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kingdaddydaichi · 3 years ago

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Sake and Snow (pt. 1) || Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader || NSFW

(series prequel to Sleepy Sex)

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3 || Pt. 4

You've been dating Katsuki Bakugou for a few weeks. You've known each other since high school, but you were too shy to ever flirt with him. It's just as well, you'd figured, since he probably would've just yelled at you and rejected you in the worst possible way. After graduating, you went to work at an agency several hundreds of miles away while he stayed in the same town. Work kept you incredibly busy and your family lived in a different city, so you never made it back to visit.

A couple of years later, however, your career path brought you back to the city you'd graduated in, and a couple of months later you ran into Katsuki and my my, how he had grown. You got back in touch with your mutual friends from high school and within a few months, you and Katsuki started dating. A few weeks into it he invited you to his place for dinner one evening, to which you happily obliged.

Word Count: 1.2k

When Katsuki's doorbell rang at 7:25, his heart jumped into his throat. Pull yourself together, Bakugou. Don’t let her get to you, he thought.

He opened the door to see you smiling up at him and all his self-pep talk was forgotten. Why did you get to him so much? You looked incredible and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone else was this happy to see him. “It’s freezing out there, come inside”, he ordered.

The aroma coming from his kitchen hit your nose like a wall and caused your mouth to start watering almost as much as the sight of the chef himself. He wore a well-fitting black dress shirt with the first couple of buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, showcasing his muscular forearms. Over that, he wore a black apron tied in the back and you noticed how slim his waist is in comparison to the rest of his torso. I bet I could wash my clothes on his abs, you thought before willing the visual distraction out of your mind.

You walked inside, already familiar with the clean lines and minimalist décor of his apartment’s open floor plan, surprisingly tidy for a bachelor’s place. “Damn, it feels really good in here. So warm!”, you said, rubbing your cold hands together.

Bakugou helped you out of your coat and nearly choked on his own spit when he saw what was beneath. The little black dress that you wore hugged your perfect hips and ended in a pencil line about halfway down your thighs. With your back facing him he licked his lips hungrily and thought, I can’t take this shit anymore. Her ass is mine tonight. When you bent over to take off your shoes he couldn’t help but imagine pushing the hem of your dress up around your waist before burying his cock deep inside that tight-

“Wow, Katsuki!” You didn’t notice him startle. “It smells so good in here! What are you making?”, you asked, following him into the kitchen.

He flipped the contents of the skillet, causing any moisture to hiss against the hot oil. “Stir-fried vegetables with garlic fried rice, konbu dashi-based miso soup, and tempura – shrimp and veggies, and a chilled bottle of Junmai Daiginjo to drink. Or...whatever”, he grumbled.

He almost jumped when you put a delicate hand on his back, such was the heightened state of his nerves. “This all looks so amazing, Katsuki”.

The male looked over his shoulder at you and that beautiful smile on your face. That smile slayed him. He turned and ran his thumb across your cheek as he lowered his mouth to yours. You closed your eyes as his lips brushed yours before placing a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

“Not as amazing as you do”, he whispered before dipping his gaze down to take in the sight of you from head to toe before turning his attention back to his cooking. You felt like your knees would buckle, but you nonchalantly steadied yourself by leaning against the countertop. How in the world was this the same guy who yelled most of the time and threatened to kick people’s asses a few years ago? You chuckled slightly at the contrast of his current demeanor.

“What?”, he asked while looking at you from the side.

“I don’t know, you’re just…you’re so different than the guy I remember from high school”.

“You want me to start yelling at you, would that make you feel more comfortable?”

Propping your cheek on your palm you looked into his vermillion eyes and replied thoughtfully, “No, this is perfect”.

“Tch-” He smirked at you and turned back to his task hoping it would prevent you from seeing the blush that spread across his cheeks.

🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶❄🍶

“Oh my fucking god, Katsuki, your tempura is delicious! (Type) is my favorite and you freaking nailed it! So light and crispy!”, you praised before moaning and taking another bite.

If that makes you moan, just wait until I get you in my bed. His dick twitched in his pants, threatening to get hard if he kept thinking like that.

After you finished eating, Bakugou offered you a cup of hot matcha.

“Yes, that would be great. I love matcha”.

“You’ve been saying that about a lot of things tonight. Is there anything you don’t love?”

“Hmm…headaches, too much work, not enough down time, toxic bullshit…there are plenty of things I don’t love. I guess I just prefer to focus on the things I do love”. After a beat, you asked him, “What about you? I hear a lot about what you hate. Is there anything you don’t hate?”

“Yeah, but if I tell you I’d have to kill you”.

“With kindness, right?”, you said playfully.

He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to stifle a smile. “You”.

“Me what?”

“I don’t hate you, genius. And if you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill them too”.

The two of you talked for a while longer before you saw the time on your phone when it lit up with a text notification from Momo. You knew your best friend better than to open it and read it knowing Katsuki was watching you. She’d probably sent a gif of someone doing the tongue-between-the-fingers thing with a How’s it going 😉? text. You clicked your cheek against your teeth, “Looks like I need to get going, it’s getting pretty late”.

Katsuki felt a twinge of disappointment as he got up from the table with you. He helped you into your coat and opened the door while you dug in your purse for your keys. “Umm, (y/n)? Have you looked outside?”, silently thanking whatever gods were smiling down and bestowing upon him this sacred gift.

“Hm? No, why?”

“’Cause there’s at least a couple of inches of snow on the ground”.

"The forecast only called for a light dusting", you said peeking around him. “Oh no".

“You feel safe driving in that?”, Katsuki asked, a hint of preemptive disapproval in his tone.

“No way”. You looked up at that handsome face, cursing whatever gods were testing your resolve to keep your hands to yourself tonight, and said, “What about you? Can you drive me home?”

“I mean, I could, but I’ve got an even better solution”. You raised an eyebrow at him. “You stay here tonight and neither one of us has to get out in that shit”.

#katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x f!reader #katsuki x you #katsuki imagine

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hinabes · 5 years ago

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Inarizushi’s Backstory

A story about hubris, expectations and a surprising amount of worldbuilding.

I. Priestess

“The Inari God has descended!!!”

“It’s the Inari God!!”

“The Inari God has descended!!!”

I opened my eyes to the sound of excited cheering. Humans, dressed in the garb of clerics and priestesses, worshipped on bent knees, the excitement in their gazes genuine.

I looked down to assess myself.

When I was a part of the Chaos, I was to believe that when we were incarnated in this world, our appearances would be determined by our basic intentions.

...Unless the summoner had strong pre-existing obsessions.

“Lord Inari, these are the things we’ve been protecting.”

According to him, this Inari shrine housed holy relics of utmost importance, and if they were destroyed, catastrophe would befall Sakurajima, where we were.

Even though I was slightly annoyed, I looked at his earnest expression and nodded.

So be it, since you summoned me from that boring Chaos, I’ll fulfill your desires.

The man was elderly by human years, with a long white beard flowing from his chin; he looked kind and gentle.

It was just that when he looked at me, it was as if he were actually looking through me at someone behind me.

That must have been their so-called “Inari God”.

The Inari God ought to be true to themselves, to be revered.

The Inari God ought to maintain purity, to resist any and all filth.

So said the old man constantly, and he respected me very much.

Alas, that was restricted to when I acted like his ideal “Inari God”.

“Aw, shucks~ Come see me again, okay? Master Ninetails~”

The courtesan’s soft fingers brushed against the back of my hand. Her alluring smile and longing eyes were calculating, though I didn’t hate it.

After all, when it’s all the same drinks and service smiles, everyone prefers to do it with someone gentle and caring, who understands their heart’s desires.

“Ah, might you be the Master Ninetails whose been in everyone’s good graces lately?”

The voice was teasing and flippant. I turned to look up and the way his long sleeves dragged on the crimson stairs caught my eye. Though it was formalwear, the way he donned it was casual, draped loosely over his shoulders.

The way his eyes crinkled was even more attractive than those of the beautiful courtesans. I raised my head slightly regard him, and when his playful eyes met mine, I understood that this guy was the same type of person as me.

“Master Ninetails, shall I have a drink with you today~”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Eh-- Boss, you can’t be hogging all the business~”

“Then today’s drinks are on you.”

“Fine~ I won’t disturb you~”

Chin propped up on my hand, I arched my brow at the young man who pleasantly shooed off the girl.

“You’re the owner of Shangri-La?”

“What is it? Scared?”

“Nothing, let’s drink.”

I stalked back to the shrine in the dead of night, and was greeted by the old man’s anger the moment I stepped through the torii gates.

“You went to that filthy place again, in this disgraceful form!”

I gave him nothing but a humorless sneer.

To say that returning to my original appearance and doing the things I want to do was filth?

Ridiculous.

II. God’s Intermediary

“Pfft-- You’re saying, you take the female form in the day and pose as their pure Inari god? And you can only return to this form at night to drink and let loose?”

Junmai Daiginjo held in his chuckle, though I was helpless to the humorous glint in his eyes.

Once we got to know each other, his original stunning demeanor didn’t get any less impressive, though, in front of me, he did get livelier and more… infuriating.

In the time I downed the wine in one gulp, he had his elbow on my shoulder.

“Man, in my opinion, what if you left those boring guys and joined my Shangri-La? With your looks, Ninetails, if you took female form, you’d give me a run for my money as Oiran. Though… the male body isn’t bad either. How about you be a man for a day, woman the next!”

“Shoo, keep flattering yourself.”

I irritatedly shook off his hand and side-eyed Daiginjo, already rolling in laughter. Propping my chin up, I gazed at the still sky outside and let out a long sigh.

I didn’t dislike the female form and even liked looking like a woman sometimes.

But… these days were certainly… quite boring…

“You- You- You! You stubborn bastard! Going to that indecent place again! Associating with those filthy people! And that smile, that unbecoming smile!! You!!! Undress and cleanse yourself under the waterfall!!!!”

Even with the flame of his life flickering out, the old man mustered the energy to butt heads with me. My smile dulled, the good mood I built up at Shangri-La ruined once more.

It was winter. Icicles had formed at the top of the waterfall, the water rushing down sticking my clothes to my body. Seeing the old man angrily looking at me, I couldn’t help but shake my head and close my eyes.

It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for him bringing me into this world, and it’s not that we had only bad memories between us.

He brushed my hair gently, he made my soft bed, he prepared my favorite tea.

But he did all this because of his faith in the Inari God. Not me.

So be it, he was my master attendant, I’ll have to do as he pleases. He was already so old, I could think about leaving after sending him off.

Humans really were fragile.

Weak, powerless, feeble.

Fingers thin as twigs laid on the back of my hand. His eyes were already clouded.

“Inari… You’re the Inari God, never forget, you are the Inari God!” “Rest assured, since you revere me as your God, I will assume a God’s duties to the end.”

“Hearing that… puts me… at ease…”

The clerics and priestesses ducked out of my way as I left the room, and they spoke in tones they thought I couldn’t hear.

“Heh, this monster really thinks it’s a god.”

“Tch, as expected of the old fool.”

“That’s right, now we can chase him out! Then the Inari shrine is ours!”

“Yeah! Then all the offerings… hehe…”

“But… they’re for the gods…”

“What gods, the old fool was the only one who believed in them.”

Hah, filthy humans.

Gods aren’t all joy and happiness, they feel rage too.

Blasphemous, to have never respected the gods.

And to be blasphemous is to invoke divine punishment.

III. Monster

The people of this land had long since forgotten what the gods bestowed upon them.

The gods granted them plentiful harvests, bestowed them peace.

Yet the people neglected to pay respects, to be thankful.

And the food souls who came to this world to aid them received no such respect either.

“Hah, monsters should be dealt with by monsters.”

“Hmph, such monsters, if only they’d die sooner than later!”

“Hope they get rid of each other. Saves us from having to look after them.”

Daiginjo looked at the dark sky weighing over their heads as he drank, his brow furrowing.

“Why is it, that we’re the ones with power, yet we have to hide in the darkness and take the form of those weakling humans and pretend… by right… we’re supposed to be protecting them…”

That’s right… Why is it, when we’re the ones protecting them, we don’t get even a word of thanks and are labeled monsters…

“Since they’re calling us monsters anyway, we should act like it, shouldn’t we…”

Daiginjo chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

I knew that this was his invitation for me to join his world of monsters.

I can never tell what he’s thinking, though that didn’t get in the way of us being friends.

His every word was playful, though each of them I took to heart.

The humans, pampered for far too long, had forgotten their respect for the gods.

As such, another face of the gods shall restart their memory.

I didn’t even have to sully my own hands.

I needed only to take a back seat and watch as the monsters born from their own desires swallowed them whole.

One blood-red night, towering flames engulfed the red shrine.

The mournful cries were muffled by the wind, the blood splattered on the ground scorched black.

When I stepped into the shrine, the cleric who once called the old man an “old fool” grabbed me by the ankle.

“Lord Inari… save me… save me…”

“And for what?”

“I…”

“Bold of you to ask for divine salvation, having never paid the gods any respect. Save yourself, foolish human.”

“...Monster!!!! You’re a monster!!!”

If I have to become a monster for you to remember what you’ve done, then so be it.

IV. Under the Shrine

“Woah, what a thorough burning.”

Daiginjo rubbed his chin, taking in the destruction. I sat on some surviving stairs to drink, watching the humans hard at work, rebuilding the shrine for the gods.

In hindsight, it was pretty funny; while the shrine was standing, the humans paid the gods no mind. Only when disaster befell them had they remembered the gods they forgot.

And only when the “monsters” stopped unconditionally helping them had they remembered the respect these “monsters” were due, building altars and presenting offerings.

Bored, Daiginjo returned to Shangri-La, and only I stayed to watch them work, yawning as I sat on the debris.

“Um… Lord Inari… We found a hidden entrance in the shrine… come look…”

“Hm?”

“We’re… too scared to go in, please come take a look…”

“Alright, it’s quite late, you can all take a break.”

“Also...the… monsters in the fields…”

“I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

“Thank you, thank you!!!”

Before, I would have never heard this “thank you”.

With a long sigh, I cleared my head of my many laments and headed for the hidden entrance.

It was dark and cold, and I was surprised to discover such a large space under the shrine.

Tucked away underground, in the deepest reaches sat a single altar.

I wanted to investigate, but I was stopped by a huge amount of energy.

Even more unexpectedly, I found the energy oddly familiar.

I reached out to touch the barrier. Flowing through the barrier… as I thought, it was the energy that plucked me from the Chaos initially.

At the center of the barrier, encased in black smoke… could it be…

That guy… To protect the relics, he forcefully stripped away the huge amounts of energy in the summoning process, trapping the food soul that was supposed to be born within the pull of this energy.

If that’s the case… perhaps…

V. Inarizushi

Junmai Daiginjo was dumbfounded. In the time he took to get drinking snacks for his pals, Inarizushi ended up with a mean-looking fox kit glued to him.

“...An illegitimate child?”

“Daiginjo, don’t think I won’t hit you.”

“Ahem, I mean, where’d you find it.”

Thump--

With a muffled thud, Junmai Daiginjo hit an invisible wall while walking towards Kitsune Udon.

“Ow--”

“Don’t you touch Master Ninetails!”

“...Hoh, the little devil’s protective. Ninetails, be honest, where’d you get it?”

Inarizushi glanced at Daiginjo, who was rubbing his forehead, then at Kitsune Udon, who was gripping his clothes and hiding behind him, and laughed.

“What if I said they fell from the sky?”

“Fine, I’ll drop it if you don’t want to tell. Come have a drink, a birthday toast for the kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Hmph, what a kid.”

“I’m not!”

Inarizushi shook his head resignedly, helping himself to Junmai Daiginjo’s wine bottle. He turned his head to look at the pitch-black sky outside distractedly.

“What are you looking at, Ninetails?”

“Nothing. Don’t you think this sky could use some sprucing up?”

“...Heh.”

“What are you laughing at? Don’t you think so?”

Junmai Daiginjo shrugged, clinking glasses with Inarizushi, downing the clear wine in one gulp. He gazed at the sky tenderly, yet there was an underlying apathy.

“Boring things are better off discarded.”

Junmai Daiginjo turned his head to see Kitsune Udon pouring wine for Inarizushi and he quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

“You taught me that. What of it?”

Junmai Daiginjo propped up his chin to observe Kitsune Udon lapping at the wine when they thought nobody was looking.

“Uh… Nothing, the wine’s a bit strong, a kid who just fell from the sky shouldn’t drink so much the first time~”

As Junmai Daiginjo finished speaking, Kitsune Udon downed the rest of the wine, letting out a long burp, head falling to the table with a thud.

“I heard… this part of Sakurajima is protected by relics, and if they’re destroyed, catastrophe would certainly fall.”

“That’s right, what of it?”

“Then this...the key of this kid from the sky, I wonder what it will unlock?”

Inarizushi stopped patting Kitsune Udon’s hair to look at Junmai Daiginjo, who was smiling pleasantly.

“Do you have to know so soon? I don’t want to lose a drinking buddy so quickly.”

“I’m not in a hurry, it’s not too late to think about it once other artifacts have surfaced.”

“You’re not scared of me running off?”

“Master Ninetails is high and mighty, he’d never. Come, have another cup, this is Shangri-La’s best wine! I don’t bring it out for anyone but you.”

“Hoh, great, cheers!”

Translation Notes

(SHOVES INARIZUSHI ASIDE) A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF WORLDBUILDING

The Chaos, which I’ve also referred to as “chaotic energy”: it’s a very vague word to begin with and can mean both. I’m more convinced it’s a real “thing” now, wouldn’t go so far to say “place” but it may be the other side of the Tierra fish (it’s also called Chaos)

It may have something to do with the greek creation myth? idk

Now we know that 1) food souls come from there, 2) they’re told(?) things there, 3) they’re self aware there, 4) its boring

funtoy please give us more concrete stuff i dont want to keep grasping at straws

KITSUNE UDON REAL. funtoy please steal my design xoxo please i will pay u

the 2nd half of ch4 was pretty vague but I’m fairly certain that the black smoke/whatever’s in it was kitsune udon

I’m also not sure if kitsune udon is a separate character or inari’s fox. his art doesnt show him with any foxes but neither does it show nine tails

i also have no idea kitsune udon’s gender so i went with they. there’s literally not a pronoun to be seen in the last chapter bc chinese be like that

i’ve decided to call junmai’s brothel “shangri-la”, you might also see it called “bliss” or “paradise”. it’s more specifically the sukhavati of buddhism

#food fantasy #translations #ff inarizushi #ff junmai daiginjo #ff translations

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spicedrobot · 5 years ago

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Mizu Shōbai

Fandom: Ovewatch Pairing: Zenyatta/Genji (Reverse AU) Warnings: costume play, spanking, dirty talk, light angst Notes: I’ve been sitting on this for almost a year, and I’m not sure if there’s anyone who’s still into the Reverse AU, but finally here’s my contribution.

Genji hasn’t felt like this in years.

He works late to stave it off, schedules more meetings, performs tasks he could easily delegate, anything to keep his mind racing. A decade ago, it was to stop the twitch, the chill of a dead man’s eyes on his nape. (Genji still has the ribbon, carefully folded in his nightstand, immaculate if not for the flecks of crimson. He doesn’t know if the blood is his or Hanzo’s.)

But the situation is better than it was then. The dead man isn’t so dead (even if he is confined to a shell of carbon fiber), and Genji has outlets. Ryū ichimonji bright with enemy blood. Warm, smooth hands bruising each hip, claws raising angry lines along his skin. A soft, demanding voice reducing him to a mindless, swearing mess. Genji scales his balcony at night, sometimes greeted by dark windows and a locked door, other times by an angry, loathsome omnic that would rather use him than kiss him, and hell, if that wasn’t what Genji wanted more often than not.

But Zenyatta can’t be his biggest distraction. He’s not always there: meetings, press conferences, deals on the other side of the globe. Family too, perhaps. His brother. Zenyatta talks of him little, but each mention reverberates like a bell.

Mondatta. The omnics. Zenyatta’s ambitions, threats, promises.

A worried sort of uneasiness settles as the days pass, leaving Genji sleepless. Strange habits rear their heads. Ones he never meant to outgrow, but just hadn’t needed anymore.

Pastimes that keep calls to a certain omnic from going to voicemail more than once.

Zenyatta wouldn't be gone forever. Genji tries not to count the hours.

The club is Shimada-owned. Tasteful, compared to the establishments Genji used to frequent as a younger man. The hosts are...flamboyantly dressed, but not all. He chooses an old favorite: Fumi-chan, with long, dark curls and darker eyes. That'd always been his favorite feature of hers; a sharp gaze that said you couldn't hide anything. Not from her. The years had done little to wear out that spark.

"I hope they've given you a raise, Fumi-chan. You're too good for this place."

"This is an establishment you own, isn't it, Genji-san?" She gently intones as they enter the VIP section, quiet and intimately lit. He feels a twinge of nostalgia despite himself. He is not one to dwell on the past. "Don’t worry. I make more than I know what to do with."

"I sincerely doubt that. I remember your tastes."

She smiles then, one part demure and three parts wicked.

"Your patronage is very much appreciated."

Fumi-chan leads him into a room, spacious and secluded and just for them. He had loved this, once upon a time. It had been hard to trust anyone, even the ones he paid, but Fumi-chan's loyalty had never wavered. She lets her hands slip from his, gently urging him onto one of the leather couches at the room’s center. The soft, fuschia lights overlay everything, another plane of existence. A pretty, neon spectacle. He turns his eyes back to her.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asks.

"Please."

Fumi-chan’s eyes, long-lashed and devious, narrow as she asks him. They’d already polished off a bottle of gold label shochu, the smooth sweetness lingering on his tongue, soothing the bounce in his leg and the tapping of his fingers against the table.

They spend another half a bottle wiggling him into their largest uniform, still too small, though it does grant the illusion of a nice rack. It's mimicry of Fumi-chan’s outfit: bunny ears with one drooping, a black bodice with a sweetheart neckline, fabric cut high where hips meet stomach. The stockings itch, but Genji doesn’t want to half-ass it once he’s wearing the rest of the uniform. It’s fun in the way that alcohol can make most things, and Fumi-chan has a knack for conversation that requires little participation.

Nothing like drinking with a beautiful girl that pours heavy and speaks pleasant ambience.

“So this is what an oyabun does in his spare time.”

A startlingly familiar voice rings over the quiet rumble of distant, rhythmic bass.

Genji fights the urge to lick his lips; it would be a shame to smear the pink gloss that Fumi-chan had so meticulously applied. He leans a bit too heavily into the plush sofa as Fumi-chan, nestled at his side, stares at the intruder with pursed lips.

“Zenyatta,” Genji says, grinning, a traitorous blush creeping along the bridge of his nose. “So you are following me.”

Genji doesn’t spare a thought to how the omnic got past security detail. (Golden tongue or golden claws.) Instead, he takes him in like a painting.

Zenyatta cleans up well. Not that he ever looked anything less than perfect, not unless it’s well into the night, robes askew and chassis steaming as he puts Genji in his place. His suit is sharp, jet black, with a thin, gold tie that matches his chrome.

“You missed our meeting,” Zenyatta replies, array carefully posed on Genji’s face. “Perhaps you were too preoccupied to notice.”

The omnic’s stiller than usual, and Genji sits up a little straighter, freezing when his array tilts towards Fumi-chan.

“Miss,” Zenyatta’s voice is even and soft. Genji shivers. “Would you please excuse us?”

Genji knows better than to argue. Fumi-chan leaves with a single glance over her shoulder. Way too clever, that one.

The door closes without a sound.

“A meeting, huh?” Genji murmurs, plucking the half-drunk sake bottle from the table in front of him, taking a quick sip. “I don’t remember—”

Zenyatta’s array flickers, a timeless instant that turns Genji’s nervousness into a smug twist of his lips.

“Oh, Zen.” His grin widens. “Jealousy does not become you.”

“Jealousy?” Zenyatta says the word like a novelty. “What would become of my reputation if I could not keep my sparrow caged?” The omnic tilts his head, array flaring. “You would do well to mind your tongue.”

The ice of Zenyatta’s retort tears into his body with unexpected bite. How many times had that same tone dropped Genji to his knees? They stare at each other, one unreadable, or so he thinks, and one open like a book, a secret lingering between its pages.

Then, Zenyatta sinks onto the couch opposite him in a single, fluid motion.

“If you wished to play hostess, you need only ask, Genji-chan.”

Jarring, as if the room suddenly tilted a few degrees, Genji’s heartbeat picks up, the grin loose and stupid on his face.

“Heh. Sure.”

He smooths his hair into place, brushed silken by Fumi-chan an hour earlier. Barefoot (there hadn’t been shoes that would fit) he kneels to survey the low shelf of alcohol beneath the table.

“So, Tekhartha-sama.” The honorific rolls easily off his tongue. They had played like this before, and the memory heats Genji deliciously. “Would you care for a drink?”

“The Junmai Daiginjo.”

“Excellent choice.” He withdraws a navy bottle with a gold neck and a delicate mizuhiki knot.

Zenyatta leans his faceplate into his palm as Genji pours, his array bright teal in the blacks and purples of the room. Genji feels each pinpoint on his body as he sets a glass in front of Zenyatta and takes his place next to him. Rather than comforting coolness, the space between radiates like stoked coals.

“Describe its taste.”

Genji huffs, leaning to retrieve the glass, his uniform taut and clinging. He makes a show of it, and why not? Zenyatta’s buttons are difficult to press, but Genji knows the sequence. Rather than demurely slip, he tips his head back, neck long and exposed, bisected by a lace black choker that bobs as he swallows.

“Sweet, faintly rich. A wave of sakura on the wind. Honied like melted sugar.” Genji feels the ghosts of Zenyatta’s hands on his body, bruising, possessive fingers.

Zenyatta tsks. “I have no taste for sweetness.”

The way Zenyatta says it thrills him.

“Liar,” Genji singsongs, finishing off the eight thousand yen glass in a single go.

It’s the drink; it’s Zenyatta hot against his side.

He moves with the ease of honed reflexes, but Zenyatta does not startle, does not move an inch. His metal is warm, the hidden slit of his mouth widening ever so slightly at the press of glossed lips.

“Well?” Genji whispers against his chrome.

“All I detect is that cheap wax on your lips.” The words rumble from Zenyatta’s synth.

Genji smiles, leans back just enough to see the pink shine smeared over the omnic’s mouth.

“At least tell me I’m pretty.”

Genji drapes his arms around Zenyatta’s shoulders, slipping into his lap like he belonged there. Hostesses didn’t do this. They didn’t kiss their customers or want them so badly they could hardly keep still.

Oh. The thought slams through Genji’s mind, debilitating, dizzying. I have it bad.

“You are beautiful.”

A hand settles low on Genji’s back, warm enough to startle. Then it slides up his spine, sinks into his hair, tugging just enough to set Genji’s teeth on edge, a groan shaken from his chest.

“Especially in your suffering.” He pulls harder, until Genji’s back is a bow arched at his mercy. “How soon you forget your place. Infuriating, how much you enjoy being put back in it.”

“Y-you love it,” Genji wheezes, chest heaving, cock desperately trying to tent the impossibly tight fabric clinging to it.

Zenyatta doesn’t say a word, but the gentle hiss of steam kisses Genji’s throat, his skin shivering into gooseflesh.

“What did you expect, coming here? Did you think I would be balls deep in pussy?”

The omnic tightens his grip, yanks his hair, throws him to the floor. Ice and charm demanding penance, his life balanced beneath the slender curve of Zenyatta’s sole.

At least, that’s what Genji expected.

Zenyatta stills, lifeless as a mannequin. As if he had powered down without warning. Only his array burns and his systems thrum, companions to Genji’s confusion. In every past conversation, flirtatious and cruel, locked against one another, standing adjacent at a cocktail party, bathed in pre-dawn glow, as fragile as the single star in the light polluted sky, this is where Genji had misstepped, in this strange, offhand joke. Seconds from stumbling through an apology, a swear flies from Genji’s lips instead.

Thin arms twist around his back, tug him against the hot metal of Zenyatta’s chest, cheek pressed into the pistons at his throat. He doesn’t breathe. The omnic doesn’t move.

But he doesn’t let go.

Slowly, he weaves his arms behind Zenyatta, settling his hands as gently as a question along the plates of his shoulders, intricate, familiar. How many times had Genji grasped them, held on like he would be lost? He relaxes into the embrace, seconds spinning into minutes. Maybe longer. (Who could say?)

“Zen.” The warmth of his words fogs the metal of Zenyatta’s pistons. “Don’t worry.” He grins. “Your pussy’s the best.”

The room shifts, pain blossoming, properly this time, along his scalp.

“I think,” the crisp snap of a frozen branch rendered perfectly in synth. “That is quite enough of that.”

A claw scrapes beneath his choker and yanks, toppling Genji over his lap, a scramble until Zenyatta has him just where he wants him, Genji’s face smashed into the cushions and his hips squarely over metal thighs.

“Okyaku-sama, not here. Mama-san will be angry with me,” Genji wheezes in a half-baked falsetto.

The first swing forces an embarrassing squeak from his lungs, his cock throbbing, dampening his uniform. The thin fabric does not protect him from the singing metal of Zenyatta’s hand; half his ass hangs out of the damned outfit anyway.

Zenyatta always leaves such pretty marks, each a sense memory burned into his flesh, like a tattoo, like scars, dangerously earned, a trophy for just the two of them. If only he could mark Zenyatta in the same way, scratch his chassis, dent that elegant face for his next televised speech—

The flurry of blows steals his breath, his thoughts a chaotic blur beneath Zenyatta’s hand. He writhes, the friction burning and stinging, but he needs it, some release, to be freed, to fall beneath the unwavering glare of an omnic array. His array.

“You are cruel,” Zenyatta bites.

Genji laughs, breathless and wild, before a deluge of whimpers and swears and painful, moaned pleas replaces it. His hands fist uselessly in the cushions next to to his face, itching to tug his arms behind his back, hold position like Zenyatta had commanded time and time before.

Cruel? Genji supposes he is, even when he’s the one helpless, trying to rub one off against segmented thighs as he’s spanked raw and stupid.

The pain abates, the slaps ceasing for a harried shifting. He feels Zenyatta unbutton his pants, shove his hand down, withdraw. The omnic tugs Genji’s uniform aside, the bunched fabric squeezing tender, inflamed flesh. His vision blurs, pain and pleasure popping and bursting, overshadowing and fading into each other. A frictionless slide, Zenyatta’s fingers, coated with his own blood-warm slick, smear between his Genji’s cheeks. The omnic spends no time teasing, a mean finger tracing around Genji’s opening once before pressing deep to the second knuckle.

“Please, more—”

“Don’t. Speak,” Zenyatta hisses.

Genji buries his face into the cushions, angling his hips up, back, begging for the brutal touch, and a second finger presses inside much too soon, painful.

“Please, need it. Need you, Zen—”

The fingers curl, slowly, barely catching against that addicting spot that weakens his vision. Genji’s worst distraction, the touch, and the man touching him, laid bare, the only one who knows—

“You listen when it pleases you and disobey at whim. Perhaps I need to adjust your punishments.”

Genji scrambles when Zenyatta withdraws his fingers, does everything in his power to follow the motions of his hands. He reaches for Zenyatta’s cock, delighting in the harsh jut of it through his slacks.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Zenyatta orders, and Genji complies.

So close, Zenyatta’s array momentarily blinds him as he plants his knees and arches, pressing them chest to chest. His cock throbs, nipples tight and sensitive against the stiff bodice, wanting more than anything to rub against Zenyatta, find his pleasure while his array burns a permanent afterimage in his mind. Seeing each of his imperfections, the secret knicks next to his lip and along the secret port just above, every time he closes his eyes—

Zenyatta cups his ass, spreading him open, and Genji groans, the smarting marks flattened and bright hot in his grip. The blunt press of cock brushes where Genji’s worked open and aching, and he tries to bare down, but Zenyatta holds him steady.

“You want me to fuck you hard. Hurt you?” He tilts his array. “I will not.”

There isn’t time for confusion as Zenyatta lowers Genji onto his cock. He bites his lips, spreads his thighs, waiting for the breath-stealing thrust that never comes. Instead, he sinks like quicksand, inch by inch, slow, way too slow, slower than Zenyatta’s ever taken him. Even when he edged Genji to tears, there was always a cruel speed to it, no nonsense like a one-two punch that kept him unbalanced and helpless, willing to give Zenyatta everything.

Zenyatta’s cock doesn’t feel like a human’s. The shape is right, but it has a strange give, the pre teal and copious, slicking up his insides. Even with what little preprepation Zenyatta granted, the first press turns liquid smooth in moments, a soothing, agonizing salve. Genji wants to feel it for days, even when Zenyatta isn’t there, to remember it when he sits, when he’s schmoozing elites, the omnic’s claim aching inside his body. He twists and strains, swearing under his breath.

“Zen, c’mon—fuck me, please.” The words are shameless, his balls drawn tight against his body.

Zenyatta tips his chin up a degree or two, never looking away from Genji’s face, his hands vice-like and unforgiving as they lower him. Another moment of agony and the backs of his thighs meet Zenyatta’s. A rumbling groan, eyelashes fluttering, head tossed back.

“That’s it, yeah…” Genji pants, licking his lips, clenching around Zenyatta, falling forward to bite along his pistons, drag his tongue over the soft black column of his throat.

Zenyatta laughs, two gentle huffs. Then he lifts Genji as slowly as he lowered him, precise, calculated motions. It’s not nearly enough, like they’re young lovers, though they never had such a gentle beginning. Men like them never did.

No dirty words. No orders. Zenyatta breathes and steams, groaning quietly every time he fills him completely.

Genji’s heart hammers in his throat. He keeps his face tucked where Zenyatta cannot see, painfully aware of each slow, even thrust, the sound of Zenyatta’s body, the waxing pain leaving only this soft, swelling pleasure. Genji’s leaking inside the uniform, afraid to even look at how badly he’s ruined it. Zenyatta starts to roll his hips, fluid pumps that meet Genji’s descent, harsh gasping replacing any silly, teasing jabs Genji can’t even formulate. Zenyatta, delicate-looking and light, easily overpowers him, had on so many occasions, but in his arms now, holding him upright, rocking Genji onto his cock with perfectly timed thrusts, Genji trembles. Trembles in the wake of each quiet, wet smack only for the cycle to repeat, waves reverberating, hypnotic. Flushed as if his whole body had been lashed, sweat beading, gleaming along scars and skin.

“Zen—”

He bites Zenyatta’ pistons, whines into the damp, shining metal, lower body liquid and bright hot. His gasps are quiet, hesitant things, weak but unstoppable.

“Are you close?” The words are strangely devoid of normal sharpness, shockingly breathless.

“Y-yeah. I…” Genji stumbles. His fingers shake as they come to rest on Zenyatta’s back.

There’s a tremble in Zenyatta’s frame, small at first, barely noticeable, lost as Genji is on the teetering, dangerous point of pleasure, motions singing in his blood but not enough to push him over. A single hand on his cock, a snap of Zenyatta’s hips. Something...anything...

“Please,” he whispers into the side of Zenyatta’s jaw.

A hitch. A quiet, synthetic gasp. He hikes Genji’s hips higher, takes all his weight, pumps into him with just a little force. Genji swears, deep and low; he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that it quickens Zenyatta moreso, a searing brightness ricocheting through his body, whiting out his vision. Endless, he writhes under its thrall.

Softness at his back. Wet, sticky warmth at his front. His mind cobbling together the pieces. The teal of an array, lights flickering, closing the distance. He kisses Zenyatta, tasting pink, waxy gloss, warmed by the metal.

Another broken gasp, Zenyatta moving, still buried between his thighs.

“The costume really does it for you, huh.”

After a moment, they both laugh, Zenyatta resting his array to Genji’s sweaty forehead.

“I will not be done until I steal that wit from you.”

“Better get to it, then,” Genji murmurs, wrapping his calves around Zenyatta’s lower back, urging him forward, deeper.

More, more.

More.

Genji’s naked by the time they are finished, marked, aching and exhausted, splayed shamelessly on the ruined couch.

Zenyatta, only slightly less worse for wear, sits on the floor in front of him, the back of his head resting on the cushions.

Sated, it's easier to ignore the being that occupies most of his waking thoughts.

"Hey, Zenyatta."

The omnic rolls his shoulders incrementally, his array glowing and softening to an unheard melody.

“Take me with you, next time you leave.” Genji stares at the ceiling. "I think I need a vacation."

The omnic's quiet for a moment. Genji hangs onto every second.

"I believe you are correct." Zenyatta tilts his head enough to see Genji's face. "Where should we go?"

"Numbani. Rialto. Anywhere."

"A tempting thought. I have wanted to show you off. However," he hums. "You have business here."

“I can just leave Hanzo in charge while I'm gone." Genji’s voice is light, teasing.

“Maybe you should.”

Genji sits up, wincing from settling aches and pains. He wouldn't mind a smoke. Maybe he could steal one off McCree when that idiot isn't looking.

“And why would I do that?”

“He is loyal, keen on not bringing shame upon the family a second time." Zenyatta turns fully towards him. "I could have you at my beck and call always. My human pet.” He smiles without a face to show for it. "Give it some thought. I would certainly make it your while."

An answer to his restlessness, packaged with a bow. Genji remembers Hanzo's stilted words, modulated from his respirator, tight and formal and annoying as he'd ever been. Pathetic. Genuine.

"You'd say anything to keep me under your heel," he scoffs finally, more seriously than he means.

"You are blind not to take the olive branch he offers."

Genji works his jaw in the lingering silence. He watches Zenyatta in the gloom, suit mussed, array dim, and sighs.

“Take me home?”

He dozes on the way back, tucked into Zenyatta’s side, lulled by the omnic’s promise.

Zenyatta standing along a sandy shore, backlit by the setting sun. Zenyatta sitting across from him at a private, three-star restaurant, describing each bite of food. Scaling a mountain to see endless3.

022 snowy peaks that remind Zenyatta of home. They could rent an entire hotel, watch five hundred movies, drink all the booze and ruin every bed.

Genji buries his cheek into his warm, firm shoulder, listening to the hum of Zenyatta’s body.

It’s the most rested he’s felt in weeks.

#genyatta #lemon #fics #reverse au #bendoverwatch

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brancowitz · 7 years ago

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Phoenix readies for ‘unique’ Summer Sonic and some sweet sake sessions

In an age where almost every piece of historical information is available at our fingertips, Thomas Mars and Laurent Brancowitz of the French band Phoenix surprise me with a fact that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere on the internet.

“One of our first shows was actually in Japan,” Mars says, backstage at the Field Trip festival in Toronto. “(It was our) second show as Phoenix. We had two shows: one in Sapporo and one in Tokyo.”

Before I can react, Brancowitz takes the words from my mouth. “Isn’t that crazy? Back then the band’s establishment was very, very fragile. The foundation was nonexistent.”

From playing its earliest gigs here to its single “Too Young” being used during a Tokyo dance party scene in Sofia Coppola’s 2003 film “Lost in Translation,” Phoenix’s history with Japan is perhaps deeper than any other country, with the exception of France. That said, Mars and Brancowitz don’t speak of their home with the same respect and enthusiasm they have for Japan.

“We were raised in Versailles, where there were literally zero venues, so we started as a studio band — our studio being our basement,” Brancowitz explains. “That was the kind of weird upbringing you can only have in Versailles. It’s beautiful there, but to live there is a different story.”

When the pair discover our interview is for a Japanese publication, their faces perk up in delight at the prospect of discussing their favorite country instead of their latest album, the gloriously sun-kissed “Ti Amo.” This weekend they will perform at Summer Sonic for a fourth time, since first playing in 2006. There is a reason they keep coming back.

“Summer Sonic is very unique, there’s nothing like it,” Mars says. “If you’re not familiar with it the first time you go there you likely think it will be the worst show of your life … and then you have one of the best. The venue is totally empty five minutes before you go on stage, and then somehow 10,000 people come in excited for the show. And then afterward they’re gone, like there is no trace of the people being there because it’s so civilized. Everywhere else you go the place will be trashed with beer cups and garbage. But at a Japanese show you could have another (concert) right after. Everyone in Japan is trying to make it the best show possible.”

To further convey the band’s appreciation for gigging in Japan, Brancowitz chirps in, “It’s different from what we’ve experienced in Europe, especially France — a nation of pigs!”

Phoenix is the rarest of live acts. Its performances are dynamic and full of visual splendour, yet the members’ chemistry as a group is second to none. Those early years of working hard to become a studio band — not to mention, the years off they regularly take in between albums — clearly show they have put in the effort to sound better than everyone else. Though Brancowitz feels in Japan they definitely get a boost.

“The sound is just so good,” he says. “We were playing with Daft Punk in a warehouse once and it was the best sound I’ve ever heard. The sound was like audiophile quality — in a warehouse! We love Japan.”

Brancowitz says he can go on forever about sound quality, but he also wants to praise the band’s Japanese fan base, which he feels truly understands and respects what Phoenix is trying to do.

“The audience is very focused and respectful, sometimes a bit too much,” he admits. “They respect the arts. It is beautiful. There is a melancholy in our music that the Japanese spirit can understand. The mix of success and failure is something that is, maybe only in my imagination, very Japanese and very close to our hearts.”

When asked what they look forward to most about returning to Japan, Mars and Brancowitz give two very different answers.

“When we travel the luxurious thing for us to have is a routine,” Mars says. “You go back to Tokyo and you visit all of the same places you went to before. The sense of discovery is not as important as it was before because there are places where we know people and we want to visit them.”

“I love the fact that we can get lost,” Brancowitz adds. “I remember our first show in Sapporo, suddenly I got lost for real looking for the venue. It’s a feeling that I can’t feel anywhere else in the world. I also love the hot baths and the smell of the wooden buckets. Japanese wood is so good.”

Something Phoenix loves even more than the people and wood of Japan is the sake. On previous trips they would take an expert in the alcoholic drink named Toshiro Kuroda on tour with them. Unfortunately, earlier this year Kuroda passed away from, as Brancowitz puts it, “too much sake.” In his honor, Phoenix has just released its very own sake, which Kuroda helped them design. As one final request, he asked that all proceeds from the sales go to the International Federation of Red Cross.

“He came on tour with us in Japan and he took us to sake factories,” Mars recalls. “At the end of every show he would give a small comment, and it was always the highlight of every tour.”

“The sake is not just good, it’s the best,” Brancowitz adds. “It’s a bottle we designed and the sake we chose, junmai daiginjo, is the best sake. It tastes like water, in a good way. In an imaginary vision of what water should taste like.”

The topic of sake becomes so fervent that once the interview ends, Brancowitz insists on me speaking to his brother, Phoenix guitarist Christian Mazzalai, a self-described Japanophile.

“He doesn’t care about promoting the album,” Brancowitz says. “He only cares about the sake.”

“It’s true. It is more important than promo for the album,” Mazzalai says. “It’s very important for me to do this. Sake is more than alcohol, it’s something that goes beyond for us. The idea of perfect sake is minimalistic, the idea of streaming clear water. You should try the sake. It’s really, really good.”

source

#phoenix #interview #sake #japan #tl

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thesakeexplorer · 6 years ago

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Kinoene junmai daiginjo namagenshu jikagumi Iinuma-honke, Shisui-machi Chiba I was looking at the sake list of a well-regarded Japanese restaurant in Manhattan the other day and although it was of course full of premium offerings, I was a bit surprised to see the same names from the same areas of Akita, Niigata, Kyoto, Yamaguchi, etc. Of course, those are famous for a reason, but there are so many unsung breweries in all the other areas of Japan that deserve a spot on sake lists across the world. How about a nihonshu from the middle of Chiba, for example? This had a beautiful aroma of musk melon, muscat, perhaps also sweet pea? Then the first sip was like biting into some fantastic juicy fruit like a melon, grape, and cinnamon mix of sweet, tart, and spice borne upon a mouth-filling effervescence. Extremely flavorful while still absolutely clean, it would pair best with similarly flavorful sauces and soups of French, North Italian, or even Chinese cuisines. It's equally well suited to enjoying with friends with snacks and hors d'oeuvres. 10🍶/10 #japan #nihonshu #sake #saketasting #tastingnotes #sakereviews #kinoene #junmaidaiginjo #namagenshu #jikagumi #shisui #chiba #日本酒 #きのえね #純米大吟醸 #生原酒 #直汲み #酒々井町 #千葉県 (at 飯沼本家) https://www.instagram.com/p/BtLbUmBFuIH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=v0aah8a4jq2e

#japan #nihonshu #sake #saketasting #tastingnotes #sakereviews #kinoene #junmaidaiginjo #namagenshu #jikagumi #shisui #chiba #日本酒 #きのえね #純米大吟醸 #生原酒 #直汲み #酒々井町 #千葉県

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herbanwytch · 6 years ago

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This is just killing me, I want some so badly. You can bet that I will be having this at my Halloween Party this year and maybe even at Solstice. I think it’s almost a perfect recipe. It’s a Martha Stewart Living Recipe called “Garden of Evil” Punch but I think that it’s so elegant and beautiful that it could be used for any Autumn occasion. Here’s the recipe straight from @marthastewart 1 bunch red or black grapes Green Seedless Grapes 12 kumquats, sliced 4 ounces husk cherries 1 cup pomegranate seeds 6 cups dry sake, such as Gekkeikan Horin Junmai Daiginjo 1 1/2 cups plum wine, such as Choya Umeshu 3 cups pomegranate juice Seltzer Edible hibiscus and begonia leaves (optional) DIRECTIONS 1. Fill an 8-inch cake pan with 1/2 inch water; freeze until solid, at least 4 hours. 2. Arrange fruits evenly in pan, reserving a few cherries and a handful each of sliced kumquats and pomegranate seeds for serving. Fill pan with water halfway up sides of fruit (do not overfill, or ice will cover fruit); freeze until solid, at least 4 hours. 3. In a large bowl, combine sake, wine, and pomegranate juice. When ready to serve, run warm water around edges of pan to loosen ice mold; gently unmold and float in bowl. Add reserved cherries to bowl with edible leaves. To serve, ladle punch into glasses, then top with seltzer and reserved pomegranate seeds and kumquats. #herbanfarmgirl #entertaining #blessed #magic #samhain #autumnalequinox #punch #cocktail (at Cleveland Heights, Ohio) https://www.instagram.com/p/BoDJp1RgV0C/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=fyz233oyfity

#herbanfarmgirl #entertaining #blessed #magic #samhain #autumnalequinox #punch #cocktail

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desiredtastes · 6 years ago

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For my first night in Los Angeles, I made sure to make a reservation (three months in advance) at n/naka. The upscale Japanese restaurant features a modern kaiseki experience prepared by chef Niki Nakayama who was featured on episode four of the first season of Netflix’s Chef’s Table.

n/naka

Born and raised in Los Angeles, chef Nakayama trained in the art of kaiseki, the traditional Japanese culinary practice that emphasizes the balance and seasonality of a dish, while embarking on a three-year working tour around Japan.

Table

The restaurant offers a 13-course modern kaiseki menu for $225. There’s an optional wine paring for $95 and a sake pairing for $105. I went with the sake pairing. I have been looking forward to this dinner ever since I made the reservation!

The first sake was a Suehiro Poochi Poochi sparkling sake. It accompanied a Kumamoto oyster with turnip gelee, shiitake, mochi, pickled radish, and turnip puree. An exquisite bite to start things off!

Sake Pairing

Sparkling Sake

Oyster

Next was a plate of seasonal ingredients presented as an appetizer along with a Muroka Nama Junmai Ginjo sake. The presentation was lovely and included ika (squid) tempura, black cod and Shimeji mushrooms, kabocha (squash) and shiitake, tako (octopus) wasabi, and strawberry jelly. It was a fun and tasty array of flavors and textures.

Muroka Nama Junmai Ginjo

Sake #2

Zensai

Seasonal Appetizer

Tako Wasabi

Strawberry Jelly

A modern interpretation of sashimi with a Kiseki No Osake Junmai Ginjo from Okayama, Japan followed. The heavenly pieces of salmon sashimi were garnished with konbu (kelp), dill, avocado, bergamot kosho (orange citrus seasoning), and beets.

Kisekino Osake

Salmon Sashimi

Sake #3

The next sake was an Akagisan Junmai Ginjo from Gunma, Japan. The course was Asari clams with ice plant, calamansi (small citrus fruit), dandelion, agretti (green plant), and a kindergreen dashi that was poured over everything.

Akagisan

Sake #4

Clam

Everything was incredible so far. Some fabulous seasonal sashimi was next with a glass of Born Gold Muroka Junmai Daiginjo.

Dining Room

Sake #5

Born Gold

Sashimi Course

Seasonal Fish

I was happy to see Ginga Kogen beer pair with the next course. I’ve purchased that beer at a Japanese grocery store before. It went well with the grilled branzino with sugar pea puree and ponzu reduction.

Ginga Kogen Beer

Grilled Branzino

A steamed dish of foie gras, wakame seaweed, takenoko (bamboo shoot), negi (green onion), and foie gras dashi followed up. It was paired with a Shunka Shusetsu Jumai Ginjo.

Shunka Shusetsu

Pairing #7

Steamed Dish

Foie Gras

One of my favorite dishes of the night was the chef’s choice dish. It was spaghettini with abalone, pickled cod roe, and truffles. Absolutely delicious! It was paired with a nice Ikina Onna Daiginjo.

Ikina Onna

Abalone Spaghettini

Another favorite dish followed. The incredibly tender Japanese Miyazaki A5 wagyu beef just melted in my mouth. A Izumi Judan Ginjo from Yamagata, Japan went along with it.

Pairing #9

Wagyu Beef

Miyazaki A5 Wagyu

There were only a couple courses left. A refreshing salad with cucumber and gelee with a cup of yuzu was served before the rice course.

Salad

I was excited for the next dish of nigiri made with seasonal fish. It was paired with a Kokuryu Junmai Ginjo. A handroll and miso soup were served as well.

Okayama, Japan

Seasonal Fish

Uni & Ikura

Nigiri

Handroll

Miso Soup

It was time to move on to dessert. The first dessert was a sakura (cherry blossom) ice cream float with shiso granita and umeshu (plum wine). An interesting sweet and spicy sake with plum liqueur was served with the desserts.

Sakura Ice Cream Float

Hot Plum Sake

The final dessert was a work of art. It was composed of sakura mochi, a cherry blossom jelly and crème fraîche panna cotta, grapefruit salad sorbet curd, puffed rice, and a chocolate branch. Wow! A cup of matcha green tea and a chocolate pecan bite concluded the kaiseki.

Dessert

Cherry Blossom Jelly and Panna Cotta

Matcha

Pecan

I really enjoyed my dinner at n/naka. The dishes were beautiful and boasted delectable flavors. Chef Nakayama even stopped by my table to say hello. The service was top notch and the ambiance was very pleasant. Totally worth it! You can come back and have a different experience every time since they keep track of each diner’s visit and preferences. My first dining experience in Los Angeles was off to a great start!

n/naka 3455 Overland Ave Los Angeles, CA 90034 (310) 836-6252 Website

A Modern Kaiseki at n/naka For my first night in Los Angeles, I made sure to make a reservation (three months in advance) at…

#California #Chef&039;s Table #fish #foodie #Japanese #kaiseki #LA #los angeles #modern kaiseki #n/naka #Niki Nakayama #sashimi #solo travel #Sushi #tasting menu #travel

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nyculturesgroup-blog · 8 years ago

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New #hashtag #koji2017 @culturesgroup #culturesgroup #chefkenfornataro Why? Because #hashtags are a way to keep track of everything you do. So we're officially planting the #flag for #koji2917 for everyone following the #venerable #williamshurtleff and #akikoaoyagi work on #koji that we heard almost #50 years ago to help discover the beauty and #microbiology and #science and #art of the #aspergillus family of #mycelium So if you haven't committed the #thebookofmiso to memory do it now. Because until you do you'll never understand #eastereggs that appear in hundreds of #books like @nancyhachisu or @sandorkraut or at one of the things we working on to share on the colorful and hardest working #mold in the world. So tag your #koji and #aspergillusoryzae and #miso and #sake and #shoyu and #soysauce and #tseukemono posts with #koji2017 this is our soaked #daiginjo #rice that a #toji asked us to portion control. No #machinery or anything that you couldn't do at #home And by the way the #koji challenge was picked up by many people throughout the world. That's what this book and its emphasis on how to use everything koji to #cook , #preserve and enhance the #taste and #nutrition of is about. #nochemicalsadded #sustainable #profitable use of koji. We have yet to see any business take full advantage of techniques we've created over the last 50 years. Come collect some #eastereggs.

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wineanddinosaur · 5 years ago

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We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: What’s the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had?

Many wine aficionados speak of “the one” — a bottle so amazing, so unforgettable, it ignited a passion, and for some, a career.

Though these are often very rare, VinePair asked beverage professionals to share the most memorable bottles they’ve encountered. The result, along with our own yearning, is a list so vivid, you’ll forget it’s wine you’re reading about, and not masterpieces of fine art.

“There are two wines that will always hold a special place for me. I once tasted a 2008 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Romanée-Conti. Tasting a wine like that is a rare opportunity. In 2017, I visited Greece and had the experience of a lifetime while dining with Argyris Gerovassiliou, the second generation of Ktima Gerovassiliou. We had an incredible meal on the estate and he shared a magnum of 1994 Estate Red with me.” — Ronald Buyukliev, Lead Sommelier, Estiatorio Milos, Las Vegas, NV

“Krug Champagne Vintage 1996. It was an ‘aha’ moment for me: ‘So this is what good Champagne tastes like!’ There is a level of depth, intensity, and exotic flavors in this wine that put it so far above the norm. The finish lingers for so long. It is the gift that keeps on giving. Just truly a spectacular wine. One of the reasons I have ‘Champagne’ tattooed on my body!” — Jan Bugher, Manager and Wine Director, Bluebeard, Indianapolis, IN

“The most memorable wine I drank was Dassai Beyond, solely because it set me back $1,000 and I felt its financial repercussions for a while after. However, the bottle that is truly tenacious in my memory is the one I first tried at the Manhattan sake bar Sakagura more than 15 years ago when I was just able to drink legally: Watari Bune Junmai Daiginjo. From Ibaraki prefecture, this sake is made from the heirloom rice varietal watari bune and is hyper-aromatic with an onslaught of honeydew and papaya on the nose. But what really seared into my memory was its texture, a graceful ebullience that draws me back to this bottle again and again, to this very day.” — Leo Le, Sake Sommelier, Uchu, New York, NY

“Hard to pick just one, but I had the pleasure of tasting an 1896 Riesling at Bassermann-Jordan in the Pfalz region of Germany. Being able to taste something that had survived so much for so long was incredible. The wine itself was alive and well, but oxidized quickly after opening, making it that much more fascinating. It was there, and gone in an instant!” — Matthew Pridgen, Wine Director, Underbelly Hospitality, Houston, TX

“The most memorable wine I’ve ever had was my first birth year wine. It was a 1987 Heitz Cellars Martha’s Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon. It was the first time in my life I made a deep connection from that wine to my life. I thought about what the year was like, what stage of its life cycle the vine was in when I was born, what the winemaker might have been thinking that June. It truly showed me the multifaceted and human aspect of wine.” — Ashley Broshious, Restaurant Manager and Head Sommelier, Zero Restaurant + Bar, Charleston, SC

“Believe it or not, I got my paws on a 1982 Château Latour in about 2000. I don’t think I was even 21 yet, and it was the first bottle I ever spent $100 on. It’s an auction item now, a legend, somewhere around $2,000. It was forgotten and passed over in the locked case in this liquor store, and it was a bottle you would now refer to as ‘dusty.’ It was laying down in a 45-degree display and the fill level and cork looked good, so after a few visits, I finally bought it. It’s ridiculous that I got it at that price, but it went to a good home because it was appreciated. It really sang, and it was perfect in every way. I have had other perfect wines and spirits since then, but none were as memorable. That said, the Laphroaig 25-year Cask Strength from a few years back comes close.” — Jeremy Allen, Certified Sommelier and General Manager, MiniBar Hollywood, Los Angeles, CA

“It was a Roberto Henríquez, ‘Rivera del Notro Blanco.’ The wine is Moscatel, Corinto, and Semillon from Chile. I respond very strongly to very aromatic wines. As soon as I took a smell out of the glass, I had a strong feeling of nostalgia from my childhood. It instantly took me back to growing up in Bogotá, Colombia and going to the market to get produce for lunch every day. As soon as you step into any produce market there, you are inundated with the smell of tropical fruit skins, followed by the scent of the herbs that are stored toward the back of the market. This wine reflected those smells, and on the palate those notes come through as well while being paired with fresh acidity and the presence of light tannins from the skin contact.” — Eileen Chiang, Beverage Director/Assistant General Manager, Wayan, New York, NY

“A Château La Calisse Provence Rosé — I previously worked for winemaker Claude Thibaut of Charlottesville, Va., and one of my favorite wine memories was drinking this beautiful wine with him in his backyard as we grilled shrimp with the late-afternoon sun shining through the trees onto his patio.” — Matthew Emborski, Sommelier, Hilton Norfolk The Main, Norfolk, VA

“1947 Huet Vouvray ‘Le Haut Lieu’ was a definite light bulb moment for me in my wine journey. The incredible balance of fruit, sugar, and acid in a near-70-year-old white wine blew my mind and kick-started my deep love (bordering on obsession) of Chenin Blanc.” — Andrew Pattison, Wine Director, Sushi Note, Sherman Oaks, CA

“My first sip of Amarone, and I was an instant fan. I can recall my reaction after that glass, ‘Wine can be like this?!’ At the time, Amarone was a bit out of vogue and considered the older generation’s drink. The rich, viscous, robust bomb of dried fruits was right up my alley and has always been one of my favorites for special occasions or for movie night on a cold rainy evening.” — Mohammad Rahman, Wine and Spirits Director, Kata Robata, Houston, TX

The article We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: What’s the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-wine-experiences-ever/

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johnboothus · 5 years ago

Text

We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: Whats the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had?

Many wine aficionados speak of “the one” — a bottle so amazing, so unforgettable, it ignited a passion, and for some, a career.

The article We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: What’s the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-wine-experiences-ever/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/we-asked-10-drinks-pros-whats-the-most-memorable-wine-you-ever-had

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isaiahrippinus · 5 years ago

Text

We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: What’s the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had?

Many wine aficionados speak of “the one” — a bottle so amazing, so unforgettable, it ignited a passion, and for some, a career.

The article We Asked 10 Drinks Pros: What’s the Most Memorable Wine You Ever Had? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/10-best-wine-experiences-ever/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/189901728884

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