#Sweet Cannelés

[moncannele]

Indulge in the Flavors of Bordeaux with Mon Cannelé:

Welcome to Mon Cannelé, your exquisite destination for authentic Cannelés that transport your taste buds to the heart of Bordeaux, France. Delight in the perfect fusion of tradition and innovation as we meticulously craft each Cannelé to capture the essence of this renowned delicacy. Whether you're treating yourself or sharing the joy with loved ones, every bite is a moment of pure bliss. Experience the allure of Cannelés at Mon Cannelé and embrace a journey where French pastry artistry meets global indulgence.

[grungust025]

食べる

[yoooko-o]

27/05/2023

あこ食堂にて。本日も安定のおいしさ😋

この後は、名もなき小さなケーキ店へ。

ケーキのクオリティと味もですが、パティシエの土川さんを筆頭にほのぼのしたお店が大好き。"💛"の方はToRoRiの間借り店の頃からいるパートのTさん🥰すごく笑顔が可愛い女性で個人的にめっちゃファンです💖

カヌレ２個とカットケーキ２個。２個のためにも荷崩れ防止対策してくれて恐縮です。

ショコラパティシエール🍫

間借り店のショコラ、クラシックショコラとはまた違う食感💖

スフレチーズケーキ🧀

ごく普通に頂くチーズケーキとは違う、軽く、ふわっ、しっとりした口当たり。どちらも上品な甘さであっという間に完食でした😋

[sileniadream]

Kaori Miyazono Your Lie in April

[ailika-oracle]

The delicious desserts had me hooked

[lorei-writes]

I, Your Rag Doll

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Action ~2.4k

A second part of the two-shot. Although they can be read in any order, I'd suggest to first go through My Dear Rag Doll, for the best experience >:)

Content Warnings: blood, violence

Chilly gusts strolled through the palace gardens, charmed by the falling night. Exhausted after hours of mischief in the fields and playing tag in towns, they nuzzled into the softness of the newly emerged leaves, ruffled the rose bushes to then rest among their roots. Just as worn down, Esther exhaled slowly, gravel crunching under the soles of her shoes as she approached the gazebo. The bench sighed quietly under her weight.

The kettle whistled, zealous and dressed to impress, red enamel shining as if polished. A tartan kitchen cloth shielding her hand, Esther grabbed the metal handle and poured the water into a teapot, fragrant leaves unfurling to further welcome the scalding heat. She let them rest under the cover and turned her attention towards the granite counter, a selection of pastries awaiting being sampled.

“You’re bringing them a snack again, Esther?”

Startled, she barely prevented herself from giving a start. “Y-yes, Miss Bernard. And I see you’re early for work again today?”

“Force of habit,” the old cook sighed, short stubby legs gliding over the floor with a light sort of elegance. She approached the rack and, without any ado, stood up on her very tiptoes to take on her apron, hands immediately brushing her silver hair back and constricting it within a low knot. “Talking about habits…” A smirk played over her lips, followed shortly by a wink, crow feet joyously pecking at the corners of her eyes. “It seems you’ve been rather persistent these days.”

“I do not understand, I’m afraid,” Esther claimed, even if just to complete their daily routine. Miss Bernard gave her shoulder a nudge, to then point to a set of vaguely cylindrical cakes, golden caramel shells shimmering, whispering, luring them in with sweet promises…

“Cannelés,” she explained. “Take some, they turned out well. Even he should like them.”

“And those?” Esther looked towards a basket filled to the very brim with flaky cookies, each twisted into something akin to a heart or two snail shells.

“Palmiers. Take some too, take some too. Although…”

“Although?”

“Well, if you’d be as kind as to listen to this old lady, I think it’d be best if you made something yourself… Whatever it is that you make.”

“I’m not sure it went all too well that one time…”

“You always say the same thing.”

The tea cart rattled all too loudly as Esther pushed it down the hallway, silver spoons plinking against porcelain cups, wicker baskets filled to the very brim with pastries shaking at the thought of overcoming yet another carpet bump. It was quite a journey for the kitchen natives, forests and oceans preserved within canvases speeding past them, interlaced with feasts attended by their honourable crockery great-great-great-grandmothers and -fathers alike. The most musical of winged beasts soared through the skies outside; treacherous adventure, or so they would claim. The chatelaine-guide clattered as they reached the door to safety, only a single knob separating them from the ramp connecting various floors… And the knob refused to budge.

Whether Esther pulled, pushed, turned or twisted was irrelevant. The door remained stubbornly locked, metal struggling against wooden frame, clawing into it just to resist her attempts. One of the headmaids would have the key, the reason suggested, yet it was also disillusioned about them being willing to spare any time on such “idle activities”; another possibility was to carry the cart up the proper staircase… Or to open the door through different means. Esther glanced around the corridor, her hand brushing against the chatelaine at her belt, fingers tracing the outline of the silver clasp to then slide down the chains and cautiously curl around the picklock hooked onto one.

“Esther…?”

Yet again, Esther narrowly avoided giving a start. Her gaze swept around the corridor once more, a nest of unkept maroon hair peeking from the staircase doorway.

“Mister Roux? Is there anything I can do for you?”

The man wiped his hands clean over his mud-stained overalls, his eyebrows arching like cat’s back. He shed some leaves and tilted his head to the side, his surprise only beginning to blossom. His eyes widened at last as they set on the cart. “Are you sure that’s the question you should be asking? C’mere… Err… I will come there. You need to have that thing carried upstairs?”

“I… Well, yes, but I’m fine.”

Something fell onto the cart as Mister Roux steered it further down the hallway, the wheels gliding over the carpet easily when guided by more forceful hands. “Don’t be silly. You’re so skinny I could snap you in half like a twig. I’ll carry it for you.”

He did as he said, leaving behind more than just dust and a few splotches of dirt. Hidden between the plates, cups, saucers and the baskets, a notepad remained unnoticed up until the very door of the foreign affair faction office. Inconspicuous, at first glance it appeared to be the sole clean item the gardener possessed, black ink contrasting with the striking white of the first page. “The property of Ambroise Roux”, it said, yet as prised as it was, it was also forgotten. To search for its owner then would be wasted effort – Esther simply tucked the notepad in her pocket and resolved to give it back at a later date.

***

The registry closed with a heavy thud, tables filled with numbers to the very brim disappearing when snugly embraced by the leather-clad covers. Esther leaned back against her chair, the last of fading dusk caressing the windows of her room, just short of begging for shelter. Steamed after cooking for hours in nothing but imports, exports, taxes and laws to somehow make some sense of it all, her mind was barely there, to the point where she could lose her head and take no note of it at all. Nevertheless, if Chevalier told her to do it, it meant she was either capable enough to succeed or her destiny was to fail. Esther closed her eyes. Muffled chirping stirred her tired thoughts.

Chilly gusts strolled through the palace gardens, charmed by the falling night. Exhausted after hours of mischief in the fields and playing tag in towns, they nuzzled into the softness of the newly emerged leaves, ruffled the rose bushes to then rest among their roots. Just as worn down, Esther exhaled slowly, gravel crunching under the soles of her shoes as she approached the gazebo. The bench sighed quietly under her weight.

When she didn’t look, Esther could pretend that it was not the palace grounds, but her home. With the smell of roses still being contained within the perimeter of their buds, the rustling of the greenery sounded deceptively similar to the groves she had known all her life. Lilac wouldn’t be in bloom yet either, she would think and trick herself into waiting for what would never come… Provided that she her eyes remained closed. But they did not.

“Esther?” Mister Roux asked, a lantern held in his hand. “What in the… What are you doing here at this hour?”

Esther straightened her back and, slightly embarrassed, grasped at her skirt. “Oh… I just needed some fresh air, I’ve got a bit of a headache. And you, mister? Long shift?”

“Yeah.” His broad shoulders heaved to then slump, mud too appearing rather dejected as he sat beside her. “What a day, though.”

“Has something happened?”

“Lots of work and then I lost something important. I dug through the whole damn gardens, but of course, it’s nowhere.”

Esther’s eyes lit up. Without even thinking, she patted down her pockets, the hard corners of the notepad pricking her things through the fabric. She reached for it as if it burned, handing it over just the moment it touched the garden air. “What luck!” she chirped, clearly relieved. “You left it on my cart. I realised only when I was already at the office, but I thought to bring it to you as soon as I’d see you… But the task from Prince Chevalier has kept me — Mister Roux?”

The man stared blankly at the notepad in his hands. He grew redder and then paler, almost blue, wavering between green and purple to eventually settle on white. He smoothed the cover with his thumbs. “You went with it to see..?”

Esther got up to face him properly. The lantern flickered.

“Mister Roux?”

“… that beast?” His voice fell into the quiet of the night. The boards creaked as Esther took a step back, eyes fiery with a fever she could not comprehend boring into her.

“I have to go.”

“You ain’t going anywhere.”

Esther ran, out of the gazebo and into the night. The gravel shrieked as it skipped out of her way, kicked away from its place with each hurried strike delivered by her feet. Shadows shivered as she passed through them, another figure following shortly after her. Flames trembled within their prison of glass, winds raising their heads at the quiet commotion. Nothing and nobody offered her aid.

The path winded and it turned, yet it never seemed to shorten itself, regardless of the number of corners Esther would cut. She threw a glance over her shoulder. The distance separating her from Roux had shrunk, shrinking further with each elapsed pace. Dewy gravel groaned again. She beseeched her legs to run faster, to carry her out of the reach of his hands —

The heel of her shoe slid off the edge of a misplaced rock. Esther flailed her arms, but remained off-balance, her palms crashing into the ground. Her heart rose to her throat. A mistake was one mistake too many, she was gravely aware, thick fingers armed in broken, dirt-padded, nails clawing into her shoulder to force her to look his way. Esther reached into her capelet at the last moment, a miniscule glass bottle falling into her hand just as Roux threw her back and pointed a something at her.

The liquid vaporised at once, thundering and scorching.

“You fucking —!”

The something fell. It was something metal and something hard, something that then reeked of sulphur and of fire, and that had just been not merely pointed, but aimed at her. The explosion she expected. It was the bang that deafened her. Esther still pushed herself to run. She could not forfeit her chance.

The rose bushes swayed from side to side, lulled in the arms of the gently fragrant winds.

Esther left the path behind. She dashed through the thorny greenery. Forward. Just forward. Towards the guardhouse that still shone and kept her hope aglow.

Nightingales, sparrows, blackbirds, titmice, and other birds fluttered their wings, clouds of cawing crows churning in the skies above.

Something sped by her. She was too afraid to look back.

The garden trembled.

Her shoulder burned.

Esther reached for another bottle, the second out of the three. She fumbled with the cork, yet since it was meant to break… She threw it without looking. It missed. Obviously, it missed. But wasn’t the noise enough? Why was there nobody there, why were the guards not alar—?

Her good arm lit up in pain.

The last vial shattered as if by itself. She didn’t even know when.

Roux did not waste his chance. He gained on her, the distance disappearing as if it had never been there to begin with. Cold fear took over Esther’s mind and gave her calculated strength, soothed any of her discomfort while herding breath into her lungs… Even if it hardly mattered. Her back hit the ground, large hands pinning her down by the neck. Esther clawed into the gardener’s forearms, her knees slamming into his back with each desperate kick of hers. Warm blood clung to her fingertips, moist and sticky rather than slick.

She could not scream.

That was not the death she had made her peace with.

Esther prayed to be saved, or at least, redeemed.

***

The cough became Esther, and she was the cough. Through it, in it, and in the icy blue of familiar eyes, she believed herself to be safe – or at least her body believed for her. She faded again.

***

Her mind came back what felt like a hundred of times, pivoting just below the surface of the lukewarm darkness yet refusing to break it for more than a flash. What was a dream and what was a nightmare, what was real and what she made up – Esther couldn’t tell. Thousand of ants must have entered her throat and bit her quite painfully, another hundred or so of them washing over her limbs in waves, a handful tepid flames licking at her shoulders and arms. Would she burn down? Oddly enough, she did not hate the thought, not completely… Not in the slightest… Not…

Esther coughed, and in her state between states, she slid into the grey unreality preceding the dawn. Mortar underneath her eyelids turning to sand, she stared ahead, just barely able to see contours and shapes, questioning whether they too would cease being the second she forgot about breathing. Esther blinked, hard and then harder, the blurriness overtaking her vision casting her into a place at the frontier of places. Neither cold nor hot and not even warm, neither sharp, rough, soft nor tender, where up and down seemed to be one and the same… Her head spun, the world heaving, a vortex of convoluted sensation threatening to pull her under the surface again.

“Too… loud…”

Something turned her around, this time clearly rough, clearly decisive, and yet also obviously warm. It stroked her arm, patted her back, pulled her into a rose garden of soft fabric and silken hair, enveloped her in its contradictory nature until she could make out arms and legs, an entire set of a body that lay beside her. Esther gasped, clumsy fingers combing through her damp – was it damp? Wet? Was it truly hers? – hair, unravelling any knots in their path with a fraction too much force… She sobbed, reminded how to feel.

Chevalier held her together, hot tears staining the collar of his nightshirt as her face found shelter in the crook of his shoulder. Pushed away by his impatient sighs, kept in place by the soothing circles drawn by his hands, she clung to him as if he was the sole piece of floating debris carried by the waves. The steady drumming of his heart eased the ache in her neck, the blockage in her throat giving way to wails. Confused bitterness just spilled from her, bottomless and somehow, also finite. In that moment, for but a single precious breath, Rhodolitian roses replaced her lilac. Esther became fine. She would remain fine. She only prayed, for that would require a miracle, that come morning Chevalier would not remember her pathetic state. She did not dare check whether he was even awake, whether he was even real, the warmth of his embrace returning her to the safety locked between worlds.

You've seen any typos? Let me know!

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[butterslapzme]

Sweet - Widowmaker x Reader [One-Shot]

[A/N] This is my first time really posting and using tumblr. I usually reside on AO3... Learning formatting. Thank you for understanding. Enjoy.

Relatively SFW. Mostly fluff/teasing. Female Reader insert, but can be Neutral.

You had agreed to go out of the country to go on this mission, but really, you just wanted to go just to see Paris. A little self-indulging to vacation since you hardly got the time, but you knew how to act professionally. Being suggested to pair up with the infamous, Widowmaker, you were maybe a little skittish around her alone.

Luckily, she was neutral to you, as you were both only acquainted. As long as you did your part, everything was fine. Just her medic, but you were experienced with various weapons, but only when necessary. The killing was Widow's job anyway, and everyone knew how deadly accurate she was with her sniper. 

Both of you stayed in Hotel Beau Ciel for the evening, and you were gawking out the window staring at the Eiffel tower. The room was very luxurious from what you're used to. Glancing out the window, your eyes hooked onto Amélie sitting on the balcony reading a book.

Biting your lower lip you took walked to open the doors to the balcony as she ignored your presence. Wanting to strike up a conversation, your lips twitched and formed to make words, but nothing came out at first.

You cleared your throat to break the silence. "...Glad we got paired up, Lacroix."

There was a little silence before yellow eyes took a glimpse at you with disinterest.

"I tolerate you. The feeling is mutual." she hummed plainly.

Back to reading the book, she flipped a page and crossed her legs. Holding your breath, you struggled to find more words of initiation. Staring at her long straight hair that was usually up in a ponytail was captivating as it would flow in the summer breeze.

From her hair, to her bare shoulders in a casual outfit, it was interesting to not see her in her latex suit get-up. You flinched when you heard a knockback from inside the hotel.

Furrowing her brows, she turned half her head to the knocking as well. 

"Who is that?" She asked, glaring up at you, knowing she didn't expect anyone.

"Relax, it's just the hotel service... I got hungry." You scoffed at her distrust and walked back in to respond to the door.

There was a trolley of various sweets you ordered and just nodded to the omnic that brought the cart instead of bothering to say thank you.

Amélie watched, her expression softening once you closed the door, no one else coming back in but you. Resuming her book, she was interrupted by your incoming footsteps from behind again.

"Dieu..." She muttered. "What is it now?" 

"I'd thought maybe you'd want something to drink." 

Turning all the way around, you held a wine glass in your hand, and in the other a bottle of French wine with a label you'd likely butcher if you had read it yourself. This had surprised her.

You thought of her even if it wasn't exactly a wine of her tastes. Raising your brows, you awaited her response, expecting to be rejected just by her normal cold attitude. Amélie didn't say much, but she did stand and close the balcony doors, bringing herself inside. 

You didn't mean to, but you smiled a little, popping the cork off and pouring her the shimmering red liquid, the aroma very pleasing.

"Merci." Amélie thanked, sitting on a nearby sofa, again she crossed her legs and leaned back.

"Sure," you muttered softly.

Taking a sip, she watched you go to the coffee table, taking off the metallic lids to behold the dishes. Your eyes lit like magic, looking at the cannelés, crème brûlée, and wrapped crepes.

You felt like a child being fascinated by sweets all over again. While she kept it discreet in her mind, Amélie was a little bit amused. Picking up the crepe plate first, you wanted to sit next to her on the sofa. 

Raising a brow, she took the hint and silently scoot over. Criss-crossing your legs up, you didn't even bother getting a napkin you didn't even use utensils.

Amélie gave you a bewildered look when you ate it with your fingers like a cupcake or something. She facepalmed and felt the heavy urge to correct you.

"Vous êtes désordre..." You had not paid any mind, usually not acknowledging when she would speak in her natural language. At least until she called you out by your last name. 

"Hm?" Freezing midchew, you stopped to look at her. "Tsk, Tsk, tsk." she suddenly leaned forward, her fingers reaching for your face. Your eyes widened, only inching back little by little.

You couldn't tell if it was the curiosity or fear that didn't make you not runoff. There was syrup chocolate left on your bottom lip and a little on your chin.

Wiping it off your chin with her thumb, she licked the syrup up, staring straight into your eyes as she did so.

You were speechless.

Hesitantly, you lowered the plate onto your lap and swallowed slowly. A small bit of whipped cream was squeezed from the crepe since you gripped too hard onto it. It landed on your chest and you sucked your teeth irritatedly, your ears perking to Amélie chuckling to herself.

"Ma chérie, are you doing it on purpose by now?" 

"N-No, it was on accident." You flustered and stuttered at her remark.

Should you be enticed or shocked? Maybe even scared. This was a strange side to see from her. And there was no way she was drunk. You leaned over to grab a napkin, placing the plate down on the coffee table again.

Taking your distraction as a chance to strike, she leaned forward again in advance. Instead of her fingers sweeping the sugar off your skin, her tongue licked it up, getting a good grip on your shoulder to lean on.

"Lacroix!" You gasped out.

Amélie was fascinated with your reaction. The way your face scrunched, your lips parted, and your brows twisted up. So full of emotion. 

It was nothing compared to getting a lovely, clean assassination, but doing this to you filled her with some sort of...

Satisfaction. 

Just a little.

"How sweet." Amélie purred.

Heat blasted in your body. Feeling anxious, you broke her up-close hardcore gaze. She didn't want you to look away, she truly wanted to drink in your emotions. Since you were hardly putting up a fight,  she encouraged herself to press on. 

Slim fingers reached over to the table, grabbing a spoon from the next plate with the crème brúlée. Staring at her slow movements, you felt tenser as she scooped up the dessert, and brought it to your lips. 

Breathing in slowly, you hesitated but gave in. Parting your lips, you admit the flavor on your tastebuds was amazing. When the spoon left your lips, it was clean.

Amélie hummed softly, as she traced the spoon on your skin. From your lips, down to your chin, down to your neck, and finally down to your chest. Holding your breath,  it dropped a little further down between your breasts.

"You truly are in for a treat, petit papillon."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[rosella-writes]

Hey, happy Friday! I submit "nudging the other one" for Solas/Cassandra :)

Thank you!! For @dadrunkwriting, rated G, featuring a bakery inspired by this fic by @dreadfutures

~~~

The Orlesian sun was hot, but not the sort that left Cassandra feeling as if she were laid upon a fire — it made her feel relaxed and loose-limbed, even within her gambeson. At the Inquisitor’s request, they had left their armour and weapons with the Inquisition agents within the city. Today, Bryn had stated, was a day for them and them alone. 

The Val Royeaux market bustled. Wide skirts jockeyed for room, heels clacked upon the cobblestones, and the feathers upon hats bobbed and waved at eye-level for many in their party. Bryn alone seemed immune to the reach of these ornaments. They were a foot taller than most in the crowd, and moved easily enough by virtue of their size and status. Cassandra and Solas followed close in their wake, taking advantage of the space. Cole, Cassandra supposed, remained nearby but out of sight. 

Among the many battling scents of perfumes, leatherwork, sun-heated fruit, and flowers came a familiar fragrance — Cassandra turned on her heel, searching for it. She reached out without thinking and caught at Solas’s sleeve. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “Do you smell that?”

The apostate looked at her with an incredulous expression. “Yes, Seeker, whatever it is I assure you I am being assailed by it.”

She scoffed. “It is sweet. It reminds me of a treat I have not had in years. Inquisitor?”

Bryn glanced over at them, their eyes calm and placid and their brows raised in a silent question. They cocked their horned head to the side. 

“Do you see a pâtisserie?”

Recognition dawned, and they suddenly cast their gaze over Cassandra and Solas’s heads. They did not need to stand on tiptoes in order to see, but they rose upon them almost out of habit. Their lips parted as they searched — they suddenly pointed and said, in their gentle voice, “Over there, by the modiste.”

Excitement surged within Cassandra at that, along with another waft of the familiar, mouth-watering scent of baked goods. Bryn’s face warmed when they looked back down at her. 

“Go on ahead without me,” they said. “I want to see what’s in this shop at the end. Meet at the center of the square in a half hour?”

Cassandra glanced at Solas, who looked cautiously interested now. Cole’s hat bobbed near his ear as the spirit passed by and drew close to Bryn’s side. 

“The baker is proud of them today,” Cole said simply, his voice nearly swallowed up by the noise of the crowd. “La crème est absolument parfaite en tous points. You should try the cannelé.” 

They listened — Cole remained at Bryn’s side as the latter made their way towards the stalls, while Cassandra and Solas entered the shadowed interior of the bakery. They blinked away the brightness of the sun and basked in the new warmth, that of ovens and fresh pastry and bread rather than hot sun. Waft after waft of that delicious, sweet scent of baked flour and sugar and butter filled Cassandra’s nose and throat, and she found herself swallowing down her desire for such Orlesian treats. 

The patisserie was crowded, enough so that Solas had to turn to keep his broad shoulders from grazing against their fellow customers as they approached the glass cases near the back of the shop. They were surrounded by the rolling sounds of conversations held in Orlesian, with the odd bit of Antivan and Trade mixed in at the fringes — when another customer entered the shop behind them, Cassandra heard a new swell of the Chant sung from the abbey at the center of the city before the door swung back shut. 

A nudge — Solas’s elbow was sharp, but he prodded her gently with it. She would not have felt it if she were still armoured. “What are these?”

She followed his pointed finger with a surprised gaze. “Do you not recognise any of them?”

“They are…” he seemed to search for the word. He raised a finger to his chin and frowned. 

Cassandra gazed up at him with a slight smile, feeling fondness wash through her that was as warm and sweet as the smell of burnt sugar. “Think of them as… frilly cakes, I suppose.”

The attendant behind the case shot her a dirty look, but she paid him no mind. 

“Pick one,” she urged. “My treat.”

Solas glanced down at her — a mere flick of pale eyes beneath long lashes, shadowed by the dim light in this bakery. His mouth curved in a surprised, private smile behind the crook of his finger as he contemplated. 

“Which did Cole say we should try?” he finally asked. 

Cassandra nodded. “Deux cannelés s'il vous plait, mon ser.”

They left the bakery with their paper-wrapped cannelés in hand, as Cassandra wished for Solas to try his out of sight of the Orlesian baker who might be insulted if he enjoyed them in the wrong way. They tucked away against a fountain, taking their seats on the mortared edge, knee to knee. Cassandra eagerly unwrapped hers and took a large, unceremonious bite. 

“Maker,” she groaned happily. She almost snorted custard out of her nose at the sight of Solas regarding his, and hurriedly swallowed. “Try it!”

He looked at her with trusting eyes as he lifted the flute-shaped cake to his mouth — he held his spare hand beneath it to catch crumbs, and looked for all the world like a man out of his element. She tried to remember if she’d seen him enjoy eating anything before. She could hear the caramelised exterior crunch as he bit it. 

Solas’s eyebrows flew up his forehead as he took in that first bite, and his eyes shone. Cassandra laughed outright — not to mock him, but to delight in his reaction. 

“You look as if you have never tasted anything sweet before!” she chuckled. She took another bite, then spoke irreverently around it. “These are my favourite. Cole’s advice was indeed good.”

For once, Solas was too occupied to retort with anything scathing. He finished the cannelé slowly, as if savouring each moment of it. Only then did he clear his throat and look up at her, a multitude of barely-discernible expressions crossing his angled face. 

“Thank you,” he finally said. He wiped his long, pale fingers clean with the paper the cannelés came folded in, and seemed almost mournful that they were gone. “I liked that very much.”

Cassandra chuckled, then rose and extended her hand. “You are welcome. Now come, let us find the Inquisitor.”

Solas smiled sincerely then, and accepted her helping hand to his feet.

[facad]

Today’s sweets カヌレ #sweets #cannelé #antique #french #autumn #IGersJP #自家製スィーツ #カヌレ https://www.instagram.com/p/B2obVavgE_Q/?igshid=1fihly8qvl59c

[jun10331]

今年のバレンタインは ダニエルさんのカヌレ 3分で売り切れるらしい 一口サイズのしっとり系 味のバリエーションも豊富 妻のリサーチ力どうなってるん？ 行動力、瞬発力どうなってるん？ さすが大手のマーケター #カヌレ #cannelédebordeaux Bordeaux #cannelé #cannelé #神戸 #兵庫 #バレンタイン #バレンタインデー #valentine #valentineday #神戸グルメ #兵庫グルメ #スイーツ #sweets (Daniel) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ51BbHB4Jm/?utm_medium=tumblr

[moncannele]

Discover the Irresistible Charm of Cannelés at Mon Cannelé in Saigon

If you're a fan of delectable pastries with a touch of French sophistication, look no further! At Mon Cannelé, a delightful pastry shop based in Saigon, we take pride in crafting the finest Cannelés in all of Vietnam. If you haven't tasted these addictively delicious treats yet, prepare to be enchanted by their crispy caramelized crust, tender center, and delightful flavors.

The Allure of Cannelés

Cannelé, a traditional French Pastry Ho Chi Minh City hailing from Bordeaux, France, holds a special place in the hearts of pastry enthusiasts worldwide. With its unique shape and rich taste, it's no wonder Cannelés have garnered a dedicated following. At Mon Cannelé, we've taken this beloved French delicacy and infused it with Vietnamese flair, using local ingredients to create a delightful fusion of cultures.

Quality Baked Fresh Daily

We take our commitment to quality seriously, which is why our Cannelés are Freshly Baked Canele in Saigon. Each pastry is crafted with love and the finest ingredients, ensuring that you get nothing short of perfection in every bite. The passion we put into our Cannelés is evident in their exceptional taste and texture, making them an unforgettable experience for your taste buds. Gift Your Loved Ones with Mon Cannelé

Are you looking for the perfect gift to express your affection on a special day? Look no further! Buy Cannelés Gift Box in Ho Chi Minh City from Mon Cannelé is a heartfelt gesture that will leave your loved ones beaming with joy. As we believe in adding a personal touch, we gladly include a ribbon and a handwritten note from you to make the gift even more special.

Love for the Earth

At Mon Cannelé, we not only care about the delight our pastries bring to your palate but also about the environment we share. To contribute to a greener world, we have chosen eco-friendly packaging for our Cannelés. By choosing us, you can enjoy your favorite pastries guilt-free, knowing that you are supporting sustainable practices that benefit the planet we all call home.

Online Pastry Shop Convenience

In this digital age, we understand the importance of convenience in your busy life. That's why Mon Cannelé offers an Online Pastry Shop in Saigon, making it easier than ever for you to indulge in our mouthwatering Cannelés. With just a few clicks, you can have these delectable treats delivered to your doorstep, ready to delight your taste buds.

Conclusion

At Mon Cannelé, we invite you to embark on a culinary journey where French elegance meets Vietnamese charm. Our passion for crafting the finest Cannelés shines through in every batch we make. So, whether you're treating yourself or surprising someone you cherish, our Cannelés are the perfect choice for indulgence and gifting.

Warning: Once you savor the exquisite taste of our Cannelés, they might just become your new irresistible addiction. So, step into the world of Mon Cannelé and experience the magic of these delectable French-Vietnamese delights!

[osakajapanmyfooddiary]

. 🚃osaka🇯🇵 ☕️Tatemachi cannelé OSA ✔︎plane cannele 194yen ✔︎white cannele 248yen ✔︎MATCHA cannele 226yem ✔︎Catalana 378yen another diary✈︎ @japan_osaka_foodie japanese account✈︎ @i.am.o_foodie #cannelé #Catalana #cannele #cannelédebordeaux #sweet #osakasweet #japanesesweets #foodporn #foodie #foodstagram #instafood #foodphotography #foodblogger #osakafood #osakatrip #osakajapan #osakasweets (エキマルシェ大阪) https://www.instagram.com/japan_osaka_foodie/p/CYaibvMvKDd/?utm_medium=tumblr

[yoooko-o]

09/11/2022 part3

[vegehana-food]

✿ カヌレ・ド・ボルドー | Cannelé de Bordeaux

[joyofcake]

Canneles - Crisp, custardy and caramelized French Canneles.

[butternuggets-blog]

OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @adowbaldwin @profoundme444 @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont

Part Twenty

Summary: Baldwin de Clermont manages to upset an ancient hag. He wakes up.. different.

Domenico frowned, and prodded the green blob in the cup. The jelly trembled ferociously, then settled. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'If you don’t want it, I’ll finish it for you' Phillip offered.

The twins’ school had unexpectedly closed for the day due to a burst waterpipe, so Baldwin and Domenico were playing babysitter. Becca had decided to continue their ''humanisation education'' by begging Marthe into making a small buffet. Naturally, they had started with sweet rather than savoury food.

'No, he’s got to try it!' Becca popped up on Domenico’s left and prodded him in the side.  'I know it’s weird looking but Mum likes it.'

'What..flavour..is this?'

'Lime,' said the twins. Domenico stared down his nose at it warily, then scooped out a chunk of the wobbling mass and spooned it into his mouth.

'This is....not terrible' he said, looking a little shocked.

'Disgusting' muttered Baldwin, around a mouthful of chocolate mousse, 'Blackcurrent jelly is better'

Marthe had kept up a steady stream of desserts all morning. Miniature macaroons and éclairs; cannelés, croissants, financiers and crepes. Crème brûlée was downed with enthusiasm, as was custard, chocolate mousse, and cheesecake.

'Here we are, the pièce de résistance!' Marthe announced, wheeling in four tall glasses and placing them on the table. 'Ice cream sundae!'

The twins’ eyes lit up like hot coals as they dove for their respective snacks and started hoeing into them. Domenico and Baldwin poked and prodded theirs briefly, then began eating them as well.

A few mouthfuls in and Baldwin’s teeth felt slightly numb. Not painful, but not entirely pleasant. In the corner of his eye, Baldwin saw Domenico wince, and smiled smugly to himself.

He took another bite of ice cream, and a slight pressure spiked up the base of his skull. Baldwin took a breath. One thing he detested about his newly-cursed humanity was sudden onset pressure headaches. He forced himself to relax his face; hopefully it wouldn’t come on any stronger.

Baldwin took another bite and pain blossomed behind his eyes. He dropped his spoon and buried his face in his hands with a moan. He had experianced many, many forms of torture over his long life, but he had never felt anything like this.

Domenico had his head in his hands as well, rocking forward ever so slightly and groaning.

'Oh no! Ice cream headache!' Becca leapt from her seat and hugged her uncle, while Philip ran to Domenico. Becca started rubbing circles on Baldwin’s back.

'It’s okay! You’re okay! Breathe!'