#Restaurant Design California

[tnidesignca]

Sizzler Enlists Restaurant Design Studio, TNI Design, For New Look

LOS ANGELES, Calif., — Creative Restaurant Design California studio TNI Design has been enlisted to redesign Sizzler locations around the country.

TNI, an acronym for The Next Idea, has completed their pilot design for Sizzler’s Corona, California location. It serves as the new remodel other locations will undergo over the next few years.

"In partnership with Sizzler, we created Sizzler’s new interior design and now we are applying the design to around 60 locations over the next two years," said Robert Ancill, CEO and creative officer at TNI Design. Several are currently in the design phase now.

“The Sizzler design was quite the project for TNI Design. We are pleased with the outcome and feel honored to have worked on a restaurant brand that has been a part of American culture for more than 70 years. From concept to execution, Sizzler's new interior represents the combination of classic style and modern design, making it stand out above its competitors. We hope that it will continue to delight future generations in the same way that it has since opening in 1958.”

Sizzler’s remodel is both beautiful and functional, providing an inviting atmosphere for all ages. Going beyond the aesthetics, TNI Design used special care to prioritize sustainability in order to preserve the environment by deploying sustainable techniques such as repurposing existing furniture and mainly using reclaimed wood material. To top off these creative touches, customers can experience enhanced features like a cozy fireplace beneath the Sizzler logo, perfect for warming up any chilly winter night. Overall, this redesign is sure to make the Sizzler customer’s dining experience even more enjoyable than before with its warm color tones and natural yet contemporary vibe, something everyone can appreciate.

About TNI Design

For over two decades, Los Angeles-based TNI Design has been pushing the boundaries of what's possible in interior design and architecture.

From restaurant and cafe remodels to luxury residential projects, this team does it all - delivering creative solutions that are also earth friendly.

With a commitment to sustainability from day one, including pioneering works with hemp-based construction materials and LED lighting well before they were popularized; their ambition is clear: achieve net zero carbon emissions whenever achievable without sacrificing craftsmanship or aesthetic appeal!

[moodboardmix]

Taylor House, 816 Lockerbie Ct, Glendale, California,

Designed in 1961 by Richard Neutra

[nr1-logo-design-inspiration]

Thank you! 🙏🧡

[restauranthistorian]

California coffee shops

A vivid style of modern restaurant architecture in Southern California carried vibrations from WWII and the atom bomb.

With the end of World War II, the United States became the undisputed world power as well as the leading economy, producing the largest share of the world’s goods. Many changes took place in American society as the soldiers returned. Suburbs sprang up with housing for growing families, shopping centers appeared, and many workers enjoyed prosperity. And a new type of eating place came into being,…

[iliketoseeeverythinginneon]

[deadmotelsusa]

The Hoot Owl Cafe was designed by Tillie and Roy Hattrup in 1926 and served ice cream and beverages in Los Angeles, California. They ran it together for the over 50 years. The owl’s head rotated, the eyes were made from Buick headlamps and it’s original lettering was pulled from a movie theater marquee. Unfortunately, it closed in the 1970s and was demolished in 1979. Photographer John Margolies was able to capture it two years before demolition, in 1977. It has since been replaced by another restaurant.

[obsessedbyneon]

Master post: Galleria at South Bay, Redondo Beach, California, 1985.

Some info:

Name: THE GALLERIA AT SOUTH BAY

Location: Redondo Beach, California

DEVELOPER: Forest City Development, Cleveland, Ohio

OPENED: August 26, 1985

PARKING SPACES: 5,000

SPECIALTY SHOPS & RESTAURANTS: 150 specialty shops and restaurants

ANCHOR TENANTS: The May Co., Mervyn's, Nordstrom

TOTAL RETAIL AREA: 1 million sq. ft.

ARCHITECT: RTKL Associates, Inc., Dallas, Texas

GENERAL CONTRACTOR: Forest City Dillon, Inc., Cleveland, Ohio.

"Along with three anchors-May Co., Nordstrom, and Mervyn's - The Galleria features more than 170 specialty Shops. Vaulted skylit walkways and contemporary architectural features have brought this "old timer" from a state-of-the-art 1950's shopping center to a retail destination place that mirrors the excitement and vibrance of its time."

"A project of Forest City Development, THE GALLERIA AT SOUTH BAY is a $70 million shopping center redevelopment of the old South Bay Center in Redondo Beach, CA. The original 50-acre shopping center opened in 1957 with an 800,000 square foot open air design anchored by May Co. Following an 18-month renovation and reconstruction phase-designed by RTKL Associates of Dallas- the center now encloses more than 1 million square feet of GLA in an elegantly simple three-level configuration. Only 500 feet from end to end, The Galleria at South Bay is about one-half the length of a typical regional mall. Uninterrupted sight lines allow shoppers to see storefronts on levels above or below."

Scanned by me. Copied an reposted many times ;)

[buzzcutlip]

Cracks and Gaps - The Worst Day (part I) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 7434 words ao3

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother's restaurant. As an editor, you can't miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy.

A/N: I've started writing this story a looong time ago last year. There will be two more parts. I would like to thank @carmyboobear for being the most incredible beta and helping me out on the rocky journey. They're a very special person to me, and also a fantastic and inspiring writer themselves. Please, check their Carmy stories if you haven't!

THE WORST DAY

The first time you meet Carmen, you are both a little over twenty and in Copenhagen. He is staging at Noma, and you are interning at a design studio where everyone is very “green.” From one of your conversations with Carmen, you learn that Pop-Tarts and Cheetos are illegal here. In Europe. Most of the sodas that stained your tongue crazy colors when you were a kid are banned too. He lectures you on Scandinavian agriculture and food production.

Carmen is skinny and short—still a bit taller than you, though—with sharp, high cheekbones and bulging eyes. You don't know enough about each other to be “friends,” but he is a good companion. Your high school friend Becky knows Carmen’s older sister; that’s how you found each other in Denmark’s capital.

On two rare occasions, you get drunk together, and that happens only when he is stressed from work. Like, stressed STRESSED. You'd think he only drinks special natural wine from Lofoten or something, but his choice of poison is canned Budweiser. Maybe he misses home as much as you do. Maybe that’s what leads you to almost kiss him the second time. Carmen lives on a boat, and he takes you there, where you drink vodka mixed with herbs and licorice that Carmen concocts, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates. The drink tastes good. Weird. You don't hide your grimace. Neither of you comments on the alcohol ratio. It's more vodka than anything else, that's for sure.

Carmen is not your type, physically or character-wise—you are an introvert yourself, so you need someone to bring you out of your shell. Obviously, doing an internship on a different continent is a huge step, one that is only on you. He also smokes a lot and probably doesn't wash his hair. You've heard about his crazy mother and bonkers family from Becky, so you understand why Carmen is Carmen. Why he’s run off to Europe. It's just—his face—his eyes, when he's telling you about his dream job at Noma or Alchemist—they glow, and he becomes so animated, the quiet excitement seeping to the surface, and there's fondness blooming in your chest. He also knows a thing or two about sports, as you do, the subject bringing you back to Chicago, and the longing for “home” and “familiar” is terribly strong in the moment, enhanced by the alcohol. And Carmen, the boy sitting opposite you, with burns on his hands and ripped jeans, is both of those things put into one.

Nothing happens between you two, but the urge to press your own lips against his lingers after you leave in a taxi, not brave enough to ride a bike under the influence.

You try to stay in touch after Copenhagen, messaging Carmen on his empty Facebook profile, sending a text once in a while, mainly at Christmas, and when you have some terrible junk food, just to make fun of him. When he FaceTimes you, he’s in Paris, and you’re in Dublin. The next time, he’s in California.

He rarely ever answers messages on the phone. Usually, it's an emoji, sometimes a word or two. Soon, there are no answers, and you can't be bothered. You carry on with your life in Chicago, and it doesn’t take long before you start seeing Carmen Berzatto in the paper, on the internet. The young prodigy chef, everyone says. Reluctantly, you read the articles, thinking about the Copenhagen Carmen, smiling at his photos. He's grown up, filled out. His hair is curlier, his shoulders wider, his biceps stronger. He looks good. Good and sad, you think to yourself, and decide not to text him to congratulate him on his star career. Carmen is not one to care about what you think of it.

It's only when you hear from Becky that Mikey Berzatto has died, that you think of Carmen properly, after years full of work in the magazine office, one shitty almost-boyfriend, and summers spent in Europe, writing about sustainable travel and solo adventures. Becky says that he's inherited a restaurant from Michael. You decide against sending him condolences—too personal.

But about ten months later, there's whispering that a fancy restaurant, The Bear, is replacing The Beef of Chicagoland, and it's actually your boss who tells you that you should go check the place out.

You are not into that whole haute cuisine thing, to be honest. You never understood those tiny little portions and strange ingredients and their combinations. You prefer good pasta with Bolognese sauce or roasted chicken with mashed potatoes. Sometimes you wonder if Carmen's strange relationship with his family is what's keeping him away from his Italian roots and forcing him to work in pristine, starched whites in sterile kitchens, cooking intestines and antlers, making it art.

---

Becky gives you Natalie Berzatto’s phone number to get in touch with her to try to schedule an interview for the magazine feature. Your boss, Rob, hopes that Carmen could even make it to the cover soon when The Bear takes off. You’re not sure how you feel about bypassing Carmen completely and going straight to his sister.

So one Thursday, in early May, you decide to walk there, unannounced. You corner the building, passing a big glass window, and before you make it to the main entrance, you nearly collide with a very wonky wooden stepladder. With Carmen Berzatto on top of it, fiddling with a screwdriver or a similar tool, and a signboard.

The second you make contact with the ancient stepladder, Carmen shouts, "Fuck!"

“Sorry,” you yelp, and one glance at the man high up confirms that you are indeed dealing with the Chef himself.

“Could you watch out?” he says angrily as he makes his way down, measuring every step carefully.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, waiting anxiously for Carmen to—hopefully—recognize you. To anyone walking by, you must look like an idiot, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting motionless and stiff for a guy to climb down a ladder.

You don’t know what you had been expecting but definitely not Carmen staring at you with his huge, bloodshot eyes for seconds that feel like minutes. You nearly turn around and walk away, no joke.

He looks—

“You look—” you start. Terrible. But also, like, gorgeous. Terribly tired but hot. Is it awful of you to think that?

“Hi,” Carmen says, one hand going into the big mess of his hair, the other one into his pants pocket. He's avoiding your eyes, which makes you even more nervous, makes you think it was not such a great idea to come here.

“Hi!” you say, probably overly enthusiastically. “You're back in Chicago,” is the first thing you can think of.

He nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, congrats on the new place,” you say, gesturing to the building behind him, newspaper covering the windows. “I'm really sorry, I thought it was already open,” you explain, tugging on the hem of your lilac sweatshirt nervously. Can he tell you’re lying? “Becky mentioned something about it.”

“No, we’re opening next week,” Carmen says, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

“I'm really curious,” you smile carefully, testing the waters, wondering how he's going to react. You haven't seen each other in more than five years, and Carmen's never been exactly friendly. Not like mean, but definitely not easily approachable. “I work for this magazine, and we would love to do a feature on this,” you say, leaving out that it's you who would be writing it. Who wants to write it. Not only about the place but about Carmen, the enigma, the quiet boy, the excellent chef.

He only nods, clearly not sharing your enthusiasm. “Maybe later,” he taps the cigarette against the palm of his other hand. “When we're ready for this kind of thing.”

“Of course,” you agree quickly.

“Might be a while.”

“So what is the big plan?”

Carmen looks at you, measuring you. Like he thinks you have some ulterior motive. He lights up the cigarette, taking a long drag from it, and you fight not to scrunch your nose in disgust. The older you get, the more you hate the smell. Especially when someone is blowing out the smoke aimlessly—almost—in your face.

“My partner—Sydney, she’s hung up on the stars. So I guess a fine dining kinda place,” Carmen says, flicking the cigarette butt in the general direction of the gutter. The second sentence comes out more like a question than a statement, but you are still processing the first one.

“You run a business with your girlfriend?” you swear you don’t mean it to sound so accusing.

Carmen takes a step back, physically—bumping into the stepladder behind him—and mentally, too. “No! She—Sydney’s my business partner.” The defensive tone tells you exactly how your words sounded though. You wince. “We’ve been working on the new concept together with Nat, and the whole crew, actually. It’s—it’s a family business, I guess—uhm. We had only like three months to finish, and—”

You can see he’s really flustered. He’s starting to stutter, hand nervously scratching his neck. You hate the sight, hate that you’ve made him feel like this.

“I’m sorry!” you interrupt him. “It came out all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that,” you say urgently, hoping to see him relax back to his non-caring, nonchalant, tired-looking self. How could you mess up so quickly? Is that your special ability or a curse?

“‘s fine,” Carmen says, and he does relax a bit, shoulders dropping an inch. He doesn’t look friendly though. Or in the mood for a chat. “I just—she’s a business partner,” he repeats obstinately, face red.

The moment grows awkward. In your coat pocket, you touch a pack of chewing gum and start fiddling with it. “I—my office is nearby so I thought I could come around and see the progress,” you say into the void, trying not to cringe too much. “Maybe I would take a few colleagues for dinner.”

“The reservations aren't open yet,” Carmen says in a flat voice. You can’t call him out because it’s probably true anyway. Plus, you just lied again—the offices are not close; you had taken the L—and you feel bad about it.

There’s not much left to say, you realize. He’s not giving you any space to turn this “accidental” meeting into a proper conversation. You shuffle your feet nervously, feeling stupid.

“Alright. It was nice seeing you!” you say, as it’s about time to end this. “Hope everything’s gonna work out great!” you add in a cheerful tone, already setting to walk back to the station.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Carmen says back, lighting a second cigarette.

What a nightmare, you think as you walk through the busy streets.

—

In the following weeks, you almost forget about The Bear. Rob complains about the nonexistent article on the new, already hyped-up restaurant and wasted opportunities, but what can you do? The not-at-all-accidental meeting with Carmen had been a disaster you actively try to erase from your mind. Working on your regular column and material for the website keeps you busy. Then Becky calls out of nowhere, and you two arrange lunch at The Marq. You end up swapping hilarious stories from the last two months you hadn’t seen each other, and you secretly pray she doesn’t ask about Natalie Berzatto or her brother. You're out of luck, because she does—of course she does—and you have to lay the cards on the table.

“You did contact Nat first though?” is the first thing Becky asks.

“I didn’t,” you shake your head. “I didn’t want to exclude Carmen right at the very beginning,” you admit.

“Oh god,” Becky rolls her eyes at you, taking a small bite of her salmon cake sandwich.

“I knooow,” you quickly stop her, feeling like ordering something stronger than the simple soda you’ve been drinking.

“I think you should still call Natalie,” Becky says, pointing at you with a determined frown. “I went to see her and her new baby just last week. She asked about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Apparently they could really use some help getting the word out about The Bear. A good excuse to talk Carmen into an interview maybe? An exclusive one?” She wiggles her eyebrows, knowing how cool it would be for you to come up with this.

“Maybe,” you muse, playing it cool. Inside, you are already hyped up about the possibility of scoring the first interview with the former best chef in the world. Is he still good at all? Why did he disappear? Why is he back?

—

The anxiety of the following days forces you to actually text Natalie. You’ve been checking online websites and Instagram accounts apprehensively, worried that a medium might publish something about The Bear before you get a chance. Rob isn’t a dick, but you wouldn’t want to look incompetent in his eyes. So far, you’ve been able to steer away from conversations about the new Carmen Berzatto restaurant at work. Your work ethic makes it difficult for you to let The Bear go without a fight.

That’s how you find yourself in front of Natalie’s door. When she opens it, she doesn’t hide her fervor.

“Oh, finally! Hi! Please come in.” She ushers you inside. You’ve never seen her in person, only on Becky’s Instagram, maybe, and even though the exhaustion is apparent on the woman’s face, you can spot the similarities with Carmen in her features right away.

From the dark hallway, she leads you to the sitting room. When you look around, it’s hard to find a clutter-free space. Every surface is covered with baby clothes, baby diapers, baby wipes—clean and dirty—bottles—full and empty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Natalie appears next to you, snatching away a baby muslin from the sofa. “Have a seat, please,” she nods. “The baby’s asleep. Hopefully for the next—” and she checks her watch, “another twenty minutes.”

As you sit down, Natalie collapses into an armchair, not minding what appears to be a pile of freshly washed newborn onesies and other clothes underneath her.

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” she says sincerely, and you notice the many stains on her purple t-shirt.

You smile. “No problem.”

“Becky said that you know stuff about Instagram and social media and marketing and all that?” Natalie’s eyes are wide and hopeful.

“I would say so,” you nod.

“I’m not sure what Becky mentioned already,” Natalie says as she starts pulling the baby clothes from under her and folding them absentmindedly. That definitely says something about the state she’s in, without Becky describing the situation to you—not only with The Bear but also Nat herself. “Carmy’s putting so much into the restaurant—we all are—so much hope,” she babbles, “none of us have slept properly in weeks—months! And now the baby...” Natalie’s gaze becomes unfocused for a moment before she blinks rapidly. “The timing’s not so great,” she forces out a weak laugh, and you smile again, already feeling bad for her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“I understand. It’s hard,” you empathize, feeling genuinely bad—not for The Bear—but for Natalie.

“I’m not a marketing guru, but I can research things,” she carries on, more confident now. “But I can’t be there all the time, y’know? It’s just not possible. If—if someone could help with keeping the place afloat and spreading the word—” she stops talking and folding, looking directly at you. “That would be just so awesome,” she finishes quietly, her bottom lip wobbling.

You know that Nat’s not trying to emotionally blackmail you, even though the situation kinda feels like it, and you do feel for her.

“I can help, yes.”

“I’ll talk to Carm and Sydney, and we’ll figure out how much we can offer you!” The relief and excitement are apparent in the way Nat jumps up from the armchair.

“That’s alright, really,” you say calmly, putting a hand on her arm now that she’s closer. “We can discuss this later,” and you give her another encouraging smile.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying comes from somewhere in the house. Poor Natalie freezes, her hand going to touch her chest. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Thank you. Thank you,” and she takes a hold of your hand, squeezing it. “I’ll tell Sydney to get in touch with you—or you can actually just go to the restaurant; they know about you.”

That makes you slightly uncertain as you remember your first attempt at an unannounced visit to The Bear.

“Alright,” you nod with a polite smile. After all, you’re getting something out of this too.

—

Sydney texts you exactly 22 minutes after you leave worn-out Natalie and her baby behind and invites you to come to The Bear the next day. To make yourself appear more untouchable, you reply that the soonest you’re available is next Monday. Make them wait.

It gets you on edge, though, and more than once you think of Carmen in his tiny Copenhagen kitchen, how things used to be. How easy it is to grow apart. Not that you’d been friends exactly. Hard to be anything like that with a person as closed off as Carmen Berzatto.

On the agreed Monday, you dare to finish early at work and take the train to The Bear. Your stomach is in knots, even though you’ve been pretty brave about the whole thing. It’s just—you’re not sure how Carmen’s gonna react when he sees you, and you’re already thinking about the worst possible scenarios. Just stop! you tell yourself resolutely, forcing yourself to concentrate on the simple but well-thought-out marketing plan you prepared to present. Without being asked. If Carmen sees that you actually KNOW things, he might change his opinion about you. Not that you KNOW his opinion, but—maybe he would actually acknowledge you finally.

It’s just after the family meal when you arrive. A tall man who introduces himself as Richie lets you in instantly, and he’s clearly been informed about your arrivall. As soon as Sydney is notified of your presence, she rushes to you from the kitchen in the back, wiping her hands on her apron. You notice right away that she’s friendly and calm, and it relaxes your nerves. There’s no doubt she loves the restaurant and her job, and you see that she worries as much as Natalie does, or even more.

“We’re opening in two hours, so it’s a bit wild in the back, but maybe you wanna see the kitchen?” Sydney offers as she’s showing you around the newly restored restaurant, opening the heavy door. “A quick peek,” she adds as a loud cracking noise comes out of the exact door.

You’ve been to a couple of kitchens, and you must say that this one’s definitely on the chaotic side of the scale. People in white aprons run here and there, no one’s still, not even for a second. There’s a good amount of shouting and a huge amount of swearing. In the middle of everything, there’s Chef Carmen Berzatto. He looks like a character from Cartoon Network. His wild hair is sticking out in all directions, dark tattoos covering his arms and hands, face sweaty, eyes ready to pop out of his head. He’s shorter than most people you see circling the kitchen, but the loudest one. He shouts orders, and you notice the vein on the side of his neck—it sure is ready to burst. You wonder how far he is from having a heart attack.

“Or maybe next time,” Sydney mutters, gently pushing you out of the way and shutting the door again. She leads you to one of the brown wooden tables where you settle again.

“Is he always like that?” you ask Sydney, actually glad that you’re not in the room where the storm’s currently happening.

“Only when he’s stressed,” Sydney explains shortly, an apologetic smile on her lips.

When it comes to money, it’s obvious The Bear doesn’t have much to spare, that much is clear. Sydney is extremely apologetic and sweet about it.

“There’s a marketing budget—previously non-existent—that we’ve set aside and can offer. It’s just not much, I’m afraid,” she tells you, jittery.

You want to reassure her, to tell her that you're doing it for Carmen, for an old "friend." But from what you've gathered, Sydney doesn't even know that Carmen knows you.

So you just smile and reassure her anyway. "I'll put it on my resume. I can use more cases with social media for hospitality," you lie.

Nodding, Sydney clarifies, "Yes, just Instagram. Please. Carmy doesn't want to put anything in the press. Yet."

When a curious Richie joins you at the table, you present the Instagram plan to both of them. Even though Richie can't help making a few rather stupid remarks that only he finds funny, they both listen carefully. You see a lot of skepticism on Richie's face, probably because he doesn't understand some of the big words, you guess, but Sydney seems to be really into everything from pictures of the food and the weekly specials, to quick reels showing potential customers a little bit of behind-the-scenes action.

"Oh, I'm sure Cousin will be thrilled to have people sticking their noses into his business," Richie says, and you're not sure how serious he is. But Sydney shushes him, and you carry on, showing her the mock-up of the possible Instagram feed to set the mood for the profile.

For the next three weeks, you go to The Bear twice a week to gather some content—photos and videos. You talk to the crew and film those who are okay with it. Your presence is met with mixed emotions, but Sydney's gratitude and kindness make up for every suspicious glare and exasperated sigh when you find yourself in someone's way. Besides the restaurant, you take your neighbor's dog for a long walk every Saturday morning, call your mom and dad to check in, scroll Instagram instead of finally starting an actual book, and often wonder why Carmen is so hostile towards you.

Generally, you try not to hang out in the kitchen directly, especially not when Chef Carmen is present. Being uncomfortable in a new environment makes you positively anxious, causing you to go through a whole pack of your favorite cinnamon Simply Gums a day.

You also remember to always tie your hair up—not that the staff there wear hairnets or anything, but you don't want Carmen to find another reason to frown at you. He's been basically only frowning or ignoring you. Hard to tell which one is worse.

You always clean your hands super thoroughly, like during COVID, singing the "Happy Birthday" song to time it before daring to even stick your finger in the restaurant. Sydney offers you an apron to protect your work clothes, which you refuse. You sense from some people there that you're not entirely welcome.

But the more you avoid Carmen, the more likely you are to bump into him. You know Murphy's Law. So one morning, he just appears from around the corner, carrying a tray of mushrooms.

For a second, you're actually horrified that he's going to introduce himself. Before that can happen, you blurt out, "Uh—do you remember me? Copenhagen?"

Carmen stops and looks at you, wiping his wet hands on the towel attached to the string of his white apron. "Yeah," he confirms, "yeah, I do." He says your name, all soft and correct, along with your surname, and with his eyes fixed on you, you're frozen to the spot, affected whether you like it or not. Then he leaves to taste Tina's roasted peppers.

Obviously, your mind can't let the episode slip away. As you type copy for the upcoming Instagram posts, you pause every so often to cringe at how embarrassing you behaved. Of course, he remembers you, for fuck's sake! You're working in his restaurant—kinda.

"Hey! Copenhagen! You wanna see this?" Carmen yells a bit later from the other side of the kitchen, and you falter, deciding whether you're really going to answer to him calling you that.

You bite your tongue and trail hesitantly to the station where Carmen is with Tina and Ebraheim, gathered around a saucepan.

"Tina, chef, this is excellent. Well done," Carmen says to her as you approach, then turns to you.

"This is what we wanna share with the world. Perfect red pepper sauce. Simple but delicious."

"Okay," you respond, taking in the expectant way all three of them are looking at you. Like you're some kind of magician. Or a fraud.

"Just," Carmen adds before he sets off, "no recipes leave this kitchen," and he waits for you to confirm.

"Right."

Slowly, you start to question why you're helping The Bear. Is it because two years ago you thought of Carmen and what you might have felt for him? What could have been? More than the chef himself, you find yourself growing fond of the place and the employees—some of them! Seeing the Instagram followers number increase fills you with pride and satisfaction. Fuck Carmen.

---

Mornings are usually the only time when Carmen isn’t around, and you try to time your visits so your paths don’t cross.

Wanting to snap photos of the new tableware and make a quick, fun video reel, you head into the kitchen. There's no one around—Sweeps is probably hiding somewhere, and Sydney might be in the office. Not wanting to bother anyone, you set your always-heavy handbag on a chair and start looking for everything you need. There's no reason for you to feel like you're sneaking around, but you can't help feeling nervous. That’s when your clumsiness strikes, and you manage to knock over a glass of water. Rolling your eyes, you get on your hands and knees to wipe the spilled water with a rug that you hope is meant for cleaning, as you’re very aware of every item having its particular function here.

You straighten up and stretch to get one more plate from the shelf. Then you lose your footing on the still-wet tiles. Your foot slips, and the top plate falls to the countertop with a loud cracking noise. You react quickly, trying to break the fall, but there's no use. The plate shatters to pieces.

Of course, it’s Carmen himself who emerges from the door leading to the office, and you wince—both physically and mentally—preparing yourself for a very unpleasant collision.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches you, eyebrows pinched. He’s not wearing his chef whites, just a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans.

“Sorry, I—” you start apologizing as Carmen stands next to you, assessing the damage.

“What—what’re you doing here?” he asks in a very flat voice, staring at the pieces of ceramic.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to tidy this and also pay for the plate, obviously,” you ramble, reaching down for the shards.

“Don’t,” Carmy barks, stopping you by grabbing your shaking hands in his. His hands are big, the tattoos making them look harsh and crude, even though the touch is gentle. “Don’t cut yourself,” he adds quietly, holding you until you relax your arms and then a second longer.

He must sense your nervousness. “It’s fine, I’ll get it,” Carmen assures you, catching your eye. “Hey,” he lays a soft hand on your arm, “step away, I’ll clean this.”

Nodding, you step back and wait patiently, disconcerted, watching as Carmen carefully handles and discards the shards, then checks the floor for any tiny fragments. He turns back to you.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

“Yeah.” And you’re more thrown off balance by having Carmen pay attention to you, all of a sudden, than by damaging the kitchen’s equipment.

He studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and you’re the one to look away first. Which you hate, by the way.

“You wanna see some stuff I’ve been working on?”

“Sure,” you agree, taking a deep breath to relax further. “I’m sorry. The loud noise—” you wave your hand in the air vaguely, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Just scared the shit out of me, I guess,” you finish with an apologetic smile.

“You’re alright,” Carmen confirms and disappears for a bit. In the meantime, you have a small meltdown, shaking your head at yourself for being so, so very terribly lame. Luckily, before he returns with a tray of different dishes, you pull yourself together.

Carmen sets the tray down, revealing an array of colorful and sophisticated meals that instantly catch your curiosity.

“Any allergies?” he asks.

“Passion fruit—easily avoidable. Sometimes kiwi,” you list. “And grumpy chefs,” you add cheekily, feeling bold.

Carmen pauses. “I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”

“You weren’t like this in Copenhagen,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to him, your body language signaling that once you had been comfortable around each other.

“I’m more focused now,” Carmen retorts, stubborn and maybe a bit offended. “Back then I—uhm—I felt comfortable around you. It was easy.”

“And now?” you almost whisper.

But Carmen ignores the question, pushing the first bowl closer to you. “Here, taste this… or take a picture and then taste it.”

And you understand that the re-bonding is over.

---

Soon, you drop the habit of visiting the restaurant only in the mornings. One reason is that spending time with Carmen, talking to him or watching him cook and explain things, makes you late for work twice in a row. That usually never happens as you take pride in being on time at the office. You don’t work at The Bear for money, but you hardly think about it that way. When you decide to pop in during the morning, Carmen shares his deadly strong black coffee that he mills himself with you. It’s bitter but heavenly. Secretly, you like drinking it while chewing your favorite cinnamon gum, which somehow makes the taste even better—smoother and richer.

The second reason—you discover that Carmen is much calmer in the evenings after service. Less jittery, more relaxed. His blood flows slower, you think. His heart pumps with more ease. Sydney and he share thoughts and plans for the restaurant with you while you all sit at an empty table. It’s nice, you think, while watching Carmen’s hands play with a napkin. His hands are especially nice.

It’s Saturday and raining as you find yourself sitting in Gordon Ramsay's Burger. Nothing could’ve surprised you more than Carmen asking you to go out eat together. Had he felt bad for ignoring you at the beginning? You’re watching the rivers of raindrops on the big glass window, waiting for Carmen. As usual, you’re ten minutes early, and after you order a Life’s a Beach, the first thing on your mind is you're just early, he didn't stand you up, and then: this is not a date, babe! Which instantly startles you into sitting up straight and looking around, as if someone could see your embarrassing thoughts. Why are you even thinking about this?? Then Carmen arrives, wet patches on his shoulders and jeans that cling to his thighs. He chooses the Chicago hot dog and three different burgers with a bunch of sides. While he only nibbles on them and writes down notes on his phone, you feel bad for wasting the food and eat more than you should. Carmen studies the buns very carefully and asks you a lot of questions about the food, some of which you find amusing and actually—endearing. When you go to bed that night, your belly’s uncomfortably full. You dream that you’re pregnant and about to go into labor, and you’re pretty sure that Carmen’s the father. And, honestly, do you need a book of dreams to explain the meaning? Fuck.

---

All goes to hell next week when Carmen sees you eating a sandwich from the corner shop down the street. Instead of having your regular lunch with Becky, you’ve chosen to run to The Bear so you could see Marcus unveil his new dessert. But before that, you popped into the nearby deli to order a mozzarella and sundried tomato sandwich. No one at The Bear had ever explicitly invited you to the family meal, and you would never dare to have free food there. But the way Carmen looks at you while you sit on the step by the back exit, eating the rather dry sandwich, is indescribable. The stern look on his face is back, with a closed-off facade. His eyes are cold. Before you take it all in, you wave at him awkwardly, chewing. Carmen retreats back inside wordlessly, leaving you confused and a little hurt.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere surrounding you doesn’t improve when you return to work, the stupid sandwich sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. You have a big argument in the meeting room while planning the next month's issue. Then one of your co-workers makes a nasty remark about your single life. The afternoon drags on painfully slowly, which forces you to message your cousin—an astrologist extraordinaire—to check what the heck is going on with the universe.

Tuesday morning is rough. The second you wake up, you know you’ve overslept because you never get up without the alarm ringing angrily. A single glance at your phone proves it to be true. Right after, you notice three missed calls from Sydney and two from Nat. There are no text messages, though.

At first, you intend to call Rob to beg for a home office day, something you rarely ever use. But as soon as you check your calendar, you’re reminded of the big conference happening from 11 a.m. until 5 p.m. You rush to work, finishing your makeup on the train, then enter the office building to quickly run through notes with your colleagues. The first time you have a chance to make a quick phone call is when you finally go to the bathroom. It’s Natalie who you manage to reach first, as the lunch rush at The Bear is just unfolding. Over the cries of Natalie’s baby, you hear half-sentences about a recipe, Carmen, and a leak. It’s hard to put it all together. At 4 p.m., Nat finally sends you a text. It says: “Recipe’s published in Taste of Home. Carm’s mad. Says someone leaked it.”

It contains a link to the Taste of Home website, with Carmen’s perfect Berkswell Pudding recipe in the Top Recipes of the Week, marked “Chef’s tip.” You check it again to make sure, and surely—it’s one of the dishes Carmen introduced to you just last week. You didn’t dare to photograph it, much less taste it. You remember concentrating on the way his lips moved when he explained the preparation process, not much on the cooking itself.

What’s clear to you is that the "Someone" from Nat’s message is actually you.

A gloomy dread settles in your stomach as the meeting goes on and on. You barely pay attention, which makes everything even worse. You’re scared of what’s happened in the restaurant, and you’re worried that you’re going to miss something important in the meeting.

When you run for a second quick bathroom break, instead of peeing, you think of your next step. You could try to call everyone in the restaurant, try to find out what the hell is going on. But you don’t want to be seen as hysterical. You check Instagram and possible messages to find traces of a catastrophe. There’s nothing. Again, you open the website with the recipe. The photos are pretty sloppy, definitely not something Carmen would prepare. As you check the ingredients, you notice there are some major differences from Carmen’s dish. All in all, the only thing that stops you from texting Carmen is your pride. And true fear.

Absolutely dreading facing Carmen, you make it to The Bear during dinner time. Which, obviously, is the worst possible timing. You’re only praying that he’s not in the kitchen but hiding in his office, deep in paperwork.

It’s Sydney who you meet first as you sneak into the restaurant through the back door. She grabs your arm.

“Don’t go to talk to him now! He’s in a really, really bad mood. Natalie and I were trying to call you.” There’s genuine worry on Sydney’s face, her eyes big and honest.

“I don’t understand what happened,” you frown. You can feel a headache approaching from the intense day in the office. “I think he should tell me himself if there’s a problem.”

“I’ve been trying to work it out with him, to explain—”

“Explain what?” you question, more sternly than you usually are around Syd.

She falters. “It’s just this stupid thing—and we love having you—don’t let Carmy upset you,” Sydney half-explains. It doesn’t make much sense, and you shake your head, heading to the office. You’re more mad than afraid now.

You don’t wait for an invite after you knock shortly. Closing the door behind you, you find Carmen leaning against the desk, a bottle of water in his hand.

Everything inside of you drops the second he lays his eyes on you. There’s no doubt he’s angry.

“Didn’t Natalie tell you you don’t have to come here again?” Carmen asks curtly. “I’m surprised you think it’s okay to be here.”

Not expecting Carmen to be this harsh from the beginning, you swallow instead of answering.

“I hope that you’re happy now,” he says meanly, putting the bottle down on the desk.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you croak out, sincerely meaning it.

Carmen straightens up, watching you like a feline. “The recipe. It’s out. One fucking thing I asked not to get out, and now the whole of America can see and fucking even cook it at home.”

You’re frozen to the spot. From the very beginning, you knew that Carmen is not a person to mess with, hoping that you would never experience his anger directed at you. Now it’s happening.

You want to say something about no one being able to cook the way he does, but it’s pointless. Instead, you’re fighting off the flush on your face from embarrassment. You feel like a child being scolded, but you don’t want to look like one.

The muted but still loud kitchen noises bleed through the closed door. A shout, clattering. Not loud enough to stop Carmen from piercing you through and through with his ice-cold eyes.

“I promise I didn’t do anything like that,” you say, desperately wanting the chef to believe you. “I swear!”

Carmen pinches the bridge of his nose, one hand propped on his waist. You wait, breathless, for his next move, scared to death. The shirt you have on is wet with your sweat. The really badly smelling kind—the one your body produces when you’re stressed or scared. And you’ve been stressed since the very morning. You flinch when you move your arm and the odor hits your nose, hoping that Carmen can’t smell you. You would be mortified. The strap of your tote bag is digging into your shoulder painfully, but you don’t dare to move to put it down to relieve your arm.

“This all doesn’t—it doesn’t make any sense,” Carmen starts pacing, looking down at the floor and not at you anymore. You’re not sure if it’s better this way. “You come here, wanna do a fucking interview with me, or some shit, then you show up again—this time wanting to work here. For free! So, please, tell me—how does it sound, huh?”

Petrified, you realize how exactly it all sounds. When Carmen says it like this, it makes you look like a fraud. Like a terrible, terrible person. A liar. Your mind goes weeks back, back to the moment you actually thought of maybe digging some scoop in here, maybe convincing Carmen to do the interview after all. But it’s far from how he’s making the situation sound.

“Carmen,” you start without knowing what you want to say. Carmen’s stopped walking around the tiny office like a caged animal, and he’s again looking at you. There’s so much tension in his face, back hunched. “It sounds bad, but may I explain—”

“You may not,” he cuts you off briskly. His neck—normally a place you find sexy—is all red, and the thick vein there is getting more and more prominent by the second. “No one fucks with my business, you understand?” Oh—and he’s shouting now.

The natural defense, you didn’t know existed, is to make yourself smaller. Somehow, anyhow. You hang your head, avoiding looking at his face. You just can’t meet his eyes, even though Carmen’s bowing and tilting his head to force you to.

“It’s like I have to start asking the staff to sign an NDA,” he carries on.

Carmen’s getting slowly closer and closer to you, pushing you against the wall by the door. He’s not touching you but only because you’re not allowing it. You’re sick with humiliation. Lost for words, probably for the first time in your life.

“—and Nat fucking leaves me here—us, all of us—and that’s just not fair. I would expect so, so much more from my sister. Not that my brother was much better,” he chuckles humorlessly, but you see it’s more like an effort to catch his breath. “Lousy fuckers… Do you think you do your job well here, chef?”

He’s scaring you now. The hair by his temples and above his forehead is damp, and his gesticulation is wild and weird.

“Do we disgust you here, is that right, hm?” Carmen probably finally sees your frightened expression because he adds, “Why would you buy food somewhere else and then come here to eat it?!” You understand that he’s referring to the day he saw you eating the sandwich by the rear exit. Unsure whether he expects you to reply, you decide to stay quiet. Your knees are starting to shake, from exhaustion after the long day and perhaps, from Carmen’s current behavior.

“It made ME sick,” he says, his face just inches from yours when one of his hands slams into the thin wall right next to your head. The noise echoes in the room, and you’re desperately hoping it’s not loud enough for the others to hear from outside. You would die on the spot if they knew what’s going on here.

“Who do you think you are?” Carmen shouts some more, loud, by your ear. It vibrates through you and never stops. You’re shivering all over, you notice. It’s not okay, not okay!

At last, you raise your head, chin jutting out. “No one’s going to talk to me like this. No one,” you spit out in the chef’s face, taking him by surprise. “Don’t you ever shout at me again,” and you jab him right in the middle of his chest, instead of punching him there like he deserves.

When you’re leaving his office and rushing to the back exit, you hear Carmen yelling.

Everything feels tense and your hands are shaking. Your jaw is set so hard your teeth could crush from the pressure. The fresh air hits your face, and you focus on breathing deeply through your nose. The sounds remind you of a steam engine. You walk for about a minute, mind blank with the shock. Only when you turn a corner do you allow yourself to stop, which causes the first tears to fall. You’re so mad at yourself. Why the fuck are you crying?! There’s so much frustration in the crazy mixture of emotions you’re feeling. You’re completely overwhelmed with it, not knowing what to focus on at first.

Out of habit, you look for your phone in your handbag to check the screen. The fucking heavy bag that’s been killing your shoulder. Frustrated, you let it slide off your arm and down to the sidewalk. You don’t even care if it breaks, as it lands with a noisy, dull sound. It had been years since you got properly yelled at, and you’re angry that it affects you this much. You promise yourself to take a few seconds here, in the middle of an empty street, then call a cab. At home, you can cry.

PART II

[fiftysevenacademics]

I thought this might interest some of you. This little restaurant is a big slice of history. Recent research proved it's probably the oldest Chinese restaurant in the US, and to tell its story, you have to tell the story of the Chinese Exclusion Act, "paper sons," and the hardworking family that persevered.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

If you look at the trademark application for American Riviera Orchard, you’ll see that she’s trademarking it through a newly registered in Delaware company called Mama Knows Best, LLC.

Infact when you dig into the domain names etc, it seems this was thrown together last minute aka 2months ago after KC3/ PssoW C’s illnesses were announced. They are using PR to pretend they were working on it for an entire year, but even Scobie said they had nothing or whatever they had was all over the shop and he had no idea what it would be.

His comments don’t speak to a focused vision that is researched into whatever this is.

And what’s glaring about this launch is the lack of anything to sell. Not videos or actual products which speaks to the theory that this wax thrown together very quickly.

Russell Myers from the Mirror says if you sign up to the website, you get a respinse telling you that you’ll be notified of products when they are created/ available……if this was a year in the making and with proper marketing/ PR people, they’d have products ready to go. What it is right now is a landing/ holding page ( comments turned off on IG) until it produces products. 

It’s also interesting that the video is showcasing cooking which Markle tried to manifest for years while dating Corey. She auditioned and or popped up on varioys cooking shows/ fashion segments hoping to be hired. Acvording to people magazine, this launch of a lifestyle brand will have a companion show on Netflix. If Network tv won’t hire her for dream job then she’ll use her distribution deal to make it happen aka pay herself to make it happen!!!

However, one thing she revealed which tells me she has no clue about aspirational lifestyles/ branding. Her home kitchen hasn’t been updated from the dated 2000s/ early 2010s decor. It’s tye same kitchen from the sales brochure. 

Infact, glimpses of their home show a distinct lack of updating from the sales brochure. The onpy room thry updated is the one with the dining table as desk and their two side by side chairs. They removed all furniture and painted it white and addedva jute rug and that california bear poster over the fireplace. 

The current trend in kitchens for the wealthy is marble counter-tops and sleek designs meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. 

The women she is cosplaying eg GOOP, Martha and Ina Garten have upgraded to the current trend in kitchens. GOOP showed off her new kitchedn in AD. Heck, JLO is showing off her sleek kitchen. 

*****************

That they haven’t updated their house to their taste is what I laugh about the most. Are they really that cash-poor? Do they really have that much debt that they can’t afford to redo anything? Surely Markus and Soho House can cough up a few million to keep her happy, and when the Sussexes default on the loans, they can make Soho Olive Garden, a Californian spinoff of Soho Farmhouse. Win-win, if you ask me.

meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. ➡️ Remember, Meghan’s whole aesthetic is 90s. Of course she wants the Italian Country kitchen.

And thanks, anon. You’ve just reminded me of a house I looked at when I was moving back in 2022. The homeowners were so into that Italian Country Kitchen theme that they PAINTED the entire kitchen like it was a rustic Italian restaurant. You know you go into a family-owned Italian mom-and-pop place (not a chain like Olive Garden or Maggianos, but something like your neighborhood Italian pizza place) and it’s got that orangey-beige sponge paint that’s supposed to mimic sandstone and there’s a huge wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mural of Italy and dusty fake vines hanging from decorative columns? Yeah, that was how this kitchen was painted. Even the cabinets. And that was not even the weirdest house I looked at by a mile.)

[baesimss]

lido marina village, brindleton bay, simmisota ✨

welcome to lido! brindleton bay's premiere shopping outlets. filled with stylish boutiques, fine eateries and even a gym. locals and tourists love coming here for the chic and relaxed ambience.

guys, this is my most ambitious build project thus far. i've never referred to myself as a builder, but i am proud of the work i've put into this! it's, of course, based on the very real lido marina village in newport beach, california. definitely one of my favorite places in cali so it was a joy to bring it to life in my game!

more pictures + directory under the cut.

shops, eateries & more:

nobu | michelin star rated japanese restaurant. inspired by the real nobu at lido marina village.

curl fitness | a private members-only gym. inspired by the real curl fitness at lido marina village.

loveshackfancy | a women's clothing boutique that specializes in romantic and floral designs. inspired by the real loveshackfancy at lido marina village.

therealreal | a luxury consignment boutique. inspired by the real therealreal at lido marina village.

floral selfie wall | a place for sims to pose for pics! inspired by the real floral wall at lido marina village.

skating rink | a fun activity for kids (or any age sims) to partake in while their parents shop. there is no skating rink at the real lido marina village.

public restrooms with vending machines & water fountains.

kimber | luxury furniture store. inspired by serena + lily at lido marina village.

roller rabbit | a whimsical children's boutique. inspired by the real roller rabbit at lido marina village, except the real store doesn't cater specifically to children.

tress salon | a hair & nail salon for the bougie sims. inspired by the real tress salon at lido marina village.

lido bookstore & coffee shop | coffee shop with a bookstore upstairs and outdoor areas to eat and read. there is a real bookstore at lido marina village, but mine isn't really based on that one.

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[tnidesignca]

Restaurant Design California

Under Robert’s leadership, TNI Design has delivered many highly successful restaurant projects, designed and implemented internationally. Our clients include Westfield Shopping Mall, Plant Power, Royal Caribbean, Protein House, Caliburger, Steak N’ Shake, Hungry Trader, Phood Farmacy, and Slapfish, to name a few.

No matter what type of restaurant, café, or food service concept that is under consideration, TNI Design has the ability and expertise to produce a custom interior design that will be state of the art, compelling, and engaging with the target consumer profile.

Our team has delivered many highly successful restaurant design projects. Services include restaurant concept design, kitchen design, complete interior and outside facade packages, signage package, furniture and layout, and contractor plans.

Our Restaurant Design California capabilities include restaurant decor theme creation, complete exterior restaurant façade design or upgrade, exterior restaurant marketing display design and manufacturing, interior restaurant marketing display design, and restaurant decor theme creation.

Our system is turnkey in that we can work with contractors, permitting agents, local architects, as well as purchase design features and equipment as needed by the client.

[westside-historic]

Bob's Big Boy Jr. on Santa Monica Blvd. & Yale St. in Santa Monica in 1970. The view is looking west down SM Blvd.

Apparently what made it "Jr." was the fact that you ordered at the counter when you came in, and then the server brought the food to your table when it was ready. There was no difference in the menu, which was headlined by the Big Boy double deck burger, which they invented in 1939.

One of the ways the franchise appealed to kids was that they gave away little comic books, that featured the Big Boy character typically in some heroic light. With games and puzzles, too, it gave the kids something to do while waiting for the food. I also included a glamour shot of the dessert menu from the '70s-.80s, because it was legendary.

This Bob's was only about half a mile from where I grew up, and I ate here as often as I could talk my mom into it. It was also the first restaurant I'd seen with comment cards for patrons to describe their dining experience.

The structure itself was very cool, and likely designed by renowned local  architectural firm Armet Davis, the kings of Googie architecture in Southern California restaurants and coffee shops.

Source: https://clickamericana.com/topics/food-drink/vintage-bobs-big-boy-restaurants

[gonetoforks]

A bit of a hot take; I hope if Frida gets introduced properly with an official name, it will be something other than Frida?

(omg this rant became so long please read it tho i’m going insane)

I hope so because I feel like it would characterize her life (assumably) being raised by Big Mama a bit more, since her design tastes as we see through her hotel’s decor leans a lot towards old money art deco motifs combined with gothic architecture. I feel like Frida Kahlo’s primitivism and surrealism would be a bit out of character? Or at least a missed opportunity for some characterization.

(Okay maybe it’s not quite gothic but idc, let me speak-)

See here all the difference between Big Mama’s taste and Frida Kahlo’s paintings, I’m not saying she wouldn’t like her work, I just think that if Big Mama designs all her estates with such a clear creative vision & what seems to be her own personal tastes (*cough cough* old money ass fashion sense *cough cough*) I feel like she’d be more knowledgeable and/or more partial to a different area of the art world for Kahlo to be enough of her favorite to name her personal assistant/maybe I hope surrogate daughter after her?

I like to think if Big Mama named her after some artists she personally liked, I think she might lean more towards artists from the art deco scene like Tamara de Lempicka, or Sonia Delaunay.

Or maybe gothic architects could give her a name truer to the hidden city and battle nexus architecture that she’d’ve been surrounded by her whole life. All those gargoyles and sprawling jagged designs once you push past the illusion of Big Mama’s normal hotel front make such a dichotomy! Julia Morgan (the lady who designed California’s Hearst Castle which, “mixes Spanish Colonial, Gothic, Neo-Classical and Mediterranean Revival style all in one property.” I think that would be such a good combination of styles to reference with Big Mama’s choice on what to name this person omg) and Odile Decq are such pretty names!!

I love Odile Decq’s personal style and work on one particular building sm, the Phantom Restaurant of the Garnier Opera.

LIKE OMG THAT JUST SCREEAAAMMMS BIG MAMA, she would absolutely name a girl after the lady who’d design that and you cannot convince me otherwise. And Odile would fit in with “Michelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael” so well omg. And look at this woman, look at her style, she NEEDS a ninja turtle named after her omg.

And finally, a bit controversial but I never really liked the name Frida in the first place?

Don’t get me wrong, her work is legendarily meaningful and skillful. It’s just that in recent years, she’s been packaged and sold as this “girlboss feminist icon” because of her suffering, and because of that, her image in pop culture has kind of been watered down to the point where it feels like if they were to name her Frida, i’d think like, all the thought that went into it would be, “okay she’s a girl, what girl painters do we know?” Which (although well intentioned-) kinda feels like reverting back to stereotyping her as “the girl one” even though that’s what they were trying to avoid by not naming her Venus? If that makes sense? So I’m glad her name isn’t concrete yet lol.

And OMG I WANT HER NAME TO BE ODILE SO BAD NOW YOU DONT EVEN KNOW💖✨💝‼️✨ I only found her work literally as I was typing this but I just love that building and how much Big Mama would absolutely love that building, she needs to be named Odile, look at her face, that’s an Odile face <3

Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, and Odile, (and maybe Kirby? :D) i love itt

[fromthedust]

John Margolies (American, 1940-2016)

John Samuel Margolies was an architectural critic, photographer, and author who was noted for celebrating vernacular and novelty architecture in the United States, particularly those designed as roadside attractions. For almost forty years, he documented the most remarkable examples he found, publishing some of his discoveries in books and consigning the rest to an archive, which has now been purchased by the Library of Congress who, in a wonderfully gracious move, have lifted all copyright restrictions on the photographs. (see link below)

Gatorland Zoo alligator statue - Route 1, St. Augustine, Florida - 1979

Deschwanden's Shoe Repair (The Big Shoe) - 10th & Chester, Bakersfield, California - 1977

Wigwam Village #2 - office teepee and several teepee cabins - Route 31W, Cave City, Kentucky - 1979

Wigwam Village #6 - Route 66, Holbrook, Arizona - 1979

Jantzen sign - Stamie's Beachwear - Ocean Avenue, Daytona Beach, Florida - 1990

7-Up Bottling Company (two views) - NE 14 & Sandy Boulevard, Portland, Oregon - 1980

Coca Cola Bottling Company (two views) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

Coca Cola Bottling Company (detail view of door) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

It'll Do Motel (office) - Jonesborough, Tennessee - 1987

Joy Theater marquee - San Antonio, Texas - 1982

White Castle - Reading Road, Cincinnati, Ohio - 1980

Mammy's Cupboard (two views) - Route 61, Natchez, Mississippi - 1979

Dependable Used Cars sign - Division Street, Grand Rapids, Michigan - 1982

Stan The Tire Man statue - Broadway, Mount Vernon, Illinois - 1988

Bomber gas station - Route 99 E., Milwaukie, Oregon - 1980

World's Largest Redwood Tree Service Station (1936) - Route 101, Ukiah, California - 1991

Peach water tower - Frontage Road, Gaffney, South Carolina - 1988

Christie's Restaurant sign (cowboy shrimp) - Houston, Texas - 1983

Roadside flamingo statue - Frog City, Route 41, Florida - 1980

www.publicdomainreview.org/collection/john-margolies-photographs-of-roadside-america/

addendum: seen (not photographed) in a 2007 trip to Garibaldi/Nehalem/Manzanita Oregon — The Wheeler Inn with a wheelbarrow on the roof with a clothed female mannequin loaded into it . . .

[ereardon]

That Summer || Part Eight [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Synopsis: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, angst, smut

Chapter summary: Y/N celebrates her 18th birthday and Bradley gives her a gift she'll never forget; Bradley and Y/N take their relationship to the next physical level and he makes a promise to her he's dead set on keeping

Wordcount: 2.3K

Series masterlist here; Part Seven here

You had never been in love before Bradley. 

What you didn’t know was that love like the way you and Bradley felt about each other wasn’t standard. It wasn’t normal for two teenagers to feel that way about each other and mean it. 

What you didn’t know was that you would spend the rest of your life trying to recreate how you felt that summer. For the way you felt that night as Bradley’s arms wrapped around you and he told you, for the first time, that he loved you. 

What you didn’t realize was that loving Bradley was short and sweet and perfect. And it would crumble. Before your very eyes. 

***

He knew, the moment he said it, that he shouldn’t have. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you. He did. Bradley Bradshaw was sure of only a handful of things in his life — that California was superior to most, if not all other states; that his mother was his best friend, even in death; that more restaurants should carry hot dogs and meatballs as main courses. 

And there was one other thing that he was absolutely certain about. It was that he loved you, with every fiber of his being. With every breath he became more infatuated and tied to you. 

The two of you were bonded. Bradley knew that no matter what happened, you would own a part of him forever. He would never be complete again. And that was OK. He loved you, and he wanted to give you the world. But he had nothing to his name. So he would settle with giving you a piece of his soul. 

He gave you everything he could. He promised he would.

He just prayed it was enough.

***

“The dress code is white tie,” you said, snapping your seatbelt and adjusting the mirror. 

Bradley frowned from the passenger seat. “What is that?” 

You rattled on about what exactly it entailed and Bradley’s stomach sunk further. He was suddenly, overwhelmingly, anxious about this. Dancing in front of a room of strangers? Watching his every move so that he didn’t betray what you two had? Trying, and failing, to learn the steps of some arcane waltz that was exclusively designed to trip people up? 

But he couldn’t tell you any of those fears. You were excited. He could see it in your face. The way the light hit you as the two of you pulled onto the main road, headed for town and the custom tailor your father swore by. For the first time in a long time, Bradley saw you happy outside the confines of your bedroom or his. 

He felt it was his duty to maintain that happiness. If only for a fleeting moment. 

“That sounds great,” he said as you finished telling him about the meal. 

You looked over with a grin. “Really?” He nodded and you reached out, taking his hand in yours. “See,” you said. Beyond the windshield, the island stretched out in front of you, seemingly endless. 

But everything ends. Roads would turn to vegetation and then sand and then water. And if you kept going straight the two of you would be shuttled off into the abyss of the ocean. 

“I knew they’d come around,” you added and Bradley smiled at you gently, feeling your fingers squeeze his. “They’re going to love you just as much as I do. It’ll all work out, I promise.” 

You meant it. He knew you meant it. 

But he also knew you were wrong. The minute your father found out that Bradley was the person you were sneaking off to see under the cover of nightfall, it was all over for him. For both of you. 

It was only a matter of time.

***

“Happy birthday, Pumpkin.” Your father kissed the top of your head and placed a small box in front of you at the kitchen table. “From me and your mother.” 

You smiled at him and slid a finger under the wrapping, revealing a familiar robin’s egg blue box. You gasped and your father chuckled. 

Inside was a small diamond pendant necklace. You lifted it up softly, letting the diamond swivel around and collect the light. 

“Thank you daddy,” you smiled. You looked at the opposite end of the table. “Mother, thank you.” 

She nodded curtly. 

Louise brought out a perfect three-tiered coconut cake, way too much for four people, and you blew out the candles in one swift breath. 

Your father raised his glass of champagne. You and Bradley did the same, as well as your mother. “To my daughter on her eighteenth birthday,” he said warmly. “You’re perfect. And we love you so much. Cheers.” 

Bradley caught your eye from the other side of the table. He smiled and you felt it in your toes.

Eighteen. You had your whole life ahead of you. But all that mattered in that moment was making it to tonight. Because you and Bradley had plans. 

***

The door eased open. You turned from where you had been staring out the window at the waves crashing along the shore during high tide. 

Bradley tried not to let his jaw drop. You were practically ethereal. Pale, silvery moonlight illuminating you from behind. He stepped inside, closing the door softly, trying to gulp as silently as possible. 

You fiddled with the sleeves of your white lace robe, suddenly nervous. But when Bradley crossed the room, sliding one hand beneath your chin, drawing your eyes up to his, all of that fear and anxiety drifted away. It was just the two of you. That’s all you would ever need. Just Bradley. 

“I didn’t get to say it earlier,” he whispered, “but happy birthday.” 

You smiled and Bradley’s thumb reached out, tracing over the corner of your lip. “Thanks.” 

His other hand came out, brushing over your waist. You shivered unintentionally. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmured. 

You shook your head. “I want to. I want you, Bradley. All of you.” 

Bradley nodded, dropping his hand to take yours, walking you over to the side of the bed. He reached up to unbutton his shirt and you leaned forward, doing it for him. Carefully, you undid the row of buttons on his linen shirt, sliding your hands along his bare chest, nudging it off his shoulders. 

He reached out, fingers grasping the silky tie of your robe. Bradley looked up at you, waiting for the go-ahead. You nodded and he slid it open softly, reaching out and letting the robe slip from your shoulders and arms, pooling onto the ground. Bradley’s eyes went wide as he took in your matching white panties and lace bra. Gently, he leaned down, kissing your shoulder as your head reached back, a small sigh exiting your mouth. Bradley’s hands ran over your exposed skin, warming you, and your fingers reached for his belt, pulling at it. 

He leaned back with a smile. “Slow down, Birdy.” 

“Need to feel you.” 

A groan fell from his lips and he quickly shed his belt and shorts, standing in front of you in a pair of blue boxer shorts, cock already standing at full attention beneath the fabric. You reached out, petting him over the cotton material, and Bradley moaned sinfully. Your fingertips slid into the waistband and you looked up at him, waiting. He nodded and you pulled them down, letting his thick cock spring free. 

The two of you stood facing each other. Bradley reached out, holding your hips, pivoting you wordlessly toward the bed. He laid you down gently before crawling on top of you, his lips everywhere: your collarbone, the top of your breast, your stomach, the squishy part of your thigh where it met your hips. 

You moaned quietly as Bradley unclipped your bra, taking your nipple into his mouth, massaging your other breast with his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered, nipping at the delicate skin. He looked up, brown eyes locked on yours. “You’re perfect.” 

Excitement coursed through your veins. Your body was desperate for Bradley. “Brad,” you whispered. “Need you now.” 

You could feel his cock flutter against your thigh, the tip already wet. It made you want to press your thighs together, craving the friction. “Honey,” he murmured softly. “Let me at least get you ready.” 

The truth was, he needed a moment himself. The truth was, Bradley had never done this before. 

You ran your fingers through his hair. 

“I’m ready. More than ready.” 

Bradley nodded, easing his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them off of the side of your bed. You opened your legs wider, allowing him to settle himself between them. He was quiet for a moment, one hand on your thigh, the other gently holding his hard cock. A hesitation. 

“Are you OK?” you asked. 

Bradley looked up. “There’s something I have to tell you.” He let out a breath. “I’m a virgin.” 

Oh. Oh. That explained it. The way he was looking at you. Wanting to take things slow. You sat up, kneeling on the bed facing him. You reached out softly, one hand cupping his cheek. “Bradley.” His name on your lips made him want to pass out. It was gentle. Caring. Bradley knew he might never meet another person who would love him the way you did in that moment. 

He wanted you, all of you. He wanted so much it terrified him. And the worst part was that he knew you wanted more, too. You wanted him. A life with him. You wanted things he couldn’t give you. You wanted stability and comfort and a home. You wanted a whole life that was outside of Bradley’s reach. 

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” you murmured. “Whatever you want to do, I’m happy.” 

He shook his head. “I want to.” I’m just scared.  

“Are you sure?” 

His eyes latched onto yours. “I love you, Birdy. More than anything else in the world. More than I ever thought was possible. So yes, I’m sure. I just, I needed you to know.” 

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against Bradley’s. His warm hands came out to your sides, leaning you back gently, settling you on your back on the mattress. One of his hands nudged your legs open and you gasped into Bradley’s mouth as you felt the hot tip of his cock brush against your wet entrance. 

He groaned as he pushed the head inside of you, a literal whimper leaving his mouth. “Oh, oh God.” 

“Bradley,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and upper back. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he whispered against the skin of your neck, pushing further inside of you, splitting you into pieces. “Birdy, oh shit!” 

He slid further inside of you, thick cock stuffing you full, your walls fluttering around him as you stifled moans into the skin of his shoulder where you pressed your mouth. Bradley’s hand came up and gripped your neck, holding onto you. Clinging to you. 

Once he was all the way inside, you opened your eyes. Bradley sat staring back at you, his brown eyes blown wide. “Baby,” he whispered. 

You knew what he wanted. You nodded. “Please,” you begged and he obliged, pulling out a few inches before slamming back into you, eliciting a simultaneous moan from both of you. His rhythm was clumsy, asymmetrical, as he pulled back, thrusting into you repeatedly. But it didn’t matter. Your feet climbed onto Bradley’s back as you curled yourself around him, his pants and sighs in your ear causing your walls to tighten on him. “Bradley!” 

“Fuck, Birdy, I’m not going to last,” he moaned as he slid further inside of you. “Where should I?” 

“Inside of me,” you begged and Bradley’s pace picked up until he was shooting cum inside of you, a messy jumble of moans and praises falling from his mouth as he stilled inside of you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, holding him to your chest where he had collapsed against you. “I love you,” you murmured against his sweaty, salty skin. “I love you.” 

You held him close, his face buried between your neck and shoulder. And you knew that you would never forget holding Bradley in your arms. 

Finally, he pulled out slowly, groaning lightly. The two of you cleaned up in the adjoining bathroom before you slid into bed under the covers, patting the space next to you. “Stay,” you asked. 

He nodded. “I will. I promise. But first, I have a present for you.” 

You frowned. Bradley had no job. No income. He had nothing to his name. How could he have a gift for you? 

Bradley bent down, fiddling with the pocket of his discarded shorts, before slipping under the covers next to you. He grabbed your hand, dropping something from his fist into yours. 

It was cold. He pulled his hands away and you opened your hand, revealing a plain gold band placed on your palm. 

“It was my mother’s wedding ring,” he said and you looked up in shock. “It’s the only thing I have of hers.” 

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands. “Bradley, no. Absolutely not. I can’t accept this.” 

“Y/N,” he said and there was a finality to the word. “Yes, you will. She would have wanted you to have it. I want you to have it.” 

“Is it, um?” You didn’t know how to ask. 

“Not yet,” Bradley whispered. “But someday, Birdy, yes. Someday I’m going to ask you to marry me. I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll make you my wife.” 

You slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of your right hand instead of your left. It fit perfectly. You looked up at him. “I love it. Thank you.” 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours softly. “I love you. I’m always going to love you. I'm sorry it's not much," he added. "But it's all I could do."

Your fingers tightened around his, the cool metal brushing against his skin. "It's perfect," you murmured. "It's more than enough. You're more than enough."

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