#fritelle

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

LE MARDI GRAS aura lieu le 21 février 2023, on mange des beignets de carnaval

En Italie c'est des Fritelles

[francesco-scanagatta]

Al #laboratorio #venetkens - #veneti #antichi si mangiano le #fritelle https://www.instagram.com/p/CoPyV-xLawr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Pierre Fritel - La Vision de Jeanne d'Arc, 1890.

[justmythings-stuff]

Le uova a colazione... mi viene da sbrattare solo a vederle 😭

Però non è male la colazione salata, vi dirò...

[feralbutfluffy]

Give a Man a Mask

The man who caught Aziraphale’s eye was lounging rather indecorously on one of the many benches lining the walls of the ballroom. He (because despite every inch of them being covered, Aziraphale was sure it was a he) wore a well-tailored black velvet suit jacket that fit snuggly over a black waistcoat intricately embroidered with gunmetal filigree. Underneath the waistcoat, Aziraphale could just make out a black shirt and a flash of burgundy lace at the man’s throat. Black leather gloves laced up around his wrists, and matching knee-high boots fit snuggly over the man's fitted black trousers.

Aziraphale sighed with envy. He could never pull off something like that.

Of course - he told himself - it wasn’t the man necessarily that had caught his eye. It was the clothing; he had always noticed and admired fine clothing, and his outfit really was exquisitely made.

Besides, it was hard not to notice someone who had dressed in such stark contrast to the rest of the guests. It seemed everyone else was dressed to excess, resplendent in feathers and lace, gemstones and pearls. This man’s costume, by contrast, was downright modern; minimal but striking, yet still in keeping with Carnivale. The handstitched leather Plague Doctor mask beneath a black tricorn hat completed the look. It should have looked offputting, really...

It did not.

The man looked less like a man, Aziraphale thought, and more like a long black shadow curving against the wall. Aziraphale popped a fritelle into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing. 

If he was honest with himself (which he would prefer not to be, all things considered) he knew what had really attracted his attention; there was something about him - the lazy confidence evident in the way he was sitting, or the dark clothing perhaps - that made him think of Crowley. He hadn’t seen the demon in a few years, and although he was absolutely loathe to admit it even within the privacy of his own mind, he did rather miss him.

Well. He missed him and worried about him in equal parts. Handing over the thermos of Holy Water a few years before had certainly ramped up his anxiety.

He was extremely glad of his full-face volto mask as he watched the figure out of the corner of his eye. He popped another fritelle into his mouth under the mask, chewed, and swallowed with a little groan of pleasure. They really were delicious.

The Plague Doctor swiveled to face him as if he had heard him, and although there was no possible way the stranger could have heard anything of the sort from across the crowded ballroom, Aziraphale blushed ferociously. The heat of it was almost unbearable behind his full-face mask.

He turned his body away from the man, staring down at the sweet delights laid out on the banquet table, and tried very hard to ignore what felt like a heated stare. He gazed down at the galani, his mouth suddenly dry.

Although he was almost expecting it, the dark presence at his elbow a moment later made him start.

“Buonasera, come sta?” said the Plague Doctor in perfect Italian, tipping his hat in a quick formal bow.

Aziraphale had been right about it being a man.

He jerked back at the greeting, startled by the man’s sudden proximity, and scrambled for a reply. 

“Oh! Buonasera!” Aziraphale could think of nothing else to say. He cringed behind his mask and wondered if he could miracle his way out of a conversation that was embarrassing before it had even begun.

The Plague Doctor was wearing a zendale beneath his tricorn, and the silk hood concealed every part of his head not covered by mask or hat. He tilted his head, looking like a curious raven, and rested both his gloved hands on top of a cane Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. His tight grip - Aziraphale could see his knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves - obscured most of what looked like a beautifully carved gunmetal handle.

He looked up. The large eyesockets of the mask were filled with dark glass lenses, revealing absolutely nothing. Aziraphale smoothed down his more traditional costume. The cream and white concoction with gold embroidery and an abundance of lace ruffles had rather delighted him when he’d stepped out this morning, but it felt quite indulgent next to this austere creature.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself?” said the Plague Doctor in an extremely thick Italian accent, leaning forward on his cane so that the beak of his mask almost punctured his bubble of personal space.

“Oh yes, very much so!” Aziraphale nodded, wondering what had drawn this man to his side and how he could possibly reverse it. For all that he had been intrigued before, he hadn’t intended to actually engage the stranger in conversation. There was something extremely unsettling about him up close. Perhaps it was the costume, or the way he was standing; it was patient, watchful, almost… predatory.

Aziraphale shuddered, and the Plague Doctor’s head tilted the other way, making it clear he had noticed. 

“Va bene, Signore?” Are you well?

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh yes… Sto bene!” I am well. There was a brief pause while he summoned up formal Italian and hurriedly added a thank you. “La ringrazio!”

The Plague Doctor nodded. “How did you come to be here?” The words came low and slow, and Aziraphale felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his skin prickling with awareness.

He had always had a bit of a weakness for the Italian accent. 

“It was suggested to me by the concierge at my hotel,” he smiled, even though the man couldn’t see it. “He thought I might enjoy it, and he was right! I am enjoying it tremendously! The food alone...!" He made an appreciative noise. "How did you…? Are you local to the area?”

A slight tilt of the head as if the Plague Doctor were considering his question. It was surprising how demonstrative he was able to be without a single facial expression.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Aziraphale thought he could hear a smile in his voice, “Although for tonight... Certo. If you like.” 

The man swept into a much deeper, more theatrical bow than before. The black feather in his hat almost grazed Aziraphale’s chest. “This is my palazzo - my festa - and I am your host for the evening. You are…” he said, and straightened, holding out his hand. When Aziraphale hesitated, the man crooked his fingers impatiently and for some reason Aziraphale obeyed, quickly placing his white silk-gloved hand in the man’s leather-clad grip. 

“... You are extremely welcome here,” the man finished, bringing Aziraphale's knuckles to his mask.

It didn’t seem to matter that there were no lips there to brush against his hand; Aziraphale felt it as if the man had kissed his knuckles open-mouthed. A dart of something hot and unutterable shot through him, flared up and burnt out, thankfully vanishing before Aziraphale had time to recognise it and panic.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. La ringrazio,” he said, feeling flustered.

“No need for such formality, Signore,” the Plague Doctor said warmly, tugging his hand without warning to bring them shoulder to shoulder. He tucked Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his elbow and patted his hand as if to reassure him that it was alright.

Aziraphale thought that it was probably not alright.

Surely it was not alright to walk arm in arm with a total stranger? Surely there was something morally grey about taking a turn with a mortal Italian dandy who apparently owned a palazzo and, by extension, the many sweet treats Aziraphale had been helping himself to throughout the evening?

If nothing else, surely he should feel some guilt or shame about enjoying the closeness of a stranger who reminded him so much of Crowley?

Continue reading...

[mothmiso]

Wallonie - Ferme Fritel (2) (3) (4) (5) by Eric Piret

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

Father's Day at the Ghurch

(related to this post)

Name: Father's Day (English), "Festa del Papà"/"La Festa del Babbo" (Italian), "Dies Patris" (Latin). Date: March 19th or third Sunday in June (Ghurch), various dates worldwide. Celebration: Of fathers, whether blood, chosen, or clerical, and Lucifer.

Description: At morning mass, Papa gives a sermon on what it means to be and to have a strong father figure in someone's life, and how important fathers (biological and otherwise) can be. He also praises Nostro Dis Pater (Lucifer), and asks that he guide all those who wish to become fathers, so that they may be good ones; he also asks that Lucifer guide those who don't have strong father figures, so that they can have the support they need. He encourages his congregation to celebrate their fathers and father figures on this day.

Those celebrating are encouraged to bring their fathers/father figures to a special breakfast hosted in the cafeteria/dining hall. Papa is also there, and he gives a toast to the fathers/father figures and Lucifer before they all eat. The food usually includes pancakes, wine, and Zeppole di San Giuseppe.

Those celebrating also give their fathers/father figures gifts, such as cards, watches, wine, trinkets, ties, etc. Whatever they think their fathers/father figure(s) might like.

Those celebrating also usually make their fathers/father figures treats, such as bignè di San Giuseppe, fritelle di San Giuseppe, Sfince di San Giuseppe, and or whatever the favourite food(s) of the fathers/father figures is. Those celebrating also sometimes give them lemons or oranges (for good luck). Of course, this varies depending on the part of the world they're in.

Everyone is encouraged to pay their respects and thanks to Lucifer, in their own ways. This may include private or public rituals, or rituals including a group of offspring and their father(s).

Papa holds an evening sermon, thanking the fathers, father figures, and Lucifer for their love and support and guidance. He then performs a ritual and prayer honouring Lucifer, while the altar is decorated with gladiolus, carnations (pink and red), and sunflowers.

After evening mass, Papa leads the congregation in a rendition of "A Mio Padre" by Andrea Bocelli.

[1five1two]

'Mater dolorosa'. Pierre Fritel. 1878.

[italianpersonwithashippersheart]

List 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people who liked/reblogged something from you. Get to know your followers and mutuals!

Thanks for the ask!! Gonna change it up a bit from the last one and say what has made me happy recently.

Dead Friend Forever is making pretty happy in this period

Releated how much more I am interacting with people on tumblr thanks to DFF

The fact that I might be writing my first actual fanfiction, as soon as I can get enough spoons

These Fritelle (Fried dounought ball I guess you would called them in English) I eat a couple of weeks back, with my family, that I am still thinking about.

I am trying more new things recently, getting a bit braver!!

[moonybyte]

I want to know where that 1st reply writer lives, because potato pancakes are extremely popular in at least 19 European countries as well as Korea and in jewish cuisine for ages. It's definitely not a case of "Americans try to make burgers" and very much a case of "wonder if it tastes good to fry this veggie I found on the ground".

Like, boxty, Reibekuchen, reifjes, patatnik, draniki, blynai, placky, latka, rarakor, gamja-jeon, kuku sib zamini, fritelle di patate and loads of others exist. And those are just the ones listed on Wikipedia.

Potatoes kind of went awff when they invented hash browns

look at this Perfect Potato Patty im grillin

[mondosol]

Make Carnival Cake Fritters: A Step-by-Step Guide

Carnival season in Italy is a time of vibrant colors and joyous celebrations, featuring beloved Carnival cakes and fritters known as "Fritelle." These treats captivate the taste buds of both young and old, and with the provided guidance.

I want to share the story of my favorite sweet that I always eat during Carnival in my town in Italy. Learn how to make Carnival Cake fritters with this guide and the tips I’ve gathered from my experiences. Carnival cakes Castagnole, fritole, ravioli, frittelle There are different Italian names and versions of the same Carnival cakes. It is a sort of good and spongy fried cream puffs based on…

[playvod-cameroun]

Jeux vidéo - Les nouveaux maîtres du monde à voir sur PlayVOD Cameroun

Cher passionné de documentaires, sachez que d’intéressants reportages sont mis en avant sur PlayVOD Cameroun. Faites vite un saut sur la plateforme pour apprécier par exemple « Jeux vidéo - Les nouveaux maîtres du monde », une réalisation signée Jérôme Fritel.

[visualpoett]

The Vision of Joan of Arc

Artist: Pierre Fritel

[freeusemuses]

In the words of Mama Fritelle...

HIT PURÉE

five hundred and thirty people laid off from riot. We aren't even one month into 2024.

there is no security in the work within game development. My dad would tell me 'just work hard, be essential and earn your place' but that isn't how it is anymore. You could be the best, most amazing artist, as so many of my friends who were laid off were, and it doesn't matter. They will get rid of you just as easily. I don't even know what to feel anymore, but as someone who had been laid off in the past, I cannot convey how devastating it is to have your life uprooted just like that.

[18arte]

fritelle

[imoim36news]

GS Pierre Brocheux - người đồng tác fake cuốn sách có tiếng Đông Dương: Một nền nằm trong địa nhập nhằng mức độ 1858 - 1954 vì Omega+ và NXB Trái đất vừa giữ hành trên Việt nam Phái mạnh. Ông sinh vào năm 1931, trên Chợ Rộng lớn - TP.Sài Gòn. Những người dân lính và kỵ sĩ sinh sống Đông Dương vào những năm 1870, tranh xung khắc của P.. Fritel dựa trên một bức hình ảnh THƯ VIỆN QUỐC GIA PHÁP Cũng theo căn nhà nghiên cứu vớt Nguyễn Quang quẻ Diệu cho biết thêm thông tin: “Tổ tông Pierre Brocheux là kẻ Pháp tới lập nghiệp sinh sống Đông Dương năm 1929, u ông xuất thân vào một hộ gia đình Việt nam nhập tịch Pháp. Pierre Brocheux quý phái Paris học tập tú tài, rồi theo học tập CN và TS ngành sử sinh sống ĐH Sorbone, giảng dạy dỗ và nghiên cứu vớt lịch sử vẻ vang Á Đông trên khoa sử, địa, khoa học tập xã hội nằm trong ĐH Paris Diderot từ trên đầu trong năm 1970. Năm 2018, Pierre Brocheux, thuộc người các bạn Daniel Hémery, được Quỹ văn hóa truyền thống Phan Châu Trinh trao giải Việt nam Phái mạnh học tập. Tôi với thực hiện nay bài bác phỏng vấn ông, tất cả vẫn xong tuy nhiên vẫn nấn ná đợi một lá thư của ông". Vào văn phiên bản gởi cho tới Quỹ Phan Châu Trinh Khi được trao giải Việt nam Phái mạnh học tập, GS Pierre Brocheux viết lách: "Quỹ Phan Châu Trinh đã lấy một vinh hạnh thiệt rộng lớn lao Khi trao mang đến tôi phần quà năm 2018 của Quỹ. Quỹ vẫn trao thưởng cho 1 công trình xây dựng... nội dung gốc : thanhnien.vn #Sử #gia #Pierre #Brocheux #cây #đại #thụ #từng #nhận #thưởng #Quỹ #Phan #Chu #Trinh #mất #trên #Pháp