiction]

The Family We Made

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: General Word Count: 2580 Alternate: AO3 Summary: Eddie asks Buck to become Christopher’s guardian if he were to die Warnings: N/A Author's Note: Eddie is a tad bit dense at first when it comes to how Buck reacted when he got buried. This takes place almost immediately after 3x15: Eddie Begins. Please enjoy!

Eddie watches it on the news later once he’s released from the hospital. He watches as he descends the hole, watches as the team scrambles to figure out how to get him out after he’s cut the line, watches as the kid is brought to the surface by Chimney, and watches as the crane comes tumbling down in shaky camera movements because of the news station people being startled. Then he watches as Buck absolutely loses his mind and stumbles to where the hole once was and starts digging with his hands, panic strewn on his face. Eddie watches, fascinated, as Bobby pulls Buck back and, God, watches as Buck sobs in Bobby’s lap.

Eddie plays that one scene over and over again on his phone, not being able to look away. No one told him that Buck had reacted that way and Eddie isn’t exactly sure what it means. He hadn’t seen any of the others try and frantically dig him out. Instead, everyone else was keeping calm, professional. All but Buck.

“Daddy?” Eddie jumps slightly, looking up from his phone. He had it on mute but he still hadn’t heard his son enter the kitchen. “The food is burning.”

“Shit!” Eddie drops his phone onto the counter and turns quickly to the stove, opening it and waving away the smoke. He prays the smoke alarm won’t go off and grabs an oven mitt, pulling the now burnt ham out of the oven. He can hear Christopher laughing at him behind his back. With a small sigh, he deposits the pan in the sink, deciding to deal with it later, and turns to his son. “How about pizza tonight?”

“Yeah!” Christopher whoops enthusiastically.

Once the pizza arrives and the two of them are sat at the table, Eddie watches his son, listening to him tell him about what he and Buck had gotten up to while Eddie was in the hospital. They apparently had gone to the park and Buck had pushed Christopher on the swings for literal hours until Buck dramatically complained about his arms hurting. Christopher then roped Buck into agreeing to push him on the mary-go-round and then they went out for ice cream. Seeing the huge smile on his son’s face as retells his story, makes Eddie smile fondly.

Christopher really loves Buck and Eddie isn’t insecure enough to not admit that Christopher might love Buck almost as much as he loves Eddie. It makes Eddie’s heart feel warm and full but what makes the feeling grow inside him to the point in which Eddie feels like his chest is about to burst with emotions, is the fact that apparently Buck loves Christopher as well. Just the way Christopher talks about everything that Buck has done for him proves that but if there was any doubt at all — there wasn’t, of course — the video from the news station would have blown them away completely.

Buck was so distraught in that video and willing to dig for Eddie with his bare hands. Buck was willing to get him back, risking his own life, just to save Eddie and get him back to Christopher. He knew Eddie couldn’t leave behind his son, that Eddie needs to be here for Christopher and that, to Eddie, proves that Buck loves his son just as much as Eddie does.

It warms Eddie’s heart just with the thought of it, that someone else out there cares about Christopher just as much as he does. But it also makes a cold chill run down his spine because it makes him think. What if something were to happen to Eddie? What if he had died down there? What would happen then? What would happen to Christopher?

That’s why, the next day, Eddie finds himself sitting down with Buck up at the dining table. Buck is on the end, where Bobby usually sits and Eddie sits down on Buck’s right, angling his body towards the younger man. Hen and Chimney are sat on the couch, deep in concentration as they both play a videogame. Bobby is currently in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for everyone, humming some tune that he probably heard on the radio that morning.

Buck is smiling and it makes Eddie’s chest seize up with an emotion he doesn’t know. It makes him smile back, laugh at something Buck casually blurts out, and look away briefly before making eye contact with his best friend again. The same best friend that freaked out when Eddie had been trapped. Eddie shifts in his seat, taking a deep breath, and Buck looks at him with curiosity shining in his eyes.

“Listen, Buck, I’ve been thinking ever since the well incident.” Buck’s smile immediately disappears and his eyes turn down to the table. He cups his hands together where they rest and Eddie is so close to him, he can feel the moment Buck starts bouncing his leg. “It’s nothing bad,” Eddie reassures but it doesn’t seem to calm the man in front of him. “I was just thinking about Christopher and what would have happened to him if I had…” Eddie swallows thickly. “If I had died.”

Buck’s eyes meet his again and there’s a sadness in them that Eddie wants to get rid of. He doesn’t say anything which is surprising to Eddie. Usually, Buck always has something to say. “Usually, in these cases, without his mother now, he would probably go to my parents back in El Paso.” Eddie licks his lips, wills himself to continue. “I don’t think that is a good fit for him.” Buck’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion now, all attention given to what Eddie is saying. “That’s why I’ve given it some thought and, if you’re willing, I would like to name you as the person who would get custody and guardianship over him.”

Eddie can practically hear the stillness in the room. Bobby is staring at them, food forgotten, and the videogame in the background is paused as Hen and Chimney shift to look at them. Buck’s face has gone slack, mouth open in shock, and a red tint starting to form on his cheeks from all the attention. Eddie almost laughs at Buck’s embarrassment because Buck usually craves attention like no other, and he might have done just that if he wasn’t feeling uncomfortable himself with all the eyes on them.

Eddie clears his throat because it’s obvious Buck isn’t going to say anything. “I know that it would be a big responsibility and I’ll understand if you say no but the more I think about it, Buck, you’re the perfect person for the job. Christopher loves you and you love him. You’re great with him, you and I have similar values so I know,” he licks his lips again, knowing he’s word vomiting now due to how uncomfortable he’s feeling. “I know you would raise him right and I know I can trust you with him. I’ve already told you once Buck. I don’t trust anyone else more than I trust you with Christopher. The way you are with him and how frantic you were when trying to dig me out-”

Buck reels back as if he’d been burned and it takes Eddie aback, cutting off his rambling. “You know about that?”

“Y-yeah, I saw it on the news.”

Buck looks like he’s going to be sick and Eddie can do nothing but watch as Buck gets up and walks away, disappearing down the stairs. Eddie looks to one team member to the next, settling on Bobby. “Did I say something wrong?”

Bobby turns the stove off, eggs long forgotten about now, and sighs as he approaches. “We were all worried about you, Eddie.”

Hen appears across from him, sitting down in the opposite chair. “It hit Buck pretty hard. Harder than the rest of us. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea that you might have died down there.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Because he knew I had to get back to Christopher.”

“We all knew that, Eddie,” Bobby says, taking the seat Buck had been in moments before.

“I think it’s a little more than that when it comes to Buck,” Hen says gently.

“Look, I like to give Buck crap all the time about the things he does and his feelings,” Chimney comments, walking over to join them. “But the kid really cares about you, Eddie.”

Eddie looks from Bobby to Hen to Chimney and back again, his brain trying to understand what the three are insinuating. “Wait, are you trying to tell me what I think you’re trying to tell me?” No one answers him but Hen has this sympathetic look on her face that tells Eddie everything. “No. No, Buck doesn’t… he doesn’t love me. He loves Christopher and that’s why…” Eddie trails off, Bobby’s words coming back to mind that they all knew he had Christopher to get back to. But none of them acted the way Buck did. None of them completely threw caution out the window and started digging for Eddie with the bare hands, tears streaking down their faces. None of them broke down sobbing, barely able to contain themselves because they thought he was dead. None of them went off the rails as Buck did.

“Shit,” he swears quietly, getting up from his seat and heading down the stairs to try and find Buck. It doesn’t take him long. Buck is sat on one of the benches in the locker room, facing the lockers. He doesn’t react when Eddie comes to the door, leaning on the frame. “You okay?”

Buck jumps slightly and a hand comes up to wipe at his face. When he turns to look at Eddie, his eyes are red and puffy from crying. “M’fine.”

Eddie smiles at him sadly and walks up to him, straddling the bench next to Buck. “Is this because I asked you to take care of Christopher if I was gone or is it the fact that I would be gone that is upsetting you?”

Buck shrugs, looking away and then back. “Both?”

“Both?” Eddie asks and decides to go with the less heavy question first. “Do you not want to take care of him?”

“No!” Buck says quickly, hands coming up to punctuate the statement. “I would love to, you know that.”

“I do and that’s why I asked. I have to admit,” Eddie says. “I wasn’t expecting this reaction. Excitement and joy and hyperactivity, yeah, but not…” Eddie gestures towards Buck who snorts a wet sounding laugh, hand coming up to rub at his eyes again where more tears have gathered. “Why does it upset you then?”

“I’m not,” he pauses to think then, “I’m not upset as in sad about that. I am overjoyed, Eddie, really I am and-and I’m honored that you would want him to be with me and my answer is yes, you can put me down as who would get him but…” he trails off, biting his bottom lip. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, is that these tears… me crying is kind of combination of happiness and sadness.” Buck shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Is it because you would be upset because I died?” Eddie asks and this is the part of the conversation he doesn’t know if he can have. Is he ready to face the feelings that Buck might have for him? Is he ready to face the feelings he might have for Buck? Eddie wonders if he even has a choice in the matter. It doesn’t really seem like it.

Buck shrugs again. “When you were down there, in the well, trapped and everyone thought you were dead I… I couldn’t even fathom it, Eddie. It felt like… like my whole world had just gotten ripped away from me.” Eddie nods when it looks like Buck is going to stop, encouraging him and letting him know that he is listening. Eddie’s heart is beating frantically in his chest and his palms have started to sweat. Buck swallows audibly. “I didn’t know what I would do without you. I didn’t know what I would tell Christopher, how to tell him, what would happen to him. I didn’t know how Christopher and I were going to go on without you. I felt like…”

“Like you were dying,” Eddie finishes for him when Buck stops, tears rolling down the younger man’s face. Eddie reaches up, without thinking, and rubs them away with his thumbs. “Buck, I know you would have found a way. You would have found a way to tell Christopher, you would have found a way to move on and keep living. And if I put you in my will to have Christopher, then you don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen to him.”

Buck rolls his eyes, pulls away from Eddie’s hand that was still cupping his cheek. “You don’t get it, Eddie, I-”

“No, I get it,” Eddie cuts him off. “I would probably react the same way if it were you down there. Including the parts about Christopher because that kid loves you like you wouldn’t believe. He would be devasted if anything happened to you. Just like if anything happened to me.” Buck sniffles. “And I really do get what you’re trying to say Buck and me telling you this, I don’t know if it’s coming across the same, but it is.” Eddie shrugs. “I’m just… not ready to say the actual words or probably hear them but I do-”

Buck stops him talking by grabbing both of Eddie’s cheeks and kissing him. It’s pretty chaste and Buck’s lips are wet with tears and snot and Eddie should be grossed out, he really, really should be, but he can’t bring it in himself to pull away. Instead, he grabs a hold of Buck’s neck and holds him there, kissing back. Eventually, they do have to pull away and when they do, Buck is looking at him with so much emotion that Eddie pulls him into a comforting hug.

Buck lowers his face down to Eddie’s shoulder and before he knows it, his shirt is getting wet from Buck’s tears. Buck’s shoulders shake as he cries silently and Eddie rubs a hand up and down his back soothingly. He lets Buck cry and release all the emotions he must have been bottling up since the well accident and he holds him close, speaking softly in Spanish to him to try and calm him. It seems to work for the most part and Buck gradually pushes away from him, one hand rubbing his wet eyes vigorously.

Buck eyes Eddie’s shirt. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Eddie stands and gives Buck a smile. “I’m just glad we got that settled.”

Buck stands as well, reaching into his locker to grab a tissue and blows his nose. “Me too and, Eddie, thank you for trusting me with Christopher. It means everything.”

Eddie pats Buck on the back. “I wouldn’t trust him with anyone else.” The smile that lights up Buck’s face is worth every word Eddie just spoke. “Come on. I’m sure Bobby’s finished making breakfast by now and you know how cruel Chimney can get with eating all the food on us.”

Buck laughs as he follows Eddie out of the locker room and up the stairs where everyone is waiting for them.

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. :)

[clatterbane]

Tonight's Quarantine Cooking Challenge:

Probably Taco Salad Party!

I was originally thinking of just quick hard tacos, as suggested by the Old El Paso box. (Also there for scale.) But, then I asked Mr. C to get some suitable lettuce when he went out earlier, and he brought home that "Party Salad" tray. 😅

Granted, that was maybe the best they had. Salad fixings are one of the things which have stayed pretty sparse so far at the closest store I've been going to.

(ETA: It's not just pizza. They also really seem to like throwing corn kernels into salads here. 🤔 I usually just avoid or eat around them.)

That Tesco trip earlier apparently also took him 3 hours to get in and out. 😵 That is normally a pretty busy store, and there was a line stretching all the way back around behind the building when he got there. With the roughly 6 ft. spacing lines, and a strict "one in, one out" policy. He was glad he had something to read, and tbh I wouldn't be surprised if he was feeling half-crazed by the time he got into Tesco to start grabbing at food.

Anyway, we do have some plain tortilla chips, so I may just use my own meat seasoning and save the taco kit for later. (A pretty good taco seasoning blend.) He actually just suggested burritos beside or instead of the taco salad, since he picked up some flour tortillas for both of us too.

Whatever we end up eating, there should be salad left for later! 😅

[fiinalgiirls]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

FULL NAME - ramira beatriz reyes bustamonte NICKNAMES - ram, mira GENDER / PRONOUNS - she/her DATE OF BIRTH - february 12, 1990 PLACE OF BIRTH - el paso, texas CITIZENSHIP / ETHNICITY - cuban-american RELIGION - agnostic SOCIOECONOMIC STATUS / POLITICAL AFFILIATION - upper middle class, liberal. MARITAL STATUS - single. SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION - pansexual. EDUCATION / OCCUPATION - horror author, librarian in some verses LANGUAGES - spanish, english

FAMILY INFORMATION.

PARENTS - diego and paola reyes  SIBLINGS - tbd OFFSPRING - none PETS / OTHER - none NOTABLE EXTENDED FAMILY - step-family

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

FACECLAIM - jeanine mason HAIR COLOR / EYE COLOR - black / brown HEIGHT / BUILD - 5′7″ / slender TATTOOS / PIERCINGS - ears DISTINGUISHABLE FEATURES - red lips and a winning smile, long dark hair

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

MEDICAL HISTORY - none KNOWN ALLERGIES - nkda VISUAL IMPAIRMENT / HEARING IMPAIRMENT - none NICOTINE USE / DRUG USE / ALCOHOL USE - has a bit of a party problem in her past, now is trying to drink more responsibly and limit drug use to the occasional joint

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS - friendly, imaginative, enthusiastic ; a little vapid, distant TROPES - tbd TEMPERAMENT - sanguine ALIGNMENT - chaotic good CELTIC TREE ZODIAC - rowan, the MBTI - esfp HOGWARTS HOUSE - slytherin VICE / VIRTUE - tbd LIKES / DISLIKES: leather jackets and designer boots, red lipstick, the sound of a keyboard clicking, drop shots, stephen king and clive barker  /  doctor’s offices, family gatherings, ubers QUOTE:  ❝strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one.❞

FAVORITES.

FOOD - shrimp raviolis DRINK - red wine and black coffee PIZZA TOPPING - pesto chicken COLOR - red MUSIC - dark synth BOOKS - horror, thriller MOVIES - horror, thriller CURSE WORD - tronpon SCENTS - coffee, pasta, cloves, and pine

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: divorce mention, horror

ramira reyes was almost a household name by the time she’d finished her third book, but only her family called her beatriz. the sound of her birth name on their lips producing goose flesh as easy as the creak of a door in a house void of people. it had been a wise, yet impulsive, decision she’d made prior to her first publication that, were she to gain any small fame at all, she might like to keep some part of herself to herself. that she might want to some day found her own world absent of perfection without them. if nothing else, she could at least have her name and that small piece of autonomy and power that came with keeping it safe someday on the lips and hearts of her siblings, even if many of them did not appreciate or understand her chosen subject matter.

diego and paola met in artemisa, cuba in diego’s dental practice. paola was a dental hygienist with dreams of modelling and diego thought she had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. the pair were perfection, because they were both obsessed with perfection. despite the infidelity, no one could find a single flaw between them. beatriz was born eight months later and diego thought she and paola could offer him a more beautiful life than the one he already had. no hairs out of place, no stains on white couches. beautiful enough that he left his wife, and the children he’d already had with her, bringing his new bride and daughter to el paso, texas where they could start anew.

since the very first book, beatriz devoured the written word. she read every book she could get her hands on. she read in spanish and english. she read poetry and prose. she read history and the classics and all of shakespeare’s collected works by the time she was ten. it was stories like macbeth and the raven she loved most and she searched for their peers. disturbed by their daughter’s love of the macabre, paola threw out her stephen king paperbacks as easily as she found them and diego insisted she read more sophisticated authors. her parents’ efforts did little to sway her and, as her siblings were born after her, she was able to fly under their radar a little more with each birth.

a nervous child since birth, her parents control and idiosyncrasies only served to worsen her anxieties. allowance was not freely given to be spent; purchases had to be reviewed with both parents for approval. she became afraid to step out of line and yet she stepped on every crack in the sidewalk on her daily walk home from school. not because she believed some playground rhyme, but just to spite them. just to feel the imperfection underfoot as she plastered on her wooden smile. reading was her greatest escape and the school library her only refuge. it was there she discovered terrifying covers and flawed heroes. there was comfort in the frightening fantasies spun by horror greats. whatever her worries were, they were never as intimidating as the battle of good versus evil in the stand or the serial terror of books of blood. soon she was writing her own stories–sending shivers up the spines of girls at slumber parties and earning concerned, but approving glances from her creative writing teachers.

despite their dislike of her interests, both diego and paola were loving and supportive, they told her so. there was a long list of careers they had planned for her. she could follow in her father’s footsteps, she could be a model and fulfill her mother’s dreams, she could become a doctor, a lawyer, or go to business school like her uncle. and none among the prestigious careers laid out for her included horror writer. they stroked her hair and assured her it was not her fault when they finally split during her sophomore year in high school. in some ways, it only served to make things worse, but their divorce made it even easier to pursue her passion for writing. they were so focused on sabotaging each other’s happiness, she could easily slither through the cracks. finding herself with a hefty acceptance letter to sarah lawrence, where she’d always dreamed she’d go to escape the monotony and control of life in a dentist’s household in order to become who she’d always dreamed she could be.

college never felt pointless, despite meeting some of the same attitudes shared by her parents–one of the only things they could still agree upon. the nervousness that had driven her to the macabre seemed to dissipate the more she wrote about it. the more she wrote, the more she had to keep going and her first collection of short stories–her thesis project–was published the year she graduated. touted in the horror circles as a debut success, beatriz found herself in a whirlwind and, while her parents refused to read her work they did their best to support her; they told all their friends that they’d always pushed her to write. it burned that she couldn’t share everything she loved with them. that her place in the family was largely tied to her success. even her siblings seemed more afraid of stepping out of line than they did a desire to step out from underneath the reyes patriarch’s heavy thumb. and, as her success grew with each book, she felt further and further away from them. ramira reyes was a household name, but beatriz was the name she left behind with her family.

the distance only grew with her busy schedule and, as christmas neared, she found herself unable to travel back home under the threat of a new deadline for her latest tale of terror. procrastination became seductive with every daily distraction, and she found herself caught up in movie deal negotiations and parties. parties with people who were rarely critical of her, bathing her in the afterglow of sycophantic, unconditional love. after one such night out in a string of forgettable nights, she found herself drunk and lost in a subway car that felt eerily like midnight meat train with a broken phone and lost wallet. it was that morning, when she sat in a diner with last night’s party dress and smudged eyeliner, that she decided it was time to unplug. it was time to be scared again and it was time to write.

the loft apartment didn’t take long to sublet, nor did it take much time for her to pack. ramira had no idea where she was going, but she’d seen some rumors online about the mysterious town of boot hill, arizona and it seemed like the perfect place to unplug and be inspired. she sent her mother and father an email, apologizing to them that she’d likely miss christmas this year, but would make sure to come and see them all in el paso when she’d finished her book. the words were as wooden as her childhood smiles; nothing sounded worse than another christmas back home in el paso.

the flight wasn’t too long, but she was exhausted by the time she got into the rental car. assured by several people along the way that boot hill was simply an urban legend, ramira shrugged them off. it didn’t matter really. boot hill was more of an idea to her than a real place. as long as she found some small town where nobody knew her name and she wouldn’t be tempted by new york city nightlife, she was pretty sure she’d manage. maybe it wasn’t a real place, she thought dreamily, turning the dial on the rental car’s radio as she lost service, after following the directions she’d read on reddit and finding nothing. she could swear to god there’s no southbound highway and she’s barely able to keep awake any longer without any music, even with both windows rolled down.

it seems like it’s time to pull over at the next rest stop and catch some shut eye when she sees the sign. BOOT HILL, ARIZONA. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW! the quaint kitschiness makes her exhale sharply in amusement. fuck you, creepy gas station clerk, she thinks, tightening her knuckles at ten and two on the wheel with renewed resolve. i’m going to write a new bestseller in this town. white knuckled and red eyed, she drives on with the renewed energy of a second wind.

as a small smattering of lights appear in front of her, she can hardly hear the call of something sinister in the outskirts as she drives on. her phone still doesn’t have service, as she looks for an airbnb, but it doesn’t even bother her that she can’t call anyone to let them know she’s made it safely. hell, her publisher will probably lose his marbles until she sends him a draft, but all of that can wait. there’s something so calming about the sleepy town waking up in the wee hours of the morning. there’s something so magical about the pace of this place and ramira thinks, maybe she could write all her books in this town. maybe this is somewhere she belongs.

[fancyfade]

[image: comic panels from Infinite Crisis. the scene is in El Paso, Texas, in front of a high school where a bunch of kid sare walking out. There are fireballs in the sky in the background. Jaime Reyes, Paco, and Brenda are walking with Jaime in the middle.

BRENDA: ... Should take these assessment tests seriously, Jaime.

JAIME: We're supposed to worry about some standardized tests while the skies over New York are on fire? They should cancel school and let us enjoy our last day on earth.

PACO: Jaime's right. Who wants pizza?

BRENDA: When you two are living out of a cardboard box behind the mall, don't ask me for help.

JAIME: Do I ever?

BRENDA: Every time you need to pass an algebra exam.

JAIME: Yeah. I guess I --

end image]

pictured first panel appearance of DC’s best superhero.

but also these poor kids. are superhero universes of the nature where you just have to go to school when it’s the end of the world? like i’m with paco, these kids should be with their families and not in school at a time like this

[fatehbaz]

Hey bud, Oklahoma is most definitely the Midwest. I’m a Native Texan through and through and those guys are completely Midwestern. Nothing wrong with that. I love me some Midwest, but it ain’t Texas and it ain’t the South 😉 🤠 🥩

If nothing else comes of this response - if no one has time to read such a lengthy discussion of Oklahoma’s relationship with nearby cultural regions - I highly recommend checking-out one of the best short essays on Oklahoma’s ambiguous cultural identity: South by Midwest: Or, Where is Oklahoma? by Russell Cobb (It sounds like you might enjoy this.)

Thanks for the input and interest. I appreciate it. I just want to expand on this discussion for anyone else following-along. So, please don’t think that I condescending to you! I do agree that a lot of Oklahoma is closely aligned with the essentially-Midwestern “Great Plains cultural region.” I agree with your sentiment.

However, I’m going to try to make a (friendly!) argument here for considering Oklahoma as split 3 ways between the Great Plains, the Upland South, and the Texas Triangle. Just as a thought experiment.

If there’s one individual region that you had to place Oklahoma in, I’d say it’s “the Great Plains.” Not Midwest. Not Texas. “The Great Plains.” But you can get a lot more precise.

I hope to show that, at the very least, eastern Oklahoma is more closely aligned with the Upland South rather than with the Midwest, through it’s shared folk culture, linguistics, commuter movement patterns, deciduous forest ecology, upland topography, cash exchange, and Baptist religion. (Many residents in this Ozark-ian southeastern Oklahoma would never claim Midwestern identity.) I’ll also try to demonstrate the close relationships between Texas (especially Dallas) and Oklahoma culture, through shared cattle ranching economy, fracking industries, oil business, freight and shipping, football obsession, and religion; the oil and cattle industries of Oklahoma particularly are more similar to Texas economy than they are to the Corn Belt economy of the rest of the Great Plains states.

I think it is not sufficient to call Oklahoma “definitely” part of the Midwest, because there are some distinctly different corners of the state that definitely aren’t.

I should acknowledge, though, that cultural regions are always open to debate - sometimes shifting, often different depending on the metrics they’re measured by - so input from everyone does matter. Cultural regions aren’t objectively set-in-stone.

So I’m not trying to act authoritative here and I’’m not at all saying “you’re wrong”! Just some food for thought for anyone interested.

In short:

Oklahoma, famously, has an identity crisis. Oklahoma sits at the ambiguous cross-roads of multiple cultural regions; the Pittsburgh and St. Louis areas are perhaps the only other US areas with so much confusion.

No one living in McCurtain County, Oklahoma, would agree that they are living in the Midwest; many residents here would identify as Southern, which is reflected in their familial heritage, cultural events, institutions, and place names. People living in Le Flore County identify as part of the Ozarks (the Upland South cultural region), especially due to the forested terrain and mountainous topography. People in Cimarron County, in the panhandle, say they’re from “the West” or adjacent to “the Southwest.” And yes, a lot of people in Osage County and areas north of Oklahoma City would agree they’re a part of “the Great Plains cultural region” (and many Americans consider the Great Plains to be included in the Midwest, along with the Great Lakes cultural region). In fact, many Oklahomans, especially in the heavily populated middle of the state, do firmly believe that they are vaguely Midwestern.

If you don’t want to hear my opinion, please scroll-down to where I’ve marked the big bold XXX’s, in order to read a great excerpt from that aforementioned article on Oklahoma culture, because I think it sums-up the situation well.

Generally? I agree with you! And many Oklahomans agree with you. Much of Oklahoma is aligned with the Great Plains cultural region, both economically and in the opinion of residents.

The case for considering parts of Oklahoma more closely related to Texas? Oklahoma City shares the economy of metro Dallas, including cattle ranching headquarters, oil businesses, banking, transportation and freight companies, and commuter and dollar exchange between the two cities; and much of central and southern Oklahoma is focused on fracking, Southern Baptist religion, and high school football.

However, I’d say that the clearest non-Midwestern portion of Oklahoma is the east’s alignment with the Upland South cultural region of the Ozarks.

And it gets more complicated from there, because describing Oklahoma depends on which metrics you’re using to assign it a cultural region. Economics? Commuter travel patterns? Linguistics? Rural folk culture? Place-of-origin of the people living there?

Below is my basic take on how Oklahoma is split among 3 general cultural regions. This cultural confusion of Oklahoma (is it the Great Plains, or the South, or perhaps the Southwest?) is actually a quality shared with Texas “Is Longview in the South? Is El Paso in the Southwest? Is Dallas part of the Great Plains?” Google “cultural regions of US map” and you’ll find that a lot of cartographers don’t bother to distinguish Texas as unique and place it in a Great Plains cultural region with Oklahoma.

–

From demography studies, formal research interviews, and informal social media group discussion, the general consensus - which I agree with - seems to be that Oklahoma is culturally split 3 ways between the Upland South, Greater Texas, and the Great Plains.

In this scheme, Oklahoma aligns with 3 general cultural regions:

(1) The urban culture of Oklahoma City and the hinterland that it anchors are closely aligned with Dallas - the Texas cultural region - by way of its shared focus on cattle ranching economy, fracking industry, oil businesses, interstate transportation businesses, banking centers, and cash exchange; much of Oklahoma shares a love of West Texas-style football and Southern Baptist religion. (2) Areas east of Tulsa align with the Ozarks - an extension of the Upland South cultural region - sharing culture and linguistics with Southerners, and rural livelihoods and identities dependent on deciduous forested woodlands and hilly upland topography, as with southern Missouri and western Arkansas.(3) The western two-thirds of the state align with the Great Plains cultural region (Midwest, if you will) by way of the agricultural economy, cattle ranching, pig-farming, monoculture crops, accents, infrastructure, reliance on long stretches of open highway, and identities similar to, say, Kansas City.

Beyond that, some living in the panhandle identify as “Western” or “Southwestern.” Meanwhile some in McCurtain County go as far as to identify as part of the “Deep South,” where the Red River flows south of the Ouachita Mountains. But these 2 corners aren’t as well-established culturally as the aforementioned 3 regions.

I agree that much of the western two-thirds of the state - if it had to be categorized in a cultural region - aligns most with a “Great Plains” (essentially Midwestern) cultural region. However, Oklahoma east of Tulsa is heavily influenced by the Ozarks, a folk culture firmly rooted in the Upland South cultural region.

By the metric of urban economies, commuter travel, and cash exchange, here is how Oklahoma City and Tulsa align with the Texas cultural region (in a map of the “11 Emerging Urban Megaregions,” created by Regional Plan Association):

Here’s my map of an overly-specific 32 cultural regions of the US at a scale that would be analogous to a “Level III” scale as used in the US EPA’s ecoregion maps:

In this map, I want to point-out that the region I’m referring to “Llano Estacado (West Texas Plains)” - the region covering most of Oklahoma - is not meant to be interpreted as a specifically Texan culture. Instead, it is meant to be more reflective of the High Plains, a vaguely Great Plains-ish region, like a transition zone between the Midwest and West Texas. Also note how he darker brown color denoting the Texas Triangle is not solid and is instead cross-hatched as it extends into Oklahoma City, to show that urban Oklahoma is similar to Texas, but not firmly a part of Texan culture. (And yes, I know this map sucks, and some people will hate it, but it’s not meant to be definitive; I have a very long document describing how the regions were categorized if people are interested in exploring the subject further.)

Here’s a map that combines the “11 Emerging Urban Megaregions” by Regional Plan Association from above, with the boundaries of “the 7 American nations” as described by Joel Kotkin, in a map created by Clare Trainor:

So, this map has really generalized the distinctions between regions. I definitely think that Texas is unique enough to be its own cultural region if we were to be more specific. But, at this general level, it does make sense that Dallas and the Texas Triangle are depicted as related to Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Wichita and Kansas City. This makes sense, because the Dallas Metroplex is one of the Top 7 most populous urban areas in the whole country, and has an astonishing GDP partially because it is the US’s center of interstate freight; transportation generally; cattle and beef industries; and, interestingly, snack/junk food corporations like Frito-Lay, Dave & Buster’s, and Pizza Hut. These are all industries that rely on the corridor from Dallas, through Oklahoma and Kansas, to Chicago; as if the Great Plains present a wind-swept and desolate environmental barrier to be crossed by freight; it is a place without the dense development of the rest of the country, so it is industries like cattle and shipping which are particularly well-suited for the Plains.

To demonstrate both Oklahoma’s relationship with Texas and eastern Oklahoma’s alignment with the Upland South, here’s a map of religious group distribution in the US (source is included in the infographic):

Among demographers, the moniker “Bible Belt” is given to those regions dominated by the Southern Baptist church. Notice that Oklahoma is separated not just from nearby Kansas but also from the rest of the Great Plains and Midwest.

So, ultimately, my view of general cultural regions would distinguish 16 regions, and looks something like this:

Note that Oklahoma sits at the transition zone between Texas and the Great Plains, though eastern Oklahoma is more easily identifiable as Upland South. (And yes, I know people will hate this map; it’s not meant to be definitive. There are regions that will always be ambiguously aligned with more than one region, like Buffalo and western New York; St. Louis; Raleigh and Charlotte; eastern Montana; Oklahoma; the Pacific coast between Santa Rosa and Roseburg; northern Florida; and western Pennsylvania.)

–

XXX

Anyway. I think anyone interested in American cultural regions would enjoy reading what native-Oklahoman author Russell Cobb has to say about Oklahoma’s cultural identity.

Some of the best excerpts:

Where is Oklahoma?(…) There it is, you would say, in the mid-south-central portion of the continental United States. But where is it culturally? Is it part of The South? The U.S. Census Bureau says so. Generations of venerable southern historians, such as C. Vann Woodward, have said so.(…)I was quickly shot down by the sister of a very good friend, who happens to live in Birmingham. “Oklahoma is not the South, Russ,” she said. “It’s the Midwest.” Another friend in Georgia sprung to my defense. “I’ve lived in the Deep South and Chicago. Oklahoma is definitely more Southern than Midwestern. Still, it’s not quite the South either.”

A good friend who considers a trip to Dallas to be a visit to a foreign country tried to argue that Oklahoma was its own region, that it shouldn’t be lumped together with any other state, especially not Texas. But this seemed strange, too, because there are some affinities between Texas and Oklahoma.

I also assumed that anyone not from a city spoke with an Oklahoma accent, which traces its genealogy back to Appalachia—a variation on the Southern accent. (…) A 2004 study of national speech patterns boiled American dialects down to six major groupings. Northeastern Oklahoma and southern Missouri are the northwestern limits of the southern accent. (…) Even if we Okies have a sort of Southern accent, though, that doesn’t make us Southerners. The Census Bureau may designate Oklahoma as the South, but what explains the visceral reaction of Georgians and Alabamans when an Okie claims to be from Dixie?

There was a time in the not-too-distant past when Oklahoma politicians made a deliberate effort to make the state part of the “Solid South,” a peculiar institution that guaranteed the one-party rule of the Democratic Party. The heyday of the “Solid South” lasted from the end of Reconstruction until the end of World War II. The strategy was all about, of course, disenfranchising black voters and wielding monolithic political control over state politics. Danney Goble, the recently deceased Oklahoma historian, explains it this way in the Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History and Culture:

“The fact that much of the future state was settled by immigrating southerners had great influence on Oklahoma’s later politics. Its unwieldy constitution, its distrust of concentrated corporate and political power, its steady run-ins with federal authority, even its susceptibility to political corruption–all of these were qualities that the Sooner State shared with states of the Old Confederacy (…)”

The geographer Wilbur Zelinsky—one of the inventors of modern cultural geography��attempted to understand regional identity in the “vernacular.” Zelinsky wanted to understand how everyday folks defined themselves in terms of regional identity. Sorting through thousands of place names in hundreds of cities, he compiled a series of maps that showed how people identified their regions. Some of the regions were predictable. (…)

But, looking at Zelinksy’s maps today, it is Oklahoma that shows the biggest regional confusion. (…)

He noted that some places, like western Pennsylvania, were kind of stuck between Northeastern and Midwestern, but it was Oklahoma that had the greatest amount of regional identities. Five of the twelve vernacular identities that Zelinsky came up with converged on Oklahoma. For phone books in the very southeastern part of the state, Oklahoma was southern. In the panhandle, it was the “West.” Along the Kansas border, it was the Midwest. From Oklahoma City to the west, it was the “southwest.” (…)

Finally, in moments of brutal honesty, Okies will admit that their state is a variation of Texas. This is a painful admission, to be sure. “The whole state is like a suburb of Dallas,” a fellow Tulsan told a Canadian friend. “It’s Texas-light,” someone wrote during my interminable Facebook conversation. Politically, culturally and religiously speaking, there’s a good case to be made for this assertion. Texans and Oklahomans share the same affinity for hard-right, red-meat conservative politics, and they have large populations of Southern Baptists. Western Swing is a purely Texas-Oklahoma creation of Bob Wills, who belongs to both states. The accent is pretty much the same, although a bit stronger in Texas. There’s the big role oil companies play in the states’ economies. And, of course, there’s football. Both states are football crazed, but therein lies a complication: there is no greater sports hatred than that between the Sooners and the Longhorns.

I’ve tried to deconstruct the annual hatefest that is the OU-Texas game for my wife, a native Californian, who, before meeting me, had never watched a college football game. Part of what makes the game exciting, I told her, is that it’s played on a neutral site. So it’s not in Texas or Oklahoma, she wondered? Well, it’s in Dallas, I said. The idea that Dallas was somehow neutral seemed ludicrous, and, indeed, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like Oklahomans had been bamboozled.

So, where is Oklahoma? It is in America’s Heart, someone said. Well, not quite, I rebutted. If you compare the map of the continental U.S. to the human body, you would have to conclude that Oklahoma is America’s pancreas. It’s in the mid-south-central of the body, and, although it doesn’t have the poetic resonance of the heart, it serves an important function. It breaks down proteins, carbs and fats. The pancreas is often overlooked until something terrible happens there, like a cancer—or the bombing of a federal building. But there it is, right there in the middle of everything, trying to make sense of all the substances coming through the system.

–

Again, cultural regions are always open to interpretation and debate. I am not trying to officially decree Oklahoma’s sole cultural identity!

I’m just happy to discuss aspects of cultural identity, especially in a place like the US. Especially because the US - by nature of being full of millions of immigrants and colonists from diverse cultures - doesn’t really maintain a singular popular mythology or heritage. Like, the most central aspects of American culture shared by everyone regardless of culture-of-origin are things that were artificially constructed to enforce a national identity - things like Christmas, football season, McDonald’s. These didn’t spring naturally. However, local regional cultural identities - like Upland South, or Great Plains - have a lot more grounding in local ecosystems and lifestyles, and so they create some genuinely substantial and unique local cultures.

I’m very sorry for rambling. Honestly. I can’t help it. I’m glad this kind of discussion can happen on Tumblr.

Thanks again for the feedback!

[reading-writing-revolution]

"Our ability to convert hope and inspiration into action and change must not be wasted or kept to a candidate or campaign lest it dissipate and be rendered unusable at the most challenging time in our country’s history...I feel responsible to you, to our country, to my kids and to my conscience to make sure that we continue to find a way to respond to the urgency that we still feel. It didn’t go away Tuesday night." Beto O'Rourke, Email update, 11/11/18

Full Text.

Jan,

Amy is watching Last of the Mohicans in the other room with the kids. We started it last night after Ulysses’ basketball game. Pizza, carrots, Mohicans and then early to bed.

This morning, before everyone got up, I went on a run with Artemis and then made breakfast. Scones, German pancakes, bacon, eggs, and some bread that Jim and Christine brought by last night with butter and jam on it. Some coffee from beans that a friend in Austin sent to us last week. It’s not Whataburger, but...

After breakfast, we went on a hike in the Franklins with friends and dogs. Glorious morning in El Paso, crisp and clear, you can see for miles at the top of Crazy Cat.

Listening to the war cries and shots firing from the TV speaker in the other room, I’m smiling because we are all together again. Doing something -- just hanging out, just being around, just being -- that I haven’t done in almost two years.

Been to all the kids’ games over the last few days, made dinners at home, seen some friends and got to be outside, on the mountain and down at the river with Artemis.

I can hear Amy yelling in the other room “Don’t watch this part! Don’t watch it!”

And Henry saying “I’m watching it!” and laughing.

Already miss the road. Miss our team and the volunteers we’d see in every city, every town. Miss the energy and smiles and joy that I found all over Texas. Miss the purpose, the goal. Miss being part of something so much bigger than me or my life. Organized for a common cause and end. We were all together, really together. Never felt anything like that.

While there is loss, I also feel intense gratitude, waves of it every day. How was I so lucky to be part of something so amazing?

I can close my eyes and see so many faces and smiles. Hear the laughing and the cheering. I can see us hopeful and connecting as we shook one another’s hand, looking at each other and nodding, knowing. All the stories that have been shared with me, all part of me. Every gift and kindness, every word of encouragement. Every bit of faith in what we had set ourselves to.

We were doing this for one another, doing this the right way, doing this for our country at what we all know to be a defining moment of truth.

The loss is bitter, and I don’t know that I’ve been able to fully understand it. I try not to ask what I could have done differently because I don’t know that there is an end to those questions or thoughts. There are a million different decisions I could have made, paths I could have taken, things I could have said or not said, said better or differently. I did my best, everyone did. For our democracy to work, for us to be able to continue to work together, it’s important to be at peace with the outcome.

But what remains is this: I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have had the chance to do this with you. To bring power and joy to politics. People instead of PACs. Communities instead of corporations. Polls and consultants left to the wind and hopefully to the past. To have the confidence to move with the courage of our convictions. To open our hearts to one another. To not allow our differences (of party, of geography, of race or anything else) to divide us. To not know how it would end but to know that we had to give it everything.

I don’t know how to fully make sense of what remains or to measure the impact we’ve had.

Certainly, we changed something in Texas and in our politics. At the very least our campaign reflected a change already underway in Texas that hadn’t yet been seen in statewide campaigns.

Future campaigns will be won, influenced by the one we built. Candidates will run who otherwise wouldn’t have. Some will take heart in knowing that you don’t have to accept PAC money, you don’t have to hire a pollster to know how you think or what you want to say. They will have seen in our campaign that there is real joy and power in being with people, all people. Republicans, Democrats, Independents. People who’ve never voted and never will. People who will vote for you, people who won’t. People who live in the forgotten neighborhoods of the biggest cities. People who live in small towns that no Senate candidate has been to in 70 years.

I am grateful that you gave me a chance to be part of this. I feel responsible to you, to our country, to my kids and to my conscience to make sure that we continue to find a way to respond to the urgency that we still feel. It didn’t go away Tuesday night. Our ability to convert hope and inspiration into action and change must not be wasted or kept to a candidate or campaign lest it dissipate and be rendered unusable at the most challenging time in our country’s history.

Just know that I want to be part of the best way forward for this country -- whatever way I can help in whatever form that takes. Know that I am honored to have run this campaign with you and that I want to continue to honor and be honest to what was powerful about it.

For the time being, I am going to focus on being a better dad to our kids who have not had much of one for the last 22 months.

Movie is over. Now going to Molly’s basketball game and then we’ll see what’s next.

Grateful to you for being a part of this, for giving me a chance to be a part of this.

See you down the road,

Beto

[jalondna]

Grateful by Beto O’Rourke

Amy is watching Last of the Mohicans in the other room with the kids. We started it last night after Ulysses’ basketball game. Pizza, carrots, Mohicans and then early to bed.

This morning, before everyone got up, I went on a run with Artemis and then made breakfast. Scones, German pancakes, bacon, eggs, and some bread that Jim and Christine brought by last night with butter and jam on it. Some coffee from beans that a friend in Austin sent to us last week. It’s not Whataburger, but...

After breakfast, we went on a hike in the Franklins with friends and dogs. Glorious morning in El Paso, crisp and clear, you can see for miles at the top of Crazy Cat.

Listening to the war cries and shots firing from the TV speaker in the other room, I’m smiling because we are all together again. Doing something -- just hanging out, just being around, just being -- that I haven’t done in almost two years.

Been to all the kids’ games over the last few days, made dinners at home, seen some friends and got to be outside, on the mountain and down at the river with Artemis.

I can hear Amy yelling in the other room “Don’t watch this part! Don’t watch it!”

And Henry saying “I’m watching it!” and laughing.

Already miss the road. Miss our team and the volunteers we’d see in every city, every town. Miss the energy and smiles and joy that I found all over Texas. Miss the purpose, the goal. Miss being part of something so much bigger than me or my life. Organized for a common cause and end. We were all together, really together. Never felt anything like that.

While there is loss, I also feel intense gratitude, waves of it every day. How was I so lucky to be part of something so amazing?

I can close my eyes and see so many faces and smiles. Hear the laughing and the cheering. I can see us hopeful and connecting as we shook one another’s hand, looking at each other and nodding, knowing. All the stories that have been shared with me, all part of me. Every gift and kindness, every word of encouragement. Every bit of faith in what we had set ourselves to.

We were doing this for one another, doing this the right way, doing this for our country at what we all know to be a defining moment of truth.

The loss is bitter, and I don’t know that I’ve been able to fully understand it. I try not to ask what I could have done differently because I don’t know that there is an end to those questions or thoughts. There are a million different decisions I could have made, paths I could have taken, things I could have said or not said, said better or differently.  I did my best, everyone did. For our democracy to work, for us to be able to continue to work together, it’s important to be at peace with the outcome.

But what remains is this: I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have had the chance to do this with you. To bring power and joy to politics. People instead of PACs. Communities instead of corporations. Polls and consultants left to the wind and hopefully to the past. To have the confidence to move with the courage of our convictions. To open our hearts to one another. To not allow our differences (of party, of geography, of race or anything else) to divide us. To not know how it would end but to know that we had to give it everything.

I don’t know how to fully make sense of what remains or to measure the impact we’ve had.

Certainly, we changed something in Texas and in our politics. At the very least our campaign reflected a change already underway in Texas that hadn’t yet been seen in statewide campaigns.

Future campaigns will be won, influenced by the one we built. Candidates will run who otherwise wouldn’t have. Some will take heart in knowing that you don’t have to accept PAC money, you don’t have to hire a pollster to know how you think or what you want to say. They will have seen in our campaign that there is real joy and power in being with people, all people. Republicans, Democrats, Independents. People who’ve never voted and never will. People who will vote for you, people who won’t. People who live in the forgotten neighborhoods of the biggest cities. People who live in small towns that no Senate candidate has been to in 70 years.

I am grateful that you gave me a chance to be part of this. I feel responsible to you, to our country, to my kids and to my conscience to make sure that we continue to find a way to respond to the urgency that we still feel. It didn’t go away Tuesday night. Our ability to convert hope and inspiration into action and change must not be wasted or kept to a candidate or campaign lest it dissipate and be rendered unusable at the most challenging time in our country’s history.

Just know that I want to be part of the best way forward for this country -- whatever way I can help in whatever form that takes. Know that I am honored to have run this campaign with you and that I want to continue to honor and be honest to what was powerful about it.

For the time being, I am going to focus on being a better dad to our kids who have not had much of one for the last 22 months.

Movie is over. Now going to Molly’s basketball game and then we’ll see what’s next.

Grateful to you for being a part of this, for giving me a chance to be a part of this.

See you down the road,

Beto

[foodnearme3]

burgers el paso

Is there a wood consumption pizza oven or simply do you plan to acquire or build 1? Here are some tips which can go a long way to generate your experience by it a great one on every occasion. food el paso

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To make sure that you will get the best out of your cooktop each time, here are some points you can follow:

one The first is more to a recommendation and not a legitimate tip. You must earliest check with your insurance policies to know how they experience having outdoor hardwood burning pizza stoves on the property. This could not seem like an issue, especially if you have obtained proper precaution, but they also could increase ones own homeowner’s premiums due to the fact of it.

2 . The moment constructing it, steer clear of putting it according to overhanging tree companies. In dry intervals, it’s a fire risk. If a tree transpires to grow over the application over the years, make sure to usually trim it.

Always start a fire using kindling and not any kind of accelerant. They leave your smell behind that could end up on your garlic bread or whatever else anyone bake in there.

You need to investigate the top kind of wood that your choice of can get to use for the pizza oven. There are numerous kinds of wood which can be too smoky and you will probably have a problem even buying near the oven. One can find others whose cigarette smoke is so pungent that going barefoot will leave a good taste that’s not so great on your food. A lot of stores will store the right kind of fire wood, so go to a stash near you and find out whenever they have it. If you recognise a tree of which grows nearby that is definitely good, you can acquire some dry lumber from there in addition to save it meant for when you need to use this.

Wood using pizza ovens are really a good place to get little animals along with insects to hide in case you haven’t used all of them in a long time. Problems stayed for greater month without lamps a fire there, make sure that you check initial - there could be animals and things covering away there. You can actually smoke them out and about by lighting a little bit of fire and allowing them to escape back to at which they came from. Subsequently, clean it designed for dead bugs.

Give your wooden burning oven period to heat up before you start to utilise it, and this takes even 4 days depending on the wood you select and the kind of fabric it’s made of. Get started in your fire and next go back and start to earn your food preparations making sure that by the time that you are done, your chicken wings oven is awesome.

It’s not very important to do this, but hardwood burning pizza ranges give a lot of heat up once they are upon and for a long time. The country’s time to come out by using anything that you think you should bake in there. Emerge your veggies, create little patties for ones kids for tomorrow’s lunch or whatever you decide and can think of, however , its not valuable to light a person’s wood burning lasagna oven and then help make just a pizza.

Needless to say you’ll discover more and more about precisely how to make your fire wood burning pizza furnace work better for you the more often you use it, thus get going!

An El Paso favorite, Union Draft House is a locally owned draft house, a large space with plenty of room to watch the game, 100 beers on tap and delicious food. Two pool tables, shuffle board, three dart boards and outdoor seating

References Food https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Food