#except with mozzarella balls

[tectonicatomic]

[sxfterhearts]

neighbourly visits

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol!jiung x non-idol!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff inspired by recent events, childhood-neighbours!au

♡ word count: 2,422 words

♡ author’s note: ah choi jiung i wish you only good things. >_< i hope you get better soon and no longer feel any pain... i'm sure it was hard for you to stop activities, but i hope you take the time to rest and relax!!! i have not known you for long, but i want to know you for a long time ♡ also pics cred to the lovely tumblr owners!!!

♡ sequel: backstage visits

//

“Hey stranger,” You called out from behind the sliding door that was left ajar, your head peeking through the gap to peer inside the hospital room.

“Hey yourself.” Jiung replied with a light chuckle.

You walked in. Walls covered in flowery 90’s wallpaper greeted you warmly, along with a mounted television playing news silently in the background, a small sofa and coffee table set in the corner and a large window with views of skyscrapers dotted along the side of the Han River. And of course, a single hospital bed with your ex-neighbour-turned-idol lying right on top of it.

“It’s a nice room.” You commented, curious eyes scanning your surroundings.

He scoffed. “Yeah, except now there’s a stain at the bottom of the walls from yesterday.” Jiung admitted sheepishly, hands coming up to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Ah…” You trailed off, setting down the two plastic bags you brought with you on his overbed table. “From when you flooded the bathroom?” You questioned, gentle and careful, nose scrunching up adorably.

“Don’t remind me…” He looked away. “I was so embarrassed! Oh my goodness… The head nurse laughed right in my face! I mean, it sounds like she thought it was funny, but I felt so bad.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, plus, who doesn’t like Krispy Kreme donuts?” “I hope so…”

“Anyways, I brought the goods, like you asked.” Your eyebrows cocked towards the bags, while you dragged a fold-up chair closer to his bedside.

Jiung’s eyes lit up at the mention of this. “You did?”

“Of course, who do you think I am?” You laughed, fingers moving to unpack the food. “Half and half wings, gold king and bburinkle flavoured, one pack of bburinkle cheese balls, and a large tteokbokki.” As you announced the order, you brought out the takeaway boxes one by one – soy sauce, sweet honey and garlic flavoured, then cheese powder flavoured wings; the mozzarella cheese balls that you both enjoyed and the large container filled with spicy rice cakes. “Oh, and Cass beer!”

“Y/N…” Jiung uttered, his mouth quickly salivating at the mention of his favourite meal: chicken and beer. “Are you an angel?”

You laughed out loud, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. You turned around, heading to the adjoined bathroom, hoping to hide your flustered expression. Too late, though, Jiung thought that shade of pink looked the cutest on you. “I think you’re just hallucinating from all the drugs they’ve put you under.” You replied. 

“I have been dreaming about this meal since I got admitted last week. You’re really saving my life, neighbour.” Jiung breathed out, still amazed at the generous spread of food. 

As you walked out, you saw Jiung swinging his legs to the edge of the bed. “Woah, hold on soldier, where do you think you’re going?”

He stopped, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “To wash my hands.”

“No need for that. Sit down and rest – doctor’s orders, remember?” You reached into your handbag and pulled out a hand sanitiser, passing it over to him. “Use this instead. Plus, it’s BHC. They’re professionals. There’s gloves.”

At that, Jiung rolled his eyes at you. “I’m fine,” He drawled out, yet accepting your offer and sanitising his hands. “It’s not like I’m severely injured or anything.”

You gave him a pointed look, fully sceptical. “Right.” 

“I’m serious!”

“A ruptured thigh muscle, Jiung. You ruptured your thigh muscle.” You deadpanned, your motherly instincts firing up. “That’s a big deal! Just sit down and eat your chicken, okay?”

“Fine…” He grumbled, pouting as he pulled on his gloves. 

“So, how are you feeling about it?”

“About the leg? It’s fine. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much.” Jiung paused to take a bite of the cheese ball, eyes closing in pure bliss as he did so. “So good. This always hits.”

“Okay, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

You sighed, reaching for a can of beer and opening it for him. “You know what I mean…”

He accepted it, taking a big gulp as he thought through his response. “It’s… fine.” Jiung looked down, suddenly taking a lot of interest in the box of fried chicken in front of him.

“Are you really okay? You were preparing for such a long time. Your mum even told me that you were practising non-stop, even on Seollal, and most of Christmas through to New Years. She said she could only send you banchan this year and was really sad about not seeing you back home.”

“Hey,” He looked up. “Are you here to visit your sick neighbour or to guilt trip him for not visiting his family?” Jiung said before biting into a bburinkle flavoured wing.

“Firstly, ex-neighbour. You moved out years and years ago. Secondly, I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, why do you care if you’re just my ex-neighbour?” Jiung countered in a quiet voice.

“That’s not what I - ” You stopped, sighing. “Okay, we both know you’re not just my ex-neighbour.”

“What am I then?” He looked you straight  in the eye.

The two of you engaged in a tense staring contest before the eye contact and the intensity behind his lids freaked you out. “My… My friend, okay? Geez, that’s not the point. Stop deflecting, Choi Jiung. I’ve known you for over a decade and you’re still the same. Always trying to avoid talking about your feelings.” You huffed, passing a pair of chopsticks to him and sliding over the container of tteokbokki. 

Jiung nodded his thanks, accepting the cutlery and digging in.

Silence ensued as the words hung over the pair of you. You ate quietly while Jiung slurped up his rice cakes like a starved man. He set down his chopsticks once he took a big bite, sighing. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m not okay.”

“See! Jiung, you have to talk about your feelings.” You stopped, hands coming up to make vague gestures in the air to emphasise your point. “It’s important! You can’t just keep everything inside. Like,” You picked up a can of unopened beer. “Like this. If you keep it bottled inside and shake it too much, it’ll explode completely and make a mess. Please, just talk to me about it. How are you feeling, Choi Jiung?”

He grimaced internally at the use of his full name, the name his mother would use whenever she got mad at him. “Yeah, I’m not okay. I’m so not okay, Y/N.” He sighed again. At this point, you grew slightly concerned that he would then hurt his nostrils from heavy sighing. You shook the silly thought away to focus. “I’m not okay, because, you know what, yeah. You’re right. We have been practising for so long, and so hard. And I was so excited, and had so many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to do my solo, and what lyrics would go well for the song, and how to set up the stages, and what outfits would go together, and, and…” He took a deep breath to calm himself. Jiung could feel his eyes heat up and the corner of his lids prickling, tears beginning to gather slowly but surely. “And for all that to be taken away from me, it just feels so, so unfair.” His voice sounded so small and vulnerable, your heart cracked a little bit for him. A stray tear escaped, rolling down his cheeks.

Immediately, you use the ends of your sleeves to dab away at his tears. Nodding, you encouraged him to go on.

“And… And I really wanted to visit Japan. Shota was gonna bring us to all these places, we were gonna have dinner with his family, and I was really looking forward to being back in America. I really wanted to walk around LA again, and see the huge trees, and…” Jiung paused again, trying to compose himself. “And I’m just really sad I can’t see the fans. I feel so bad, like I let them down, and I know that for some of them this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to see us and I let them down and - ”

You didn’t allow him to continue - you simply stood up from your seat and sat next to him on the bed, enveloping him in a hug. “And that’s enough, I’m not gonna let you continue talking down to yourself like that.” You said in a hushed voice. You weren’t too sure why you were whispering, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Jiung shut up promptly, closing his wet eyes, and burying his face in your sweater. He breathed in your scent, a mixture of your fabric softener and jasmine, and felt at ease. He was transported back to simpler times - growing up in a high-rise apartment in the outskirts of Seoul, catching cicadas by the stream next to your house, and running around the parks until the sun went down.

You stayed like this for awhile, and it was like time stopped for you. You could barely breathe from how close you were to Jiung, someone you had admired for a long time now - initially from up close, close enough to count the eyelashes on his pretty face. And now from afar, through a screen. Initially, you wrapped him in a hug to stop him from talking about how he let his fans down, but now, you were just enjoying his warmth. Jiung hugged you back tighter, and you could feel the ends of his orange hair tickling your neck.

It was Jiung who broke the silence. “You feel the same - smell the same, even.” He mumbled, lips too close to your skin for you to maintain a healthy heartbeat.

“Yeah, well…” You hated yourself for pulling away, but you had to do it to check up on him; make sure he was okay.  “Moving out to the big city made me crave familiarity. So I had to ask Mum to send me a picture of the softener she used for our clothes when we were growing up.”

Jiung smiled at that. “That’s nice.”  He liked the idea of you calling your mum about something as simple as laundry. Often, he felt like his calls back home were the opposite of mundane - his mother would ask him where he was flying to that weekend; he would reply with the destination and tell her that he was working on a few new songs. She would tell him to eat well and not sleep too late; he would reply in the affirmative, hiding the fact that most of the time they were recording in the wee hours of the morning. It seemed like you were worlds apart. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel more than grateful to have a friend like you in his life to keep him grounded. Someone from his previous life, as a child, before he was P1Harmony’s Jiung - when he was just himself, just plain old Choi Jiung. A boy from Anyang. A boy with big dreams. Just a regular boy.

“Also, I’m sure your fans understand. And they’d want you to rest! Trust me,” You paused, “Everyone on SNS has been commenting to wish you a speedy recovery but also saying that this is a great opportunity for you to get some well-deserved rest. You guys never seem to rest these days. A comeback and a tour? You must’ve been so busy..”

Jiung laughed, amused. “You read the fan comments?”

“What? Of course! Why are you surprised?”

“Wow…” Jiung replied. “You know, we kinda lost contact when we were in high school but when you reached out again a few years ago I really did think it was because you suddenly missed me. Now I know why…”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you reach out because you were a fan? I always believed your story - I thought it really was because you bumped into my mum back in Anyang and she passed you my new number.”

“I mean…” You fumbled. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. “That happened! I swear!”

“But…?”

“No buts! That is definitely what happened.”

“Right… So who’s your P1Harmony bias? Tell me.” Jiung teased, lips curling into a cheeky grin. He passed you the beer, urging you to drink. “Drink up and tell me. Don’t worry, I can set you up with them. Just tell me.”

You took a huge gulp as you whacked him on the arm.

“Hey! That hurt!”

“You deserved it.” You mumbled.

“So, who is it?” Jiung still wouldn’t let it go. 

“You don’t need to know.” The tips of your ears were warming up now. You distracted yourself by munching on some wings, hoping he would just drop the topic already.

“C’mon, I deserve to know, at least.”

Just then, your phone, which was on top of the table, lit up with a Kakao notification. Your eyes widened in alarm, suddenly remembering that you had just recently changed your wallpaper to a (very cute) photo of Jiung from their most recent music video. With your clean hand, you reached over to grab it before Jiung could see it.

But alas, you were too slow. “Oh…” Jiung mused, getting all cocky. “I get it now.”

“What do you get? There’s nothing to get.” You forced out a laugh, flipping your phone the other way and burying it under your seat.

“Y/N…” Jiung drawled out the syllabus of your name in a teasing yet slightly dangerous way, as if he had an evil master plan. “Tell me something, and be honest.”

“Nope, I refuse.” You said, shaking your head vigorously.

“Do you like me?”

You continued shaking your head no and chewing in silence.

“Be honest, I’m not gonna judge you. Am I your bias?”

“Shut up, I refuse to answer.”

“Ah, so I am right.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You didn’t have to say it, Y/N. I can tell… Just admit it. You like me.”

“No! This is so embarrassing…”

//

{ epilogue }

The nurses filling out their charts at the station giggled and gossiped over their dinners. 

“So, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“Gosh, watching them is so frustrating. Like, just confess already!”

“I know right! I almost want to do something about it. Like slip them a note or push them into each other or something.”

“Ah, the beauty of young love…”

[gowns]

this train of thought (which is a frequent one) brought to you by this day with my neurodivergent 7 year old:

i pick her up from school and she immediately launches into a story about a birthday party that she went to yesterday with her dad, mid thought "--and chloe and i were up in the treehouse and were sooo scared and then miss robin had to bring us down but i didn't want to go down that way so i went down by myself but then chloe was helped down and the treehouse moved every time we moved and i think a treehouse would be fun except maybe not if it shakes and moves" etc etc etc. she gets angry at her little sister if she interrupts the monologue at all.

then she's growling because she's hungry (both of my kids do this, mile a minute talking when i pick them up, followed by an abrupt shift into whining, yelling, crying, sobbing that they're hungry)

then we are home, where she MUST have a plate of caprese open faced sandwiches on sliced baguette with fresh mozzarella, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, tomatoes and basil

she must sit at this little table and watch her favorite tv shows and eat her caprese. this is her after-school routine. today she is laughing especially hard at this wild kratts episode she's seen like 4 times before.

i notice that she has taken off her pants.

after the tv is off, i ask her to try on some clothes i got for her -- after all, she has her pants off already. she takes off her pajama top, and now she's mad she took off her pajama top.

now she's just naked and mad. there's about an hour of this. she's mad because she's not wearing clothes, but she also doesn't want to put on clothes, and she's mad at any suggestion of putting on clothes ... eventually, she's just in a fetal position growling and crying. i sit with her a bit and rub her back, go away for a bit, come back for a bit and talk to her, so on and so on. she keeps climbing into my lap and saying she wishes she could wear me instead of clothes, then melts back down into a ball on the floor.

eventually, i've pleaded with her enough ("can you please at least put a shirt on") that she's amenable to me putting a shirt on her. bribes of cookies and visibly googling "bakeries that make cookies" perk her up a bit, too.

["sweet treats" are a special interest for her. she really likes kids baking shows. she might get into baking eventually. (she still finds it very stressful and messy every time she tries. but i do like to do it with her sometimes.) sweet treats are a bigtime motivator for her.]

i get some pants on her.

many many minutes later we are putting our shoes on and headed to the car. we drive to the bakery.

we step outside and it's soooooo cold for her. (it is 64 degrees. i am also sensitive to temperature but grinning through it in a long sleeve shirt and pants. she's wearing a long sleeve shirt, sherpa hoodie, thick pants, and boots.) she clings to me and says we can't do anything, it's too cold.

ok. well. "sweet treat!" "omg sweet treat!" we are at the bakery. EXTREME DELIBERATION between cookie types. apologetic looks at the cashier. eventually a chocolate chip cookie marshmallow sandwich is decided on.

we go to the park -- "sooooo coooold!" and "how come my little sister can just run around the park and she's not dressed warm and it's fine for her??" and "how come she is the most annoying person in the world and makes the most annoying sounds and is always just so THERE and so ANNOYING!" she doesn't want to play so we just cuddle.

we hop in the car and go home -- they're happy, they've had their cookies, and the car is warm.

once we're home, minor meltdowns around dinner choices. my younger one eventually eats slices of bread and pieces of cheese, and the older one (hallelujah) eats a new kind of ravioli.

my 7 year old pulls out her homework and starts crying just looking at it. i tell her that she had a tough day and she doesn't have to do it. she says "no, i WANT to do it. it's just that i am having a HARD TIME DOING IT. but i don't want to put it away. i want to just sit down and do it. but it's making me angry."

she works herself up into big sobs, despair -- "i just can't! it's horrible! i want to tear it up! homework is either too easy or too hard! mommy, why is everything too easy or too hard, all the time??? nothing is ever just... regular!!!"

i pat her back and do some breathing with her and tell her it's ok, i get it. i get her some kombucha. (my kids love kombucha.) the kombucha helps break the negative cycling. i talk her through some problems.

once she gets on track, she finishes all 10 pages of homework in less than 8 minutes. correctly.

she gives me a hug and says "thank you for helping me." she goes to a corner of her room and does a book of word searches for fun and relaxation.

i run the bath for her -- she doesn't want to go in, until i show her i'm running extra hot water into it now, so it will be warm for her. she really hates having to take a bath; the whole process of getting naked then wet then dry then having to put on more clothes. boy do i get it. but it's also a part of our bedtime routine, and they have a difficult time sleeping if we haven't done everything in order.

and the thing is, in general:

i totally understand her.

she's just me when i was a kid.

when i gave her a hug after her homework meltdown, i said "i know it's hard, believe me. you know how i know?" and she said "yeah... we have the same kind of brain."

i said "yes! and i know how it feels like, when you can think about something very logically, like 'of course, my homework is just homework and i can do it no problem,' but then your emotions take over. it's like your feelings push the logic out of the way and start driving the car." she nodded emphatically.

"but feelings come and go, they don't last forever. see how it just felt so powerful and all-consuming? and now they're gone... and they'll come back, then they'll go away again... i know it's easier said than done, but just know that there are always ways to get back in control of the car, and i can always help you with that."

and i can help because we have the same brain!

how nice to have people in your corner. parents who understand...!

[fisherrprince]

aight

medium cheddar: extremely hit or miss. my favorite brand is tillamook and im not biased about it. great to just munch on though, it's not really a cheese that wants or needs anything else. good base ingredient for like a grilled cheese. perfectly average 6/10.

sharp cheddar: i love extra sharp cheddar i love you looong aged white sharp cheddar FANTASTIC snack and best with some sweet apples or something. Needs a cracker or bread or some sweeter snack on the side. coastal cheddar from costco is good but can be a bit too sharp with lots of crystallization. 9/10. 

mozzarella: ok i dont like tillamook for this one. too dry. mozzarella is really not a cheese i like to eat by itself, i'm not a cheese stick fan and i really dislike the texture of wet mozzarella balls, but when it's good melted ON stuff it's good on stuff. 7/10 grilled pizza cheese pull

pepperjack: this is THEEEE cheese to grate for a recipe and sneak like 20 bites of the grated cheese. little pepper bits in there. I don't enjoy eating slices of it though. 7/10

parmesan: you cant go wrong with a little parma jawn............. best as a little accent on top of stuff. just makes whatever you're cooking a lil tastier. Not my favorite when the whole thing tastes of just parmesan though, it's kinda bitey. 8/10

cottage cheese: i cant stand cottage cheese. The texture is nasty and the combo of the texture with the flavor is nastier. 1/10

gruyere: french. INCREDIBLE on potatoes and in fondue and in little bits to snack on. Not an eating by itself cheese often but it doesnt have to be. I'd eat this grated on top of kinda anything savory. 9/10

gouda: i get this mixed up with gruyere all the time, but gouda is a bit harder and sweeter. a good salami cheese for your charcuterie. you see smoked gouda a lot which if thats YOUR deal thats cool but i dislike the taste of smoked things. 7/10

blue cheese: really really good cheese that is stymied by not going with a lot of stuff and not being super good to just eat on its own. it's a SHARP taste that gets in your nose. gorgonzola specifically is so good with pears and arugula except I'm mildly allergic to pears. BEST with steak gimme dat blue cheese butter STEAK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! would be 9/10 if it were not so particular. 7/10.

feta: bit of a weird texture but it makes salads and gyros ROCK so. it gets a pass. not that fancy on its own but i really do like it in a salad. 6/10. 

cream cheese: YEAAAAHHHHH BAGELLLLSSSS 9/10 i love bagels. also makes other dishes creamy (best part of cheese)

manchego: best with salami. not that impressive on its own, but that's because it's a harder cheese you eat with salami. 5/10, elevates meat but the meat does not elevate it

brie: somehow airplane brie is better than normal brie??? i don't eat this cheese unless it's on an airplane meal fr. which means i hardly ever eat brie. kinda weird tasting. 4/10

camembert: miraculous ladybug hyped me up for this cheese and i bought some and must have done it wrong or something because it doesn't smell and hardly tasted different from brie. I want to try it again so bad because gooey cheeses are like drool-worthy to me. hesitant 3/10 for being a disappointment

asiago: yknow an asiago bread is pretty good but ive never had asiago cheese on its own! 6/10? umami

cotija: BIG FAN of cotija. pile that stuff on my tacos thank you. i dont have the same problems as i do with feta maybe because you grate or crumble cotija real small in comparison? havent had it on anything but a taco though. 8/10 

goat cheese: also a big fan of goat cheese. you can fry it and its good, and you can put it in pasta and its good, you can eat it with crackers and it's good... not really good with meat, but it's sharper so that makes sense to me. 8/10 again

swiss cheese: i never really liked swiss cheese. unless its on my sandwich. OR! unless it's like specifically emmentaler and it's in my fondue. 4/10

provolone: SAME goes for provo LONE. makes french dip really good though, and is one of the classic salami cheeses. this is because it needs salt. 5/10 better than swiss

edam: this is babybel cheese, right? it's fine. good for snacking not for eating a lot of. 7/10

colby jack: this is literally cheddar but not. id rather have cheddar 5/10

ricotta: controversially, i love ricotta... it doesnt have a lot of flavor which makes eating it by itself unpleasant. HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!! in lasagne..? on top of sourdough with salt and garlic? in a kolache with jam?? i lvoe ricotta. i wish it didn't go bad so fast. or maybe it came in smaller packages. 8/10

american cheese: the only place this thing shines is ON BURGER. where it SHOULD BE, KIND OF ALWAYS. or on a bacon egg and cheese. those are the two places you always want american. situationally 8/10 but usually 4/10 i dont want it anywhere else

muenster: the best part of eating muenster cheese is eating the little slice that always seems to come off the edge when you take it out the package. otherwise it's a perfectly serviceable mild cheese, melts well, 6/10.

pecorino romano: like, parmesan's sharper saltier more fashion-forward cousin. use this in moderation imo it really has a Big Taste to it, but it makes carbonara nummy, 7/10

paneer: i have not HAD... paneer... but it LOOKS like it would be tasty. withholding judgement. 

gournay: i love those little boursin rounds you can just get at the store with the garlic and herbs. soft, savory, good on crackers 9/10

infused flavor cheeses: these are usually fresh cows milk cheeses that have like some kinda flavor or spice on them or rolled into them. All depends on the flavoring. The base cheese itself is usually real mild and creamy though, and I have good experiences with it! Also goes bad a bit fast though. Variable/10

theres other cheeses out there but i just realized ive been talking about cheese for a LOOONG TIIIMMMEEE. i like cheese though. big fan of it. if u think of some other cheese you really want an opinion on i will readily tell you

[cuntstable]

Gyro :>

YAY my other favourite italian guy…. TY :D

first impressions:

wow cool cowboy

impression now:

my freak. my manslut. my bestie. my foul beast. the tool with which i have terrorized others by posting horrid ugly pictures of him. but ok genuinely i like him so much. hes just so entertaining to me. hes simultaneously a mentour character and a fail fuck up mentee himself. hes a huge asshole and a cunt and an insufferable dork who still does almost always do the right thing at the end of the day and stands out as ultimately the one character in sbr who isnt selfishly motivated (he chases the corpse for johnny, wants to win the race for the little boy). and of course he is sexy in a rat like way to me.

favourite moment:

when he asked johnny to steel his balls so he could run or whatever happens in the story idk (his death 😞)

idea for a story:

idk man his backstorys so thorough as is…… i will say that i think sbr is the one jojo part that i think would work and be entertaining as a Normal Au fic or whatever btw LOL. like i usually Dont Like Those but i do love the idea of gyro and johnny and diego and hp just being weirdo collage students in a horse girl club. its fun to me. gyros a med student and him and johnny meet up through that. whatever.

unpopular opinion:

i have absolutely no idea about what an unpopular or popular gyro opinion would be. oh my god. ok well i think dont think the pizza mozzarella song is his funniest moment !!

favourite relationship:

absolutely unsuprising johnny. their friendship feels so real to me like. gyro starts off as the mentour to johnny but ultimately they both end up learning from each other and growing through their relationship to one another. theyre both assholes to everyone around them except to one another, because when is just the two of them they let their guards down and turn into complete dorks. but they still have his competetiveness about them because they are just similar personalities in that regard but also because they both want to constantly push each other to greater hights. and ofc the fact that they sacrifice so much for one another. well. goes and cries in the corner now thingking about ”lets go home”

favourite headcanon:

i think he got his gold grills way before the sbr race maybe because of some tooth problems he had (possibly due to. poor hygiene LOL). and he just had the Go Go Zeppeli carved into them right before the race :)

[foggycityfriend]

Aurelia Aylesbury: A True Taste of Italy in the Heart of Aylesbury

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Starters: Begin your meal with light and flavorful dishes like Arancini, crispy rice balls filled with mozzarella, or Bruschetta, topped with fresh tomatoes and basil.

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Whether you’re a local or visiting Aylesbury, a meal at Aurelia Restaurant & Bar is a must. From its authentic Italian dishes to its warm and inviting atmosphere, Aurelia offers a dining experience that will leave you planning your next visit before you’ve even left.

📍Address: Unit 7, The Exchange, Aylesbury, Aylesbury HP20 1UR, United Kingdom

[bewitchingbooktours]

Chains of Blood and Darkness by M Guida - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular

Chosen Blood Bloody Mary

The Chosen Blood Bloody Mary is a striking cocktail that combines the classic elements of a Bloody Mary with a unique twist, inspired by the world of vampires and New Orleans. The beet juice adds a deeper red color, symbolizing the Chosen Blood, and imparts a slightly sweet, earthy flavor that complements the spicy, savory notes of the drink. The garlic and black pepper-infused vodka adds an extra layer of complexity and a hint of the supernatural.

Ingredients:

• 2 oz vodka (infused with garlic and black pepper)

• 4 oz tomato juice (preferably homemade or high-quality)

• 1 oz fresh beet juice (for a richer, blood-red color and earthy flavor)

• 1/2 oz lemon juice

• 1/2 oz lime juice

• 3 dashes Worcestershire sauce

• 3 dashes hot sauce (like Tabasco)

• 1/4 tsp horseradish

• 1/4 tsp smoked paprika

• Pinch of celery salt

• Pinch of black pepper

• Pinch of sea salt

Garnish:

• Celery stalk with leaves

• Lemon and lime wedges

• Pickled green bean or asparagus

• Stuffed olive

• Mini skewer of cherry tomatoes and mozzarella balls

• Fresh basil leaf

Instructions:

1. Infuse Vodka: Prepare the vodka by infusing it with garlic and black pepper. To do this, add 2-3 peeled garlic cloves and 1 teaspoon of black peppercorns to a bottle of vodka. Let it sit for at least 24 hours (up to a week for a stronger infusion), then strain the vodka to remove the solids.

2. Prepare the Glass: Rub a lemon or lime wedge around the rim of a tall glass, then dip the rim into a mixture of sea salt and smoked paprika.

3. Mix the Drink: In a shaker or mixing glass, combine the infused vodka, tomato juice, beet juice, lemon juice, lime juice, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, horseradish, smoked paprika, celery salt, black pepper, and sea salt. Stir well to combine.

4. Fill the Glass: Fill the prepared glass with ice cubes, then pour the Bloody Mary mixture over the ice.

5. Garnish: Garnish with a celery stalk, lemon and lime wedges, pickled green bean or asparagus, stuffed olive, and a mini skewer of cherry tomatoes and mozzarella balls. Add a fresh basil leaf for a fragrant touch.

6. Serve: Serve immediately, stirring slightly to keep the flavors well mixed.

Chains of Blood and Darkness

French Quarter Vampire King

M Guida

Genre: Dark Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Buffalo Mountain Press 

Date of Publication: October 23, 2024

ISBN: 9798333325686

ASIN: B0D5R9YMB7

Number of pages: 340

Word Count: 82792

Cover Artist: Jackie

Tagline: Kidnapped from my college campus as just as I’ve tasted freedom, then sold to the Angel of Death—Angelo Santi, the vampire mafia King.

Book Description:

I’m now a captive in a world I never knew existed, caught in a tangled web of ancient feuds and dangerous desires.

He claims that I have the power to save his people by reigniting a dying magical stone.

He’s delusional. I have no powers, but if I try to escape, he’ll start by killing my best friend and move to everyone I’ve ever loved.

As if that is not bad enough, the bodies of murdered women who look just like me keep turning up in the French Quarter.

Someone is framing him. That same person is hunting me.

Angelo’s the only man that I’ve ever trusted to protect me, but he’s a temptation that could lead to my ruin.

While his heart may be cold as his ice, the seductive vampire king sets my soul on fire. In this twisted game of blood and darkness, nothing is as it seems…except the intensity of our passion.

Amazon

About the Author: M Guida has always loved fantasy and romance, especially dragons. Growing up, she devoured fantasy books and all kinds of young adult books. And then she found romance and a whole new world opened up to her.

Now as an adult, she fell in love with academy romance and has blended all of her past loves into one compelling series. Dragons, vampires, elves, demons, and wolves all live in her world.

When she's not writing, she lives in the colorful Rocky Mountains with her fur baby, Raven, and enjoys taking her for walks.

Would you like to become a Legacy? Sign up for her mailing list and enter a world of the supernatural at her website https://authormguida.com/

You can also join her private Facebook page–M Guida's Legacy Academy. You'll become a Legacy and find out about your special power and maybe even find some romance! Website: https://authormguida.com/about/

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/mguida/

Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@mguidaauthor

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MLGuidaauthor Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-guida

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20378775.M_Guida

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B08BW74WCM/about

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[foodmagazinesblog]

Best and easy Italian Margarita Pizza recipe

Margherita Pizza has forever been one of my #1 sorts of pizza. It takes a couple of essential fixings and you come by heavenly outcomes! You can’t turn out badly with that tomato, basil, and new mozzarella combo.

There are numerous recipes out there for custom-made Margherita pizza, yet this is the way I like to make mine.

Only a straightforward pizza hull, some San Marzano tomatoes, EVOO, garlic, new Mozza, and loads of new basil. Straightforward fixings, yet a truly tasty final product!

Most recipes utilize the tomatoes directly from the can, yet I like to stew them and lessen a portion of that overabundance fluid for a more thought flavor — as there’s no saturated hull.

I likewise add additional virgin olive oil and garlic to the sauce, which isn’t so common all things considered. However, is there any valid reason why we wouldn’t add it? More flavor!

Here, I cheated and utilized locally acquired pizza batter to save time. Yet, not the benevolent in that frame of mind with loads of irregular fixings, simply the caring the bread kitchen or shop makes (it ought to comprise of flour, water, yeast, olive oil, salt, and now and again sugar however nothing else).

The main downside to this vegan pizza recipe is that you can prepare each pizza in turn except if you have two stoves and two pizza stones. However, Margherita pizza just requires around 5 minutes to prepare, so no issue.

What is Margherita Pizza?

On the off chance that you’ve never attempted Margherita pizza, you’re passing up a great opportunity! Probably, Margherita pizza was designed during the 1800s in Naples as a way to grandstand the shades of the Italian banner (red, white, and green).

Customarily, Margherita pizza has a slight and firm outside and is bested exclusively with pureed tomatoes, mozzarella, and new basil. It’s a straightforward, yet tasty veggie lover pizza!

Hand-crafted pizza mixture is great, yet locally acquired might be subbed (these batter balls weigh around 12 ounces each).

San Marzano tomatoes are an assortment of plum tomatoes that begin in the town of San Marzano Sul Sarno, close to Naples, Italy. They have a better, not so much acidic, but rather more focused flavor than regular Roma tomatoes. Numerous general stores convey them yet relax in the event that you can’t track down them; normal squashed tomatoes will work.

Search for a new mozzarella ball that isn’t pressed in water. (Or on the other hand, assuming the cheddar is stuffed in water, make certain to dry it well.) Also, it’s vital to utilize credible Parmigiano Reggiano, which you can recognize by taking a gander at the skin, which is decorated with the name again and again. Assuming that the cheddar is now ground, it ought to be named “Parmigiano Reggiano,” not “Parmesan.”

Make the sauce by joining the squashed tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper, and sugar in a little bowl.

Blend to consolidate. On the other hand, on the off chance that you lean toward a smoother sauce, you can mix the fixings in a food processor or blender. (Note: This recipe makes sufficient sauce for four pizzas. You can refrigerate the additional sauce for as long as a multi-week, or freeze it for as long as 90 days.)

NUTRITION INFORMATION

Per serving (4 servings)

Serving size: 3 slices

Calories: 734

Fat: 32 g

Saturated fat: 13 g

Carbohydrates: 80 g

Sugar: 3 g

Fiber: 4 g

Protein: 31 g

Sodium: 710 mg

Cholesterol: 57 mg

[downtoearthmarkets]

Leaping lizards, frogs and rabbits, today is February 29th, which means it’s Leap Day 2024! Leap Days occur only once every four years when an extra day is added to the end of February, except in century years that aren’t exactly divisible by 400. This formula was adopted in 1582 to better synchronize the number of days in the Gregorian calendar with the Earth’s orbit of the sun for both religious and agricultural reasons. Aligning the calendar with the sun’s path proved crucial for farmers who need to follow a precise schedule for growing purposes. Leap days help ensure that they plant and harvest their crops at the right time during the right seasons. So, in recognition of this agriculturally significant, quadrennial event, here is a foursome of ideas to get you *leaping* out of your seat to the farmers market this weekend. 1) Four Step Italian Wedding Soup Traditionally speaking, it has been the norm for men to be the ones “popping the question” when proposing marriage. But legend has it that in 5th century Ireland Saint Brigid of Kildare asked Saint Patrick to grant an exception to this rule by allowing women to propose once every four years on Leap Day. If a man refused a woman’s proposal on February 29th, he was to compensate her with twelve pairs of gloves to hide her ringless finger.  Whether or not you’re considering getting down on bended knee anytime soon, making Italian Wedding Soup from scratch is a wonderfully warming way to romance your partner – or to pamper yourself with a simmering bowl of savory goodness:  Ingredients:

½ pound Roaming Acres ground bison meat

1 large egg from Yellow Bell Farm, lightly beaten 

2 tablespoons dry breadcrumbs 

1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese 

½ teaspoon dried basil 

½ teaspoon onion powder 

5 ¾ cups Yellow Bell Farm chicken broth 

2 cups thinly sliced escarole from 4E Green Farm 

1 cup uncooked orzo pasta or any small-sized pasta from La Trafila Pasta

⅓ cup finely chopped Sun Sprout Farm carrot

Steps:

Combine ground beef, egg, breadcrumbs, Parmesan cheese, basil, and onion powder in a bowl. 

Shape beef mixture into 3/4-inch balls and place on parchment-lined tray. 

Heat broth in large pot over medium-high heat until boiling. Stir in escarole, orzo, carrot, and meatballs and return to boil. Reduce heat to medium and cook at slow boil for about 10-minutes, stirring frequently until pasta is tender yet firm to the bite. 

Serve hot and enjoy!

2) Four Ingredient Salmon, Potato & Broccoli Sheet Pan Dinner  This four-ingredient sheet pan dinner is so quick and easy that it’ll make you *leap* for joy! Sheet pan dinners are not only super convenient to make, they’re also eco-friendly because they require just the oven to be lit and produce only one dirty pan to clean, saving both energy and water.

Ingredients

Broccoli from Jersey Farm Produce cut into small florets

Potatoes from Sun Sprout Farm cubed into 1- to 1½-inch pieces

Salmon fillets from American Pride Seafood

Seasoning: Garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes, salt & pepper

Directions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Lightly grease a rimmed baking sheet with olive oil or nonstick cooking spray.

Place broccoli and potatoes on baking sheet and drizzle with two tablespoons Kontoulis/Arlotta olive oil. Sprinkle with finely chopped garlic, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper. Toss it all together then spread it out on baking sheet. Roast for 20 minutes. 

While vegetables are roasting, season salmon fillets. Remove tray from oven and nestle salmon in between vegetables. Roast for another 10 minutes or until vegetables are tender and salmon is cooked to your liking. 

Serve immediately.

3) Four Cheese Pizza Pizza ai quattro formaggi (aka four cheese pizza) originated in the Campania region of Italy where it was first made with a combination of mozzarella, gorgonzola, fontina and parmesan cheese melted together. Over time, different parts of the country developed their own versions of this iconic pizza using a variety of local cheeses. But you don’t have to *leap* over the pond to Italy to grab a slice, as Wave Hill Breads 4 Formaggio Pizza is parbaked and locally made with fresh and shredded mozzarella, parmesan, asiago and Romano cheese. Simply take one from the freezer, pop it in the oven at 450 degrees for 12-15 minutes and enjoy!  4) Four Syllable Veggies  Here’s your Leap Day Word of the Day – Quadrisyllabic. Quadrisyllabic means any word with four syllables which, of course, happens to include four currently in-season vegetables. These locally grown veggies are easy to spot at our farmstalls and work wonderfully in the recipes listed below:     Cauliflower -- Cauliflower, Potato and Leek Soup Celeriac -- Creamy Celeriac Mash Romanesco -- Parmesan Roasted Romanesco Rutabaga -- Oven-Baked Rutabaga Fries We hope you enjoy these four-tifying Leap Day foodie ideas. While we await another four years for the next Leap Day to transpire, we wish you a four-tuitous weekend full of four-tunate finds at the farmers market.

[some-old-recipes]

Spinach Souffle Pizza

There used to be a pizza chain in the very-much-greater Chicago area (as in “into multiple states”) called Edwardo’s Natural Pizza. They still exist as of the end of 2023 — but they only have two locations left, neither of which is within convenient driving range of me any more. Their big unique item was their stuffed spinach pizza, which was really significantly different from anything you could get elsewhere. (The closest approach was the stuffed spinach pizza at Giordano’s, but even that wasn’t anywhere near as good.) A recipe for this pizza was once published, back in the 70s. I made it once but with a pizza dough kit I received as a gift, and it was decent — except that, thanks to the kit being too small, there wasn’t enough dough and it fell apart while being baked, so a lot of it wasn’t edible. I’m going to try another modified version for New Year’s (for one thing, I’m using store-bought premade pizza dough). If my version turns out to be even remotely acceptable, I’ll post a followup to this with my modifications. If not, well, here’s the original recipe, which I found online long ago, reformatted a bit for Tumblr:

Ingredients

Dough:

3 teaspoons sugar

½ oz. yeast

1¼ cups warm water

3½ cups bread flour

1½ teaspoons salt

5 tablespoons vegetable oil

Sauce:

2 (16-ounce) cans tomatoes, drained

1 (14-ounce) can plum tomatoes, drained

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon dried oregano

2 teaspoons dried basil

1 tablespoon chopped garlic

Filling:

½ pound fresh spinach leaves, thoroughly washed and stemmed

3 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

Instructions

Dough:

Dissolve sugar and yeast in water and let stand for 5 minutes or until frothy.

In a large bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a dough hook or in a food processor, combine flour and salt. Add oil and knead or process until smooth, about 4 minutes.

Remove and place dough in a lightly greased bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and set in a warm place for 1 hour or until dough has doubled in size.

Sauce:

Coarsely chop tomatoes and place in a large mixing bowl.

Add olive oil, oregano, basil and garlic.

Mix well to combine, cover and let stand at room temperature for 1 hour for flavors to develop.

Filling:

Coarsely chop spinach and place in a large bowl along with  the shredded cheese. Mix to combine.

After the above:

Preheat oven to 550 degrees.

Punch down dough and remove from bowl.

Place dough on a lightly floured surface and gently knead into a smooth ball.

Cut off about ⅓ of the dough and set aside.

Roll remaining dough into a 16-inch circle and place in a 14-inch deep-dish pizza pan. Dough should cover the bottom of the pan and come up and over the sides of the pan.

Place reserved filling into pan and spread out evenly over dough.

Roll  remaining dough into a 14-inch circle and place over filling.

Roll edge of bottom dough back into pan to meet the top dough, pinch edges to seal and form the crust.

Spoon sauce over top crust and spread evenly over entire pizza.

Place pizza in a preheated 550-degree oven for 15 minutes; reduce heat to 500 degrees and continue to bake for another 15 minutes or until crust is golden-brown and crispy.

[deluxepizzaengadine]

Mastering Pizza in Caringbah: A Gastronomic Delight

When it comes to indulging in delectable, mouthwatering pizzas, Caringbah stands out as a hidden gem in the culinary world. Our journey begins in the heart of this suburban paradise, where we explore the vibrant pizza culture that has left both locals and visitors craving for more. In this comprehensive guide, we delve into the tantalizing world of Caringbah's pizza scene, sharing insights, recommendations, and the best-kept secrets that will undoubtedly elevate your pizza experience.

The Pioneers of Pizza in Caringbah

Caringbah Pizza Hub, a beloved establishment that has stood the test of time, takes pride in crafting pizzas that are nothing short of divine. Established over two decades ago, this family-owned pizzeria has perfected the art of blending tradition with innovation. Their wood-fired oven pizzas, prepared with the finest ingredients, have earned them a dedicated following.

The Pizza Varieties That Define Caringbah

Margherita Magic

One cannot talk about pizza in Caringbah without mentioning the iconic Margherita. Fresh mozzarella, handpicked basil leaves, and succulent tomatoes come together in a harmonious blend, creating a pizza that's both visually appealing and incredibly flavorful.

Seafood Sensation

For seafood aficionados, Caringbah offers a delightful twist with its seafood pizzas. Imagine a medley of prawns, calamari, and fresh fish, drizzled with a zesty lemon-garlic sauce, all resting atop a crispy, thin crust. It's a symphony of flavors that captures the essence of the ocean.

Veggie Extravaganza

Vegetarians, too, have their cravings satisfied in Caringbah. Roasted peppers, caramelized onions, artichoke hearts, and creamy goat cheese unite to create a veggie pizza that's a taste explosion. Every bite is a burst of wholesome goodness.

The Secret Sauce: Fresh Ingredients

What sets Caringbah's pizza apart is its commitment to using only the freshest and finest ingredients. The tomato sauce is prepared from handpicked, vine-ripened tomatoes, while the cheese is a blend of creamy mozzarella and aged Parmesan. The dough, a closely guarded family recipe, undergoes meticulous fermentation to achieve the perfect crust.

Beyond Pizzas: Scrumptious Sides

While pizza reigns supreme in Caringbah, the culinary offerings extend beyond. Complement your pizza with delectable side dishes such as crispy garlic bread, cheesy arancini balls, and fresh salads bursting with locally sourced produce.

A Slice of Caringbah's History

To truly appreciate Caringbah's pizza culture, one must understand its historical significance. The suburb's roots are deeply intertwined with Italian immigration, with many families bringing their culinary traditions to this picturesque corner of Sydney. Over time, these traditions evolved and fused with Australian tastes, giving birth to the unique pizza culture we know today.

The Caringbah Pizza Experience

When you step into a Caringbah pizzeria, you're not just having a meal; you're immersing yourself in a culinary journey. The warm ambiance, friendly staff, and the unmistakable aroma of wood-fired pizza create an experience that's as memorable as it is delicious.

Why Choose Caringbah for Pizza?

1. Unparalleled Quality

Caringbah's pizzerias set the bar high when it comes to quality. Each ingredient is chosen with care, and the passion for crafting exceptional pizzas shines through in every slice.

2. Variety Galore

Whether you're a meat lover, a vegetarian, or a seafood enthusiast, Caringbah's pizzerias have a pizza that suits your taste buds. The diverse range of options ensures that there's something for everyone.

3. Community and Tradition

The Pizza Caringbah is more than just eateries; they are an integral part of the local community. They uphold traditions while embracing innovation, making each visit a celebration of culture and culinary expertise.

Conclusion

In the realm of pizza, Caringbah stands as a beacon of excellence. The passion, history, and unwavering commitment to quality make it a must-visit destination for pizza lovers from near and far. So, the next time you find yourself craving the perfect pizza experience, look no further than Caringbah, where every bite tells a story of tradition, taste, and tantalizing delight.

[crazyblondelife]

Tortellini Pasta Salad with Mozzarella & Arugula

I’m always on the lookout for recipes that are really flavorful and easy to make and this pasta salad fits that description! You could even call it addictive! One you make this salad, it’ll be your go-to for easy weeknight dinners, potlucks and family gatherings! The surprise ingredient that keeps making it’s way into my recipes is banana peppers! They add a unique, delicious and unexpected flavor that I can’t get enough of! I used mild peppers, but the hot ones would be very delicious if you love spicy food!

As you can see, this is a very visually appealing salad so it’s perfect for a buffet. The recipe makes a generous amount, but if you really have a crowd to feed, it’s easily doubled. Just add some warm bread and dessert and you’ve got dinner!

The dressing is delicious and you’ll want to make extra to have on hand for drizzling over salads, grilled chicken or salmon!

{"image":"https://i.imgur.com/R9jXtoQ.png","name":"Tortellini Pasta Salad with Mozzarella & Arugula","description":"This delicious and easy salad comes together quickly and packs a flavor punch!","yield":"6","author":{"@type":"Person","name":"Suzanne Smith"},"recipeIngredient":["2 - 20 ounce packages refrigerated tortellini (I used spinach and 4 cheese)","1 large package cherry tomatoes, halved","2 - 12 ounce packages fresh mozzarella balls","1/2 red onion, thinly sliced","1 - 12 ounce jar mild banana peppers","1 -1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese (save a little to sprinkle at the end)","1 - 5 ounce package baby arugula or more to taste","Dressing:","5 tablespoons balsamic vinegar","4 cloves garlic, finely minced","1 heaping teaspoon Dijon mustard","1 tablespoon honey","1 teaspoon dried oregano","1 - 1/4 cup olive oil","Salt & freshly cracked black pepper","Combine dressing ingredients except for olive oil and stir together. Slowly drizzle in olive oil while whisking to emulsify."],"recipeInstructions":["Prepare tortellini according to package directions. Drain and add to a large bowl. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil. Add other ingredients and top with dressing as desired (you don't need it all). Add more grated Parmesan and serve!"],"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Recipe"}

I hope you’re enjoying the summer recipes! I’m not sure I’ve had enough of summers bounty…fresh tomatoes, basil, okra, peaches and corn, but fall is right around the corner! My mind is slowly turning toward fall foods and I’ll start sharing some fall recipes soon, including some great ideas for tailgating! Happy first week of September!

[picklesabroad]

Bordighera with a sprinkling of Nice and Monaco

We hopped on the train to Italy, glad to be leaving Cannes and France behind. The town was tiny and beautiful, and delightfully quiet. We were staying in an old stone house in the middle of the reeds, with our own terrace. We went straight into the old town and had our first pasta meal of the trip - it was fantastic. Simple tomato sauce with a hunk of burrata (mozerella filled with soft creamy cheese curd) - we were both in heaven.

We left and wandered around town for a bit more, before finding a supermarket and getting some nibbles for tea.

We had some slow days while we were in Boridghera. We swum, had wines in the evening, read books, worked on our various projects (and my job) and got coffee at our local coffee shop. Everyone seemed to know us by the second day we were there, our coffee shop woman would shout our order gleefully at us when we walked through the door every morning, every lovely waiter we had would wave at us every time we saw him about town. It was a feeling like no other town I have been in, and we both loved it.

We had dinner out at one of the tiny restaurants in old town. We told the waiter we wanted his two favourite things, and he returned with a spare chair for our table. We were confused - had we been lost in translation? Was he joining us? No, he was bringing us a spare table for the huge slab of cheese and meat. We were both a bit drunk at this point, and were full from Aperitivo (explained later) and couldn't eat much of it, so we grabbed serviettes and took what we could home. We were trying to be secretive and cool, calm and collected, but the wait staff could see us giggling as I tried to squish a ball of mozzarella into a container containing some lollies that were lying around in the bottom of my bag. Not very cool, unfortunately .

One of the days we decided to go back to Nice. It was the day after the above dinner, and we were a bit hungover. We got on the train and went up to Nice to have a look around. Nice was... nice, and we did some shopping and then got on the tram to go back to the train station. While we were on the tram, the ticket police got on the tram and started checking everyone's tickets. We had bought tickets and had tried to scan them on the ticket machines to validate them, but the scanner wasn't working. We had had the same problem on the way down town in the tram, so we already knew it was a problem. The 'police man' (glorified mall cop - go fight some real crime????) scanned our ticket, saw we hadn't validated them so he said he would have to fine us. We said 'No, the machine isn't working'. He tried to scan our cards and saw the machines weren't working too, and proceeded to fine us 40 euros ($75 NZD) each anyway. I was so angry and repeatedly told him that this was bullshit, and this system was a fucking joke - to no avail. Sorry about the language Nana! He issued me a receipt for my 40 euro fine which I threw straight into the bin in front of him. I have never glared at anyone with such hatred in my life. WHAT. A. SCAM. Had I been in the wrong I wouldn't have minded, but we had done everything right!!!!!!!! I left Nice angry and thoroughly done with France.

We also swung by Monaco on one of the days. We stayed for about an hour, wandered around the old town for a bit, and then left. Monaco was underwhelming and it seemed like a bit of a rich people zoo, where poor people like me can go and look at rich people and their things. The one highlight was that we saw the same tourist, an older woman in her tourist cargo pants and floral shirt and visor, running in at least three different locations. It was like she was lost in old town and was looking for her tour group. Everywhere we looked there she was, running and looking lost, her sunglasses bobbing up and down on their neck strap. Like I said, not much going on in Monaco.

Aperitivo. Where to begin. Aperitivo is like happy hour, except that instead of cheap drinks, restaurants serve you with a snack alongside your drink. We had some of the best Aperitivo snacks in Bordighera - platters of meat and cheese, sandwiches with mortadella and stracciatella, potato croquettes. Delightful! All you need to do is buy a drink and out comes a plate of food too. See the pics to get the gist.

Our last day in Bordighera was spent in a very slow, slug like fashion, where we did some swimming, some eating, and some drinking. We had found a watermelon shop that served watermelon by the slice, so we each had a slice and watched the world go by. It was that night that we had our first pizza, at a terraced restaurant on the outskirts of old town. Our waitress was about 16 years old and was very confused why we had travelled all the way from New Zealaned to visit her town of Bordighera - she said "I have never heard of this happening".

We set off on the train after a lovely, restful time in Bordighera to go to... the Cinque Terre.

[luckystorein22]

What makes Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese a Perfect Delight for Cheese Lovers?

When it comes to cheese, there are few delights that can rival the creamy, melt-in-your-mouth goodness of fresh mozzarella. And within the realm of mozzarella cheese, Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese stands out as a true masterpiece. Crafted with care and precision, this delectable cheese offers a culinary experience that is both rich and satisfying. In this article, we delve into the world of Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese, exploring its origins, production process, unique characteristics, and myriad ways to savor its exquisite flavor.

The Origin Story: Flanders Dairy, known for its commitment to quality and craftsmanship, has been producing artisanal cheeses for decades. Their Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese is a testament to their dedication and passion for creating exceptional dairy products. Made with locally sourced, farm-fresh milk, every bite of Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese embodies the essence of traditional cheese-making techniques combined with modern expertise.

The Production Process: Crafting Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese is a labor of love. The process begins with carefully selected, high-quality milk, which is heated and cultured to create the curds. These curds are then stretched and kneaded to achieve the signature smooth, elastic texture that fresh mozzarella is known for. The cheese is shaped into small, bite-sized balls known as bocconcini, which are immersed in a brine solution to enhance their flavor and prolong their shelf life.

Unique Characteristics: Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese boasts a range of unique characteristics that set it apart from other cheeses. Its creamy, porcelain-white appearance is visually appealing, while its delicate, milky flavor adds a touch of sophistication to any dish. The cheese has a soft, springy texture that melts effortlessly when heated, making it an ideal choice for a variety of culinary applications.

Culinary Delights: The versatility of Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese knows no bounds. Its mild, creamy taste makes it a perfect accompaniment to fresh salads, where it adds a subtle richness. It can also be used as a topping for pizzas and bruschetta, creating a gooey, cheesy goodness that tantalizes the taste buds. Furthermore, its reliability makes it an excellent choice for stuffed pasta, such as ravioli or tortellini. With Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese, the possibilities are endless.

Pairings and Serving Suggestions: To truly appreciate the exceptional flavors of Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese, consider pairing it with complementary ingredients. It pairs beautifully with ripe tomatoes, fresh basil, and a drizzle of balsamic reduction for a classic Caprese salad. For a more adventurous twist, pair it with sliced prosciutto, roasted red peppers, and a sprinkle of crushed red pepper flakes. The creamy and tangy flavors will dance on your palate.

Conclusion: Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese is a testament to the artistry of cheese-making. Its impeccable taste, smooth texture, and versatility make it a favorite among cheese lovers. Whether you're creating a gourmet dish or simply enjoying it on its own, this cheese is sure to elevate your culinary experience. So, next time you're in search of a cheese that embodies excellence, look no further than Flanders Dairy Bocconcini Fresh Mozzarella Cheese and prepare to indulge in a symphony of flavors.

[beatle-yee]

I enjoyed doing this template with my sonic oc so I'm doing this with my animaniacs oc except theres both fictional characters and real people in the mix. Characters on the left: Mini Mozzarella (Wolf Pack 5) Suzy Simpson (The Marvelous Wonderettes) Gidget (Gidget [TV Show]) Character on the right: Sandy (Grease) Real women on the right: Teresa Brewer-Singer Lucille Ball-Actress

[songbirdstyles]

when the levee breaks

summary: you’re a waitress and harry is being stood up.

warnings: brief smut, angst, fluff, love at first sight <3 kind of

song inspo.: when the levee breaks - led zeppelin

word count: 9.5k

There’s always a particular vibe you get from people going on first dates.

It’s an easy one to notice and you and your coworkers love pointing it out - it’s an air of hope and romance, people arriving dressed their very best yet still holding some sort of awkwardness. It’s sweet, actually, and quite adorable and they’re always the nicest to you, needing to impress their date and make sure they know that they’re respectful. It’s the same reason they leave such a hefty tip - likely wanting to show they’re, at the very least, wealthy enough to tip 20% on a $100 tab and not have it hurt their pockets, or to prove that they respect waitresses enough to help you pay your rent. They’re always the tables you’re desperate to serve, not only for the tip they leave you but because you love getting a clue as to how the date goes, and most times it’s good. Once, you’d heard the guy’s date inquire about kids before their meals came, and they’d left barely minutes after paying their bill. Another time, a couple had arrived at 6 and hadn’t left until 11 on a Thursday night - nearly two hours after closing, and you’d nearly had to shoo them out the door when they weren’t going fast enough.

It varies often, but still - first date couples are your favourite, and when you see him walk up to the host stand, you know he’s another one.

The uncomfortableness is what tips you off, fiddling with one of the numerous rings on his finger as he leans back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting behind an elderly couple hoping to grab a table outdoors for some drinks. He’s dressed well, tucking a loose curl behind his ear and rolling up his sleeves and when he makes it up he’s confirming a reservation f’two, under th’name Harry Styles, please. And the girl at the host stand - the youngest host your boss has hired, you reckon, though you’d need to fact check it to be sure - picks up her pen and crosses his name out in the reservation book, a thick line running through his information and phone number before she’s grabbing a stack of menus (specials, wine, beer, and general, respectively) and telling him to follow me this way, sir as she leads him outside.

Well, you don’t see exactly where Brianna takes him before you remember the four waters that table 306 had asked for, and it’s not like you to get distracted like that by a customer - you’ve been a waitress for nearly three years since starting college and yet, no patron has ever caught your eye like Mr. Harry Styles. It’s a damn paradox, really - you only see attractive guys like him when they’re on dates and, by that point, they’re spoken for. There’s no room for you to mosey in and you wouldn’t do that to another girl, anyway, but still. You suppose it doesn’t matter (he looks wealthy enough to leave a good tip with or without a date, truthfully) but it still has you sighing as you grab four glasses, scooping ice into them and beginning to fill them with water.

Distraction is a bad look on a waitress, your manager had told you the last time you’d gotten distracted by a pretty girl and nearly dropped the plate of pasta you were holding. It makes your smile seem forced. And that was the first month you’d started working, before you’d realized that most customers treated the staff like objects to use to make themselves look or feel better - you’d seldom had to use her advice since then. But there’s a first - or second - time for everything, isn’t there? And he is your second time.

 --

 After you’ve delivered your waters, though, you’re made uncomfortably aware of the fact that Brianna had, indeed, seated Harry in your section. And it isn’t a bad thing, per se, except he is the most attractive man you’ve ever met and you can only imagine what his date is going to look like when they show up - probably dressed to the nines like he is, just a tad too fancy for an establishment like this and you’re sure you’ll feel insecure in your work-issued shirt and jeans but you suppose there’s nothing to do about it.

You try not to make it too obvious as you fix your hair, tying your ponytail higher up onto your head because it had been slipping down and you’re really not a huge fan of low ponytails. Normally you don’t mind but - sometimes the circumstances change. 

He’s at table 305, leaning over his phone, fingers drumming against the table when you walk over to him, clutching two coasters in your hands and he looks up at you with a smile as you approach. And it’s easy - giving the same introductory speech you’ve given thousands of times before, telling him your name and how I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. “Can I get you started with something to drink?” you question, eyes flickering inconspicuously to the empty seat across from him. He’d pulled it out slightly, angling it out towards the sidewalk in clear anticipation of when his date enters so she can gracefully sit down without having to make a fuss about pulling the chair out - so he’s a gentleman, and it only worsens your moral dilemma at the situation. 

“I’ll jus’ have a water, f’now,” he responds, smiling up at you and you nod, reaching down to rest one coaster in front of him and the other in front of the other seat. “M’waiting f’someone - then I’ll get somethin’ else.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him, giving him a smile as if you had no idea he was waiting for someone when, in fact, you’d known the second he walked through the doors. Quickly your eyes dart up and down the sidewalk, checking to see if anyone’s walking with their sights set on your restaurant but there’s nobody - perhaps she’s late, or he’s early, but it’s not your place to speculate anyway. “I’ll be right out with that.”

And so you make your way back inside - you have to stop at table 303 because their daughter, so small her legs barely hang off the seat she’s sitting in, has finished her Coke and wants another and you take their dish of risotto balls with you, practically licked clean (in your opinion, they’re the best appetizers on the menu, and you’ve tried just about everything.) 301 got up, leaving nearly half a plate of polpo sitting there and a full untouched bottle of wine and you can recall them specifically declining your request to take their plates earlier, claiming they were still picking at it and clearly they changed their mind - but Brianna’s rushing out to clean everything up before you tell her to, and that’s good of her. She’s new - it’s always good to see the new workers doing well. You’ll tell your manager the next time you see her, you reckon, though you hope it’s not too soon. And then 306 waves you down, seconds away from screaming for you to notice them because the man wants some red pepper flakes to sprinkle onto his pizza and it all stacks up in your mind, but you just smile and nod and turn to rush inside before anyone else can flag you down.

You don’t notice Harry’s eyes on you, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

One Coke and one dish of red pepper flakes later and you’re returning to Harry’s table, resting his drink on his coaster. It’s barely been two minutes since he last requested the water and his initial look of hope and excitement hasn’t faded, even when his eyes flicker down to his phone as though to check for a notification when he thanks you for the water.

Oh, well. Dates are late all the time, and you don’t have time to ponder on it as 304 noisily stacks their plates on top of each other, and you swoop over to grab them before taking them inside. No, it certainly isn’t your place to wonder about the status of his date because you know that you’ve been late to dates too many times than you should’ve, what with classes and work and everything else you have to do in life. You barely have time to date anymore - when you’re not studying so late you can barely keep your eyes open you’re picking up shifts, working your ass off for a paycheck that goes straight to your landlord. You hardly even hang out with your friends anymore and you’re not sure if it’s a healthy sacrifice, giving up your friends to work and study and get far less sleep than the average 22 year old but you don’t quite have a choice, do you?

Maybe his date is in the same situation - you can’t fault her for it. It certainly makes her more relatable to you.

 --

 It’s been fifteen minutes and Harry still sits on his own, nails tapping against his phone screen, turning his head to glance up and down the sidewalk like you had before but there’s no one there to join him. Part of you feels bad as you rest a plate of mozzarella agnolotti in front of the two men at 302 and they dig into it like fucking heathens who haven’t eaten in months, and when you tell them to enjoy they call out thank you with their mouths full, bits of food flying onto the table, and you feel bad for when one of the hostesses has to clean it later.

It’s times like this that you’re thankful to be a waitress and not a host. Those times are few and far between, but they still come.

303 got their entrees and 304 has their check and you don’t have an excuse not to stop back at Harry’s table, even if feeling his eyes on you has your stomach turning and your face heating. Hopefully he can’t notice (and you have gotten fairly skilled at hiding your emotions with a wide smile that’s just about as fake as they come) and your prayers seem to answer themselves when you walk to his table, ducking beneath the umbrella that hangs above the two-top and meeting his eyes.

“You want a refill on that water?” You ask, motioning with a nod down towards his half-empty glass. It’s certainly not low enough to warrant bringing out the water pitcher but you’ll deal with the hassle - going table to table asking if they need refills and all the other shit you have to do because it seems discriminatory when you only offer it to one table. 

He looks up at his glass, tilting his head and screwing up his eyes as though he really needs time to decide whether he needs more water before shaking his head, curls flopping in front of his face as he pulls his glass closer to him. “S’alright.”

“Is your date running late?” And the second the words are out of your mouth you want to smack yourself - you know it’s unprofessional to comment like that especially when it’s that fucking obvious that you’re right. You may as well have asked him if the sky is blue, or if the time really is 6:15. Irrefutable facts are embarrassing to state aloud, especially when it would get you a stern talking to if your manager were to overhear.

But Harry doesn’t seem bothered by it, nor does he seem fazed by your sudden expression like you’d just bit into a lemon. In fact, he takes the comment in stride, resting his palms on the tabletop as he squints up at you - the sun shines behind you and you’re sure it’s in his eyes, and the fact that he took the sunny seat just adds another reason to consider him perfect. “Yeah, she is,” he confesses, twiddling with his rings again, and it’s nearly impossible not to drop your gaze to his fingers and watch him go. “But - y’know - she’s a nurse, an’ all that. Probably just had t’work late an’ forgot t’text. S’alright.”

You’re not sure what to say to that and for a second you stand there in silence as Harry taps his phone, surely checking to see if he’d received a text that hadn’t lit up his phone with the notification but there’s nothing except for the lockscreen - a blurry shot of a black and white cat, face close to the camera and tongue sticking out just so. Instead you clear your throat before saying, “I’ll go grab you some olives.”

“Olives?”

“Yeah - we give everyone assorted olives.” And suddenly, it sounds stupid, like giving your customers olives is something embarrassing when, in fact, it’s customary, but Harry’s looking at you with a certain curiosity, eyes bemused as if you’re entertaining him. “They’re actually quite good. I’m sure you’d like them.”

(In truth, you tried the olives once and had hated them, but you tell your customers that every single thing your restaurant offers is your favourite and the olives are no exception.)

“Oh.” Harry shrugs, then, leaning back in his seat as you duck back out from under his umbrella. “Well, if y’say so, m’sure I’ll like ‘em.”

You smile in agreement and there’s nothing left to add so you head towards the door, wiping your palms on your apron the second you’re inside. You’re sure you’ve had that exact conversation about olives of all things with ten other customers since you’ve worked here but it feels so different with him and it nearly scares you. There’s no reason you should feel so conflicted about a patron on a date who you’ve never met nor seen before but you suppose some things truly are unexplainable.

306 is ready for their check and as you grab a ramekin full of assorted olives you call to ask Brianna to print it out - there’s nobody at the door, anyway, and you need to find an empty dish for the olives, anyway. When you’ve got that and stashed the check in your apron you head back out and Harry’s sitting craning his neck glancing down the sidewalk and you hope, for his sake, that he’s right and she just got caught up at work. (And, for your own very selfish sake, you hope she doesn’t come.)

“I’ve got some olives for you,” you tell him, resting the two ramekins on the table in front of him and he glances down at them with an air of disgust that you most certainly relate to, and your face nearly splits open in a grin. “Well, they’re complimentary, anyway, so if you don’t like them, it’s not too big of a deal.”

“They look divine,” he says, and you know he’s lying but it still makes you smile. “I’ll tell y’how they are.”

“I’ll be waiting,” and that sounds like such a schoolgirl crush response and your face briefly tightens in a cringe before you walk off to 306, pulling their check out and depositing it on their table. None of them even drank their waters that they requested - assholes.

 --

 Holy shit.

You’re really feeling for Harry, now. There’s a new young couple sitting at 301 (certainly not on a first date, you’ll add), holding hands across the table and giggling loudly and they don’t break eye contact even when they place their wine order, and when your eyes flicker over to where Harry’s sitting he’s watching them with an expression that looks just a little like envy. The men at 302 lean over and share a kiss over their pasta and you wish it were socially acceptable to ask every single couple not to fucking look at each other until his date arrives because you can tell it’s killing him - and suddenly, you’re wishing you hadn’t manifested his date not showing up. You’d rather feel the slight tinge of jealousy at watching him woo a girl than feel your stomach turn with every minute that passes without someone taking a seat across from him.

You can practically see the hope leaving his body as a half hour goes by since he’d arrived and he’s still sitting alone, tapping his nails against the condensation that had formed against his glass of water, feet tapping the sidewalk beneath him. The olives sit untouched in their ramekin except for one lonely green out that sits, half eaten, in the empty one you’d given him and after you’ve finished grating parmesan cheese over 301’s calamari and bruschetta, you wrap the cheese back up in its napkin before making your way over to him, ducking beneath the umbrella and sending him a smile that he reciprocates, albeit smaller than it had been before.

“Do you want to put in an appetizer to be here when she arrives?” you ask, pulling your pad and pen out of your apron and watching as he glances down at the menu he clutches in his hands. You know what the answer’s going to be before you’ve even asked the question but it’s unbearable watching him sit doing nothing, and you’re sure he’s hungry. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to eat before a date though you’re not totally positive what kind of guy would - anyway, it’s easy realize he’s yearning for food by the way he’d been sucking on his straw just moments before when you’d been taking 301’s appetizer order, even though all that’s left in his glass are a few measly ice cubes.

“S’fine,” he insists. “I don’t want t’order somethin’ and then have her not like it - y’know?” And he trails his finger along the appetizer section of the menu as if to showcase the amount of options, chest rising and falling in a sigh. You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile as you shut your notepad and slide it and your pen into your apron, smoothing your palms over the front of it again.

“Yeah, I know.”

Then he pushes the olives away from him, ramekins sliding against the tabletop and you grin as you look down at them before glancing back up at him, raising your eyebrows with mock surprise. “I guess you didn’t like the olives, then.”

Harry shakes his head, bringing a hand up to wipe his hair out of his eyes and you almost want to recommend that he put his hair in a ponytail (it seems to get in the way of a lot of stuff for him) but, truthfully, you love seeing his hair down. It looks so soft and luscious and you’re sure it smells spectacular, though you’ll never truly know. “I hated them,” he confesses, and you miss the way his lips turn into a smile as you giggle, sticking the full ramekin into the empty one to make it easier to carry. “D’you seriously like ‘em? They’re horrid.”

You’re supposed to say yes, but you can’t lie to him - not when he’s already having a rough night. “I don’t like them, either,” you agree, scrunching your nose as you look down at the variously coloured olives in your hands. “But, according to my manager, I love everything at this restaurant.”

He laughs at that - a genuine one, too, tossing his head back so his hair falls off his shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from laughing along with him. He’s contagious in every sense of the word and you’ve never met anyone like that - you’re smiling with him and feeling your heart break for him all at the same time and you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced it before. “Well, s’good t’know,” Harry says when he’s stopped laughing, swirling his straw around his glass so the ice cubes clink together. “I’ll take your advice wit’ a grain f’salt, shouldn’t I.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” you insist. “You’re special.” Your tone is teasing and to anyone listening in it’s clearly a joke but you gnaw on your tongue after the words are out anyway - he just smiles down at the table, scratching the surface with his nails.

“M’glad.” And your eyes scan the rest of your tables on instinct - 306 is up and there’s a stack of plates at 303 that you need to bring inside, but if it were up to you, you’d spend the rest of your day ducked into Harry’s umbrella, listening to him speak. But - well - you’re not being paid to talk to a pretty boy, most unfortunately, and you step out from under his covering to check out your other tables when - “Wait!”

You turn back around and Harry’s leaning back, holding his hand over his eyes to look at you and you take a step back over to him, bending down ever so slightly so you can hear him over the shitty music your boss insists on playing too loud to your outdoor guests. “Could I have a coke, please?” he questions, and you nod. “Thanks.”

Your other tables can wait - you scurry back inside, heading to the service station because you’d rather die than make him wait an extra second longer for his coke. Lauren - the other waitress on duty tonight - stands unwrapping a cheesecake to prepare for one of her tables and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow. “Who were you talking to?”

You shrug and you hope it isn’t painfully clear how your heartbeat thumps against your chest like a damn drum. “Just the guy at 305.”

“Oh.” Lauren pauses where she’s mixing the tupperware container of homemade whip cream to place on the cheesecake as you fill your glass with ice. “What’s his deal?”

“I think he’s being stood up,” you tell her.

 --

 Your suspicion is confirmed the next time you drop by Harry’s table, when he’s chugged his entire Coke and the rest of his water and he simply sits there, scrolling on his phone, and it’s like you can see how his battery has drained.

“Hey,” you call, voice soft as though you’re talking to a child, but you need to assess how upset he is about the situation before speaking in any other manner. You’d made the mistake before, started chatting too cheerfully to a lady being stood up and she’d shouted at you, called you a wench and a bastard and all other sorts of names you couldn’t recall before storming out, leaving a $20 for her three glasses of wine.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

“Has she texted you?” you ask, motioning down towards his phone. It’s certainly not allowed to speak to customers in such a casual manner about things other than the menu and whether they’d like to split the check but nobody’s around to reprimand you for bending the rules a bit - why not? 

He shakes his head - it’s what you’d expected but your heart still aches for him and you wish you could reach out, perhaps give him a hug if he’d want it or listen to him rant about the situation. Anything to make him feel better. “S’okay,” he insists, and to his defense he can play the part well. Doesn’t seem entirely too torn up about it and he’s looking at you like you’re a friend rather than his waitress and it makes you feel comfortable. “But - f’you don’t mind - can I order an appetizer now?” You smile, already fishing for your notepad and your pen (a sparkly black one, just for the sake of being fun.) You’re glad he’s getting something and if his date happens to show up, she’d ought to eat whatever he chooses simply as an apology for being over a goddamn hour late. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite?”

The question takes you by surprise but you regain composure quickly, feeling your face and neck heat up because Harry’s staring at you as though you’re some sort of God - like you hold the answer to the meaning of life instead of the best thing on the menu and it makes you feel good. Appreciated. “I love the risotto balls,” you admit, shifting to stand next to him so you can trace your finger along the menu in his hands, pointing to the very first appetizer listed on the page. “And the shrimp and broccoli rabe is delicious.”

“I hope you’re not lying t’me.”

“I told you,” you begin, meeting his small smile with a wider one of your own and it achieves its desired effect - his spreads wider, and you wonder if he thinks that you’re as contagious as you consider him to be. “I’ll never lie to you.”

“And why’s that?”

He’s full of questions. “Because you’re a nice customer.” It’s sort of the truth, though you think you’d scare him away if you told him the full entire truth is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve laid eyes on in your life. “When some customers are assholes, I tell them to get the vongole - it’s horrible.”

He raises his eyebrows at that with another grin, resting his menu down on the table and gazing up at you with his full attention. “Well, I trust you. I’ll get the risotto balls, in tha’ case. An’ then - whenever she gets here, I’ll get something else.”

You murmur sounds good and you don’t have to write it down in your notepad to remember it. You’d nearly gotten carried away with the conversation, nearly forgotten that he’s being fucking stood up and probably doesn’t want you to flirt with him like an idiot because you’re sure acting like one. God, no other waitresses act like this with their customers and you really, truly never have before - yet it’s something about him. You can’t fucking help yourself.

You take his Coke to refill it - he doesn’t ask and you won’t charge him for it. He simply deserves it, and you think that’s reason enough to bring the glass back inside, fill it to the top with soda and deliver it back on top of his coaster the next time you go outside to make your rounds. Harry’s appreciative, naturally, and has no reason to question why you gave him another drink to begin with. For all he knows, your restaurant has free refills, and you’ll let him think that. There’s no reason to make him pay for another drink - he’s having a bad enough day already - even though, when you’d glanced down at the watch adorning his wrist as you’d given him his drink and seen that it’s Gucci. 

No amount of money can buy a first date, you suppose, and you hate yourself for thinking it. You’d give him a first date. A million, in fact. And it’ll never happen but you can certainly dream, and you hope it doesn’t show in your eyes as the men at 302 order a panna cotta and cheesecake for dessert - 301 is digging into their pizza, looking so hopelessly in love with each other, and you catch Harry looking at them again.

The risotto balls are ready for him when you’ve delivered the desserts to 302, and you grab the plate and a block of parmesan and head right out to him. His eyes are on you the moment you step out the door, gaze looking ravenous and he’s most certainly just excited for his appetizer but you still let his watchful eye make your stomach turn.

No parmesan cheese for him - well, that’s fine. You tuck the block under your arm and tell him to enjoy, and he tells you he most certainly will before digging in and it only confirms your suspicion that he was fucking starving. In fact, by the time you’ve finished chatting to 304 about how delicious their gamberetti pizza was, one of the balls on the plate is gone and he’s staring at the second one like a man dying of hunger, but he doesn’t touch it. Surely waiting for his date to arrive to feast on it while he can talk about how nervous he was that she wasn’t going to show up that he was even entertaining the flirtatious waitress.

Gentleman.

 --

 The next twenty minutes are a blur - 304 is up and two tables in Lauren’s section are, too, and you don’t have much else to do so you help Brianna clear and wipe and set them all. By the time you’ve finished and returned the hostess’s grateful smile 302 wants more drinks and a chocolate mousse to split, and you pick up their empty panna cotta and cheesecake dishes and rush them back inside. 301 decides they want their check and they look like they’ve gotten into some sort or argument and you’re almost glad - though you’re sure they’ll be too angry to leave a good tip, you’ll take it if it means it may make Harry feel a bit better about being alone.

It’s 8:15 PM the next time you risk a glance at your phone. Only forty five minutes until you close and there haven’t been any new table sat for the better half of twenty minutes and you pray it stays that way - or, at the very least, they go to Lauren’s section instead of yours. Brianna is clearing 301 (they got up and left in a hurry and, as you’d expected, your tip is a few measly dollars) and your other tables have no need for your assistance yet so you make a beeline to Harry’s table the second you get outside and he’s watching you, sad smile toying at the corner of his lips.

“How were the risotto balls?” you inquire, drumming your fingers against his table. It’s a silly question because anyone with eyes can see how he’d gobbled half of the appetizer up, the other still untouched in their bowl of sauce, ricotta lazily tossed on top of it. You’re sure it’s cold now but you don’t quite mind them when they’re chilly - may even taste better than having them sizzling hot. “Looks like you liked them.”

He nods, pushing the plate away from him as though he can’t stand to be near it. “It’s really good,” Harry tells you and pats himself firmly on the stomach twice to prove it. It’s a silly motion that brings a smile to your lips anyway and you really, truly can’t help it. “M’gonna save the other one f’when she gets here.”

Hope is a good thing to have, you decide, and he’s clearly still holding onto it. You’d never been stood up before but you’re sure you’d have given up on the idea of a first date long before he had and you applaud him internally for that - he’s patient and kind and understanding, you decide. Much more tolerant than anyone else you know would be in this sort of situation and it only adds to the growing desire you have for him, but you push it down - for the sake of professionalism. “Well, that’s nice,” you tell him and he smiles, the expression tight and complimentary. “Can I get you anything else?”

“M’good,” Harry says, “but - can y’show me where the bathroom is inside?” He motions with one swirling finger to the empty glasses in front of him and his grin looks rather embarrassed when he looks back up to you. “Think I drank m’drinks a bit too fast.”

You laugh out loud at that and if he notices that your giggling goes on for just a beat longer than  appropriate, he doesn’t acknowledge it and wow, don’t you feel like a damn schoolgirl with a crush. Laughing at his joke-that-wasn’t-a-joke and feeling your face burn up when you look at him and having your stomach turn when he stands up to follow you into the restaurant and holy hell, he’s tall. You feel embarrassed walking in with him behind you because you’re not sure what he’s looking at, and what if you have a stain on your jeans? Or the back of your shirt? He’s dressed so nice and your face is fucking flaming and you avoid eye contact with Lauren as you point him towards the restroom.

“Thanks, love,” he says, voice thick and heavy as he maneuvers through the indoor tables to get to the restroom and you send him off with a small wave - just a jerk of your hand - and the second he’s out of sight you wipe your palms on your apron again.

Lauren’s making a cappuccino and so you flock over to her, naturally. You can tell she just redid her ponytail because it sits higher on her head and you think you should do that too, so you pull your black scrunchie out of your hair and work on assembling it into a better ponytail.

“That’s the guy from 305, isn’t it?” she questions.

“The guy I took to the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh - yeah.” You swallow, bending down to glance into the metal of the espresso machine to see your blurred reflection, making sure your ponytail is as smooth as possible before tying it up. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s nice.”

She hums softly, grabbing a small spoon and stirring the coffee once then twice before resting it inside the cup, already reaching for another cup to begin another. “Are you sure he’s being stood up?”

You scrunch up your nose, leaning back against the counter and tilting your head in slight confusion. “I’m pretty positive - he’s been here for, like, an hour and 15 minutes waiting for a girl and he’s still hopeful that she’s going to come.” And then you sigh, the noise overly dramatic and your coworker rolls her eyes. “Why?”

“He was checking you out, babe.”

You raise your eyebrows, head turning to the side so fast you swear you nearly get whiplash as you stare at Lauren. She simply stands, making her cappuccino as if she hadn’t just blew you away with her observation and you’re sure it meant nothing but it still has your heart thumping violently against your chest and you exhale. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Girl, I was watching - he was. His eyes never left your ass. He almost ran into the door, too.”

“You’re lying.” “Why would I lie? He’s cute, isn’t he? Aren’t you happy?”

“Laur, he’s being stood up. I know he is. He’s not focusing on my ass - he’s probably crying in the bathroom right now.”

She laughs at that, hooking her finger in the handles of the two cappuccinos, steam billowing from both of them like a fire. “Well, maybe he is being stood up, but - I swear to god - he’s into you.” And then she’s walking back down the aisle between tables to reach the front of the restaurant, headed out the door without another glance as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you and you stare after her, mouth agape and palms sweating and you wipe them on your apron once more.

 --

 Harry returns to his seat and, for a while, you don’t check on him.

He seems fine, anyway. Decently enough. Sure, his drinks are still empty  in front of him and he leaves that one risotto ball alone and, every so often, he glances up and down the sidewalk before bringing his gaze back down to his phone but it doesn’t quite look like he needs anything.

Anyway, it’s 8:30. Even if she shows up they wouldn’t be able to stay very long and, no matter what, he deserves a fulfilling first date. Maybe she did get caught at work and, when he leaves, they’ll laugh about it. Reschedule it for a different day where he picks her up from her house, and then who knows? Maybe they’ll go ice skating or see a movie. And this entire situation will be something they’ll laugh out and forget and they’ll probably get fucking married, with your luck.

You’d be happy for him, of course. And even though you’ll likely never speak to him again after he leaves for the night, you do want the best for him, though you think the best for him would be you and not some girl who stood him up with no text.

303 is gone after spending entirely too long sitting and chatting and you wave them off with a goodbye and a bright smile, grabbing their check just as Brianna runs out to begin clearing it off. Full glasses of water are dumped into the plants and you help her bring them inside before going to deposit the check - it’s a nice tip and you’re thankful. They’d been a kind enough table but sometimes those are the type to screw you over with the tip and you’re beyond glad they hadn’t - you’ve had a strange enough night without the added weight of no tip.

You head back outside with 302’s check and drop it at their table, returning their grateful smile with one of your own. There’s nowhere else to go or visit besides 305 and so you head over to him, ducking underneath his umbrella for what seems like the thousandth time that day and it’s then that you can see his face, ever so slightly crestfallen as he stares at his phone and your heart just about drops into your ass, and without a second thought you pull out the empty seat across from him and sit.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and you’re fairly certain you already know, but there’s no shame in inquiring further - his phone is clutched in his hand and he looks up at you before clearing his throat and that’s enough confirmation for you.

“She’s out wit’ her friends - they’re at a bar.” And, as if to prove it to you, he slides his phone across the table to you and you crane your neck to glance down at the screen and it’s an Instagram story - a boomerang of four girls clinking their drinks together, and you scrunch your nose. “She’s the one on the right.”

The one on the right is decently pretty - blonde hair straightened and falling down her back, drink spilling over the edges of her glass when she clicks it too enthusiastically with her friends. Her dress is tight and sparkly and nearly overpowers the entire story and you can already make your mind up about how you feel about her and, needless to say, it isn’t good.

“Oh.” You watch the boomerang for another couple of seconds before pushing his phone back over to him and he gives you a tight lipped grin. “I’m sorry, Harry. That really sucks.”

“S’alright.” He shrugs and you can tell it isn’t alright but you don’t say anything else until he adds, “I wasn’t tha’ into her, anyway. M’friend wanted to set us up. I guess she wasn’t really into it but - I wasn’t either. S’all fair.”

Your heart hurts for him - she wasn’t into it but you know he was and before you can think to stop yourself you reach over, resting your hand over his and holy shit. You shouldn’t do that. He can lie and say he doesn’t mind but you know he does and you’re still his fucking waitress - you shouldn’t touch him like you’ve known him any longer than two hours. Just as you go to pull away with a frenzied apology he’s turning his hand around so your palms are pressed together and then he squeezes your hand with a soft sigh and you’re nearly paralyzed at the motion.

It can’t be more than a few seconds that you two sit like that, his hand tight around yours and you can hardly breathe, heart thumping in your chest before he says, “What time d’you close?”

“Uh -” you clear your throat just as he releases your hand and you withdraw it immediately - your hands are sweating and you press them on the table. “We close at 9, but - I only have one more table, and they’re about to leave … so …”

“What else d’you have t’do?”

“All my closing stuff,” you begin, sticking up your fingers as you list each one. “I need to roll silverware, get ice, put the glasses away, take the trash from the bathroom. And then I’ll probably get something to eat.”

Harry nods, gazing almost wistfully into the night as though he’s some sort of philosopher and you lean in, waiting to hear whatever he has to say next - “Could y’eat with me when y’get your food? If y’don’t mind.” And it takes you a moment to react as he adds, “S’just - you’re nice t’talk to, an’ all tha’. But y’don’t have to.”

You swallow thickly, already feeling your stomach flipping and your knee jiggling and you nod - first a quick jerk of your head, up and down, and then faster. 302 is arranging their stuff to leave, grabbing their boxes and shoving their credit cards into their pockets and you wish you could tell them to get the hell out because you can’t start closing until they leave and now you really have a motivation to leave. “Yeah. That - that sounds good.”

It sounds more than good, in fact, and you don’t even care if you’re some sort of rebound to him in this moment - you’ll take it. You’ll eat your dinner with him and then whatever comes after - you don’t care. You just want tonight, or, at the very least, right now, and anything after that is simply a bonus and you’ll deal with it later because he wants to eat with you. He wants to hang out with you. He likes you, and maybe even in that way, too.

You’re standing up uncomfortably fast, nearly tripping over the seat you’d inhabited as you rub your palms together. “Well - um. My other table is getting ready to leave, so I’m gonna - gonna start doing my stuff.”

“Sounds good,” and he’s so casual with it that it sends heat blazing up your cheeks, and you turn to head back inside with a newly found skip in your step that’s too full of joy to be embarrassing.

Brianna’s already begun the silverware when you get inside - with only 2 tables left, there’s no need for her to stay, but you tell her that you’ll roll if she does the other closing duties and she accepts because she’s horrific at rolling silverware. They’re always loose and lumpy and too big or too small and none of you want to tell her because it’s easier to just make pretend like it’s your favorite closing duty to do - well, whatever. She’s gone downstairs to get a bucket of ice before she can ponder on your insistence and you settle in your seat, grabbing a knife and two forks and resting them in the middle of your linen to begin to roll.

You have the motion down nearly to an instinct and it gives you time to glance outside. Through the windows you can see just the side profile of Harry’s face, only slightly illuminated by his phone screen as his lips wrap around his straw, surely sucking on the dissolved ice cubes in one of his glasses and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest - you nearly drop a fork when you go to begin a new roll.

 --

 Your pasta is ready entirely too soon.

You’re finished rolling silverware and the ice is filled and the bathrooms are stocked and clean but you hadn’t emotionally prepared yourself enough to eat with him. But your fettuccine sits, steaming on the counter ready for you to pick up and you stab the ticket once you’ve confirmed it’s yours, grabbing the burning hot plate with your one hand and grabbing a spoon with the other.

You can still see Harry’s side profile when you peer out the window and he’s glancing around, eyes darting from the sidewalk to the door as though he’s waiting for you and you know you can’t keep him alone for another second, so you inhale a deep sigh and walk out the door, pasta in hand.

He just about perks up when he sees you, back straightening and dropping his phone onto the table. You swear he’s about to get up and pull the chair out for you, too, but you beat him to it - duck underneath the umbrella and rest your plate on the table, slipping into your chair with ease and a soft cough into your fist.

(You’re not sick - not in the slightest. It just alleviates your stress, you suppose. Eliminates some awkward silence.)

“Hey,” Harry says, elbows resting on the table so he can look at you in full and you can already feel your body flaming as you pick up your spoon, sifting it through the thick pasta on your plate. Alfredo - God, it’s your favorite. You’ve been trying to branch out and try more things on the menu but it always takes you back to your damn fettuccine alfredo. “I hope this isn’t weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you insist, collecting a spoonful of pasta and bringing it to your mouth. The smell is intoxicating and you pause when the spoon is just an inch from your mouth. “I’m sure you had a rough night.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat as you take a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as though you’re pondering something important. “It wasn’t too rough,” he tells you, and you raise your eyebrows. “It would’ve been bad - but you helped.”

“Really?”

“Sure y’did.” You take another spoonful of fettuccine as he continues. “It sucks t’be stood up, but you were nice.”

“I could tell you were upset.”

“An’ you couldn’t tell you were makin’ it better?”

You think for a moment - think back on the countless interactions you’d had with the near-stranger sitting across from you, pulling the plate with one lone risotto ball over to him - and then shake your head. “I just thought you were being sweet.”

He laughs, reaching for his abandoned fork resting on the side of the plate and cutting in to the second risotto ball - you can tell how much he’d been longing to eat it simply from the expression on his face when he takes the first bite - with a shrug. “Sure I was,” and you laugh at that, ripping the piece of bread on the side of your plate and half and dipping it in the sauce, “but you must’ve realized I like you - didn’t you?”

“Well, I did think it was curious that you held my hand.”

“Y’did it first.”

“Well, the technicalities don’t matter.”

It brings a grin to your face to hear Harry laugh at you, curls flopping in his face, crossing his arms over his chest as he chews on a particularly large bite of his risotto ball. Your pasta is already nearly gone (you’d vastly underestimated how hungry you were) and you scrape the sides of the plate with your bread, collecting all of the excess sauce on the dough. “Was feeling a bit guilty,” you confess, drumming your fingertips on the tabletop, and he tilts his head at you, “‘cause I was starting to feel a bit thankful you got stood up.”

For a moment you wonder if you’d said the wrong thing - if you’ve ruined this entire thing before it’s even started, because it’s an uncomfortably real risk -, but then he’s reaching out to rest his hand overtop of yours and your body overflows with relief. “I agree,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand, and you swallow. “Y’had me prayin’ she wasn’t going to show up.”

You smile, looking down at the table and your empty plate and his half eaten risotto ball that he’s already taking another bite of and it all seems so surreal - like you’re going to wake up in your bed an hour before your shift starts, cursing yourself out for creating such an immersive reality - but nothing about his touch on yours is fake. It’s all so spectacular - so real - and you exhale. “We’re closing in 5 minutes,” you tell him, and his eyebrows scrunch together like he’s seen something he regrets. “Reckon we should take this someplace else?” “Someplace else?”

Your stomach flips and you wonder for what feels like the millionth time this evening if you’d made a mistake - read him wrong - took things too far. It’s an unfortunate habit you have and you certainly wouldn’t be shocked if you’ve put your foot in it this early into the relationship - you’ll regret it, but you regret a lot of things. In a couple of weeks, you’ll forget about it, won’t you? You’ve done it before. But you simply shrug, motioning with your free hand to the empty tables among you both. “I live - um - a couple blocks up the road. If you want to come over. And - it’s fine if you don’t - just putting it out there.”

Harry stares at you, expression nearly blank, for a beat too long and you shift in your seat - but then there’s a smile stretching across his face, and he pushes his half-eaten risotto ball in towards the center of the table. “That sounds perfect,” he tells you, and your heart thumps in your chest once more.

 --

 For the record, you hadn’t anticipated having anyone over to your apartment tonight, and it shows.

There’s dirty dishes from the previous two days piled in the sink, shoes strewn all over the entryway and when you peer your head into the sitting room, your pajamas are strewn over the couch next the wine stain you’d spent hours trying to scrub out. Your face burns as you turn the lights on and Harry steps inside, head turning left and right as he examines your living space and you wish you’d cleaned up after yourself before you left for work - you’ve been meaning to do the dishes - why hadn’t you done them?

“It’s - um - not much,” you begin, shutting and locking the door firmly behind you and motioning with your arms to the entirety of your apartment. “And it’s kind of dirty. I just didn’t expect anyone to come here, or I would’ve fixed it up a bit.”

He smiles, peering at the photos adorning your walls. “Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he insists, bringing his finger up to trail along the high school graduation photo you’d taken with all of your friends until he spots you, smack in the middle, holding up your diploma with a wide grin - you don’t speak to half of the people in that photo anymore, but you love it. Love reminiscing on a time before college and work and rent, where you could just relax with your friends. “Y’look awfully pretty in this photo.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, clasping your hands behind your back as you watch Harry examine each photo. None of them are interesting enough to warrant his level of attention and you’re sure he’s simply trying to be polite but you still appreciate it - it’s nice to imagine that he has that much interest in a photo your mother had taken of you and your dog on a hike. “Do you want me to - to pour some wine or something?”

“That’s alright,” he says, turning around to face you and you glance up at him with a soft smile as he rests his hand on your shoulder, fingertips trailing up and down your arm and sending goosebumps popping up over your skin. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt like this about a boy and it’s making you fucking crazy, torn between wanting to wrap your arms around him or have him bend you over the counter - you can’t quite decide. 

“Alright.” You roll on the balls of your feet as Harry steps into your kitchen, leaning against the counter with an air of casual arrogance and adoration as he stares down at you. You pad into the kitchen behind him and press your palms to the countertop, lifting yourself up to sit beside him, and you hum softly. “Well - we could talk, then.”

“Y’wanna talk?”

“I wanna do whatever you wanna do,” you confess, and it’s the truth.

He hums at that, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth and you watch him, breath caught in your throat, as he pushes himself from the counter, doing nearly a full spin before landing directly in front of you and your knees part to allow him in between them like an instinct - your face heats as he pushes himself closer to you, thighs closing around his waist. “Y’seem nervous,” he says, palms pressing to the counter on either side of your body and you inhale a shaky breath, shaking your head.

“I’m not nervous,” you tell him, even if it’s a little white lie. “I just haven’t done this in a while -” and that isn’t a lie in the slightest.

“Ah,” and then Harry nods like some sort of therapist, hands already dropping to your waist, fingertips scratching at zipper of your jeans as if testing the waters. “An’ you’re sure y’want this?”

“I’m positive - please, Harry, I really want this. Wanted this from - from the second I saw you.”

It’s all the approval he needs, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans with ease and you loop your arms around his neck, using him as leverage to lift your hips up and he pulls your jeans off and down your thighs, leaving them bunched up by your knees. The next step is your panties, so damp you can tell he feels it through the fabric when he pressed his fingers against you and your hips jerk into his hands, dropping your head into his shoulder as he exhales.

“I’ll go slow,” he tells you, voice low and raspy and you’re not sure if he’s trying to make it sound like that or if it just naturally happens - well, you can’t decide which one is hotter, truthfully. “Jus’ wanna make y’feel good, love.”

“Mhm,” you nod, gnawing on your bottom lip as Harry hooks two fingers in the crotch part of your panties, pulling them to the side and the cold air of your apartment hits your cunt in a way that has your breathing picking up and he pauses, fingers so dangerously close to where you need them. You know he’s going to ask if you’re okay - if you want him to stop - and you don’t, not by a fucking long shot, and you push your hips into his hand as way of answering his unasked question.

Harry takes the hint, of course. He isn’t stupid.

Two fingers circle your clit, spreading your moisture along the sensitive nub like he’s been wanting to do it all fucking night - there’s some sort of desperation to his movements that has your legs tightening around him, head burying further into his shoulder, and his free arm hooks around one of your thighs, hoisting it further up his waist. His breathing is hot against your head as his digits slide up and down your folds and you’re not sure if he’s attempting to tease you or not but, no matter, it’s working. You’re ready to get on your knees and beg for him if you need to, but just as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers dip down to slide in between your folds.

A soft moan emits from your throat as his hand smooths up and down your thigh, fingers dipping just barely into your cunt before pulling out - and he does it a few times, giving you a bit of what you want and then tearing it away and you whine, thrusting your hips into his hands and Harry presses a kiss to the side of your head before sliding his fingers inside of you. Two to start, just to ease you in, pushing them in slow and steady until you can feel his cool rings pressed against your pussy and you throw your head back with a moan.

He pauses, lip still between his teeth as he stares at you, your chest heaving beneath him and body fucking quivering in his gasp. “Tell me how it feels,” he breathes, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and you swallow your desperate whine for him to move.

“Feels so good,” you murmur, smoothing your hands up and down his neck as he stares at you as though daring you to break his gaze. “Please, Har -”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me - with your fingers, Har, please - make me feel so good -” and just to top off your request you lean in, crashing your lips so violently against his that your teeth clash and tongues collide, and you can taste everything you’d served him that evening and holy hell it tastes delicious. Perhaps it’s just him, dropping your thigh against the table so he can grab onto the back of your neck and keep your face attached to his, lips parted and wild and dominant as he pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in with a newfound vigor -

The levee breaks, then, with your lips mashed together, and you’re more than thankful for it.