#I also like sour dough bread

[theblehthatbloos]

Okay, context, so I don't drink anymore because I used to very heavily in the past, but I am a goblin that subscribes to the yesty boys, so I do love having non alcoholic beer/beverages that emulate that flavor of entropy.

Which brings me to this.

Why dose that lauganidos ad say so many things close to - ussy? I'm glad there's alternatives out there, believe me I use them. But, like, yeesh.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste. 

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home. 

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression. 

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries. 

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly. 

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later. 

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever. 

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

[petermorwood]

Flammkuchen / Tarte Flambeé / "German pizza"

This evening I found a slab of Speck (strong-smoked bacon) in the freezer that I didn't know we had, there was half an onion and a tub of Lithuanian sour cream in the fridge, so @dduane decided to try Flammkuchen.

Originally, so the story goes, it was made by bakers as a pre-thermometer way to check the temperature of their wood-fired ovens (and provide a quick snack at the same time).

Tarte flambée is the French name, but "German Pizza" or indeed any sort of pizza it certainly isn't; there's neither tomato sauce nor cheese, and no yeast in the dough.

Whether it's German or French depends on who you ask, since it originates from the province of Alsace, an area which has changed hands a lot in the past couple of centuries and whose ownership has been A Source Of Friction Between Guess Who for almost as long.

To stay neutral, the recipe DD used is Swiss. ;->

Here's the translation:

*****

Alsatian tarte flambée

This delicious speciality from Alsace is also ideal for an aperitif. Thinly rolled bread dough with sour cream, onions and bacon cubes!

350g flour (12½ oz) 1.25 tsp salt 2 dl water (6.7 US fl oz / .42 US pt) 2 tbsp olive oil 200 g crème fraîche / sour cream (7 oz) 2 onions (we had less, so used less...) 120 g farmer's (thick, well-smoked) bacon in slices (4¼ oz) a small grind of pepper

And this is how it's done:

Mix flour and salt in a bowl. Pour in water and oil, mix and knead into a soft, smooth dough. Form the dough into a ball, cover and let it rest at room temperature for about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 240 degrees (464 F). Halve the dough and roll it out into an oval shape about 3 mm thick (1/10 inch) on a lightly floured surface. Place the dough on two baking sheets lined with baking paper.

Spread the crème fraîche / sour cream over the dough, leaving a border of approx. 1 cm (½ inch) free all around. Peel the onions, cut them into fine rings, cut the bacon into strips, spread both over the crème fraîche / sour cream and season.

Baking per tray: approx. 12 minutes each on the bottom shelf of the oven.

*****

Since this was our first time making Flammkuchen, we baked them one at a time to check for errors. There were none (Swiss recipe!) and 12 minutes was exactly right to produce this result both times:

DD needs to be careful because of IBS so they were made with mostly bacon on one side, mostly onion on the other, and with a glass of cool white wine they made an excellent Sunday supper.

Next time, now we know how well this recipe works, we'll be more generous with the toppings. :->

Incidentally, rather than baking-trays or the pizza stone we need to replace (ceramic utensils, tile floors and gravity Do Not Mix Well) we used the cast-iron griddle which in summer often goes on the BBQ...

... and gave the oven a thorough pre-heating, then transferred the Flammkuchen in and out with a peel, all of which worked splendidly.

That tip about using baking paper is excellent, BTW: no sticking, no spillage, no washing up. I bet it'll work with other things as well.

Like, for instance, more Flammkuchen... ;->

[jokeroutsubs]

SLOVENIAN CUISINE: EXPLAINED

Extremely confused by Joker Out’s recent post? Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!

KRANJSKA KLOBASA:

Carniolan sausage is one of the most recognisable Slovenian culinary products. Since January 2015 it has been protected with geographical indication by the European Union. It originates from the historical region of Kranjska, once the Duchy of Carniola, a crown land of the Austrian Empire. The sausage is a reddish brown colour on the surface and bears a faint scent of smoke. Each pair is held together with a wooden skewer.

Preparation: It contains at least 75 to 80% pork (aside from bacon) and at most, 20% bacon. It may contain up to 5% water, sea salt from the Sečovlje salt pans, a little garlic, saltpetre and black pepper. No other ingredients are permitted. It has to be cooked before consumption. It is usually eaten hot, together with sour or cooked cabbage or sour turnip.

Perfect for: folk village parties called ‘veselice’, where they are a common choice alongside wine or beer. For that occasion, bread, mustard, and sliced onion are mandatory accompaniments.

IDRIJSKI ŽLIKROFI:

Žlikrofi is a traditional Slovenian dish, originating from Idrija a small town in the east of Slovenia. Idrija is mostly known for its lace and now-closed mercury mines. Žlikrofi were the first Slovenian dish registered as a Traditional speciality guaranteed (TSG).

Preparation: Žlikrofi are made using pasta, filled with a mixture of potatoes, onion, pig lard, chives and other spices. They are best served with ‘bakalca’ (a sauce made out of lamb and vegetables).

Perfect for: Žlikrofi are eaten all year round and can be served either as a starter, side dish or a main course. Alongside restaurants in Idrija, tourists can also try them at the Idrija Lace Festival or at the Idrija Žlikrofi Festival, where žlikrofi are prepared in more than 35 different ways. The žlikrofi festival is held at the end of August, this year it is taking place on the 24th of August.

POTICA:

Potica (a Slovenian nut roll) is the number one traditional holiday pastry in Slovenia. It has been registered as a Traditional speciality guaranteed (TSG) in the European Union since April 2021.

Preparation: It consists of a rolled pastry made from sweet yeast dough, most commonly filled with walnuts, but there are variations with hazelnuts, tarragon, poppy, cottage cheese and others. Its ingredients are quite basic, but achieving the right balance of filling and dough is challenging. Traditionally it is ring-shaped, baked always in the special shaped potica baking mould (ceramic, glass or tin one), called ‘potičnik’, which has a conical protrusion in the middle.

Perfect for: All holidays, especially Christmas and Easter. Slovenian housekeepers are happy to bake it even outside the holiday season to pamper their loved ones.

PREKMURKSA GIBANICA:

Prekmurje layer cake (literal translation: Over-Mura moving cake 😂) is a special cake originating in eastern region of Slovenia, Prekmurje. The name ‘gibanica’ comes from the dialect expression güba and refers to a fold. Since March 2010, prekmurska gibanica is protected in the EU as a Traditional Speciality Guaranteed.

Fun fact: If you are visiting Prekmurje, you can swing by The House of Gibanica, where you can enjoy the full gibanica experience which includes tasting handmade gibanica, made in the traditional way using a protected recipe.

Preparation: The preparation of this layered cake is quite complex and expensive, which is why it is only served on special occasions. Each layer is topped with plenty of sweet cream, eggs and butter. The dessert requires crumbly and rolled dough and four types of filling, made up of cottage cheese, poppy seeds, walnuts and apples.

Perfect for: special occasions like Christmas and Easter. As it is very filling, it’s not ideal to eat (or prepare) in hot weather.

BOGRAČ

Bograč is a hearty dish, consisting of many meats. It is typical of the Prekmurje region. It is a festive dish, as it is never cooked for just one person. It is best when cooked in a kettle over an open fire. In Hungarian this kettle is called 'bogrács' , hence the name of the dish.

Preparation: Sweat onions in lard, then add a different type of meat to the dish at the end of each hour of simmering: first the beef, then the venison, and finally the pork. Season with paprika and add a splash of white wine. Finally, add the potatoes and cook until they are done.

Perfect for: large family gatherings.

Fun fact: Every year, Lendava* organises the international 'bograč' cooking competition called ‘Bogračfest.’ The municipality of Lendava also holds the Guinness World Record for the largest bograč ever prepared (1,801 kg) since 2021.

* A Slovenian town near the Hungarian border.

Content prepared by: @kurooscoffee, @weolucbasu, drumbeat

Graphic design by: X pastellibianchi, anonymous JOS member

English proofreading by: IG GBoleyn123, @flowerlotus8, X klamstrakur

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A plate of light brown bumpy flatbread with blackened spots, surrounded by za'tar and green olives. End ID]

خبز طابون / Khobz taboon (Palestinian flatbread)

Khobz taboon ("taboon bread") is a soft, chewy Palestinian flatbread. It may be eaten with olive oil and za'tar, but it is best known as the base of مسخن (musakhkhan), where it is topped with spiced aromatics and perhaps chicken.

Khobz taboon gets its name from the vessel it is traditionally cooked in—an outdoor, shallow conical oven with an opening at the top and a clay or metal cover to trap heat. Taboons may also have an opening at the side through which the fire can be stoked, especially in the east of Palestine. These ovens were historically made from a mixture of local clay and hay, but have more recently also been constructed from clay treated to be sturdier, or from metal.

A taboon is used by packing flammable material, such as hay, fabric, animal dung, wood, and charcoal, around the outside of the oven and letting it burn overnight; the fire transfers thermal energy to the clay, and to the river stones, sand, glass, or flint stones (صوان, "ṣawwān") that form the base of the oven. The ash is then brushed away, and the flattened dough is placed on the stones or stuck to the walls of the oven to cook. The clay and stones will continue to release thermal energy and cook things throughout the day. The clay and ash give a distinctive flavor to anything cooked inside the taboon, making this method a source of nostalgia for many people who have transitioned to cooking in indoor ovens.

Khobz taboon was traditionally made with whole wheat flour. Most people today use a blend of around two parts white flour to one part whole wheat, or else all white flour; they may even add milk or milk powder to ensure a very soft dough. This recipe uses a blend of flours to combine the nutty flavor of whole wheat dough with the pliancy of white dough. It also begins with an optional pre-ferment to mimic the traditional Palestinian method of including a piece of dough from the previous day's bread into each new batch (like a pâte fermentée) giving a rich and slightly sour flavor to the final bread. It calls for the use of rocks to imitate the bottom of a taboon; the rocks give the khobz its distinctive dimpled texture, and ensure that no interior pocket forms in the bread.

In the years following 2007, the siege Israel had imposed on Gaza caused a shortage of cooking gas that led to a resurgence in the use of taboons. The ovens were used to bake bread and to grill sweet potatoes during the time of their winter harvest. Meanwhile, in the West Bank, Israeli military forces repeatedly destroyed taboon ovens and assaulted villagers who tried to defend them, as Israeli settlers from nearby villages complained about the smoke that the ovens produced. Some of these ovens had been used to bake bread for entire families of 40 or more people. Palestinians continue to build, use, and defend these ovens, despite the fact that Israeli law de facto forbids Palestinians in the West Bank to build anything.

Today, Israel is deliberately targeting and destroying bakeries in refugee camps that had been supplying bread to tens of thousands of people in Gaza, continuing a long campaign of starvation of the Palestinian people.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System's (Israel's primary weapons manufacturer) landlord; and donating to Palestine Action's bail fund.

Equipment:

A large, shallow mixing bowl, like a Moroccan qus'a

A large (12"), shallow clay cooking vessel, such as the bottom of a Moroccan tajine (one that is rated for very high temperatures), or a large baking tray

Assorted smooth river rocks of varying sizes, from 1 to 3" in diameter.

Make sure that your rocks have been thoroughly cleaned, and that they do not contain any fissures, cracks, or veins that could contain water (this water, once heated in the oven, could cause the rocks to crack open). Instead of river rocks, I used lava rocks designed for use in a clay tanoor. You just need something to provide thermal mass and give a bumpy texture.

Ingredients:

Makes 3 large breads.

For the pre-ferment:

140g whole wheat flour

1/2 tsp active dry yeast

140g water

You may also use a pâte fermentée that you already have (just adjust the ratio of white to whole wheat flour added later accordingly), or a sourdough starter. The hydration of the starter doesn't matter, since you will be adding water by eye later.

For the bread:

330g bread flour or all-purpose flour

30g whole wheat flour

5g salt

Water

If you skipped the pâte fermentée step, add 170g (rather than 30g) of wheat flour at this stage, as well as 1/2 Tbsp of active dry yeast. I have not tested the recipe this way.

Instructions:

For the pâte fermentée:

1. Mix flour and yeast in a small mixing bowl. Add water and stir to combine. Cover and leave out at room temperature for a day, or in the refrigerator for up to three days. At the end of the rising time, it should be about one and a half times its original size.

For the bread:

This recipe makes a high hydration dough that will need techniques such as slapping and folding to knead effectively.

1. Mix flours and salt in a very large, shallow mixing bowl. Add your pâte fermentée and mix to combine.

2. Add water until the flour comes together into a soft, sticky dough and continue keading. Have a bowl of water on your workstation. Every time the dough starts to stick to your hands or the sides of the bowl, wet your hands and rinse down the side of the bowl with some water. This will gradually add water to the dough.

3. You will notice the dough growing smoother and laxer. At this point, start kneading by repeatedly folding the edges of the dough in towards the center. Do this by occasionally wetting your hands, then running a hand along the side of the bowl and under the edge of the dough to unstick it from the bowl; then fold. You will get stuck less often if you try to touch the dough as lightly and briefly as possible. Every few folds, dimple the surface of the dough all over with your fingertips. You will have been kneading for about 10 minutes at this point.

The dough should become more smooth and less bumpy—you will notice it holding its shape and becoming more stretchy as gluten forms. It should form into a ball when you fold the corners in and hold its shape for a minute, but then gradually expand to take the shape of the bowl. I added about 2 1/2 cups of water total (in dry conditions) during steps 2 and 3.

4. At this point, the dough is wet enough that the slap and fold method is the best way to knead. Wet your hands and again unstick the dough from the sides of the bowl. Hook your hands under the dough and quickly pull it all up into the air; fold the hanging bottom part of the dough under, and plop the dough back down, folding it on top of the part you plopped down earlier. Give the bowl a quarter turn and repeat. Do this continually for another few minutes.

5. When the dough is very smooth and lax, smear some olive oil on the sides of the bowl and under the dough, and pat some oil on top.

6. Cover the bowl and bulk ferment the dough at room temperature for 8 hours, or for 16-24 hours in the fridge. At the end of the rising time, you should see bubbles beginning to form on the surface of the dough.

To shape and bake:

1. Place a layer of rocks at the bottom of a clay cooking vessel or baking sheet. Put the sheet in the top third of the oven and preheat your oven to 550 °F (290 °C), or as hot as it will go.

2. Meanwhile, fold the edges of the risen dough over into the middle a few more times with damp hands. Pinch off a large piece of dough (about the size of two fists), and fold the sides over into the middle to make a neat packet.

3. Drop the packet of dough onto a heavily floured surface, and flip to flour both sides. Pat the dough flat, then throw it back and forth between your hands, catching the edge each time as you spin it through the air, like a pizza crust, to stretch it into a circle about 1/4" (1/2cm) thick with a diameter of about 10" (25cm).

You may also stretch and pat the dough out on a flat surface.

4. Remove the tray from the oven. Flip the dough circle over the back of your hand to transfer it and lay it down over the hot rocks. Re-stretch it into a circle, if necessary.

5. Place the tray back in the oven and cook for 5-7 minutes, until the top of the bread has golden brown spots. Repeat with each piece of dough, leaving the rocks in the oven for a few minutes between each one to allow them to come back up to temperature.

6. (Optional): Hold each flatbread directly over a gas flame for a minute or two to blacken a few spots and mimic the flavor that a wood-fired oven would give to your khobz.

You may also use a method similar to the dhungar technique to smoke your bread. Place each piece of bread one at a time into a large vessel with a closely fitting lid, alongside a small bowl. Light a piece of wood on fire and drop it into the bowl; then cover the vessel with the lid as you allow the wood to smoke for a minute or two.

[alpaca-clouds]

Baking Bread

Keeping up with the food theme this week... Can I just talk about bread? Like, I love baking bread, though I do it too rarely. But I love doing it.

I grew up rural enough to have learned how to make my own bread pretty early on. I was still in primary school. While I just learned to do it with special flour back then - something with yeast in there from the beginning - and only learned stuff like making sour dough later on... I just knew how to use the rising times, how to mix stuff into the dough and such.

And I really like it. Like, when you knead your bread, it feels so very natural . And it is kinda silly... If you make bread you turn at times just two super simple ingredients - water and flour - into something way more complex. And it is kinda crazy, right?

When I am kneading my bread, I also think about how this is an activity humans have done for thousands of years. Because we humans kinda always love our bread.

Not many more thoughts here. I just think that more people should learn how to make bread. Because it is cheap and simple and it will keep you fed for quite a while.

[peachdues]

omg I MUST know about the hobbit feast??!?!!!

YES OK so we do our yearly marathon of the extended editions of LOTR and we commit to eating like hobbits the whole time!!

I’ll give you a break down of what we did for Fellowship — tonight is two towers.

To clarify: we snacked all day on stuff, and shared lots of the meals!! It was a mix of typically British foods and southern foods lmao

Breakfast — toad in hole and sage sausage (patties tho, the links in the US are not great imo).

Second breakfast — grapes and scones with marmalade, earl grey tea

Luncheon — ham and biscuits (American biscuits). More fruit (blackberries and grapes)

Afternoon tea — snack plate of salami, goat and white cheddar cheese, olives, more grapes, and these little crème biscuits. More earl grey tea

Dinner — (I skipped this) but Sam and my dad ate some pâté on sour dough rounds

Supper — left over bbq from Christmas Eve. Smoked brisket and mutton on little rolls, fried po-tay-toes.

(Bonus dessert): huge slice of orange drizzle cake and more tea!

I also snacked on shortbread with my tea, as well as these delightful crisp molasses cookies my dad made.

We usually try to do a full themed menu (one hear my mom made lambas bread and it was so good) but we were all recovering from being sick all Christmas, so we mostly ate stuff we already had. Like a giant clean out the fridge event!

Tonight is two towers, and I am attempting to make honey spiced mead cakes while my dad makes “meat’s back on the menu boys” pasta 😭. If you want to see menus years’ past, let me know!

[mariacallous]

Guava rugelach are an edible testament to Jews embracing the new ingredients and cooking techniques that they encountered in the Diaspora. They are also a testament to my mom, a culinary magician who wielded guava like a wand, infusing its sweet tones into our meals.

Brought to Latin America by Eastern European Jews in the early 20th century, cities such as Buenos Aires, Mexico City and Caracas have embraced rugelach. While many versions of the pastry still proudly bear the traditional Ashkenazi flavors of cinnamon, raisins and nuts, that’s far from the whole tale. Rugelach in Buenos Aires or Caracas might contain dulce de leche or cabello de ángel (pumpkin jam), while a stroll into a bakery in Mexico City might reveal rugelach filled with luscious chocolate ganache and aromatic Mexican vanilla.

This rugelach dough is enriched with sour cream, and results in a soft, flakey pastry. The pièce de résistance, though, is the guava filling. 

Originating from Central and South America, “guava” translates to “fruit” in Arawak, the language spoken by the native communities of the Caribbean, where this fruit, similar in size to a passion fruit, grows in abundance. The guava’s tender skin encases a creamy white or orange pulp filled with numerous tiny black seeds. 

As guava is a seasonal fruit and isn’t as widespread as mangoes or papaya, I call for guava paste, due to its unique sour-sweet taste profile. Often referred to as “goiabada,” this paste generally has a lower quotient of added sugars and presents a superior texture for baked products. Unlike runny jams and marmalades, guava paste is sculpted into a dense, sticky block yet remains soft enough to be sliced. 

Growing up, my mom used the vibrant, naturally sweet guava as her secret ingredient, a touch of the tropics that hinted at Caribbean culinary tradition in Venezuela. It turned the simplest family recipe into an exotic treat. This recipe draws inspiration from her traditional guava bread, where history, heritage and affection were kneaded into dough and baked to perfection.

Her guava-infused creations echo loudly in my present, shaping the culinary adventurer in me and reminding me of the vital link between taste and memory. Guava rugelach are not merely a pastry but a narrative of the age-old Jewish practice of reinventing ourselves in the face of new environments. The story of my lineage in the Diaspora, one many fellow Jews can relate to, is etched in the buttery dough and sweet, aromatic filling. Each bite is a reminder of who I am: A fusion of cultures, histories and flavors.

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 4: I Felt a Spark

A/N: Hi again, I've been gone for like… Almost two months now? Sorry about that lol, a lot has happened. I got a boyfriend! And turns out when you're in a relationship you don't have a lot of free time to do what you want… So I broke up with him! (jkjk I just wasn't as into him as I thought)

Anyways I started pharmacy school so updates will probably halt for the time being :/. I plan to slowly write portions of the next chapter (which will be 100% more interesting than this one I swear) throughout the semester, but I'm probably not going to publish it until the end of my first clinical rotation in the winter, so I apologize in advance for the wait.

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid @ryctone @shipperlewaterkitty | Google Form to be added to taglist

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She didn’t come up with anything.

Strawberry Tea Cookie stared at her sketchbook in silent disappointment, the pages looking more like the aftermath of the Dark Flour War than the meticulous planning of a seasoned fashion designer. The rising sun’s cold rays swam across the pages, searching for any sort of golden lining in this mess, yet all it did was confirm that her glory days were long gone.

Crumbs, she’s hopeless.

The designer sighed and slammed her book shut, tucking it out of sight between two couch cushions. She reached for her cup in order to take another sip of tea, her frustration growing upon realizing her cup was empty. Tiredness dissolved each speck of flour in her dough, arms weighed down by thick molasses as she tried picking up the teapot, which was, disappointingly enough, also empty.

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to watch the sun slowly climb its way up the sky, displacing the inky blue she got accustomed to with shades of periwinkle and orange, stinging her already hardened eyes. She let her head fall within the comforting darkness of her arms, hoping to get some rest before they land in the Crème Republic.

.

.

.

“Ohhhh, I’m so nervous,” a cookie whispered to her friend. “What if I don’t get an apprenticeship?”

Hundreds of cookies crowd around the small bulletin board that stood in the center of the academy’s lounge. On it was a long piece of paper printed with students’ names and their mentor for upcoming term.

Amongst the anxious chatter were loud cheers as students found they had a match, or quiet sobs from those who didn’t quite make it on the list. Yet all decrescendoed into curious whispers when a certain freshly baked designer, glazed in shades of scarlet, stepped into the atrium.

“Did you hear..?”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

The sea of students parted for her, stepping into line with every click of her tempered chocolate heels to form a straight path towards the bulletin board.

“What!? There’s no way!”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

She stopped in front of the board, quietly scanning through the long list of names. Despite her aloof demeanor, the uncertainty within kept rising like bread dough as the alphabetical list trickled closer and closer to where her name would be.

All these apprehensive whispers… That can’t be a good thing.

Sangria Cookie…

Sapodilla Cookie…

Sour Cherry Cookie…

Star Apple Cookie…

“Well, it’s a given…”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

Strawberry Tea Cookie…

She perked up at the sight of her name, eyes immediately darting across the dotted line to see…

…Blueberry Raisin Cookie.

A small smile cinched up her lips, that overwhelming nervousness washed away by excitement and pride. All those years working her dough off at this school— the countless all nighters, the constant stream of harsh critiques, the seemingly endless assignments— finally paid off.

“Wow Strawberry Tea Cookie, congrats…” her classmate whistled, standing beside her. “Bet you’re excited to get to work with Professor Blueberry Raisin Cookie…”

To apprentice under the Hollyberry Kingdom’s most renowned fashion designer—who hailed from the very family that first established oat couture—was an opportunity that not even the most esteemed alumni of the Royal Berry Institute of Design could imagine receiving.

And it had just been bestowed upon her.

“Yeah…” Strawberry Tea Cookie’s smile grew wider. “I am.”

Her classmate chuckled, which caught the young designer’s attention. She turned and shot them a quizzical expression.

“Sorry, sorry.” They looked away bashfully. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, it’s only natural that I would smile.” Strawberry Tea Cookie replied matter-of-fact-ly, still confused on what was so funny. 

“No, no, I’m just saying…” They laughed. “Ah, nevermind…”

A gentle shake of her shoulder pulled Strawberry Tea Cookie from her dream—back into the world where she was sore and barely cognizant of her own existence.

“My lady, we’re almost at the Créme Republic,” Strawberry Butler Cookie whispered. “Everybody’s gone outside.”

The designer groaned, tiredly lifting herself from the table and standing up. She stumbled on her first few steps, dragging herself across the cabinet like one of those jellywalker creatures.

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie, did you stay up all night?” Strawberry Butler Cookie inquired worriedly, though his tone also held a dash of annoyance. “You know very well that’s not healthy for you!”

“I…” The former heiress sighed as she grasped the doorknob. Of all the things that have changed in her life recently, her butler nagging about her less-than-consistent sleep schedule had remained… well, consistent. “...Thought I could create something meaningful.”

She opened the door and stepped outside.

A gust of strong, cold wind practically slapped Strawberry Tea Cookie awake before subsiding into a light breeze. Crisp, fresh air reinvigorated her very dough like she had been sprinkled with more life powder. As she made her way across the airship’s deck, the gales combed free the sticky knots tangled within her hair, alleviating that gross feeling.

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned against the metal guard rail, scarlet eyes widening in awe as she took in the sight before her.

Amidst the azure blue sky decorated with cotton candy clouds shone a brilliant city piped in white. Grand mansions bordered the Republic’s edge, away from the main landmass through long, jutted platforms that made the city look like it was built on a shattered plate; each shard was held up by pillars rising from the sparkling sea. Lining the pristinely polished roads were blocks of small, condensed homes with roofs the color of the vibrant sky. Square bushes edged the vast maze of waterways, like the border of royal frosting the Great Witches pipe on a freshly baked cookie before filling them in.

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes followed the canals deeper towards the city center, trailing up a tall waterfall before meeting its source.

“Wow…” The designer breathed, her voice so quiet that no other cookie could hear, only manifesting as a puff of condensed air lost to the sky.

At the heart of the Republic stood a giant, colorless murex shell that floated above all else—unfeeling and apathetic—immune to crumble like a timeless icon. Much like a roll of fruit leather pulled from the center, the shell was voluminously layered at the top, showing off its immaculately creased grooves that tightly cinched to an eventual fine point at the bottom.

Imposing spikes of all shapes and sizes decorated the shell’s head like a monarch’s crown, reaching for any fragment of light to capture and reflect back as a beautiful halo of white. Arched windows carved around the shell’s spire poured out fresh water, collecting in streams around the structure’s many grooves before gradually falling down to the city below.

To Strawberry Tea Cookie, it was like a unique hybrid between a polonaise skirt and a mermaid tail dress, two styles from vastly different eras and with even more conflicting construction methods. It would be a challenge to combine the two together. However, it was similar enough to Chocolate Bonbon Cookie’s everyday dress, perhaps she could reference its pattern and then add an additional layer for that polonaise look.

She’ll definitely need to visit that place the moment her schedule clears up. Not only is it important to see one’s source material up close, but a true artist must understand its purpose so as to not misappropriate its symbolism.

“You seem to have an idea, my lady.” The designer was snapped from her thoughts by Strawberry Butler Cookie’s comment. She turned to face him, his expression glimmering with wise joy.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced back to the brilliant view of the Créme Republic. Her breath hitched, stuck in her inhale as she truly took in the sight before her. A long lost excitement bloomed within as the ship descended, and the designer couldn’t help but let that exhilaratingly nervous anticipation spread up her lips in the form of a wide, genuine smile.

For the first time in forever—as cliché as it sounded—she truly realized how vibrant and beautiful everything was.

“Yeah,” she finally let go of her held breath, turning to face Strawberry Butler Cookie. “I think I finally do.”

He only chuckled in response.

.

.

.

Strawberry Tea Cookie and her butler were the last to leave the airship and join the others on the airfield. As they approached Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, the figure they were talking to turned his attention to the pair.

“Ah, you must be the guest Hollyberry Cookie was talking about~,” the stranger, with a voice full of smooth—oddly practiced—cadence, said. “Miss Strawberry Tea Cookie, yes?”

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie,” she corrected before dipping into a curtsy. “This is my butler, Strawberry Butler Cookie.” He nodded at the cue of his name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie and Strawberry Butler Cookie.” The cookie before her gave a courteous bow. “My name is Clotted Cream Cookie, consul of this fair city.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Consul—” Strawberry Tea Cookie cut off when a strong arm looped around her neck, yanking the rest of her words out with a strangled high pitch.

“Strawberry Tea Cookie, you’re being far too modest!” Hollyberry Cookie pulled the designer closer with so much strength that the latter was lurched forward, almost losing her balance. “Consul, this fine lass here is the future leader of House Strawberry, one of the most renowned designers in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and my granddaughter’s personal stylist~.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt the jam within her crystalize at those claims—the majority of which were now false.

The Consul’s eyes perked up, seemingly impressed by her obsolete feats. “My, I’m honored to be in the presence of such an esteemed guest, then~.”

“You’re too kind, Consul.” Strawberry Tea Cookie let out a strained laugh while releasing herself from the former queen’s grip, wanting to do nothing but escape this situation.

Make a good impression.

She froze in her place, those subconscious words pulling and posing her to face Clotted Cream Cookie once again. “...I should be the one honored to be in your presence.” She pitched her words higher at the end, hoping to sound more sweet but instead coming off as if she were choking on durian fumes.

An awkward silence ensued, with Strawberry Tea Cookie unable to think of what to say next.

“Well, tonight we are celebrating the reconstruction of the Crème Republic,” the Consul mentioned with a polite, charming smile. “You and Strawberry Butler Cookie are more than welcome to attend.”

Would she have enough time to go? Getting settled into her new home will most likely take the entire day. 

But she remembered the way her mother became the definitive head of House Strawberry. Through courting the eldest son of the Oolong Dynasty and conducting complex business negotiations, she was able to establish a strong tea trade agreement that worked in House Strawberry’s favor. These imported teas, combined with the refreshing selection of fruits found deep within the Cranberry Forest, quickly became a household staple throughout the kingdom. The economic prosperity that followed immediately convinced Goji Berry Cookie to select Strawberry Mousse Cookie as their next leader. 

If Strawberry Tea Cookie could continue expanding House Strawberry’s trading network, it would surely increase her chances of taking back her heirship. As far as she knew, all her cousin did was paint and nothing else. He was not exposed to the business side of House Strawberry like she was, and perhaps she could use that to her advantage to expand her feats beyond fashion.

“We’ll be sure to attend,” Strawberry Tea Cookie gave another curtsy. As she dipped, the tiredness that was temporarily lifted instantly came crashing down. While she absolutely despised entertaining strangers, it was something she must do in order to prove herself. “Thank you so much for extending this invitation.”

“It’s only natural to invite friends of Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie,” Clotted Cream Cookie chimed. “I’ll be looking forward to your appearance this evening~.”

“My lady, the carriage is ready to take us to our accommodations.” Strawberry Butler Cookie announced.

“Why don’t we come along and help you unpack?” Hollyberry Cookie offered, her retainer nodding in agreement. “You have at least twelve full juice barrels worth of stuff, it’s going to take you until the next morning to go through everything, haha!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the wagon with all her packed belongings, which seemed even more comically small compared to the carriage from the day before. 

“If you two wouldn’t mind,” Strawberry Tea Cookie turned back to answer them. “The help would be greatly appreciated.” Especially from two of the strongest cookies in the Hollyberry Kingdom.

“We would be more than happy to help,” Wildberry Cookie assured. “And I could give you all a tour of the Crème Republic afterwards.”

“Thank you, but we would like to decline,” Strawberry Butler Cookie cut in, interjecting before the designer could agree to Wildberry Cookie’s offer. “My lady had quite a… restless night, it would be best if she didn’t over exert herself before tonight’s party.” He shot her a finalizing glare, which Strawberry Tea Cookie matched with an annoyed one.

However another pulse of exhaustion struck her right after, and she found her initial irritation immediately transformed into gratitude for her butler’s intervention.

Perhaps she overdid it a little… But does she even have the luxury to take a break?

“Clotted Cream Cookie, why don’t you join us?” Hollyberry Cookie, who was in the process of boarding the wagon, asked. “The more hands, the merrier!”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline,” the Consul smiled as he took a step back. “I’m afraid there are other items that I must attend to before tonight’s celebration.”

“To the sharpest piping tip as usual, Consul,” the former queen teased. “Very well, that leaves more fun for us~!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie couldn’t help but feel amused at the fact that Hollyberry Cookie seemed more excited to go than she was. But perhaps it was another opportunity to spend time with cookies she deemed close.

.

.

.

.

The wagon, pulled by two cream coated cookie horses, slowly made its way down the azure streets of the Republic, gently rocking against the many bleached shells unevenly mixed into the pavement. Despite the wall of buildings blocking out most of the sun’s rays, a few slivers of brilliant light managed to weave its way through the thin alleyways, accentuating the road’s pearlescent shine that glimmered with prosperity and new beginnings.

As her friends chatted amongst themselves, Strawberry Tea Cookie settled into the ride by watching the cookies going about their daily lives. She observed as they greeted each other in passing, darting in and out of the many luxuriously decorated storefronts the street had to offer. Some stayed to chat, their conversations lost to the whims of the wind that lightly blew on hanged laundry and ruffled the newspapers cookies were reading. Others were more in a hurry, barreling past those who walked with leisure towards an unknown destination, their ambitious worry uncaring as the neatness of their clothes waned.

Each cookie here seemed to radiate an aura of nobility, both in the way they dressed and acted. Their clothes were timelessly dandy and darling, much unlike the more loose-fitting garments the Old Vanilla Kingdom was known for. Waffle cloaks and cotton robes were replaced with more form-fitting suits, its colors paled to the simple warmth of the past. Despite its origin, they were a perfect blend between the clothing upper and lower class cookies wore back in the Hollyberry Kingdom—which could serve to benefit Strawberry Tea Cookie when developing her new collection.

But for now, she should focus on studying Republic attire. She already pinpointed a few boutiques to visit once she had settled down, and tonight’s celebration should give her a better understanding of how cookies here dressed.

The wagon stopped in front of a house that was sandwiched between two storefronts. It was a double layered, rectangular building coated in white buttercream stucco; thick, flat white piping bordered the leveled roof and where the two layered floors met. The upper layer had a set of rectangular, blue double doors that opened to a balcony full of bougainvillea jelly cube flowers. Its vines crept down to the lower layer, surrounding the front door and the triple paned window adjacent to it, both of which were also framed in blue. Underneath the window was a stubby planter the same width as the sill, holding an assortment of lush green shrubbery.

This seemed to have been a shop converted into a residence.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was the first to hop off the wagon followed by Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, Strawberry Butler Cookie stayed behind to unload everything with the—albeit unwelcomed—help of the coachcookie.

“The owner said that the key should be here somewhere…” The designer mumbled as she sorted through the multitude of rocks found at the base of the planter. But with a bit of digging, she managed to find a bronze key taped to the underside of a medium-sized rock chocolate. She immediately dashed to unlock the door, just in time for Strawberry Butler Cookie to carry in the first bundle of luggage.

Upon entering the foyer, which was connected to another room, the four cookies were greeted with walls frosted in buttercream white and floors made of geometrically arranged brown sugar cubes. There was a set of stairs going to the second floor, and a corridor that led to the living room.

The living room was illuminated by a wide, arched window that opened into a quaint courtyard shared by other buildings. There was a tall lamp in the corner where two long, beige sofas met; marshmallow pillows dyed in various shades of red decorated each couch, matching the carpet’s color underneath. At the center was a short, ovalish coffee table with a few magazines neatly arranged across. There was a bathroom adjacent to the corridor’s entrance, right under the stairs.

The kitchen, only separated by a single counter from the living room, had wooden counters lacquered with melted sugar spanning the entire perimeter of the area; white cabinets connected the counters to the floor. In the middle of the kitchen was an island counter surrounded by four cracker stools. Above it was a crate-esque structure where various kitchenware hung from. There was another window above the sink that looked out to the courtyard, along with a door in the corner to exit.

“This isn’t as fancy as the kitchen back home,” Strawberry Butler Cookie commented as he inspected the stove and fridge. “But it’ll do,” he quickly glanced at the pots and pans provided, grimacing at their battered forms. “Good thing I brought my own supplies…”

Another small corridor, which doubled as a sort of pantry, connected the kitchen back to the seemingly empty room next to the foyer. Said room, as Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped into it, was completely flooded with natural light due to the curved windows that almost touched the ceiling. Maroon curtains, tied at the ends in a pretty bow, partitioned off each window panel. At one corner was a sugar lacquered desk and chair, and in the center was a long wooden table with a basket on it.

The basket had an assortment of dried fruit and chocolates, along with a note from the owner of the residence that read: “I cleared this room so you could have some space to work on your designs. I hope this and the new decor make you feel more at home!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie smiled, her host was so much nicer compared to her previous landlord, who kept raising the rent every month until her and Mont Blanc Cookie decided staying in that dingy shoebox wasn’t worth the coins.

Stepping up to the second floor led to a guarded landing made of hardwood, which curved in an L shape along the stairs. It had three rooms; a storage closet was at the backmost of the house, followed by two bedrooms.

The bedroom next to the storage closet had a curtained window overlooking the courtyard. It was quaint; unremarkable with only a simple twin bed, desk, and dresser. Strawberry Butler Cookie took that room.

Next to that room was what many would consider the master bedroom, given how it was the largest and in possession of the balcony. The room was furnished with a queen sized bed decorated in red pillows and blankets, it also had a small vanity that doubled as a desk, along with a walk-in closet. Given how her butler claimed the previous room, Strawberry Tea Cookie was left with this room—not that she was complaining.

“We should start unpacking,” Wildberry Cookie mentioned, watching the location of the sun from the balcony. “The celebration will start in a few hours.”

“I agree,” Strawberry Butler Cookie turned to exit the bedroom. “At the very least we should get the big ticket items set up, like my lady’s sewing machine.”

“Then let’s get to it!” Hollyberry Cookie exulted, raising her fist. “With the four of us, we’ll get everything settled in no time!”

[kedreeva]

Hello, good day/evening/whenever you see this haha, I had a couple bread questions if that's alright?

I love the idea of My Own Infinite Bread Beast. But I've also had sourdough bread from like the store (never fresh though) and I don't really like it that much cuz it's too... sour. Does fresh homemade sourdough taste the same? Or if it does, are there things you can add or change to change it that you know of? I know you've made cookies with it so I'm hoping it doesn't lol, but I wanted to ask before getting too invested in a bread project

The short answer is yes, it still tastes sour.

The medium answer is that it doesn't taste AS sour because most mass-produced "sourdough" isn't made from fermented yeast, it's made with vinegar and ascorbic acid.

Which means the longer answer is it CAN taste sour but it doesn't taste AS sour and it's not the same KIND of sour. The cookies don't taste sour because there's a thousand pounds of sugar, butter, vanilla/almond extract, and chocolate offsetting any sour taste. Bread doesn't have that, it's usually just flour, water, starter (which is flour/water + yeast), and salt. Some breads may have milk, eggs, butter, or even sugar in them, but a plain loaf is just 4 ingredients so there's not a lot to disguise the flavor.

That being said, real sourdough is "sour" because the yeast you're keeping ferments. It takes about a day for it to ferment when it's kept appropriately warm. You'll notice the texture will rise from a thick kinda lumpy "pancake batter" consistency to an air-pocked sticky thick stringy gluten-y texture, and then down into basically a liquid again, as it ferments after feeding. When you make bread, you're supposed to mix the dough using "active fed starter" which means you feed the starter, and when it rises and becomes that air-pocked consistency, it's active. This process can take anywhere from 2 to 8 hours, depending on temp and your starter's general activity level, but if you use the yeast as it STARTS to feed as opposed to when it's STOPPING feeding, you may get a less sour loaf.

The wetter your starter, the less sour it will be (if you mix it to be more soupy than lumpy). The longer you let it ferment before feeding, the more sour it will become. The kind of flour you use matters, too- whole grain flours will make a more sour loaf, all-purpose (unbleached) will make a less sour loaf (I've heard adding a little oat flour can also help, but I wouldn't feed it on oat flour). If you lower the cold rise time (the longest rise, usually something like 10 hours, so most people do it overnight or even in the fridge, but if you let it rise in a warmer area it will take less time and ferment less), you'll get a less sour loaf. You can add honey to your loaf to cut the sourness. You can add baking soda, which will lower the acidity and make a faster rise time (so less time to ferment). You can feed more often, which will cause less ferment or at least divide it so there's less fermented leavings. If you leave it for too long and you get a clear layer on top, that's alcohol. Try to dump off as much of that as you can before feeding (I mix it back in, because Sark likes it sour). When you make bread, using colder water can lower the sourness since the yeast won't be as active.

There's a LOT of things you can try, and see what works for you. Ultimately nothing may work if you just don't like the flavor. BUT if you've only ever had storebought and aren't sure you've ever had actual sourdough, it might be worth a shot. The starter isn't expensive (in fact you can get some from Carl's starter for the price of postage for an envelope), and you just need any kind of glass jar to keep it in. I like having two, so I can pour it into a new jar every day instead of getting crusty dried starter on the side, since you have to discard half the starter every day, but you don't HAVE to have two jars. And it doesn't even have to be good jars or anything. You can go to the dollar store and get whatever small but tall-ish vessel (remember it rises), and just cover it with plastic wrap and a rubber band while you're experimenting. If you have a mason jar (or your parents do or a friend does) or a glass cup or something it'll work for an experiment in "do i like this?"

Anyway, I hope you try it. Having a bread beast is fun.

[burgerouppy]

burgerouppy baby journal

TODAYS PROMPT: yummy snacks

there are a lot of foods that i like to eat that my littles do not. sometimes, i don't like eating them when i'm little. usually it's a difference in preference, but sometimes it feels weird eating something "big." a huge bowl of hot and sour udon is not for baby me... so this list is snacks i've found baby me (and the littles) like + their recipes.

also adding the price ranges for anyone who may want to go shopping. i live in the states so all estimated price ranges are averaged from USA prices.

⌒⌒

jam and cream cheese pastry ($10-15)

pita bread (regular bread works too but it's not as good)

whipped cream cheese

your favorite jam :3

just take bread and put the cream cheese and jam inside... and then toast it until its yummy and warm! then u fold it over and it looks like a sweet dumpling 🥟 also yummy with chamomile tea

⌒⌒

fruit smoothie ($15-20)

1 cup frozen blueberries

1 sliced banana

fruit yogurt cup (chobani sized)

1 cup milk (almond, oat, etc)

as much ice as you can fit in the blender

all you gotta do is put all these ingredients into your blender and you have like... 2 days worth of yummy drink... #love

⌒⌒

yummy kibble 4 girls ($19-25)

1/2 cup honey nut cheerios

1/2 cup mini marshmallows

some scooby snacks

some pretzels

edible cookie dough balls

its called kibble 4 girls but its also 4 boys trust!!! one day i wanted to eat dog kibble that is yummy so i put together this potion and it was pretty yummy in my tummy 🦴

⌒⌒

banana peanut butter sandwich ($8-10)

blueberry oatmeal ($15-20)

chinese rice crackers ($7-20)

[affluent-havoc]

Naegamigiri/Naegirigami/Tonaegiri/FOOD BE LIKE

I think it's time I compile all my little food headcanons for these three. Like, they've been sporadically mentioned but they deserve to be mentioned in full together. These will mostly just be the things they like with a small bit of the things they hate and how that effects their relationship from time to time. Now. Makoto eating carrot.

Makoto eats them like a rabbit. Makoto is just a rabbit.

It's factual. Okay. I'm mostly kidding but I find this cute. Also small tangent, I'm imagining him running around excited doing things like helping others out or he's just enthusiastic to do something and Kyoko and Byakuya just looking at him. Meanwhile, they're both just imagining a rabbit with the zoomies. Now, tangent over! Back to carrots! Byakuya does not like that Makoto eats carrots straight from the source like that. The heathen. He just can't stand it! It is a pet peeve of his and he judges Makoto immensely for it. Makoto doesn't care as much as he used to though. He used to feel a bit guilty about making Byakuya upset about this but, damn it, he's finally eating vegetables after just eating meat, cheese, and dash of potatoes! He's living the high life now! So, suck it, Byakuya!

Another thing for Makoto specifically is that he likes the pasta. His go to is ramen but his horizons have been expanded because of Byakuya showing him other foods as a ploy to get him to stop eating ramen. Like, Byakuya and Kyoko love Makoto but they do not love ramen. They also love Makoto enough to wanna get him to eat other things. And, they succeeded! Makoto's still eating ramen though. Also, Makoto is a snacker. He snacks. He likes his crackers a lot and he either nibbles them like a little mouse are eats them in a single bite. There is no in-between. He also has a sweet tooth though Kyoko and Byakuya have one too though they either just hide it better or it's just lesser than Makoto's. It's a coin flip on that. For the other two, in regards of Kyoko, she likes her strawberries. Why? I dunno. This headcanon in specifics just spawned in one day and I'm just living with it now. BOOM! Old are I already posted! A blast from the past!

Here's the link to the older post by the way... Because why not. AHEM. Moving on though, she's not a big pasta person like Makoto. LIke, she's fine with some but it's mostly the lighter stuff. Thats the pasta she can enjoy though in smaller quantities. She's not a Carb King like Makoto though cus damn does Makoto like his freaking carbs. There's the pasta of course but he also likes his bread, potatoes, definitely rice. Honestly a lot of grains and starchy foods. Though, back to Kyoko, though she mostly eats lighter foods like fish and also salads too. She enjoys salads though and doesn't mind the croutons if they're actually fine. See! She still eats SOME carbs. Makoto just makes her look like a bread and pasta hater in comparison though when she's mostly just indifferent and just doesn't like ramen. Byakuya's also a fish person too and prefers lighter foods. Not as much as Kyoko since he can enjoy a less light meal and isn't a pasta hater like Kyoko/hj After all, he IS the one responsible for Makoto liking other pastas now which Kyoko teases him for "being all his fault" since Makoto is the pasta whore and he cannot be stopped. Another thing Byakuya likes is his sour dough bread. He's fine with garlic bread too. Because reasons. He's also the vegetable man. Not for everything but he's fine with them. Kyoko and Makoto are more of the fruit people. Though, all of them are fruits ;) All three of them can agree on one thing though. Curry good. They like curry. They all eat their own differently like Makoto liking his curry with a lot of potatoes and Kyoko liking her curry with a thinner broth and also the factor of them having different spice tolerances (Kyoko's at the top, Byakuya's in the middle, Makoto's at the end though they don't have the most insane tolerance to spice though it's definitely up there. Makoto's average though) However, they like their curry and also experiment with different types of curry too together. Cus bonding via curry! It's beautiful.

Also, now I'm just imagining a joke about curry being the glue that keeps them together. Which obviously isn't true. There are other things that keep these three as a unit. But, it's still a silly prospect!

Some other miscellaneous headcanons I have is that Kyoko and Byakuya are hummus girlies. They like their hummus and Makoto just doesn't get it. They both aren't condiments people either. That's Makoto mostly but he's not insane about it. Makoto's the guy who likes his ketchup though. Byakuya hates ketchup. Kyoko's fine with mustard though is not crazy about it. She'll use some condiments from time to time. Byakuya using condiments is rare though.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

So…forgive me if you’ve done something like this before but Steve/Nat/Bucky have been living rent free in my head for a while now and I thought…what if Nat was just having a really lousy time and Steve and Bucky just cooked her an authentic Russian meal to cheer her up but they can’t cook. So they keep practicing and tasting until they get it right…putting on weight as they go because…decadent cuisine, amirite? She notices her little pelmeni getting bigger but she doesn’t mind. She keeps tasting, taunting them, saying it’s not right, try again. Until they get it right, only they’re not the only chubby ones anymore…but Nat doesn’t realize it until she indulges in one of their truly amazing meals and ends up popping a button. Sexy times!

Completely ignores the fact that the last writing I did here was all but a month ago and returns like nothing happened.

I haven't done something like this before! I dig it! It's giving this scene between Wanda and Vision

Also, it reminds me of this Steve and Natasha fic that I adore "Shaping Happiness"

Inspiration/reminders aside... yes! This idea is great!

I went off the prompt a little bit because I couldn’t help myself, I hope it’s still enjoyable!

Warnings for Steve × Natasha × Bucky belly kink below the cut. Unbeta'd. Stuffing, weight gain, dirty talk, etc.

At first, all the food Steve and Bucky attempt to cook for Natasha to cheer her up is truly terrible.

Steve has never been much of a cook, so he claims it’s not his fault. Listen! He's unlucky enough to burn water! So, as Bucky rediscovers Steve’s kitchen ineptitude, he's quickly relegated to boiling water at most and tasting as Bucky cooks at least. Steve cannot be trusted with knives and veggies most of the time (Bucky will never understand how he’s a superhero who can hold his own in combat), nor can he be trusted to measure something correctly (he’d much rather just "eyeball" it), and there is never a time where it is acceptable to allow Steve to cook something. He will turn up the temperature, thinking it’s not cooking fast enough, and accidentally attempt to burn the entire apartment to the ground. So, Steve gets to taste.

Only taste.

Bucky will give him spoonfuls or bits and pieces, and Steve will greedily take them. Praising Bucky’s cooking ability (re: his non-disaster existence in the kitchen that Steve occasionally envies, lmao) and asking for more, please? Weaponizing those pretty baby blues when Bucky’s successful enough for things to be edible.

Obviously, Bucky is a better chef between the two of them, but he's out of practice (years of being the fist of HYDRA will do that to you) and unfamiliar with these kinds of foods. So, even though he's still got a few of his Ma's recipes in the very back of his brain (not that Depression-era foods to keep the family fed are very good compared to a lot of these Russian delicacies), nothing is really… right… when they first begin making comfort food for Natasha.

They try all the staples:

Solyanka (sweet and sour beef stew), zharkoye (beef (or whatever extra meat you have around the house) and vegetable stew), zharkeo (chicken stew), etc.

Borscht (red beet soup), okroshka (vegetables, egg, potato, and meat soup), rassolnik (beef, barley, and pickle soup), shchi (cabbage soup), ukha (fish soup), etc.

Pelmeni (meat dumplings), pirozhki (savory baked or fried puff pastries), blini (wheat crepe-like pastries with sweet or savory fillings), borodinsky (dark rye bread), vatrushka (sweet pastry with cottage cheese and raisins), shashlik (kebabs with cubed meat and vegetables), ikra (caviar on bread/blini), pirozhki (yeast dough stuffed with savory or sweet fillings), etc.

Morozheneo (extra creamy Russian ice cream), pashka (sweetened cheesecake), kartoshka (basically Russian cake pops, often chocolate), kissel (cherry soup), medovik (layered honey and condensed milk cake), etc.

Steve will often spend the time that Bucky is spending cooking by looking up new recipes, and new foods, making sure to take them from credible sources so they don’t end up in a “diner situation”

The diner situation was what happened when Bucky was first recovering and they were surviving on takeout because Bucky was too afraid to allow himself around knives again and Steve was struggling (unsurprising), so no cooking for him, and they went to an “all-American diner.” Hoping for a taste of home and instead finding that the diner served food that was God fucking awful and worst of all, nothing like the actual food of the day it was claiming to represent! It made them both feel worse - lonelier. No one understood what it was like. What the food was, what the culture was, what it was like.

They don’t want that.

They will not be making some bogus “Russian food” that isn’t actually authentic.

Anyway -

All traditional Russian cuisine that Bucky attempts while Steve watches and tastes and researches aren't any good at first.

Like, they suck so much that Steve and Bucky don't even serve them to Natasha. Tasha doesn’t even know what they’re doing. She’s always out on missions or on Capitol Hill with Fury whenever they try their hand at making her familiar Russian foods by their design. While alone together in the apartment, Steve and Bucky quietly try each creation themselves, can barely swallow it at first, and decide… not yet.

Not yet.

They both want it to be perfect.

So, even when Steve begins to use his puppy-dog eyes for evil, begging for more treats, more tastes, because, holy shit, Buck, that’s great! That has to be what that is supposed to taste like! They don’t share the plan with Natasha yet.

Not yet.

Natasha catches onto the fact that something is going on as she starts to squint her eyes and pinch Steve’s hip or ass, gratefully sighing, “at least between the two of you, someone is fully embracing the house-husband lifestyle.”

Embracing the house-husband lifestyle by packing on a few pounds. Just enough to soften Steve’s usually perfect abs into a flat belly (unless he’s stuffed or bloated) and turning his thighs and ass into soft, squeezable shapes.

Bucky and Steve have both retired, giving them all the more time to spend experimenting and practicing recipes for Natasha as house-husbands and homemakers. But Steve is the only one beginning to plump up. He’s stopped going for his morning run and afternoon workouts cold turkey. Bucky still goes to the gym. He finds it meditative. Cooking and working out seem to be some of the only things that completely clear his mind. Steve, on the other hand, has always been single-minded. And it seems like eating has taken up all of his focus.

There's no room for anything else.

Steve tastes as Bucky goes, describing the flavors the best he can, telling him what he might try adding and how the flavor compares to what his research has told him the dish is supposed to be like. Then, when the dish is done, Steve tries it first, while it’s still hot (even if it’s supposed to be served cooled, Steve can’t help but have a healthy serving before it goes into the fridge). He gives notes again. Bucky tries it when it's fully ready. He has a nibble or two, just enough to taste - nothing like the full servings that Steve takes. Bucky has already had his lunch, and he doesn’t want to spoil his dinner. Then, if it’s good, Steve eats the rest of whatever they’ve made.

All of the rest.

Bucky’s taken to telling Steve to “hide the evidence” since they don’t want Tasha to know until they’re ready for her…

Is it really hiding, though, if they both know where the extra food is ending up in the form of a pretty, shaping-up pot belly? Sticking straight out from Steve's well-defined chest.

Food for thought. Ha.

“What is Bucky feeding you when I’m away?” Natasha purrs, on her knees, her sharp, white teeth digging into the new slope of Steve’s belly. He chugged a whole, huge pot of stew when Natasha texted an approximate 10-minute ETA. Getting rid of the evidence except… the stew was full of melt-in-your-mouth meat and potatoes and salt. Heavy. This stew isn't fucking around and it's apparently delectable (Steve's word). So, it’s obvious where the stew has gone. Right into his pot belly.

Swollen.

Once Natasha arrived, Steve was still sweating and just beginning to bloat up like a balloon from the excess sodium. And Tasha's always present 6th sense for knowing how best to drive Steve up the wall, complained about how hungry she was.

A devious grin split Bucky’s face, asking what she was craving because they’d be sure to order lots of it. Whatever she wanted.

She said Indian food.

Perfect.

That’s not something Steve can resist. He loves Indian food. And, sure enough, he wolfed down a whole ‘nother dinner. Getting red in the face from the spice heat and temperature heat, his poor belly gurgling loudly in a fit of digestion.

Steve shrugs in reply to her question, biting his lip out of arousal but also out of desperation to hide the overfull groan that wants to come out of him. He’s been fighting burps and moans and hiccups all evening. Trying to not make his packed state so fucking obvious.

Bucky thought he was into seeing Steve like this - bloated and round - because he loves seeing his fella happy and healthy and fulfilled. Bucky thought he was into cooking and baking and experimenting with food for Natasha because he loves her, and he wants to make her happy and bring her comfort and just do something sweet for her. Those things are true. But, watching Natasha dig her painted nails into Steve’s soft parts…

There’s something else here, too.

Woo, boy.

“Mm,” Natasha is half-asleep, exhausted from yet another mission, yawning, and curled up like a cat in a sunspot between them. Her head is cushioned on Steve’s chest, “‘m pretty sure we could get rid of our pillows and be just fine.” She squeezes the pec that her head isn’t pillowed on in her hand, groping him, “got enough right here.”

Steve inhales shakily, turning bright red.

Bucky can tell by looking at him that he’s not insulted, far from it, that’s his this-is-making-my-dick-hard face. He's squirming, too. Blood going straight for his dick with a vengeance.

“Eh, just wait a little longer 'fore we make any rash decisions, m'kay, doll?” Bucky murmurs, amused, running his metal fingers through Tasha’s fire-red hair.

She grumpily frowns but then snuggles more into Steve’s jiggly chest, taking it as being warned about how tired she is rather than waiting because Steve’s going to get plumper. More cushion.

Good.

The more blindsided she is by the comfort, the better. Bucky wants it to take her out - to make her feel so much better that all she can do is accept it. She has a hard enough time allowing herself simple pleasures.

She deserves it all and more.

“Damn, Rogers, you ever think about doing a centerfold? I’m pretty sure Playboy would make an exception for you if we asked.” Natasha husks, her face all up in Steve’s business. Lips and teeth and tongue working at his little hole while her hands spread his extra full cheeks apart.

Steve simply whines, high-pitched and pathetic.

It’s a damn good response, considering her question and considering how Bucky has his cock rammed down his throat. Stuffing him.

Steve is suspended between them, face-planted onto Bucky’s cock, choking, his arms useless, half crushed under his chest against the bed, and arching back against Tasha. His legs shake under him when Natasha does something special with her sharp tongue. Steve’s in heaven. Choking on dick, throat full, and getting fucked with a hot, wet tongue deep inside his sweet hole.

Now, after weeks and weeks of practice, not just Steve’s big, heavy dick hangs down toward the bed... now his belly does, too. It jiggles when he squirms. Every time Bucky squeezes his growing gut, Steve makes a sound like he’s dying. It’s a different sound to what he makes when Natasha gropes his thickening ass or widening love handles. Also, different from the sound he makes when they feel up his expanding tits. All his sounds are sweet, but the sound he makes for his belly is especially guttural and desperate.

“Curves for days,” Bucky bites out, thrusting in hard. “Better than any of the girls in those pages.”

Steve chokes.

Tasha laughs, just this side of cruel. “Mmm-hmm,” she spanks his ass just to watch the fat flesh ripple, “getting more and more curves these days. I guess retirement is good for somethin’.”

The growl Bucky lets out is unintentional. It’s barely been a year since they retired. So, what will Steve look like in a year? What will Natasha look like when she’s face-first in his ass then? Will Natasha have to buy a longer strap to reach Stevie’s hole, much of the plastic length getting swallowed by his monstrous ass? How fat will Steve be if they keep going, his perfect, little, superhero figure ruined?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Bucky can’t take the thought. He ends up coming down Steve’s throat with a shout from behind gritted teeth.

Steve doesn’t mysteriously grow forever, though...

When they’re ready, Bucky and Steve arrange with Fury for Natasha to have a full three-day weekend off, no interruptions unless the world is literally being torn in two. Then, with the guarantee, they prepare.

First, Steve does research into the traditional Russian foods that would be used for a celebration - a feast - and arranges an entire multi-course menu for the occasion. His poor belly, so used to tasting and now able to recognize most of the dishes he comes across, wails the whole time he works. He’s not hungry. Not exactly. He just wants something in his mouth. He wants to taste. He can’t wait for the feast. Bucky has to remind him again and again that this is Natasha’s feast. She’s going to eat what she wants, and then Steve can destroy the leftovers.

Second, Bucky prepares all the dishes. One last time. Every detail on point. Practicing. Getting everything as perfect as he can. Making sure the dishes and drinks in each course compliment each other well.

Steve gobbles it all up, stuffed like a traditional American Thanksgiving turkey by the end of it. Panting around his bounty, all of it shoved down his throat, turning his belly into a red, tight beachball that Bucky wants to worship.

And for once, Bucky is relieved that Natasha is currently, before her long weekend, on a multiple-day mission. She’s out of the apartment and not returning tonight. He’s relieved because it means he doesn’t have to explain this to her.

Steve. Stuffed. Food-drunk and hard and moaning about it.

There’s no way this would be an accident. No one gets completely, illogically gorged like this without trying.

When did tasting bits and pieces become vacuuming up the entire dish Bucky made anyway? Bucky doesn’t exactly know. But he can’t complain. All he can do is rub Steve’s skin with lotion then jerk him off slow and tight, dragging it out until Steve is sobbing, holding his taunt gut desperately like he can keep himself together, keep himself from splitting at the seams, and then blacking out when he’s finally allowed to come because it feels so good.

Third, they prepare all the food before Tasha is set to arrive home. She’s been in debrief most of the morning, but before that, she caught a cat nap on the quinjet and then showered at Stark Tower. She should be refreshed. There’ll be no reason to delay the feast. Bucky doesn’t want to have to reheat it and ruin some of the delicate flavor.

He wants it perfect.

Steve waddles around, helping Bucky to set the table the traditional Russian way - including the shot of vodka next to the water and wine glasses. Steve waddles because Bucky had to make sure he had his fill of food before the feast. Otherwise, he would’ve probably been helpless not to hoover up all the decadence laid out in front of him. He’s created a monster. Even if it’s been hotter than sin to watch him lose self-control after so many years of being perfectly in control of every little part of himself and his life - but, there needs to be an intervention of that new habit today.

So, Steve is stuffed, barely holding himself together. Panting. Flushed. Sweaty. Aroused. Filled.

Bucky is so focused on the stew in front of him, steaming on the stovetop, as he ladles it into an appropriate bowl for serving that he doesn’t hear Natasha unlock the apartment door. The first thing he hears from her is a pleased moan.

“What is that smell?” She asks, her husky voice bright.

“I think you know what it is,” Bucky chirps back, charming.

“Mm-hm,” she hums. Bucky hopes he isn’t projecting when he thinks that she sounds delighted.

But, before he can get anything else out of her, he hears her gasp. He’s about to round the corner and check on her, make sure nothing is wrong after her mission, when -

“Oh, маленький поросенок,” she purrs, “this is why you’ve grown so plump, isn’t it?”

Bucky shivers, setting down both the ladle and the bowl, quickly stalking toward the dining table. Little piglet. God. Did he hear her correctly? Did - is… is that what she really just called Steve?

Little piglet.

The meaning of the words themselves, along with the sound of smooth, purred Russian in Natasha’s voice, leaves Bucky’s heart pounding in his chest.

This was part of the plan, too. Making Steve irrestiable, putting him on display, was part of the plan. He just didn’t -

He didn’t expect it to affect him so much.

He wanted it for Tasha.

Just for her, he left Steve at the dining table, sitting back in one of the heavy wooden chairs with his big belly wedged between the armrests as a gift. Huffing and puffing, stuffed as he already is. His hands resting on either round, bowed-out side of his tummy, rubbing himself lazily. He’s in a tight white t-shirt that’s been pushed up by his swollen middle, exposing a delicious, pale slice of his lower belly that’s been marked by hot, pink stretch marks. Even the serum can’t keep up with the ravenous appetite inside of Steve. The elastic of his grey sweatpants has been stretched to its limits and crushed under his gut. If his heavy belly is lifted up, jostled enough to make him moan, it becomes obvious just how low his sweats are on his hips because the top of his neatly trimmed, blond pubic hair is right there.

Sweet.

He looks delicious.

He looks like one of the Russian pastries Bucky has prepared. Golden and puffy. Hell, he might look more like the dough for the pastry before it’s baked - he’s certainly doughy and soft and he’s expanding out of his clothes like he’s expanding, growing from too much yeast.

Natasha is standing next to him now, her mouth open, staring at him, trying to figure out where to begin. A cat with a mouse, all hers to play with.

The moment she touches him, Steve arches his back, pushing into her touch. Hungry for even that.

Gluttonous.

He’s so gluttonous.

More. More. More.

More of everything. Anything.

“You gonna sit down, doll?”

Natasha shuts her full lips with a click but nods, almost shy with how her eyes flick toward him, then away. Demure in a way that she never is. Normally, if she wants something. She’s going to get it.

This is a different side of her, and Bucky already likes it.

Bucky pulls out a chair for her, the one directly across the table from Steve. She sits, and he pushes her in. He leaves quite a bit of space between her and the table, hoping her gluttonous side will appear and flourish, too. He wants to see her belly grow until it touches the edge of the table.

Christ.

He wants her to eat until she can’t have another bite.

Maybe she’ll let him feed her like Steve lets him.

Maybe she’ll grow as round and fat as Steve has.

He enjoys having one little piglet as a lover, so what could be better than two?

Fuck.

More than excited, Bucky sits himself at the head of the table after bringing the first course. He serves Steve just as much as he serves Natasha, unable to not feed him when he looks so sweet. Even if the plan had been to stuff Steve beforehand so he would be sated (and also to allow him to sit for long enough that he’d be ready to play by the time Natasha was done eating).

Steve is...

He's perfect. Irresistible. Blue eyes dazed, eyelids heavy, cheeks red with heat, head hanging low enough to give him a full double chin. A preview of what’s to come if he keeps blowing up like a balloon. It’s delicious.

Tasha eats everything that Bucky serves her. Everything. Practically licking each plate or bowl clean. She praises his dedication, obviously noticing the care and preparation of the presentation but also tasting the care and prep. These are not flavors that are easy to attain. It’s not perfect. But Natasha is glad it isn’t perfect. That means they can do this again. And again and again and again. Until they have it perfect. Then. Even after that, they should do it. This is good.

Natasha is enjoying herself because, perfect or not, it does settle her. She feels like she could close her eyes and be in one of the rare moments of her childhood where she felt safe and comforted. Better than that, too. With her eyes open, she’s here with her lovers. Her маленький поросенок [little piglet] and her… her кормушка.

Кормушка.

That feels right.

Her feeder.

That’s what Bucky is doing, feeding her, stuffing her, giving her everything she wanted and beyond. More than she could’ve imagined.

The fuller Tasha gets, the farther they get through the courses, the more settled she feels.

It’s hard, she realizes, to allow her abs to let go and expand with the bulk of the food she’s putting down, but, when they make it to the third type of stew, Bucky pauses to rub her belly over her tightening blouse and she moans and breathes heavy and let's go.

She unrounds.

She didn’t realize she was sucking in every moment of every day. Exhaustive. Letting go makes her toes curl. She watches Steve across the table and does as he does, mirroring him, squirming.

“Oh, Джеймс,” Natasha moans his name in Russian, James. Moving side to side, squirming, she can feel the food sloshing inside her. It’s so akin to the feeling of being fucked that it’s shocking. Full. Every sweet spot inside her hit. No wonder Steve loves this enough to have plumped up so deliciously, so rapidly.

She must be making a wet spot on her chair. The heat between her legs is so intense. She would love to squeeze her legs together and feel the throb of her pussy, stimulating herself, but she’s afraid she can’t move her legs. They’ve fallen apart. Spread. Making room for her belly to grow between.

Grow and grow and grow.

Until it’s inhibited by the size of her shirt and the band of her pants, belted tightly to her skin. Her blouse is too tight. The belt is cutting her in half. Without the belt, she’s sure her pants would be giving her trouble anyway. Together, it’s all agony. And these pathetic sounds she only makes when her lovers spend their day working her up and up and up, not letting her come until the sun has begun to set and all she can do is weakly clutch at them, crying, sobbing, and whimpering for her release. Begging to have it. And making a massive mess when she does, squirting hard enough the first time she was convinced she pissed herself. Just. Drenched. Broken like a dry branch snapping.

Crack.

How does she feel like she’s there already?

Steve is watching her from across the table with this obscene, blatant, animal desire etched into his pretty face. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him look so dumb and dominant at once. Like he wants to take her, to devour her, but he doesn’t know how.

Not a thought in his head.

She doesn't blame Steve, though. It is exquisitely difficult to think when so stuffed. She's full up to her eyebrows, and every swallow is forcing her brain out of her head. No thoughts.

Bucky reflects the look on Steve’s face, just, without so much of the stupid. He’s clearly awed, but he knows exactly what he wants.

What he wants to do to her.

What he wants from her.

Pop.

Before she can even realize what’s happened, Natasha is moaning, gruff and loud, and breathless all at once. She has a mouthful of food that she’s having a hard time swallowing, and her body doesn’t want more food. Her mind wants more food. She needs. More. Just a little more. Please? This feast has to end at some point, doesn’t it? So she might as well take all she can get while she can get it, right?

What happened? She turns her head towards Bucky, feeling entirely shit-faced drunk in a way that she… she hasn’t maybe ever felt.

Tasha swallows her mouthful of food, moaning as it slides into her. Stuffing her more. Deep. And -

Pop. Pop.

“AH!” She moans again, twisting her head too fast when she hears an answering clink, clink.

Her eyes follow the sound and find Steve’s plate and her answer.

Two of the three buttons she’s just popped off of her blouse, each feeling like an orgasm in their own right, has landed on his plate.

Steve is staring at them. Chin doubled. Hungry and dumb with his mouth open.

Oh.

Natasha squirms as much as her overfull, clothes-breaking gut will allow for, crying out when she feels her bare skin come into contact with the edge of the table.

She's grown so huge.

Please, please, please.

She doesn’t know what she’s begging for, what her little, hurt, desperate sounds mean. She just knows she needs.

And the second Bucky pulls out her chair, rips her blouse open to allow her to fully expand, tears her belt out of the buckle, shreds her pants, and gets his head between her shaking thighs, she’s coming. Coming and coming and coming. It feels endless. Steve’s eyes are hot enough on her to feel like a physical touch that throws her over the edge that much more. The hot, wet press of Bucky’s mouth against her, her soaked tight core, is too much.

“Oh, oh, oh!” She can’t stop moaning as she orgasms, entirely swept up by the tide of pleasure and excess.

This is absolutely happening again. She's already -

Yeah.

She already knows.

Absolutely.

She gets off so hard on it, stuffed to glutted at their dining table, Steve in the same condition, that Tasha thinks she may never get off on anything else ever. She's been ruined. She already knows.

She's ruined, and this is going to ruin her figure. All she can think about is how decadent Steve feels, fat and soft and lush, and her own body being that? Oh, it blows her mind. Their bodies together, both fat and soft and lush and curvy and round, next to Bucky - all solid, hard muscle. Oh, fuck, that obliterates her mind.

😳

[petermorwood]

Here’s that herb bread from yesterday, sliced and buttered.

It’s far more cheesy than herby so the herb content will need stepped up. This is an interesting effect, since dried herbs are usually more emphatic than fresh ones. Also, even after overnight in a bread bag, the crust remains more assertive than we like.

So today DD is making a Second Draft loaf, with increased herbs (more tarragon, more basil), a bit more liquid so the dough isn’t as dense, and shaped a bit thinner. The baking time will also be about 10 minutes shorter. Most of this should produce a less armoured crust.

And, after saying all that, the First Draft bread is still very good; I have a feeling it’s going to make great toast, just the thing for even more cheese on top, or maybe some cold cuts (memo, check freezer for salami or some sliced roast beast.)

I also suspect it’ll be great toasted and well-buttered alongside a bowl of nice hearty February-weather soup, like the sausage-goulash soup with peppers & sour cream I made a couple of weeks back; recipe for that queued for later today.

*****

ETA: Second Draft loaves, just out of the oven - the baguette was baked on a baguette tray (duh) and the ammonite was baked in a cast-iron pot.

They smell great, and both have a lot more give, suggesting they’ve got a proper crust instead of an armoured carapace - even though that would be entirely right and proper for the ammonite...

[alpaca-clouds]

Bread around the world

Let me be a bit cliché German today. Let me talk about bread. Because we Germans are fucking obsessed with bread, as it is so often parodied by folks from other countries. And yes, this is true. The rest of the world does not understand why sour dough is so much better than this horrible bland white bread you guys eat!

*coughs*

But... Did you know that bread is a thing that shows up throughout so many cultures and throughout human history in so many different forms?

But for that we gotta talk a moment about what even is bread. Because some folks do define it as something that needs yeast and some sort of corn within the European sense of the word.

A more general definition, though, is that bread is a food created by mixing some sort of flour with a liquid and then cooking this mixture until firm.

Which is what I will go by here. So... let me talk bread.

What little German pride I have asks me to start this off with sourdough bread. Which since the pandemic started a lot of people have learned to make. Instead of using some poor form of yeast, the yeast is won by leaving a very liquid mixture of flour and water (and at times malt) out in the open for a couple of days, so that yeast from the air can settle in the mixture. This mix is then added to more flour and water and kneaded, rested, then kneaded again, to develop it texture. It is then baked as a loaf.

Now, this way of making bread dates back forever. Because we have found old sourdough bread that is almost 6000 years old. It was probably white spread across the ancient world.

The probably most German version of sourdough bread is pumpernickel, which has been made with a very coarse rye flour. In fact the city I live in is quite famous for the pumpernickel bread here.

Funnily enough, pumpernickel was originally the bread of the poor and those, who were doing religious penance, because while it is super healthy, it is a) very cheap to make (not that you would know looking at the prices it is sold by today) and b) not that tasty, as it just has a very, very strong and rather bitter flavour.

But in the middle ages rye was the cheapest kind of corn around. So... pumpernickel was the thing they made.

Borodinsky is another rye bread - this one from Russia. Again, rye was for the longest time the cheapest kind of corn over here, so it was most often used in baking bread. The big difference to pumpernickel is, that in borodinsky the rye flour is a lot finer and the bread gets sweatened with malt, so that it does not taste quite as strongly and bitter, as the pumpernickel does.

Funnily enough the Turkish Bazlama flatbread traditionally also is a sourdough bread, as the same process was used as leavening for the bread in this case. If you have ever eaten bazlama, you will know that even though it is a flat bread it is relatively fluffy on the inside. Which comes from the sourdough levening.

Now, funnily enough: The French often do not have this big thing with sourdough, even though they, too, are quite famous for their breads. But ever since we humans figured out how to isolate yeast, the French basically went like: "Well, if we use pure yeast, the result will be a lot more predictable." Because sourdough has this aspect that it will taste a little different depending on where you created it - at times even dependent on the time of year.

So, baguette is a yeasted bread and it uses fine, white wheat flour, which is a lot nicer in taste than rye.

Now, Japan is of course not a country with a long bread tradition. Mostly because rice usually does not make for a good flour for bread and the like. But ever since bread came over and became popular, they have come up with a few of their own creations. Shokupan - milk bread - is probably the most well known example of this. This, too, is a wheat and yeast bread, but it also uses milk instead of water and is very enriched with all sorts of things, so that it is softer and also a lot sweeter than other breads.

Naan is a bread most probably know from the Indian cuisine, but it is in fact another super old kind of bread as it originates in Mesopotamia. As such it was originally also made as a sourdough, those these days it is often done just with normal yeast as leavening. And it is spread fairly far within the Arabian subcontinent and the Indian subcontinent. The interesting thing is, that it is a flatbread, but it is usually completely oven baked.

Chipati is an unlevened flat bread that is quite common in eastern Africa. It is usually really thin and is served as a side dish to all sorts of soups and stews, often used to carry those with people dipping the bread in the soup/stew or putting stew onto the bread.

And while we are on the topic of unlevened flat breads: Tortillas are among those, too. They are kinda interesting in so far that, while most tortillas sold these days are wheat based, there is a version around made from maize, too.

But yeah, usually most breads are made with wheat or rye or maybe spelt, because breads... just turn out best, when they have gluten, as gluten helps to develop those fluffy textures we associate with bread. Which is why bread tends to be most common within areas, where they had some access to gluten rich corn. xD

[inkstainedheartbeats]

All in A Days Work

Prompt: Squidfest (with a smidge of Winter Clothes and furniture)

Will be posted on AO3 when it comes back up.

Summary: Steve accompanies his cousin Alex to Squidfest bound and determined to keep his cousin smiling.

Steve knocks the snow that had gathered on the bottom of his winter boots off before walking to the house before him. It’s a habit, true, but he also is never too sure about his welcome in this particular home despite the years that have passed. Pictures line the wall, and the warm scent of cookies saturates the air. Mr Milner doesn’t seem to be in, which is a relief. As much as Steve loves his cousin and his cousin’s grandma, George Mullner holds a grudge that transcends generations. Steve doesn’t quite slink into the kitchen, following the sound of humming, but it’s a close thing. He all but flops onto the older Beta from behind, one hand moving to snag a scoop of cookie dough.

“Oh! Steve, here for Alex?” She asks, smacking his hand away giving him a fond exasperated look from the corner of her eye.

He moves to stand next to her.

“Yes ma’am.”

She swats at him with a dish towel.

“How many times, boy? Evelyn or Grammy. None of that ma’am stuff allowed.

“At least once more, probably.”

Alex chooses that moment to come into the kitchen.

“No, absolutely not!” Steve states firmly.

Alex blinks dopily at him, one hand raised in a wave. Slowly the hand drops and he tilts his head like a puppy.

“Huh?”

Steve raises an eyebrow judgementally, looking his Beta cousin up and down.

“You are not wearing that.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Steve shares a long suffering look with Evelyn. Honestly, that boy has only survived this long because of them.

“It’s beyond fucking cold outside, knumbskull, and a basic bitch hoodie and tennis shoes aren’t going to cut it. It’s amazing you’ve survived this long.”

Evelyn swats at Steve again.

“Language, Chipmunk, but he’s right, Starling, it’s far too cold to just wear that.”

Alex sticks his tongue out at both of them, turning around and heading back into his room. They can hear him bitching the entire way.

“I know you have a heavy coat! Put that on over your hoodie if you must wear it! And boots!”

“Kiss my backside, Harrington!”

They leave the house later, cocoa steaming in their travel mugs and a little bag of cookies. Alex is wearing his dark green heavy coat, hands shoved deep into the pockets.

“Thanks for coming to the festival with me, I know you hate the cold.”

Steve knocks his shoulders against Alex’s. The Omega in him wanting to bite and tear at the reason his cousin looks so sad. Unfortunately, Alex won’t let him.

“Anything for family, right?”

The walk to the beach, to the Squid Festival is calming, the cousins catching each other up on what happened during their week apart. Steve’s got his backpack over his shoulder, squid bait and fishing pole held safely in the magiced folds. Hawk’s End isn’t that far from Pelican Town but helping around the farm and keeping the pack of children he’s all but adopted from biting it in the dark woods keep him from visiting as often. The docks are set up with bright lights and pretty streamers. Steve chances a look at his cousin frowning at the look on his face.

“You’re pouting.”

Following Alex’s line of sight Steve scowls at what he sees. The current bane of his existence.

“Fuck off,” Alex mutters looking away.

Clenching his hands as Alex’s warm scent starts to sour slightly he trips the Beta at his side.

“Want me to roast him?”

Alex startles, laughing.

“No… maybe?”

Jumping at the chance to let his inner mean girl out, Steve grins viciously. He turns back toward his target.

The blond in question is unaware of what is about to go down.

“His hair looks so crunchy, I’m surprised no one has tried to spread it on bread. You can practically see the points trying to break through the beanie he’s somehow managed to shove on his head,” Steve says in his best, bitchiest, voice.

It’s a lie, sort of , for as gelled as Sam’s hair is, it flattens nicely. It does, however, look crunchy as hell. It takes an insane amount of gel to keep spikes that spiky. He is rewarded with ugly snorting from his cousin. Score one for Steve!

“I bet he thinks those skinny jeans make his ass pop but he’s flatter than Eddie. There is negative ass there. An absolute ass travesty.”

“Oh my god. Stop, please. Bring in the mean girl.”

Alex is fighting for breath, arms wrapped around his gut. His scent warm again. Good. Steve huffs playfully.

“Just take my fun away, why don’t you?”

Alex pulls him into a halfhearted headlock.

“Not the hair! Alex!”

They roughhouse, almost bumping into a dour smelling Sebastian, and actually knocking down Lewis. They spring apart, fleeing before the mayor can catch his breath. They reconvene at the end of the long deck. They, or at least he, isn’t going to fish there. Steve’s not sure why but this end has always frightened him. Even as a child he was scared that something would rise from the deep and drag him down.

Instead, once they’re sure that Lewis isn’t going to appear like an avenging angel they head back toward Willy’s. The old fisherman is chatting up Wayne. Both of them are laughing and shoving at each other. Steve spots several other Hawk’s End residents. He jabs his elbow into Alex’s side.

“Dude!”

Alex groans, digs into his pocket and slaps five gold coins into Steve’s palm. He knew Mr Wheeler was seeing someone in Pelican Town! He just wasn’t expecting it to be Murray fucking Bauman. But there he is, three years post amicable divorce sucking face with the local conspiracy theorist who thinks a shadow monster lives in Pelican Town’s sewers. Then someone else walks up to the duo being welcomed into the fold curly hair and glasses who also pulls Mr Wheeler in for a kiss. Huh. Go Mr Wheeler, go.

They settle into chairs Willy has set out for the people fishing. Steve nods a greeting to Wayne and sets about putting together his rod. He’s not the best fisherman, that honor belongs to his cousin Haymitch, but he had a look at the prizes. Uncle Theodore likes weird art so that painting would be a nice gift for the man who raised him.

It’s relaxing. Fishing with Alex at his side even if the Beta is making jabs at him when a fish gets away. Which is, honestly, pretty often. Then Alex sucks in a deep breath, a low whine coming from his throat.

There at the end of the dock is Sam and Shane. Shane is reeling in a fish and Sam is all but hanging off his back.

“He just put a squid in his head,” Steve says dumbly.

Hands so lax that he would lose his rod if it wasn’t also held between his legs. Sam is dancing around with said squid, the squid that Shane pulled up.

“Yes he did.”

It’s said tightly. Pain ringing every word.

“Why would he- oh…”

Shane throws back his head, laughing loudly. It’s a startling sound. One you can feel deep in one’s bones. Steve has never understood Alex’s attraction to the Alpha with purple hair until that moment. He could fall in love with a laugh like that. Has fallen in love because of a laugh.

Alex is hunched over in his chair. The picture of depression and that just won’t do.

“I’mma go spill this cocoa on him. It’s cold now, it won’t hurt him,” Steve adds the last part to reassure Alex.

“No!”

“I’m bored of fishing. Here, you do it.”

He shoves his rod into Alex’s hands, standing up. He’s an Omega on a mission and no one will stop him.

“You are a child.”

Steve opens his mouth, come back right there on his tongue. Has to bite it down.

“Usual come back wouldn’t work here, would it?”

“Nope! Not at all. Wish me luck!”

“I am not saving you if Shane throws you in the ocean,” Alex warns him.

Shane wouldn’t, Steve doesn’t think. But that doesn’t mean Steve won’t be accidentally pushed into the ocean if the Alpha overreacts. Still, he has a cousin to cheer up and flirting to stop.

He manages to avoid an unpleasant swim in freezing waters and thanks to Alex fishing for him he manages to skate in with just enough squids to get the painting. He gets a book on crabs that he thinks Haymitch might like and a Pearl he can gift Eddie. Maybe get the wet cat of a Beta to blush and chew on his hair. Which is cute no matter what Robin says. Thank you very much. All and all not a bad first day. Maybe tomorrow he can get his knumbskull of a cousin to actually talk to his crush. Distract Sam somehow. With a firm nod Steve begins to plot.