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citrustan · 3 years ago

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lovefool [drabble 3] (jjk)

pairing: jeon jungkook × reader

genre: angst, fluff (sort of), smut

summary: where taehyung helps jungkook plan for his first official date with you.

word count: 1k-ish

note: hi! this is a drabble of the main story 'lovefool', the chapters of which you can find on my masterlist (pinned post)! also, thank you, truly, for all the love you've given to lovefool and me.

"I think it's a good idea." Jungkook speaks thoughtfully.

"What? The banana soufflé?"

"No, the supermarket date. Definitely not the soufflé. She hates bananas."

Taehyung gasps, "How dare she!"

Jungkook shoves his best friend into the wall, earning a girlish moan from the man.

"Focus. All I know is that she hates bananas and cheese."

"CHEESE? How dare-" Taehyung is flabbergasted, but immediately cut off.

"Please, stop. I've never been this confused in my life." Jungkook puts his finger to his forehead.

"Oh? We're serious about this?" Taehyung raises a brow.

"We are." Jungkook's eyes wander to the fresh basil leaves. You can't go wrong with pesto, can you?

"Why don't you guys just make gimbap? I have my mom's homemade kimchi, I can bring you some. Just get sticky rice and whatever else she prefers." Taehyung suggests.

"Mmh. I dunno, she's a picky eater. What if she doesn't like the seaweed or the egg?"

"Huh, okay. Let's keep looking."

Jungkook and Taheyung are practicing shopping and cooking for Jungkook's and your date the following week.

Well, Jungkook is practicing and Taehyung is... eating.

They browse through the racks at the grocery store you first met at.

Taehyung, being the more romantic one of the lot, provided him with a fairly large list of date ideas and Jungkook resonated with the one where he'd take you to the grocery store where he can buy you whatever you wanted and would cook with you.

He knows you enjoy baking and French and Italian pastry and dessert, he did not have enough time to conjure up baking skills nor did he want you to end up doing all the work. Something quick and easy would be more ideal.

"I just know you're going to go back to pasta." Taehyung whistles. He pops a grape into his mouth when nobody's watching.

"I mean, it is versatile and, ya know, pretty simple to prepare... and stuff..." Jungkook pouts.

"Delicious but basic." Taehyung reiterates.

"Classic! Basic is an exaggeration, you're just snooty." Jungkook teases.

"Hey, hey, I'm a man of- of fine calibre. Pasta is good, great even, but when YOU try to make pasta without enough knowledge, on a first date that too? You're already making her do all the work and what if it sucks?"

Jungkook smiles, "That's when I offer her my huge and fat collection of takeaway menus."

"And waste her time." Taehyung continues.

"It's not- it is time we might spend talking to each other!" With that, Jungkook pushes the shopping cart filled with items, half of which he doesn't intend to buy, further into the fresh produce section.

He ponders real hard in a futile attempt at thinking of a perfect dish that he can execute and that which impresses you.

Taehyung catches up to him, "Yo."

"Yo."

"Hear me out... sandwich."

"Absolutely not." Jungkook waves him off.

"Fish! Halibut, with the crispy potato scales!"

"Oh, yes! Halibut!" Jungkook exclaims, deadpan.

"Cereal?" He sighs.

"No, that's for our second date." Jungkook smiles. "The morning after." He winks, playfully.

"You're a pig." Taehyung fakes disgust.

"Well, hello there." Jungkook spots the long, green sticks in a bunch.

"Asparagus...?"

"Yeah!"

"Didn't you tell me _____ was a picky eater?"

...

"Yeah, alright, let's keep looking."

After thirty more minutes of browsing and window shopping, Taehyung takes notice of the weird dude following him and Jungkook around.

"Jungkook, this is weird. We've been in here for over an hour, I swear the boss man has asked that blonde employee to keep an eye on us." He traces his eyes to the corner. Then, said employee abruptly kneels on the ground and begins counting the mushrooms before him.

"Hm? He's just stocking up." Jungkook states unsuspectingly, making Taehyung squint his eyes in disbelief. "You-" He pokes the centre of his chest, "Are strange." Jungkook softly groans.

Taehyung lets out another involuntary sigh, internally skimming through the various cuisines he's had before. "Do you think she'll like salmon?"

"Doesn't it make your breath smell? I want to be able to kiss her."

"Ki- okay." The dark haired man sighs. "Actually." It hits him, "Why don't you make an obento? You know how to work with those Japanese flavours, hell, make it Korean! You can, like, include a variety of food that way."

"Yeah?"

"Sure! Or maybe a hot pot?"

Jungkook's face twists up dubiously.

"JK, it's better to do something you already know. She'll appreciate it."

Jungkook considers the suggestion. He thinks it might work. He has made it with Yuna before, she seemed to love it. Taehyung loves it. He reckons he can't go wrong with something Taehyung approves of.

"That... might actually work well." He drags his words out. "Huh. Okay. Obento and hotpot, it is!"

Soon after, they buy all the required ingredients and extra snacks for Taehyung. On Jungkook.

On the drive back home, Taehyung's curiosity is through the roof. He doesn't remember the last time his best friend was interested in anyone for more than a one time date or hook up.

"Have you spoken to Yuu about it?"

"I have, yeah. I mean I told her, that I like _____. Seeing her that day at the store, I swear, it lit something inside me. It's like love at first sight. It's real! I watched this video the other day- this doctor, I think it was a doctor. She studied love or something." His eyes widen in recollection, "Biological anthropologist!"

"She explained the whole 'love at first sight' phenomenon. It's a romantic attraction that is born because this person checks out all the qualities you look for, consciously or subconsciously."

Jungkook opens his mouth, waiting for Taehyung to feed him a matcha Pocky.

"Thanks."

"So, an... alarm went off because you suddenly realised that you saw someone who you deemed to be your type?" Taehyung tries to understand his friend.

"To be honest, I think you and _____ are pretty spot on. It's perfect. Textbook love story."

"Ah... I- I don't know." Jungkook stutters, visibly blushing upon Taehyung's implication.

Taehyung inwardly thought the same thing as Jungkook when he first met you. You and Jungkook complete eachother. Taehyung felt an intense pull towards you as well.

His happiness for his friend was almost too hard to contain.

"I don't want to be cheesy right now, so I'll just pause this conversation and resume when we're not in traffic."

"But," He continues, "You look happy."

Jungkook simpers, "I am, hyung."

His use of the endearing, Korean term makes Taehyung smile twice as wide.

#jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook fic #jungkook au #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #fic: lovefool #jungkook drabble #jungkook fics

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ladykissingfish · 3 years ago

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What do you think, in today’s world, the Akatsuki members’ favorite foods would be? Doesn’t have to be their canonical faves either. Love your blog/all your quirky little posts! ❤️

thank you for the love for my blog, I appreciate it!

and I like your question. let’s see, um, well Hidan and Deidara I can see being typical young guys and just living off of fast food. I can see Deidara eating like 40 McDonald’s chicken nuggets in one sitting, covered in a mix of bbq and sweet and sour sauces, and still complaining about being hungry. Hidan I can see being a burger guy, the bigger and thicker, the better. And not just a burger but a burger loaded with pickles and tomatoes and onions and half a cow’s worth of cheese. Topped with a mountain of ketchup-drenched fries that Deidara (if he’s eating with Hidan) will filch half of. Oh, and soda. These two can down an entire 12 pack of Coke each or just guzzle two liter bottles.

Kakuzu and Kisame, I can see being a bit more evolved in their tastes. Kisame being half-shark probably has an appreciation for fine sea food, like salmon or mahi mahi; or I can also see him being the type to go to one of those conveyor belt sushi places and just amassing stacks of plates at his elbow. Kakuzu, well the old guy is cheap af, but on the few occasions he’s not, I can see him enjoying a nice steak, rare, maybe with sautéed onions and mashed potatoes, and some sort of cruciferous vegetable. Kisame strikes me as a water drinker and Kakuzu (again when he’s not being cheap) either a good glass of wine, or a scotch.

Sasori doesn’t eat, but if he DID, I can kinda see him having a thing for soufflés. Like wanting to make them on his own and always working on perfecting his recipes to make the fluffiest creations ever. Making a soufflé requires a lot of precise baking work and attention to detail, which I feel someone like him would be good at. Also see him as being the kind to enjoy a cold glass of milk, and *chocolate* milk if he’s being “adventurous” that day.

Konan, she has such a lovely slim figure and I imagine she eats in a way to keep herself in shape, so mostly healthy foods like salads, yogurt, lean proteins and a variety of fruits and vegetables. But when she allows herself a “cheat” day, I can see her being just as big a fast food eater as Deidara and Hidan. For some reason I picture her going to Taco Bell, ordering a nachos bell grande and like 4 chalupas, eating it all, hiding the evidence and working out twice as hard the next day, to make up for it. Also see her being like Kakuzu in that she enjoys an occasional glass of wine, maybe a hard drink every now and then.

Obito and Itachi, they grew up in the Uchiha clan and the Uchiha never had a lot of money or resources, instead learning to stretch what they had to make delicious meals. So I think each of their favorite things to eat would be home cooked things, simple yet tasty. Maybe for Obito garlic-roasted chicken and potatoes, or possibly a marinated roast beef. For Itachi, I can see breakfast as being his thing, like big homemade breakfasts like his mother used to make: pancakes, fried potatoes, sliced tomatoes, eggs, bacon, or maybe once in a while something like an apple tart. Both of them strike me as tea drinkers, although I see Obito as drinking his tea plain/black and Itachi using a lot of honey or lemon or sugar as sweeteners.

Nagato, I think he’d really be a fan of pasta. Easy to eat, easy to digest, and so many different types. I think a vegetable lasagna would be his favorite type, noodles and ricotta and mozzarella, spinach, zucchini, carrots, peppers … and he’d ask Konan to make this for him at least once a week. He’s not a big eater in general but with this I can see him having 2 or 3 servings. Also see him as being a coffee drinker, although he’s trying to cut back because the caffeine probably isn’t very good for his heart.

and Zetsu … well, his eating habits would be hard to stick into a modern day world, right? But maybe he’d enjoy some unique cuts of (cooked) meat, stuff like roast rabbit, or herb-crusted rack of lamb, or maybe even quail or squab. Like Kisame, I see him as being solely a water drinker.

#the akatsuki #eating #deidara #hidan #kakuzu #kisame #konan #sasori #zetsu #itachi uchiha #obito uchiha

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

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Day 4

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Sleep never comes.

You spend the entire night alert, impossibly aware of every car moving around and every voice coming from apartments below. Your senses are on fire, lit up with fear and terror of what's to come.

And by the way Jumin looks at you in the morning, your lack of sleep shows.

"Eat," He says, when his chef brings out an extravagant breakfast. "You look awful."

"Thanks," You mumble sarcastically, not caring about being polite. You clench your jaw when you look down at the food. It's a breakfast fit for a king, a dozen different plates spread between you two. Jumin has placed a portion of baked egg danish with kimchi and bacon onto his plate, and his chef has served him fried eggs with hazelnuts and blackberries. There's a fruit arrangement, two egg and cheese soufflés, and more crumpets than two people would ever be able to consume. And the chef is still placing plates down.

Still, all you can bring to your stomach is a small waffle square that brngs you back to your days in the orphanage, when life had been sweet and peaceful. When your parents hadn't been in the picture.

"Jumin," You begin, voice low. "Before my mom comes. There's something you need to know."

There are a lot of things he needs to know, You can't help but think. And if he knew them, he wouldn't have called my mother, but I have to at least tell him this.

"I'm adopted."

He doesn't even take a pause from his breakfast, not bothering to meet your eyes. "I know."

Your eyes widen.

How?! Your parents have taken every precaution to keep that aspect of their life a secret, never wanting the world to know that they're incapable of producing child.

Jumin must notice the confused look in your eye, though, because he explains: "After you called Luciel...well, I don't know what impression you left him with, but he automatically assumed you were an enemy of mine. He sent me a file on you, thinking that I'd use it to blackmail you to protect myself."

Oh.

No wonder.

The world doesn't know it, but BC-Sonic has invested billions of dollars into user privacy and security, so you'd instantly known that 707, or apparently Luciel, was a top-tier hacker. And then he'd gone back and breached your company's security two more times until BC-Sonic had shifted its algorithms completely. So there's no real surprise that he'd been able to uncover the details of your adoption.

But what else does Luciel know? And more importantly..."What else was in the file?"

Jumin flicks a bored eye up at you, thinking. "Nothing noteworthy. It went in chronological order, so your adoption was the first thing I saw. I didn't look at it much after that point."

A small smile finds its way to your face, despite the situation. Even when he doesn't have to, Jumin always seems to find a way to be a gentleman.

"Can I see the file?" You ask hopefully, needing to know the depth of Luciel's information.

"I already returned it back to him," Jumin responds. "Why? Was there something specific you wanted to know?"

You swallow. Jumin has now stopped eating, putting all his attention on you. Underneath his piercing gaze, you can't help yourself. "Did it say anything about..."

Child abuse?

"...Nevermind," You say quickly, cutting a waffle square and shoving it into your mouth so you have an excuse not to speak.

It's bad enough that Jumin may piece together the truth at the meeting with your mother tomorrow, you have no intentions of bringing it up any earlier than necessary.

"Should I take the day off?" Jumin inquires after a moment. "I've already cleared my schedule for tomorrow, and my assistant should be able to move my meetings for today."

"Why would you need to take today off?" You ask, unable to hide your irritance. "I'm fine."

"Of all the words to describe you right now, fine is not one of them."

You shoot Jumin another glare, but you know he's right. Last night was one of the first sleepless nights you've had in a long time, and your body is not adjusting well. And it doesn't help that every time you think about seeing your mother, the pit in your stomach gets even deeper. But still: you don't want Jumin risking his reputation at C&R on your account.

"There's nothing you can do for me by staying home," You blurt, not caring about how rude it sounds. "Go. We'll see each other in the evening."

Jumin opens his mouth in protest, but you give him no chance, standing up and leaving the room as quickly as possible. A bubble of guilt begins to rise in the depths of your consciousness, where you know that Jumin is simply doing all he can to make sure that both you and his father are happy...but he knows too little of the truth.

And he has too much power, you can't help but think.

That is the one spot of hope you have—that your mother, even if she hurts you tomorrow, won't do it in front of Jumin. She can't possibly be that bold, can she? Not in front of a man with such powerful influence. Even if the meeting brings you pain, it'll be in private, without Jumin ever finding out.

I can only hope, you think absentmindedly. You hear the front door close, signifying Jumin's leave.

You sigh.

Heart heavy with a need to distract yourself before you start shamefully crying once more, you turn to entertainment to preoccupy your thoughts. What should you watch? The Big Mermaid? Cinderemma? The Lion Prince? You turn the TV on and scroll through the titles before selecting Beauty and the Feast, a heartwarming tale about a comely woman and her neverending appetite.

But the moment the credits start rolling, your mind darts back to thoughts of your childhood, and all the pain you'd endured. Absentmindedly, you bring a hand down to your outer thigh and massage the spot, a motion you've done hundreds of times before to soothe yourself.

No, you tell yourself, angrily shifting your hand away. I need to leave those memories—and those habits—in the past. As soon as tomorrow is over, Mother will never lay a hand on me again and I can forget everything. For real, this time.

You turn on One Hundred and One Damnations and force your mind into the setting of the movie, repeating the pattern over and over again until the entire day has gone by like that: angrily binging children's' movies to distract yourself from reality.

You don't even notice that Jumin has returned until he awkwardly coughs. "Is this how you spent your day?" He inquires, one eyebrow raised.

"Better than nightmares all day like yesterday," You respond plainly, scooting over on the couch. You pat the spot expectantly, and Jumin regards you with mild amusement before walking off. You pout for a moment, but then he returns, now with his blazer off and tie loosened. The man sets two wine glasses on the coffee table and pours himself a glass of red, leaving you a glass on the table in case you desire it.

And just like that, you hit the play button and the movie continues.

Except that this time, each time your mind gets pulled away from the movie, it's not your mother you think about. It's the businessman himself: Jumin.

His expression is relaxed, from the wine or the movie you don't know. Even his usually sharp gaze is now softened as he watches Ponald Puck stomp around on the screen. You can't tell if he's actually invested in the movie or not, because every now and then his gaze drifts to the windowed wall, where there's a beautiful sunset, or to the chandelier looming above your heads, or to his reflection in the wine; but there's something utterly mesmerizing about watching him.

He's handsome, you realize. How is it that you've never noticed it before?

It's only the few times that his gaze actually shifts to you that you move your eyes away to focus on the movie, though your thoughts drift back to him soon enough.

"You should sleep," Jumin says quietly, when a new batch of credits rolls onto the screen for the sixth time.

"I don't want sleep," You respond. Though you're certain he understands your real meaning. I don't want nightmares.

Jumin sighs, taking the remote away from you before you can put on another movie. "(Y/N), it's been over twenty-four hours since you last slept. Considerably longer than that, actually. This can't be good for your health."

"I'll make it work."

Before Jumin can answer, your phone begins to buzz. You pull it up, and the entire screen is lit up with Chairman Han's contact picture.

You stiffen. Taking his call is the last thing you want to deal with, right now.

Next to you, Jumin places his wine glass down on the coffee table. His soft gaze flits over you before he takes the phone from your hand. "Hello, father? Ah yes...(Y/N) is already asleep, she left her phone on the table. Of course. Very well, I'm taking the day off tomorrow but I'll tell my assistant to set up a meeting. Oh, no reason...Yes. You as well. Good night."

Jumin hangs up and places the phone next to the wine glass, making no mention of what he just did.

You avert your eyes. "Thank you," You tell him, your voice quiet enough to have been lost in the light breeze from the ceiling fan.

Jumin sighs and turns, all of his attention centered on you. But for once, his gaze isn't calculating as he looks at you, or even sharp. His expression is different tonight, a stormy sky of passionate thunder and lustful wind swirling and mixing all in his gray eyes.

"You can talk to me," He tells you gently, after staring at you for what feels like hours.

Somehow he's managed to pin you to your spot with his eyes alone, and as much as you want to give in—to tell him the truth about your horrid childhood and all your fears of the life you're getting into with Chairman Han—you know that you can't burden him like that. This is your weight to bear, and your life to manage.

"No, Jumin." You tell him. "I can't."

His jaw clenches momentarily and he looks down. In turn, you sigh, hating yourself for denying him. But you have to do it. You can't give in. You can't.

"I want to help you, (Y/N)."

"We don't need to talk for that. Just..." You bring your gaze up to Jumin's, and when your eyes meet you pull your gaze away, staring at your hands. There's only one thing you can ask of Jumin. "Just be here for me."

"Okay," He says, bringing his head lower so that his forehead is resting against yours. "I'm here."

It's...oddly peaceful.

Neither of you move. With each passing second, you feel the weight of your memories and the fears of your future slowly fade, until you're not thinking about them at all and all that remains is the present.

Your breathing slows, and you release a sigh of content when Jumin wraps his larger hands around yours, slowly caressing each finger before rubbing soothing circles on the soft skin. Your mind feels completely empty, devoid of thoughts of your mother and Chairman Han. All that exists in the moment is you.

And him.

And his hand, as it rises to your cheek.

And his thumb, as he delicately tilts your chin upward so that you're meeting his eyes, the blueish grays never being as soft and tender as now. Whatever storm of emotion that was in them before is now cleared. All that remains a silent question: Is this okay?

And as you both lean forward, all that exists is his lips on yours, so gentle and loving but tender with promises of more to come, and nothing can shatter the infinitely precious moment.

Somewhere, in the distance, you hear one of Jumin's clocks strike twelve times.

Midnight.

But even so, as Jumin brings a hand to cup your cheek and you wrap your arms around his neck, neither of you can bring yourselves to care, and even time doesn't exist in the perfect world you're both immersed in: the worlds of each other.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: So...If you follow my other fic Where Futures Begin, you'd notice that I haven't been updating....and that's because I physically cannot type with my left hand at all without the process being 10x slower >.> I've been able to keep updating on this story because I've had some prewritten chapters, but Day 5 will probably be on the shorter side if my hand doesn't heal :( My hand is also the reason i've been posting more oneshot fics, I've just been going through drafts and making minor edits >.> I'm sorry for the inconvenience!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/25/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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stvlti · 5 years ago

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From Cat-ch 'Em All Café on AO3

“If you hadn’t appeared, I’d still have been fine.” Tim waved his hand dismissively like he hadn’t almost gotten the crap beaten out of him. “Now, are you here for the new specials on the menu? There’s the all-new Alolan Raichu pancakes, of course, but we also have a discount on the popcorn Torchic and new flavors of Pikabuns—”

“Tim, listen to me,” Jason clamped his hand down on the cafe owner’s shoulder. “Those guys are gonna be trouble, I can smell it. And I can’t be here all—”

“I know.” Tim smiled at him firmly, steel beneath his gaze. “I trust you, Jason.”

The other day I read this JayTim fic where Tim runs a Pokémon-themed cat café, and I just had to draw the lovingly-crafted menu in it.

Also it's the first fic to somehow get me reading a coffee shop AU in this fandom and actually enjoy it too so, that has to count for something.

The menu featured here: i took some liberties with the exact recipes, but if anyone’s interested...

Togepi custard tart - based on Portuguese egg tarts

Clamperl milk tea - blueberry-flavoured bubble tea with original Taiwanese tapioca pearls

Alolan Raichu soufflé pancake - Tim referred to them as “all-new Alolan Raichu pancakes” only, but if it’s new and in a Pokémon-themed restaurant then it’s gotta be something trendy from Japan I reckon 😎 hence soufflé pancakes, which are the next big thing in East Asia right now. they’re thicc and extremely fluffy things and they resemble a chonky Raichu much more than regular pancakes do.

Popcorn Torchic - another item where the authors didn’t specify the type of popcorn chicken they were going for, but the Taiwanese popcorn chicken (鹽酥雞) is my favourite variant of it so consider this my love letter to Taiwanese food :’)

Pika-buns - these are based on the Japanese/Korean mochi bread balls, they’re about the size of a toddler’s fist and they’re crunchy outside with a soft, chewy, mochi-like centre. the Pikachu ears are stuck on after baking with specially-designed toothpicks; the face is painted on with food colouring. in my head, Tim got started on the mochi cheese buns first, then added the sesame variant, and now adds the strawberry variant - hence i added the little “3.0″ at the end there in the food name since there are 3 flavours to this food series, but all of this is entirely my invention since Tim just refers to it as “new flavors of Pikabuns”. wrt to the strawberry centre: normally Japanese/Korean mochi buns don’t really contain fresh ingredients, but the matcha & red bean variant does contain real azuki beans in it so i figured what the hell ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(updated to add the recipes’ specifics on 04 Feb)

#jaytim #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Pokémon #Tumblr please don't swallow this post because of the link 🙏🙏#stvlti doodles #dc art #i guess; it's technically fringe fanart of a fringe fanwork sjfhsjjd #stvlti makes stuff

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thegreatdeprussian · 5 years ago

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Great Witcher Bake-off

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908951

because there’s no better way to say “i love you” than to (not so) subtly suggest to get fat together

It’s been weeks since quarantines and total lockdowns have been implemented all around the world, disturbing everyone’s daily routines with ghastly news headlines. Households in the countryside and cities alike continued to mind their own business, but the prolonged isolation persuaded a vast number of citizens to rummage their minds for more ideas on how to make the most out of an unprecedented phenomenon.

There are wealthy individuals earning six figures and enjoying the nights swimming on their pools who thought singing will achieve world peace. There’s the common folk who are either working from home, or taking the time-off to practice meditation and self-care. There are also those who wish to have a magical glow-up after the quarantine and has long started to diet and exercise. However, there are still households who function on food—mainly cooking and baking. Yes, baking.

And among those people are Jaskier and Geralt, with the former assisting the latter tie his apron.

Milk, yeast, salt, and other ingredients were laid out on the kitchen table. Bowls (a round metal helmet, according to Jaskier) and cups of assorted sizes sprawled across the granite countertops. A tea-stained book with pages dedicated to recipes was placed nearby; however, it was rarely used as one can simply look up online on guides for main dishes and desserts.

“Alright, Geralt,” Jaskier clapped his hands—highly anticipating the chore, “What’s the most important ingredient in baking?”

Geralt sighed, “The ingredients.”

“That’s the second one! The most important is love.”

The taller one among the two no longer bothered to ask what mayhem did he get himself to. He chose Jaskier, after all. Instead, he opted to reorganize the clutter formed by the baking supplies.

“For this afternoon, we will be making a soufflé.”

“No.”

Jaskier, though stunned at the sturdy answer, was optimistic nonetheless, “And why not?”

“Why can’t we just make a normal cheesecake?” Geralt retorted, “I will not beat egg yolks for 25 minutes just for your damned soufflé.”

Then there was a short recollection back when they first attempted to create some meringue cookies. Their mechanical mixer was, in Geralt’s phrasing, not heavy-duty enough and it strangely heated up during the first seven minutes of beating the egg yolk. The remaining time was spent with Geralt manually doing the job.

“Fine,” Jaskier responded, remembering how he hated having to wait for the egg soufflé, “but normal is boring. So, we’ll go for a colorful and vibrant theme.”

In an instant, Jaskier poured a bunch of marshmallows on to the bowl.

“Marshmallows? Sweets? I don’t trust this already,” Geralt’s eyelids closed.

“Oh, shush.”

After adding butter, Jaskier placed the marshmallow to the microwave for two minutes, stirring the mixture before adding six cups of fruit cereal—the whole ordeal making Geralt flinch.

“This is a recipe for diabetes,”

Jaskier chuckled, “Trust me, even though you’re a sweet toothless creature, you’ll love this,”

Geralt wasn’t sure about loving the results. The process is bearable, however.

The marshmallow and fruit cereal mixture is then placed on a circular molder, acting as a base for the cake. Its surface was flattened using a measuring cup before it was set aside. What followed was cream cheese, lemon juice, heavy cream, vanilla extract, and more sugar. Jaskier tried to add another pinch, but was instantly blocked by Geralt.

“We’ll just freeze this for at least three hours, as we move on to another cheesecake recipe,”

Geralt groaned, taking the cheesecake to the freezer.

And the next recipe proved to be disgustingly sweeter.

A bigger batch of cream cheese was set to another bowl. A cup of sugar and a tablespoon of vanilla extract was poured instantly before being stirred. Warm milk and gelatin followed after.

“Geralt, bring out the ice cream wafer cones.” The said man complied without arguing.

Three smaller bowls were then sprawled on the countertop. Jaskier poured the mixture in each of them, and when Geralt returned, he tasked him to pour a pint of food coloring in each bowl—blue, purple, and pink. One color, one bowl, was his strict instruction.

“It this supposed to be a flag?” Geralt asked, connecting the dots.

“Uh, not intentionally? I don’t mind the coincidence. Although, I intended to make a unicorn cheesecake.”

“… unicorn?” Disbelief clouded Geralt’s face, only to be met with Jaskier’s mischievous smile.

“Deal with it. This is your life with me now.”

Geralt wiped the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead, while on the other hand, Jaskier formed the base using graham crackers, butter, and sugar. The cream cheese mixture, now colored, was placed on the base on top of the base layer by layer. Jaskier then introduced the finishing touch—the homemade unicorn horns. He dipped the ice cream cones on melted white chocolate, sprinkling its surface with blue and pink powdery edibles.

“Why are you dumping everything?”

Earnest eyes gazed at Geralt, “You can dump anything. Anything can be your dump,”

The taller one exhaled a heavy sigh, knowing he can’t control everything. Everything was then placed into the freezer and the remaining hours was spent cleaning the kitchen, sweeping the floor, and putting the unused ingredients back to their assigned cabinets. Jaskier talked, hummed, and sang along the music playing on the radio, eradicating the silence an afternoon is most known for. Sometimes, he’d wiggle on the beat, encouraging Geralt to do the same, in which he would persistently resist until the last minute.

Then, the other would tell him that baking day is equivalent to Jaskier day, and it will require his cooperation, so he dances anyway. Geralt alleviates his embarrassment by swearing to give a strenuous workout regimen to Jaskier when it’s finally Geralt Day.

A few more hours pass by until the radiant one among the two drags the other to eat their most awaited cake.

“There we go,” Jaskier takes one cake and hands Geralt the other, “our rainbow cereal cheesecake and unicorn cheesecake!”

Geralt huffs, “Looks like something you feed to little brats,”

Dinner time with these two closely resembled a children’s party instead, but it’s alright because there’s no better way to say “I love you” than to (not so) subtly suggest to get fat together.

#geraskier #geraskierfic #geraskier fic #oneshot #geralt x jaskier #geralt x julian #geralt x dandelion #the witcher #thewitcher #also on ao3 #geralt wearing an apron is cute af #reminds me of napoleon solo uwu

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disasterbiquentin · 6 years ago

Note

For the dialogue prompts list: 'if you love me, you'll get the hell out of my kitchen'

Eliot Waugh did not learn to cook from his parents.

For one, that would have been considered far too girly in a court of small-town-Indiana public opinion. The only thing he and his brothers were allowed to do in the kitchen was stack up the dirty dishes, or fix the pantry shelves when they periodically collapsed. For another, his mother was a good cook, but in an Indiana sort of way; lots of cornbread, big slabs of meat and potatoes. She didn’t know how to rise a soufflé or make delicate shrimp puffs, turn quail eggs into an entree without breaking the shells or pipe tiny, pastel coloured macaroons which would have looked at home in a Parisian window. That was the sort of cooking Eliot liked to do, and he’d learned it in college, with the help of a lot of internet recipes and trial-and-error dinner parties for his friends from the art department.

It was part and process of what Eliot joked was actually his undergraduate thesis project; turning himself into himself. Into the sort of person who could host dinner parties that a particularly sexually liberated French dignitary would have felt welcome at, and do it all without spilling a drop of cooking wine on his perfectly folded cravat. By the time he graduated the arts program and received his interview at Brakebills, he was far enough through this process that he felt comfortable announcing his incredible cooking skills to the whole Physical Cottage once he was assigned there, and swiftly stole the role of overlord of all social activities at said cottage by power of his high tea parties and a rather constant flow of chocolate eclairs. After a few months, he began mixing more cocktails than cake batters, but that was okay, because by then everyone knew exactly what sort of man he was. It was all part of the Eliot Waugh package, and that had to be an impressive package, no matter which way you looked at it.

Quentin Coldwater learned to cook from his father, which is to say that he never learned to cook at all.

He tries, though, so very seriously, which is the most endearing thing in the world. He tries and he genuinely doesn’t understand why his instant noodles mixed with beans doesn’t, like, blow Eliot’s mind. The first time he tried to cook a romantic dinner for Eliot, it all ended up charred to the bottom of Eliot’s favourite frying pan, and Eliot actually left the house. “You’re such a bitch,” Q had complained when Eliot came back with arms full of takeout instead, but he was laughing, and Eliot would have stuck to his guns regardless.

And now —

“Q, if you truly love me, you’ll get the hell out of my kitchen.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, immune as ever to Eliot’s complaining, and continues slicing cheese right onto the counter with entirely the wrong sort of knife.

“I’m serious,” Eliot plunges on. “You even being in here will make things burn. I still haven’t decided whether I think someone put a particularly inventive curse on you or whether you’re just that tragic, but I will not let you ruin this dinner.”

“I’m just making a grilled cheese, El. Nothing to do with you. I’ll be out of your hair in a second and then you can get on with your — is that blood?”

Eliot rolls his eyes. His boy is so charmingly dumb. “It’s pomegranate juice, darling. I’m making it into a citrus glaze to go with the — okay, listen, you’re doing that wrong.”

Quentin gives a huffy, furrowed-brow look which, on his face, could indicate either begrudging amusement or extreme irritation; only the fact that he’s turned it on Eliot suggests the former.

“Okay, to repeat myself, it’s grilled cheese, El. I have made it a thousand times before. I know I’m not the best chef, but, like, not even you can make grilled cheese too complicated for me.”

After at least four years of knowing each other and possibly fifty-four depending on how you look at things, Eliot thinks Quentin should have more faith in his ability to class up anything he gets his hands on by now. “I absolutely can. Call it a vegetarian croque monsieur; sourdough bread, a layer of bechamel sauce with garlic and bay leaves, a hint of nutmeg. Topped with baked gruyère and a sharp white cheddar. Fried rather than toasted, of course, just enough to make everything melt but not quite enough to char the bread.”

Quentin grumbles, “I think at that point it’s stopped being a grilled cheese and started being a way for you to jerk off over your own culinary expertise,” but he’s looking a little forlornly down at his pile of unevenly sliced yellow cheese.

Eliot, because he is hopelessly in love, and because it has only been three months since he got to step into his own body again and make his grand declaration and then mess things up a bit more before slowly finding their way into this, a rhythm of taking-it-slow while also being very aware of just how deeply they love each other and never spending a single night apart, sighs. He abandons his pomegranate-citrus glaze and the duck it’s going on for later, and steers Q away from the counter with both hands on his shoulders. Q only protests a little bit as he goes.

“Just let me do it, baby. I promise I won’t sneak in any ingredients you can’t pronounce, but I’ll at least make the cheese slices even.”

Quentin makes a few half-hearted comments about how he is, actually, a probably 24-year-old man (because with how much time they spend in different worlds, nobody’s really managed to figure out how they should keep track of birthdays anymore) and doesn’t need Eliot to do everything for him, but he takes a seat at the island even as he’s complaining, watching Eliot pick out a sharper knife and finish up what he started. Eliot doesn’t deign to respond to Quentin’s grumbling, but he doesn’t really need to, because the knowledge hangs perfectly clear between them: Eliot likes taking care of Quentin.

Quentin doesn’t need it. His skills in the kitchen are tragic, but he wouldn’t straight up starve without Eliot there or anything. It’s just that. Well. That. Eliot just likes taking care of him. And it’s been a long, long time since he got to do that, so he’s making up for it now. He doesn’t like how Quentin noticeably lost weight while the monster had Eliot, how when Eliot came back one of the first things he noticed was that Quentin was now smoking more than he ate, more of an Eliot coping mechanism than a Quentin one. He doesn’t like how everything else about Quentin seems just a little bit damaged since El’s been back too; how he never seems to sleep more than a few hours at a time anymore, how he’s a little quieter, how it’s clearly been a long time since he had a real conversation with any of his friends. Now that Eliot’s back and everything’s growing towards being some semblance of calm again, Q is gradually doing better, but Eliot wants to help speed that process along in any way he can. So. He traps Quentin in bed with his own limbs to make him sleep, and invites all their friends to hang out whenever possible, and feeds him. A lot. Even if all Quentin wants to eat are things so simple that Eliot’s offended by having to make them.

So. He cuts neat slices of cheese, and makes sure the sandwich is toasted evenly in a dash of herbs, and cuts it into neat little triangles with a flourish. He hopes Quentin hears the I love you in every action, because it’s there, it’s all Eliot’s thinking.

“Et voila,” Eliot says when he’s done, trying to cover up the fondness in his voice, and clatters the plate down in front of Quentin. Quentin looks tired, sat at the island with his head propped up in his hands, shorter strands of hair flopping in front of his eyes, but not as tired as he did a week ago, and certainly not the week before that. Eliot’s heart goes warm. “One grilled cheese for your unrefined palate.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, but he leans across the island and angles his chin upwards anyway, halfway between offering and demanding a kiss. Eliot obliges.

He lets himself sink into the kiss for just a moment. Chaste, close-mouthed, but so sickeningly domestic that it’s almost more thrilling than the filthy kisses they shared in the darkness the night before. Eliot’s had a lot of passion in his life before, still does, but rarely has he ever had this. Someone to kiss over a sandwich, just for a moment. Someone so special that you’re just glad they’re there, even if they’re serving no great purpose. It’s warm and comforting and so, so small, but Eliot can feel the fracture lines in his weathered heart healing every time Quentin sighs a little breath onto his mouth.

He lets himself enjoy it for a couple more seconds, and then pulls away. Picks up his pomegranate again, and then raises a pointed eyebrow when Quentin sets about to eat his sandwich right there.

“Hi, Q? This is nice and all, but I wasn’t joking before. Get the hell out of my kitchen.”

#this got away from me SO MUCH #i apparently have a lot of feelings about cooking #queliot #queliot fic #the magicians #the magicians fic #my fic #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #anon #maia answers

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rose-of-pollux · 5 years ago

Text

Spice of Life (MFU oneshot)

Title: Spice of Life Rating: G Summary: As Napoleon’s birthday approaches once again, Illya is determined not to fall into the retail trap of just buying a gift for him. [Dedicated to Robert Vaughn] Notes: This is my usual yearly fic in honor of what would have been Robert Vaughn’s birthday! Takes place around S4-ish.

Cross-posted to ff.net and AO3 if you prefer reading there.

Illya paced the apartment he shared with Napoleon as Baba Yaga, the cat, watched him from her vantage point on the cat tree.

“Napoleon’s birthday is tomorrow,” he fretted. “He is giving a report for a completed mission in Europe as we speak and will be here tomorrow evening—and I still have no idea as to what to present to him.”

“Murowr,” Baya Yaga stated.

“Da, I know I could merely go to Macy’s and get him something from there, braving those crowds… But I am categorically opposed to doing such a thing. It is not a thing I wish to fall prey to, in spite of how it has become the norm in this society. I know Napoleon means well when he buys me expensive presents, but I have made it my personal mission to give him things that do not involve those retail dens!”

Sighing, he sat on the couch and began to page through the newspaper, trying to get ideas, but all he saw were more advertisements for department stores boasting about their wares for the holiday season.

Frustrated, he tossed the paper aside, prompting Baba Yaga to leap from the cat tree and onto the paper, playing with it as it crinkled.

“When did things get so complicated?” Illya wondered aloud. “I remember when I was a child, birthdays consisted of my mother having made me a honey cake, and that was the highlight of the day…” He trailed off. “A honey cake…!”

Napoleon was a man who appreciated fine food; he would, undoubtedly, appreciate an authentic indulgent Russian dessert.

“Mrrup…” the cat commented.

“Yes, I know he views my soufflés with disdain, but that’s because he claims I have no idea what I am doing.” Illya sighed. “The thing is, he isn’t wrong, but it will be a long time before I will ever even consider admitting that to his face.”

“Mrreh…”

“It is a matter of pride,” Illya insisted. “And yes, I am aware that one does not live on dessert alone. I will order the rest of Napoleon’s birthday dinner to be delivered here for us to eat in front of the television. They will be airing Olivier’s Hamlet tomorrow night; the timing is truly impeccable.”

He didn’t mind spending money on food, as long as it was not exorbitant, like the gold-flecked cheeses that he had seen at some of the expensive parties they’d been assigned to supervise—and, in Napoleon’s case, he sometimes even got invited to some of these. Illya had never been to one of these by invitation—only by assignment, as no member of the Manhattan upper crust would ever see fit to invite him, though Illya certainly would have had no intentions to go, even if invited. The wasteful spending incensed him—how dare they indulge in such things as consuming gold when, on the streets below, unfortunate souls without a place to stay struggled to find something to eat!?

He shook his head, getting his mind off of it and set about figuring out the menu for the following night, and then started on making the honey cake.

Baba Yaga, who had been watching and commenting on things, now took an active interest as Illya began to put the cake together, repeatedly attempting to stick her face into the bowl of cream that Illya had set aside for the frosting, resulting in Illya repeatedly exiling her from the kitchen—only for the cat to find a way back soon enough.

Somehow, he managed to get the cake done and in the fridge to chill for the night, hiding his amusement as he watched Baba Yaga sit in front of the closed fridge with her tail whipping back and forth in frustration. She made a couple attempts to move the door with her paw, but quickly realized the futility of the effort and left to pursue other important feline activities for the night.

It was after a night’s sleep that Illya looked at the cake and wondered… was it really enough? Shouldn’t he make an effort to give more for Napoleon’s when Napoleon meant so much to him?

He glanced at the Macy’s ads in the paper again and could feel himself being beckoned further into the trap.

Baba Yaga let out a clearly judgmental meow.

“Surely it won’t hurt to look,” Illya defended. “I commit to nothing.”

“Mrrrrp…” she dismissed, dragging a cardboard box into a sunbeam and curling up inside of it.

“…Napoleon got you a luxurious cat bed, and you do this…?” He paused, on his way out the door when he glanced back and took a very good look at the cat.

It wasn’t as though she hated the cat bed; she used it frequently. But it just happened that she preferred something as simple as a box in the sun.

Napoleon wouldn’t dislike something expensive from Macy’s—he had plenty of those already, after all. But maybe all Napoleon needed after all was a metaphorical box in the sun, as well.

Nodding to himself, Illya closed the apartment door again, tossing the newspaper to the floor once more. Baba Yaga looked up from inside the box and contemplated going after the paper, but decided against it and curled back up inside her sunny fortress.

He would have to hope that the dinner and movie at home, followed by his Russian honey cake, would be enough.

Illya paused again, going over the menu he had planned the night before. There had to be more than just ordering food; there had to be a way to make it meaningful…

He crumpled up the menu and tossed it into the trash, pacing the room once again. Finally, his gaze fell upon the world atlas that Napoleon kept on his bookshelf.

“…That’s it…” he said, as realization sunk in.

*****************************

Napoleon arrived several hours later, that evening, travel-weary but in good spirits, just as Illya had finished setting up dinner.

“You look rather pleased for someone who had to compose a lengthy mission report,” Illya observed, taking his jacket from him.

“Well, it helps that I got complimentary drinks and other amenities on account of it being my special day,” Napoleon grinned.

“Ah, but of course,” Illya said, with a smile. “Happy Birthday, Napoleon.”

“Spacibo, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, returning the smile. “I see you’ve got a bit of a spread set up for me here.”

“Da, I have,” Illya agreed, indicating the covered dishes. “Given that you have dedicated your life to traveling around the world to protect it, I thought it appropriate to have a dinner consisting of global cuisine in celebration of you—and what you have accomplished in your time here thus far, courtesy of the finest eateries in the city.” He began to lift the lids off of the dishes. “Dolmas to represent your accomplishments in Greece. Naan bread for your adventures in India. Yakisoba to remind you of your many missions in Tokyo. Goulash from Hungary. Moroccan Zaalouk. Italian pasta. Irish salmon. German potato bread. Spanish gazpacho. Ful medames from the Nile. Australian trout. Brazilian cabeça de galo. Mexican chorizo. Louisiana gumbo. And, of course…” He lifted the final dish, revealing two glasses of wine. “Wine from the French vineyards that you helped save.”

He gauged Napoleon’s reaction—and was pleased to see the grin on his face growing with the reveal of each dish. It wasn’t a gourmet meal by any accounts, but it was still an incredibly thoughtful presentation—and Napoleon wouldn’t have expected anything less from his partner.

“You have accomplished so much in your first three-and-a-half decades than many can ever hope to accomplish in their lifetimes,” Illya continued, handing Napoleon a glass of wine. “Here’s to you, Napoleon. Happy Birthday.”

“And here’s to the partner who made all of these accomplishments possible,” Napoleon insisted, meeting his glass with Illya’s.

Baba Yaga meowed at that point, eyeing the salmon, and soon, they partook of the filling meal—with Hamlet playing on TV. There were plenty of leftovers, all of which would keep for the next couple of days.

“That was an excellent birthday present, Illya,” Napoleon said. “Although… Something seemed to be missing.”

“You think so?”

“Well, there was nothing from Russia,” he pointed out. “I would have thought you’d have seen to it.”

“…Da, well, there is a Russian honey cake for dessert—your birthday cake, as it were…”

Suddenly a lot more self-conscious now, Illya retrieved his finished honey cake from the fridge. Napoleon let out a low whistle, clearly intrigued.

“That looks incredible,” he commented. “Did you get that from a specialty bakery, or a Russian tea house?”

“…I made it,” Illya said, quietly.

He knew he could make a good honey cake—but the question was whether Napoleon would be willing to trust his baking skills after his less-than-stellar soufflés.

Napoleon’s expression didn’t betray any emotion as he took the knife and cut a slice of the cake, placing it on a plate. Illya took a slice for himself, but he didn’t eat—he watched, nervously, as Napoleon tasted the cake.

“Illya!” he exclaimed.

“…Da…?”

“This is amazing!”

“…You truly think so?” Illya asked, amazed.

“Yes!” Napoleon said, wolfing down the slice of cake even faster. “I’ll probably regret it the next time I weigh myself, but, you know what? It’s my birthday, and I’m allowed to indulge in seconds!”

He cut himself a second slice of cake, and as they sat back down on the couch and continued to watch the movie.

Illya was obviously pleased that Napoleon had liked his choice of menu and the significance of each dish—but the biggest victory would forever be Napoleon’s approval of Illya’s honey cake.

The world was lucky to have Napoleon Solo. And Illya knew that applied even more to him.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #the man from uncle #mfu fic #Happy Birthday Robert!#napollya

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imhereforbvcky · 7 years ago

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Pecans vs. Blueberries

Masterlist

Summary: Sam Wilson challenges his pastry chef girlfriend to a breakfast making competition that devolves into fluff and silliness. Prompt: “Take another step and I swear to you I will knock you on your ass!”

Warnings: none! I don’t even think I swore! Just tooth rotting fluff. Ha! I punned.

Word Count: 2174

Author’s Note: This is for @denialanderror’s 2k Writing Challenge. Congrats, buddy! :) Thanks for some non-angst inspiration.

Morning was always the best time to make use of the kitchens at the Avengers Compound. It was massive and pristine and had every tool you could dream of within its sleek cabinets and pantries.

The only challenge was that the place was perpetually filled with hungry training superheroes, who had no qualms about dipping a fingertip into your freshly whipped buttercream. Who often prematurely snatched up a golden pastry before you’d filled it with custard and topped it with chocolate ganache. Sometimes an entire bowl of apricot glazed fruit would be nibbled down to just a few crushed berries by the time you were ready to top your perfectly set tart.

But mornings were usually safe. If you woke early enough, the only one with any life would be Steve whose 1940s manners hadn’t quite abandoned him. He never swiped without asking, and he only rarely asked.

Your boyfriend, however, was a menace. Sam would slide an arm around your waist and kiss your neck while his fingers reached for the lemon curd. He’d only grin when you balked and kiss you with the tangy flavor still lingering on his tongue. He liked to hover close by, watching you work and experiment, sneaking treats and frowning at the more daring concoctions.

So today while your pear and almond tart baked in the oven, warm vanilla and spicy cinnamon and star anise wafting down the halls, you also started on something the soon-to-rise team would be allowed to eat.

Sam was the first to follow the scent into the kitchen. He slipped behind you, humming at the prospect of a sweet breakfast delight. His hands held gently onto your hips as he stepped closer.

“Smells good,” he murmured. His nose skimmed the column of your neck before he placed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Can I help?”

You leaned into him as you set down the bowl of pale runny batter. “I don’t think you can,” you grinned, swirling the pan to spread the thin substance.

“I’mma pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” you snapped back with a wide smile. “Do you make crepes a lot?”

“No,” he argued. With a raised brow, he stepped away from you and ran a spatula through your crepe batter, giving it a skeptical frown. “I make pancakes because they’re better than some sad floppy crepe.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that!” You pointed your own spatula at him. “I’m going to make you the best crepe you’ve ever had.”

“Still won’t be as good as the pancake I’m ‘bout to make you.” He swatted your ass on his way to the pantry.

“I don’t want your puffed up pan-fried cake from a box!” you laughed as he returned proudly displaying the box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix.

“Oh you will,” he smirked, drawing up a pan beside yours on the stove.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Why because you’ll drown it in maple syrup? It’ll be up to you to call an ambulance when I choke on it.”

“Baby, you won’t even need syrup.” Sam Wilson didn’t second guess his choices; he felt strongly about things and made decisions with finality. That confidence was typically an attractive trait, but today, in this breakfast battle, it only irked you. “Everyone’s going to choose my pancakes over your chewy wilted crepes.”

“Everyone?!” you laughed. “Is this a competition now? Sam I’m a pastry chef, I’m going to destroy you and your boxed pancakes.”

“Yeah and if we were making soufflés I might be worried,” he shrugged as he began slicing bananas.

You only shook your head, watching with suspicion as he reached over you to swipe the vanilla and nutmeg you’d used earlier in your tart. “Tell you what, if I like your pancakes I’ll make you breakfast in bed on Saturday.”

“No-ho-ho way!” he laughed, pouring batter onto his hot skillet and carefully placing banana slices around the center of the pancake. Next he sprinkled coconut onto it and waited. “You can’t be contestant and judge. Everybody votes. A pecan in the jar for me, a blueberry for you. Loser makes breakfast.”

You laughed as he held up one of each, drawing the blueberry from your pile.

“You’re on,” you agreed.

He popped both the pecan and the blueberry into his mouth before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

If you were honest, you were a little nervous. Sam’s first pancake looked damn good as he dropped chopped pecans on top and stole your bowl of whipped cream.

Pancakes were an American classic. Lucky for you, this compound was full of an international crowd. Sam had hedged his bets on one good pancake, but you would make sweet crepes, savory crepes, simple ones, and decadent ones.

Before long you’d taken over the kitchen, sautéing mushrooms and dicing chives. You whipped sweet cream and sliced strawberries. The chocolate sauce was melting beautifully with a little cream and a splash of coffee. You had a bowl of sliced lemons beside the sugar, and warm ham next to several cheese sauces.

In a word, Sam was toast.

He began to realize this with agitated amusement. The more items you set out, the more the kitchen smelled like a cafe, the more his teammates filtered into the kitchen, dipping fingers into your sauces, swiping cherry tomatoes, and bits of fruit. They each made their plates and you found yourself needing to make more.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning over your pan, stirring your next batch of chocolate sauce. “I think I’d prefer a chocolate crepe.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Sammy. I know my crepes are better,” you grinned. “Just put chocolate sauce on it.”

“No, I mean, the crepe. I think your recipe needs some tweaking. I could help,” he grinned over at you, lifting the spoon coated in chocolate sauce.

“No!” you insisted. “No, no, no! That has cream and so much sugar. It’ll throw off the batter.”

“I think it needs it.” If the mischievous glint in his eye didn’t tell you what he was planning, the smirk on his face and the slow deliberate movements he made toward your side of the kitchen sure did.

You quickly snatched up your crepe batter as he lunged forward with the chocolate covered spoon.

“Sam! You know I take a challenge very seriously,” you tried to keep a straight face as you danced on either side of the island. Every time he stepped right, you stepped left. “And you’re trying to cheat!”

“I’m helping!” he argued as he hurled himself on top of the island.

You yelped; backing away with a laugh until your back hit the table. He stalked closer and closer.

He dipped a finger into the chocolate coating the spoon and brought it to his lips. “Mmm this is some good sauce, baby. It’s going in that crepe batter,” he promised.

“Take another step and I swear to you I will knock you on your ass!” you laughed.

“Oh you will?” he chuckled with raised eyebrows.

“Yes! Don’t sabotage my crepes!”

“I don’t need to take another step.”

Before you could even register his actions he held the handle of the spoon firmly in the air and bent the tip of it back with a finger and released. Chocolate sauce splattered forward in an arc of sugary dark mess. It streaked across your face, down your forearms still clutched around the bowl, and an enormous glob ran in the batter from one end of the bowl to the other.

You stood shocked, staring into the bowl with eyes wide. Sam rolled his lips between his teeth to bite back the laughter threatening to bubble forth. He stepped closer, waiting for a reaction, but you gave him none.

“I think uh…” he smiled, brown eyes dancing with laughter. “I think it could use a little more.”

“Sam don’t you dare!” you shouted, swinging the bowl out of reach.

But he was never aiming for the bowl. He swiped the whole spoon across your cheek, leaving a smear of sticky sweet chocolate sauce in its wake.

“Perfect.” The smile on his face was both enchanting and infuriating. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Just…” then your nose, “perfect,” then your chocolate covered cheek before he licked his lips.

You swiped two fingers over the mess on your face and sighed before licking them clean. “It is good chocolate sauce,” you agreed, setting down the bowl of batter.

He only laughed as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You should try the whipped cream though,” you smirked as you smeared a handful from the table down his face. The white foam smeared from nose to chin.

You glimpsed the smile beneath the cream before he dove for your neck. Still trapped in his arms, all you could do was squeal and squirm as he smeared the whipped cream into your neck and shoulder mingled with laughter and kisses and nips at your skin. It was cold and wet, but his lips were warm, and his beard scratched at your skin.

Tony cleared his throat from the end of the table. “Hey there are children present, can you two…” he flicked his wrist to wave back down the hall, but the lopsided grin on his face made you giggle.

“Wha? Me?” Peter asks, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “I’m-- I’m not a child. I saved all those people on that ferry remember? And I could get my driver’s license now--”

“Do you have your driver’s license?” Tony rolled his head back toward the kid.

“Well no, I take the bus, but--”

“We cooked y’all can clean!” Sam insisted, not even sparing a glance as he kept you caged in his arms and walked you both down the hall toward his room. You could only giggle and shuffle backward in his strong grip, kissing at the sticky bits of breakfast still smeared over his chin and neck.

That weekend you lay in bed, enjoying the cool spring air through the window. It was rare that you slept in, but you relished in it when you did. You wished Sam was here; wished you were curled up under his arm, head resting on his shoulder with your legs tangled together. Your favorite part of lazy mornings was the tight squeeze he gave you when he woke.

But today he’d kissed your forehead and slipped out the door, telling you to rest, he was just going to run with Steve and he’d be back.

And he did come back. With a soft knock at the door to announce his presence, he eased inside holding a tray of food. You grinned from ear to ear as you shifted up in bed, drawing your knees to your chest.

“What’s this?” you asked happily, stretching like a cat.

“Well, there were way more blueberries than pecans on Tuesday morning, so.” He shrugged, setting the tray on the bed. There was orange juice and a bowl of whipped cream, a dish of whipped butter, strawberries and blackberries, a small pitcher with… maple syrup.

“Sam… is there a pancake under that lid?” you asked with a wary smile.

“Baby, I wouldn’t dare,” he feigned shock.

You eyed him carefully, reaching for the warming lid over the plate.

“It’s a waffle!” he announced as you pulled it away.

“Sam!” you laughed as you fell back onto the pillows. “Is this from a box too?”

“The very same box,” he grinned, taking the fork and cutting himself a bite. “Mmm Aunt Jemima knows the way to my heart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you eating my victory breakfast?”

“No,” he smiled more softly this time as he picked up the plate. “This is my breakfast. You’re too picky and too good at what you do. I learned my lesson.”

You picked up the envelope that he’d left under the plate. “Angelo’s?” you asked, excitedly unfolding the gift card.

“I know you like their homemade bread; I’ll take you out for breakfast instead.”

“So let me get this straight,” you laughed. “You lost, and you get your favorite breakfast here, in bed. And I have to go shower and get dressed and go out to get mine?”

Sam dropped his head to the mattress and let out a chuckle. “When you put it like that…”

“Hey Sam?” you asked, pushing your fingers over his hair and dragging your nails across his skin as you hooked your fingers back down his neck and beneath his ear.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into the blankets.

“Can we make me some of those banana coconut pancakes?”

He turned to you with a smile creeping up the corners of his lips as he shook his head. “You liked ‘em, huh?” he asked, rolling out of bed and holding his hand out for you to take.

You nodded, tugging down your t-shirt. “With extra pecans?”

Anything & Everything Tags: strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. If I can’t tag you for 3 consecutive fics, I’ll remove you from the list. You can always be re-added if you sort it out.

@4theluvofall (1) @ailynalonso15 @allisonbaelfire @alwayshave-faith @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @amrita31199 @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @badassbaker @bethy-sue @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @brandnewberettaa @caitsymichelle13 @calaofnoldor @callamint @caramell0w (1) @charlesgrey1875 @cheekygeek05 @denialanderror @dracsgirl @dreamtravelerme @ek823 @emilyinbuffalo @epicbooklove @feelmyroarrrr @forgottenswan @givemethatgold @glittervelvetandlace @haleyloveshugs @heartsaved @hellomissmabel @-hiddlesdweeb- @hollycornish @httpmcrvel @i-am-mrsreckless @imheretomarvel @indominusregina @ishipmybed @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @itsnotsomefangirl @james-bionic-barnes @jurassicbarnes @justreadingfics @just-call-me-your-darling @kanupps06 @kapolisradomthoughts @k-nighttt @kaaatniss @ktrivia @langinator @larry-pringles @lightningdays23 @lilasiannerd @loki-god-of-my-life @lovelyladylilac (1) @luckylundy13 @maddyfitzhenry @marvelatmytrash @mcfuccfairy @megs4real @melconnor2007 @moonbeambucky @movingonto-betterthings (1) @mrs-brxghtside @mrs-lamezec @nikkitia7 @omalleysgirl22 @palaiasaurus64 @part-time-patronus @pcterpvrker @pickledmoon @pineapplebooboo @rockintensse @rrwilson66 @ruinerofcheese @sammysgirl1997 @science-of-deduction-sh @saharzek @sebbytrash @secondstartotheright-imagines @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th (1) @shifutheshihtzu @sighodinson @simplyashley95 @sociallyimpairedme @sophiealiice @specs15 @stupidsweaterwearingdumbdorks @tequilavet @thatgirlsar @theliarone @thelastxgoodthing (1) @thenightkillers @theraputicwritings @theseldomseenkilljoy @three-dango (1) @unlikelygalaxygiver @w1nterchild @waywardpumpkin @winterboobaer (1) @witchymarvelspacecase @wordsturnintostories @xnegansgirlx @zoejohnson8 @cassandras-musings @tired-alpaca @sapphire1727 @whyisbuckyso @you-didnt-see-that-cuming

#beeswritingchallenge #sam wilson x reader #sam x reader #sam wilson fic #sam wilson #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson x reader fluff

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lilyvandersteen · 6 years ago

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Puppy Eyes Chapter 9

This is again from Kurt’s point of view. And you’re finally going to find out what it’s going to take to break the dog spell!

This chapter is unbetaed, because once again, I procrastinated writing it and my lovely beta @hkvoyage hasn’t read it yet, seeing as I’ve only just finished writing the last sentence… I’ve been too busy to write this weekend, seeing as @klaineship2 has come to visit me :-)

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9: A Fighting Chance

It felt a bit weird at first, calling the professor by his first name, and living in his apartment. Kurt kept pinching himself to ascertain that this was real, especially that first morning, when he padded into the living room still half-asleep and found Blaine exercising to a workout video, wearing the skimpiest shorts Kurt had ever seen, and a black muscle shirt that showed off his arms. Kurt stopped in his tracks and just stared with his mouth wide open, until Blaine noticed him and winked. “Come join me?”

Kurt snapped his mouth shut. “I need to go walk some dogs. You’re up early.”

Blaine flashed him a smile. “Always. I crash at nine thirty at the latest, and I’m up with the birds.”

Kurt groaned. “Oh great, I’m living with a morning person again!”

That made Blaine laugh out loud. “I made coffee, if that helps?”

“Oh, yes,” Kurt moaned, making a beeline for the kitchen, where he filled up his travel mug with coffee, taking a long sip before he closed it and humming happily.

Blaine followed him. “I can make you breakfast, too, if you tell me what you want?”

Kurt’s stomach rumbled, but he shook his head. “No time. I always make myself a packed breakfast to eat on the way or in the park.”

He took the box out of the fridge and put it in his backpack after taking out a sandwich and wolfing it down in three bites.

Before he left the apartment, he gave an awkward wave and said bye. Blaine, who’d resumed his exercising, waved back with a smile.

The rest of the weekend was spent comparing their schedules, figuring out how to divide the household tasks and stocking up on groceries for next week’s meals. Oh, and reassuring Burt, who was apprehensive about Kurt moving in with someone nearly ten years his senior, and wouldn’t believe there was nothing going on between them. Burt fired off a barrage of questions at Blaine, who never even blinked, and didn’t seem intimidated by Burt’s glare in the slightest.

Blaine had taken to accompanying Kurt on his scheduled dog walks, chatting his ear off, and Kurt delighted in uncovering new information about Blaine. He had a brother! A famous one! He played five instruments and used to be in his school’s show choir!

Blaine wanted to know about Kurt, too. He was endlessly interested in Kurt’s childhood, his mom, his dad, his friends, his favourite food, his taste in music and books and TV series, encouraging Kurt to talk himself hoarse about it all.

At school, the first week, Professor Scher accosted Kurt in the hallway again and steered him into her office. “I heard from Blaine that you’re living with him now. I’m so glad. He needs someone to look after him when he turns into a dog.”

Kurt, taken of guard, started babbling. “You… You know about… You… don’t mind?”

“Oh, psh,” said the professor. “The two of you belong together. Anyone can see that. But as I said, keep it on the down-low.”

Kurt blinked at her. “We’re not… together, Professor. Just… living together.”

“Oh, that will come in time,” Professor Scher predicted. “Tell Sebastian to call me, okay? I want him to come talk about R/GA here at school again.”

Kurt promised he’d ask and then scurried off.

Thankfully, everybody else at school assumed he was still working as a dog-sitter, and just asked if he’d found a new place to stay. “Oh, you get to stay longer this time? That’s great. Moving all the time must be such a pain.”

K&B

After a few weeks, Kurt fell into a comfortable routine. In spite of his graphic design minor and his internship at R/GA, he felt like he had more breathing room than last year. Of course, it helped that he lived a short walk away from school and from the R/GA offices now. It helped that he had Blaine at home to help him with any school-related questions he had. And it helped that on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Blaine had dinner on the table the minute Kurt came home.

Kurt wasn’t used to living with someone who could cook, actually enjoyed cooking, and took that task out of his hands. Burt was a slapdash cook, throwing together ingredients and hoping it would turn out edible. Carole was an excellent cook, but only cooked when Kurt wasn’t at home. She left the kitchen to her stepson anytime he visited. And Rachel was an out-and-out disaster, who had been banned from the stove and the oven after she nearly started a kitchen fire during their first evening at the loft.

Blaine, however, was a gourmet chef, producing cheese soufflés lighter than air, osso bucco that melted in your mouth, and quiches and lasagnes that were golden perfection. Anything he made smelled and tasted so good that Kurt took seconds and begged him for the recipe.

He wasn’t a food snob, though. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Kurt cooked, and it was nothing special, just a stir fry or pasta with sauce, but Blaine tucked in as if it was the best thing he’d ever eaten and complimented Kurt.

And on weekends, they cooked and baked together, and proved to be a good team.

Kurt loved his new housing arrangements, though it worsened his crush by the day, and he believed that Blaine was happy with his new housemate too. Blaine still pined after Trent, though. Kurt wasn’t entirely sure what their relationship had been, but it had clearly ended on a bad note, and Blaine kept beating himself up about it, blaming himself for the radio silence between him and his ‘friend’. When Kurt suggested that he contact Trent again, though, Blaine got a deer-in-the-headlights look and shut up about it. Scared of confrontation, was he? Kurt filed that away in his Blaine database.

K&B

When the holidays approached, Kurt wasn’t surprised that his dad expected him to come to Ohio. What did surprise him was that Burt wanted Blaine to come, too. “I want to meet him for real, son. See with my own eyes that he treats you right. Nah, don’t roll your eyes at me, let me ask him.”

“Dad!”

“What? I’m just being neighbourly, inviting my son’s housemate so that he’s not alone for the holidays,” said Burt. “And you said he’s from Ohio too, so he can visit his family while he’s here. Let me invite him, go on.”

The invitation surprised Blaine, that was clear, but he seemed to appreciate it, and after conferring with his mother, he agreed to come.

To Kurt’s amusement, Blaine stressed out more about finding a gift for Carole than about meeting Burt. However, Kurt’s grin slid off his face as he realised that was one more sign of Blaine friend-zoning Kurt. Yes, they got along splendidly, and living with Blaine was everything Kurt could have wished for, but he needed to remember that he’d never get more than this.

Every day, he fell for Blaine harder, to the point where it had become so much worse than a crush. Kurt was actually in love with him now, though Blaine had never shown the slightest inkling of being interested in Kurt that way. Maybe he was still hung up on Trent? Maybe Kurt just wasn’t his type? Whatever the reason, Kurt would not get his happily-ever-after, and needed to guard his heart.

It wasn’t easy, though, when everything Blaine did endeared him more to Kurt. He was endlessly attentive, affectionate and nice, and it was hard for Kurt to keep in mind Blaine didn’t like him as more than a friend when he kept hugging and cuddling up to Kurt, remembered how Kurt took his coffee, made his favourite dishes and brought home his favourite dessert.

Kurt shook it off by telling himself that Blaine must have taken over a few characteristics of the dog he kept turning into, and that this was just Blaine showing his loyalty and eagerness to please.

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t you dare!

K&B

Thanksgiving was lovely. Carole happily surrendered the kitchen to Kurt and Blaine, and together, they whipped up a mouth-watering dinner.

Burt went out of his way to embarrass Kurt, though, convinced that there was something going on between him and Blaine, and not letting up about it.

Blaine’s mother proved to be just as bad, treating Kurt as if he was her son-in-law already.

However much Kurt appreciated her ready acceptance of him, It stung a little, too, because the relationship Pam took for granted was just a figment of her imagination, and no amount of wishing on Kurt’s part would make it real.

The plane trip back to New York turned into a road trip when Blaine turned into a dog at the airport, and by the time they arrived at Blaine’s apartment, Kurt was exhausted, and determined to find a way to break that blasted curse. He’d already asked his dad to contact the people who’d tried to help his mom, way back. If that didn’t help, Kurt would go see the guy who’d cursed Blaine himself.

Accordingly, during their Christmas break, Kurt and Blaine found themselves in the parlour of one curse breaker after another, but they weren’t of any more use than they had been to Kurt’s mom.

“I’m sorry, this curse is too strong. Who did you say cast it?”

And when Blaine told them it had been Alexei Zakharov, they recoiled and pushed him out the door as fast as they could, fear in their eyes.

So three days after Christmas, early in the morning, while Blaine was having breakfast in the kitchen with Carole, Kurt came downstairs dressed in his warmest clothes and toting a suitcase, and told his dad he was going to try and sort out this curse himself.

“I’ve found Mr Zakharov on the internet. He lives in Saint Petersburg. I’m going to confront him and ask him to break the curse.”

Burt gripped Kurt’s arm. “Kurt, no! I don’t want this guy to curse YOU!”

Kurt looked Burt straight in the eye. “I have to do this, Dad. I have to. Look after Blaine while I’m gone, will you?”

With that, Kurt wheeled his suitcase down the hall and let himself out.

Behind him, he heard an anguished whisper of his name, but he squared his shoulders and didn’t look back.

K&B

It took almost a day to get to Saint Petersburg. Kurt stumbled out of the plane as a sleep-deprived wreck, but once arrived at his hotel, he only dropped off his suitcase and strode out again. He was determined to get the curse sorted out first. He could nap after.

Kurt found the headquarters of the company where Mr Zakharov worked, and waited outside the office building for him to come out. He’d memorised the picture he’d found online so that he would recognise him, and sure enough, a few minutes past five, he saw the man walking out the door.

“Mr Zakharov?” Kurt called.

The man turned around, sizing him up. “You’re American.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want with me?” Mr Zakharov asked.

Kurt hesitated, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “Can we talk somewhere more private, please?”

Mr Zakharov let out a booming laugh. “Are you propositioning me?”

Kurt flushed, his eyes going wide. “No!”

That made the man throw his head back and laugh even harder, slapping his thigh. When he’d gotten over his bout of hilarity, he said, “No need to look so scared, boy, I was just joking.”

Kurt exhaled shakily. “Oh…”

“I’m heading home right now, so you can come with me,” Mr Zakharov continued.

Kurt nodded and fell into step with him. They turned left and stopped at a house with a bright blue door.

“This is me,” said Mr Zakharov, and he took out a chain holding at least a hundred keys, finding the right one without even looking.

Kurt followed him in, and then to a sitting room with more doilies than he’d ever seen together, even at his great-aunt’s. He sat down gingerly on an armchair, and looked at Mr Zakharov, trying to figure out where to start.

“You wanted to talk to me?” the man prompted.

“Yes. I… I need to know how to break a spell.”

Well, that was blunt, and to the point, but Kurt figured that a guy who’d taken umbrage at being led on for half a year would appreciate directness.

Mr Zakharov’s eyebrows rose. “A spell? Who cast it?”

“You did,” said Kurt.

Now the man’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “А тебе не занимать мужества, малыш!”

“Sorry?” Kurt asked.

“You’ve got guts, kid!” Mr Zakharov translated. “Stepping up to me to ask how to break one of my spells - the nerve of you! I’ve struck people dead for less!”

Kurt’s eyes widened, but he stayed put, pulling his shoulders back and looking straight at Mr Zakharov. “I meant no offense, sir.”

The man’s expression softened. “You’re lucky you seem so innocent. Plus that I’m curious. What was the curse? What is it you want to turn back? You want to stop someone from dying? Or bring them back from the dead?”

Kurt’s mouth fell open. “Can you do that?”

Mr Zakharov smirked. “For the right price, I might.”

Kurt gaped at him some more, but this was not about his mom, nor did he think she could be brought back after so many years. So he soldiered on. “No, it has nothing to do with life and death. It’s a dog spell.”

That was clearly not what Mr Zakharov had been expecting him to say, but it took him only seconds to catch on. “Blaine!”

Kurt nodded.

The man in front of him clenched and unclenched his fists, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and it took a few minutes for him to speak again. “So he’s into children these days, is he?”

Kurt’s puzzled expression sparked a fit of laughter, and only when it had subsided did Mr Zakharov explain his remark. “He’s dating you now? What are you, sixteen?”

Kurt squashed his indignation and replied, “I’m twenty, sir. And no, I’m not dating Blaine Anderson.”

Mr Zakharov looked as though he was close to laughing again. “But you’d certainly like to. Why else would you be here on his behalf?”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his armchair.

Again, the man’s laugh boomed through the room. “Up to his old tricks, is he, Blaine? Making you feel like you’re the only boy in the world to him and then friend-zoning you?”

That felt uncomfortably close to the truth, so Kurt bit his lip and said nothing.

“Aww, you’re too precious,” the man sniggered. “He’s never going to fall for you, you know that, right? You’re just wasting your time.”

Kurt nodded and then ducked his head. He did know that. He’d always known it. But it wasn’t like that made any difference to him. He wanted to help Blaine. Get that curse lifted. He didn’t expect anything from Blaine in return. That was not how love worked. If you loved someone, you had to set them free, right? Even if it broke your heart.

By the time Kurt felt composed enough to look up again, Mr Zakharov’s eyes had lost their teasing glint. He looked at Kurt intently. “You may look like a kid, but you’re really not. You have more strength in you than meets the eye, and the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. Which is why I’m going to give you a fighting chance. You deserve that much.”

Kurt mustered up a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me just yet,” said the man. “I’m not going to make this easy on you. I’m going to give you two years, starting today. If in that time, you manage to make Blaine fall in love with you, the spell will be broken. Get Blaine to kiss you and mean it, and he’ll never be a dog again.”

Mr Zakharov sniggered. “True love’s kiss and all that. In fact, I should give you until midnight on New Year’s Eve, two years from now, then it’s completely like a fairy tale. So you’ll get two years and two days, kid. A bit more, since you’re from America, and you’re several hours behind.”

Kurt nodded, and Mr Zakharov shook his head, chuckling and fiddling with his beard. “Who’d have known, I’m growing soft! I’m going to need to kill some people after this to prove that I’m still as fearsome as ever.”

Kurt couldn’t help but shiver, and that made the man laugh uproariously. “I wouldn’t kill you, little one! I like you. You’ve got spunk. And you make me laugh. Now… Where was I? Oh, yes. If you don’t manage to make Blaine fall for you, and let’s face it, that’s the more likely scenario, seeing as the guy’s such an idiot at personal relationships…”

Mr Zakharov laughed again, but it sounded sharp this time, and there was something savage about his expression, showing that however long it had been, he still hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven Blaine’s rejection.

“If you fail,” the man continued, “Blaine will become a dog permanently. For the rest of his life.”

Kurt considered this. It wasn’t likely that he’d succeed, but at least Blaine wouldn’t die, not even in the worst case scenario. If Blaine turned into a dog for good, Kurt would look after him. He owed him that much.

So Kurt nodded. “That’s fair. I accept your terms.”

That made Mr Zakharov crack up once more. “So polite, hee, hee, hee!”

Kurt didn’t see what was so funny, but at long last, the man got down to business, focussing his glittering dark eyes back on Kurt and flexing his fingers. “All right then…”

Mr Zakharov started chanting in what Kurt presumed to be Russian, wiggling his fingers at Kurt, who felt like squirming away, but forced himself to sit up straight and still until the magic was done.

“There!” the man said cheerfully. “Oh, and one more thing… You can’t tell Blaine how his curse can be broken. And of course you can’t go telling Blaine that you love him.”

Kurt blanched. “I already have!”

Mr Zakharov raised an eyebrow. “You told him you were in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?” the man inquired.

Kurt bit his lip. “He found it funny.”

Mr Zakharov fixed Kurt with a stare again. “Hmm… Well, if he already knows, it won’t make much difference if you mention it again, I guess. I hope for your sake that you succeed, but he doesn’t deserve you. At all.”

The man seemed indignant on Kurt’s behalf, which would have been funny if Kurt hadn’t been so scared of him.

Kurt thanked his host again politely, declined an offer of refreshment and got out of that house as fast as he could.

It wasn’t until he was back in his hotel room that he lost it, shaking uncontrollably and weeping out all his pent-up emotions. He may not have shown it, but that confrontation had been nerve-racking from the beginning until the end.

Once he felt slightly better, he ordered room service. He wasn’t hungry, per se, but he felt empty, and seeing as there was no-one around to hug him and make him feel better, he was going to fill the void with pizza and cake, so there. It was going to set him back a pretty penny, but no way was he going out again when people like Mr Zakharov roamed the streets here.

While he waited for his food to arrive, he thought of another way to make himself happy again – a phone call to his dad.

Burt picked up the phone after the first ring. “Kurt? What happened? Are you okay? Me and Blaine were having dinner when all of a sudden, pop, he becomes a dog. Wow, that was weird.”

Kurt gasped. He hadn’t thought of that, but of course Blaine had turned into a dog – Kurt had made Mr Zakharov think of him. “Let him run free in the back yard. I’ll clean up his messes when I get back. You’ll have to buy him dog food, though.”

“He can’t eat lasagne?” Burt asked.

“Dad, no!! There’s all sorts of things in that sauce that are bad for dogs, tomatoes and onions and stuff. Do you want to clean up puke all over the house?”

“Ah, no…” said Burt. “I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning. What could I give him to eat for now?”

Kurt thought hard. “I bought extra ground beef to freeze in last time I went grocery-shopping, but I think I forgot to freeze it in. Can you check? It should be on the lowest shelf in the fridge.”

“Uhm… Yep, there it is.”

“Give Blaine about a quarter of that,” Kurt instructed.

“Raw?” Burt asked.

“Yes.”

Kurt heard some clinking and scraping, and then Burt was back. “Okay, done. And he seems to like it. So tell me what happened.”

“Of course he likes it, this is like fine dining for a dog,” Kurt explained.

“Quit stalling, son.”

Kurt sighed. “Well, I went to see him, and we talked.”

“He didn’t curse you, did he?” Burt asked, a tremor in his voice.

Kurt was quick to reassure him. “No. He seemed to like me.”

“And what did he say about the dog spell?”

Kurt hesitated. “It… It can be broken by true love’s kiss.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Burt said, “That easy?”

“What’s easy about true love?” Kurt countered. “I don’t think Blaine is quick to fall in love. And he doesn’t notice it when other people fall for him. That’s what got him into this mess in the first place. I told you about that.”

“Still, he got off easy,” Burt said.

“He only has two more years to do it, though,” Kurt. “Then his time runs out.”

“And then he dies?” Burt gasped.

“No, no! He won’t die. He’s just… going to stay a dog for the rest of his life.”

“Huh. That’s not too bad.”

“No,” Kurt agreed. “It’s not.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re leaving something out?” Burt asked.

Kurt chuckled wetly. “You always know, don’t you? I… I like Blaine. You know that.”

“Course I do,” Burt said. “I could see it all the way from New York, first time I Face-Timed with Blaine, and you were hovering behind him. Worst case of heart-eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Dad!” Kurt protested, hoping that Blaine wasn’t listening in. “It was… obvious to Mr Zakharov too. So… It’s me that Blaine has to fall in love with. Someone else won’t do. And I can’t tell Blaine how to break the curse.”

“So everything will stay the same?” Burt asked. “You pining after Blaine and him not even noticing?”

Kurt took a deep breath. “Yeah. Basically, yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Does it ever,” Kurt agreed. “But that’s life, I guess.”

“If he can’t see how amazing you are, he’s an idiot,” Burt said. “A nice one, but still an idiot.”

“Dad!”

“Just saying it like it is, kiddo.”

“I know, I know. But, Dad… He can’t help not feeling any attraction to me anymore than I can help falling for men instead of women. It’s not something you can force. Maybe he’s asexual.”

“He’s a what now?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “That means he’s not attracted to anyone. Ever.”

“Is that a thing?”

Kurt laughed. “Yes. It’s a thing. Mind you, I’m not sure. But that could be the reason. He seems to like me well enough, but there’s no spark.”

“I see plenty of sparks between the two of you,” Burt disagreed.

Kurt sighed. “Yeah, coming from my end. Not his. Now drop it, please, Dad.”

Kurt’s food arrived shortly after that, so he ended the phone call and started devouring everything as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

When he crawled into bed a few hours later, he still felt empty, in spite of the phone call and the food.

Two years. I have two years. And two days. Why am I clinging onto this as if I stand a chance? That’s just stupid. Blaine won’t ever fall for me.

#klaine fanfiction #my fic #puppy eyes #chapter 9

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mariaclaragomez276 · 5 years ago

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A Night at The Fish: The Perfect UK Staycation

Just before the outbreak of Covid-19 in the UK, SLH’s Digital Image & Content Executive, Chloe Frost-Smith, visits the Cotswolds and discovers why you don’t always have to travel as far afield as you might think for the ultimate luxury escape…

Meet The Farncombe Family

The great outdoors with interiors to match, a trip to the Farncombe Estate in the Cotswolds is like going to stay at the country houses of your three impossibly stylish aunts who will spoil you rotten and indulge all your childhood dreams. Think treehouse suites with wooden bridge access, a complimentary pantry filled with sweet treats, and room names which are guaranteed to make you giggle (Boaty McBoatFace is my personal favourite).

Three hotels with their own distinct personalities, yet all unmistakably part of the Farncombe family, The Fish, Dormy House, and Foxhill Manor all possess that cool big sister vibe in both character and style – they will pretty much let you do whatever you want whenever you want. The epitome of country house cool with a home-from-home feel.

The Suite Life

Arriving at the Coach House of The Fish (to continue my aunt analogy, imagine this is the youngest, trendiest of the three who likes to break a few rules) the Estate owners’ duck egg blue Morris Minor parked outside makes you feel like someone’s at home to welcome you. And the warmest of welcomes was exactly what awaited us, as we were guided by lots of smiles and an illustrated map to our Small Suite in an outhouse decorated with fairy lights overlooking The Stables and a postcard worthy view.

‘Small’ actually turned out to be an incredibly spacious suite with its own living room, two window seats which somehow manage to catch the morning light and afternoon golden hour, and a wonderfully sized en-suite bedroom complete with an old-school radio.

Beautifully furnished with an eclectic yet put-together taste, we instantly felt at home (and needed little encouragement to tuck into the complimentary mini-bar stocked with the likes of organic oat cookies and hot chocolate). For more of a back to nature stay, I would recommend one of the Hideaway Huts – this is glamping gone wild with all the luxury touches of a cosy Cotswold cabin, and more.

Hooked on a Feeling

Cosy is the word du jour throughout the estate, and particularly so in The Lodge, the hub of The Fish which houses a cabin, boot room, bar, and The Hook – vision of the estate’s culinary director Martin Burge. Serving up a deliciously fresh seafood-centric menu, dining at The Hook transports you straight to the English seaside.

Our dinner began with a generous pile of crusty bread with the restaurant’s signature seaweed butter (be warned – this is dangerously addictive, make sure you save room for the rest of your meal!), sweetcorn soup dusted with paprika and a side of deep fried whitebait, and a beautifully presented chicken and liver parfait tart decorated with concentric circles of pickled grape spiced with dukkah.

Continuing the seafood-poultry combination, we opted for the melt-in-the-mouth battered whiting, seaweed fries, and curried tartare (this usually comes with soft shell crab, which was carefully removed by the chef and replaced with an extra whiting after taking note of my crab allergy), and a wonderfully succulent roast chicken breast accompanied by a seriously naughty truffle mac and cheese.

For my boyfriend’s birthday, the restaurant very kindly put together a special dessert plate of sea salt fudge – which was also thoughtfully prepared for our lunch the following day (even double helpings of this to-die-for fudge wasn’t quite enough!)

Serious Interior Inspiration

Just as we were polishing off a twice-baked Comté cheese soufflé and the stickiest of sticky toffee puddings from the set lunch menu, our delightful guide Harriet came to meet us for a tour of the 400-acre private estate. This sounds very grand indeed, but it was as relaxed and personable as the estate itself – exploring all the photogenic nooks and crannies, the family resemblance between the three boutique hotels became increasingly obvious, whilst reinforcing their own unique characters.

Four-poster bed fabulousness, free-standing bath tubs, and unparalleled views from every window are just some of the highlights from our tour – it’s clear that laidback luxury is the lingua franca here.

No two rooms were the same, even within the same hotel or room category, with tasteful touches at every turn by Design Director Nette Reynolds, in natural, complementary colour palettes. A sprinkling of Scandi-chic here and there, the overall effect is quintessentially English – think rosy apple pinks, summer garden greens, dusky blues and buttercup yellows – every shade from my Farrow & Ball fantasies. Whilst my boyfriend wasn’t quite as taken as me by the blushing pink floral wallpaper in Rose Cottage at Dormy House, the private hot tub and fact that it was dog-friendly seemed to win him over to the more traditionally feminine interiors.

Paws for Thought

Though we suspected that our German Shepherd might be on the larger end of the Farncombe-friendly scale (the official line on dogs is ‘one medium sized well behaved pooch aged one year or older’) there are plenty of hints throughout The Fish which keep four-legged friends in mind, including doggy hydration stations, a ‘dunk your dog’ bath tub (complete with canine shampoo and conditioner), a dedicated dog agility course, and doggy afternoon tea – luxury tit-bits from the likes of Woof & Brew and The Barking Bakery feature on the menu.

To Broadway & Back

Strategically placed opposite the pup bath tub is the Boot Room, kitted out by The Original Muck Boot Company (who have a whole collection dedicated to dog walking boots). With a grab-and-go ethos, we swapped our Chelsea boots for wellies and picked up one of the many hand-drawn maps detailing local rambles. On a mission to walk off the countless courses from our indulgent meals at The Hook, we selected one of the more advanced-looking routes – the sun was shining as we set off in what can only be described as hold-on-to-your-hat weather as gusts of wind reminded us that we were still quite far off the beginning of British Summer Time.

Taking us off piste through forests, hopping over stiles through patchwork pasturelands dotted with sheep (we were just in time for lambing season), and through lots and lots of mud, we eventually emerged through a kissing-gate at the edge of Broadway Village. Idyllic doesn’t quite do this village justice, with its rows of honey-coloured Cotswold stone cottages, blooming English gardens, antique shops and tea rooms, this is refined rusticity at its best.

After a pick-and-mix purchase of pear drops and strawberry bonbons from an old-fashioned sweet shop, we reluctantly made our way back to return our borrowed boots and check-out, just as the sun was setting over the rolling hills. We attempted to sweeten our farewell to the Farncombe family by planning our next trip on the train journey back to Paddington – the tipsy afternoon tea is already calling my name…

The post A Night at The Fish: The Perfect UK Staycation appeared first on Small Luxury Hotels.

from Small Luxury Hotels https://ift.tt/2zcaFTp Publish First on

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secureshark6441-blog · 5 years ago

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05 | Vulnerabilities

Find the errors (vulnerabilities) in the recipes

Martha’s Recipes

Timmy’s grandmother Martha s renowned throughout all of Cronulla for her baking skills. When Timmy went to ask his grandmother for some of her famous recipes he suspected she wasn’t being so honest with him.

Help Timmy discover what is wrong with his grandmother’s recipes.

Vanilla Cake

The amount of ingredients required for this recipe is not listed making it hard to replicate. Even the stereotypical joke where most family recipes doesn’t have proper amounts will give you a vague idea of how much of an ingredient. (A handful of corn for example.)

She also said to preheat the oven to 180˚F which is approximately 82˚C. I believe she actually meant to say 180˚C as 83˚C is not hot enough to cook a cake. (Or maybe it can but it will take a considerate amount of time. I don’t know. I’ve never tried baking a cake at 83˚C)

Caramel Slice

In the recipe it says 1/2 desiccated coconut. It is not clear if she meant 1/2 a cup, 1/2 a teaspoon, 1/2 of an entire coconut, 1/2 a kilo of coconut and so on. Same to be said for the sweetened condensed milk. The butter also mentions having an extra 100g without specifying what state the butter should be in.

She is also clearly missing the step where the caramel is made from the condensed milk, golden syrup, and possibly the 100g of butter. Without this step, this is just a chocolate slice.

(Side note: The actual recipe for this is missing, I would love to actually try this one day.)

Cheese Soufflé

The volume size for ramekins or soufflé dishes typically range from 90mL to 200mL so the 1500mL soufflé’s dish is overkill and not practical. Plus, this recipe doesn’t have enough ingredients nor the appropriate cooking time for a soufflé of this size.

Although it is doable, I would also not recommend hand whisking the egg whites until they are stiff and glossy as that requires amazing arm strength and a significant amount of time.

#Module 5 #Activities

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birdshirt1-blog · 5 years ago

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Valentine's Day Ideas for your Sweet

Valentine's Day isn't something that I bother much with myself even though I do have a very special person in my life. I show and tell my husband each and every day how much I love him and value him, and I certainly don't relish occasions that make people feel compelled to dash off to the store to purchase things that aren't really needed, such as overpriced roses and treats, or spend an excess of money at expensive and crowded restaurants. My husband is very fortunate to get special meals and treats on a regular basis as part of my food blogging project and just because I like to provide good nourishing meals. And he likes to treat me too, all year round.

But Valentine's Day is an excuse for many people to prepare special foods for their sweethearts, and if you're looking for ideas you may want to try some of these vegetarian recipes that will certainly illustrate your passion for your honey. From breakfast to dinner right through to tempting treats and desserts, there's no shortage of opportunity to make this a special day for your most loved one.

You will find many more ideas to celebrate any occasion by browsing through the recipes that I have shared with readers including some nourishing and delicious side-dishes to go along with your meals. Though this list of suggestions was written for those in mind who enjoy Valentine's Day, I was also considering creations for any special occasion or for no reason in particular except for wanting to have a lovely meal along with some delights to treat your loved ones.

So let's start with some rather decadent sweets and desserts!

Valentine's Day Treats & Desserts

This Raspberry and Blackberry Dark Chocolate Truffle Tart with a Teff Crust is both beautiful and easy to make. Filled with luscious dark chocolate and a layer of berry spread, and topped with a scattering of tart fresh raspberries, this tart is a centerpiece that will enchant your sweetheart.

If there are two words that describe Valentine's Day desserts, they are "chocolate" and "cake". This Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Filling and Ganache is moist, rich and delicious and not-too-sweet eggless and dairy-free layered chocolate cake with chocolate filling and ganache — a treat for your sweetheart and you.

This Chocolate Chili Cake is just like what it sounds — chocolatey with a hint of heat from chili powder. Serve it with fresh raspberries for a plate that looks just like it belongs on the Valentine's Day table.

Not chocolate this time, but this Greek Sesame Tahini Cake with Spelt and Mixed Dried Fruits will absolutely enchant your sweetheart. Moist with a myriad of flavors from dried fruits, vanilla, lemon juice, tahini and sesame seeds, this Greek-inspired vegan cake is easy to make and is a perfect dessert on a special day.

I've spoiled my own husband on more than one occasion with this Olive Oil Almond Cake — he and I love it every time. So simple but delicious and none-too-sweet, this is one for almond lovers.

With fresh pineapple and cherries and a combination of spelt and quinoa flours, you could call this a "grown-up" version of the classic Pineapple Upside-Down Cake — making it entirely appropriate for grown-up occasions like your special day with your sweetheart. It''s just as good as you remember it.

This is a all-time favorite, a rich, moist, flavorful and not-too-sweet Guinness Gingerbread Cake made with Guinness stout beer and fresh ginger.

This Blueberry Ricotta Cheesecake is a winner and a very special way to say I love you. If your sweetie likes cheesecake, you must try this recipe.

Speaking of cheesecake, it's always a favorite and so I offer up this Goat Cheese Cheesecake with Mixed Berries that will earn you lots of hugs. One of my favorites.

And while we're speaking of goat cheese, pie may not be everyone's idea of a typical Valentine's Day dessert, but I've never met a man who won't eat pie any day of the year. So if it's a special occasion like Valentine's Day, treat him to this elegant Blueberry Goat Cheese Pie that's more than just a cut above the basic blueberry pie.

This Lemon Sponge Pudding for Two is so pretty to look at and so sure to please the palate of your honey. A perfect dessert for two. Romance = elegance.

There is nothing more pleasing than a combination of chocolate and peanut butter. Your sweetheart will be craving these homemade Peanut Butter Cups for months after tasting them.

My husband calls a piece of this Tahini Freezer Fudge the "best piece of chocolate" he's ever had. So if you're like so many of us who think chocolate must be had at Valentine's Day, the love of your life will love you for this chocolate.

If you really want to spice things up, try these unique Cayenne Peanut Butter Cookies. I know my husband thought that these were some of the best cookies he has ever eaten.

Valentine's Day Breakfast Ideas

Almost like having dessert for breakfast, this Baked German Apple Pancake (known as Apfelpfannkuchen) is a soft, sweet baked soufflé-like baked apple pancake with the inviting homey aromas of brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg — in fact, it is just as wonderful for dessert as it is for breakfast.

More apples in a rustic breakfast cake, this delicious Apple-Oatmeal Breakfast Streusel Cake has a sweet crunchy streusel topping, and the fragrance of ground cinnamon and apples will start your Valentine's Day with warm feelings.

If you're planning for a Valentine's Day of delicious and decadent foods, then a great start would be these Apricot Rum Fritters. Just as good as they sound, rum-soaked apricots are rolled in a spiced batter and fried into warm, sweet and crispy fritters that are just extraordinary and will set the stage for wonderful flavor experiences throughout the day.

Light and chewy Pumpkin Gingerbread Waffles with a dark and rich molasses and gingerbread taste, these are a wonderful treat to share between the two of you on a special day, and the aroma is simply heavenly.

One of the tastiest breakfasts I have ever enjoyed with my sweetheart, if you enjoy some spice in your life, be sure to consider trying Indian-Style Baked Eggs Florentine.

A frittata makes for a filling and attractive breakfast on a day where you want to spend a little time spoiling your sweetheart. This Jalapeño Frittata is just the thing for couples who like a little heat in their breakfast, and it's lovely too.

If you and your loved one enjoy eggs and cheese as much as I and mine do, then this Greek Feta and Olive Frittata will be sure to impress both of you. Feta and olives are a perfect couple too.

And if you want a lovely Greek egg dish to start your day but without taking as much time and trouble, this four-egg Greek Omelette with spinach, tomatoes, olives and Feta cheese is a simple, colorful and delicious breakfast for two.

I can't think of a better way to start the day than with this Eye-Opening Blueberry French Toast. Warming and filling, it can be prepared the night before and popped into the oven in the morning.

These Baked Strawberry Pancakes are especially easy to make and a real delight for a very special breakfast.

If you're planning to start your Valentine's Day with a leisurely breakfast cooked with love and care, this Turkish Barley and Apricot Porridge — or Anooshavoor — is a sweet, creamy and wonderfully fragrant barley and dried apricot porridge that is spiced with cardamom and cooked slowly in a risotto style.

For an extra jolt in the morning, these Jalapeño Breakfast Burritos are a must. Healthy and filling and you just know that if your sweetheart likes some heat, he will be asking for more.

Here is a good alternative for those who wish to enjoy a vegan breakfast with their mate. Give these Tempeh-Miso Breakfast Patties a try.

Valentine's Day Dinner Ideas

This Vegetarian Mushroom Bourguignon is ideal for serving to your sweetheart if he shares a passion for plump mushrooms simmered in a rich, thick and delicious red wine sauce.

Everyone loves risottos, don't they? This Mushroom Risotto is a rich, earthy, creamy and perfect risotto to savor over dinner for two.

Italian may or may not be the most romantic cuisine there is — I think it is — but it is always delicious and a delight to share with your loved one. Ricotta Gnudi are tender, creamy ricotta cheese pasta dumplings that are served with a rich, vibrant and zesty homemade tomato sauce.

Among so many Italian classics, lasagna has always been a special favorite. Rich and delicious, this Brussels Sprouts Lasagna is filled with mushrooms, cheese and sliced balsamic brussel sprouts for an elegant and unique Valentine's Day dinner.

Something I always order when having a romantic dinner at an Italian restaurant are arancini — I just adore those little balls of mushroom risotto and cheese fried up into extraordinary savory bites. If you're spending Valentine's Day at home, you can so easily recreate this rich and delicious experience with your sweetheart by making your own Baked Mushroom Arancini — just as delicious, creamy and cheesy.

In my house, a homemade bruschetta is so beautiful to look at and so delicious to eat that it can't help but be something to share with your most loved one. This Olive and Goat Cheese Bruschetta features toasted Italian garlic bread smothered with a colorful and delicious array of mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, soft goat cheese and fresh herbs.

Roasted Butternut Squash and Herbed Cannellini and Artichokes with Fennel and Parsley Salad is a perfect dinner for two — tender roasted golden orange butternut squash mixed with a baked casserole of creamy cannellini beans, delicate artichokes, sweet cherry tomatoes and fresh herbs, and served with a fresh crunchy and slightly tart fennel and parsley salad.

Sweet roasted squash is such a colorful and seasonally appropriate food around which to center your dinner on Valentine's Day, especially if its roasted with onions and served with a rich, creamy and tangy tahini and lemon dressing and tossed with za'atar and fried pine nuts in this Roasted Squash with Tahini and Za'atar

For a spicy and delicious romantic dinner, this Gujarati Dal is a tantalizing way to share your love.

This Spinach and Potato Curry (or Saag Aloo) is technically a side dish, but it is my most popular recipe and is so delicious that it will instantly make you popular with your own sweetheart.

Source: https://foodandspice.blogspot.com/2012/02/valentine-day-ideas-for-your-sweet.html

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greecechef4-blog · 6 years ago

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Valentine's Day Ideas for your Sweet

So let's start with some rather decadent sweets and desserts!

Valentine's Day Treats & Desserts

I've spoiled my own husband on more than one occasion with this Olive Oil Almond Cake — he and I love it every time. So simple but delicious and none-too-sweet, this is one for almond lovers.

This is a all-time favorite, a rich, moist, flavorful and not-too-sweet Guinness Gingerbread Cake made with Guinness stout beer and fresh ginger.

This Blueberry Ricotta Cheesecake is a winner and a very special way to say I love you. If your sweetie likes cheesecake, you must try this recipe.

Speaking of cheesecake, it's always a favorite and so I offer up this Goat Cheese Cheesecake with Mixed Berries that will earn you lots of hugs. One of my favorites.

This Lemon Sponge Pudding for Two is so pretty to look at and so sure to please the palate of your honey. A perfect dessert for two. Romance = elegance.

There is nothing more pleasing than a combination of chocolate and peanut butter. Your sweetheart will be craving these homemade Peanut Butter Cups for months after tasting them.

If you really want to spice things up, try these unique Cayenne Peanut Butter Cookies. I know my husband thought that these were some of the best cookies he has ever eaten.

Valentine's Day Breakfast Ideas

One of the tastiest breakfasts I have ever enjoyed with my sweetheart, if you enjoy some spice in your life, be sure to consider trying Indian-Style Baked Eggs Florentine.

If you and your loved one enjoy eggs and cheese as much as I and mine do, then this Greek Feta and Olive Frittata will be sure to impress both of you. Feta and olives are a perfect couple too.

I can't think of a better way to start the day than with this Eye-Opening Blueberry French Toast. Warming and filling, it can be prepared the night before and popped into the oven in the morning.

These Baked Strawberry Pancakes are especially easy to make and a real delight for a very special breakfast.

For an extra jolt in the morning, these Jalapeño Breakfast Burritos are a must. Healthy and filling and you just know that if your sweetheart likes some heat, he will be asking for more.

Here is a good alternative for those who wish to enjoy a vegan breakfast with their mate. Give these Tempeh-Miso Breakfast Patties a try.

Valentine's Day Dinner Ideas

This Vegetarian Mushroom Bourguignon is ideal for serving to your sweetheart if he shares a passion for plump mushrooms simmered in a rich, thick and delicious red wine sauce.

Everyone loves risottos, don't they? This Mushroom Risotto is a rich, earthy, creamy and perfect risotto to savor over dinner for two.

For a spicy and delicious romantic dinner, this Gujarati Dal is a tantalizing way to share your love.

This Spinach and Potato Curry (or Saag Aloo) is technically a side dish, but it is my most popular recipe and is so delicious that it will instantly make you popular with your own sweetheart.

Source: https://foodandspice.blogspot.com/2012/02/valentine-day-ideas-for-your-sweet.html

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nicholerestrada · 6 years ago

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Hatchet Hall in LA Is Exploring American Cuisine with Fuss & Feathers – Robb Report

For much of Brian Dunsmoor’s career, he’s cooked Southern food, and cooked it well. At the helm of Los Angeles’ Hatchet Hall, it hasn’t been much different, serving hearty and delicious fare on the city’s Westside. But he admits that recently boredom had started to set in. He wanted to broaden not only his approach to food, but the restaurant’s as well. He didn’t want to cook just food from the South, but American food. So he started telling people that’s what they made, until one day someone asked Dunsmoor, “What is American food?” And it dawned on him, “Oh, we don’t really know. Why doesn’t anyone really know what American food is?”

Dunsmoor and his team at Hatchet Hall started on a journey to explore that question. They decided to investigate the time before industrialization and mass production created the Americana cuisine of hamburgers and hot dogs. What were the foodways that defined the regions of the U.S.? He’s turned that newfound knowledge into an intimate, tasting-menu-driven experience called Fuss & Feathers that allows diners to delve into America’s past with him.

It’s not the easiest task to tackle. The defining characteristics of the country’s cuisine are not readily apparent. When thinking of Thai, Italian, French, or Japanese food, dishes and techniques start to flash in your brain, not so with America. “We don’t have that same sense of place,” Thomas Keller tells me. “You know America was about immigrants, so depending on what part of the country you’re in, you see remnants of those immigrants. America is really about a melting pot cuisine. We can embrace different cultures and find inspiration. We’re not constrained by anything.” Dunsmoor felt the same way. He started considering how European settlement, African forced migration, Native American food culture, and indigenous ingredients could start to coalesce around a style.

He had a lot of freedom to explore, but Dunsmoor decided he needed some constraints in order to start wrapping his head around creating a coherent menu. He chose to disregard modern technology and cook the Fuss & Feathers menu on the restaurant’s wood-burning hearth instead. “I’ve locked up a lot of tools,” he says. “Maybe I’ll let them pull out the food processor for staff meal.” He also committed himself to using American ingredients, relying on what’s grown Stateside to better replicate what Americans faced before global supply chains brought them most anything they wanted year-round. “Someone told me, ‘You know what would make this spoonbread better? Parmesan cheese,’” Dunsmoor says. “I said, ‘Nope. Not at all. We’re committed to doing it a certain way.’”

After setting some boundaries on techniques and ingredients, Dunsmoor hit the books. He read histories of different eras from early colonial days to up WWII, seeking inspiration from tomes like American Food to discover what ingredients and techniques past generations relied upon. Early settlers learning about eel from Native Americans, Benjamin Franklin’s love of turkey, colonists hunting quail, New Englanders’ clam bakes, the combination of Native Americans’ corn porridge and Europeans’ soufflé to create spoon bread, and more all lead directly to dishes on the menu.

His journey also exposed him to a dark side of the country’s culinary roots. “We owe our cuisine to a lot of different cultures that Europeans did wrong,” Dunsmoor says. Southern food wouldn’t be what it is without the slave trade, and Native Americans greatly helped early settlers acclimate to the new land, before the colonists turned on them. You can’t understand this food without the appropriation and oppression that accompanied its creation. Dunsmoor to his credit doesn’t shy away from telling those stories as the meal unfolds, presenting dishes to diners while explaining true origins. Like when he serves the spot prawn served in the style of a clam bake, he notes that Algonquins buried shellfish with seaweed covered hot rocks in a way that New Englanders still copy to this day.

Fuss & Feathers menu will not remain static. It began earlier this year with a summer-focused menu for a limited run. It came back this month and happens each Thursday until November 15. There will be a more winter-focused run early next year. The $150-per-person menu is available to just 12 diners each week, but Dunsmoor hopes he can make it available to more. This dinner series is serving as a test run for what could be a tasting-menu-only restaurant that keeps exploring these themes and helps Americans get a better grasp on defining their country’s cuisine.

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Source: https://hashtaghighways.com/2018/10/27/hatchet-hall-in-la-is-exploring-american-cuisine-with-fuss-feathers-robb-report/

from Garko Media https://garkomedia1.wordpress.com/2018/10/27/hatchet-hall-in-la-is-exploring-american-cuisine-with-fuss-feathers-robb-report/

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