#his version of melted cheese and bread is grilled cheese

[jonathanbyersphd]

Thinking about Karen making fondue and Jonathan being confused and delighted

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 8]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.3K

Yunho had a pep in his step as he came back to the restaurant on Friday morning. He was excited to come back to work so he arrived earlier. Yesterday felt weird to not go into the restaurant to work.

"(y/n)?" He poked his head in. You were alone and had your AirPods on, listening to music as you worked on whatever was in front of you. You hadn't heard him come in. Yunho blinked and stepped forward, tapping your shoulder lightly.

"Who-" You jumped back in fear, as if you were afraid of getting attacked. Yunho flinched also, surprised by your fearful reaction.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" Yunho fully bowed in apology.

"It's fine. I didn't hear you come in with my music playing." You frowned slightly, removing your AirPods and tucking them away. Yunho cleared his throat.

"Where are the others?" Yunho asked as he went to put his bag and coat in the locker room.

"I told them to sleep in a little. Sometimes, working in peace and quiet is what I need." You replied, mixing the pie batter in the bowl.

"I understand." Yunho nodded. You couldn't help but involuntarily snort at that, did he really understand what you meant? He seemed like someone who likes to surround himself with noise and other people, someone who doesn't like to be alone or for the environment to be too quiet.

"Hang on, let me make a coffee." Yunho said and went out to make himself a macchiato. At the same time, he made you an iced americano, bringing the cups into the kitchen.

"Thank you. Are you hungry?" You asked as you wiped your hands on your apron towel and took a sip before you went into the walk in.

"I guess?" Yunho blinked in confusion.

"I'll make you a sandwich." You came back out with a prep tray of items. You unwrapped the paper and there was a chunk of what looked like beef in the middle.

"What's that?" He came next to you, leaning to see as you used your knife to shave off slices of the meat.

"It's salt beef. Or corned beef. I made it yesterday for Seonghwa and got it ready this morning to give out." You explained.

"Here." You handed him a slice to try.

"Mmm! It's good." Yunho's eyes widened as he ate it. When he thought corned beef, his brain could only think of that chunk of meat that comes in a can. He didn't think that it was the processed version of this piece of meat in front of him.

"This is rye bread, Russian dressing, swiss cheese and sauerkraut. It's like a fermented, pickled cabbage." You showed him each component as you stacked the sandwich.

"Then we grill it to make a sandwich, a reuben sandwich." You pressed the sandwich onto a hot pan until the cheese melted and the bread toasted.

"It looks so good!" Yunho clapped his hands excitedly. When you took it off the pan, you sliced it down the middle.

"There you go, a reuben sandwich." You slid it to him. Yunho took his phone out to take a picture first.

He picked up the sandwich and took a big bite. The crunch of the bread with all the components, the sauerkraut cutting the creamy dressing and cheese, it was amazing.

"This is amazing." Yunho melted, leaning his elbows on the table as he savoured the taste.

As he enjoyed the sandwich, you went back to preparing the pastries and cakes for the day. You would occasionally glance over at Yunho eating his sandwich. Honestly, you had no idea why you felt so much anticipation making the sandwich for him. Maybe because you've been quite amused by his reactions to food so far.

"I'm glad you like it." You said, turning around to mix the muffin batter. Yunho smiled softly as he looked at the back of your head. It warmed his heart that this was you starting to open up to him.

"This thing... sauerkraut? How do you make it?" Yunho asked.

"It's actually really easy. You shred the cabbage and massage it with salt until the water comes out then you let it pickle with it's own natural bacteria and enzymes." You informed.

"So I'm guessing you made this?" He held up a strand of the pickled cabbage. You nodded your head.

"Well, I'm sad that this is my last bite." He pouted, staring at the small piece of sandwich that was left in his hands.

"You can always learn to make it yourself then make more." You replied.

"Speaking of, is there anything I can help you with? Since you're doing this on your own." Yunho straightened up, going to the sink to wash his hands and the plate the he used.

"The boys are coming in 30 minutes. But you can still help." You shrugged. He nodded, going to the locker room to retrieve a spare apron. After tying the string around his waist, he pulled his sleeves up and washed his hands again.

"Okay, chef! What do I do?" Yunho saluted with a big smile as he jogged over to where you were.

"We're going to make the coffee crumb cake. Measure all this into here while I make the crumb that goes in the middle and on top." You pointed on the recipe sheet and all the ingredients he needed.

"I can do that." He grinned and started measuring each component. You had taken out the ingredients earlier so he didn't need to retrieve them.

"Where is the coffee in the coffee cake?"

"There is actually no coffee in coffee cake. It's just meant to go well with a cup of coffee." You replied, mixing the crumb ingredients together with your fingers.

"That's... confusing..." He laughed. You hummed in agreement. You looked over to see how he was managing.

There was a small frown on his face as he checked the weighing scale for each ingredient, he chewed on his bottom lip, focussed on trying to get the exact weight of everything. You could tell he was frustrated when he was even 0.1g over what was needed. He would carefully add and remove each minute amount.

"Done!" He showed you the bowl. You told him which ingredients to put together, standing with him at the mixer to let him add the ingredients in.

"Once the sour cream, butter and sugar are whipped together and it looks fluffy and airy. Slowly add the eggs." You instructed. Yunho tried his best to follow your instructions. He didn't want to mess up.

"No shell." He said proudly, cracking the eggs into the small bowl and adding them in.

"Should I do the flour little by little?"

"Yes, maybe in batches of 3. Lower the speed of the mixer or it will go everywhere." You advised him. He did exactly as told, watching in amazement as he made the cake batter.

"I've never done this before. Or rather, my mum always said I made a mess so I wasn't alloewd to do much." He sighed.

"You've been keeping your area neat so far." You shrugged, continuing to mix with crumb with your hands to ensure you got the right consistency. You tasted it to make sure that the taste and texture wa right before going to wash your hands.

"That's good." You said. You took the bowl from the mixer and scraped down the sides. Then you grabbed the cake tin and layered the two components.

"Let me help." Yunho held the bowl of batter for you to guide it into the pan. After smoothing it, you put a layer of crumb.

"Ooh, like a filling?" He asked, watching you crumble the crumb evenly over the batter.

"Yes, so we cover this with the remaining batter and more crumb." You said, putting more batter on top of the middle layer of crumb. Then you put a final layer of crumb over the top.

You repeated the step for the other cake tin and put the cakes into the oven to bake.

"Morning, (y/n)." Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho came in.

"Hey." You greeted, putting the used dishes together. The 3 were surprised to see Yunho already there with an apron, standing beside you, ready to take on whatever task you assigned. From the flour stains on his apron, they guessed that you had let him help with with whatever you were doing.

"Look at you being so hardworking." Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you to squish you into a hug. You scrunched your nose lightly, body stiff but you didn't push him away.

"Did you sleep?" Seonghwa asked softly, a hand on your head. He didn't ask if you slept well, he asked if you slept at all.

"I did, Hwa. Don't worry. Your salt beef is in the fridge." You informed. Seonghwa's eyes widened in excitement.

"You didn't..."

"I did." You nodded. Seonghwa left you and immediately headed for the walk in. He came back out with the piece of salt beef that you had used earlier.

"See? You should get a meat slicer so we don't have to manually slice it anymore." Jongho chuckled.

"If you can find anymore space in my kitchen to put an industrial meat slicer, go ahead, Jong." You rolled your eyes. Wooyoung was still glued to your side, his arms around your waist as he leaned his head on your shoulder tiredly.

Yunho watched this exchange quietly. You were really so different when you were around familiar people. Not only were you more relaxed, there was a little bit more playfulness in the way you spoke.

"Okay, get to work." You said, patting Wooyoung on the hip. He went to get his apron.

"What has been done?" He asked.

"Muffins and coffee crumb cake are in the oven. Chicken & leek pie filling is done, pastry has not been rolled out and blind baked. I was getting Yunho started on the financier batter."

"Are you getting more comfortable around the kitchen?" Seonghwa asked Yunho, chewing on a slice of salt beef.

"Thanks for (y/n)!" He replied enthusiastically. You raised your eyebrows at his reply.

"Hwa, stop eating and get to work. You can make your sandwich later." You scolded. Seonghwa laughed and covered the meat back up with the paper wrapping, putting it back into the walk in. He washed his hands and was by your side immediately, assisting you with what you were doing.

"Maybe I should move out of the way." Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, it's fine. Just finishing weighing all this according to this. Woo, take over the mixing later?" You turned to the male. Wooyoung gave you a thumbs up.

"I'm making the brown butter now." He informed, swirling the pan on the stove. The brown butter gives financiers a nutty flavour.

"It smells nice in here!" San came through the door.

"Boss man is working in the kitchen?" Yeosang tilted his head, seeing Yunho working with Jongho by the mixer. Wooyoung nodded his head with a playful giggle.

"Told you guys I can bake." Yunho scoffed.

"Are you sure you didn't just eat the scraps?" Mingi scoffed, coming back into the kitchen with an iced coffee in hand.

"No, that's not true! I'm not like all of you who just samples and eats everything. I actually helped make the coffee crumb cake. Didn't I, (y/n)?" Yunho frowned with a small pout. You nodded in confirmation, stirring the icing for said cake in your bowl.

"Ice and slice." You slid the bowl of icing to Jongho. Jongho picked it up immediately, drizzling the icing over the cooled cake in a zig-zag pattern. Yunho looked on, proud that he helped make that.

"Financiers going in the oven." Wooyoung announced.

"I'll do the bacon and egg danishes." Seonghwa said. You went over to help him with that.

"We should go get the store front ready for opening. Stock the coffee bar with what we need." Yunho said to his 4 friends. The 5 of them went out, leaving the kitchen.

"Hongjoong, I moved the box of milk cartons into the walk in. They were delivered this morning." You informed.

"Okay, thanks (y/n)." Hongjoong smiled and went to the walk in with Yeosang to help him move the boxes of milk cartons out to the front.

"Can I make all of you a drink?" Mingi offered. You still had the coffee Yunho made you so only Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho gave their drink orders.

The 4 of you worked well, like usual, all falling into your own tasks and jobs without having to give too much detailed instructions. Jongho did the prep and final touches, Wooyoung was working on one pastry while Seonghwa did another. You floated between them, helping them or pulling stuff out of the oven.

"You made sure a pretty crimp, Jongho." You chuckled as you pulled out the chicken and leek pies. Yunho liked the idea of a mix of savoury and sweet baked goods to sell.

"I'm going to slice the banana cake." You said, cutting the loaves of banana cake into slices for serving.

"Ready for the counter." Seonghwa told the boys outside. They came in to help carry the completed sweets out to the front.

"Can I try a slice of the coffee cake?" Yunho asked. Jongho cut him a slice and served it on a plate for him. Yunho took a bite and you swore his eyes sparkled.

"I helped make this?!" He asked in disbelief. You nodded slowly, eyebrows raised in slight amusement.

"Oh my gosh! Guys, eat this! I helped make it!" Yunho ran out to let his friends try it. And to possibly rub in their faces that he was able to make something so delicious in the kitchen without blowing something up, unlike them.

"Did Yunho really make help make that? Cause it's actually edible." Mingi pointed to the plate. Yunho slapped the back of his head with an offended frown.

"He did. He measured out everything and did the cake mixing." You replied, wiping down the counter.

You heard Yunho open up the shop and the chatter of customers come in. The boys outside went to work at once, serving customers.

"Lunch will be reuben sandwiches." You said.

"Another of those amazing sandwiches?" Yunho beamed as he overheard your words while he walked in to retrieve more cocoa powder from the pantry.

"Mhmm." You nodded. Yunho grinned and nodded before leaving the kitchen.

"Another? You mean, you made him a reuben already?" Wooyoung asked. You nodded again.

"This morning when he came in early. I let him try the salt beef and made him a reuben. Although, I think he might like the sauerkraut a little more than the actual meat. He's never had a reuben before and was quite amazed by it." You explained with a small smile on your face, remembering his reaction to the sandwich.

"Wow. Look at you having cute moments with our boss." Jongho teased with his arms crossed. You shot him a flat look, rolling your eyes and continuing what you were doing.

"There was no moment. I made him a sandwich. I have been making all of you sandwiches for so long." You said.

"The first sandwich she made me was kimchi and peanut butter." Seonghwa remembered.

"I was 5!" You hissed.

"And so cute. You looked at me and asked me if it was delicious, I had to tell you it was the best thing I've ever eaten." He laughed, patting your head and pinching your cheek.

"You know what, make your own salt beef next time. I'm not going to be nice to you anymore." You frowned.

"Sure, you know you can't help but be nice to me." Seonghwa wrapped his arms around you, hugging you. You and Seonghwa have been taking care of each other for a long time. While you never verbally expressed yourself, you did it through acts of service.

After all the cakes and pastries were done, you all did the clean up. Wooyoung and Seonghwa did the dishes while you and Jongho made sandwiches for everyone.

"I'll start toasting the sandwiches." You stood at the stove. Jongho helped you put the sandwiches on the pan.

"Whew, it's busy out there!" San huffed as he entered, leaning against the wall tiredly.

"Want a sandwich?" Wooyoung offered. San brightened up, coming over to see what the 4 of you were eating. You gave him one of the sandwiches and he ate it.

"What? This is so good!" San chewed and looked at the sandwich that he had just taken a bit out of.

"It's called a reuben sandwich. There's beef, cheese, pickled cabbage and a dressing. And then it is toasted." Jongho said, munching on the dill pickle that he usually had alongside his reuben. It was homemade, made by Jongho himself. Wooyoung and Seonghwa preferred just crisps.

"The beef is nice. The spices is good and it's really smokey." San nodded as he took another bite.

"It tastes better when you use an actual smoker." You chuckled. There was no space in a Korean apartment for a full size smoker so you relied on a makeshift one, using wood chips in your oven.

"Hey! What are you eating without me?" Mingi came in, tired from the Friday crowd. He came over to see what San was eating.

"Woah, that looks bomb." Mingi commented, looking at the sandwich. Seonghwa slid one over to him.

"That's for you." He informed. Mingi beamed excitedly and went to wash his hands before digging into the sandwich hungrily. San looked at Mingi with a smirk.

"Isn't it one of the best things you've ever had?" San laughed.

"It's amazing! What? How can a sandwich be so good?" Mingi said in disbelief, taking another bite to convince himself. You, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho shot each other looks. This was such a genuinely amazed reaction, it was amusing.

"Yunho reacted the same way as all of you." You stated.

"Wait, Yunho's already had one? When?" Mingi and San turned to you in confusion.

"This morning when he came in. I made him one for breakfast." You blinked, taking a bite of your own sandwich.

"And he didn't think to leave any for us? Or tell us about it? See, I told you he was selfish over food." Mingi scoffed at his best friend. San laughed but nodded in agreement.

"Someone is talking about me in here?" Yunho poked his head in. His eyes narrowed in on the sandwich Mingi was eating.

"Is he eating my sandwich?!" Yunho screeched.

"Relax. Yours, Yeosang's and Hongjoong's are here." You pointed to the plates on the back counter. Yunho let out a sigh of relief, no way was he going to share his sandwich, even with his best friend.

"San, if you're done. We need help." Hongjoong popped in briefly. San went to wash his hands and went back out to help manage the crowd and orders. Yunho came in, closing the kitchen door behind him. Mingi looked at him with a raised eyebrow, making Yunho frown in confusion as to why he was being stared at.

"What?"

"You had one sandwich all to yourself this morning for breakfast. Didn't think to leave any of it for us to try?" Mingi asked.

"You're having one now, aren't you? Leave me and my sandwich alone." Yunho scoffed with a pout. They all were like children, fighting over food.

"I share everything with you! You're being selfish." Mingi exclaimed.

"Sorry, Mingi ah. We're best friends but when it comes to delicious food like this, it's every man for himself." Yunho shrugged.

~

Series masterlist

[missrandomdreamer]

4, 6, 14, 25 for Hope and Miruna?

Thank you so so much for the asks! <3

4. Do they have a favorite hot drink? Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Hot cider? If so, how do they take it?

Hope: Hope is a hot drink lover of all sorts, so she will drink all of these. However, she does have her preference of what she likes best: coffee is always on top: she takes it with her favorite creamer at the time and a spoonful of sugar. Next would be hot chocolate with a splash of cinnamon or peppermint depending on her mood :3 Hot tea would be her third favorite-more on the chamomile side with honey and milk when she is feeling especially anxious then hot cider is the last one. She likes all of them but coffee and hot chocolate are her favorites.

Miruna: Miruna prefers hot tea over everything else but will take coffee sometime. She doesn't really have a sweet tooth for hot coco or hot cider. There are rare times she might have some hot cider but again over all hot tea is her favorite and go-to hot drink. She loves black tea: earl gray with some milk is her favorite.

6. What's your OC's idea of a cozy night in?

Hope: Hope would totally just get a bunch of thick blankets, quilts and pillows and pile them onto the floor. She would put her jazz records on and snuggle down to read a book. Hope would probably have her favorite scented candle going to with just enough light to read her book. If Heisenberg was there they would be all snuggled together and she would read the book to him while he fell asleep against her.

Miruna: Miruna's idea of a cozy night in, is being snuggled up to Mihawk on the couch, under all the thick blankets, near a warm fire each of them reading their own book but enjoying each other's company.

14. What's some of your OC's favorite comfort foods?

Hope: Hope loves loves home made potato soup with hot bread with melted butter. After eating that she would go into a food coma and just be in pure bliss. Also tomato basil soup with grilled cheese is another one of her favorite comfort foods too!

Miruna: Miruna loves clam chowder but she doesn't get to have it often. Her mother made the best version but once Miruna is living with Mihawk she tries her hand at it and finally makes it as close to her mother's as possible. Also loves stew Mihawk cooks with the ingredients he has in the garden. It's always somewhat different each time but it is always delicious. It was the first meal she had on Gloomy Island and instantly became her second favorite food. (though she doesn't tell that to Mihawk ...at least not right away)

25. What's something your OC does to wind down after a long day? Hope: Hope would get a nice hot shower, get in comfy jammies then with hot chocolate in hand would listen to some of her favorite shows either something true crime or mystery show depending on her mood. Miruna: Miruna would first walk down to the beach, all snuggled in something warm to watch the waves, to calm her nerves if the weather allows it and it's not stormy. Then she would take a peaceful stroll back to the castle, take a hot bath then put on her sleepy clothes which is basically just Mihawk's shirt to be fair. She would find him drinking wine and reading a book; she would snuggle up to him and again just sit with him, holding his hand or he would comb her hair while he reads. Maybe have some small talk but she would just enjoy the silence and comfort of each other. Thank you so so much @auryborealis for the asks! I love doing these <3

[awesomeforever]

Serve one of these casseroles as your meatless main for dinner tonight. With only three steps or less, these vegetarian dishes are easy to make. Recipes like our Cheesy Sweet Potato & Black Bean Casserole and Broccoli & Quinoa Casserole are delicious and satisfying choices for dinner. A cozy, cheesy casserole is classic comfort food. We amped up the nutrition by including plenty of nourishing veggies. Black beans provide powerful plant-based protein while the sweet potatoes offer up a healthy dose of vitamin A, an antioxidant important for vision and immunity. This easy egg casserole is filled with spring green vegetables and rustic whole-grain bread. It's perfect for a healthy vegetarian dinner or a springtime brunch. You can assemble it the night before and bake it in the morning when you're ready. This broccoli-quinoa casserole makes a hearty vegetarian main dish. As the quinoa absorbs water and cooks, it creates the perfect amount of steam for cooking the broccoli. The broccoli is crisp-tender and adds texture to contrast with the creamy, cheesy quinoa. Swap in tricolor quinoa, if you prefer. Tomatoes and briny feta cheese form the base of the sauce that coats the pasta in this easy one-pan meal. Enjoy on its own as a vegetarian dinner or top with grilled chicken for some extra protein. This cauliflower casserole is inspired by nachos and stuffed with tender roasted cauliflower, sweet red pepper and brown rice. Salsa helps bind the ingredients together, along with melted cheese. Crushed tortilla chips on top add crunch. Serve with the suggested garnishes, or add your own favorite toppings to complete the dish. This one-pan recipe is the casserole version of spanakopita! It's hearty enough to enjoy as a vegetarian lunch or dinner, yet versatile enough to serve alongside just about any protein. To make it extra creamy, top each serving with a dollop of sour cream. Think of this vegetarian enchilada casserole as a veggie-packed Mexican-inspired lasagna with corn tortillas standing in for the noodles! If your peppers are mild and you like heat, opt for spicy pico de gallo. This easy vegetarian dinner recipe is sure to become a new family favorite. This is the macaroni and cheese recipe that would have been made in the kitchens at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello. Jefferson first became familiar the creamy, cheesy baked dish of macaroni from his time in Paris and it was enslaved cooks, James Hemings, Peter Hemings, Edith Hern Fossett and Frances Gillette Hern, who prepared this favorite dish over the years. The popularization of this iconic American dish can be traced to Black cooks, like Peter Fossett (the freed son of Edith Hern Fossett), Rufus Estes and Freda De Knight, who helped spread the dish throughout the United States. Learn more about Macaroni and Cheese at Monticello. This ooey-gooey dish has baked-pasta vibes but features protein-packed beans instead of noodles. Look for dried corona beans, a larger, creamy white bean, at natural-foods stores or online. Cannellini are a good substitute. Serve with a green salad and toasted baguette. This cheesy tortellini bake is a dish the whole family will love--it's filled with sweet-tasting marinara, mushrooms and spinach and topped with melted cheese. Complete the meal, plus get in another vegetable serving, by adding a side of broccoli or a small green salad. Cherry tomatoes and mushrooms bake along with goat cheese to form the base of the sauce that cooks the pasta right in the baking dish—no stovetop required. source

[finelinevogue]

for tour content, maybe you could do an imagine that’s like a series of small moments like little interactions on stage or picking tour outfits or nights in the tour bus/airplane ! just little domestic things <3

i’m going to do this because i have so many weird ideas and just no way of putting them all together ! ;

Grilled Cheese Conversations

The tour bus smelt like it was on fire.

You had been sitting in the living room with Harry for a couple of hours, both of you just skimming through photos from the Met Gala together - judging obviously, before Harry announced he wanted to make himself some food and so left for the kitchen.

He’d been in there for 45 minutes now and the smells that were diffusing from their smelt bloody awful. Harry could cook really extravagant foods, like caviar and lobster, but when it came to something as simple as making a sandwich he was absolutely terrible for some reason. The point was proven when he walked back into the room with a burnt coal looking sandwich.

“What, is that?” You laughed, still sitting with your phone in your hand and waiting for him to come back so you could continue judging these Met outfits together.

“It’s a grilled cheese sandwich?” He spoke as if you were dumb and you should have known that instantly. He walked over to you, sitting down next to you and resting the plate on the table in front of him.

“No, that’s a piece of char.” You raised your eyebrows disapprovingly and watched as he scowled at you for being mean to his culinary skills.

“Well i’m sure it’ll taste great.” He looked smug, up until he took a bite from the cheesy melted - burnt - bread. As soon as the food touched his tongue he was quick to spit it back out again, you groaning in disgust. He pushed the plate away and looked at it in anger. “45 bloody minutes and it tastes of burnt wood.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you know that.” You raised your hands and laughed, watching as he turned to scowl at you again. He had quite the angry face when he wanted to. “Sorry, alright! Do you want me to go make you one?” You asked, sitting up to go and make him one if he wanted.

Harry pulled you into his lap so you were sat with your back to his front, his arms looping around your waist tightly to keep you with him. His chin rested on your shoulder and he kissed your cheek because he could. “No. Stay w’me.” He got all cuddly and soft and you loved it when Harry was like this. He was like a life-size version of your stuffed teddy bear you used to sleep with at night - all cute and cuddly.

“Okay, okay.” You calmed him when he thought you were just going to get up and go. “Let’s judge some people again.” You pulled out your phone and opened it to a twitter account which had posted all of them.

“Where did we get up to?” Harry asked, fiddling with the skin on your stomach as his hands snaked beneath your hoodie.

“Um, Kim K.” You clicked on the image of her and tried to hold back the laugh. It was a dreadful outfit and highly meme worthy, so you’ve heard.

“Well…” Harry sighed, reaching his own hand to swipe seeing as he didn’t have anything more to say on this particular one.

“Billie looked beautiful.” You smiled as Billie’s huge dress came on display, looking a fluffy pink marshmallow dream. She looked very Monroe with her makeup and you were always so shocked when people told you her age, because she looked so mature.

“She must’ve taken inspiration from Marilyn Monroe.” Harry added, nodding in approval of Billie’s outfit.

“More so than bloody Addison Rae.” You laughed, thinking about how far that had been from the truth.

“Addison who?” Harry asked and it made you smile and turn your head around to look at him. He looked down at you, noticing the cheeky glint in your eyes and couldn’t help but steal a glance at your beautiful lips.

“This is why I love you.” You sighed happily and gave him a kiss on the lips, cupping his cheek to direct him better. You were only going for a peck, but Harry made it that you got the full taste of him and kissed you for a minute longer. He felt perfect against you and you really did just simply love him.

“Yeah,” Harry broke from the kiss for a brief moment to tell you something important, “and I love you.”

••••

All Things Sparkles

It was an hour before the Dallas show and Harry was getting ready for another big show.

Dallas were known for being crazy and you were so excited for the energy they’d bring for Harry tonight. Harry always enjoyed the shows more when the crowd was actually ecstatic to be there and he knew Dallas wouldn’t let him down.

He was putting on his silk trousers, Lambert just to the side as he was ironing the shirt to get rid of all its crinkles. Your Harry currently looked so funny in his Gucci silk trousers, his bright yellow socks with bananas all over them, his suspenders hanging down by his sides and no shirt on as of yet. It was the socks that really pieced everything together. He had just had his hair and makeup done, just needing to get dressed before he was completely ready.

He was really glowing tonight. It made you happy to see him like this.

You were watching him through the vanity mirror as you touched up your own makeup, adding highlighter to the areas you wanted to shine a little brighter. You also started adding some gems around your eyes, wanting to be a bit different tonight along with your glittery eye shadow that you didn’t normally do. You were glueing your gems when you felt your boyfriends presence behind you, the heat of his bare chest radiating against the skin of your back.

“You look stunning, m’love.” You looked up through the vanity to catch his gaze, he smiled and you smiled back.

“Thank you. Not too bad looking y’self.” You cheekily replied, motioning towards his bare chest. “Are y’going to be keeping that out all night?” You asked, being hopeful that he would, because fuck it was hot, but also wouldn’t, because you wanted this part of him all to yourself.

“You’d like that wouldn’t y’yeah.” He squinted his eyes at you and nodded, a clear sign that no his tits were not going to be out for Dallas. “Up.” He spoke, lifting you up from under your armpits and walking around the chair so that he could sit down himself. He plonked you right back on top of his lap and watched as you leant forwards to add another gem to the corner of your eye.

“Y’putting me off.” You whined, your ass leaning right back onto the hard of his cock. He couldn’t keep soft around you, that was his kryptonite.

“Oh i’m sorry. It’s not like m’girlfriend is just sitting there looking ridiculously beautiful and yet so innocent.” He leaned forwards to whisper the rest of his words, because they were only for you. “Just look so fuckable right now.”

You had to bite your tongue from turning around and shoving it down his throat, because god did his words make you want to jump his bones. “Shut up, before y’get us both in trouble.” You wiggled your ass back over his cock as you sat back to admire the work of the gems brightening up around your eyes.

“Then stop being a fuckin’ tease.” He grabbed your hips and stopped your from moving anymore. You just smiled and put the lid back on the glue before it went everywhere, especially over Harry’s expensive clothing - even the banana socks were £17.

You looked at him through the mirror to find him already looking at you. You blushed quietly as you watched him take in your beauty. It was quite hard to get over just how ethereal he looked tonight and it made you so feral knowing he was all yours and only yours. Looking down at the gems you got an idea.

“Do y’want me to put some gems on y’too?” You asked, pointing to the ones around your eyes and thinking that he’d looked even prettier with some around his.

“Only if i’m matching w’you yeah.” Harry nodded excitedly. You got up from the chair and swizzled yourself around until you were sat back on his lap, only this time straddling him. You were so close to him now that it was getting ridiculously harder to stop yourself from taking him here and now. You leant down, instead, and gave him a lasting kiss on the skin covering his heart. Your lips lingered there for a moment, before you moved back up to see him already staring down. He smiled when he saw the stain of your lipstick printed over where his heart beat. “I proper love you, Y/N.” He smiled and cupped your chin in his fingers to bring your lips to him.

“No!” Lambert shouted, making you two pause. “You two’ll never stop if you start, so don’t start until after the bloody show.” He rolled his eyes and continued with his ironing, making you and Harry chuckle feeling like high-school kids.

“Okay, now stay still.” You spoke as you glued the first gem and held it steady against the corner of his eye. He wanted to keep his eyes open to keep looking at you, because that’s all he ever wanted to do, but you instructed him to close them just to be on the safer side. It went on easy, sticking to the outer corner of his eye, in a soft white colour that matched his trousers. Yours were the same creamy white colour to match the colour of your dress.

“Do I look pretty yet?” Harry asked rhetorically, but you replied anyways.

“Y’look pretty always.” You kissed the top of his nose whilst you glued the other gem. He closed his eyes as you told him to, but he still smiled at your words. You concentrated as you stuck the gem to the corner of the other eye and sat back to make sure they were even. Harry opened his eyes to see you making sure they looked good. “S’perfect.”

“Like you then.” He hummed in appreciation of you.

“Let’s see then.” Lambert asked, making you both turn in the chair to face him and you readjusting yourself so you were sat back against his chest. “Oh yes! Okay this is photo worthy.” Lambert took out his phone and held it up to face you both, making sure you could see the gems.

“I don’t even have a shirt on!” Harry exclaimed, but held you close anyways as you smiled for the photos and his words making you belly laugh. You posed more seriously for a few and then took a few silly ones to. Your favourite one, though, was one where you were laughing so happily and Harry was looking at you and smiling in awe over you.

He set it as his lock screen. You set it as yours. It would stay that way until your new favourite photos became your wedding day photos.

••••

Sign Of The Times

Tonight was the first Love on Tour show you were attending, only having missed opening night in Las Vegas.

Harry knew that you were coming, but you’d told him to source you out within the crowds because you wanted a full fan experience. You’d gotten the all-clear from Harry’s security, allowing your from backstage and straight through into the cherry pit. You had your lanyard and your sign ready, as fans started to pile in. You were originally going to go straight to the barricade, but you thought the fans deserved that more than you so you hung back and stayed the ends of the crowds.

A few fans spotted you and came up to asking for photos, so you did. Posing with your mask on was weird because you still smiled underneath the mask even though it wouldn’t be seen in the photo. Some fans asked whether they could stay and dance with you ask night to which you were so happy for, because dancing alone would’ve been embarrassing even for you.

The intro for golden started and the crowds were deafening, but all you could think about was your boyfriend and his challenge to spot you within the crowds. Golden and Carolina came and went, you dancing like a crazed fan along with all your new friends. Everyone was so happy and some were even crying tears of joy.

There was just love, love, love, everywhere.

Harry came to his first pause and took a quick drink since he was already quite hot and the altitude in Denver was crazy.

“Good evening Denver!” He shouted into the mic, waiting for the screams of his fans to uproar and then settle before speaking on, “The altitude is crazy here. I’ve barely done anything and I can’t breathe!” He spoke, making you slightly anxious for him but you knew he would be okay because he had an oxygen tank on stage. “Now, m’girlfriend is somewhere here tonight and i’ve gotta find Y/N before I lose the challenge.”

The fans around you started screaming that you were here and the message kept on getting passed down the crowds until they reached the front. Harry was walking around your side of the stage until he met the fans at the front saying that you were behind them. Harry held his hand over his eyes to help him find you better and you held up your sign to help him. Your sign had taken you all of 5 minutes to doodle, but the message was clear;

“I want a kiss from the one in suspenders.”

“There y’are.” He laughed when he saw your sign, dropping his mic and leaning over himself to catch his breathe from the belly laugh that he just let out. You smiled when you saw him laugh, the fans around you screaming and thanking you for making him be this way. Harry stood up and looked at you, messing with his earpiece so he could hear the arena better.

“Kiss me!” You shouted and the people around you were also shouting for him to kiss you. Even with masks on Harry could clearly understand the message.

“I wanna kiss you but I can’t!” He spoke through his mic and his voice echoed throughout the arena, making everyone scream and you simply blush. You knew he couldn’t come and just give you a kiss, it would be too dangerous, but he sent you loads of blown kisses instead and you kept them all. You sent your own back and he stuffed them all in his back pocket, before moving on to his next song before he got told off.

“Damn, he really loved you.” One of your new fans friends says next to you and all you could think was; yeah, yeah he does.

••••

My Only Angel*

For four hours he had been gone.

Four hours since he was in this hotel room with you. Four hours since you had first started acting like a brat. Four hours since he’d gotten fed up of our attitude and tied you up and left a vibrator pulsing against your clit. Four hours since your first orgasm, four minutes since your last.

The whole time Harry had been on stage, all he could think about was you being bound tight in his hotel room and dripping wet from the number of orgasms you would’ve had. He knew you’d never be able to hold yourself for four hours, so he didn’t say you couldn’t cum only he forgot to mention that the number of times that you did cum would be the number of times he denied you later on in the evening. Harry had gotten especially hard performing Only Angel, because that was your song that he’d written for you and then fucked you countless times to. Fans noticed, but put it down to the adrenaline of being onstage rather than the thought of his girlfriend being tied up and overstimulated back in his hotel room.

You just came down from the high of another orgasm when Harry walked through the door. You sighed when you saw him, thinking this would finally be it and he’d let you go free now you’ve suffered your punishment. That was wishful thinking, however.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there.” Harry pretended, wanting to tease you as much as possible, as he walked past you and hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

“H-harry.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes when you moved and felt the vibrator hit and new and exciting angle. You moaned quietly and had to suppress the embarrassing cries you wanted to let out.

“Yes?” Harry moved so he was standing at the edge of the bed, undoing the buttons on his shirt one-by-one. He looked so hot with his sleeves rolled and the suspenders already dropped down to his sides.

“I-I please s-st- enough.” You whimpered, pulling on the restraints to try and stop it yourself but you’d already tried that one too many times and nothing has come of it.

Your wrists were slightly red and bruised from all the tugging you’d been doing and Harry noticed that as he peeled away his shirt from his body. He threw the silk shirt somewhere else in the room and walked over to the right side of the bed, sitting down to get a closer look at your wrists. He leant down to give it a gentle rub and a kiss. You sighed in delight at the feeling of his cool lips burn against your flaming skin. Harry sat up and tilted your face to the side so you could face him, slight tears in your eyes. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in the shear beauty of you and your glorious body, before making sure you were alright.

“What’s your colour, baby?” He asked you gently, stroking your cheek and then running his thumb along your bottom lip with a soft pull.

“G-green.” You nodded and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you on your desperate lips. You basked in the taste of him, closing your eyes like you needed to save this moment to memory forever. You loved him like this, when he was dominant with you. He let you be submissive like you wanted to be.

“That’s my good girl.” He leaned back from you and moved onto the bed more, straddling your bare body. The silk of his pants felt erotic against your hot skin and you moaned at the dreamy sensation. He ran his large, ringed, hands up and down your body, feeling every curve and crevice. He massaged your boobs lightly in his hands, up and down your stomach and to your inner thighs behind him. You hummed at the feeling, gasping when Harry finally turned off the vibrator and moved it away from you. You felt lighter from freedom all of a sudden.

“T-hank you.” You breathed out, opening your eyes to meet his electric green ones. Wow, he looked beautiful - still slightly sweaty and hot from his concert.

“Don’t thank me yet, angel.” He grinned as he took down his trousers and pants, pushing them to the floor with his foot.

He didn’t even wait for you to register what was going on before he slipped himself inside of you. You loved the feeling so greatly, but your clit was still so sensitive. You shuddered as he picked up his pace and thrusted into you harder and harder, faster and faster. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, made you arch your back and your toes curl and then feeling if him so deep inside of you was enough to make you cum already, again.

“Feel s-so good.” You looked at him and saw the desire within his eyes. He was so full of lust right now, because the sight of you tied up with him pounding into you is better than simply imagining it. Nothing could feel more euphoric than this, both of you were sure of that.

“Yeah? Feel me all around you? So perfect f’me. M’beautiful angel.” Harry moaned out, cupping one of his hands around your throat and pushing you deeper into the mattress, whilst his other hand went to cup your breasts and give them the devotion they deserved.

Everything felt everywhere.

His rocks became sloppier as he reached his high, yours approaching much sooner than you thought it would. You were surprised you actually had anything left in you. His cock hit a spot inside of you that made you scream out and he felt you collapse around him all at once, causing his own release to quickly follow. He continued to fuck you through your release and bent himself over to press his lips to yours. He felt and tasted amazing, you couldn’t get enough. It would never be enough.

“Love you so much.” You spoke the best you could and Harry released his hand from your throat, leaning down to kiss it softly. He reached over to your hands to untie them afterwards, giving them both a few kisses over your wrists when he saw the harsh marks. Your arms were so tired that they just fell to your sides, but Harry kept on touching you softly; stroking your messy hair away from your face and caressing your cheek softly as if he hadn’t just fucked you raw. He kept his face close to you as he whispered the words that would stay imprinted on your heart forever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

[tastesoftamriel]

I was asked about what dishes you should never offer to Daedric Princes by a follower who's probably a little too curious for their own good. Here's an interesting question I certainly have not thought of, because I generally try not to invoke the wrath of Daedric Princes! However, if you really want to potentially bring the punishment of Oblivion down upon yourself, please feel free to try the following...

Mehrunes Dagon

Instead of fiery destruction, I propose something...cute. A classic chilled custard tart topped with warm berry compote and some Hammerfell-style rose-and-vanilla pashmak is bound to melt hearts, just not in the way one of his Dremora would.

Peryite

I love making healthy foods just as much as indulgent dishes, and as the popular adage goes, an apple a day keeps Peryite away! A classic rucola and feta salad with a balsamic and Cyrodiilic olive oil can be made even better with an extra handful of spinach, a sprinkle of fresh pomegranate, halved walnuts, avocado and cucumber slices, and a few diced apple pieces! Simply delectable, and sure to keep scurvy and pestilence at bay.

Molag Bal

What should you not offer the Daedric Prince of domination and creator of vampires? Probably a soft, delicate vegetarian dish. A Breton vegetable quiche with an all-butter crust, goose eggs, sun-dried tomatoes, delicate baby spinach, fresh chanterelle mushrooms, squash, lots of garlic, and a spot of chevre. Mouth-wateringly good, this little beauty makes for an excellent meal at any time of day, and is bound to make Molag Bal sneer.

Namira

I'm going to be a little cheeky here and turn something gross and creepy into something delicious that even the fussiest nobles I've served love: garlic butter snails. Namira's followers are known to chow down on live, raw snails, shells and all, but I prefer mine with a garlicky gratin and a sprinkle of cave-aged West Weald parmesan. Oh, and don't forget to eat them with a fancy silver snail fork like a proper diva!

Boethiah

Plots? Destruction? Snakes? Not with this dish! What you see is what you get with a traditional Nord bread-and-butter pudding! It's a great way to use up your leftover bread scraps and stale butter, and is one of Tamriel's most satisfying desserts in my humble opinion. Served with hot custard and dried snowberries, this pudding is the perfect, least deceptive dish I can imagine.

Hircine

You were spot on with a salad, but let me raise the bar a little. Not just any salad will do, but you'll want all your ingredients to be gently cultivated by hand and farmed, as opposed to wild foraged. Iceberg lettuce and pink pear salad with some crumbled goat cheese and honey hits the spot, but how about topped with some marbled fatty beef? The historic Gweden Farm near Anvil has won countless awards for its pampered cows who are given a daily massage and the best fresh grass and Cyrodiilic grain. Domesticated, happy, and wonderful...unless you're a hunter, that is.

Hermaeus Mora

You'd have to be downright stupid to try a traditional Argonian worm bowl unless you're Saxhleel, and even then, most of them don't want to touch this nasty, wriggling dish. Fresh, live mealworms and kotu gava eggs are drowned in a fermented blood worm sauce, with shredded catapult cabbage and flame-grilled, toxic haj mota flesh. I once commented that it looked a little like Hermaeus Mora himself, before taking a tentative nibble and spending the rest of the day throwing up in the swamp. Please don't try this. It's the dumbest dish in Tamriel, and a pox on whichever Argonian invented it.

Sheogorath

No cheese or strawberry torte here! In fact, the least madness-inducing food I can think of is a nice, mild pistachio ice cream profiterole, dipped in sweet milk chocolate and topped with fresh nuts is the perfect Breton summer treat, yet far too boring for the Prince of Madness to bother with. Which leads us to...

Sanguine

I really dislike coming up with bland, mundane dishes for the occasional fussy eater I come across during my travels. Sanguine, Prince of hedonistic pleasures, probably lurks over my shoulder at the average feast I throw, so I admit I was a bit stumped here...until I remembered my Granny Matilda's chicken noodle soup. As basic as soups come, this simple broth is made by boiling leftover chicken carcasses for a night and a day, and served with plain egg noodles. The perfect food for when you're feeling under the weather, or have the palate of a small Nord child.

Malacath

Altmer cuisine seems like a good way to get Malacath really mad, because it's basically the antithesis of what he stands for. Delicate Quicksilver Lingwe cerviche with a yuzu drizzle and Crystal Hannia caviar, with a light avocado mousse flavoured with apple blossom? A sensory delight, and bound to make any Malacath-respecting Orc gag.

Jyggalag

Fried, hand-pulled buckwheat noodles with a spicy Pellitine-style curry sauce is a good way to make this Prince quite cross with you. Not only is it messy to eat, but your furniture will likely suffer bright orange and yellow stains from the turmeric and tomatoes, and your bowels will also be as tangled as the noodles after consuming a fiery Khajiiti curry.

Vaermina

So mundane and boring, you're definitely not bound to have any dreams or nightmares about a bowl of saltrice porridge with comberry preserves and scrib jerky. The staple food of the common Dunmer, it's tasty enough to eat on a daily basis, but hardly the stuff dreams are made of.

Mephala

This spidery Prince enjoys interfering with us mortals, so it's time to fight back with a dish that'll probably make most other Daedric Princes frown too. Imperial food is famous for its balanced flavours, textures, and fresh ingredients, and a Gold Coat seafood stew is a vibrant dish bursting with the best fresh fish, mussels, lobster, and crabmeat the region has to offer. Mild but but with a tangy punch from the sun-dried tomato based soup and a dash of crisp white wine, this is a dish that both young and old enjoy across Cyrodiil.

Meridia

Charred jerk wild boar stuffed with timber mammoth cheese and a delicious bloody jus-and-honey sauce is sure to make any Bosmer's mouth water! It's definitely dead, it's definitely cooked, and it's definitely bound to disappoint Meridia. Just a warning- try this for a laugh and you'll never be able to get rid of her beacon.

Azura

By Azura, please don't offer this to the Lady of Dawn and Dusk unless you want to irreparably have your race changed! Love and devotion is what this Prince craves, so why not damage yourself with a fiery Dunmeri Vvardenfell fondue, made from scuttle, crab meat, and extremely spicy fire petal blossoms? Enjoyed by the most pain-seeking of Dunmer, my version comes with fried hackle-lo leaf and saltrice-and-wickwheat bread for dipping. It'll have your guts in a twist for days, which is the price to pay for this deliciously hot "cheese" dish. Oh, and did I mention that it's best washed down with a nice cup of Vivec's Gingergreen Chai?

Nocturnal

There's absolutely nothing dark about a Redguard sun-jelly, made with fresh fruits from coastal Hammerfell. Coconut, palm fruit, watermelon, and bananas are the stars of the show in this dessert, set in a chilled agar jelly that keeps the heat at bay. The fanciest Redguards love mixing edible gold flakes into the jelly itself, giving it a delightful luster that is sure to put a smile on your face and chase the shadows away.

Clavicus Vile

You're not going to want to strike any bargain to give up a delicious baked chub loon gratin with echatere cheese, over hasselback potatoes and crispy radish chips. This Orcish delicacy is surprisingly so good it's even tickled the fancy of the fussiest eaters in Tamriel! The chub loon meat is juicy and melts in the mouth, and the echatere cheese melted into the cracks of a hasselback potato are wonderful with radish chips for dipping. Admit it, you're drooling aren't you?

[abramsbooks]

RECIPE: Whipped Goat Cheese with Anchovy Parsley Salad (from Home Style Cookery by Matty Matheson)

This may be one of those bites and dishes that changes your life. The anchovy, parsley, and shallot salad, the whipped goat cheese; the creaminess and the acid with the rich, salty anchovy is just something that makes sense, and why would you not love eating anchovies?

This reminds me of when I was a kid and we ate smoked oysters out of cans, with Cheddar cheese and hot peppers on Triscuits. This is the elevated version of that, but let’s not get it twisted. Smoked oysters on Triscuits with marble cheese is truly world-class. Serve the parsley mixture and the whipped goat cheese with grilled bread, crackers, or as a side to grilled meats.

1 pound (450 g) goat cheese, softened

1 cup (240 ml) sour cream, at room temperature

Zest of 1 lemon

2 cups (200 g) parsley leaves

½ cup (75 g) sliced (into rings and separated) shallots

8 white anchovy fillets

¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil, plus more for drizzling

2 tablespoons lemon juice

½ teaspoon sea salt, plus more for finishing

1 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper, plus more for finishing

6 slices of your favorite bread, toasted

Put the goat cheese in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and whip it. Add the sour cream and lemon zest and whip again until light and fluffy. Scrape out of the mixer bowl into a container and set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix the parsley, shallot rings, and anchovy fillets; add the olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Transfer to a serving vessel.

Spoon the whipped goat cheese onto the center of a serving plate; using the back of a spoon, spread the goat cheese into a perfect circle, leaving a little space at the edges of the plate. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle with olive oil. Serve with a few slices of your favorite toasted bread.

Chef Matty Matheson follows up his New York Times bestseller with an even bigger book that is all about quality home cooking.

Matty returns with 135 of his absolute favorite recipes to cook at home for his family and friends, so you can cook them for the people you love. Home Style Cookery is his definitive guide to mastering your kitchen, covering everything from pantry staples (breads, stocks, and pickles) to party favorites (dips, fried foods, and grilled meats), to weeknight go-tos (stews, pastas, salads), and special occasion show-stoppers (roasts, smoked meats, and desserts). It starts with basics like Molasses Bread in an Apple Juice Can, Beef and Bone Marrow Stock, Kitchen Sink Salad, Thanksgiving Stuffing Butternut Squash, and the tallest Seven-Layer Dip you have ever seen. Next it covers comforting recipes like Littleneck Clam Orecchiette, Pho Ga, Sichuan Newfoundland Cod, Double Beef Patty Melt with Gruyere and Molasses Bread, and Matty’s take on the ultimate Submarine sandwich. And it closes with bangers like Fish Sticks with Kewpie Tartar Sauce, Salt Crust Leg of Lamb and Yukon Golds with Creamed Spinach, Texas-Style Prime Rib, T-bone Steak and Fine Herb Chimichurri, and Lobster Thermidor with Bearnaise and Salt and Vinegar Chips. It even has desserts like his wife Trish’s Chocolate Chip Cookies and Creme Caramel.

In Home Style Cookery, Matty shares his bold style of cooking. Along with beautiful photographs of Matty’s dishes and his farm, this book is filled with signature recipes that are equal parts approachable and tasty. Matty’s first book shared his culinary story, Home Style Cookery will help you build yours.

For more information, click here.

[mrgan]

Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich

Hi, good day to you. I have been eating broccoli breakfast sandwiches for breakfast since 2017, and I’m here to spread the good word to you: broccoli breakfast sandwiches are great.

New York sandwich-shop chef Tyler Kord wrote about a broccoli breakfast sandwich in his extremely good A Super Upsetting Cookbook About Sandwiches and I was intrigued, partly because it was one of the simpler recipes in the book. So I made it, and it was delicious. But why was it so delicious that I keep eating it, morning after morning?

Broccoli is wonderful. I can’t convince you of this any more than I can convince you that the color purple is pretty. Broccoli’s qualities become self-evident to you at some point later in life, when your taste buds are bored with sugar and ham and they crave something that reminds them of Mother Earth. Plus, enjoying broccoli gives you permission to eat a sandwich and feel fine about it, because if you went to a dietician and they asked what one food you think you eat the most and you said “broccoli,” they’d just back up and go “hey man, do whatever you want, I’m out.”

In case it hasn’t been made clear, the primary reasons I eat the Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich are:

It’s tasty;

It makes me feel good.

By now, you should be sitting there going, “alright, alright, give me the damn recipe already.” Here it comes!

Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich

Neven Mrgan’s daily version which differs from Tyler Kord’s version in ways I can’t remember right now

1 head of broccoli

1 slice of cheese (cheddar, sharp cheddar, whatever you like)

1 egg (buy the good eggs for frying, live a little)

1 English muffin, split

mayo (preferably Japanese kewpie brand)

ketchup (optional)

butter, oil, salt, pepper

At some point during the week, roast your broccoli: break/cut it into bite-sized florets, toss with a bit of oil, place on a foil-lined sheet pan, and roast at 450º for about 15 minutes, flipping once if you’re in the kitchen at the time. Let it cool and store it in the fridge for the week. This makes like 4-6 sandwiches. (If you don’t want to pre-roast your broccoli, prep it any other way you like: steam it, boil it, microwave it, whatever gets it to like 80% cooked. But remember that roasting vegetables is the best thing in the world.)

Butter one half of your muffin; put your cheese slice on the other half (folding the cheese corners in like you live on Battlestar Galactica.) Place the halves on a foil-lined sheet pan next to one sandwich’s worth of broccoli. Pop it all about 6″ under your broiler and let it go for 2-3 minutes; you want to see melted cheese, warm broccoli, and a browned muffin half; nothing darker than that. Salt the broccoli when done.

Meanwhile, heat a drop of oil in a teeny little egg pan just big enough for one egg. Crack the egg in and gently pop the yolk, maybe. Hit it with salt and pepper. Let it go for a minute, then deftly flip it with a little spatula; turn off the heat pretty much immediately and you’re done with it. (Since you probably don’t own a one-egg pan yet, you can also fry or scramble the egg any other way you normally do until your cute new pan arrives from Amazon.)

Arrange your broccoli on top of the melted-cheese muffin half, then top with the egg. Spread mayo and/or ketchup on the buttered + toasted muffin half. Combine the two halves and hum a triumphant fanfare tune. You’ve done it. You’ve made the Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich.

I should mention at this point that Tyler Kord’s original sandwich calls for deep-fried broccoli, but I’m not going to deep-fry anything in the morning since I’m not a restaurant. His sandwich is almost certainly even better; try it and let me know!

Which reminds me: I don’t always make the same exact broccoli sandwich. Depending on what’s in the fridge and how sassy I’m feeling, I might drop the ketchup or sub it with hot sauce; I might toast the whole thing in the manner of a grilled-cheese sandwich; I’ve been known to use black bean purée instead of cheese, for a Mexican torta vibe. The English muffin might take the morning off and have its role played by a fluffy burger bun. I used to scramble the eggs, but now I do more of an over-easy thing. All of this tastes good. Life is a journey.

You can also make a Broccoli Burger—if anyone fights you on it, have them call me and I’ll get them to apologize to you. Like, this one here has Russian-ish dressing of mayo, mustard, ketchup, diced pickle, and miso; then there’s diced onions, pickles; roasted broccoli finished in a hot pan with butter; cheddar, caramelized onions (the heavy hitter here), February Tomato™, and a bit more sauce. It’s all on a Franz Bakery burger bun, toasted of course. Does it taste like a beef burger? No. Ground beef doesn’t taste like roasted broccoli either, and it’s beef’s loss. Would I order this if places offered it? Definitely. (But they won’t.)

I didn’t want to junk up the recipe above any more by saying this when it first came up, but pre-roasting vegetables is such a smart move. You’re essentially committing to basing your weeknight dinners around practically-ready vegetables in the fridge, rather than around cold cuts or bread+cheese. So, pick up some broccoli, broccolini, cauliflower, eggplant, or sweet potatoes at the store; bring them home and send them on a hands-off journey in your oven until they’re soft and tasty—but not yet mushy!—and you’ll be the proud owner of such a good filling for sandwiches, burritos, frittatas, rice bowls, or even those fancy plates where you schmear on some tahini or whatever in the manner of a Japanese calligrapher, then top it with your veg. 

Your parents will be so proud of you. That friend of yours who exercises every day and eats salad for lunch will smile warmly. You’ll be a broccoli person.

Like me.

[the-coconut-asado]

Oh Stumptown my Stumptown!

Portland likes to keep it weird. Officially. You could even buy the tee shirt if tee shirts weren’t so predictable.   

From a poster invitation to “Hear my TED Talk about DIY and Impending Doom” to the Big Legrowlski (sic) night club that hangs carpets on the walls -  not to balance the sound for the band but because they really bring the room together -  the City has an off-beat vibe that feels authentic even while it gets you scratching your head. And where else would you queue round the block for a voodoo-doll shaped doughnut with a pretzel stick through its ‘heart’?

You probably won’t be surprised when I tell you that Portland is  the Hipster Capital of the World. You know it’s hipster because it sells more coffee and has more microbreweries per head than anywhere else in the US.

We came for the food because People That Know told us to. It’s not simply that everything is delicious but that chefs, cooks, carts and food enthusiasts are trying to do different. It’s like Masterchef has landed in Twin Peaks. Entrepreneurs are making ice cream out of chickpeas and it works. A pastry chef has re-interpreted her favourite childhood book on a plate and you rejoice in the complex flavours of her tiny reconstructed bunny. So who’s the bunny boiler now?

One thing that puzzled me is why the City changed its name from the original Stumptown (pretty weird) to Portland (the Holiday Inn of city names). Devon, a local lawyer who we chatted to most mornings in Baristas Cafe, explained that Portland was never officially called Stumptown.  It became its nickname due to all the trees they had to cut down to build it, leaving the eponymous stumps in their wake. Stumptown is also the name of their iconic coffee brand, which I always assumed was NYC’s greatest invention. This is one of the many ways in which travel expands your mind.

Devon embodied something else about Portland: its friendliness. Even the passport officers are anxious that you have a good time. Full disclosure,  it wasn’t just Devon that we sought out each morning - it was Pepper, his cute little dog. I would eat Barista’s fresh, flaky rhubarb hand pie just to drop crumbs that Pepper would breakfast on. 

Devon put us onto a couple of great places to eat - one we made it to, one we didn’t. But more of that later.

Where to begin to describe this steel guitar food odyssey? Let me take you through our many highlights from the  mountain of food we consumed. Set it to the soundtrack of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Thing.

Our first evening, tired and hungry, we stuck to our guns and found Andina, the City’s Peruvian eatery. When you are both tired and hungry it’s easy to get seduced by posters boasting ‘Meatball Monday’ and forget your mission, but our persistence paid off. That legendary Portlandia hospitality squeezed us into a nook where there really wasn’t a free table, and we dined greedily on humitas, ceviche, lamb shank and seafood, washed down with Oregon’s finest home-grown Pinot Gris. I didn’t quibble that they brought something different from my order. In my fractured Spanish ‘Arroz con Pato’ probably did sound like ‘Seafood Risotto’  - and the risotto was obviously going to be delicious before fork met lip, so I didn’t send it back.

Next day, which coincidentally was Taco Tuesday, we hit the street food. 

Portland is big on street food (see: hipster capital of the world). Most food vendors have carts - permanent fixtures where the chef builds enough of a following over months or years to be able to open a small restaurant. Nong’s Khao Man Gai was just one of these. They do one dish - a Vietnamese poached chicken with a secret chilli sauce, accompanied by rice cooked in the chicken broth. You can also have a version with shrimp, pork or Tofu. We bought a bottle of the sauce to bring home. Life’s too short.

It’s not all carts - there are a fair few trucks too. 

One which specialised in cheese toasties challenged “ Come and relive the taste of your childhood. But if your childhood sucked, we’ll share the memory of ours”. Have you eaten a cheese toastie recently? I mean really felt the embrace of  a sandwich of molten cheese and fried bread? Maybe your childhood did suck after all.

That evening it was the turn of The Hairy Lobster restaurant, and that bunny dessert I mentioned earlier. Little Bunny Foo Foo to give it it’s full name. A delicate carrot cake, covered in cheesecake mousse, accompanied by a ginger crumb, caramel sauce and a marshmallow rabbit. 

Despite it’s show-stopping appearance and fusion of flavours, it was their roast squash with curry sauce and pumpkin seed praline that was the stand-out dish for me. The Lobster picnic for our main was pretty damn good too.

Friday brings me to Devon’s first recommendation, Pok Pok,  a teeny Thai eatery in the suburbs. Getting there had the added advantage of passing through a neighbourhood full of rambling old houses in the Amityville Horror style. I recalled the first time I had heard of Portland was from a TV thriller full of witches and jabberwocks called Grimm. They had definitely filmed it’s eerily beautiful moments around here.

If I had to single out a food highlight in a week of next-to-no food lows, I would choose Pok Pok. It gave me my first food coma in a long while. Something about it’s smoked aubergine, pork belly curry, marinated chicken with two dips, sublime mango with sticky rice and that rhubarb blush cocktail… I sense I am sharing my food coma with you now. Their signature dish is hot spicy chicken wings. The couple on the table next to us were too full to finish theirs so offered them to us. Maybe it was the wings that tipped me over the edge. I’ll never know.

And so to our last day, and the big daddy of Portland nights out: Jake’s Crawfish. Over 100 years old, walking into Jake’s is like walking into one of Sinatra’s memories. It has a justifiably stellar reputation, and seems to have maintained it for a century. I ate Steel-head trout for the first time, fished on their doorstep from Oregon’s Columbia River, coated with a horseradish crust, and preceded by half a dozen of the plumpest oysters I have ever eaten.

I haven’t yet mentioned Portland’s biggest hipster foodie habit: brunch. No matter what day of the week, the restaurants that brunch are always full. For most of our trip, we were waking up too early to really do brunch justice. Those rhubarb hand pies at Baristas had satisfied our hunger by around 8AM so a mid-morning banquet wasn’t really on. One day, however, we made it to Tasty & Alder in the Pearl DIstrict of the city and managed to sneak in a table for two before the queues built up. Worth it for their Green Frittata with salsa verde (who ever thought of doing that before?) and lightest, fluffiest American biscuits. We never made it to Devon’s second recommendation: Burmasphere, his friend’s Burmese cart on the other side of the river. And now we have an excuse to return.

When it came to rustling up some recipes that take me straight back to Portland weird, I whittled my list down to three: my version of Tasty & Alders’ green frittata with feta and salsa verde; a less labour-intensive version of Andina’s Arroz con Pato, made with chicken or guinea fowl; and in the spirit of weird, though by no means original, a cake inspired by Churros con Chocolate. The best possible end to a Taco Tuesday.

I messaged a friend of mine that had moved to Portland a few years back and asked why she had ever left. “ Too much rain and not enough art.” she said.  

You missed the point Sweetie. Great Food IS great art. And if you can’t stand the rain, get into the kitchen.

Green Frittata with Feta and Salsa Verde

A great little brunchy-lunch dish packed with flavour for the carb-conscious. If you want to add some carbs, slices of toasted sourdough will go down a treat. Serves 4

Ingredients

8 large free-range eggs

1tblspn, double cream

100g asparagus spears, chopped into 2 cm chunks

100g shelled garden peas or petit pois

50g feta cheese

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the salsa verde:

Small pack of flat-leaf parsley (around 15-20g)

½ a small pack of mint leaves

3 tbsp. Capers

7 anchovy fillets

1 clove garlic

1 tbsp dijon mustard

8 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

How to make:

Bring a small saucepan of salted water to the boil, then add the peas. After a couple of minutes, add the chopped asparagus and continue simmering for another 2 minutes. Drain and refresh under cold water. Put to one side.

Next, make the salsa verde. Put all the ingredients except the olive oil into a blender, season generously with pepper and go easier on the salt (anchovies and capers are already pretty salty). Then, add the olive oil and blend again. Don’t over blend at each step - it's nice to keep the texture a little rough.

Put a skillet on the stove and melt a knob of butter. Beat the eggs, add the cream and season. Lightly saute the green vegetables in the butter for a minute or two. 

 then pour the eggs over and crumble the feta cheese over the top. Cook for a couple of minutes until the bottom is starting to brown.

 pop under the grill to continue cooking, until the top is a light golden colour and the frittata has firmed up with a slight wobble (keep a close eye on this, probably takes 2-3 minutes).

Cut the frittata into 4 wedges and serve with a dollop of salsa verde on top.

Arroz con Gallina Picante

I never did get to eat Arroz con Pato in Andina, but while I adore the rich flavour of duck, devoting two or three days to confitting it before finishing the dish is only for the dedicated dinner party cook. This version with a spicy chicken and a feta-enriched herb sauce (based on a Melissa Clark recipe)  goes down just as well - or the richer Guinea Fowl, which I have used here. And Peruvian aji amarillo is now more available by mail order - substitute ordinary chile powder if not. Serves 4.

Ingredients:

1 medium-sized chicken or guinea fowl, jointed into 2 breasts, 2 drumsticks and 2 thighs (discard the back or freeze to make stock at a later date)

For the marinade:

6 garlic cloves, crushed

3 tbsp light soy sauce

1 tbsp paste made with aji amarillo powder and olive oil

Juice of 1 lime

1 tsp sriracha sauce

1 tsp. Dijon mustard

2 tsp ground cumin

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the sauce:

½ a large bunch coriander leaves, broken up

2 jalapeno chilies, chopped

75g feta cheese, crumbled

1 garlic clove, crushed

Juice of 1-2 limes

2 tsp chopped fresh oregano

½ tsp dijon mustard

½ tbsp aji amarillo paste (see marinade earlier for method)

1 tsp honey

1 tsp ground cumin

½ cup extra virgin olive oil.

For the Peruvian Rice:

3 tbsp sunflower oil

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 onion, finely chopped

3 heaped tsp aji amarillo paste (see marinade earlier for method)

½ large bunch fresh coriander, broken up and blended till smooth with a tblspn water

500g fresh chicken stock

300g bottle of beer or lager

2 x small green chillies, chopped finely

500g basmati rice

1 red pepper, chopped into small chunks

100g fresh garden peas or petit pois

How to make

First, make the marinade. Mix all the marinade ingredients in a large bowl, cover the fowl of your choice in it, cover with cling film and pop in the fridge for at least 4 hours or overnight.

For the sauce: put all the ingredients into a blender, and blend till smooth. Pour into a bowl, cover and refrigerate, taking out about 15 minutes ahead of eating to bring to room temperature.

For the rice. Heat 2 tbsp oil in a saucepan, add the onion and garlic and saute until starting to turn golden. Add the blended coriander and chili paste  and cook for a couple of minutes until the paste has thickened slightly and smells delicious.

Pour the beer into the saucepan, cook for a few minutes then add the chicken stock. Bring to the boil, season, then take off the heat, cover and put to one side.

Heat the oven to 200C. Pat  the chicken or guinea fowl pieces dry, then pop onto a shallow baking tray, season and drizzle with olive oil. Put the tray into the oven and roast for 35-40 minutes.

While the meat roasts, finish the rice. Heat 2 tbsp oil in a medium sized saucepan, add the peppers and cook for a couple of minutes. Then add the rice and stir into the oil and peppers until it starts to crackle a little at the bottom. Add the peas and chilies and stir again, then add the stock, beer and onion garlic mix. Stir, season if needed, then cover and simmer on a low heat for 25 mins.

Fluff up the rice and spoon onto plates. Top with the chicken or guinea fowl pieces, and crown with a dollop of sauce.

Churros Bundt Cake with Dipping Chocolate Sauce

I love churros, and I love a Bundt cake. If you want all the flavours but none of the faffing or frying, then give this a try. The cake will keep, covered in a tin. Just remember to reheat the chocolate sauce for dipping or pouring each time. Serves 8-10

Ingredients:

For the cake:

2 ¾ cups plain flour

2 tsp. Baking powder

2 tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp. Salt

170g unsalted butter

130g caster sugar

50g soft brown sugar

4 large eggs

1 egg yolk

1 375g punnet of sour cream

2 tsp. Vanilla extract

For the cinnamon sugar ‘glaze’

2 tsp ground cinnamon

4 tsp caster sugar

For the chocolate sauce:

½ cup cocoa powder

Pinch chilli flakes

100g dark chocolate (70%)

1 cup double cream

½ cup dark brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

½ tsp cinnamon

How to make

Preheat the oven to 160C. Grease and flour a large bundt cake pan (make sure to get into all the nooks and crannies).

Beat the butter and sugar in a mixing bowl (ideally using an electric stand mixer) until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one by one and continue to mix between each addition, finishing with the egg yolk. Add the sour cream and vanilla extract and beat again until just incorporated.  Mix all the dry ingredients, add them to the butter and egg mix and fold in until smooth. 

Pour the cake batter into the bundt tin and bake for around 50-55 minutes until a skewer inserted near the middle comes out clean (I usually check the cake after 45 mins). Invert the cake onto a rack to cool.

Mix the remaining sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl. Melt the butter and paint all over the surface of the cake. Dust the cinnamon sugar over the buttered cake, making sure you pat it in places to stick.

To make the chocolate sauce. Pop all the ingredients into a saucepan, then cook, stirring constantly, on a low heat until the chocolate has melted, everything is smooth and custardy. Let it bubble slightly then turn off the heat.

Serve slices of the churros cake with warm chocolate sauce poured over. There are some who prefer their chocolate sauce served cold. That’s fine too.

[elfloriditaseafoodrestaurant]

What To Eat And Where To Eat In Miami?

Eating well in Miami is simple. What is worth trying & what are the seafood restaurants Miami where you can enjoy the best cuisine in town? Here are some suggestions. 

What to eat in Miami? 

Fish Sandwich – The grouper sandwich is another of the typical specialties of Miami and Florida. Don't forget to try it. In this recipe fried or grilled fish are put between two slices of freshly baked bread. Usually, the original version has salad and tomato inside and is accompanied by spicy or sweet sauces to put at your choice. 

Cuban sandwich – As the name suggests, Cuban exiles took it to Miami, where it became a popular dish. It is a tasty Cuban bread sandwich stuffed with ham, roast pork, Swiss cheese, pickles, mustard, and salami. 

Stone Crabs - It is a seasonal dish available from October to March in Miami and throughout Florida. They are crab claws with succulent and pulpy flesh that can be of various types and sizes.  

Arepas – These are corn scones stuffed with pulled pork, melted cheese, and avocado. Try this now with the best seafood restaurants near me in Miami. 

Best Seafood Restaurants Miami 

Miami is a big city that offers a proposal of restaurants almost infinite in quantity and quality, within which it is difficult to extricate oneself. While traveling, the scene that usually occurs is as follows: at 7 pm or so, you who – lying on the hotel bed after a whole day spent on one of the beaches or in one of Miami's neighbourhoods – feel a certain languor. Here you ask if your travel companion has any idea where to eat to his negative answer you begin to browse the guides or scroll you can't choose between a seafood dinner, a South American food tasting, a giant burger with onion rings, or a fine and trendy restaurant... time passes & in the end you let yourself be guided by instinct or you are satisfied with the first advice you find. 

In this article, we are discussing one of the best seafood restaurants Miami that we particularly liked. Tastes are tastes & it will not be easy to find in this list the restaurant that responds precisely to your needs, but it is still a starting point. So let yourself be tempted and choose the place to eat in Miami, hoping that the restaurant's cuisine does not stumble upon an evening no.

[sasasarararara]

The Infallible Girl: Chapter 4

Trial by Fire

“Isis pulled her Duel Monsters deck out of its drawstring bag. To most of the world, it was simply a toy. To her it was both an outward expression of her soul and a tool of immense power. She absent-mindedly cut the deck and examined the card she had stopped at. She didn't need the Torc to predict which one it would be. It was always her favorite.

"Blast Held by a Tribute."

It had been in the lone Duel Monsters booster pack that Malik and Rishid left in the alleyway as they fled from the game shop. The card graphic depicted a figure holding a ball of fire in their bare hands. It was prepared to sacrifice itself to the opponent's monster, then burn for the sake of the other cards on its team.It was prepared to give up everything for its family.

And so was she.“

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of violence.

Isis didn't bother trying to conceal her amazement in Turgoman. There was no point. The place was massive. Vehicles came through in unceasing waves. People from all over the world swarmed around her. The sounds of motors, chatter, laughter, horns, yelling, and general turmoil deafened her.

There were more people in this one place than Isis had met in her entire life.

And this was only the bus station.

The press of the crowd hampered her progress to the exit. Each time she was bumped by a stranger she expected a quick apology, but none ever came. A few times she accidentally hit people and, likewise, nobody seemed to mind. Nobody noticed.

She soon gave up trying to cut her own path and let the push of the crowd guide her out of the station. It was then that she got her first good look at Cairo. She hadn't known exactly what to expect from Egypt's capital city but had a vague idea that it would be a larger version of the village.

She couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Cairo was more massive and teeming with life than she possibly could have imagined. The crush of people around Isis made her feel claustrophobic in a way that the Tomb never had. The scents of the city made her head spin. It took mere moments for her to become completely disoriented.

Isis stepped clumsily out of the crowd and tilted her head up in hopes that the sight of the open sky would ease her anxiety. This turned out to be a mistake. From this angle the skyscrapers looked ready to topple over and crush her at any moment. And was it just her, or were they closing in on each side?

She quickly looked away from the monstrous buildings before nausea overwhelmed her. The last thing she needed to do was vomit in the middle of all these people.

Isis stood still for a few more moments and gave the world time to stop spinning then started on her way again, wondering vaguely where to go. She had originally planned to get food and rent a room that evening, but that was before she knew how massive Cairo was. Her situation, which was already painfully difficult, was becoming more complicated by the minute.

But she had to do something. Her brothers needed her.

Isis decided to explore the city on her own for a while and learn as much as she could. Anyway, things weren't so bad. She had money, clean clothing, and food in her bag, and the Millennium Torc to guide her way. She straightened her back and set her jaw. If anyone could do this, it was her.

A strange thought drifted across her mind. I've never met anyone so in command of their destiny. Isis had no idea where it came from. She was pretty sure it wasn't the Torc. As protective as it was, it had never spoken words of encouragement. The sentiment felt like a memory, only she couldn't recall where it had originated. Regardless of where it came from, it gave her a rush of confidence. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and faced the city.

As she walked Isis felt a slight pressure on the shoulder her bag was slung over, but she ignored it. It was probably just someone bumping into it. She kept walking only to feel the pressure again.

"Look down."

Isis took the advice of the Torc and saw an arm elbow deep in her bag. She was being robbed in broad daylight while surrounded by hundreds of people. But growing up with brothers and minimal parental supervision had prepared her to dispense rough-and-ready justice at a moment's notice. Without a second thought she stomped hard on the thief's foot and drove her elbow into their ribs. The pickpocket withdrew their arm with a pained yelp. Only then did Isis get a good look at her assailant. She was shocked to see a girl who couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old.

"I am sorry!" Isis gasped. The girl, however, did not seem overly upset by the encounter. She gave Isis a measured look and a small shrug as if to say, "You got me." Clearly this was nothing unusual for her.

Her dispassionate response did nothing to make Isis feel better. She dug through her bag for a handful of bills and held them out to the girl. "Take this offering as a token of my sincere apologies," she said. The girl snatched the money with snake-like speed and melted back into the crowd without a word.

The whole interaction confused Isis. The little girl had looked so tired and dirty. Was there nobody to take care of her? And not a single person had noticed besides Isis, and even then only thanks to the Torc. It shocked her that anyone would have to resort to theft and begging, but especially a small child. Isis had never seen poverty before. The little village was far from wealthy, but everyone she had encountered seemed well fed and relatively content. What kind of place let its children go hungry?

A sudden noise made Isis jump. She turned to face a man who was shaking his head in disapproval. "Whew, that was a lot of money," said the man. "You shouldn't give so much to beggars. It only encourages them and causes a nuisance."

Isis glared at the stranger. Who was this person to tell her what to do with her own possessions? "It is my money, and I will do with it what I choose," she said shortly.

The man scowled back at her. "Weird accent you got there. You're not from around here, are you." It wasn't a question so much as an observation. A small shiver of fear ran up Isis' spine, but she calmed herself before any emotion showed on her face. Cairo was massive and she'd already seen people from across the world. He'd probably think she was just another foreigner.

"That is right." She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes imperiously, daring the man to comment further.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled "damn tourists," under his breath. "Always making it difficult for the rest of us."

Half a dozen retorts flooded to Isis' mind, but instead she turned her back haughtily and continued on her way. The nerve of that man! The servants would never speak to her like that, and from a stranger it was even more insulting. However, as much as she was loath to admit it, he did raise an important point. She had given away what felt like a lot of money. On top of that she'd nearly been robbed of everything.

When Isis was out of sight of the nosy stranger she pushed the money down to the bottom of her bag so that it would be difficult to reach. Additionally, positioned the bag so that the zipper was in front of her where she could easily see anyone trying to rob her. Then, for what felt like the millionth time in ten minutes, she gathered her resolve and stepped back into the teeming streets of Cairo.

As the initial shock of the city wore away, Isis began to notice how fascinating it was. Buildings both new and old flanked the roads, each one full of mysteries and a life all its own. The occasional statue or minaret gave the streets a surreal, anachronistic ambiance. Stalls similar to the ones in her home village lined the roads. They sold food, colorful juices, and any number of random items labeled variously as "souvenirs" or "curios."

People, particularly westerners, seemed most attracted to the stalls selling trinkets but Isis was immediately enchanted by the food vendors. Meals in the Tomb typically consisted of the few things Rishid knew how to cook and were rather bland. Meals with the Rahals had certainly been more exciting, but nothing she'd ever eaten could compare to the street food of Cairo. The aromas of roasting vegetables, toasting bread, fresh fruit, fried pastries, boiling stews, and more spices than she had known existed assaulted her stomach by way of her nose. All she'd had to eat that day was a few handfuls of dried fruit. Even the scent of charred lamb and chicken was painfully enticing despite her distaste for meat.

Isis followed the scent of sautéed onions to a cart and ordered flatbread stuffed with grilled vegetables and feta cheese with a cup of icy water that had been tinted green by the sheer amount of cucumbers floating in it.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the vendor asked as he prepared her food. "I've never heard an accent like yours before. Where you from, kid?"

This time Isis was prepared for the question. "Saudi Arabia," she answered without hesitation. "I come from far out in the country and our dialect is different. This is my first time in Cairo."

The vendor beamed. "Well, welcome to our city. Hey, is this your first day?"

Isis smiled. "I just got off the bus about an hour ago," she answered. "I'm still trying to find my way around."

From the country side, fresh off the bus, strange and fake sounding accent, finding her own way around? The man looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her baggy hand-me-down clothes, over-stuffed duffel bag, and noting the lack of any adults. Ah, a runaway. There were more and more every day. "This'll be your first meal here, then?" the man asked. Isis nodded. "Well first taste of Cairo is on the house," he said as he passed the glistening plate toward her.

"I, uh, do not have a house," Isis answered with a frown. "I am sorry. But I do have money." She dug her money out of her bag once again and held it out. "How many pounds is it?"

The man stared at her for a moment, trying to conceal his pity. Offering what looked like all her money to a stranger? She won't last the night. Allah, save these kids. "No, dear, it's an expression. It means I'm giving it to you for free." He gently pushed her outstretched hand away. "And to go with it I have some free advice. Don't go waving that money around, okay? Most people are decent, but there are those out there who would take advantage of you."

Isis blushed and put her money back in the bag. That was two strangers in a row who'd noticed her unfamiliarity with money. Apparently it was a much more complicated subject than she'd thought. "Thank you," she said. "You are very kind."

The man waved his hands dismissively. "I'm glad to help. It's a big city," he answered. "I've lived here all my life and I still feel lost sometimes. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"There is one thing," she said. "Do you know of any cheap places to stay the night?" the prospect of finding a place to sleep had begun to concern her. She had passed a few hotels but they were all intimidating and seemed very fancy. Isis didn't know much about money, but she knew she probably couldn't afford a place like where Malik and Rishid were staying in her vision.

The vendor pointed her in the direction of a hostel a few blocks away. "You'll have to share a room," he explained. "But it's mostly university students on backpacking tours. It should be safe." Isis thanked the vendor again and began to head in the direction of the hostel, eating her stuffed flatbread as she walked. The taste somehow surpassed even the scent of it and the cucumber water was the most refreshing thing she'd ever tasted.

She was licking the last drops of grease off her fingers as the sun finished setting and the city burst into light. Rows upon rows of street lamps flickered on, neon signs glowed above storefronts, and even the windows in the buildings above her gave off a soft, golden glow. Isis gaped at the shimmering city, hardly able to believe her eyes. It felt like she was walking in a dream. She found herself desperately missing her brothers. If only she could have seen Malik's face the first time he'd experienced Cairo at night… Just imagining his expression made her giggle despite her broken heart.

The hostel was on the second floor of a squat building that was slightly set off from downtown Cairo. It cost £413 (about $25) a night and smelled permanently like baked goods thanks to the café on the first floor. The proprietor led Isis to a cramped room where three other girls were already staying. Just like the street vendor had predicted they appeared to be European students. They were huddle together on one of the room's four beds looking at what appeared to be trinkets from the souvenir stalls. As Isis entered the room, they smiled and greeted her in a language she didn't recognize. She waved shyly at them, kicked off her shoes, and settled onto the only bed free of luggage.

In that moment she wanted nothing more than to relax, change into the pajamas Farah had packed for her, and get back to the book about the sorcerer, but there was still work to be done. Quite important work.

It was time for her to figure out her money.

She knew the basics, but based on her encounters with the pickpocket, the annoying man, and the kind vendor, it was becoming clear that the subject was much more complicated than she had expected. Though she had helped the servants shop during the past year nobody had ever explained in any detail where money came from, the meanings of the different pound notes, or how to budget. She didn't even know what a lot of money vs. a little was.

Isis pulled her money out and quickly totaled it up. It added up to £6554 (roughly $400 USA) which seemed like a big number, but she wasn't sure how far it would stretch. The hostel had cost £413, and the menu at the food cart said her meal would have cost £82 ($5) if she'd had to pay for it. Isis figured she could get by on two meals a day. But there were cheaper items on the menu. So that was…

She found a pen in her bag and began to draft a budget on the hostel receipt. Eventually she came to the conclusion that if she used the money for necessities only, she would have enough for a little over two weeks in Cairo. It wasn't a lot of time, but all she needed to do was find Rishid and Malik. Cairo was big, but they were her family. They were connected. It couldn't possibly take more than a few days to track them down, especially since she had the help of the Millennium Torc and Malik was extremely bad at subtlety. All she had to do was use the Torc to see where he would strike next and be there waiting for him. It would be simple.

The other girls left the room just as she was finishing up her budget. Isis took the opportunity to change into her pajamas, then grabbed her book and sank into the small bed. She felt a little guilty for not practicing with the Torc, but it had been an eventful day and she wanted to relax. Besides, she'd been practicing with it every night for over a week now. Last night's vision in particular had taken a lot out of her. A night to rest her mind would probably be good for her.

Isis read until her eyes were heavy. She fell asleep listening to the hum of traffic and enjoying the scent of baking bread coming in through the vents. Her last thought before drifting off was "we'll be together in no time."

The money lasted less than half the time she had expected. In her budget Isis had only accounted for food and a place to sleep. She hadn't considered things like laundry, personal hygiene, and transportation. Not only that, but most meals were more expensive than she had expected. £82 would get her a vegetable sandwich and water but it wasn't enough to keep her full for hours. Despite her resolve to spend as little as possible, Isis found herself frequently darting into bodegas and buying snack food that was equally unfilling. But snack food was only a few pounds. Hardly anything, really. There could be no harm in buying a pack of crisps. And the waterless hand cleanser was also only a few pounds. And so was the little waterproof map of Cairo. And the giant bottle of tea. And a taxi ride back to the hostel wasn't that much either.

It was shocking how quickly a handful of pounds here and there added up.

On her fifth day in Cairo, Isis had a vision of Malik and Rishid.

They are at a game store and where they are stuffing a bag with packs of Duel Monsters cards. There are employees and customers nearby. Their expressions are placid and void of all emotion. Rishid slings the bag over his shoulder. They run out of the store without stopping for anything else. The only things they take are the Duel Monsters cards.

Isis jolted back into the present and struggled to figure out what to do through the lethargy that always came after a detailed vision. She knew where that game store was. She'd passed it several times already and had even peeked inside hoping to see Malik who had always enjoyed games. It was in the heart of Cairo only a few blocks away from her hostel. Unfortunately, she had taken a bus to a motorcycle dealership on the outskirts of the city.

Isis had no idea how far in the future her vision was. For all she knew it could be mere seconds away. She was more than an hour's walk from downtown Cairo and the bus traveled only marginally faster. The quickest way to the shop was a taxi.

The only problem was that if Isis spent money on the taxi, she wouldn't have enough for a room that evening. It was a huge risk.

But this could be her chance to save Malik and Rishid. If she found her brothers and convinced them to come home, money would never be a problem again. The thought of hugging them, of feeling safe and secure in their arms, of knowing that she'd never be away from them again overruled any argument for prudence.

Isis dove into the first taxi she saw with no regard for the couple it had actually stopped for. She pulled out a fist full of cash and yelled "I will give you all the money I have if you take me to the game store downtown as fast as you possibly can" before the driver had a chance to protest.

The driver, a young man raised on western action movies, grinned and floored the pedal. He had been waiting for this moment since starting the job and couldn't believe it had taken a whole month to be in his first high speed chase. The cab screeched out of the motorcycle dealership and began to rocket toward the heart of Cairo.

Isis was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to process the dangerous speed at which they were traveling. Why on earth were Malik and Rishid robbing a gaming store? And why were they targeting the Duel Monsters cards specifically? A few months ago Isis had smuggled a few packs of Duel Monsters cards into the Tomb, justifying her actions by telling herself that it would be a fun way to teach Malik Arabic. In reality she had read the rules at the small toy booth and had immediately been intrigued. In any case, the game had been fun and easy to hide from their father. Malik had especially enjoyed the colorful pictures and hoarded the prismatic cards for himself, but Isis had a hard time believing he loved the game enough to rob a store specifically for it.

Wait, didn't her reoccurring vision have cards in-

Suddenly the world lurched and turned sideways. Isis screamed as she was flung against the cab's window. Her head slammed into the thick glass and purple spots exploded in her vision. Then the cab lurched again, throwing her in the opposite direction and causing her neck to snap back with a painful pop. Again, the cab lurched. This time the whole car flipped upside down. Isis was hurled from her seat and landed in a crumpled heap on what had been the roof of the cab. With one final spin on its axes, the cab came to a stop. The entirety of the crash had taken no more than five seconds but it felt like an eternity.

Isis rose shakily to her hands and knees and pushed at the battered door until it popped open. She crawled clumsily out of the upturned vehicle and tried to take in her surroundings despite the purple blotches still obscuring her vision. They were on the curb of a busy intersection. Long skid marks traced the cab's path and showed where it had rounded the intersection corner too sharply, hopped the curb, and glanced off a street lamp causing it to flip.

Isis reached back into the cab to take her bag and felt the world reel beneath her. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar; the feeling that she was about to faint.

No, she thought furiously. Not this time. Not when I'm so close.

She grabbed her bag with trembling hands, rose to her feet, and began to walk the remaining distance to the gaming shop. As she went she heard people calling to her, trying to help her, but she ignored them. There was no time to be hurt. When the world stopped whirling around her and her vision cleared, she broke into a run. It was agony. Every step made her neck and head throb but she refused to stop. She was so close. So close. So close.

Isis burst around a corner and onto the long downtown street that housed the gaming shop. Even from a quarter mile away she could see police cars with their bright blue lights surrounding the building. Her heart threatened to break at the sight of them but she pushed her encroaching despair away. It didn't necessarily mean her brothers were gone. Maybe the Millennium Rod had finally failed. Maybe this would provide a distraction that allowed her to reach them in time.

But when she reached the shop it was clear that she had missed them. The police officers were already taking statements from witnesses and searching the shop for evidence. Isis ran up to a group of officers paying no heed to the portable yellow barricades shielding the crime scene from the public.

"How long ago did the thieves leave?" she asked breathlessly.

The officers paused in their investigation and regarded her coldly. "Young lady, please stand on the other side of the barricade," he said in response.

"Please!" she begged, trying to keep her eyes from filling with tears. "I can still get to them! Please?!"

The officer put a firm hand on her shoulder led her to the other side of the barrier. "You can't impede an investigation miss, unless you want to be charged with hindering an officer. If you have any information about the crime or suspects, you can give Officer Mahmoud over there a statement. Otherwise, stay out of our way." And with that the officer turned and left.

Isis was about to charge right back in when someone tapped her shoulder. "They went that way," said a small, elderly woman. "About five minutes ago. A kid and a young man went up that ally. I'm the only one who saw, and I told the police I wasn't hypnotized by the mind ray like the rest of them, but they just looked at me like I was crazy-"

Isis took off toward the ally before the old woman could finish her story. Malik and Rishid only had a five-minute lead on her. Maybe she could still get them! There was still hope.

That hope evaporated when she reached the ally. Not only was it empty, but it led to a dozen other alleyways and streets. Those alleyways and streets led to hundreds of buildings, thousands of doors, and millions of people. She turned this way and that, frantic to find a clue. The rapid motion made her head throb and her neck seize up again. The only thing she spotted was a lone pack of Duel Monsters cards lying in the middle of the ally. She picked the card pack up, looked at it through dull eyes, then sank to her knees and began to cry openly.

She had lost them. She had lost everything.

Isis found it easiest to measure time in terms of events.

It had been nine months since she had lost the last of the money that the Rahals had given her. Nine months since she had been able to pay for a room to sleep in, or a hearty meal, or basic human comforts.

It had been eight months and two weeks since her shoes had worn out. They had been made for a mostly sedentary life in the Tomb. The paved streets and sidewalks of Cairo had eaten through the hardened canvas with ease. After a few weeks of walking, they had been reduced to gray rags.

It had been eight months and one week since her last full night's sleep. Between aching hunger and fear of theft or worse, she found herself waking up frequently to change locations.

It had been eight months since she had sold most of what Farah had given her. The book, the spare clothing, most of the contents of the first aid kit, the bus pass, and every other non-essential item in her bag with the exception of her mother's headpiece and the photograph of her brothers was sold for less than one night's rent in a cheap hostel.

It had been seven months and three weeks since she first resorted to begging. The idea of asking strangers for help made her stomach hurt, but she couldn't eat her pride. Soon she learned that western tourists were most likely to pity her and give her money while native Egyptians would usually shoo her away with a scowl. She didn't know which reaction shamed her the most.

It had been seven months and two weeks since a vision showed her that Malik and Rishid had left Cairo. She saw them in a city whose buildings made Cairo's skyscrapers look like mere toys. She would eventually recognize the city as Dubai, but in the moment it looked like they may as well be on another planet while she was stranded in Cairo. She had debated going back to the Tomb but it was over 300 miles away. She also didn't know what she'd find when she got there. The idea of seeing her father's body sickened her. The idea of meeting servants who thought she was responsible for his death was even worse. No. She couldn't go back.

It had been seven months since she'd lost her curves. Pervasive hunger and near constant movement had robbed her of the small amount of body fat she had to spare.

It had been six months and one week since she had first resorted to theft. She told herself that she would only take small necessities such as food and fresh water. It was nothing like the crime spree that Malik and Rishid were on but it still made her conscience pang with guilt.

It had been five months since her last period. Her body didn't have energy to spare for unessential processes. From what Isis knew, this wasn't supposed to happen until she became pregnant and there was no chance of that. At first she was vaguely concerned but this soon gave way to relief. It was one less thing to worry about.

It had been four months since she had been poisoned. She had eaten what looked like a perfectly fine pastry that she'd fished out of a trash can near an upscale bakery. That should have told her that something wasn't right. Nobody would throw away an untouched pastry, especially from such an expensive store. It was lying right on top of the trash can, still wrapped in tissue paper, unsullied by the garbage. Isis had taken it as a gift from the gods, but of course it wasn't. The following two days were a haze of pain. She vomited more food than she could have possibly eaten and drifted in and out of a fever. Relief only came when she desperately stumbled into a mosque where she sometimes slept (rarely though. Competition for refuge in shelters and churches was fierce and often a hunting ground for thieves and other predators) and begged for help from the worshipers. They had given her water and let her sleep until her fever broke, then sent her on her way. Before leaving, a fellow refuge seeker had warned her that sometimes upscale restaurants would purposefully throw away food laced with rat poison to discourage beggars and dumpster divers.

It had been two months and since the Millennium Torc had last responded to her. She had been making good progress with it before the gaming shop incident, but was hard not to blame the Torc for losing her brothers. Why hadn't it told her about the cab accident? Why hadn't it told her about the rat poison? Why couldn't it tell her how far in the future events were going to happen? Why had it failed her so horribly? After that day she had given up on the gentle coaxing method and gone back to demanding it give her the answers she wanted. Her practice sessions had become more and more frantic as the months wore on. She had changed from raging at the Torc to begging it for guidance, often to the point of tears. The more desperate she became, the less active it was. Finally it stopped interacting with her entirely. The only visions she still received were echoes of the very first one.

It had been four hours since she had attempted to rob the wrong tourist. Usually they were easy prey. On the rare occasion that she was caught, their reaction was simply to yell at her or stare in wide-eyed astonishment. A few times they had even given her the money she had attempted to steal. It was strange to think that she had once done the exact same thing. When she remembered her first days in Cairo, it almost seemed like she was thinking of a different person.

Isis crept silently through the crowd at the train station. Her eyes never left her target: the suitcase of an overweight man in a suit. When robbing tourists, Isis usually chose people like him who looked like they were coming to Cairo for business. They didn't carry as much cash as regular tourists, but they frequently had valuable goods like watches and cell phones that she could sell. It also helped that Isis felt much less guilty stealing from them than from visiting families.

She had been following this particular man for a few blocks, hoping to find the right moment to make her move. It didn't seem too difficult. As he walked down the street his eyes drifted from the buildings to the crowd to the street vendors and back again. His suitcase rolled loosely behind him, completely vulnerable. It was clearly his first time in Cairo. 'What a fool,' she thought. 'He's lucky it's just me robbing him. I'm practically doing him a favor.' Again, Isis was taken aback by the idea that she had once been just as naïve.

He turned off the crowded street and into the labyrinth of alleyways that laced through Cairo's less picturesque neighborhoods. That was a little odd, Isis noted. Most westerners tended to stay exclusively downtown amidst the museums, shops, and restaurants. The backways tended to intimidate them. But this man didn't seem especially bright which was all the better for her. He continued through the near empty lanes, making turns seemingly at random, with an expression of good natured confusion. Isis followed him at a safe distance. It was a little tricky now that she didn't have a crowd to blend into, but she was able to make use of the shadows caused by the press of buildings that overhung the streets.

They were approaching an abandoned clothing factory when an electronic chiming sound caused the man to pause. He pulled a pager out of a little holster on his belt and began to fiddle with it. He even set the suitcase down so that he could use both hands. It was the perfect opportunity. Isis grinned humorlessly and pulled a Swiss Army Knife out of her waistband. She'd found it in the gutter a few months ago. It was almost completely broken with the exception of one application: the screwdriver.

Isis darted forward silently and picked the trunk-style suitcase's lock with the screwdriver. She winced as it opened with an audible click but the man was too absorbed by his pager to notice. She hesitated for just a moment before diving into the case. 'Look down,' she thought. 'Don't make me do this. I'm just under your nose. Look in my direction and I'll go.' But he didn't. She'd done this a dozen times before and each time her conscience raged against her. Her bruised morality hurt almost as much as an empty stomach.

Almost. At the end of the day integrity wouldn't feed her.

Delicately, and praying that the hinges were well oiled, Isis eased the suitcase open a sliver and began to dig through the contents, relying on her sense of touch rather than vision. Her eyes never left the man's face. If he so much as glanced away from the pager she was ready to bolt.

First Isis pulled out a wallet, then a second pager, then two cellphones, and finally a portable CD player. She could hardly believe her luck. Who on earth needed two phones and two pagers, and what are the odds that Isis would find them? This was the best haul she'd ever come across. The money she made selling the electronics could feed her for a week and there was no telling what she'd find in the wallet. This suitcase was a veritable gold mine.

The first thing Isis had learned about theft was to never get greedy. The more you took, the more likely you were to be caught. And taking an entire suitcase or bag was unthinkable. The movement and obvious lack of property would attract attention within seconds. If the owner of the bag didn't see you then another pedestrian certainly would, and too often they'd want to help the target. It was much easier and safer to go for smaller items that wouldn't be missed for some time. So far Isis had taken just enough from the man to likely avoid getting caught. She knew that pushing her luck any further would be foolish.

But it had been so long since her last solid meal. Longer still since she'd slept indoors. The idea of taking enough to rent a room was too tempting, especially now that the weather was starting to get cold at night. If she found one more thing to sell, she was sure she'd be able to rent a cheap hostel room. Maybe even one with a shower…

Once more she delved into the suitcase, still not taking her eyes off the man. He seemed to be involved in a heated conversation with the person on the other end of the pager. As soon as he stopped typing the little device would chime with a new message. He was completely absorbed and looked as if he would be for at least a couple of minutes.

Isis dug blindly until she felt an interior pocket. She reached in hoping to find valuables that had been tucked away for safer keeping; maybe a nice watch or a silver flask. Instead she grasped what felt like a plastic bag full of powder. She cautiously pulled it out and glanced briefly at the mysterious loot. It was a big zip-top freezer bag full of what looked like cooking flour. She couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of it. Maybe he was a baker.

She hastily tucked the bag of flour down her shirt with the rest of the contraband. It was worthless compared to the electronics, but it would fill her up on a painfully hungry night. Anything helped.

Isis would later thank the gods that she'd never tried to eat the "flour."

She reached back into the suitcase's interior compartment and felt a few more bags of flour which she ignored. 'He must be some kind of chef,' she thought. 'Who else would carry so much flour around with them?'

A grin flitted across her face as her hand brushed something metallic. This was more like it. Metal usually mean value. She explored the object a little more, trying to determine if it was worth taking. It had a hole on one end, some sort of lever or switch that could be flipped with some effort, a couple of other movable parts, what felt like a handle…

Sudden realization hit her like a train. A gun. She was holding a gun. She had just touched the trigger of a gun. She had just pulled the trigger of a gun. It must be unloaded or otherwise inactive, thank all the gods.

Never in her life had Isis expected to encounter a gun while pick-pocketing. She'd never even seen one up close. She was sure it was valuable, but handling even an unloaded gun was so far beyond her comfort level that the very notion scared her. And it raised so many more questions. Who was this strange baker with so many communication devices and a gun?

At this point it occurred to Isis that she may be in over her head. In any case going back into the suitcase had been a mistake. It was time for a hasty retreat.

She withdrew her now trembling hand from the suitcase and began to crawl away when disaster struck. One of the cellphones down her shirt began to ring cheerfully and flash. Immediately the man's attention snapped away from his pager to where Isis was crouching. Between her lumpy shirt and glowing stomach, it was pretty obvious what was happening.

The man's demeanor changed from jovial confusion to cold rage. "You bitch," he hissed in perfect Arabic.

This was far from the affronted yet pitying reaction she was used to upon being caught by tourists. Isis pulled at the hem of her shirt and let the stolen goods fall to the ground, save the bag of flour which had become stuck to her torso by cold sweat. "Sorry, sir," she said and lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry!"

"You're sorry?" he said in a shrill, mocking imitation of Isis' voice. "Do you know what you've done? How much you could have cost me?" He began to advance toward her. "Do you know what you've seen?"

She shook her head frantically, eyes wide with fear, and began to back away. "No, no I'm just hungry," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry!"

She turned to run away right as the man lunged at her. He was startlingly quick for his size and managed to grab her by the Millennium Torc. She coughed as it dug into her throat and restricted her breathing. The man dragged her into the abandoned clothing factory and threw her to the ground.

"You've seen my face," he growled. "You've seen my products. Hell, you may have seen my ID for all I know." He punctuated each sentence with a kick to her ribs. "If I let you get away, who knows who you'll tell?"

"Nobody!" Isis spluttered. "I won't tell anyone, I swear it!"

The man sneered down at her. "That as may be, but you see…" He knelt until his face was inches from hers. She could smell meat on his breath. "I can't let you get away with trying to steal from me. Not without teaching you a little lesson."

With that he began to pummel her mercilessly. Isis curled into a ball to protect herself but it barely made a difference. The man rained blow after blow upon her, first with his fists and then with his feet. He didn't stop when she sobbed out another apology. He didn't stop when she began to bleed. He didn't stop when pain caused her words failed her.

After what felt like an eternity the man's onslaught came to an end. As he stepped away Isis rose to her hands and knees to make her escape only to see him rummaging in the suitcase. Her mind immediately leapt to the gun and she began to scrabble to her feet. There was no way she could run faster than he could shoot, especially in her current condition, but she wouldn't just sit there and be executed.

Just as the man turned to her with the gun, the bag of flour freed itself from her stomach and toppled to rest on her feet. It had sprung a small leak giving her ankles a fine coating of powder. The man froze and stared at the ripped bag. His expression changed from cold rage back to cheerfulness and he slowly tucked the gun into his pocket. "Easy there, sweetheart" he said, his voice dripping with forced gentleness. "Now you just stay riiiiiight there- DON'T MOVE- and I'll take that for you."

His syrupy façade only faltered as Isis swayed slightly on her feet. She stilled herself, too afraid to disobey. Though the gun was now in his pocket it would take him only seconds to draw it again.

Between the man's reaction and the way the powder made her feet tingle, it had become obvious to Isis that it was not flour. The man slowly approached her and began to reach for the bag. As he knelt Isis felt the strange sensation of the world falling away from her.

It was her first vision in months.

The man kneels and removes the bag from Isis' feet. He slides his nice shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. He uses his tie to gently brush the remaining powder off her legs and into the bag. All the while he speaks to her in a soothing voice, calling her pet-names and urging her not to move. The platitudes sound like curses when spoken by such a foul person. When all the powder is back in the bag he ties off the leak and carefully sets it behind him. Isis begins to back away but the man draws his gun, aims, and-

Isis was plunged back into the present. The man had paused mid kneel as Isis gasped in shock from the vision. "Hush," he soothed. "Stay still, kiddo. I'll get you all cleaned up and you can be on your way."

"Hold your breath," the Millennium Torc whispered. Isis obeyed.

"Cover your nose." Isis clamped a hand over her nose.

"Kick."

Isis' foot, which was still holding the bag of what she now assumed to be drugs, smashed against the man's chin. It burst with the force of her kick and the man was consumed by a cloud of white powder. Despite the all of the man's caution, Isis' attack took him by such surprise that he gasped before remembering to hold his breath.

"Run," urged the Torc.

Isis didn't need to be told twice. She spun on her heel and sprinted toward the door, adrenaline and fear making her forget how horribly she ached. The man tried to roar out a stream of obscenities, but his words came out in frenzied slurs. As Isis burst out the door of the factory she heard a blast from the gun and the ping of metal as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the wall several yards away from her.

She was able to run for several blocks before collapsing against a building, her injuries finally catching up to her. "Keep going," the Millennium Torc ordered. She had a brief vision of the man running out of the building, his eyes wild and his breath quick. His head snapped back-and-forth spastically as he tried to decide which way to go. He noticed the trail of blood specks that she had left behind and began to follow it.

Isis forced herself up and continued on. Each breath she took felt like a knife in her side but she knew she had to keep going. The Torc had bought her some time but it appeared that whatever was in the bag had only energized the man further.

Fortunately she was only a few blocks away from her bag. It was stashed in an industrial dumpster down one of Cairo's many back alleys. She'd memorized its garbage removal schedule a while back and knew she had several days before it would be emptied. It was the perfect place to store her belongings when she needed to travel light.

Isis stood on her toes and tried to push the heavy lid off the dumpster. Stretching her battered body was torturous and, try as she might, the lid wouldn't budge. She was too inured to do what had felt like nothing just a couple of hours ago.

Just as she was about to give up, the Torc made one last demand. "Hide. The man is upon you," it whispered barely perceptibly. Sure enough Isis could hear spastic mumblings, half in Arabic and half in a language she didn't understand, from around the corner.

She planted her hands firmly against the dumpster's lid and summoned up her last bit of strength. With a push so painful it made black spots dance in front of her eyes she was finally able to heft the lid and scramble into the dumpster. She closed it over her, taking care not to let it slam, and hunkered down in the garbage.

She lay with her ear pressed to the wall of the dumpster and listened as the man, still mumbling frantically, rounded the corner and walked towards her. She hardly dared to take a breath lest he hear her. His footsteps made scrabbling noises on the unkept street and she caught the occasional crude insult against her as he passed by her hiding place.

Only when the sounds of his footsteps completely died away did Isis allow herself to relax. She rested her head against her bag and nestled down amongst the refuse. During her stent in Cairo she'd slept in some pretty questionable places, but never anywhere as shameful as in a dumpster. However, in that moment of pain and exhaustion, the garbage felt better than the most comfortable bed. Isis gave a final, painful sigh and drifted off to sleep.

It had been five minutes since Isis had given up.

She awoke to a combination of pain, hunger, and cold. While still warm during the day, Cairo's winter temperatures could plummet to freezing at night. The dumpster kept the wind off of her but the thin metal walls seemed to amplify the cold. Isis reached out blindly and grabbed a handful of what felt like old newspapers and tried her best to pull them over her for warmth. Her efforts hardly helped and even the small movement caused pain to ripple through her.

She ran her hands over her face and sides in an attempt to assess her condition in the dark. Her left eye was swollen shut and her jaw ached at her touch. Her mouth tasted like blood and she realized that she was missing a molar. Dried blood from her nose crusted her chin and chest. Her arms and legs were probably a patchwork of bruises and she had several scrapes and open wounds on her shoulders and knees where she'd hit the ground.

The most concerning issue of all was her side. There were no open sounds but every time Isis took a breath it felt as if she was being stabbed from the inside. She had a horrible suspicion that the culprit was a broken rib. All the other wounds would heal over time on their own but a broken rib, especially one pressing into her side, would take a long time to heal and severely restrict her movement. It would be impossible to pickpocket if she couldn't run away.

Isis gingerly rummaged through her duffel bag until she felt a tattered grocery sack that held a few stale slices of bread and an apple she'd been nibbling on over the last couple days. It was the last of her food. She began to eat a piece of bread without bothering to ration it. It didn't matter anymore. There was nothing left she could do. It was time to give up.

"I do not believe that."

Isis froze. The soft voice seemed to be coming from inside the dumpster with her, but even in the dark Isis was certain she would know if someone else was there. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice hoarse from the congealed blood in her throat.

"Somebody who has been searching for you for quite some time now," the voice responded in classic Egyptian. "Do not be alarmed, Miss Ishtar. I am a friend."

It dawned on Isis that she had heard this voice before. The last time she'd heard it she had been scared to her core. This time, however, she was too exhausted to feel anything beyond annoyance.

"Listen," she rasped, not bothering to conceal the frustration in her voice. "I'm not in the mood for games, or riddles, or threats. I also refuse to talk to the air. Show yourself."

"Ah, that is more what I was expecting from you." A faint shimmer like a heat haze filled the dumpster and began to take shape. Eventually the stranger from the village sat across from her. He was holding the Millennium Ankh out towards her, the tip hovering just above her heart. It gave off a soft light which allowed Isis to see the interior of the dumpster clearly.

The stranger smiled and lowered the Ankh. "Good evening, Miss Ishtar," he said. "I am glad that you are finally ready to speak to me."

"I suppose you're here to take the Millennium Torc," Isis said flatly. "Well go ahead. I'm done with it." She began to unhook the clasp when the man held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I am not here to take your Millennium Item," he assured her. "I could not even if I wanted to. It is yours and yours alone." He gently touched the Millennium Ankh around his neck. "I have my own Item and as of right now, it is all the responsibility I wish for.

Isis lowered her hands but kept glaring at the man. "What do you want then?" she asked. "Are you here to tell me how badly I've failed? How much of a disappointment I am to my family? Or are you just here to make more threats?" Tears began to roll down her cheeks making her swollen eye and open scratches itch. Her heart began to beat faster and a wave of heat flooded her face. "Why won't you leave me alone?!"

Her annoyance was turning into genuine anger. Up until that day, no matter what Cairo had thrown at her, she had held onto hope that things would get better, that the Torc would start working again, that her brothers would come back to Egypt, and that they could be a family once more. In order to keep her resolve she had pushed all other emotions deep down inside of her. As far as Isis was concerned she didn't have the time or energy to dwell on fear, anger, or pain.

This system had worked fine for as long as she could remember. It had kept her strong in the Tomb and allowed her to survive her father's death and her brothers' betrayal without succumbing to grief. But now she was starting to slip. The last few hours were proving to be too much for her to repress and the sudden appearance of the stranger was the final stroke. Nine months of buried feelings came bubbling up to the surface.

"Who are you?!" she shouted, her anger finally boiling over. Her voice cracked and her ribs sang out in pain. The volume of her outburst filled the dumpster and made her head throb, but she didn't notice. What was a little more pain after all that she'd been through?

The stranger simply gazed back at her, his expression unfathomable. His impassive reaction only angered Isis more.

She slammed her fist against the metal wall, scraping her knuckles and sending a shock of pain down her arm. "Bast's tits!" she cursed. "Answer me!"

The stranger sat motionless.

"How dare you- how dare you- defy me?!" she screamed. It was an old phrase that sprang naturally to her lips. Other familiar words followed close behind. "You insolent fool!" she roared. "You simpleton! You stupid child! You blasphemous cur!" You-! You…"

Her tirade echoed in the small space and rounded back on her. These were words that Isis had heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times directed at her and her brothers. They had cut like a knife and made her feel small and foolish. Hearing them again, especially in her own voice, reignited those feelings of weakness and the trauma of the last few months amplified them beyond what she had ever experienced.

Isis covered her face with her hands and began to sob as her rage dissolved into grief more potent even than the night her brothers abandoned her. She slumped against the dumpster wall and let despair wash over her. The stranger, the dumpster, her injuries, the Millennium Torc, and everything else seemed to drift away until the only things left in the world were Isis and her misery.

She stayed this way, crying so hard it made her chest and sides ache, for what seemed like hours. Eventually her energy waned and her sobs turned into a soft whimper. As she calmed she noticed a warm sensation. It started at her feet and began to spread up her legs and into her torso, easing her physical pain as it went. Slowly she opened her good eye to see the stranger kneeling before her with his hands wrapped around her feet.

"Wh-what are you doing?'" she sputtered.

The man glanced up at her with a look of concern on his face. It was the first time Isis had seen his expression change. "Warming you. Helping you heal. I can not soothe your broken spirit, but I can at least make your wounds easier to bear," he answered. As he spoke the warmth continued to flow up her shoulders and neck, her tension dissolving in its wake. As it moved to her face she found herself able to open her bad eye.

Isis sniffled and wiped some dried blood away from her eyelid. "Thank you," she said. "I… I'm sorry I yelled at you…"

"It is quite alright," the stranger assured her. "Trust me when I say that I have survived far worse than being yelled at. Metaphorically speaking, anyway." He smiled and began to rub her ankles so gently that she couldn't feel his touch. More warmth raced through her. "And you are right to ask who I am," said the stranger. "I know you, Isis Ishtar. I know your family. I know your history. I know your mission. It is only fair that you should know me."

The stranger sat back against the opposite wall of the dumpster and extended his arm. "My name is Shadi."

She grasped his elbow in greeting. "Thank you," she said with a small, wavering smile. "How did you know-" Her words were cut off by a gasp as her hand slipped through Shad's previously solid arm as if it was nothing but mist.

Shadi smiled. "Ah, your Torc has begun to work again. You must be feeling better if you have enough energy to break my corporeal form."

"You're an Akh?" she asked nonchalantly as if meeting disembodied spirits was a common occurrence. Her sudden, unnatural calmness did little to mask her fear. She silently prayed that his strange abilities were simply gifts from the Millennium Ankh.

"Indeed," he replied. "I was born with a sacred duty. However, I was killed before my destined time of passing and there was nobody to inherit my task. Thus the gods saw fit to bind my soul to the Millennium Ankh until my mission is complete."

That didn't bode well. Isis had read about Akhs in the Ishtar family texts. It was said that if someone died with unfinished business, Osiris would combine their Ba (personality) with their Ka (living soul) to form an Akh, a dead spirit that could interact with the living, and send them back to the realm of the living until they were ready to move on. According to the texts they were extremely rare and usually very dangerous. It was said that a good person should have no worldly matters pressing enough to keep them from the afterlife. A wicked person, however, would have their souls tied to greed, power, or worst of all, vengeance. It was said that an Akh seeking vengeance would stop at nothing until it got what it wanted.

Like most kids, Isis had been morbidly fascinated by the idea of ghosts. For a while she had been sure there was an Akh living in the closet outside her room. Once she had even asked her father to tell her more about them. In those days, though still reclusive, Mr. Ishtar had seemed to enjoy it when Isis asked about matters of history and religion. At least one of his children was interested in it, though it was the wrong one.

Isis had expected a history lesson while secretly hoping for a ghost story. Instead her father had flown into a rage seemingly out of nowhere. He had raged at her, yelling that women shouldn't concern themselves with such matters and that she should know her place. Then he accused her of stealing texts from his private collection. She had broken down into tears and told him that she had learned about them from a common religion scroll, which he immediately confiscated and locked away. She had sworn to him that she would never read of, speak of, or even think of Akhs ever again.

It had been the first time Isis' father lost his temper with her, and it had been more terrifying than any evil spirit she could imagine. However, it had confirmed her suspicions; if a simple question about Akhs upset her father so deeply, then they must be very real, and very dangerous. And here was an Akh that had possessed a Millennium Item. The only more powerful beings she knew of were the gods themselves.

She was completely at his mercy.

"Please, do not be afraid," said Shadi. Isis shifted uneasily. She thought she'd been doing a good job of keeping herself calm but apparently he hadn't been fooled.

"I'm not afraid," Isis lied.

Shadi smiled gently at her. "Yes, you are. I can sense it." He held the Millennium Ankh up between them for Isis to look at. "Do you know the abilities of the Millennium Ankh?" he asked.

"Only a little" she answered. While Malik had learned the intricacies of every Millennium Item, Isis and Rishid had only been allowed to learn the very basics.

"I figured as much. Here." Shadi slipped the Ankh over his head and passed it to Isis. "It's okay, you may hold it," he said in response to her anxious expression. "Take a look. What does it resemble?"

She turned the glowing Ankh over in her hands. As she did, she noticed the notch at the base of the stem. "It looks like a key," she answered.

Shadi nodded encouragingly. "Precisely. And what do you think it unlocks?"

"I know it lets you look at a person's soul. So would it unlock… a soul?" Shadi nodded again. "But I have no idea what that means," she admitted. "It sounds like mind reading, but that's what the Millennium Eye does."

"Ah, good reasoning," Shadi said approvingly. "It does not let me read a person's thoughts in the manner of the Millennium Eye. No, the Ankh is far more powerful than just that. By unlocking someone's soul I gain access to their emotions, their memories, their intellect, and their ambitions. To put it in simple terms, I can see the very essence of their being." He smiled gently. "As you may imagine, detecting your fear did not pose a challenge."

Isis stared at him in awe for a moment, then whispered, "you… you know everything about me? You can see it all?" She raised her hands to her head as if to protect herself from the Ankh.

Shadi made a calming gesture. "I assure you I would never violate your mind in that way. I only use the full power of the Millennium Ankh if I absolutely must. If I am not mistaken, your Millennium Torc will sometimes show you visions you did not request. The Millennium Ankh does something similar. You are radiating fear, along with about a dozen other strong emotions, and the Ankh cannot help but channel them."

Isis relaxed a little and lowered her hands. "Well, okay I guess," she conceded. Still, she didn't relish the idea of someone sensing her feelings and was not yet sure if she could trust Shadi. He seemed sincere, but the man from earlier that day had seemed naive. Seeming wasn't good enough. "You said that the gods sent you back to complete your sacred duty. What is your mission?" she probed, hoping that the Millennium Ankh wouldn't expose her distrust.

A brief look of discomfort crossed Shadi's face only to be instantly replaced by his customary tranquility. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to bother him very much. "I have a duty similar to your brother's. In fact, I myself am a Tomb Keeper," he replied.

This caught Isis' attention. "You're a Tomb Keeper?" she gasped. "Does that mean we're related?"

"Very distantly, yes. Our family branched off from yours a long time ago. We are the clan Shin."

"I thought we were the only Tomb Keepers!" Isis exclaimed. She had known that there were five more Millennium Items that must need protecting but had been discouraged from asking about them. While her fascination with history was smiled upon and her basic understanding of their rituals was a compulsory, her father had made it clear that anything pertaining to the Items and their powers were strictly his and Malik's business. In the interest of self preservation, Isis had not pressed the subject.

Still, she couldn't be sure that Shadi was telling the truth. While Isis desperately wanted to believe him, she'd studied the Ishtar family genealogy and had never seen the name Shin.

"Why have I never heard of you?" she asked.

"I cannot say for certain, but I have my suspicions. I knew your father…" Shadi let the sentence trail off and watched Isis. It seemed like he was waiting for a reaction, but she simply returned his gaze in silence. "I saw his soul," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "He was very, ah, traditional in his views. He most likely did not approve of my family's more proactive approach to protecting our Millennium Items. I believe he did not want you or your siblings to know that there were Tomb Keepers who could interact with the world."

Isis nodded. That certainly sounded like something her father would do. "Is that why the family split up? Because you wanted to go outside?"

Shadi gave a small chuckle and shook his head. "No, not at all. In fact, the decision to divide the family was met with much sorrow. It was, however, necessary. I assume you know about the dangers of grave robbers?"

Isis nodded again.

"Then you can appreciate their predicament," Shadi continued. "While grave robbers have always posed a problem for us, they have never been as bad as they were during the eighteenth and nineteenth century. That time is referred to as 'the Age of Enlightenment.' It was a quest for knowledge that swept across North America, most of Europe and into Africa. Scholars from across the world began to search for any new information they could find."

"That sounds nice," Isis said. It seemed like an endeavor that Malik would enjoy.

"It is true that much good came of it," Shadi conceded. "However, that knowledge came at a high price for many. One thing that fascinated these scholars was ancient people, and in their mind the best way to learn about ancient people was to rob their graves."

Isis grimaced scornfully. "Archaeologists," she sneered. "Yes, I know about them. We have a whole group of servants whose job is to keep them away."

"Be thankful that you did not have to deal with Enlightenment archaeologists, if you can even call them archaeologists," said Shadi, his expression transforming into an uncharacteristic look of bitterness. "In modern times they must follow strict guidelines while excavating, but a mere hundred years ago they took what they wanted with impunity. Countless graves were unearthed. Thousands, if not millions of artifacts were stolen. Bodies were taken and put on display for cheap entertainment. Some especially reprehensible thieves even used mummy skin in the production of medicine and paint."

"That's disgusting!" Isis gasped.

"Indeed," Shadi nodded. "We decided in those times to spread the Millennium Items out. We reasoned that should their resting place be found and sacked, the thieves would only get a few items which could then be more easily recovered."

As Isis listened she became aware of Shadi's odd speech affectation. He spoke of long past events as if he had personally experienced them. She shrugged it off as a strange habit. Regardless, his story made sense. Growing up she had been told stories about archaeologists the way most children were told stories about boogie men. However, she still had several questions.

"Why did you come looking for us in the village?" she asked. "You said that you had no suitable person to inherit your role as Tomb Keeper. Does that mean you left the other items unattended?"

Shadi smiled with approval at her question. "Not as such," he said. "You see, my duty is a little bit more complex than that of your father and brother. I do not merely protect the sacred items. My mission is to use the ancient prophesies along with the powers of the Millennium Ankh to make sure that each Millennium Item reaches its chosen master at the appropriate time. If necessary I train each bearer how to use their item. You may think of me as a shepherd for the Items.

"At the moment, all of the Millennium Items are with their bearers. However, things are not happening the way the scriptures foretold." He glanced down at his hands. Isis watched as they flickered briefly, then solidified once again. "Events which were fated to take place over a number of years have come to pass in mere months. It would appear that someone- or something- can manipulate the flow of destiny. I knew that you and your brother were about to inherit your Millennium Items years before you were ready. That's why I came to find you; to help guide you."

Isis was struck by a pang of guilt at the mention of someone manipulating fate. "Was… was it my fault?" she asked, already fearing the answer. "Did I throw fate off its course by taking Malik outside?"

"No," Shadi answered. "You did nothing to harm fate. The initial incident occurred several weeks before your misfortunes began. And rest assured that no mere human, no matter how willful, could achieve that."

"Still," Isis sighed. "If I had not taken Malik outside none of this would have happened. At least some of the blame is mine." She looked down at her soiled clothes and emaciated form. "I deserve this." She could feel another flood of sorrow coming for her.

Shadi reached out and placed his hand over hers. A wave of warmth shot up her arm and quelled the grief before it consumed her. "Miss Isis… my dear cousin," he said quietly. "I sense the weight you bear. You are burdened by a measure of guilt that nobody should have to carry. I wish I could take it away from you, but even using my Millennium Ankh I can only ease your pain temporarily. All that has happened was destined to happen. It is not your fault."

Isis didn't answer. Shadi's words were kind but she was sure she was more at fault than he claimed.

"Would it help if I showed you other possible outcomes?" he asked. "I saw into the souls of the men pursuing you, Paki and Nizam, the day you left the Tomb for good and I found some disturbing ambitions."

Isis glanced up at Shadi, her interest piqued even through the haze of guilt. "What were they plotting?" she asked.

"I believe that if fate had moved at its correct pace, you would have been married to Paki in a few years' time to secure their role in your family. Then upon your father's death, they planned to manipulate Malik into leaving the Tomb and seeking out the other items so that they could assume their powers and use them for selfish means."

As he spoke, Shadi raised the Ankh and positioned it just over Isis' forehead. She had to stop herself from staring at it cross-eyed. "If that had been the case, you and your brothers would have united to thwart them and come into your Items in the right time. However, with fate the way it is now…"

There was a burst of gold light and a sensation of movement as Isis was plunged into a vision. Unlike the immersive nature of her visions this one flickered by in a series of images, each one lasting no more than a few seconds. The effect was similar to watching a faulty television.

The vision began, First there was the Tomb. She saw her father sitting at a table, reading from a text. As soon as she looked at him, she knew he was in a foul mood. It had nothing to do with his actions or anything he said. The knowledge simply seeped in from out of nowhere. Furthermore, she knew he was in a rage because he had caught Malik trying to sneak out of the Tomb the previous day.

The vision changed. Suddenly Paki and Nizam were there. They wanted to discuss the future. They had just said something that upset her father. He was in no mood to think about that. Who were they to suggest such an arrangement? It was his choice, not theirs.

The vision changed. Her father's mood had shifted from seething anger to an unbridled rage. He was yelling at the men. Nizam held up his hands pacifyingly. He wanted to calm the situation. Paki was glowering. Now he was starting to lose his temper. He had been working for this family all his life. He deserved power. He deserved privilege. He deserved Isis.

The vision changed. Paki was standing over her father. Her father's eyes were open, staring at nothing. His face was bruised and some of his bones were broken. Paki's knuckles were bloody. It hadn't been difficult. Master Ishtar, though not yet an old man, was weakened from more than a decade of too little food and too much mourning. Paki however was a strong young man. Nizam was horrified, but already plotting how to conceal the murder He was going to frame Rishid. Malik was peaking in through the doorway completely unnoticed by the men.

The vision changed. Malik had the Millennium Rod. He was using it to torture Paki. Nizam was already dead. So much rage poured out of him that it made Isis ill.

The vision changed. She, Rishid, and Malik were standing outside among the ruins. They were having nearly the exact same fight they'd had nine months ago. Malik blamed the Pharaoh for Nizam and Paki's actions. During the argument with their father, Nizam had spoken of the will of the Pharaoh. From there, thing happened exactly as they had in reality, except there were now three bodies instead of one.

The vision faded away and Isis was back in the dumpster, staring at Shadi in dumbfounded silence. "That- that is what would've happened?!" she spluttered when she was finally able to speak.

"I cannot say for certain, but based on their souls, previous actions, and the prophesies, that is my best prediction," Shadi answered. "My Ankh does not allow me see the future like your Torc, but it does allow me to see the past and present so clearly that predicting people's future actions becomes a simple matter, and I have had much practice.

"In any case, you can see that what happened is not your fault. No matter what you had done that day, your father would still have died, Malik and Rishid would still have run away, and you would still be where you currently are." As Shadi spoke, a rare smile began to cross Isis' lips. Though the vision had been disturbing to put it mildly, the knowledge that she had not single-handedly destroyed her family filled her with relief. She knew that Shadi was right; it would take her a long time to completely let go of the guilt. She had still transgressed horribly by smuggling Malik out of the Tomb and despite what she'd been told was sure she'd caused at least some of what had happened, but in that moment she felt as light as a feather.

Shadi smiled and pated Isis companionably on the head. "What matters now is that you learn how to use the Millennium Torc, and that's why I am here. Of all the Millennium Items, it may be the most challenging to master. But you are its chosen one and should be proficient very soon, especially since you have already had almost a year of practice with it."

This immediately snuffed out Isis' glimmer of hope. For all of the Millennium Ankh's powers, it seemed that Shadi was unaware of her failure with the Torc. "I… I don't think I'm the Torc's chosen one," she admitted. "It hasn't worked for me in months. I just get a headache when I try to use it, and the only visions it sends me are nightmares. It gave me a vision today, but only because I was about to die."

Isis began to fiddle with the Torc as she spoke. It had become something of a nervous habit. Sometimes she woke up because she'd been holding it so hard in her sleep that the Eye of Horus left marks on her palm. "Shadi, it doesn't want me. I failed."

"Failed?" Shadi repeated incredulously. "You have not failed. Far from it. Please, tell me you know what powers the Millennium Torc possesses."

"It shows me the future," Isis said with a shrug. "That's about it, right?"

Shadi sighed and shook his head. "Your arrogant, archaic father deserved everything he got. The nerve of leaving one of his children unprepared," he hissed. "But that is beside the point. No, that is not all the Millennium Torc can do. The morning you left the Tomb we met in the village. I was there to guide you to safety and teach you how to use the Torc, but I unwittingly chose a horrible time to appear and you fled. The power of my Millennium Ankh allows me to sense souls from vast distances, especially if they are entwined with my sacred mission. Why do you think I did not pursue you? For that matter, why do you think I approached you when you were so full of fear?"

This caused Isis to pause. "I… I don't know. When I woke up in the Rahal's house I was so relieved that I didn't think much about it. I actually assumed that you were a hallucination from exhaustion. Then you mentioned seeing Paki and Nizam and I assumed that they distracted you."

"They did distract me, but only for a moment," Shadi answered with a smile. "And I might add that I am delighted you met Kakra. Now I feel a fool for not seeking her out immediately."

"Who's Kakra?" Isis asked.

"Ah, one moment," Shadi said, then made small upward gesture with the Millennium Ankh in her direction. "Oh I see she's using her Saudi name now. You know her as 'Farah.'"

"You know Farah?" Isis asked in surprise. "How?"

Shadi smiled and shook his head. "Now is not the time to discuss her. If she withheld her identity from you, she had a good reason to do so. For now, let us just think of her as a family friend. More to the point, why do you think it took me nearly a year months to find you?"

Isis just shrugged.

"And why do you think you can break my corporeal form so easily? Would you like to hazard a guess?"

While Isis didn't know the specifics, it was fairly clear where these questions were guiding her. "It has something to do with the Millennium Torc," she said.

"Indeed," Shadi confirmed. "The Millennium Torc has three powers: it shows you the past, it predicts the future, and it defends the bearer's present, especially from other Millennium Items. For nine months it has made you invisible to my Millennium Ankh. Even during our discussion tonight it has been preventing me from reading some of your feelings. In fact," Shadi grinned, "this has been one of the most interesting conversations I have had in quite a long time for that reason."

"How?!" Isis gasped. "I never even knew it could do that."

"It's a passive ability. It decided that I was a threat based on your discomfort toward me and hid you. In nine months, the concealment only wavered once and that was earlier this day. You mentioned that you had your first vision in a long time today?"

Isis was sitting up as straight as she could with her injuries. "Yes!" she answered, desperate to hear more.

Shadi nodded. "I am certain that is when the Millennium Torc stopped hiding you from me. Like all Millennium Items, it takes energy to use the Torc's powers. Based on the emotions I read while you slept as well as your appearance, I am correct in assuming that you are quite exhausted most of the time, both physically and mentally?"

Isis cringed at the thought of having her soul read while she slept, but Shadi was right. "I've been tired for a long time," she confirmed.

Once again, Shadi took her hand and sent a wave of heat through her body. "Indeed," he said. "That is why you have not been able to use your Torc to the fullest extent of its abilities. You only have enough energy for one power at a time and it chose protection from you. And not merely protection from me. It has been subtly guiding you through the streets of Cairo. This is a dangerous city and the fact that it took you nine months to have a violent interaction is miraculous considering how sheltered you were."

"I was also poisoned," Isis interjected. "It didn't stop that."

Shadi raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Did you die from the poison?" he asked.

"No, I stumbled into a Mosque and… got help…" Isis only had a handful of blurry memories from the poisoning. She remembered stumbling down a street and entering an open door at random, then waking up on a cot.

"There you have it," Shadi responded. "You have not failed, Isis. You have been effectively working with the Millennium Ankh for months. Truly, you are the chosen bearer."

Isis found herself unable to stop smiling. "I'm not a failure," she repeated.

"Not at all," Shadi confirmed, matching her smile. "And as you practice with it, your skill will grow immensely. I look forward to teaching you, dear cousin."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. "I am so eager to start! Wen can we- aaugh!"

Isis' words were cut off by a sharp pain in her side. In her excitement she had tried to sit up on her knees. It had been a mistake.

"Slow down," Shadi said. "The Millennium Ankh can only help soothe your pain. It cannot heal broken bones and open wounds."

Isis sighed in disappointment and eased back down onto the old newspapers that carpeted the dumpster. She had almost forgotten her injuries. "How does the Ankh soothe pain?" she asked, hoping to distract herself from the freshly revived discomfort.

"In simple terms, it convinces your mind that you cannot feel pain," he answered. "But there will be plenty of time for questions and answers when you have recovered. For now…" Shadi held the Millennium Ankh to her forehead once again. This time, instead of a vision, Isis felt herself becoming drowsy. Her body slumped against the dumpster wall of its own accord. "Sleep."

The command was impossible to ignore. The last thing Isis remembered before drifting into a deep sleep was a feeling that she hadn't experienced in almost a year.

It was the sense of warmth and safety that comes only from family.

Isis pulled her Duel Monsters deck out of its drawstring bag. To most of the world, it was simply a toy. To her it was both an outward expression of her soul and a tool of immense power. She absent-mindedly cut the deck and examined the card she had stopped at. She didn't need the Torc to predict which one it would be. It was always her favorite.

"Blast Held by a Tribute."

It had been in the lone Duel Monsters booster pack that Malik and Rishid left in the alleyway as they fled from the game shop. The card graphic depicted a figure holding a ball of fire in their bare hands. It was prepared to sacrifice itself to the opponent's monster, then burn for the sake of the other cards on its team.

It was prepared to give up everything for its family.

And so was she.

[asfeedin]

Tips for Making the Best Tuna Melt

[Photographs: Daniel Gritzer]

On April 19th, Virginia Senator Mark Warner posted a video on Instagram that horrified a nation. In the video, title simply, “Tuna Melt,” Warner stood in front of a modest electric stove in a bare home kitchen and made what he described as one of his favorite recipes, one he said he’d learned as a kid. He described it as a way to “go back to basics” and get through these difficult months of coronavirus and quarantine.

His tone was earnest, his recipe choice humble, but, boy oh boy, there was no forgiving the string of culinary sins he proceeded to commit against bread, condiment, cheese, and fish. First, he squirted thick globs of Hellmann’s directly onto soft, un-toasted slices of white sandwich bread. Then he scraped big chunks of poorly drained tuna directly from the can on top of that, attempting and failing to mash down the stubbornly dry flakes of canned fish with a fork.

After that, he slapped a couple slices of cheese on top, proudly proclaiming himself a “two-slice man,” and then put his creation in…the microwave. What came out could only be described as an abomination.

At the very same time that Warner was massacring his tuna melt, I, as if guided by fate, had already started my own efforts at the sandwich’s redemption. I was on a mission to create the most righteous, and undeniably delicious tuna melt I could—and, though I didn’t know it at the time, restore order to the Tuna Meltiverse.

The tuna melt is an American culinary icon—admittedly one hell of a strange one—and so instead of declaring from high on the mount my own rules for the perfect tuna melt, I wanted to build these commandments as democratically as possible. And so I asked the people, What makes for a good tuna melt? The answers poured in, and they were more varied than I ever could have imagined.

The range of opinions on the “right” cheese, the “right” bread, the “right” flavorings, the “right” textures and temperatures convinced me that no single “perfect” tuna melt exists. Instead, there’s an infinite number of potentially perfect versions, each reflecting the diverse tastes and experiences of the people who share, if nothing else, the conviction that canned tuna and melted cheese belong together on bread.

The resulting commandments are better than I could have ever come up with on my own because they take this diversity into account. There’s even a tidbit of wisdom from Warner, proof that even the worst tuna melt isn’t entirely terrible. The recipes I created to accompany these commandments are equally diverse: Instead of a single tuna melt recipe, I’ve created three, each representing a tuna-melt archetype. There’s the “All-American,” a diner-esque creation that strips the tuna melt to the basics of fish, cheese, mayo, and white bread. Then there’s the “Jewish deli-style,” which offers a tuna salad flavored more assertively with celery, sweet relish, mustard, onion, and dill. And finally, there’s the one with “The Works,” which in my recipe’s case includes bacon, tomato, avocado, pickled jalapeños, and more, but really just serves as an example of how personalized a tuna melt can become.

A Jewish deli–style tuna melt with rye bread, Swiss cheese, and a tuna salad spiked with celery, red onion, dill, and sweet relish.

To be honest, I suspect Senator Warner knew more than he let on when he decided to share his tuna melt how-to. The signs that he was in on the joke were there from the beginning—the self-aware editing and captions, the shocking close-ups and clumsy execution, the suggestion that “unless you’re a professional chef, you may want to pause the video so you can keep up,” and, perhaps most telling of all, the gorgeous Mediterranean mortar and pestle that could only be in the kitchen of someone who knows a thing or two about good food.* I think he wanted to get us all talking, and it worked.

*I reached out to Warner’s Digital Media Director for comment on the mortar and pestle and was told Warner’s daughters are much better cooks than the Senator. Still, even if he can’t cook as well as his daughters, merely being in the same family as someone who would know to invest in a mortar and pestle of that caliber would lead to some culinary knowhow.

Thou Shalt Use Whatever Bread You Want, But Respect its Proportions

An open-faced tuna melt needs a thicker slab of bread than a closed sandwich does; in fact, roughly twice as much so that the proportion of bread to tuna salad remains fairly consistent.

It must be rye! It must be white! No, whole wheat is where it’s at! Opinions on bread type were strong and varied, and, after testing numerous versions, I’m gonna be honest with you—I really don’t care.

No, that’s not it. I do care. I just like them all. Different breads can work well in different tuna melt constructions. The key, then, isn’t determining the best bread for a tuna melt, it’s in understanding the role each kind of bread can play in a specific recipe.

Rye is great in a Jewish-deli style tuna melt that’s seasoned more assertively with relish, dill, and celery, and finished with melted Swiss cheese. White bread is great on an All-American diner-style tuna melt made with little more than Hellmann’s and slices of Cheddar or American—the “basic ‘wich” of tuna melts (bonus points if you pair it with a can of TaB). Sourdough, brioche, challah, boules, and baguettes—you name it, and it can make a good tuna melt if it’s thoughtfully combined with the right cheese and mix-ins (although it’s best to avoid using bread with an open crumb, which would make for a very messy melt).

Here’s what does matter about the bread: You need to respect its proportions. Too much mayonnaise-y tuna salad becomes grotesque without an appropriate amount of bread to cut its fishy, fatty intensity. But how thick the bread needs to be depends on both its tenderness and whether you’re going with an open-faced construction or not.

Heartier, more rustic bread with more chew and crust should be sliced thinner than light and fluffy white bread, since it’s more work to chew through. The slab of bread used as the base for an open-faced tuna melt, meanwhile, should be approximately twice as thick as the same type of bread used for the two pieces on a closed version; assuming the amount of tuna salad is equal on both sandwiches, a double-thick single slice ensures that the ratio of bread to tuna remains consistent when going open-faced.

These are ballpark ratios and will depend on the specifics, of course, but I found the sweet spot to be in the following zone: For every five-ounce can of tuna, you should make either two open-faced tuna melts on one-inch-thick slices of bread, or two closed sandwiches with half-inch-thick slices of the same bread.

The other important thing with the bread is to toast it properly, but that one’s so important it gets its own commandment…

Thou Shalt Toast Thine Bread Properly

While I’m sure most of us can agree that Warner’s steamy microwaved sandwich bread isn’t the way to go, that’s where the consensus ends. I tried a bunch of toasting options from dry-toasted to mayo-slathered to oil and butter-basted bread and beyond.

Dry-toasting the bread, which I did carefully over an open flame to get some nicely singed edges, was tastier than I expected, and helped keep the sandwich from seeming greasy. It’s nice to know that dry-toasting works, but we still need to work out the best way to use oil or another fat during toasting for a more traditional griddle-style sandwich. This is key, because managing greasiness is a primary concern for such a rich sandwich.

A good tuna melt has contrasting textures: melty cheese, fluffy tuna filling, and tender bread that’s crisp as can be right on its surface. The risk with most toasting methods in a skillet or on a griddle is that you accidentally add an excess of oil or butter to the cooking surface, since the cooking surface is larger than the bread you will toast on it. The bread, acting like a sponge, soaks it all up, and before you know it you’re eating a mayo-rich tuna salad, with gooey melted cheese, on grease-laden bread. It’s a gut bomb.

Step one in avoiding this result is to brush the bread with fat before toasting instead of adding the fat to the pan or griddle. By brushing the bread you can evenly and thoroughly cover the entire surface of each slice without over-saturating it.

Step two is toasting both sides of the bread, which, just like with a well-made grilled cheese, delivers a more pronounced crisp texture when you bite into the sandwich.

Step three is to be thoughtful about the fat you choose for greasing the bread. Oil makes for the crispiest toast. Butter is tastier, but its water content can hamper surface crisping, something that was pointed out to me by the chef Jason Vincent on Twitter, and which I confirmed in my own tests.

Clarified butter would solve this problem since it no longer has any crispness-hindering water in it, but most of us don’t keep that on-hand in our home kitchens and are unlikely to make it just for a tuna melt. One method suggested by Vincent is to toast the bread with oil for maximum crispness, then lightly brush the toasts with melted butter after to add just a touch of that rich dairy flavor flavor; it’s a method that works well. Another, which I stumbled on when adding bacon to one of my melts, is to toast the bread in rendered bacon fat if you happen to have some available. In the end, melted butter works well enough on its own, though it’s harder to get quite the same degree of crispness on the bread, so you just have to keep that in mind.

As for slathering bread with mayo for toasting? It’s a popular trick used for grilled cheese sandwiches, but I didn’t like it for tuna melts. They have enough mayo as it is thanks to the tuna salad, and adding more to the bread only risks a heavy-handed vinegar tang that pervades every layer of the sandwich. It was my least favorite option.

Thou Shalt Smash the Tuna to Smithereens

One of the big questions many may wonder is what kind of tuna to use. Oil-packed? The watery stuff? Some $15 jar of imported Spanish tuna? This one I already knew the answer to from my earlier tuna salad tests: When it comes to a mayonnaise-based tuna salad, it really doesn’t matter. The addition of mayo masks differences in tuna type. In most cases, a basic water-packed tuna, or tuna in its own juices is fine, no need to pay an olive-oil premium.

What does matter, though, is how you handle the tuna, and the secret is to absolutely smash it into tiny shreds with a fork. Tuna muscle is lean, which means that well-done tuna, which all canned tuna is, is incredibly dry (the exception is tuna belly, sold as “ventresca,” which is way too fancy and pricey for a tuna melt). That dry texture will be detectable in the final sandwich unless you pulverize the tuna so thoroughly that every last muscle fiber is coated in mayo.

It’s not hard to do, it just takes a fork or stiff spatula and some committed stirring and mashing. Keep at it until every last flake of tuna has been crushed and incorporated into a light and fluffy cloud of tuna salad. You’ll find the tuna also hold and binds with the mayo once it’s been completely mashed.

Thou Shalt Add Lots of Mayo, Then Soak it Up

A good tuna salad doesn’t skimp on the mayo—as we just established, canned tuna is dry and needs all the moisture help it can get. But a funny thing happens as you spoon mayo into your tuna: Right when you get to the perfect amount, the very last dollop that erases any hint of lean-fish dryness, the tuna salad becomes just a tad too loose.

The solution came from Serious Eats contributor Allison Robicelli, who tipped me off to one of her favorite tricks: adding panko bread crumbs to tuna salad. A couple spoonfuls of panko is just enough to soak up and thicken the excess of mayo, but because panko is such an airy bread crumb, the result is a tuna salad that still seems lighter and moister than one without panko made using slightly less mayo.

Tuna salad made with panko is light and fluffy, but not runny, as seen by the whipped-cream-like mounds here.

If you don’t have panko, don’t worry, just cut down on the mayo slightly and do without (don’t add other, denser bread crumbs!). The tuna salad won’t be quite as light, but it’ll still be good.

As for the mayo itself, in most cases good old Hellmann’s (or another regional favorite like Duke’s) is the way to go. Those tend to be thick and creamy, making a tuna salad that’s less slick and runny than one made with fancier store-bought or homemade mayo—and I say this as a card-carrying member of the homemade mayo society.

Though Shalt Choose a Good Melter, and Then Melt It

So many cheeses work in a tuna melt. Cheddar, American*, Swiss, Gruyère, Pepper Jack—even low-moisture mozzarella. Which one you use depends on your preferences and the flavor profile of the tuna melt you’re making. I like Cheddar on a basic diner-style melt, Swiss on a dill- and relish-packed version, and Pepper Jack for a tuna salad spiked with pickled chili peppers. Which is to say, you’ve got options.

* Full disclosure, as good of a melter as American cheese is, I find it adds a goopy texture to a tuna melt that I don’t love. I’d take Cheddar over American any day on my melts, but I know not everyone will agree with that, so go with whatever you prefer.

What matters, though, is that you actually melt the cheese. It is a tuna melt, after all. You can sometimes pull this off in a skillet as you griddle the sandwich, as long as there’s enough time for the heat to penetrate through the bread to the cheese slices. You can also use the broiler to melt cheese on top of an open-faced melt, or a hot oven to give a final dose of heat to get your cheese melted. Whatever you do, don’t skip this step, and maybe try not to resort to the microwave, which will steam the sandwich and destroy any crispness it might otherwise have had.

Thou Shalt Use Two Slices of Cheese

The bottom cheese on the toast, before tuna salad and another slice of cheese go on top.

Senator Warner got this part right. Two slices are the way to go, though unlike Warner, who put both slices of cheese on top of his tuna, I think it works even better to sandwich the tuna filling with melted cheese both above and below. Once again, two slices of cheese is a proportion thing. Any less and it’s skimpy—it’s a warm tuna salad sandwich without enough of that essential melt. Any more, though, and the sandwich risks veering into gut-bomb territory. You can do it, but proceed with caution.

Thou Shalt Weigh The Tuna Melt Down

Pressing a closed face tuna melt as you cook it is an important step. I do it when I toast the bread slices, since the added weight ensures even browning and crisping all over and helps the heat penetrate into the slices more quickly.

I also do it after I close the sandwich, to help it all become a seamless whole, because a good tuna melt shouldn’t seem like a bunch of components stuck together. It should instead fuse into a distinct entity, in which it’s hard to determine where the bread transitions to cheese, and where the cheese transitions to tuna.

The exception? I don’t weigh down an open-faced tuna melt—that’d just be a mess.

Thou Shalt Avail Thyself of Whatever Add-Ins You Want

There’s a lot to be said for the simplicity of a perfectly made plain mayo-based tuna salad on toast with melted cheese. But there’s also a world of variation that’s possible with flavorings, mix-ins, and sandwich add-ins. Here are just some ideas:

Panko bread crumbs (see above about why)

Celery

Onions and shallots

Chili sauces and hot sauces

Herbs like parsley, dill, tarragon

Capers

Olives

Mustard

Mayo (duh)

Scallions and chives

Relish (sweet or dill pickle) or other minced pickles

Chopped hard-boiled egg

Pickled chili peppers like jalapeños

Soy sauce, Worcestershire, and other umami bombs

Bacon

Avocado

Tomato

Lettuce

Spices like garlic or onion powder or coriander seed

Potato chips (particularly salt and vinegar)

Some of these are best mixed into the tuna salad, some should be layered on the sandwich, and a few work both ways. That’s a large part of the fun of tuna melts—there are so many possibilities, all of them delicious. But if you’ve learned one thing after all this, I hope it’s to pay attention to the basics, because without that, you’re lost. Senator Warner, you hear that?

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Tags: canned tuna, making, Melt, Tips, Tuna

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[abramsbooks]

RECIPE: Kitchen Sink Quesadilla (from What’s Gaby Cooking: Eat What You Want by Gaby Dalkin)

There’s a stall at one of our favorite farmers’ markets that makes a loaded veggie quesadilla, and Thomas and I hit it up pretty much every weekend. They sauté a ton of different veggies, stuff them into an extra-cheesy quesadilla, and grill it until it’s crispy. Um, perfection. So you can imagine how pumped I was one night when Thomas offered to make dinner and whipped up his version, which was every bit as gooey and delicious as the original. Below are his favorite vegetables to use, but this will work with just about anything in your fridge.

Serves 4 

Ingredients

1 head baby bok choy, ends trimmed and sliced into 1⁄2-inch (12 mm) pieces

5 leaves kale, any variety, sliced into 1⁄2-inch (12 mm) ribbons (about

1 packed cup (65 g)

1⁄4 cup (25 g) thinly sliced scallions

1 small carrot, peeled and thinly sliced 1 medium sweet potato, cut into small dice

2 tablespoons olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly cracked black pepper

1⁄2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

4 large our tortillas

4 cups (460 g) shredded Colby Jack or Monterey Jack cheese

Chipotle Salsa

Gaby’s Famous Guacamole  

Slice and dice all the vegetables so you’re ready to go. 

Heat the olive oil in a cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sweet potatoes and season them with salt, black pepper, and the red pepper flakes. Sauté the sweet potatoes for about 5 minutes, until they start to soften and slightly char. Add the rest of the vegetables and continue to sauté until the carrots are so and the kale has wilted, adding a li le water if the mixture is looking dry. Season everything with salt and pepper to taste and remove from the heat.

Either free up the cast-iron skillet by removing the vegetables to a medium bowl, or put another cast-iron skillet on the stove. Place 1 tortilla at a time into the skillet. Sprinkle 1 cup (115 g) of the shredded cheese on the tortilla. Spoon 1⁄2 to 3⁄4 cup (75 to 115 g) of the vegetable mixture on top of the cheese and turn the heat to medium. Allow the cheese to melt for about 1 minute and then fold the tortilla in half. Continue to cook the quesadilla until one side is golden brown and then flip and cook until the other side is equally golden. Remove the quesadilla from the pan and cut it into thirds. Repeat with the remaining tortillas and fillings. Serve with salsa and guacamole.

Finally! A cookbook for people who have had enough with rules and restrictions and are ready for delicious food that makes them feel good.

In her follow-up to her breakout success What’s Gaby Cooking, Gaby Dalkin reveals the secret to a happy life: balance. Eat What You Want reflects how Gaby eats in real life, and for her, balancing moderation and indulgence is everything. No deprivation, no “bad foods” list. The only rule? Enjoy your food. Whether you are looking for lighter dishes filled with tons of fresh fruits and veggies (like a Cauliflower Shawarma Bowl or lemony Tahini Broccolini), or soul-soothing dishes like (Ham and Cheese Croissant Bread or Strawberry Crispy Cobblers), Gaby has you covered.

All told, Eat What You Want is an invitation/permission slip/pep rally for you to let go of all the noise around what you choose to eat. Choose joy! Choose fun! Choose no apologies or excuses. But most of all, choose whatever makes you happy.

For more information, click here.

[jenguerrero]

#MattMoore @MattMoore #SerialGriller @SerialGriller #hmhco @hmhco

I loved Matt’s book, the South’s Best Butts, so I was psyched to see he had a new book out! First of all, I can’t even with that name!!! 😀 Serial Griller is a fabulous book, with great versions of the tried-and-true dishes you know and love, and some really creative ones to let you flex your grilling muscles! Terrific range. I want to highlight two iconic vacation favorites of ours. Every time we take a hiking vacation in Gatlinburg, TN, we stop for Nashville Hot Chicken Sandwiches on the way there and back. So ridiculously yummy! It never would have occurred to me to try grilling it. Does that luscious spicy and barely sweetened chicken oil stick to the grilled chicken the way it does to the fried? Yes!

New Orleans is only 8 hours from Fort Worth, so we love to duck down there, and when we do, you’d think we were in some sort of Po’Boy testing and analysis. He does his chuck roast on the grill, and it adds just a little smokiness to it. <sniff> It’s really a thing of beauty.

Big thanks to HMH for letting me share both of those recipes with you! I’ll tell you all about the other dishes we tried after the recipes. If you get the book, flip it open to the BBQ Meatloaf and Redneck potatoes and make those right away. Hug me later!

Excerpted fromSerial Griller: Grillmaster Secrets for Flame-Cooked Perfection© 2020 by Matt Moore. Photography © 2020 by Andrea Behrends and Helene Dujardin.Reproduced by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved.

East Nashville Hot Chicken

SERVES 4

Being a longtime resident of East Nashville, I’m hesitant to even include this recipe. I still have not come to terms with Nashville’s rapid ascent as a city, or the fact that hot chicken has become our food of export. Most folks incorrectly liken hot chicken to buffalo-style chicken. Classic hot chicken includes a paste—almost a batter—of molten butter or oil, sugar, and spice that’s a deep heat that hits you more in the gut than tongue. The classic hot chicken is fried, but this grilled spin is awesome. Serve the usual way, with soft white bread and tart dill pickles, and it’s a taste of home, no matter where you’re from.

HANDS-ON:35 minutes TOTAL:8 hours 35 minutes, including 8 hours marinating

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts (about 1 pound) 2 cups dill pickle juice 1 cup water 1 tablespoon plus teaspoons kosher salt 1 cup canola oil 2 tablespoons light brown sugar 2 tablespoons cayenne pepper 1 tablespoon paprika 1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper 8(1-ounce) white sandwich bread slices 20 dill pickle chips

1.Place the chicken, pickle juice, water, and 1 table-spoon of the salt in a large ziplock plastic bag. Seal the bag and marinate in the refrigerator for 8 to 12 hours. Remove the chicken from the bag; dis-card the marinade. Set the chicken aside at room temperature.

2.Open the bottom vent of a charcoal grill completely. Light a charcoal chimney starter filled with charcoal. When the coals are covered with gray ash, pour them onto the bottom grate of the grill. Adjust the vents as needed to maintain an internal temperature of 400° to 450°F. (If using a gas grill, preheat to medium-high [400° to 450°F].)

3.Combine the oil, sugar, cayenne, paprika, and black pepper in a small grill-safe saucepan; place on unoiled grates. Cook, uncovered and stirring often, until tiny bubbles form and the sugar melts, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the heat. Pour the mixture into a heatproof bowl and allow to cool slightly, about 10 minutes.

4.Sprinkle the chicken with the remaining 2 teaspoons salt. Coat the top grate with oil; place the chicken on the oiled grates. Grill, covered, until a thermometer inserted in thickest portion of the chicken registers 160°F, 10 to 12 minutes per side. Remove from the heat and let cool for 5 minutes.

5.Dip the chicken, one breast at a time, in the oil-sugar mixture. Place two bread slices on each of four serving plates; top one slice on each plate with a chicken breast and five pickle chips.

Debris Po’Boy

SERVES 6

Chuck roast seems to always be on sale at my local grocery—especially on Sundays. Though I’m all for a low-and-slow roast in the oven or slow cooker on the weekend, I prefer throwing this bad boy on the grill until the exterior is crusty and caramelized. Once it’s got a good exterior char, I finish cooking the roast in a Dutch oven until it is fall-apart moist and tender, “debris” style. Of course, you can serve the beef as a traditional roast with all the fixings, but I like it shredded and piled in a classic po’boy, dressed with the trimmings and reserved drippings. Keep a bowl of that savory drippings nectar close for dunking.

HANDS-ON:25 minutes TOTAL:3 hours 15minutes

1 (3-pound) boneless chuck roast 2 teaspoons kosher salt 1½ teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3 cups unsalted beef stock ¾ cup (6 ounces) salted butter, softened 6 (8-inch-long) portions Italian bread, split 6 tablespoons mayonnaise 12 (¾-ounce) slices provolone cheese 3 cups shredded iceberg lettuce (from 1 head) 12 thin tomato slices (from 1 large [12-ounce] tomato) 24 dill pickle chips Crystal hot sauce (optional)

1.Open the bottom vent of a charcoal grill completely. Light a charcoal chimney starter filled with charcoal. When the coals are covered with gray ash, pour them onto the bottom grate of the grill. Adjust vents as needed to maintain an internal temperature of 300° to 350°F. Coat the top grate with oil; place on the grill. (If using a gas grill, preheat to medium-low [300° to 350°F].)

2.Season the beef with the salt and pepper. Place on the oiled grates. Grill, covered and turning occasionally, until browned on all sides, 15 to 20 minutes. Transfer to a large Dutch oven. Pour the stock over the beef and place the Dutch oven on the grates. Grill, covered, until thebeef is fork-tender and a thermometer inserted in thickest portion registers 145°F, about 2½ hours. Remove the pot from the heat. Transfer the beef to a cutting board (reserving drippings in the pot); let rest for 15 minutes.

3.Spread the butter evenly on the cut sides of the bread. Place the bread, cut-side down, on the oiled grates and grill until just golden brown, about 45 seconds. Remove from the grill.

4.Shred the beef with a fork. Spread the mayonnaise evenly on the bread tops. Place two cheese slices on each bread bottom. Top evenly with the shredded beef, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and hot sauce (if desired). Pour the reserved beef drippings into a serving bowl; serve alongside the sandwiches.

The Sweet Potatoes al Rescoldo on page 91 are the absolute best, and would be the perfect accompaniment to your Thanksgiving turkey. Buttery and sweet with pie spices, a little chile, and nuts.

The BBQ Meatloaf on page 271 is fantastic! And he’s talking BBQ sauce – it’s made on the grill. Killer meatloaf! Tons of flavor and the texture was perfect. I made this will the potatoes below and it was outstanding.

The Redneck Potatoes on page 211 are total keepers. I’ve made them twice already. It’s that comfort food perfection that you’re hoping for.

The East Nashville Hot Chicken on page 237 is amazing!!! Amazing! It never would have occurred to me that you could grill it instead of frying it. Yeah, the coating sticks!

The Flank Steak with Black-Garlic Board Sauce on page 53 is fabulous! If you’ve never tried it before, hunting down the black garlic is well worth it. It adds so much depth of flavor to the sauce. He’s recommending dried grapevines as fuel, but I went with one of his substitutes, dried peach wood.

The Spatchcocked Whole Chicken on page 240 is so yummy. If you haven’t tried spatchcocking before, you’re in for a treat! It cooks so evenly and stays wonderfully juicy. Do it!

The Debris Po’Boy on page 229 is to die for. We try all the Po’Boys every time we find ourselves in New Orleans and this has all the lusciousness you’re expecting in a Po’Boy with a little kiss of smokiness from the grill. We loved them!

The Bacon and Swiss Burgers on page 60 are perfect. I grill burgers or do them in the skillet, but hadn’t thought of combining those two. Truly the best of both worlds. Note: He doesn’t mention seasoning the patties before you start grilling, and you’re going to want to do that.

The Meatballs with Sweet-and-Sour Sauce on page 162 are great. They’ve got a Swedish meatball vibe with a lot of flavor overlap, so I love that they’re glazed in lingonberries.

The Chili on the Grill on page 266 is a really flavorful, nearly all meat version. I stole a piece of wood from my smoker for the final one hour simmer to amp up the smokiness. So good!

The Pork Gyros on page 223 are really flavorful and juicy. So good!

*I received a copy to explore and share my thoughts.

Need a copy of that book? I’m an Amazon affiliate. Every time you use one of my links to make a purchase, Amazon gives me a tiny percentage. Thank you!

Serial Griller

East Nashville Hot Chicken and Debris Po’Boy Recipes and cookbook review: Serial Griller #MattMoore @MattMoore #SerialGriller @SerialGriller #hmhco @hmhco I loved Matt’s book, the South’s Best Butts, so I was psyched to see he had a new book out!

[emerygoat26-blog]

Author Nathan Englander Gets His Syrup in New Hampshire - Grub Street

At Mike’s Coffee Shop in Clinton Hill. Photo: Christian Rodriguez

At 30, Nathan Englander was the youngest ever recipient of the PEN award for “excellence in the art of the short story,” and this week he published his fifth book, the comically probing kaddish.com. His writing has been called “genre-hopping” and several variations on “playful,” descriptions that might also apply to his relationship with eating. Like many food lovers, Englander can appreciate a great restaurant as much as he can a well-written recipe — but he also isn’t above eating his daughter’s leftovers. “My wife can’t believe it,” he says. “I’m like, ‘Oh, yeah, I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the kid food.’” Over the past week, he also had time to eat stoop pizza, consider the qualities that make a neighborhood diner great, and think, wistfully, about bagels. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, March 21 I wish this had started Wednesday night. My wife and I actually got a babysitter, and went to a grown-up restaurant with another couple. One half of that couple was our friend JJ, who writes cookbooks, and when you go to restaurants with him, things you didn’t order just appear — “lamb chops, compliments of the food mafia!” — and I think that would have been a fun meal to share. But my Grub Street Diet started this morning! And I was doing drop-off, and was late getting our 4-year-old daughter to preschool — as I am every day.

While I packed her lunch, I ate a piece of wheat toast and drank a gallon of Kitten Coffee’s Tandem blend. I don’t like that super-black, melt-your-tongue coffee. I drink way too much coffee for that, and Kitten’s is just the perfect live-on-it-all-day roast. Also, I was once leaving the coffee shop on our corner, and the Kitten guy was delivering, and I screamed, “Hey, I love your coffee.” And he said, “Try this, I think you’ll like it,” and he threw me a pound of something new they were making, and I swooned with neighborhood good cheer.

So, my book was coming out on Tuesday and I was in prelaunch madness. I was stuck in the house, doing assignments, like 500 words on fingernails for Fingernail Digest, and I had a half-hour phone interview that somehow ran to an hour and a half and I was going to miss eating lunch. But JJ checked in, as he does about a million times a day. He was over on Henry Street, and he texted me a picture of the sandwiches chalked up on the board at Lillo, and offered to deliver. And, as with the Kitten coffee, it’s that kind of neighborly niceness that just kills me. He brought me the Mediterraneo, as ordered. It’s Italian tuna, arugula, sweet marinated onions, and tomato. It was delicious. (He also brought a couple of desserts, which I put aside.) And we both worked on our laptops at the table for a while.

Also, while I was waiting for JJ to show up, I ate the cold tortellini from Olivia’s dinner the night before. I’m all about the cold kid noodles from yesterday’s dinners. I enjoy that stuff. It’s not just that I’m eating it, I actually love it. I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the properly aged fish sticks, and the apples with bites missing. I think that’s a big parent thing, to be like, “Now I’m going to have a second meal that I found on the counter.”

A friend I hadn’t seen in years was in town visiting, and she was coming by for dinner. So, at the end of the workday, I ran over to Mekelburg’s for a loaf of She Wolf sourdough (which we’re crazy for). I also got Firehook sea salt crackers, and some cheddar and manchego and our favorite cheese, Délice de Bourgogne, which is about one inch away from just eating butter with a spoon. I got olives and radishes, and I also got all the fixings for my red lentil soup. I served it over brown rice, and finished it off with wilted spinach and some Greek yogurt, as the recipe recommends. My wife, Rachel, made a butter lettuce, endive, and grapefruit salad.

Also, it was Purim, and Rach got some hamantaschen that we served along with the desserts that JJ had brought. One was a kind of Italian version of a Boston cream doughnut, and there was a blueberry tart with a lattice top.

Friday, March 22 I made Olivia French toast, which was not at all a weekday thing, but she asked for it, and getting to school on time, as I’ve said, is not my strong suit. I had Greek yogurt, banana, and honey. And coffee. And Rach had a version of the same.

It was Friday, which was a gym day. So we do speed things up as best we can. We’ve been working out at CrossFit South Brooklyn for years, even though it’s over in Gowanus. But we love it, and it feels like family now. And we’re pretty religious about our Monday-Wednesday-Friday class, which is a kind of body-weight-centric thing that we love.

When I need to do busywork before writing, I often head to Three’s Brewing, one street over from the gym. It’s not for a post-workout beer. The brewery is closed during the day, but they have a cozy little outpost of Ninth Street Espresso inside that uses the space during the daytime. I headed over and got a coffee and, to ruin any gym-related gains, a cheddar and chive scone (which is just to say, I should have had the French toast).

Let’s sing the praises of leftovers. I cook so much more lately,, and the more complicated or ridiculous, the better. That, is I like to make the things where people say, “Ummm, you know, they sell that at the grocery store. You can buy that a lot more easily than you can make that.” I was recently cooking Middle Eastern food and I was like, “Well, I should also make the pita,” and there were a million steps, and I was really proud, but, man, that dinner would have been a lot easier if I’d just run to Damascus Bakery, or, you know, any supermarket in the whole city. I think it ties in to the writer brain. If I need to fix something I’m writing, I will stay up all night, and I will do it again and again until it’s where it needs to be.

Anyway, there was the leftover lentil soup and the cheese and that giant loaf from She Wolf waiting. And I had plans to meet my publicist, Jordan. We were both swamped, and so she swung by, and we set up shop at our dining room table (by which I mean, our only table), and we had a super nice lunch, but with screens out, typing away.

Rach and I are nutty for Ethiopian food. It’s a favorite. And, luckily, there’s a fantastic restaurant over on Fulton, across from Greenlight Bookstore, my local. It’s a big corner for me: books and Ethiopian food. The restaurant is called Bati. And the owner, Hibist, is an old friend. Back when I started writing and lived on the Upper West Side, I used to go do my work at the Hungarian Pastry Shop. I mean, I sat there all day, every day, and often closed the place down. And Hibist used to work behind the counter. And I love when a person’s dreams come true. That is, I remember Hibist pouring coffees in the ’90s and now she owns her own restaurant — and it’s the best. Also, they’re really nice to our daughter, who has gone from eating everything to a very beige-focused food phase (possibly inherited from my suburban, white-bread roots).

Anyway, we packed her a little dinner of her own as an emergency backup, which they were really nice about. And as for ordering at Bati, Rach and I haven’t touched a menu there in years. We always, always get a vegetarian combo for two — which had a bunch of things on it, gomen, and buticha, and key sir, and — what really matters to us — always lots of shiro. And, at Bati, I don’t even need JJ for special treatment. They always keep an eye on us and make sure there’s shiro on the tray.

Also, they were out of St. George beer that night, so I had a Walia, which was equally great.

Saturday, March 23 If I’m being honest here, this was a record amount of time for me not to have eaten a bagel. This diary should have already had five dozen or so in it. Anyway, I ate the She Wolf Sourdough toast, day 400 on that bread. If you amortize the initial investment, I was pretty much making money on that loaf.

After dance class (my daughter’s, not mine), we headed over to Tacombi with friends. It’s a great Mexican place with locations in Manhattan, but now we’ve got one across from BAM. I spotted one grown-up couple having beers in the main room when we got there, but otherwise there were lots of kids, and lots in tutus — it seemed to be the new post-dance hangout. We had a big order of kid-friendly plain versions of things, which the staff was really nice about (that is, quesadilla with nothing, rice and beans with nothing). As for this grown-up, I had the seared fish tacos and their Naranja, which is a papaya, carrot, pineapple, and orange juice.

So, it was the Montclair Literary Festival — go NJ! My event was near the end of the day, and, after it was over, I went straight into Joyce Carol Oates’s. Then there was a cocktail party for the festival, and I ate I don’t know what, some hummus and pita, and had a glass of white wine. And Joyce had invited me to dinner with friends, and we headed to a place called Scala del Nonna. The joint was jumping, it was packed out and loud and Saturday night-ish, and one table kept knocking over the wine bucket.

As for wine, apparently Montclair has some ancient liquor law thing, and the restaurant was dry. So my friend Julie ran out to the store next-door and bought a bottle of Gavi, and Joyce’s friend ordered porcini risotto with peas for the table. I got the branzino alla griglia, which was marinated sea bass lightly grilled with scarola Siciliana. And, well, if you replaced all the fish I ate this week with candy and bagels, once again, it would better represent my normal diet.

Sunday, March 24 The day was packed with playdates, which was lovely. My daughter and I headed over to a friend’s who has twins and lives right next to the bagel store — my chance to make a move. But when we got into their house, Melissa had already made a mountain of whole-grain silver dollar pancakes, and a fruit plate with strawberries, watermelon, and pear. And, as always, she put a cup of coffee right into my hand.

We all headed to the park. As the twins headed off, another friend of my daughter’s showed up with her dad. After another couple of hours of wildness, we took the girls for a slice of Luigi’s Pizza and sat on the stoop outside. My slice turns into two, and they keep their seltzers properly freezing in their fridge. Slices on a stoop make me extraordinarily happy in a New York way: I was being nostalgic while it was happening, like, “This is the life.”

For our third and final playdate of the day, we had another of our daughter’s friends over to the house, with her folks. I’d been wanting to make chili, and offered to do so, but — if I’m allowed to break the fourth wall — Oriana, the visiting mom, is a huge fan of this column. She said chili is boring. So we ordered in Vietnamese from Mekong Delta. The restaurant is in one of those neighborhood locations that never works out and keeps changing hands. But Mekong Delta seems to be doing great. We all shared a papaya salad, and I got chicken pho and shrimp summer rolls.

Monday, March 25 It felt like maybe it was one of the last cold mornings before spring kicked in, and even with the pancakes yesterday, I always need to make sure I’m getting enough maple syrup in my diet. Point is, I made oatmeal, and ate it with bananas and blueberries and maple syrup that we buy by the jug when we’re up at our friend’s farm in Sandwich, New Hampshire. So, yes, for the best maple syrup in the world, I’d head straight for the sugar shack at Booty Farm on Mt. Israel Road.

I really want to state again that my body mass is probably about 80 percent bagel. If you cut me in half, I imagine mostly sesame seeds would pour out — as that’s my bagel of choice. So I really can’t believe I haven’t had one since this diet started — it’s the longest stretch since we got back from a year in Malawi (where I broke down and made bagels from scratch).

It was the day before launch. I owed everybody a million things, and was sure I’d be working until the middle of the night. At 2 p.m., I ran over to Mike’s Coffee Shop to grab something. Mike’s has been our home diner since we moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan around a decade ago. And we love it. It’s super homey, and they’re super nice, and it has a proper diner-y, pressed-tin ceiling, and a proper neon sign in the window. You always bump into friends there, and the kids are often given lollipops when you pay, whether they need a lollipop or not. Also, the owners are really good about calmly managing the weekend waiting list when it’s chaos and the throngs of folks are roaming outside waiting on tables.

I sat in the last booth and I ordered a coffee and a tuna sandwich on wheat toast, with lettuce, tomato, and onion. And a pickle spear! If there’s a picture of me up above with a sandwich in front of me, that’s the one. If there’s a picture of me without it, it’s because it’s already in my belly.

The last supper. So, a friend was having a dinner party, and I did not go to that dinner party — though, again, I’d be killing it with the food over there. But, the next day was the launch event at Greenlight Bookstore, and I’d start traveling the morning after that, and except for a night here and there, well, I’ll be hawking books on the road like a brush salesman for the next few weeks. This was basically the last night I got to be home with my wife and daughter and Calli the dog until tour slows down. Also, I usually come home from tour looking like I’ve eaten a bag of salt. That is, I’m so thankful to get to do readings and meet readers and shepherd the novel out into the world, but I will be eating a lot from after-hours menus, and CIBO Express airport food, and the day was gray and cold and some comfort food at home sounded nice.

So Rachel started kid dinner, and my daughter and I ran out to the supermarket around the block. We love going to the supermarket, me and her. We were getting ingredients for my friend Kitty’s chili recipe. When my wife was in grad school (she’s a professor), we lived in Madison, Wisconsin for three years, and our friend Kitty gave us a little book of her very Wisconsin-style dishes, which are great for this kind of weather. At the store, we also got the stuff for a green salad, because it sounded nice and I also wanted to keep my heart from exploding on the road.

At home, while my daughter ate, I got the chili into a giant pot and let it simmer until — as happens in our building — the whole floor smelled like cayenne peppers and onion. For the salad, I just used lemon and olive oil and salt, which is my single favorite dressing. And after our daughter fell asleep, Rach emerged and served up the chili. I chopped up some cilantro and chives for toppings, and we sat down at the table and dug in, with the dog underneath the table at our feet, which is my kind of dinner.

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[shooktim-blog]

Food is always an important aspect of any trip, but sometimes what I find to eat and drink takes on even greater importance. That was the case most recently when I sailed along the Danube from Budapest to Linz, Austria on a river cruise with Avalon Waterways. It was an active trip, but it was also about cultural discovery and for me, that usually means food is involved. Today I want to share those special food moments both on and off the ship that helped me not only better enjoy my adventure, but understand the local culture at the same time.

Hungarian Classics

Lángos – One of Hungary’s most popular street food delicacies, I actually enjoyed this for the first time while onboard the Avalon Impression. That’s one aspect I loved about sailing with Avalon, every day they brought in the local flavors through our meal options, including a robust dinner of these deep fried treats. Like most comfort food, lángos is pretty simple: it’s just deep fried flatbread that puffs when fried. It’s a blank canvas for just about any ingredient, including both savory as well as sweet. The classic though is one topped with shredded cheese and a gooey sour cream that’s different from what I’m used to in the US, but no less delicious.

Nokedli – One of my favorite German side dishes is a great spätzle, so when I found the Hungarian version I couldn’t resist. Also found on the dinner menu onboard the Avalon Impression, it was the perfect accompaniment to my lángos main course. Nokedli are Hungarian egg noodle dumplings that are commonly used when making one of the country’s favorite dishes, Chicken Paprikash.

Hungarian kürtöskalács – Also called chimney cakes by those of us who can’t pronounce the Hungarian, these are enjoyed all year but especially around Christmastime. Made from sweet yeast dough, the cake starts off as a strip that is spun and then wrapped around a cone–shaped baking spit and rolled in granulated sugar. It is baked on a charcoal grill while doused with melted butter, until its surface becomes golden-brown. During the baking process the sugar caramelizes and forms a shiny, crispy crust on the cake. Made to order, the cakes are served up hot and the steam rising up looks just like a chimney, hence the name.

Ruin bars – These have become really popular in recent years and not just amongst the backpacker set, but just about every visitor to the city. Ruin bars are bars and cafes that started when people wanted cheap places to drink. Taking over decrepit buildings that had fallen into disuse, entrepreneurs set up shop creating eclectic spaces where nothing matches and everything is unplanned. They’re fun places to meet friends, hang out, relax, drink, get a bite and just enjoy the evening. Of course they have now been taken over by hipsters and tourists, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still fun, they are, and if you really explore them you’ll see old apartments and stores from the Communist era that offer a surprising glimpse into the city’s darker past.

Austria & All the Schnitzel

This is one of the most touristy meals out there, but it’s famous for a reason – it’s delicious. Sure you can find Wiener Schnitzel (which means schnitzel from Vienna) just about anywhere, but when you’re in Vienna one of the best places to enjoy this traditional delicacy is at Figlmüller’s. Located near St. Stephen’s, the chefs at Figlmüller’s have been creating some of the best versions of Austria’s national dish since 1905; so it’s safe to say they know what they’re doing. The schnitzels are made from the best cuts of pork and extend well past the edge of the plate – a massive 11 inches in diameter. Still, I found myself devouring this classic dish in no time; it was light, crispy and delicious. You can enjoy schnitzel anywhere, but be sure to try it at Figlmüller’s who really can be credited with transforming this popular dish into the culinary event it is today.

That wasn’t the only time I tried schnitzel in Vienna, I also joined a cooking excursion offered by Avalon Waterways. The class, which lasted an entire afternoon, was taught by one of the most entertaining people I’ve ever met and during our time in his demonstration kitchen we learned the proper way to not only make an authentic Wiener Schnitzel, but an equally authentic (and delicious) apple strudel. While the excursion was an optional one, it was one of the most fun experiences I enjoyed during my week sailing with Avalon.

Non-Schnitzel Austrian Fare

Breakfast culture – While in Vienna, I took a tour that shared the early-morning side of Vienna just as it started to wake up. A big part of that was enjoying a classic Viennese breakfast (and especially coffee) experience in a beautiful downtown cafe. Some bread and jam, cold cuts and a soft-boiled egg was the perfect light start I needed but, more importantly, the coffee was incredible. Vienna famous for its coffee culture and as a true coffee lover it was a highlight of my day. Served on a silver tray with a small glass of water, there is a certain protocol to the ritual and no one is ever rushed. If you want to order just one cup of coffee and sit in the shop and read for a few hours, that’s fine. Coffee is meant to be enjoyed and when coupled with a space as gorgeous as this one in downtown Vienna, there are few better ways to slowly wake up.

Kaiserschmarm – At the end of the day, while savory is fine, I have an incredible sweet tooth. Dessert is always an important event for me, and I wasn’t disappointed in Vienna or anywhere else in Austria. Kaiserschmarrn can be found throughout both Germany and Austria, but its Imperial roots trace it back to Vienna. It’s also easy to find and delicious to enjoy. It’s a light, caramelized sweet pancake that is split into pieces while frying and served with powdered sugar and an applesauce or other compote. While not as sweet as a chocolaty dessert, it’s filling and tasty and more than satisfied my sweet cravings.

Strudel – I seriously doubt that Austrian apple strudel needs much of an introduction, but in case you’re not familiar with it this is one dessert not to be missed. I learned the proper way to make this classic dish during my optional cooking excursion with Avalon and while it’s slightly more challenging to make than I imagined, I can’t wait to try baking it at home. Strudel is a sweet, layered pastry that can be made with any fruit, not just apples. It became popular in the 18th century throughout the Habsburg Empire and still remains a traditional go-to dessert today.

Wine – Even though Austria’s famous Wachau Valley is less than an hour outside of Vienna, it really does feel like a world away. Rolling hills dotted with an improbable number of wineries with the mighty Danube cutting through the middle, this remarkable area is one of Europe’s most beautiful getaways. It’s not just a pretty face though, there’s a lot to see and do here, especially if you’re interested in food and wine. The Wachau Valley is one of the most famous wine regions in the world and along with great wine regions comes amazing food to match. Wine is big business in the Wachau, and the region reminds me of so many others around the world from Sonoma to the Margaret River. Life here is all about the grape, and every spare inch of hillside has a vine on it.

Cheese and beer – On the last day of the Avalon cruise along the Danube, we stopped at the small town of Engelhartszell to visit a very special place. Engelszell Abbey is a Trappist monastery – the only one in Austria – originally founded in the 13th century. Although a lot has changed in the intervening years, the small town alongside the river is just as quiet and tranquil today as it must have been centuries ago. In order to make some extra money, the monks produce any number of items including cheese and an incredibly popular craft beer. The most popular brews are the Gregorius, Benno, and the Nivard, malty beers that reminded me of a great American IPA more than anything else. No matter where you sample the local fare in Austria, just make sure you get off the beaten path at least once to experience some of these very regional delicacies.

No matter your culinary preferences, there’s no doubt that food is an important part of any cruise along the beautiful Danube. What would you add to this list?

  This trip is a project managed by iambassador in partnership with Avalon Waterways. LandLopers maintains full editorial control of the content published on this site.

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