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memeadonna · 3 years ago

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Class 1-A Cooking Headcanons

How The students of Class 1-A behave in the kitchen. Are they on par with Gordon Ramsay? Can they boil an egg correctly? Both? Neither? Find out!

Aka I just really like domestic headcannons, okay?

Aoyama Yuuga

See, Aoyama boasts about how he’s an amazing cook

He’s French, he’s got a reputation to uphold!

But he is useless in the kitchen

Whenever it’s his turn to cook, he goes down to a French bakery just far enough away from the school that people won’t likely go there, and buys food

He will then put whatever he got into the oven or on the stove and tell everyone he made it

The kitchen smells amazing, why would anybody doubt him?

Nobody questions the fantastic soups he serves, or the perfect croissants

The one thing he can do, however, is assemble a mean charcuterie board

He always knows what goes with what

He also knows the best wine pairings for his cheese, but Momo insists they make a tea pairing instead

He is a frequent guest at her tea times with Satou

2/10 he’s cheating

Ashido Mina

Mina is an athlete, and as such eats really healthy

In fact, her favourite foods are Okra and Natto

She’s great at cooking delicious healthy foods and making them taste good

Typically, her cooking is heavy on protein, and she likes cooking with tofu or chicken

She can do very simple baking, and has quite the sweet tooth

She and Satou sometimes make hard candy together, and have a lot of fun

She is very messy when she cooks, and usually walks away without cleaning the kitchen

8/10 for being a healthy queen, and a +1 for being amazing, but -2 for leaving the kitchen a mess

Asui Tsuyu

She is canonically an amazing cook, because of her younger siblings

She is used to hiding veggies in food, and knows how to make even the least appetizing foods seem gourmet

She’s very quick when she cooks, and typically likes to have less-experienced cooks working alongside her so she can a) use it as a time to socialize, and b) help teach her classmates important life skills

She’s very motherly as she cooks, and gentle as she corrects mistakes

If she has to remake something because of someone else’s screw-up, she does so with a smile and uses it as a teaching moment

She and the girls (along with Sero and Kaminari) have a day where they get together after class and make cute little bento snacks for everyone to take to class/internships along with notes covered in motivational quotes

8/10 she’d be fun to cook with

Iida Tenya

This man has been focused on the correct way of being a hero

And he wanted to make his quirk as strong as possible

Aside from his favourite, beef stew, and a few other kitchen staples, the only dishes he knows how to cook have orange in them somehow

His quirk is powered by oranges, he needs as much juice as he can get!

From morning smoothies to delicious salads to meats flavoured with orange, Tenya takes pride in his cooking

The problem is the rest of the class gets sick after their third day of orange-themed meals

But Uraraka found a bin of them on sale so they can all suck it up

If it’s not one of the above staples, or has no orange, Iida can’t make it

He will somehow burn it or otherwise ruin it

Poor bean

7/10 orange you glad I didn’t give him lower?

Uraraka Ochako

Uraraka is the person who can stare into an empty fridge and pull out a three course meal

She knows how to use spices to make even budget foods taste amazing

She’s always put on grocery duty because she can sniff out bargains like a bloodhound

She’s so good at couponing that the store often owes her money when she’s done

She also knows what it’s like to have literally 0 leftover money, so she is also used to having nothing

Lunch at UA is free, which gave her 6 meals a week she could count on

For the other 15, she could survive entirely on one item from the grocery store, like peanut butter or instant noodles

The class does not let her cook when she’s in her second mode, lest they be served a single spoonful of peanut butter for dinner

8/10 for being wholesome, 4/10 for nutritional value please eat full meals!

Ojirou Masahiro

The most average cook

Everything he makes is passable

It’s not amazing, but it’s also not inedible

He often follows recipes

Gets a little obsessive with the ingredients of the recipe

Cooks slowly because he wants to do everything right

Typically he and Hagakure cook together

5/10 for an average cook

Kaminari Denki

He was pre-emptively banned from the kitchen because everyone was worried he would short out all of the appliances

Nobody thinks he can cook but is actually a chef that could give Bakugou a run for his money

Once came out of the kitchen holding his “masterpiece” which was a triple decker pb and j that he’d stuck into the class’s panini press, ruining it (Momo made a new one and Aizawa never found out)

He cooks almost exclusively at 3 am and cleans the kitchen so well nobody knows that he was ever there

Likes cooking western food like grilled cheese, burgers, and mac and cheese, but when he’s in the mood, he can cook up a mean traditional meal

He likes fusion cuisine, and he likes changing what he cooks up regularly so he’s never bored

The person who finds him cooking so late is either someone who wouldn’t care, like Todoroki or Deku, or someone nobody would ever believe, like Mina or Mineta

Sero knows too, but hasn’t ratted him out because Kaminari’s food is amazing when he has the munchies

11/10 for midnight shenanigans

Kirishima Eijirou

Kirishima cannot cook to save his life

Everything is always over seasoned and extreme, and he often burns things

That is, unless he’s barbecuing

He and Tetsutetsu both barbecue together, and they consider it super manly

He can do any style of barbecue: Korean, American, Australian, Mongolian, you name it!

He can also make pretty much any type of dish (he usually gets help from his buddy Bakugou with the prep cooking if it’s involved)

He also loves cooking over a campfire because he thinks that is also super manly

He and Tetsutetsu hype one another up before they grill

Once a week Classes A and B get together for a big BBQ meal, with Kendou and Bakugou helping with the cooking (Kendou is the only one from Class B who cooks, as the class’s big sister)

Most of what he cooks has lots of meat in it, but he always makes sure to grill something plant-based for Koda, the class’s only vegetarian/vegan

9/10 for manly grilling, +1 for caring about dietary restrictions, +4 for being my husband

Koda Koji

Koda is vegetarian/vegan

He doesn’t eat meat at all, and when he’s going to consume animal products, he makes sure to get the animal’s consent first (fun fact: this is why some people consider breast milk to be vegan, because the woman producing it can give consent for it to be consumed!)

Due to his quirk, he’s allowed to keep animals on the school’s premises, and because of this has access to lots of resources for cooking

He’s got a coop of chickens that lay eggs, a cow that produces milk, and he also has a small garden that he maintains to grow fresh vegetables to feed them with

Ibara helps him maintain it, and absolutely adores playing with his animals, though she’d never admit that

Whoever is cooking will usually make a portion of food without meat for Koda, but he’s equally happy to make it for himself

He’s often in the kitchen baking treats for his animals (which Kaminari usually steals a few of and eats, even if he finds them gross)

11/10 please protect this precious angel

Satou Rikidou

He’s amazing at making anything sweet

He usually transforms savoury dishes into sweet ones by adding ingredients like maple syrup and lots of fruits

His meals are always calorie bombs, and he typically bakes a cake or some other treat if it’s someone’s birthday

He bakes something every day, and he’s more than happy to share, or teach someone how to bake a special treat, he doesn’t mind the company!

He and Momo have tea dates every day, and he provides the snacks!

She tells him what tea they’ll have in advance so he can pair with it, or she’ll make a pairing if he baked his treat first

Kaminari once convinced him he wanted to bake cupcakes for Jirou with him, but Satou ended up doing all the work while Kaminari iced them with backwards treble clefs

Bakes sweets for classmates to cheer them up on hard days

As Koda is one of his best friends, he often has something vegan for him to enjoy on hand. He also often bakes with the ingredients that Koda’s animals produce (another fun fact: salmonella is non-existent in japan, so you can eat raw eggs!)

10/10 please share your delicious baked goods with me

Shouji Mezou

He cannot cook anything on his own, but he is amazing at following directions and recipes

Many hands make for light work, so he’s the fastest cook in the class

He is also usually on duty for larger meals

He’s great at tasting and telling you when a dish is missing something, but not great at knowing what exactly that something is

He’s the best sous chef, and really enjoys cooking as he finds it relaxing

He especially likes doing the prep work, and will often volunteer to help chop veggies or prepare meats even when he’s not supposed to be on dinner rotation.

Please give this boy a hug and tell him he did a good job, he needs more love

10/10 for being the best sous chef, +1 for being a big sweetheart

Kyouka Jirou

Jirou is not interested in cooking

She never has been

She likes to participate in the bento nights purely so she can eat snacks and hang out with her friends

She’s usually practicing one of her instruments as everyone else makes the bentos

She and Momo are usually paired together for dinner duty

And the two of them usually just get the class takeout

3/10 cannot cook and doesn’t want to learn, +5 for being best girl

Sero Hanta

Sero likes to cook exotic foods from all over the world

He has a very adventurous palate, and (Latino Sero rights) he often cooks fusion foods marrying both his Latino and Japanese roots into delicious dishes

He’s the kind of person who will try any food once, and he and Kaminari like to dare one another to eat weird foods

Kirishima is in on it, and will sometimes ask Fatgum for recommendations of weird foods they can enjoy together

Sero also sometimes has Momo make kitchen appliances or utensils solely so he can make one, uber-specific food that he is craving

No, Momo, a tajine is necessary to cook this you don’t understand it’ll be delicious

And he’s right, it’s always delicious

When he’s cooking dinner everyone is excited

11/10 for being adventurous and creative +1 because of his smile

Tokoyami Fumikage

Tokoyami cannot cook to save his life

Dark Shadow, however, can

They bustle around the kitchen together, and typically Dark Shadow gets excited when the shopping team find apples at the store, because that means they can make a dish with them (provided Uraraka lets them buy a few, that is)

Dark Shadow makes a killer apple pie, and will typically order Tokoyami around to help with the prep cooking as they sniff around the kitchen and taste what’s cooking

Shouji and Tokoyami typically cook together, as Shouji is one of the few people who can keep up with the entity’s eager orders

4/10 for Tokoyami, 9/10 for Dark Shadow

Todoroki Shouto

He bonded with Fuyumi by learning how to cook

She’d come to the dorms with a visitor’s pass every Sunday, or he’d go home when his father wasn’t around

She liked to teach him recipes that their mother showed her how to make

Most of what he knows how to make is very traditional Japanese cooking

He’s not very good at seasoning, so he will often cook alongside someone who can taste the dish and tell him “add a little of x”

This person is usually Sero, who keeps encouraging him to expand his culinary horizons

Todoroki will not learn new recipes unless forcibly taught, and is fine with eating the same thing for weeks on end

5/10 for a half-good, half-bad rating

Hagakure Tooru

Hagakure is an absolute terror in the kitchen

People will freak out when they see a floating knife or ingredient, or when they hear cabinets open and close at random (even if she is wearing clothes, which is apparently a rule in the common areas)

The person she is cooking with inevitably bumps into or trips over her, and something always goes awry

The exception to this is Ojirou

He manages to avoid her, and they’re usually in sync with what they want to do

She’s able to elevate his dishes from meh to wow, and absolutely loves to plate the dishes

She tries to make them as cute as possible

When she’s participating in bento night, she’s usually the one with the nicest bento at the end

5/10 when cooking alone or with anyone in class A that has no tail, adds +3 to both herself and Ojirou when they cook together

Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou learned to cook from his parents

Both Bakugous enjoy cooking, although Mitsuki has a more… shall we say… Gordon Ramsay-esque approach to cooking

She wants everything to be perfect

Anything less and the dish is “inedible” (side note, also like Gordon, she’s never rude to servers, as she knows that it’s not their fault if the kitchen didn’t get the food right)

Bakugou approaches the kitchen like a professional chef

He cleans as he cooks, and always makes sure that his prep is done before he’s moving on to cooking the actual food

He likes things spicy, but usually makes a more “Mild” (Iida got mad when he used the word “Pussy”) version of whatever he spices up

He once refused to admit anything was wrong after Kirishima had knocked an entire bottle of chipotle chili powder into a pot of curry, and ate the entire thing himself, dying the whole time

He’s clear with orders as he directs whoever is cooking at his side, but he will call them useless and ban them from the kitchen if they mess something up

He demands perfection and he will get perfection

10/10 best cook in the class, -2 for being a brat

Midoriya Izuku

Can make a few dishes very well and that’s it

His mom taught him to make all of them and he makes them the exact same way every time

They are all traditional Japanese dishes, and he will go out and buy ingredients if he does not have them

He is incapable of making substitutions at all

Constantly checks recipes

Cleans as he goes so there is little mess afterwards

6/10 with a +1 bonus point for being a sweet lil momma’s boy

Mineta Minorou

Learned to cook purely because he heard ladies like a man who is good in the kitchen

He usually cooks with Shouji or Iida, someone who will be very watchful incase he tries anything

Usually the “trying” comes from Kaminari trying to sneak one of his balls into the food somehow

He likes to use traditionally “romantic” ingredients like wine and chocolate in his cooking

Aoyama usually gives him cheese recommendations to pair with his dinners

He makes some mean Japanese street food when he has the chance, something he learned purely because he heard that Mt. Lady liked Takoyaki

If he ends up having a crush on someone, he learns to cook their favourite foods to try and woo them

8/10 in the kitchen, -4/10 for being a waste of a character that could have been handled so much better

Yaoyarozu Momo

Momo knows how to make exactly one thing: tea

She is an expert on pairing foods with tea, but isn’t very handy in the kitchen

She and Satou meet for tea dates every day, so he’s teaching her how to cook

She’s not very good, but tries very hard

Sometimes will buy fancy baked goods and bring them for the class

She does not correct people if they assume she baked them herself

4/10 because while she is cheating, she is learning

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destinygoldenstar · 3 years ago

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Cynical Analyzer Review DPPC Episode 2 Golden

Sorry I'm late, I was on a date with two people, and then my computer broke down

Anyway, Delicious Party episode 2:

This will be quick.

We got some decently handled world building here. We still don't know why the phantoms want to take over cooking... probably to fire Gordon Ramsay or something.

Also, I didn't mention Rosemary's necklace broke before because I didn't feel like it, but now I guess his powers are gone and Yui has them.

But I do like the Rosemary characterization here in this episode. Him being in a more vulnerable state like this and rightfully wanting to push away Yui makes sense. I wasn't a big fan of him in the first episode, but now I am starting to warm up to him with stuff like this.

Also he references Heartcatch at one point.

What? You expected me to say something cynical like 'your heart will be caught in a lawsuit' or something?

I don't know exactly where they're going with these Yui flashbacks yet. All they've really shown so far is of her being nice, and... liking food.

I'm THEORIZING that it might be build up to some sort of gut punch later down the line. Like, we get all these cute flashbacks with Yui and her grandmother, but in the present no one talks about her for some reason...

Yeah, her grandmother isn't around anymore.

I COULD be wrong. If I am, I'm wrong. But that's where I think they're going with this.

I like that Rosemary tries to push a little girl away, even if she wants to help. He's a MILITARY CAPTAIN. You understand where he's coming from, and ABSOLUTELY NO ONE NEEDS TO BLATNTLY SPELL IT OUT BECAUSE THAT WOULD FEEL LIKE A SLAP TO THE FACE AND I ABSOLUTLY WOULD NOT LIKE THAT

That said, I LOVE this fight of the week, and how well Precious and Rosemary work together. It's nice, and I don't even think Rosemary is ready to let Yui off on her own yet. Kind of interested in what development they have for him.

Okay, now for my biggest bone with this season so far:

The narrator.

I DO NOT LIKE THIS NARRATOR.

I'm sorry, but this narrator is just EXTREMELY distracting for me. Especially in this episode, where this narrator just has to blatantly describe what is happening in scenes where no one is talking! I mean, seriously? Who cares about dialogue?! SHOW DON'T TELL.

It's distracting, and it RUINS some visually beautiful scenes for me, like Yui finding Rosemary's letter, and Rosemary by the mirror. Not even joking. I watched the episode AGAIN but MUTED the volume in those moments, and it was 100 times better!

I REALLY hope I don't want to do that for this entire season!

Or maybe it's just because I don't like narrators in general, unless the narrator feels like an actual character. Like with Ever After High, if anyone knows that show.

That's really my only big problem with this episode. Otherwise, this is solid development for Rosemary, solid world building, and kind of on Yui...? Again, I'm not sold on Yui yet, she just feels like 'the nice girl' and 'I like food' and not much else. Yet. I'm giving her a chance.

Picky Person NitPicks The Food Of The Week:

Chicken is decent, but I don't like the taste of chinese chicken specifically. So... no.

5/10, NO SOY SAUCE

#Pretty Cure #Delicious Party Pretty Cure #PreCure #delicious party precure #Cure Precious #Dppc Rosemary #Analyzer #Episode review #Cynical

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lalunely · 4 years ago

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daddy katsuki

Katsuki is naturally a workaholic. In his day offs, he still insists to be in-call and responds immediately to any reports near around his neighborhood. His partner’s not particularly fond about his habit, he sometimes forget they do have two daughters and he leaves without letting them know. That caused a minor emergency family meeting. Katsuki apologized by making them a very rare, special dinner. His daughters were really impressed of his cooking skills, his partner usually cooks for them so Katsuki didn’t really have enough chances to showcase his remarkable talents expect for being the current number two hero. And a good plumber. Not very good, he exploded the toilet two times. His eldest was not really happy as her room was next to the restroom.

For now that they’re expected to be staying at home in this time of pandemic, crime rates are unsurprisingly still present, but the police are advancing their security hundred more times and some pro heroes are taking shifts by pair to patrol each night around the city. Katsuki only has one shift every Tuesday from four in the afternoon until ten. He’s getting the hang of it, he’s spending lots of time with his family and learning more about them each day. There was one time, he was praised by his daughters (who are already grown up, how the fuck did that happen) that he’s improving and that they plenty appreciate his effort. Katsuki cannot stop smiling every time it crosses his mind.

Deku and Shouto often visits and his daughters love them so much. They always cling on to them and Katsuki threatened to kick Todoroki off the building if he give money to his daughters without him knowing ever again. Todoroki swiftly announced they’ll be having a mini party at his place for Christmas and Katsuki bellowed at him, saying that he’d rather stay at home than have his family possibly catch the virus from attending his party. His daughters didn’t really liked the tone of his voice.

That’s why now, Katsuki’s all bored after finishing God-knows how many episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in YouTube for the past week. He decided to practice the dishes he’ll make for Christmas because he’ll prove to Todoroki how much he doesn’t want to attend his mini Christmas party and get COVID-19 and also he wants him to be away from his daughters because they’re his.

Call Katsuki possessive, because he is.

It’s late afternoon, Katsuki is preparing the ingredients he ordered online the day before on the dining table. He put on a tank top he wore this morning and tied the strings of the orange apron behind his back. He silently cursed of how hideous it looks but it’s their only apron, he can worry for something else.

Katsuki puts his phone in a stand and places it in front of him. He scrolls in his notes and review the recipe again. He’s making Chocolate and Lime Mousse. Now, Katsuki never made this nor eaten this before, but he saw Gordon Ramsay made this with his daughter and thought he’ll give it a try since it looked pretty doable and his eldest daughter loves fruits and desserts.

Speaking of the devil, Katsuki heard quick and heavy footsteps down the stairs and of course he knows who it is.

“Satsuki!” Katsuki shouts, his voice echoes to the whole floor.

His eldest daughter, Satsuki (16), dressed in dolphin shorts and oversized shirt halts in her steps and turns around to the direction of the kitchen.

“Yeah, Dad?” She answers, slowly making her way to him. “Whatcha’ doin?”

Katsuki looks at her. “Practicing Christmas desserts, you wanna join me?”

“You were really serious about that.” Satsuki’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course I am. I am a man of my words.” The girl snorted. “Will you help me or not?”

“Fine, I don’t have anything to do anyway. I was going to crash in the couch anyway.”

“Fantastic. Go get the white chocolate in the fridge then.” Katsuki said, eyes back on his phone and he occasionally scans the things in front of him to make sure he got everything right and present.

Soon Katsuki is heating up double cream in a pot and Satsuki is breaking the white chocolate in pieces just like her dad told her to. It’s comfortably quiet as they work on their own. Satsuki’s humming under her breathe and shoved the last piece in her mouth, squealing in delight. She gave the bowl of chocolate to her dad who thanked her under his breathe.

“What’s your favorite chocolate? White? Milk? Dark?” Katsuki asked Satsuki who’s leaning on the counter and watched the cream simmer.

“Uhm...” She hummed. “I love milk chocolate with nuts. Only with nuts.”

“But you’re allergic with nuts.”

“I honestly don’t mind.” Satsuki looked down at her arms where scattered marks of her allergies are standing out of her pale skin. Actually, she does. It’s just that everything with nuts are delicious.

Cough.

“What’s yours then?” She asked.

Katsuki’s arm stopped, he looks up for a second then shrugs. “I like anything, but dark’s pretty good.”

Satsuki’s nose crinkled. “It’s bitter.”

“I drink expresso straight from the glass.” Katsuki snickered at her and he removes the pot from the heat and Satsuki watches him pour it in the bowl of chocolates. “Look at that.”

Satsuki switched places to have a better look. Her mouth slowly opens in awe as she watched the white chocolate melt with the piping hot cream. Katsuki glances at her and he smirks, putting the pot away in the sink. He caught Satsuki dipping her finger in the bowl and licks the chocolate happily.

“Oi! No fingers!” Katsuki snarls, making his daughter laugh. “Don’t put that finger again or else, Satsuki.”

“Gods, it was just a bit. You’re overreacting.” Satsuki snorts at him and Katsuki gives her a daring look, before attacking her soft spots on her sides and Satsuki trips down on the floor squealing her lungs out.

Five minutes after that, Katsuki brings out a tray of eggs from the fridge.

“Now, you have to separate the white from the yolk in the eggs.” Katsuki said and he proceeds to crack one egg, sliding the yolk to the other piece and letting the white part slide down to a ceramic bowl. Satsuki does the same, and they repeated that part until they separated six yolks from the egg whites.

Katsuki fishes out a whisk and handed it to Satsuki. The girl eyed him suspiciously.

“Obviously you need to whisk it.” Katsuki said in a ‘duh’ tone and rolled his eyes.

Satsuki hesitatingly takes the whisk and shoves it in the bowl. “You’re just making me do everything here.”

“I cracked some eggs and made the mousse, excuse me.” Katsuki crossed his arms on his chest and huffed. Satsuki shakes her head. “We’re going to take turns. I’ll go after you. Thirty seconds only.”

Satsuki grunted in acknowledgement and she continues to whisk the egg whites quickly to let it foam, and she has been at it for fifteen seconds now. Satsuki momentarily pauses, rests her already sore arm and regains her breathe.

“What the hell.” She cursed under her breathe and heard Katsuki snicker behind her.

“Ten seconds left.”

Satsuki increases the speed and squealed when the bowl almost slipped out of her grip.

“You can stop, I’ll take it here.”

Satsuki sighed and thanked him then Katsuki flashed a blinding grin at her while holding an electric whisk proudly in the air.

“What the heck?! ” Satsuki screeches, Katsuki’s grin only grow wider as he plugs it in the socket and laughed out loud. “That’s cheating! How could you?!”

“How could I? I don’t know what you’re saying, darling.” Katsuki said in a teasing tone. He turned the electric whisk on, it made a loud sound and Satsuki screamed at him.

“I’m out of here, dad.” Satsuki raised her hands in dismissal, walking out of the kitchen. “It’s over.”

“Satsuki!” Katsuki calls out, he bends backward slightly and bursts out laughing again. “Get your ass back in here!”

Of course, Satsuki walks back in. Complaining.

“You can’t do that to me!” She cries. “Thirty seconds?! This fucking weakling of a whisk? And you’re using that machine?!”

“Because -”

“I was staring to feel competitive!” Satsuki cuts him off and Katsuki pressed his lips together to stifle his laugh. “My arm is limp!”

“Because it’s the best way to whip egg whites!”

“Then why didn’t you give me that in the first place?!” Satsuki falls on the floor and pouts at him. The sight made Katsuki coo and he pouts at her back playfully but ends up laughing again. Satsuki slaps his calve and Katsuki released a girly screech.

“Cheater!”

“Oi, shut up!” Katsuki’s head whips around the room. “Someone might take that the wrong way!”

“You’re a dirty player, dad.”

“Stop with that now, Satsuki. Come pour the sugar carefully in the bowl now.”

Eventually, Satsuki stands up and do what he said. Though there’s a disappointed frown on her face and Katsuki can’t help but to chuckle fondly at her. He stops the machine and placed them on the side.

He leans over and put a hand behind Satsuki’s head, pressing a kiss on her temple and Satsuki’s frown deepens. Alright, he’s starting to feel bad now.

Katsuki sighs and crouches to her height, but the girl avoided eye contact.

“Come on now, you’re that really upset, are you?” Katsuki said softly.

Satsuki doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, baby. Daddy’s sorry. Can you help daddy now? We’re almost done though. I promise I’ll give you more chocolates after this.” Katsuki pulls her in his chest and wraps his arms around her shoulder, swaying their bodies sideways. He feels her grunt on his chest and Katsuki cracked a smile.

He pulls away, crouching down again but this time Satsuki meets his eyes. Her eyes, just like his -- bright, shining rubies but hers are glassy and moist. Katsuki’s heart breaks and he pouts playfully at her while Satsuki’s lower lip trembles.

“You can forget about it and help me instead. Daddy’s gonna be nicer now.”

“Don’t call yourself that, it’s weird.” Satsuki sniffles but she waits for Katsuki to finish folding the foamed egg whites.

Katsuki smiles to himself. What a time to be fucking alive, indeed. (Ironically, the world’s in chaos.) He could never ask for anything else. He’s happy but this is a different kind of happy, you know? This is more than achieving the number one spot - this is more than just being the fucking number one hero, it is something phenomenal he’s never felt before and it’s getting better every day he realizes more of the life he has now.

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aight i might’ve binged watch all of gordon ramsay’s youtube and facebook videos in two nights straight do i need help

btw this was a quick, soft katsuki headcanon ha i just cant help thinking if katsuki’s gonna be a chef, he’s gordon ramsay u can’t tell me otherwise

hope u enjoyed :)

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #father katsuki #bnha #mha

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pippki-writes · 3 years ago

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Viral Modern-Style Wrestler in an Existential Reduction

NOTES: One of my friends got me to join an e-fed, and even though I know nearly nothing about wrestling, I do feel confident in my ability to write fairly entertaining nonsense. And I’d love to share that nonsense with you lot too!

(All characters mine except Ahmya)

(Andre’s appearance is based on Chef Gordon Ramsay. I’m so sorry Chef Ramsay. Here’s your alternate French-American life)

Word Count: ~5K

Viral Modern-Style Wrestler in an Existential Reduction: A Recipe Indirectly Delivered Amongst the Weeds of a Blog Post

For liability reasons, I cannot tell you the name of the restaurant.

Pending the lawsuit, I cannot tell you the name of the wrestler either—but surely you’ve seen the clip online. You know who, and you know where it happened. But you’ve probably only seen the most popular clip, clocking in at less than half of half a minute’s worth of your attention span—millions of views and counting, quick incomprehensible shouting back and forth, and the sound, hard and hollow, of the metal meeting cranium, followed by dozens of high end patrons erupting into an undignified chorus of “OH SHIT!” before the clip cuts out.

Let me serve you the full story, because it is much more delicious than fourteen seconds of infamy.

It was a busy Friday night at one of Indianapolis’s most premiere French restaurants. The kind of place Google warns you about with an excess of dollar signs next to the name, and which requires a certain adherence to sharp attire if you and your reservation want to be united at one of the crisp white tablecloths within.

Chef Andre Poêlon was hard at work in the kitchen. At thirty years old and over three years experience at the restaurant, Andre was a skilled chef de partie specializing as a grillardin, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he moved into the sous chef position. He could fill in at any station in the kitchen and execute every dish flawlessly. Tonight, one of his primary charges was assembling the special—steak tartare.

Not only had the night been busy, but there must have been something in the water, or perhaps the rotation of the moon, that had drawn an unusual breed of difficult clientele out of the woodworks of the city and into the finely appointed chairs of the restaurant where Andre worked. Early in the night, Andre had nearly come out of the kitchen when a stuffy middle-aged woman had been insisting the French onion soup was nothing like how it ought to be made, and how—mon dieu—the Cheesecake Factory made it so much better. The waiter made the mistake of commenting that he didn’t think the Cheesecake Factory even had French onion soup—exactly the wrong sort of thing to utter in the presence of a gauche, nouveau-riche Karen of her ilk.

“ExCUSE m—“

“Perhaps madame would like a different soup? Or no soup entirely? It is no trouble,” the waiter interjected smoothly, realizing his mistake. Just because the customer is less right than a hard left turn, it doesn’t behoove one to let them know it.

“Zut alors, what is wrong with the soup?” Andre asked the waiter as the bowl of it returned to the kitchen.

“The tastes of the woman eating it,” the waiter replied.

Once you get one like that in a night, you brace yourself for more. Idiocy travels in threes and in waves, and comparing haute cuisine to mass-produced slop always put Andre’s teeth on edge. So he was irritated, but not surprised, when later that night a plate of steak tartare came right back into the kitchen almost as soon as it had left.

The waiter set the plate back down in front of Andre, patting the sides of it delicately, amusement and irritation fighting for dominance across his face.

“What?” Andre barked, as the waiter had not yet found the words to explain why he’d brought the dish back.

“It….it is not cooked, chef.”

Andre muttered another swear, low and in French, crossing his arms. “Of course it is not cooked. That is the dish. It is not meant to be cooked.”

“Monsieur ugly angry and might I add, arrogant customer disagrees, chef.”

“You told him what the dish is? What it is supposed to be?”

“Of course.”

Andre scoffed. “Then tell him to order something else. I am not cooking this. The dish is as it should be.”

“He suggested it should be cooked. Um, I will not repeat the exact metaphor he used, but the gist was that it should be cooked until the pink is gone.”

“Non! Sacrilege! I refuse. Tell him to order something else.”

“Yes chef,” replied the waiter, battling down his grin.

Before Andre could even decide what to do with the now surplus steak tartare, the waiter was back, practically vibrating with excitement at getting to deliver news he knew chef Andre would not like.

“He wants the dry-aged filet mignon, chef. Well done. Well well done. Cooked and cooked and cooked some more, darker than dirt, not a hint of pink to it or he’ll send it back.”

“Non!” Andre untied his apron and threw it on the stainless steel prep table. “Let me speak to this man. This is impossible—are you putting ideas in his head? Horrible ideas?”

The waiter raised his palms up defensively. “I am simply telling you what he asked for.”

“Impossible,” muttered Andre, pushing up the white sleeves of his chef’s coat. Who would dare come to a restaurant like this and disrespect the entire meaning of fine dining by suggesting these things? Either the man would be reasoned with, or he would be encouraged to take his uncultured tastes elsewhere. “Take me to him.”

Andre followed the waiter to the dining room, ignoring patrons politely offering him their compliments, his focus entirely zeroed in on the muscled man (I dare not describe him further—the lawsuit, you understand) and his companion at a table across from the kitchen entrance.

“Sir,” Andre began, struggling to varnish his words with a veneer of politeness, “you cannot order this steak in this manner. It is sacrilege, utter sacrilege to cook so fine a cut of meat beyond reason.”

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t order? You got heat, don’cha? A grill? A goddamned oven? Well I got money, and I want this goddamn steak, and I want it cooked to hell and back.”

“Sir,” Andre tried again, his face coloring with anger, “you cannot possibly—“

“Are you the bastard that wouldn’t cook my goddamn steak tar-tar? What the hell are you doing serving raw hamburger meat, I mean damn! Do you even fucking know how to cook?”

“If the clown wanted a cooked hamburger steak,” snapped Andre, his voice raising, fists clenched, “he should have gone to the McDonald’s!”

“WHAT did you just call me?” the wrestler shouted, jumping up from his chair.

“Oh no, no no no,” said the waiter. Though he was quite small and wiry compared to Andre’s 6’2” frame, the waiter overcame both his delight at how horribly the situation had quickly devolved and his severe physical disadvantage to drag Andre back to the kitchen as fast as he could, before any more of a scene could take place.

Unfortunately, the wrestler chose to follow them both.

Andre stumbled in through the doors to the kitchen as the waiter turned back to the wrestler, delicately holding up both hands to ward the larger man off.

“Please sir, you can’t come in here—“

“The HELL I can’t!”

The wrestler pushed the waiter aside and went for the kitchen doors, but Andre was ready. Before the wrestler could follow in after, Andre shoved him hard with a shoulder, sending the wrestler lurching back into the dining room. Time began to stretch and narrow as Andre clocked the murderous intent in the wrestler’s eyes at being denied what he wanted. Danger prickled at every sense, and Andre looked wildly around him for anything he could use as a weapon.

There, within arm’s reach—a weighty, cast-iron skillet. Andre grabbed it and followed the wrestler back out of the kitchen. Patrons began to twist in their seats at the disturbance. The wrestler roared, lunging for Andre.

“I AM GOING TO END YOU YOU GODDAMN LITTLE—“

“ENCULE TOI SALAUD!” Andre yelled, swinging the heavy pan two handed and with all his might to hit with a heavy, resounding boom.

This is all the part you’ve already seen. Dozens of high-end, well-dressed members of the upper crust of Indianapolis practically jumping from their seats, letting loose their resounding echo of “OH SHIT” as the metal met the man, and the man met the cool hardwood planks of the restaurant floor. A one-hit knockout.

“Oh merde,” Andre breathed, praying he hadn’t killed the man, as someone screamed for someone else to call an ambulance. He clutched the skillet in wide-eyed shock at what he’d done, and didn’t hear any of the excited chatter in the dining room as the waiter pulled him back into the kitchen.

“Oh my god. People are going to love this.”

What the people of the internet love and what the owner of a high-end restaurant loves are very different things when it comes to a frying-pan wielding chef knocking out a patron.

Andre was lucky he didn’t kill the man.

Andre was lucky not to find himself under arrest, when the ambulance came with police officers in tow. Of course officers came, an assault had occurred here, and they made a jarring presence among the genteel high-class atmosphere of the restaurant, their hands resting on their holsters, the reassurance of greater, state-sanctioned violence a sufficient deterrent from anyone hoping to start anything else.

Andre was lucky the wrestler saw dollar signs on a grander scale, rather than seeking to press charges. Andre was lucky the wrestler saw anything at all, with a concussion like that. Andre hardly protested as the police questioned him, clutching his apron in his hands and moving slowly in their presence. He’d had too many run-ins with the gendarmerie in his youth—part of why his father had sent him away from the arrondissements of Paris to live with his mother in Indiana in the first place, years ago now. Less trouble dans les États Unis, surely. What did Indiana have? Corn? Surely hard to get himself in trouble in flat, empty spaces full of soybeans and corn.

Ah, if his father could see what happened now.

(He would, in time. Est-il ton fils??? the neighbors would ask, and watch Mr. Poêlon clutch his phone in horror, whispering mon dieu, Andre, non, non, pourquoi?)

But as the police questioned him, Andre said little, the waiter instead jumping to his defense with an animated and only mildly embellished retelling of events, complete with grand hand gestures that might have set the officers on edge if the waiter hadn’t been such a small and wiry lad. But even without being arrested, Andre had brought disgrace upon the restaurant. This would not do. There was no excuse to save him, and so, faster than you can swing a frying pan, he found himself out of a job.

It’s important to look like you know what you’re doing. Especially if you don’t. You can get away with a hell of a lot if you look and act like you belong. Andre certainly knew what he was doing, but anyone who looked at him for more than a minute would realize he didn’t belong. He was wearing a black polo shirt, but that wasn’t a Denny’s logo on the arm—that was a post-it note stapled on. He was wearing an apron, but it was inside out—probably to minimize the silver embroidery on the chest that, backwards or forwards, definitely did not say “Denny’s.” And what he was cooking on the flat top was so far from any part of an All-American Slam that you might not let it in the country even with a passport.

Bread, cheese, ham, cheese, bread, cheese again, and a fried egg on top—nobody asked him to make them a croque madame for breakfast, but surely someone would want it, if they just knew and tasted it then they would understand—

Andre was lost in the sauce (not literally, as he didn’t have the time or the resources immediately at hand to make the bechamel sauce that should have gone with the cheese) and completely absorbed in the act of cooking, in the thought of someone getting to enjoy what he made. He didn’t notice, didn't hear the deep voice bellow, “who the hell—what the hell is this guy doing in my kitchen?! You—you’re that chef! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

One minute Andre was tapping a spatula on the flat top, all eyes on his creation, and the next minute a very burly fry cook had snatched him bodily by the waist, hurling him away from the kitchen like a sack of bad potatoes. Before Andre could process what was happening, a pair of meaty hands grabbed him again, by his collar and the back of his belt, dragging him through the dining room, over the tiles. Now patrons were whispering, craning in their seats to get a better look.

“Doesn’t he look familiar?”

“Oh my god is that that chef?”

“The smackdown skillet?”

“Sounds tasty, think they’d add that to the menu?”

The fry cook kicked the front door open and threw Andre out onto the parking lot. It was a good thing Andre had been getting used to being thrown around, as this certainly was not the first restaurant he’d repeated this scene in, though merde, the asphalt didn’t get any more forgiving each time. Andre pushed himself off and rolled out of reach.

“Don’t let me catch you in this Denny’s again!”

Andre picked himself up and watched the fry cook go back inside. At least this one hadn’t called the police on him. Andre waited to see if his food would get thrown out the door after him.

“Hey! Ain’t you that cook?”

Andre turned to see a pretty black woman near his own age standing, watching him as she furtively ate from a to-go box at the side of the building. The reason for her discretion was apparent: from the visor around her braids, to her button-down shirt with the pink silk neckerchief tied in a bow, to her apron, she was marked completely with the branding of Waffle House.

“I’m Tayonna. Do you…uh…need a job or something?”

A job. All Andre wanted, more than anything,was to cook.

The concept of the Waffle House is an archetypal American paradox. On the one hand, the Waffle House is a bastion of stability, open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, come hell, high water, or both. Government agencies code their disasters according to how operational the Waffle Houses in a region are, with code red—closed—pretty much indicating apocalyptic ground conditions. On the other hand, every individual Waffle House itself is a vortex of chaos that draws in all manner of tricksters and trouble, especially after midnight.

The Waffle House on East Main near Emerson was no exception to these principles.

Hiring Andre was a no-brainer—he could cook, which was important, but even more important he had a reputation that would hopefully discourage the more violent hoodlums from coming in and starting trouble. Even without the reputation, he was tall, imposing, and had a face that settled naturally into a scowl.

“If trouble ever comes, the panic button’s right here. Just keep your mouth shut and look scary.”

Andre scowled. Trouble? He wasn’t trying to get in more trouble.

“Exactly, just like that.”

Trouble, it turned out, had a tendency to come after the witching hour, and so that was the shift they put Andre on. It took a couple days of getting his hand smacked and the manager cutting through his thoughts with a “didn’t nobody ask you to make that” before Andre mostly—mostly—only made dishes that were ordered.

Thursday crept along into Friday with a lull. The bars hadn’t turned their inebriates out yet, and so the few that wandered in had sought out sweet, syrupy reassurances of their own volition, and not just because they had nowhere else for their drunken asses to go. The booth next to the nearly empty counter had six such specimens squeezed in together, the table covered with as many All-Star Specials as the space would fit. The group of young men spoke loudly, words thickly slurred and laced with so many in-jokes and who knows what jargon that they only made sense to themselves (“but dijoo SEE—“ “dude DUDE from the top rope??” “Lemme see that killerbuster in EXP9 dude”). They kept glancing pointedly at Andre, and he tensed up, wondering if here at last was trouble.

As it turned out, Andre was right. Trouble was here. He was just looking in the wrong direction for it. He had just opened the waffle maker to pour another round of batter in when the diner door clattered open, bell jangling.

“FREEZE! NOBODY MOVE!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Andre saw a hooded, masked figure standing in the doorway, pointing a pistol at the patrons. Andre didn’t have time to think through what he did next—time once again went in all directions, a thousand thoughts crashing down into a split second of instant, gut reaction. With terrible strength Andre pulled so hard on the handle of the waffle iron that it wrenched apart at the hinge. He spun, holding up the little metal shield of it as he did—

—and the would-be robber squeezed the trigger—

—as a deafening crack split the air of the diner—

—the bullet ricocheted off the waffle iron lid, shattering one of the great glass globes across the room—

—and Andre hurled the top of the waffle maker with unerring precision—

Before the attacker could fire another round, the hot and heavy metal of the broken waffle iron crashed into his face, knocking him into the window and taking his consciousness with it. He slumped to the ground.

For a brief, quiet moment, only the tinkling sounds of the last few glass shards tumbling from the broken diner light could be heard. Andre stood in shocked silence. Mon dieu, what had he just done?

The table of intoxicated young men burst into cheers, spilling from their seats to further subdue the unconscious attacker. The manager shakily dialed 911, mumbling to Andre with a nod at the broken waffle maker, “that’s coming out of your paycheck.”

From the gaggle of young men, one cut a stumbling path to the counter and patted Andre triumphantly on the shoulder. He had the air and confidence of being the de facto leader of the group, and wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with a stylized, boxy green L and U set in front of a pyramid of different-colored triangles.

“I knew you were the chef! Skillet McSkillerson,” he drawled.

“Iron chef!” exclaimed the man pinning the criminal’s legs.

“CAST IRON CHEF!” hollered another as he nudged the gun to the other side of the dining room.

“Dude,” the young man in front of Andre continued, “you’ve got moves. You got instincts.” He paused to make a face, putting a hand to his sternum to confer with the contents of his stomach about his dinner and where it wanted to be in the next five minutes. But he was a man of will, and the moment passed without so much as a burp. He offered his hand to Andre. “I’m Toddrick Toddward—“

Two of his companions from the floor erupted in a full-throated cheer of “RICKY BOBBY!” while the other three bellowed a low, keening “WERRRRRD.” Beneath them all, the man Andre had taken down groaned, still alive. Andre looked past Toddrick, shaking the young man’s hand absentmindedly, and was surprised to find deep past the shock and mild horror, a strange satisfaction at seeing this toppled criminal laid out because of him.

Andre realized that Toddrick was still talking. He was talking about wrestling.

“—every, I mean I’ve seen every match, and just. DUDE, it’s the way you move, I think you got. IT. You got it. I know some people, dude, and bet I—” he paused to offer a few sloppy jabs in the air “—could teach ya a thing or two.”

“Eh?”

“Wrestling, dude! Have you ever thought about wrestling?”

Why not? Andre thought, as police cars came screaming up outside. He’d knocked one wrestler out, hadn’t he? Why not go for a few more?

Thirty minutes is not very long for a lunch break. And it’s really not very long for a crash course in all things wrestling. And it really doesn’t matter when the teacher is much too drunk to communicate effectively anyway. Not that Andre expected to learn everything in one insufficient lunch break, but he did have some hope that he’d learn a little more than nothing.

Once again, Toddrick Toddward and his merry band of fellow collegiate inebriates had descended upon Andre’s Waffle House at full, incoherent volume in the unspeakably late hours of the night after the attempted robbery, this time clearly after the bars would no longer tolerate their presence. But this time they also had a singular mission in mind: Andre.

Unfortunately, Andre had a job to do, and couldn’t just leave the griddle to its own devices at the whim of one Toddrick Toddward and the desire to impart wrestling knowledge. Instead, they had to wait for his lunch break, and keep buying a steady stream of hashbrowns and waffles, lest the manager force them to leave.

What Andre found most impressive, as he worked his shift, was how time simply did not seem to make them any less drunk. There was no alcohol being served, not even bootleg, off the record hooch, and Andre never saw so much as the glint of a flask being passed among the group, but they remained just as intoxicated as they had been the minute they walked in the door.

When Andre’s lunch break finally came, Toddrick practically exploded from the booth like a force of nature, leaping over the table, a flurry of twenty dollar bills being thrown behind in his wake to hopefully cover the bill his group had been amassing. He dragged Andre out to the parking lot, back by the dumpster, out of sight of the main road, his posse stumbling to follow.

Toddrick clapped his hands and rubbed them together, looking around at the faded blue dumpster, the rickety fencing valiantly obscuring two sides of the dumpster from view, the oil-stained and uneven asphalt of the parking lot that spread between these sad clusters of commerce, from the Waffle House to the Superior Discount Liquors. Back toward the Red Carpet Inn, one of the rusty light poles jutting up from the asphalt leaned heavily towards the desire to simply fall over, but was either too stubborn or ignorant of gravity to do so. More simply put, it was just the sort of gently-run down, soulless bit of commercial retail America that is found all throughout the country, with little to distinguish it from any of its copies. It had a slightly desperate, uneasy ambiance to it. It was perfect.

“Excellent,” Toddrick slurred confidently, plumbing the depths of his memory to try to bring up an astute reference rooted in pop culture to inaugurate what he intended to be a fight club for Andre to—hah!—learn the ropes, as it were, of wrestling. Didn’t think the phrase came from wrestling, surely, but it fit nonetheless.

Unfortunately for Toddrick, his memory was short on Chuck Palahniuk quotes, and he was left on his own to string words together. “The first rule about dumpster wrestle club,” he began, looking at Andre.

Andre’s eyebrows quirked up his forehead as he waited for Toddrick to continue. He waited, as Toddrick continued to stand there, rocking on his feet, nodding confidently to himself. “The first rule…?” Andre finally prompted.

“Exactly,” Toddrick replied. “You’ve got it. Ok dude, moving on.”

Andre frowned. He got absolutely nothing, and was concerned about moving on from a place he’d never arrived at to begin with. But Andre’s concern was irrelevant; Toddrick was already continuing with his haphazard train of thought, and paid no mind that no one else was completely on board with him.

“Begin at the beginning, they say,” Toddrick said. “What do you know about wrestling?”

“Like on television?”

Andre crouched, arms braced wide like he was preparing to tackle a wayward baby daddy looking to deny all DNA evidence of paternity to the contrary, visions of Maury fixed firmly in his mind.

“Yeah, on TV,” said Todd, feeling this at least looked promising, until Andre continued.

“The guy. Springer. You know the guy. Gerald. Jerry? Seinfeld? No. You are or are not the father. That stuff. Yelling. Throwing chairs. The crowd goes wild, Jer-ry! Jer-ry!”

What were they teaching these kids in France? Toddrick wondered. The fact that Andre was almost a decade older than him was irrelevant to Toddrick’s thought process.

“No, no no. Wrong channel dude.”

“I dunno,” drawled Toddrick’s right hand man, Greg. “He’s wrong, but not totally off. Yelling, fighting, the crowd goes wild, all that shit?”

Toddrick made a face, reluctant to admit that Greg had a point. “You ever seen a wrestling ring?”

Now it was Andre’s turn to make a face. “Mmm…probably?”

“Like if I told you some part and to go there, would you know it. Like, the apron.”

Andre looked at Toddrick skeptically, and plucked at the sides of his own apron in response.

“Ok nope. Ever heard of a turnbuckle?”

Andre half pivoted in place. “Turn?” he muttered, and then looked down toward where his belt was hidden by his apron, “buckle…?”

“Yep, also a nope. Tell you what. Greg, fists up. You probably don’t need to know all this shit anyway, yeah? We’ll just show you what to do. Got time for a few rounds here. You ever fight before? I’m sure you been in a fight before.”

On this count, Toddrick was right. Andre had been in plenty of fights before.

Toddrick put in the application on Andre’s behalf. In late night drunken brainstorming sessions while Andre worked the grill, Toddrick and his boys helped him pick a theme song, set up a Twitter account for him, tried to teach him how to use it (with less success than they were teaching him wrestling moves), and insisted that when Chef Andre stepped into the ring,

“OF COOOOOURSE YOU GOTTA WEAR A CHEF COAT MAAAAAAN!”

All of Andre’s lunch breaks were dedicated to practicing the art of brawling. Admittedly, this was pretty easy to do when his opponents were all drunken frat boys with trust funds and four-letter names. But all they had to fall back on were their own asses as Andre would knock down another Chad or Greg or Brad onto the cracking pavement, and then offer them a hand back up as they enthusiastically complimented him on how much his form was improving.

Of course, Andre hadn’t learned much of a damned thing about wrestling. He tried to ask questions, when they were in the Waffle House, Toddrick and company crowded in their chosen booth, Andre pouring batter onto the waffle irons.

“You come out,” Toddrick was saying, trying and failing to draw an approximation of Andre on a napkin to illustrate, “with a frying pan, natch—“

“Do I hit my opponent with the frying pan?”

“Dude! Dude, that’s illegal.”

“Alors, police illegal, or—“

“It’s just. It’s illegal. Ah-hen-nee-way, you hold up the frying pan, like this, well, this drawing is shit, ok so imagine it, you hold up the frying pan and sing with the music, ‘BE! MY! GUEST!’ And smack the frying pan. Like, with the beats, for emphasis, it’ll be per-her-herfect.”

Greg was looking at his phone, and gasped. “WERD!” he yelled, shoving Toddrick excitedly. “LOOK LOOK!”

Toddrick abandoned the drawing and took Greg’s phone to see. “DUDE!” Toddrick exclaimed, holding the phone out to Andre now. “Your first match is booked! Oh SHIT, we haven’t even started on trash talk yet.”

The manager on duty that night, a dream crusher if ever there was one, smacked Toddrick squarely in the forehead with a laminated menu and forbade them from brainstorming trash talk in the Waffle House while Andre was working. The risk of excessively colorful swearing was too high.

Instead, they once again waited for the brief lunch break window to spill out into the balmy night air beneath the hazy moon, gathering near the old blue dumpster to continue Andre’s training.

“Dude that was TERRIBLE. Try again.”

“Zut alors, why must I trash talk? Is it not enough to just win?”

“No! Absolutely not. You gotta LEAN IN—“ Toddrick leaned so far, like the back parking lot light, that he began to topple over, and only Andre’s quick reflexes snatched him from hitting the ground and got him upright again in time. “Oop, thanks. Lean in to the spectacle!”

Andre made a face, thinking.

“You wanna win, yeah?” Toddrick asked. “You think you’re gonna win, right? Believe in it. Materialize it into the world with epic put downs.”

Andre sighed, and frowned even harder. “Ahmya’s going down like a bad soufflé?”

Toddrick considered the insult for a moment. “Well not if you say it like that. Say it like you mean it, and maybe that’s enough to sell it.”

“What if I just say things very angrily, but in French? Eh?” Andre took a deep breath and bellowed out, “TU ES UNE AFFREUSE LUTTEUSE ET TU VAS PERDRE!”

Toddrick nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, yeah, omelette du fromage to you too buddy. Look, we’ll put that down under a solid maybe.”

“I have wrestled dishwashing hoses stronger than you?”

“Again, not if you say it like that.”

“Got less kick than a bell pepper? I will throw you out of the frying pan and into the fire? When this fight is over you won’t be well but you will be done?”

Toddrick made sure his feet were firmly planted this time before leaning forward again, this time to pat Andre on the shoulder. “Y’know what, it’s not an insult competition. Just do the best you can. Ahmya’s nothing but a shitty gas station microwave compared to the one! The only! The Cast Iron Chef!” Toddrick slapped Andre on the back. “You got this in the to-go bag my friend.”

Next Installment: Part 2 (C’est Cargo)

#My writing #original story #original work #original writing #original fiction #fantasy wrestling #Wrestling fiction #Andre poelon #E-fed #Efedding #Is there any point of tags?#I’m tired of making tags

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dasistleeway · 5 years ago

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I learned this "smoky bacon sweetcorn & potato soup" from Gordon Ramsay's youtube channel, which is super easy and delicious... the "spaghetti con tonno e pomodorini" is also a quick one, the only problem is that the oil used in the tinned tuna we get in Taiwan is not what I expected, so I soaked it in olive oil for a while before cooking... the beef filet with sautéed potatoes has become a classic dish at our home, it appears at least once each week... last but not least, the peach sparkling wine did a good pairing job...

#home cooking #home dinner #corn soup #gordon ramsay #smoky bacon sweetcorn &potato soup #spaghetti con tonno e pomodorini #spaghetti #filet steak #sparkling wine

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clementiinefraser · 4 years ago

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CLÉMENTINE FRASER'S TELEVISION APPEARANCES

Her biggest television project remains, up to this day, her own show called Thankful for Maple in which the autodidact baker dives into the very Canadian universe that is maple syrup. More than fifty recipes involving the versatile maple syrup were invented, adapted and taught by Clémentine. The thirty minutes long episodes encouraged the viewers to discover the history of maple syrup through thorough research, to visit some of the best sugar shacks around Canada and to test the limits of everyone’s favorite ingredient. The three seasons, which aired between 2015 and 2018, are still broadcast during spring, by popular request. It was joined by an online blog over the FNC’s website where Minnie gave cooking tips and secrets while posting bonus, but just as delicious, recipes. The show was bought by the Groupe TVA, a francophone media company, that presents over their channel called Zeste the French version of the tv hit, Incroyable Érable! (voice dubbing in French made by the host herself).

Food Network Canada’s darling and prodigy made several appearances as an invited chef, a guest and a judge on all kinds of television shows. Despite her attitude, as sweet as the desserts she makes, she is known to be a meticulous and critical judge who has a soft spot for children. In fact, she is one of the most appreciated FNC stars when it comes to junior competitions and showdowns. She is known by the talented young cooks as the dentists’ biggest enemy!

Rumour has it Clémentine has a very big project in mind, aside from her own cook book. Food Network wants to send their beloved foodie on an international quest for the best desserts. Sugar Across Borders should start filming in 2022. The one hour-long episodes will transport the viewers to exotic places to taste some of the best cuisines out there. Anna Olson, FNC’s best baker, is in talks to join her in this journey.

Below the read more, you can find an exhaustive list (that is not in chronogical order) of Clémentine’s appearances (excluding her own show).

Salut Bonjour (morning show in Québec, as a chef) 2015

Ricardo (cooking show in Québec, as a chef and guest) 2016

Les Chefs! (cooking competition in Québec, as a guest judge) 2018-2019

Coup de Food (food reality television show in Québec, as a guest to discuss her favorite restaurant spots in Montréal) 2019

Tout le monde en parle (late night talk-show in Québec, two times guest: to explain the journey of a self-made woman known all around Canada and to discuss Canada’s struggle as a bilingual country to include and promote the French language) 2017-2019

Un chef à la cabane (food reality television show in Québec, as a guest to discuss the importance of maple syrup in Canadian cooking traditions) 2020

Cupcake Wars (cooking competition in Canada, as a recurring guest judge) 2017

Fire Masters (cooking competition in Canada, as a judge who also had to compete against the final contestant; she won) 2019

Wall of Chefs (cooking competition in Canada, as a recurring judge) 2020

Great Chocolate Showdown (cooking competition in Canada, as a guest judge replacing Anna Olson for 2 episodes) 2020

Junior Chef Showdown (cooking competition in Canada, as a recurring guest) 2020

Kids baking championship (cooking competition in America, as a recurring guest and judge) 2019.

Clémentine first appeared in 2016 during an episode of Top Chef. She was only a rising star on Canadian television at that moment. Yet, she was very qualified to judge during this special episode which took place in New Orleans and highlighted the French and Creole cuisine. She was a guest judge and had the opportunity to nominate her coup de coeur dish.

She starred in episodes of Masterchef Junior as a guest judge, invited by Gordon Ramsay himself after meeting her for Fox’s The F Word in 2017. However, one episode was entirely dedicated to her and called “Orange Crush”. In this episode, they both had to lead their team of young chefs to victory in an unique bake shop challenge. It was Minnie’s very own idea to invite the kids to build a display of desserts that all included citrus. Beforehand, both Gordon and Minnie competed to find who could pick their team first. During this quick challenge, they had to make their best sweet that required no baking. It was a tough choice, but Clémentine once again impressed Gordon with her no-bake creamsicle cheesecake. In the end, Gordon’s team won but everyone could attend a one of a kind baking classes prepared by the two chefs.

During the 2019 holiday season, she was approached by Rachael Ray’s team to make an appearance on her show. It was a special week dedicated to family and food traditions, so Minnie could share some of her best childhood memories of pies and cookies, family cook-offs and other yummy dishes. She became sort of a co-host during this week both the live audience and the public at home appreciated the genuine connection between the two foodies. Rachael described her colleague and new friend as an “amazing person with a heart of gold and unlimited baking talent”. It was also Minnie’s first holidays without her family or her ex-fiancé, so spending her time discovering New York City and discussing all kinds of cheerful topics with Rachael was all she needed to go through this hard time.

#biography.

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youremypride · 6 years ago

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The Truth About Love | Ch.2

☽ Have you ever love someone so much, you would do anything for them? Even disturbing the peace between the living and the afterlife? Love knows no boundaries but there is always a price to be paid. How much do you say? As much as your heart desires for your true love.

Pairing: AHS! Michael Langdon x Reader

Genre: romance, angst, violence

Warnings: mentions of death

Note: Before the new episode starts, or is starting, another chapter to get the story rolling.

Word Count: 3046 words

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After the earthquake, I had completely lost track of time. I couldn’t tell how long we were locked in those iron cages. It almost drove me insane if it weren’t for Timothy and Emily. Until one day, they released us from our captive holdings and put us in an armoured vehicle that was silver and made of metal. As I looked out of the window, all I could see was thick fog swarming everywhere. All the leaves from the trees were gone, leaving a bare and eerie look from the outcome. The bark of the trees was burnt. Was there a forest fire or something?

Everything was grey and not a single drop of colour left could be seen. How could an earthquake do so much damage like this? This is why I should’ve watched the news. All my questions were answered by the same man who had took me away.

“There was a missile attack. A lot of countries were affected by it, including us.” Missile attack? Wow, I didn’t think that would happen so soon.

The two workers from before who were supposedly addressed as Cooperative agents said they were bringing us to an outpost. A survival shelter like the ones from Fallout.

“What’s going to happen to us now?” The man threw yellowed radioactive suits at us. “Put these on. The air is contaminated. They’ll explain to you when you arrive.”

They? Who is they? As we stepped out of the vehicle with our suits on, tall black gates welcomed us and it made an unsettling feeling in my stomach. The entire area was closed off with black fences as well. Was this a gated community? No, that can’t be it. To keep people out? Those two agents said that the environment was harmful now. That must be it. I couldn’t imagine being one of the affected. Just thinking about it sent shivers running down my spine.

A figure stood in front of us, dressed in a long robe that covered the person’s entire body, hands covered with gloves and a head mask with large eye googles and an opening tube to help with breathing. It reminded me of the Brotherhood from one of the Silent Hill movies.

The figure brought us further into the clearing and as the fog begins to clear, up ahead there was a man and a woman, kneeling on the grown with three other figures similar to the one in front of us. The woman was begging for forgiveness, saying it over and over again. What was she sorry for?

It was then accompanied by loud fired shots, as both the man and the woman were shot in the head. I felt my chest tightening, my breathing rigid and heavy. Holy shit. They shot them. They fucking shot them.

The entrance to the Outpost was a short curve till we reached the centre of the structure. The figure from before held out a card to the card scanner on the wall, a beep was heard, giving access to the main entry. It was then I knew that it would be the last time I ever saw the outside.

We had been assigned to our own rooms, mine just beside Emily’s. Each room had the same necessities, and a en suite along with it. The wardrobe was filled with long purple dresses, all of them with the same design and cutting. I was never really fond of wearing dresses, but if that’s the only thing I get, then so shall it be. Once I felt the hot water of the shower hitting against my skin, I felt rejuvenated and fresh. It’s been so long since I had one, and the feeling felt so good. My hair that was once greasy was now back to its original condition. I didn’t smell like a hobo anymore and the dirt from my skin had been cleared away.

I stepped out from the shower once I was finished, only to be surprised by a message on the mirror. It had been written out from the steam of the shower. It read, ‘Duo in carne una’. I couldn’t tell what it meant. Maybe someone might tell me but I wasn’t sure if I could trust them, knowing they would be suspicious of me. With a last look in the mirror, I join Emily and Timothy to meet with the others. We followed the music that was playing which brought us to a living room, a fireplace on the other side of the walls, with bookcases and sofas mirroring each other and a coffee table in between. This must be the common room for the survivors here.

There were seven people in the room, three men and four women. One of the women was in grey clothing unlike the rest.

“Well, well, well, well, well. New blood.” The older woman closest to ask spoke. Another woman approached us, “Come in, don’t be shy.” She greeted us warmly.

“You’re Dinah Stevens,” Timothy started, “My mother used to watch your show. She said you beat the pants off Oprah any day.”

“Bless her heart, a million of her and I wouldn’t have to be replaced by that telenovela.”

From my side, a blonde man came up to us, “Um, what’s happening out there?”

“It’s all gone.” Timothy replied. “Everything.” Emily chips in.

“Nothing but death.” I spoke. Thuds started coming from behind us. Ms. Venable was approaching us. She rings a bell, pausing a while before speaking, “Dinner is served.”

A plate holding a small white jelly cube sat in the centre of it.

“It’s all we get. Don’t be too disappointed.” The blonde man now known as Mr. Gallant tells us.

“Darling, you don’t know what disappointment is until you slept with Yul Brynner.” Evie replies back to him. Dinah laughs as Mr. Gallant looks down on his food, “I want to die.”

“The cube on your plate contains every vitamin our body needs.” Dinah informs us, “Or so they tell us.” Beside Timothy, Coco had stuffed her entire cube into her mouth, wolfing it down.

“I’m still hungry. I am so tired of the hunger.” She slams her hand on the table, standing up, “Fuck this bullshit! With all the thought that went into this place, they don’t have a single bag of Pirate’s Booty in the pantry?” While Coco was ranting away with her issues, Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead approaches the dining room from behind her. “For a hundred million dollars a ticket, I expect goddamn Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen cooking us real food!”

Ms. Venable’s cane taps the floor and the room went silent. With a flick of the wrist, Coco was greeted by a slap to her face, Timothy catching her and helping her regain stability. Everyone was shocked but I knew Coco had it coming for her. From the very moment, I could tell she wasn’t appreciative of what she had. Serves you right, bitch. I bit back a smile so that no one could see it.

“I’m going to be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding. We have enough nutrition for the next 18 months. And if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.”

“Situation? What is our situation?”

Ms. Venable had informed us about a perimeter alert they had in the morning, saying a carrier pigeon from The Cooperative had sent a message stating that governments were wiped, rotting corpses had increased and survivors out there killing each other for food. Other outposts had been overrun, leaving our outpost the only one that was currently alive. Its been told that all of this happened in a mere of two weeks.

A few others came up, saying they detected a spike coming from the room. Mr. Gallant was quick to blame us just because we recently just got here. We defended ourselves, stating that we went through the procedures before entering The Outpost.

Ms. Mead checked each and everyone of us, and the only people that were caught were Mr. Gallant and Stu. They were dragged away to the decontamination room.

Another day passed and we all gathered back to the dining room. To our surprise Mr. Gallant had joined us, without Stu. He said that he was clean and Stu wasn’t which is why he was able to get free. Andre was blabbing away saying Stu never went outside and that he was with him most of the time, Coco was talking about how she started masturbating to cure her boredom, spewing out insults, causing Andre to curse at her.

Something was off about tonight’s dinner since Ms. Venable considered it a treat after last night calling it the bonne bouche. While the others were drooling over the hot meal, Andre was still not over Stu. Coco as always, getting a spoonful of the meat, slurping it up. Timothy too had suspicions about the meat. Andre began freaking out after finding a finger bone in the stew, claiming that Stu was the stew. Everyone started gagging and coughing out, while Ms. Venable stated it was ridiculous of them to think that. It was only her, Evie and I that was left sitting on the table. Everyone didn’t want to go near the stew anymore.

Evie continued her meal, “I don’t care what it is. It’s absolutely divine, and its full of fibre. I’m going to finish every drop.

“Don’t tell me your thinking of eating the stew, Y/N.” Timothy asked me. Was it wrong? It is after all, food. I was starting to get sick of the jelly cubes. “You shouldn’t waste food, Timothy. As much as it repulses me, I’m going to savour it.” A look of pure disgust came across his face while it earned me a smile from Evie and Ms. Venable.

“Such a good child, Y/N. You all should learn to be like Y/N.” Evie chimes. “Indeed, she is.” Ms. Venable adds on.

The others begin leaving to get back to their rooms, probably cleansing their mouth a hundred times to get the lingering taste off their taste buds.

Andre was glaring at Evie and I. He had an angered expression and the looked in his eyes says he was disgusted by the both of us.

“You’re a monster,” He spite at Evie, “How could you keep eating? You knew what it was. And you, Y/N. You barely just arrived and you think eating my boyfriend was your welcoming gift?!”

“It was chicken, Andre. Delicious white meat chicken.” Evie tried to assure him it was all in his head.

Annoyed, I decided to spite back at him. He needed to stop being such a pussy just because I ate his boyfriend, no pun intended there. “In my defence, I couldn’t care less if it was Stu or not. He tasted great. It’s been such a long time since I had someone in my mouth.” A sinister grin appeared on my face, causing Andre to get worked up.

“You’re disgusting. You’re a cannibal. You’re all cannibals!” He screams. Dinah, who I knew now is his mother, had both her hands on the side of him, stopping him from his rash behaviour. “Think about it. She ate it, too. Stu was contaminated. Why would Venable eat irradiated meat?”

“That’s right,” Timothy agrees, “Why would she feed us poison? The whole reason she is here is to keep us alive.”

“What makes you so certain she wants us alive? You can never trust anyone here, not even yourself.”

Andre starts asking his mother about his body, his ugly sobs starting to make me feel irritated.

“Shut up, shut up!” Emily snaps. “Just listen.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. The song stopped.”

The old music player had changed to another song. Mr. Gallant proclaims that it was The Cooperative sending a message, saying that they were coming for them and that they were going to be rescued.

He was wrong. They were all wrong. All of them were dejected. Drinking away their sorrows, bringing up their hopes and spirit only for it to come crashing down. I wasn’t. From the day we were attacked, the was no hope left to seek. Only death awaits to give you kiss and embraces you in their darkness.

The days were long and it felt like I was on repeat every day. Wake up in the morning, get dress for the day, eat the same gelatine cubes, hang around with the others in the common room or read the books that filled up the shelves. The place is a bore and my life is a chore. There was nothing fun to do anymore. After a few weeks, Emily and Timothy started to distance themselves away from me. I didn’t take a genius to know what they were doing behind close doors. They had been on secret rendezvous with each other and the rules about copulation was starting to make them feel agitated and lusting for more of each other.

It was better that way. I was able to sneak around the Outpost without Ms Venable or Ms Mead knowing. The Outpost had a theme going the entire place. It was decorated with antique furniture; all the rooms were lighted using fireplaces or candles causing a saturated filter in my eyes. The whole place felt old and Victorian like. They did say this used to be a school. School for what exactly? Witches? I highly doubt it. The old news about that coven school for girls years ago was just the cherry on top. As if they exist in this century.

It dawned on me that it had been eighteen months since our arrival and the attack that left the whole world in chaos. The jelly cubes were starting to get smaller, and not forgetting that one time they served us Stu as stew. I enjoyed it with Evie as the others left to their own rooms, repulsed by the fact they were served human meat. I mean, eventually we all will be eating each other when resources decline and there’s little to none left to eat.

Before heading back into my room, I was startled by Ms Mead after finishing my nightly rounds around the place to digest my dinner.

“Ms Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here. How are you feeling?” Her voice brought me back to my senses, and I glance to her face. She had the same look on her, expressionless with no hint of life. However, I picked up a slight glint in her eyes and the small smirk playing on her lips. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder why she is always trying to start up small conversations with me unlike the rest. Does she have a secret agenda with me? What is her motive for having small talks with me?

“I, um… I’m fine, thank you for asking. Dinner was great. It’s been a while since we had something other than cubes. I’m heading towards my room? Are you heading towards yours as well?” I raised an eyebrow waiting for her reply.

“I’m getting the workers to get a room ready for a guest that’s coming.” Her eyes went big for a while, probably cursing herself for saying something she wasn’t suppose to. “Well, I better hurry along now. Go get some sleep, good night.” She hurried right passed me and disappeared around the corner.

“Weird.” I glance back before walking towards my room.

“My love, why do you call me your flower? Flowers are so beautiful, their petals are painted with different colours to make them stand out from each other, and their lingering scent could put you on a spell. I’m definitely not a flower, I am not beautiful enough to be captivated by.” This caused the man expression to sour after hearing what his lover had said about herself.

“Don’t you dare say something like that about yourself.” He cupped her face with both of his hands and made her look up to him. “I call you flower because you’re the most beautiful amongst all the flowers. I could never get enough of basking my eyes with your beauty. The colours you say? I’ve never seen so much colour in my life before meeting you, and now my vision is filled with bright shades of the colours in contrast to my previous ones of black and grey. I’m always under a spell, your natural scent only keeps me hungry of you more and more. You say you’re not a flower? To me, you’ll always be the most beautiful flower the world has never seen, as your beauty is for my eyes, and my eyes only. My beautiful flower.

“You really do have a way with words, don’t you?” Delicate fingers stroke against the pale white cheeks of the man. He places a small kiss on her palms and caressed her long curly locks of hair before pulling her in for a breath-taking kiss.

“Of course, if it weren’t for my words, I wouldn’t be able to court you at all.” Small laughter escaped from the woman’s mouth and it was music to the man’s ears. Her laughter finally comes to a stop as she held eye contact with the blue hues of the man’s. Green meeting blue, both holding a gaze so powerful with so much endearment and comfort.”

“I love you.” Her velvet voice was so sweet and gentle just like her lover’s embrace, holding her in his arms.

“I love you too,” The man had said a name, but it was unclear before everything starts to become hazy, the scene of the man and the woman fading out into pitch black.

Y/N woke up with a startle. Beads of sweat had dropped down her face, causing small hairs to stick on her forehead. Y/N could feel her heart clenching in pain as if it was broken by something, or someone. Y/N was still in her purple gown from the previous day and it didn’t help that it was hot and stuffy wearing it to sleep.

Why am I having these dreams again. Who are these people? What is going on? I need answers. I want answers.

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