#anchovy filets

[quo-usque-tandem]

Filet of beef with anchovy butter

[angelmush]

having horrific insomnia so here is what im cookin this week:

- tonight for dinner i remade an easy meal from a few weeks ago w smokey caramelized salmon, rice, and a limey mango avocado salsa

- i also made a ball of pasta dough that is chilling in the fridge for tomorrow’s dinner which will be little squiggly noodles with hot italian sausage and clams and a sort of brothy lemon wine sauce

- wednesday is my five year anniversary w my angel gf and we have a picnic planned! i am making an entire menu to bring to the park. i feel deeply in my heart that picnics are many many courses, meant to be enjoyed one at a time over a lazy afternoon. so we will start with focaccia smeared w whipped butter i made, slices of radish, + salty anchovy filets. then a bright arugula salad with crispy prosciuttto and sweet tuscan cantaloupe and mozzarella. after that, focaccia sandwiches with pan seared chicken thighs, burratta, peaches, homemade spinach basil pesto, and arugula. and finally, a cornmeal olive oil cake w a wild blueberry + lavender sauce. putting all my heart n soul into this meal. :-)

- for thursday i will make some buttermilk fried chicken sammies and french fries ! i will also meal prep a pesto asparagus snap pea pasta salad w the rest of the pesto and other green things i have laying around that can withstand sitting in the fridge for a day.

- friday my gf is going to make a puff pastry pizza w some pie dough i made and froze, mushrooms, a gorgonzola cream sauce we got, and the leftover prosciutto

- saturday i work late so will likely grab something at work

sunday - my pre-planned pesto pasta salad bc i’m a meal prepper now

[m4rs-ex3]

some context-less cracked season 5 quotes for your consideration

"so did you just make bait a sacred promise"

"well he's not going to feel better if he's dead"

"evil jar of eyeballs, evil jar of toenails, evil jar of... peanut butter"

"focus on being present and mindful 😌" "YOURE SPRINKLING CRUSHED LEAVES ON MY HEAD"

"im not sure ive ever felt this relaxed in my entire life-" "BLOODOFC HILDDDD"

"stab stab buh-bye bad guy"

"down the esopha- i mean corridor"

"i don't wanna get your hopes up, but i think i've might've seen your dad's bum shimmy just a little!"

"GOODBYE CRUEL WOORRRLDD" "WHAT WAIT???"

"it's just a polite way of saying 'shut up already will you'"

"A THOUSAND LEVIATHAN-O-FILET SANDWICHES"

"I NEED THOSE OILS. THEY HAVE LAVENDER 😩"

"he's blind isn't he?" "O HOW DID YOU KNOW"

"goods i got by doing.. ~✨~crimes~✨~"

"these goods are so good they should call em 'greats!' let's say you and i take a walk to my big business boat."

"anchovy?! that's a little far"

"good morning good morrow and top of the sun to you"

"oh you have that thing where you sneeze when you see the sunlight too?"

"then i had a revelation: put an egg on the muffin!" *le gasp* "with the sausage?"

"WHY DON'T YOU WANNA EAT ME HUH? YOU'RE MISSIN OUT ON SOME TONED MEAT"

"don't feel bad. if i was a giant sea monster i would eat you." "really? awww... ty 🥹"

"vengeful pirate, certain death, and no jelly 😞" *caws* "ROUGH DAY."

"oh i'm sorry do you have some kind of nice reason for wanting her dead?"

"i've got the biggest strongest hands! don't you want one of mine! huh? HUH?"

"i do not understand. a hand will take weeks to regrow" "no buddy it'll take way longer than that"

"are you mixing the pentapus ink with your own blood?" "its a spell terry not a pudding recipe"

"🎶do you know the mushroom mage who lives on fungi lane🎶😈 THATS ME 👹👹👹"

"✨ i swallowed her✨"

[justforbooks]

Sylvia Plath’s Tomato Soup Cake

A fun but often unpalatable collection of recipes by authors including Robert Graves, Norman Mailer and Beryl Bainbridge should come with a trigger warning. Anyone for Instant Mince or Dutch Onion Crisps?

In most instances, the words “I can’t cook” are a lie: the person saying them is perfectly able in the kitchen, and just being needy, excessively modest or anxious (maybe their sauce split before you arrived). But sometimes, alas, the phrase is just a simple statement of fact. At the tail end of the 1970s, for instance, the editor of a book called Writers’ Favourite Recipes asked the novelist Beryl Bainbridge what she liked to make for supper after a long day at the typewriter. Bainbridge carefully prefaced what she had to tell him with the phrase (used by her children) “I am a very bad cooker”, but the editor was not – woe! – to be put off. Her recipe for Instant Mince was indeed included in the collection, for all that it was quite obviously a crime not only against mince, but also against potatoes, tinned tomatoes, vinegar, and any human beings who might end up having to eat it (in case you’re wondering, the four ingredients are combined and boiled vigorously until the pan is “almost dry”).

For a while, of course, Beryl’s Instant Mince was pretty much lost to posterity; cook books go out of print, and with them the culinary outrages of the past (“spoon the instant mince on to [buttered, white] bread and cover with HP sauce, also raw onion rings”). But now, like some horrible alien in a movie, it’s back, for another editor has seen fit to gather it into a new collection of author’s recipes titled Sylvia Plath’s Tomato Soup Cake, where it lurks next to several other equally unappetising confections: Robert Graves’s Mock Anchovy Pate, Norman Mailer’s Stuffed Mushrooms, Rebecca West’s Dutch Onion Crisps. As you may tell, this is not a book for the easily-made-queasy, and though I am usually implacably opposed to trigger warnings, I think it should have come with one: This Book Includes Scenes Featuring Large Quantities of Margarine and Fillet of Beef Served With Bananas. Some Readers May Find It Distressing.

The beef and bananas – how the stomach resists even the typing of this combination! – is the creation of Noel Streatfeild, the author of Ballet Shoes and another of those who baldly admits to being “a very bad cook”. Streatfeild insists that she has practised her “Filets de Boeuf aux Bananas” (NB the French here is a clever but ultimately ineffective smokescreen) and that she got the recipe from an acquaintance in whose house she was staying. But if I tell you that it comprises steak served with bananas that have been fried in breadcrumbs and an egg sauce that is seasoned with horseradish, you’ll understand immediately that Malcolm Gladwell’s principles of success do not apply here. You could spend 10,000 hours perfecting this dish, and it would still be fit only for the dustbin – though I would still be marginally more inclined to eat it than Graves’s Pate, which is made from minced fish, egg and steamed jellyfish. I believe him when he notes that “nobody at the table will know what they are eating”.

It’s not all bad. The book does include the odd recipe from the famously sybaritic and greedy, and even from a couple of writers noted for their abilities as cooks. You probably can’t go wrong with Ian Fleming’s scrambled eggs (whips to the ready), or Rosamond Lehmann’s extravagant variation on shepherd’s pie (the secret ingredient is orange peel). Kingsley Amis offers us his fromage à la crème, a perfect combination of egg whites, cream cheese, cream and sugar, though one knows perfectly well that he probably never actually made it for himself – and sure enough, a mere few pages later, up pops his longsuffering ex-wife, Elizabeth Jane Howard, whose devils on horseback come from the cookbook she wrote with the restaurant critic Fay Maschler (a brilliant volume that I own and use often).

Nora Ephron is here, and Laurie Colwin: two fabulous American novelist-cooks, neither one of whom, so far as I know, was inclined to make a cake using canned soup as Sylvia Plath did (she got the recipe from her mother, Aurelia). But in the end, we’re forced to conclude two things on closing this (OK, I’ll admit it) very fun little book. First, that famous writers are no better than the rest of us when it comes to cooking, and often a good deal worse; at present, I’m finding Rebecca West’s onion-crisp-things to be more indelible even than her journalism. Second, that distracted as they are by plot and character, they may be a danger both to themselves and to other people in the kitchen. Margery Allingham wrote some very fine detective stories, but her insistence that her salad cream will last for a year is suspicious-making to put it lightly.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books��?

[gardigansandkarma]

Travis Kelce Opens Up About Taylor Swift and What Comes Next

Wall Street Journal - Travis Kelce full article under the cut

A few months ago, he was merely football famous. Now Travis Kelce is ready to tell his story. ‘I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them.’

By J.R. Moehringer

WHEN TRAVIS KELCE was a young man, his college football coach pulled him aside one day and told him the secret of life: Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.

“I need fountains,” the coach growled at Kelce. “I don’t need f—ing drains. Travis, you’re f—ing draaaining me!”

The advice left a deep impression. (“Changed his life,” says one of Kelce’s closest friends.) Yes, Kelce thought—you’re either a giver of the basic wellsprings of life or a thirsty taker. He vowed to be the former. In a world of gutters, be a geyser. 

You think about that story as Kelce drives you around his beloved Kansas City, home of his world-champion Chiefs, for whom he’s the star tight end and arguably the second-most popular player, after his best friend, quarterback Patrick Mahomes. You think about that story on a gorgeous autumn afternoon as Kelce gives you a personal tour of his decadelong history in this city, his singular journey from clueless rook to legend. (“I used to take this scenic route [to the stadium]—there’s just something about seeing the city you’re about to go represent….”)

A different sort of celebrity might be more guarded, might even chirp those big Rolls tires and speed away before someone throws their body across the luminous silver bonnet, but Kelce’s default emotion is this—exuberant extroversion. He likes people. Loves people. Never mind deciding not to be a drain. If people gush at him, he can’t help it, he gushes back. 

Noting all this, you think how fame itself might be a kind of fountain. Some people moan about getting wet, others frolic like kids around a hydrant. You even wonder if this fountain-drain paradigm might be the skeleton key to Kelce, the Rosetta Stone for which half of America seems to be hunting right now. 

Kelce was famous for several years, thanks to his Hall of Fame résumé, his symbiotic relationship with Mahomes, but that was just football famous. This year, after winning the Super Bowl, after hosting Saturday Night Live, after starring in all the commercials, Kelce became inescapable. And that was before—you know. 

People have begun to ask in all earnestness why they can’t turn on their TV anymore without seeing Kelce’s sculpted mug. They wonder, not with snark, but in all sincerity: Who the frick is this guy? And where did he come from? 

You have a TV. You wonder too. So you decide to join the search for answers. One weekend, in the thick of football season, you get on a plane to Kansas City.

BUT FIRST. Back up. Like that knucklehead who threw it into reverse, go back. Before you can take the Travis Michael Kelce Guided Tour, you need to watch him cry. 

Kelce tries to play it off. He launches a sentence, stops. He launches another, again aborts. He paws his eyes with his giant hands and looks to be on the verge of losing it, because if Kelce loves people, what he really loves is his people. 

This whole display takes place on a Monday afternoon at a Kansas City steakhouse, where you and Kelce are having an early dinner. Like, retirement-community early. He’s in recovery mode, healing from dozens of violent collisions sustained during the previous day’s win over division rival Los Angeles, and food is medicine. He can intuit when he’s hit the caloric sweet spot necessary to mend or maintain his 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame (roughly 4,000), and he’s not there yet. So he orders the dry-aged filet rubbed with coffee, Caesar salad (hold the anchovies), a side of “triple-cooked” fries and a glass of water. 

After a long pause, and several Lamaze breaths, Kelce collects himself, apologizes. Can’t help it, he says; those folks who always have his back, who call him by the ancient secret nicknames (Big Yeti, El Travedor, Killatrav, Michael, etc.)—they’re everything. He doesn’t think of them as his entourage; he thinks of them as family, an extension of “Mama Kelce” and “Poppa Kelce” and older brother Jason, the starting center for the Philadelphia Eagles. 

Patrick Bacon, a friend since first grade, says Kelce’s go-to method of winding down after a hard game or long day is to sit with this “core group” around his kitchen island and chop it up. Talk, that’s what nourishes Kelce, not videogames, not bottle service at some club. 

“He loves to talk about the old days,” Bacon says. But it has to be with people from the old days. People who know that Kelce will sometimes dismiss a bad or subpar thing as “buns.” People who know that one of Kelce’s favorite desserts is French toast dripping with whipped cream and syrup. People who know that, growing up, he played every sport in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and also know the difference between Cleveland Heights and Cleveland proper. You want to break into the Kelce core group? You better have a phone number that starts with 216. 

And yet, you wonder how well his friends really know him, how well he lets anyone know him, because to a person they all say Trav lives in the moment, Trav never thinks about tomorrow, Trav never worries about retirement, despite recently turning 34, making him a Gollum in the NFL, whereas Kelce confesses that he thinks about it nonstop, “more than anyone could ever imagine.” In the same spirit, perhaps, he keeps his own counsel about his round-the-clock physical anguish. “That’s the only thing I’ve never really been open about,” he says, “the discomfort. The pain. The lingering injuries—the 10 surgeries I’ve had that I still feel every single surgery to this day.” 

Kansas City’s longtime tight ends coach, Tom Melvin, says Kelce undersells the pain because the alternative is not playing, and the man will not miss games. “He has phenomenal pain tolerance. He’s played through things that other athletes I’ve coached through the years have not been able to push through. Mentally tough—way off the charts.” 

Kelce’s trainer and physical therapist, Alex Skacel, says there’s not a single day, in season, when Kelce stretches out on the training table and doesn’t have some gruesome bruise. What few realize, however, is the insane number of scratches. Guys claw each other out there, Skacel says; it can leave Kelce’s epidermis striated with crimson. To bounce back after such abuse requires more than basic therapy. Kelce and Skacel use a battery of esoteric treatments, from cupping to dry needling to occlusion therapy: essentially tying off a limb with a tourniquet while Kelce works out. Kelce also adheres to a pregame regimen of anti-inflammatories, which he doesn’t like to discuss because they “have a history of affecting people’s insides.” 

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said], ‘Yo! Did you know he was coming?'” Kelce says about how he initially found his way into Taylor Swift’s orbit. “I had someone playing Cupid.” Loewe coat, $4,990, Loewe​.com.

IF KELCE BROODS on life without football, one reason is that he had an excruciating sneak preview. A redshirt sophomore at Cincinnati, he got booted off the team for smoking pot. In a blink, he lost everything—his purpose, his meaning. “It was like my life was over.” 

He also lost his scholarship. He had to get a job. The best one he could find was at a telemarketing firm, doing healthcare surveys. “Eye-opening,” he says, bowing his head.

Cold-calling people in southern Ohio, northern Kentucky, eastern Indiana, asking what they thought of Obamacare, taught him a lot. (“Uh, sir, I ran out of the comment box, I can’t write anymore, we gotta kind of keep this moving.”) Above all it taught him that he didn’t want to ever do that again. 

He probably won’t have to. He’s got options. Sometimes he sees himself in a broadcasting booth. Sometimes his manager talks about action flicks. (Maybe a Marvel movie? Kelce’s already built like Wolverine.) You also get the sense that Kelce toys with notions of doing some form of comedy. He haunts clubs, lives for open-mic nights, and he’s gotten to be friendly with several rising stand-ups.

At the moment, of course, the only thing millions of people want to know about Kelce’s future is whether or not it will include Taylor Swift. And the second thing they’re dying to know is how he and she got together in the first place. 

Did he sit in a dark room and say Jumanji three times? He laughs. “I don’t know if I want to get into all of it,” he says, and then he gets into it, because fountain. 

It all started when he tried to meet Swift at her Arrowhead concert in July and got blocked, presumably by security. He then recounted the experience in a charming way on the podcast he does with Jason. Soon after, he says, he received an unbidden assist from inside Team Swift. 

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said]: Yo! Did you know he was coming? I had somebody playing Cupid.” He wasn’t aware at the time, however; the revelation only came later, after he looked down at his phone and got the shock of a lifetime. “She told me exactly what was going on and how I got lucky enough to get her to reach out.”

He lets slip that some of his early helpers were part of the Swift family tree. “She’ll probably hate me for saying this, but…when she came to Arrowhead, they gave her the big locker room as a dressing room, and her little cousins were taking pictures…in front of my locker.” 

Understandably, he’s not handing out details about the first date, though he will say that he managed to not be nervous. “When I met her in New York, we had already kind of been talking, so I knew we could have a nice dinner and, like, a conversation, and what goes from there will go from there.” 

If anyone was nervous, he adds, it was his core group. “Everybody around me telling me: Don’t f— this up! And me sitting here saying: Yeah—got it.”

Likewise, his mother. Donna Kelce still berates herself for how she handled a question about Taylor on the Today show. Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, she came off underwhelmed. Kelce, not wanting his mom to feel bad, immediately phoned her and assured her that she did a super job—adding that her green eyeglasses looked great. 

These days, however, with the relationship progressing, Donna feels more at liberty. “I can tell you this,” she says, beaming. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time…. God bless him, he shot for the stars!”

Kelce seems freer, too. He doesn’t need to be asked about Taylor; he mentions her unreservedly, lavishes praise on her, calls her “hilarious,” “a genius,” notes that they share compatible worldviews, especially when it comes to family and work. “Everybody knows I’m a family guy,” he says. “Her team is her family. Her family does a lot of stuff in terms of the tour, the marketing, being around, so I think she has a lot of those values as well, which is right up my alley.”

One of Kelce’s friends describes a sweet, magical moment, a late-night gathering around Kelce’s firepit. Kelce and Swift looked like two “peas in a pod,” the friend says, and at one point they even burst into a memorable duet of—“Teenage Dirtbag”?

This must be fake 

My lips start to shake 

How does she know who I am? 

Kelce squints into the distance: He’s not sure they were singing…Wheatus. But he allows that his memory might be compromised. 

LONG BEFORE MEETING SWIFT, Kelce was just another Swiftie. In some ways he still is. He explains the concept of her concert—“She does it in eras”—as if you live in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Then he eagerly informs you that the night he attended, he was counting the minutes until she got to 1989. (Both he and Swift were born in 1989.) “ ‘Blank Space’ was one I wanted to hear live for sure. I could make a bad guy good for the weekend. That’s a helluva line!”

More often than not, he says, it was a Swiftian beat, a melody that captivated him. (“She writes catchy jingles.”) But lately he’s all about those lyrics; he’s scrutinized the breakup stuff. What a miracle, he says, the way Swift can turn life into poetry. “I’ve never been a man of words. Being around her, seeing how smart Taylor is, has been f—ing mind-blowing. I’m learning every day.”

Something he might need to learn from Swift: how to handle the attention. Kelce lives in a quiet neighborhood north of downtown—leafy trees, trim lawns, no gates. There’s now a clutch of desperate-looking dudes with cameras stationed on his sidewalk 24/7. He’s followed everywhere, drones buzzing overhead—it’s stressful, more than he lets on, according to one confidante.

“Obviously I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them…. I’ve never dealt with it,” Kelce says. “But at the same time, I’m not running away from any of it…. The scrutiny she gets, how much she has a magnifying glass on her, every single day, paparazzi outside her house, outside every restaurant she goes to, after every flight she gets off, and she’s just living, enjoying life. When she acts like that I better not be the one acting all strange.”

Asked if he has anything to teach Swift, he looks shy. He can’t think of anything offhand. 

Football? 

Sure, he says, sounding unsure. 

Of course, the thing she probably wants to learn about most is him. While talking to Kelce you realize all at once that the most avid participant in the national scavenger hunt for clues about his character is likely Swift herself. To that end, Donna says that anyone wishing to understand her younger son would do well to start with her older. Travis “could never quite catch up” to Jason, she says. “He was always just second, just searching to be the best, and never quite getting there.” (The only way in which the two brothers were full equals was appetite. As boys, Donna says, “they would sit down and eat whole chickens.”) 

Others say the key to Travis is simpler than that. He’s basically still the kid who filled his Dad’s shampoo bottle with hand cream. “He just lives his life with so much joy,” Jason says. “He’s always kind of surrounding himself with people who are funny, who have a zest for life; it’s one of the things that defines him.”

Jason recalls many nights in the Kelce family room, the two brothers and mom eating in front of some comedy. “We had one of those coffee tables that the top would lift up and meet you at your face if you were eating,” he says, guffawing. 

Indeed, Kelce has warned Swift that she’s going to have to reckon with this part of his personality. Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell—they will all be a part of the relationship. “I told Taylor that I have that world, I’ve got to introduce it to her. I let her know: This is my jam right here.” (Kelce does an uncanny imitation of Farley’s dorky baritone, and the ringtone on his phone is Farley primal screaming: For the love of GOD!) 

If the past is any prelude, this will register like an 8.0 earthquake among Swifties. Their queen—screening Tommy Boy? Every new factoid, every new piece of the puzzle, gets eagerly cataloged, investigated, celebrated, especially on “SwiftTok,” a fervent virtual community, according to Brian Donovan, a professor at the University of Kansas who teaches a seminar called The Sociology of Taylor Swift. 

Donovan says several of his class discussions this semester have been given over to No. 87. Swifties make no apology for delving into her relationships, just as Shakespeare scholars like to contemplate the subject of the sonnets. But the deep “vetting” of Kelce, Donovan adds, goes well beyond fans. “I think there’s a public fascination, because it seems like a pure unalloyed moment of joy in the wider context of global wars, deepening political polarization, dysfunction in Congress, an ongoing health crisis. There’s a lot of bad news out there, and this is a common story that everybody knows about and can talk about. I don’t think we’ve had that in American culture for a long time.” 

NOW GET IN THE CAR. Now you’re ready for the Rolls. Or are you? Gawking at the ceiling, you ask, Are those stars? 

Yes, Kelce says. 

You stare in disbelief. Embedded in a leather firmament are scores, no, hundreds—many hundreds—of twinkling lights, a fiber-optic galaxy meant to resemble the larger galaxy in which we’re all floating. For the sake of verisimilitude, the Rolls even produces a shooting star now and then. There was one, just a second ago, Kelce says. “Make a wish. Dreams come true.” 

He guns the engine and steers toward downtown. The Rolls doesn’t drive so much as waft you around Kansas City. The ride is so cush, it almost makes sense, for a moment or two, that the car is worth more than many of the buildings you pass. (A Rolls Ghost, before customizing, goes for nearly half a million dollars.) All of which makes it that much more startling, as you come to the heart of downtown, when Kelce points out his first-ever apartment and shows you the alley door where he’d sneak in and out when he was late on the rent. 

What? 

He’s not ducking landlords these days. Still, he’s grossly underpaid. His $14 million salary, though near the top among tight ends, is half what the league’s star receivers make, and Kelce often functions as a receiver. 

Nothing to be done, he says flatly. The Chiefs know, he says, that he would play for free. They know he loves his city, his quarterback. “Unfortunately, in this business, things gotta get ugly, they gotta get unpleasant [if you want more money], and I’m a pleasant son of a buck.”

Thank goodness for endorsements. At this point, says his co-manager Aaron Eanes, “the NFL is just his side hustle.” 

Eanes and his brother, Andre, handle much of Kelce’s business life, from investments to marketing, and it was they who widened his investment portfolio, putting him into a tequila company, an energy drink and a chain of car washes. They also steered him into lucrative endorsements, like Bud Light and the Covid vaccine, for which he caught much grief from Aaron Rodgers. The Jets quarterback, out since game one of the season with a torn Achilles, belittled Kelce as a Pfizer shill during one of his Tuesday appearances on The Pat McAfee Show. 

Kelce took the high road then. He’s staying on it now. “Aaron’s always been cool to me,” he says. “I knew he was trying to have some fun. He’s in a situation where Tuesdays are his game days…. So I get it, man, I’ve been injured too…. Who knows what the guy is going through?”

Mary Esselman, Operation Breakthrough’s CEO, says that whenever Kelce visits, he doesn’t bring media and he doesn’t leave until the last kid has felt seen and appreciated. Not long ago, she adds, Kelce sponsored a football camp. Afterward, Esselman asked the children to name the highlight of the experience. 

One told her: “He remembered my name.” 

Kelce drives you past a jazz club he likes, a coffee place he used to frequent. Just recently, he concedes, he could go to a Starbucks in Manhattan without anyone looking twice. Those days seem over. Minutes later, he’s steering past a small airport, where Swift’s plane is often prominently parked these days. 

Is it there now, gleaming in the moonlight? The Kelce eras tour is coming to a close. Left unsaid, but palpable: She’s at the house, waiting. 

The Rolls pulls off the highway, up the hill to your hotel. You thank him for taking so much time, for answering all your questions. As you step out of the Rolls, you turn, ask him one more. 

You ask him if you’re going crazy, or did he really say that thing when you first got in the car? Did he really point to a shooting star in the ceiling of his Rolls-Royce and say, “Make a wish. Dreams come true”? 

He cracks up. 

He did. He said it. 

He’s not running from it. 

What’s more, it might just be true. 

“How do you think I manifest it all?”

[clandestinegardenias]

Tagged by @anthonymire, thank you!!

Last Song: Where The Love Go by Lil' Wayne and Swizz Beatz

Favorite Color: Aquamarine

Last Movie/TV Show: Do sports count? Been watching some Premiere League soccer this weekend

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet--especially chocolate, especially if there's sea salt involved

Relationship Status: Married, actually, which I don't talk about a lot because it's...a bit fraught, at the moment? Like, not BAD, but more "huh, I'm just married to like...Some Guy. Does everyone feel like that after long enough??? Is this what I want???" this is probably way too much TMI, but that's where I am. It's, uh. A whole Thing.

Last Thing I Googled: Anchovy paste substitution for anchovy filets

Current Obsession: The Terror, as you may have noticed

Last Book: Midnight in Chernobyl, Trail of the Lost, and Last Man Standing: A Biography of Francis Crozier

Looking Forward To: Going to a annual professional meeting in southern Arizona in a few weeks and I'll get to see some friends, some colleagues, and my parents! Plus I'll get some time in the desert and mountains, which always heals my soul a little.

Tagging @sunlaire @atkeks @apocalypticdemon @ruinconstellation

[blood-and-pizza]

These are three pizzas I made using the Official FNAF Cookbook! The first one is topped with Kalamata olives and anchovy filets. The second one is topped with just olives. The third one is Freddy Fazbear's Pepperoni X-Press: pepperoni, capers, and fresh arugula.

The dough and the sauce for these pizzas were homemade using recipes from the cookbook, though I did end up adding granulated garlic to my pizza sauce just to give it more flavor. This improved sauce went on Pizza #2 and Pizza #3.

I also took this shot as I was eating part of the Pepperoni X-Press at my computer desk like a heathen:

The argula is wilted from heating it all in the microwave hours later. But it's one neat shot, no?

So, how does the Pepperoni X-Press taste? Honestly, not bad! The arugula, the pepperoni and the capers are all strong-tasting toppings that make for a flavorful combination. If you don't like strong flavors, this may not be the pizza for you. I wonder what this says about Classic Freddy, since he's the one endorsing it...

And now I just realized that "Freddy Fazbear's Pepperoni X-Press" is kinda suggestive. Hoo boy.

[magazynkulinarny]

Filet Americain

Filet Americain to pasta z surowej mielonej wołowiny, doprawiona odpowiednio dobranymi przyprawami. Popularna jest w Holandii, Belgii i Francji.

W kraju Rembrandta jest gładka i najczęściej podawana na pieczywie, zaś w kraju Magritta i Moneta zazwyczaj dodaje się do niej siekaną cebulę, kapary lub korniszony, czasem także natkę pietruszki i serwuje albo jako danie główne, z frytkami i sałatą, albo jako smarowidło. Żółtko nie jest obowiązkowe, choć pojawia się w niektórych przepisach. 

(źródło: Tripadvisor.com)

Zrobiłam oba rodzaje. Holenderska wersja jest obficie doprawiona majonezem, musztardą, Srirachą, sosem Worcestershire, czerwoną papryką, a nawet ketchupem, co nadaje jej zdecydowanego koloru i ciekawego smaku (trzy pierwsze zdjęcia). Z kolei wersja belgijsko-francuska z cebulą i korniszonami przypomina mi bardziej naszego tatara (dwa zdjęcia niżej). W każdym przypadku dodatek majonezu wykonał dobrą robotę - smak jest oryginalny. Amatorom tatara, carpaccio, basashi, ceviche, sashimi, sushi i innej surowizny na pewno przypadnie do gustu!

Potrawa została wymyślona przez belgijskiego szefa kuchni, Josepha Nielsa, w założonej przez niego w 1926 roku w Brukseli restauracji-tawernie Canterbury. Lokal ten stał się szkołą dla wielu belgijskich kucharzy i stopniowo przepis zyskał wielu amatorów w kraju, a następnie za granicą.  

Wcześniej - w restauracji La Taverne Royale - Niels przygotowywał wielokrotnie bardzo popularne w tamtym czasie w Belgii danie, Steak Tatare. Kelner łączył na oczach gości majonez z żółtkami, musztardą, solą, pieprzem, cebulą i pietruszką, kaparami, sosem Worcester, anchovies, czosnkiem i często cytryną, a następnie mieszał je z surowym mielonym mięsem wołowym. Mięsną pastę wydawano z frytkami, rukwią wodną, cebulą i piklami. 

Składniki:

Wersja holenderska

300 g chudej wołowiny 1 1/2 do 2 łyżek majonezu płaska łyżeczka musztardy łyżeczka sosu Worcestershire 2 łyżeczki papryki w proszku łyżeczka Srirachy (lub 1/2 Tabasco) łyżka ketchupu sól i czarny pieprz do smaku

Wersja belgijska

300 g chudej wołowiny 1 1/2 do 2 łyżek majonezu płaska łyżeczka musztardy łyżeczka sosu Worcestershire 2 łyżeczki papryki w proszku łyżeczka Srirachy (lub 1/2 Tabasco) 2 małe ogórki konserwowe łyżeczka kaparów 1/2 cebuli sól i czarny pieprz do smaku

Wykonanie:

Wersja holenderska

Z mięsa usunąć białe części powięzi lub tłuszczu, jeśli są. Używając maszynki do mięsa lub robota kuchennego z częścią do siekania rozdrobnić wołowinę. Dodać pozostałe składniki i dokładnie wymiesza��. Spróbować i doprawić zgodnie z preferencjami.

Podawać na ulubionym pieczywie.

Wersja belgijska

Z mięsa usunąć białe części powięzi lub tłuszczu, jeśli są. Używając maszynki do mięsa lub robota kuchennego z częścią do siekania rozdrobnić wołowinę.

Cebulę obrać i pokroić w drobną kosteczkę. Podobnie pokroić pikle. Kapary z grubsza posiekać.

Dodać pozostałe składniki i dokładnie wymieszać. Spróbować i doprawić zgodnie z preferencjami.

Podawać na pieczywie lub z frytkami i sałatą.

[onesaltysir]

People who are not regular canned fish enjoyers like I am:

Propaganda under cut

Both are from the same family of fish, which also includes sardines and anchovies. For my reference, I am going off of the only correct tinned fish brand, King Oscar.

Mackerel: Migratory fish residing in warmer waters. In my opinion it's much sweeter and almost buttery. Mackerel is also cheaper in my area. The texture is a bit more firm, it's typically larger (despite King Oscar mackerel cans being almost half the size of the herring cans. I believe this is because the herring is filets, and the mackerel is just clump meat similar to canned tuna or crab.) Mackerel is higher in calories, protein, and fat, and is far more versatile in meals.

Recipe ideas: Mackerel fish soup, dutty gal Jamaican mackerel, King Oscar skinless and boneless mackerel in olive oil

Herring: Another migratory fish but resides in cold water. The texture is a bit softer and the flavour is milder, and (in the case of King Oscar) the skin is left on as opposed to the mackerel, which is skinned. Herring is smaller, but more oily and higher in omega 3. While it's a little less versatile for meals, a quick search states that herring is healthier overall. It's less sweet and it's softer in texture, and it's a bit more satisfying as a meal.

Recipe ideas: Herring on challah bread, herring and potatoes, King Oscar lightly smoked kipper snacks

[professorfranz]

Salad Niçoise Recipe It was originally intended to use up leftovers, but this fresh-tasting French salad is worth cooking potatoes, beans, and hard-boiled eggs for! A bed of baby greens, tuna, olives, capers, tomatoes, and a hearty main dish salad complete it. 1 cup lemon vinaigrette, 1/2 onion thinly sliced, 1/3 pound fresh green beans - rinsed trimmed and blanched, 1/4 cup pitted nicoise olives, 1/2 pound new potatoes quartered, 1 can tuna, 1/2 pound mixed salad greens, 3 hard-cooked eggs quartered, 4 anchovy filets, 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley, 1 tablespoon capers, 3 roma tomatoes thinly sliced

[angelkin-food-cake]

Chicken and Avocado Caesar Salad

½ ciabatta loaf (120g/4oz), sliced (gluten free if desired)

2 whole chicken breasts (about 500g | 1lbs), skinless and boneless, halved horizontally to make 4 filets

1 Tbsp. garlic powder

2 Tbsp. dried parsley flakes

pinch of salt

200g (7oz.) shortcut bacon, cut into strips

2 eggs, boiled to your liking, sliced

2 baby romaine lettuce, washed and dried

1 avocado, sliced

½ cup shaved parmesan cheese

Dressing:

⅔ cup greek yogurt

1 Tbsp. olive oil

2 garlic cloves, crushed

2 anchovy filets, finely chopped (or sub with 2 Tbsp. black pitted olives, chopped finely and 1 tsp. fish sauce)

juice of ½ a lemon

3 Tbsp. freshly grated parmesan cheese

salt and pepper for seasoning

Preheat the oven to grill/broil settings on medium - high heat. Place the bread slices onto an oven tray; drizzle with olive oil and bake in the oven (on middle shelf) until crispy. While bread is grilling, prepare chicken

Rub the chicken breast with the garlic powder, parsley flakes and salt. Heat a non stick grilling pan/skillet with a drizzle of olive oil and fry chicken until golden on both sides. Remove the chicken and set aside onto a warm plate. Add the bacon strips to the same pan, and fry until golden and crispy. While the bacon is frying, boil your eggs to your liking (and don't forget to check your bread in the oven)!

Combine yogurt, oil, garlic, anchovies, lemon juice and parmesan. Whisk until well combined; add salt and pepper to your tastes, and whisk again. Taste test.

Combine lettuce with the chicken and bacon strips; eggs (halved); avocado slices; shaved parmesan cheese; and bread pieces (halved). Pour over the dressing; mix well to combine, and serve!

[lizbethborden]

Two anchovy filets + olive oil + tiny pinch of salt + grind of black pepper + splash of lemon juice in a mortar and pestle, thank me later

[southernvangard]

(Southern Vangard) Episode 408 - Southern Vangard Radio

BANG! @southernvangard radio Ep408! Vangardians let’s get this thang going - we’re a little late on the post this week, but this episode will tee you up nicely for the weekend. Our good friend THE BAD SEED dropped off “Four Finger Ring II” just before we started the show on Sunday, we so we have TWO, count ‘em TWO, WORLD EXCLUSIVES from that album, which drops at the end of August. Other than that, it’st he usual shenanigans from your guys Doe and Meeks, so push play, say THAAAAANK YAAA and YOU WAAAAALCOME!!!!! #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on all platforms #hiphop #undergroundhiphop #boombap

Recorded live Aug 12, 2024 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA

southernvangard.com

@southernvangard on all platforms

#SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard

twitter/IG: @southernvangard @jondoeatl @cappuccinomeeks

Pre-Game Beats - The Sextones

"Southern Vangard Theme" - Bobby Homack & The Southern Vangard All-Stars

Talk Break Inst. - "Foot Clan Party" - Ral Duke

"Father Fentanyl" - Let The Dirt Say Amen

"Raw Side (Chopper Suit)" - The Bad Seed (prod. CJ Dove) ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE **

"Seen It All" - Red Inf ft. 100grandroyce

"Hocaine" - Wais P & Khrysis

"Trespass" - Sayzee & Tone Mason

"Edgewater Park" - Vstylez ft. Ro Spit, Fatt Father & Marvwon

"Romello And Ray" - Let The Dirt Say Amen

Talk Break Inst. - "Shell Shock" - Ral Duke

"Kill Squad" - BP Infinite ft. Redman & DJ Stitches

"6 Million Stories" - The Bad Seed  (prod. Shade Cobain) ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE **

"'73 Borikuas" - PR Dean ft. Famoso, Fabeyon & Chris Rivers

"Highest Degree" - The High & Mighty ft. O.C.

"Spraytona 500" - Let The Dirt Say Amen

Talk Break Inst. - "The Masked Man" - Ral Duke

"Speshal Methods" - 38 Spesh ft. Method Man & Ti Lar

"Tek & Steele" - The Bad Seed (prod. Murda Megz)

"The Demons Three" - Damien ft. Ty Farris, Pro Dillinger & Jay Royale

"Filet Mignon" - Dios Negasi

"Minstrel Show" - Ja'king The Divine

"Step Out The Way" - Spoda x Wavy Da Ghawd

"Part-Time Rapper" - Finn ft. Lord Juco

Talk Break Inst. - "Coffee Beans" / "Anchovies" - Ral Duke

"Look At Me" - Eddie Meeks & DJ Pocket

SOUNDCLOUD

https://soundcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-408-southern-vangard-radio/

https://on.soundcloud.com/K9RbSi9EkT2Xer3W6 (SHORT LINK)

APPLE PODCASTS

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/southern-vangard/id1036355114

SPOTIFY PODCASTS

http://bit.ly/svrspotifypodcasts

YOUTUBE

https://youtu.be/H-cZWUR6sKg

TWITCH

http://twitch.tv/southernvangard

MIXCLOUD

https://www.mixcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-408-southern-vangard-radio/

[cookingincollege]

NYT Cooking: Niçoise Salad With Basil and Anchovy-Lemon Vinaigrette

Ingredients

1 large garlic clove, minced

2 anchovy filets, chopped

¼ teaspoon salt, more as needed

2 tablespoons lemon juice

¾ teaspoon lemon zest

½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

⅓ cup olive oil, more as needed

¼ pound baby red potatoes

½ pound haricots verts or green beans

1 tablespoon finely chopped basil

8 radishes, cut into wedges, or 1 slender cucumber, peeled and sliced

2 large, ripe tomatoes, cut into wedges, or 1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved

2 (6 or 7 ounce) cans of tuna packed in olive oil, drained

4 hard-boiled eggs (optional)

½ cup pitted kalamata olives, sliced

Black pepper, for serving

Flaky sea salt, for serving

Torn basil leaves, for serving

Preparation

Make the vinaigrette: Using the flat side of the knife, smash garlic clove, anchovy filets and salt into a paste. Transfer into a bowl and add lemon juice, zest and mustard. Using a whisk, slowly pour olive oil while stirring constantly. Adjust seasonings as needed.

Place potatoes in a medium pot and cover with 2 to 3 inches of cold water. Salt the water and bring to a boil. When the water comes to a boil, continue cooking until the potatoes are fork tender, 10 to 15 minutes more. Add haricots verts during the last 1 minute of cooking (if using regular green beans, add them during the last 2 to 3 minutes depending on how thin they are). Drain vegetables and let sit until cool enough to handle but still quite warm. Halve potatoes, and place in a small bowl along with the haricots verts and dress everything to coat with some (but not all) of the vinaigrette. When completely cool, toss in chopped basil.

On a large platter or four individual plates, arrange potatoes and haricots verts, radishes or cucumber, tomatoes and tuna, and hard-boiled eggs, if using. Scatter olives over the top and drizzle with the remaining vinaigrette. Serve garnished with black pepper, flaky sea salt and torn basil leaves.

[bogleech]

Deeply disappointed that the lead result is just assuming it'll be gross without actually finding out first 😔 you have been tainted by decades of "hold the anchovies!" as a boomer meme.

Notice that of those who have tried it, over twice as many found it tolerable to great!

When baked into a pizza they partially dissolve, infusing the sauce and dough with rich umami. The half melted remnants of the tiny filet are a burst of salt that can be intense, but quickly balanced out by the cheese and crust, and then whatever you chose as a beverage becomes twice as sweet and refreshing anyway.

What they absolutely do NOT do is make a pizza taste like seafood. Unless you're extra sensitive to it, the "fishiness" of brined then cooked anchovy should be too subtle to notice most of the time, if they're made correctly. I like one little anchovy per slice, which is how most places do it anyway.

Olives, on the other hand, I just cannot get used to. Can't believe these poor little beautiful anchovies have to share a perfectly good pizza with those weird rubbery blobs of bitter funk! 😞 Guess some people are just weird!

The most delicious non-vegetable ever slandered by children's cartoons

[matospectoru-art]

Chef John's Shrimp Toast These crispy shrimp toasts made with a savory paste of shrimp, water chestnuts, garlic, and ginger make a fantastic appetizer for a cocktail party. 1/2 teaspoon paprika, 1 anchovy filet, 1/4 cup chopped cilantro leaves, 1 egg white, 1/2 cup finely sliced green onions plus more for garnish if desired, 1/2 teaspoon white sugar, 3 garlic cloves crushed, 1 pinch salt, 1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil, 1/2 pound raw shrimp peeled and deveined, 1 teaspoon Asian fish sauce, 1 pinch cayenne pepper, 1 cup vegetable oil for frying or as needed, 1 tablespoon soy sauce or more to taste, 1 teaspoon Sesame seeds, 1 tablespoon finely grated ginger root, 1/4 cup diced water chestnuts, 4 thick slices white bread