#if theyre cooked crispy enough then maybe

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

I don’t understand how you animals eat french fries dry and crusty. Juicy and sauced is obviously superior in every conceivable way.

Crispy just has too much raw potato taste, and no sauce makes the flavor so one-toned (unless you’re talking about loaded fries, in which case eating them any way is the best way). The only way eating fries raw like that could possibly be good is if they had some other kind of spice added, like paprika or something.

Seasoned fries are the absolute best and need no further sauce 👌

The only time I’ve ever considered sauce is if the fry is not seasoned at all. Though I am a freak and have eaten freezer fries with just salt on them so who knows how far I’ll go with this chaos

Idk I just enjoy good potatoes 😊

[mariaofdoranelle]

Whiny Whitethorn

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

This whole thing was born last night, when my uber driver told me he got blocked from two different restaurants on iFood (but I wrote Uber Eats because it’s used worldwide even though it’s a huge flop where I live).

Enjoy!

Warnings: none I think? Nothing happened but Aelin thinks Rowan’s a creep but it’s just hinted. Anyway.

Words: 2k

Rowan had never felt greater loss in his thirty-two years of life.

He laid on the floor, wondering how he’d survived an entire month without his favorite restaurant already. His fridge felt too dull. His counter, too empty without Emrys’ Steaks takeout boxes. Meat on a stick would never be the same.

He did complain about the food every time, but only because he wanted Emrys’ Steaks to achieve even greater greatness. Rowan complained because he cared.

Now he moped around the house, chest hollow as he reminisced the times he focused on the bad parts instead of the good ones. A month ago, if he knew that would be his last time ordering at Emrys’ Steaks, he wouldn’t have complained to that lady that the fries weren’t as crispy. Neither would he make a suggestion about purchasing rice of better quality if he knew they were struggling financially.

Because that’s what happens, right? No restaurant that good would close without a good reason.

Feeling an inkling of doubt, Rowan opened Instagram and typed the restaurant’s name. He only visited there once because he preferred to have food delivered at home—

There’s a story. Posted one hour ago. Of the place open.

Emrys’ Steaks didn’t close, they just ditched Uber Eats.

Rowan closed his eyes and relaxed against his tiled floor, relief taking over his previously tense muscles and making him feel like he was fluttering. He was so grateful he felt like his body was expanding to another dimension. One filled with meat on a stick.

He considered changing his clothes and going to the restaurant to fully understand what happened, but decided to use the phone number available on their page.

The Uber Eats link was still there, but it didn’t open in Rowan’s phone. Odd. He should remind the staff to take the link off or fix it.

Rowan: Good evening.

Rowan: Can you send me a picture of the menu?

Emrys’ Steaks: hi

Emrys’ Steaks: [picture of the closed menu.]

He frowned. Maybe they put the same person who buys that second-rate rice in charge of the phone.

Rowan: Open, please?

Emrys’ Steaks: yes til 11pm

He pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to let other people’s incompetence get to him because the food is worth it.

Rowan: I’d like to see the open menu

Emrys’ Steaks: apologize

Rowan: I’m sorry…?

Rowan: You know what

Rowan: I’ll just have a rump steak with bacon on a stick.

Emrys’ Steaks: sorry for the typo sir i meant i apologize for the inconvienent

Emrys’ Steaks: sorry again sir there’s no steak

Rowan: It’s a steakhouse.

Rowan: What do you mean there’s no steak?

Emrys’ Steaks: i don’t know sir my mom said that but uncle emrys is cooking a lot maybe theyre bringingh their own meat

And that’s when Rowan gave up on getting his dinner delivered.

˜˜

The small restaurant was cramped as ever, reminding him of why he insisted on ordering from home. Rowan walked until he reached a counter in the back, but the staff was busy going from one place to the other. The only unoccupied person was a little girl sitting behind the counter, playing on a phone. Despite being a literal child, she looked old enough to reason with.

Rowan cleared his throat. “Do you work here?”

He could finally see past that curtain of pitch-black hair, when she looked up with eyes so wide and blue Rowan had an impression she was trying to blind him with UV lights.

“No, but I’ll get someone who does. What’s your name?”

”Rowan. Rowan Whitethorn.”

The girl’s mouth fell, and she took him in with eyes so wide it looked as if she was seeing a ghost. “Are you Whiny Whitethorn?”

He froze. “What.”

She straightened her posture, studying the situation with her little inquisitive eyes, as if she were a miniature Sherlock Holmes. “Do you whine to my mom every week?”

“Not whining!” His voice rose, just a small display of the outrage he felt. “I call to give helpful input—“

The girl giggled, taking a few steps back until she was running towards the kitchen. “Mom! Whiny Whitethorn is here!”

The loud background noise, a deafening result of multiple tables’ chatter and laughter, was one of the reasons Rowan preferred to dine in his own home. The place was nice, but with a casual touch about it that made it look attractive to young people. As long as they’re well-employed enough to pay for the steaks, that is, since they were just a little over the average price.

A moment later, Rowan was taken aback by the woman emerging from the kitchen. Her light blue dress shirt that matched her turquoise eyes was tucked under a skirt tight enough that he decided it was best to snap his eyes back up.

For a second, he forgot about the nickname she and her daughter called him. For a second, Rowan was about to tell her she could call him anything she wants.

“Rowan Whitethorn?” The woman extended a hand. “I’m Aelin Galathynius, the person you… voice your complaints to over the phone.”

He shook her hand, a bitter smile adorning his face. “I believe you meant whine to.”

“Do you want a table, Mr. Whitethorn?”

”I do, actually.” He cocked his head with a pinched expression, trying to silently address how annoyed he was. “I’m here because you’re unreachable online.”

“Can you elaborate, sir?”

“You see, your Uber Eats page hasn’t been working for a month. I even thought you guys were closed.” Rowan opened up his phone and showed her the issue with Uber Eats, then his text thread with the restaurant. “And whoever is in charge of the phone is completely inefficient.”

“I see…” Aelin’s unwavering face faltered, and that’s how he knew she’d just found out about something not going according to plan. “Emrys, the owner, gave my daughter access to our commercial phone, but she isn’t allowed to speak with the clients in it. I apologize for the inconvenience.” A pause for her fake customer smile. “About the Uber Eats… I’m afraid you can’t reach us there because I blocked you.”

“You did what?” Rowan blinked, his mind racing and empty at the same time. He wasn’t expecting this. Was it even possible to block a customer? “Why would you do that?”

”Your bi-weekly phone calls were disrupting my work, sir. I weighed my decision a lot before doing it, considering how frequently you ordered from us.”

Rowan blinked. His mouth opened, but wasn’t able to articulate any reply. He couldn’t believe this—

“Come on, Mr. Whitethorn.” She rounded the counter, to lead him away from it. “I’ll show you a table.”

˜˜

A rump steak with bacon on a steak was always great to help him put things into perspective.

Except that there was no perspective. Rowan was doomed. Aelin said she’d come back to talk to him, and he could only think of all the ways he was going to grovel to get unblocked on Uber Eats—

The kid from earlier sat in front of him, at his table, without saying a word.

“Hello… child.”

“It’s Annie.”

He extended a hand for her to shake, unsure of how to act around kids. She shook it, before giving a skeptical, pointed look at his shirt.

“Are you a trainer on Pokémon Go?”

Rowan looked down, just now noticing he was wearing a silly t-shirt his friend Fenrys gave him a couple of years ago. It was of Pikachu on a cartesian plane, his thunder jolt making a parabola, and some projectile motion equations on the side. It was as nerdy as a shirt could get, and Rowan was sure the Pikachu was the only part of it that Annie understood.

He leaned closer, resting both forearms on the table. “Why do you ask?”

The kid mirrored his position, eyeing him up and down. “I can unblock you on Uber Eats. My mom won’t notice if you don’t call her again.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank you, Annie—“

“But I want two shiny or legendary pokémons in return.”

Rowan squinted his eyes at that devious little thing. Maybe kids weren’t a mystery after all. This one seemed to be sneakier than most adults he knew.

“Deal,” he grunted.

To Rowan’s surprise, the girl’s business-like stance fell for a moment. Her pinched lips broke into a grin, her upper body shaking with sheer delight in what looked like a giddy dance and a squeal. His eyes crinkled, that sight reminding Rowan of how kids were universally known for getting happy over silly things. It was an overly used cliché, but looked cute in person.

Rowan opened his app, looking for something a kid her age would like. “I have a shiny Squirtle with sunglasses.”

She shook her head with disappointment, letting out a heavy sigh. “I can get grounded, Rowan, and you offer me a Squirtle?”

That little urchin was so adorable it almost made him forget how smart she is. Rowan crossed his arms, jaw tight this time. “What do you want?”

“One galarian legendary bird.” Her eyes narrowed. “And the shiny Squirtle.”

He gaped, struggling to find an answer that matched his shock. Absolutely not. His galarian birds were sacred, and—

“Fork.”

Rowan frowned, wondering what was Annie’s issues with the cutlery, when he noticed Aelin coming their way. Shit, shit, shit. That trade was the only way to get him unblocked, and he had to act fast. He skimmed through the app, his eyes quickly finding a shiny Mew. Annie said she wanted one shiny and one legendary, Rowan could only hope she’d accept one with both things as part of their deal.

Confirm trade.

The little girl gasped in the exact same moment Aelin reached their table. And when she eyed the screen on Annie’s hand, her eyes went cold, her lips flat.

“I need to talk to you in the kitchen, Annie,” her mother said half-smiling her costumer smile, half growling between her gritted teeth. ”Now.”

The little girl jumped from the chair and ran away, leaving him alone with Aelin.

She was smiling at him, but it was clear that it wasn’t a cheerful one. It wasn’t even a costumer smile. This time, Aelin looked livid, her smile a sharp blade aimed at him.

“Look, Whitethorn, my patience with you is wearing thin. You’ll stay blocked on Uber Eats, and if you come back here, I don’t want you chit-chatting with my eight-year-old daughter again.” Aelin leaned closer, her eyes poisoned with rage and threat. “She might be with me at work out of need, but don’t you think for a second that I don’t watch her. If I ever see you trying to befriend Annie again, sending her online gifts behind my back, I won’t call the police. You’ll be the one wanting to call the cops on me.”

Rowan leaned away, shocked when he understood what she was implying. ”I think there was a misunderstanding, I’d never—“

“Did you understand, Whitethorn?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Perfect.” Aelin took a step back, her costumer smile plastered on. “Enjoy your meal.”

It was actually cold by now, but it was better than no dinner. He got back to it, his movements slow as he processed what just happened.

Aelin’s assumption of why he sent Annie that pokémon was a huge misunderstanding, but he was still on the wrong side. Rowan was so desperate to be unblocked he engaged in a secretive deal with someone else’s kid. He didn’t need to know a lot about children to understand how unacceptable that behavior was. If he were Annie’s father, he’d be threatening strangers who did that too.

After quickly finishing his dinner, he had already accepted that his future depended on an eight-year-old. And he lost a shiny Mew with no guarantee that she’d take it instead of one shiny, and another legendary pokémon she requested. With very little hope, he opened Uber Eats on his way out.

Emrys’ Steaks 4,8⭑

30-45 min • $4 Delivery Fee

Rowan’s shoulders dropped in relief, his chest expanding as he breathed in the cold evening air. He thanked that little urchin in his mind, and got into his car with a triumphant smirk.

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[cakeheavenly999]

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

bennett x razor wc: 1372 tags: fluff/kissing not beta read!

i really like the bennett x razor ship! but i also ship barbra x bennett and fischle x bennett because he is very silly and cute hehe. i only ship razor with bennett though... theyre so cute together!!

bennett looked out of the cabin window with a despaired sigh. yesterday evening he had made plans with barbra. offering to collect red wolfhook berries for her tomorrow so she wouldnt have to venture out during her busy duties in the church. unfortunately the weather the next day had turned sour. as he traveled into the wolvendom to pick the berries, bennet was completely unaware of the storm clouds rolling in. and as he wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, the thunder and rain began. the feral boy had been doing some scavenging of his own before the storm arrived. and it werent for razor, bennett would most likely be face down in a mud puddle trying to make it back to mondstat.

he had been forced to sit and wait it out in an abandoned cabin razor had brought him to. “it was supposed to be nice today…” he grumbled with his arms crossed as he began to pout. “miss. barbra probably thinks i stood her up…” he mumbled as the rain pelted violently against the glass of the lonely, little cabin. “hungry?” razor asked bennett from behind and the adventurer turned to face him. the intense scent of grass and soil made bennett lean in closer out of comfort and he smiled at the feral boy. “ah, yeah. i can try to make-” razor shook his head and raised his gloved hands. “razor do it.” he offered hurriedly. bennett laughed nervously and turned back to the window. “ahhh, yeah. right. if i tried to cook i would probably burn the cabin down!” he scratched at the back of his head with a weak grin. “it would be my luck…” he trailed off and razor gently patted him on the back.

bennett relaxed against the gentle touch and razor assured him he could give cooking a shot. bennett trusted razor to not kill them both with food poisoning. and then his mind began to wander towards how bad he felt for leaving barbra hanging in the city, waiting for him to show up. how bad things always happened to him. the pelting of the rain was almost hypnotizing, pulling the boy deeper into the gloomy mentality. he was lulled into a numbness from the scent of toasting bread and frying eggs. “did i do something to upset the archons?” he whispered to himself with furrowed brows. bennett felt frustrated, and razor was starting to notice the depressing aura around his friend.

the adventurer flinched, feeling the sudden touch. when he smells the calming scent of the forest, bennett relaxes again. razor wrapped his arms around bennett, squeezing the other boys body tightly with a soft huff. his chest flush against the other boys back. “stop.” he growled and rested his chin in the crook of bennetts neck. “eat with razor.” he instructed as a fire lit within the adventurers chest. the close contact was comforting. razor had become much more fond of touch and skinship the more bennett came to see him and bring him into the town. to think that the feral boy would be comfortable enough to give bennett a hug all without verbal prompt made the adventurer feel… bashful. “a-alright, alright. ill come and eat with you.” he broke away from razor, his ears bright red and burning. he approached the small stove with razor. the wolf boy seemed to puff with pride as he motioned to the food in the metal pan.

bennet was amazed at how the egg turned out perfectly crispy and fried, a little singed around the edges to give it a crunch. the way the toast was a golden brown instead of a jet black. and how the ham wasnt dry and hard, it was soft with a pale pink flavor, making it safe enough to eat. “woaah… im glad my bad luck didnt rub off on you.” he whispered as he pointed to the pan with a smile. “maybe my luck will start to turn around and i can still make time to see miss. barbra!” he was starting to feel motivated again as razor began to frown. but before he could speak bennett hurriedly grabbed the toast from the pan, only to fumble it and drop it egg-side down.

the two stood in silence with only the rain filling in the gaps. “ah, well… at least you still have yours!” bennett remained optimistic, stepping away from the small stove to look around the cabin for something to clean up the mess. “bennett.” razor called the other boy's name, wondering why bennett didn’t just eat it anyway. razor eats food off the ground all the time. is it not something that ‘people’ do? the adventurer continued to search until he felt a gloved hand yanked at the back of his top. “bennett.” razor sounded a little more stern now.

the feral boy held out the breakfast styled lunch. his head tilted and he waited for bennett to lean in. “if razor holds it. bennett can eat it.” the wolf boy had caught on to the logic that by feeding bennett, there was no risk of the toast falling face down. “eh?! razor it’s fine-” the toast was thrusted towards bennett’s lips. “bennett eat too.” he grunted with a scowl forming. the adventurer could feel his heart starting to swell that even someone as feral as razor was willing to share food with him.

the adventurer took a small bite, chewing carefully as his cheeks began to burn. the way razor’s bright red eyes studied him patiently… the way his lips accidentally brushed the wolf boy's fingers… bennett pulled back, almost choking on the food as he raised a hand to cover his face and raised the other to be outstretched. “i had some…” he mumbled as razor grunted in response, and took a bite from the toast next. from the same spot that bennett ate from. the adventurer stared in shock with a gentle shake of his head. “razor- wait! you can’t bite from that spot!” bennett wailed and yet he made no effort to stop razor from eating. the feral boy seemed confused by his friend's distress. “why?” was all he uttered.

bennett hesitated with his hands tightening into fists with a small shake of his head. “it’s… it’s the same as kissing. and we can’t do that.” he explained as his face started to turn red. “kiss?” razor sounded confused by the usage of the word and held the toast back out to bennett. “sharing is kissing?” he sounded lost and the adventurer shook his head. bennett didn’t feel uncomfortable with the situation.

he should feel uncomfortable. right? he should feel embarrassed and horrified that he shared indirect kisses with someone he considered a friend. but he didn’t. bennett felt bashful.

“n-no… kissing is… when you touch your mouth with someone else's. you do it with someone you really, really like.” bennett explained. not realizing how poor his explanation was for someone as simple as razor. “someone you like a lot…” he mumbled and shifted on his knees. his heart was pounding as he lifted his head to meet the feral boy’s gaze.

the two sat in silence, facing one another as razor moved closer on his hands and knees. “bennett.” the name slipped past the feral boy's lips in a whisper. “kiss?” razor asked quietly, using a politeness bennett had never seen before. razor was asking him for a kiss. the adventurer was silent as he stared in shock. big grass, green eyes staring into razor’s sharp, berry red. “y… yeah. that’s fine with me.” bennetts heart was thudding against his ribs as the two of them closed the gap slowly but surely. their knees now touched, and their noses were only millimeters apart.

as their lips slowly meshed together bennett savored the salty taste of the ham. his hands laced tightly with razors, and he finally began to relax as the pair remained connected. completely unaware that the rain had slowed to a stop, and the sun had begun to peek through the graying clouds. casting them in a soft golden light through the wet window of the cozy little cabin, deep in the forest of wolvendom.

[kcrossvine-art]

Hey! I just tried your lembas bread recipe, because I was in a baking mood and I had all the necessary ingredients at home and let me tell you: It is so good! I will be making this all the time from now on! I'll have my mother try it when she gets home from work and give her verdict as well, but I am sure she'll love it as well! Here are a few notes from my side: 1) Made them with roasted cashews, walnuts and hazelnuts as well as dried mango, figs and dates and that combo is heavenly. 2) I had to do the conversion math, because I don't bake with cups, ounces, sticks and all that jazz and maybe something went wrong, but here's the thing: I held back about 2 1/2 to 3 tablespoons of the egg/milk mixture (which was enough to cover all of my bread in the end, btw... you know, because it didn't say exactly how much to keep back of the mixture), but when I put the rest of the egg/milk mixture into my flour as well as the heavy cream, my dough became very soft (more like the batter you need for cupcakes) and basically impossible to knead properly. I had to add about 100-120g of flour to the mixture to get a dough I could work on a surface. The result is fine, but the added flour does affect the sweetness a lot which is why... 3) I tried sprinkling some brown sugar on top of some of them at the end for some extra crispiness and colour and sweetness and that also brought a whole new layer to it. If I could make one request it would be for you to maybe add the metric measurements for everything that is in cups, because that makes it easier for the folk raised with the metric system to follow the recipe without first having to look up conversion charts for fluids, flour etc. Thanks for sharing your delicious recipe! It will find its fastest way into my recipe collection 😘

hey!!! im really glad you enjoyed it, mango & figs sounds like an especially dreamy combo!-

this is a dumb question i bet, but, do people outside the US tend to use a kitchen scale when theyre cooking? it never clicked that some places dont use cups (even though weight is more accurate)

regardless! you bring up a very good point with the measurements, and i've been thinking of including metric amount next to the imperial weight amount. might go back and add it to previous recipes, but all the ones going forward will have the conversions for sure.

[borealiszero]

@lurking-snails made another post so that one didn't get longer:

1. favourite place in your country?

My home. No seriously, I'm not an outdoorsy guy. But I do love Pahang National Park. There's a lots of fascinating floras and faunas to see, and we did met some tapirs too theyre so cute :333 (we didn't approach them ofc. wild animals common courtesy and all)

5. favourite song in your native language?

I LOVE EVERY SONG BY SUDIRMAN HAJI ARSHAD!!! He's a patriotic singer and songwriter, combining his skill and love for his country to create songs to encourage love for it after being colonised for hundreds of years by the West. My favourites from him are Warisan, Tanggal 31, and Balik Kampung. I also like some from P. Ramlee like Nujum Pak Belalang, Doremi and Bujang Lapok. For more modern one, I do love Kalah Dalam Menang, Gemuruh Jiwa, Sahabat and Boboiboy Galaxy Opening. Also old raya songs are bangers like Suasana Hari Raya. I'd include some nasyid from Rabbani and Inteam but this is getting too long hehe

11. favourite native writer/poet?

I do love works by Ramlee Awang Murshid. He mostly dabbled in thriller and fantasy. There are some comics I enjoyed like Ana Muslim and Kesatria Bulan Bintang as well as Aku, Kau dan (title) which are compiled by various artists and authors. As for poets, I don't know much about them ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

12. what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

Again, I don't have a wide knowledge in poetry. And I don't have a good faith in any translation made pre-colonialism so yeah. I just don't really trust them. Maybe some from post-colonialism and ONLY if it's by Malaysian.

24. what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

Not joked about, but mostly with. It's a joke (and also kinda not) that Malaysians and Indonesians will have beef with each other every time anyone laid claim on where did their dish/clothes/tradition came from, as well as whenever the national sports teams collided in a match. Its a war in Twitter comment section.

But we DID unite when in Masterchef, a white chef told a Malaysian chef that her chicken rendang wasn't crispy enough which is exactly what rendang is!! It's a tenderised meat slow cooked for several hours ofc it's not gonna be crispy!!! And Malaysians descended like a pack of wolves on this man and he backpedaled and said that Indonesian would know, and Indonesians were like 'like hell we cook it crispy ' and also shredded this man to pieces. Everyone was so offended that this white man thinks he knows better than us who have been cooking this for hundreds of years, that a national chef made a sarcastic skit of ayam rendang crispy (crispy rendang chicken) and our Prime Minister of the time also tweeted that he did not like the chef's comment. The rare moments of us being a united front in a dish lmaoo

[clubpenguinkiller]

why is cooking so hard. i feel like some people have a natural feel for it but i just dont know if i ever will have one. like im not HORRIBLE but its just a struggle

Literalllyyy omg no i hate cooking thats why i like restaurants so much . But i also do like when i make something on my own and it turns out goodish its a really satisfying sense or accomplishment you get from making a home cooked meal for yourself/family. The only cooking method i think is fool proof that still yields delishious results is roasting.

-Heres a life hack for you: Any vegetable can be made to taste good by doing this-

Cut in to smallish pieces (chunk like) and put into bowl

Pour liek a tablespoon or two (depends on how big your haul is) of olive oil on them and mix it up so theyre evenly coated but make sure its not too greasy

Tea or tablespoon of minced garlic

A bit of italian seasoning or rosemary whatever you’re feeling

Tea or tablespoon of Garlic or seasoned salt, and a bit of pepper

1/2 tablespoons of butter depending on what veggie you’re roasting

Maybe a pinch of cinnamon sugar if you’re feeling crazy

Well then you mix it all up in your bowl and move it to a glass container OR you can put some foil on a baking sheet and move them there, and crinckle the foil upwards to make a foil packet You might need another sheet depending on how much you’re making

Pop it in the oven at like 425-450 for 25-30 minutes ; take it out every 15 or so to stir & maybe taste test to check the consistency (if theyre soft or crispy enough). Add any more seasonings to taste if you think it needs it

Waah lah! Delicious easy foolproof roasted vegetables

ive done this method with some variations with: potatos, green beans, carrots, parsnip, rutabaga, brussel sprouts, asparagus, broocoli, cauliflower, and turnips and its never failed me. Plus kids will like it if you have any that hate vegetables

SO YEAH! Its hard but if you do small things like something liek this then its not as daunting as it can be. Just remember your skill level and don’t get stressed if you can’t cook pro level filet minion cause thats what professional chefs are for.

[sloblesbian]

hey my name is niko and i like to bite off more than i can chew especially in terms of cooking for holiday parties. next year i should have a friendsgiving/holiday party in mid december after finals are done.... 

anyway

wednesday (tomorrow)

wake up & call sid

go grocery shopping

wrap singular xmas present

go to work

(also read bc u are behind)

thursday

finish anything u didnt do wednesday

id cook some food for monday but i dont want to start too early. the problem is, i work a lot on weekends so im afraid i wont have time. hence, the list.

friday

make green bean casserole, sans crispy onions

also maybe make those dessert things if you can find a container to keep them wrapped up in til monday

saturday

work (9-1 ish)

dye hair, shower

perhaps make veg sausage rolls. make dessert if not done.

prep cinnamon rolls i guess if youre gonna make those for xmas eve

work 6-10

sunday

work 9-2

make any food you havent made now

chop veggies for hummus. make sure to separate those youre bringing to daves from those youre bringing to moms. 

go to moms house. bake cinnamon rolls

make hummus in mom’s food processor

do xmas celebrations there

go home & make sure everything is ready????

im still worried that i should be doing this all on sunday or saturday but i wont have enough time and doing it on thursday and friday is gonna be too far away.

oh well. no one eats what i make anyway bc theyre afraid of vegan germs. their loss.

[notable-law-music-tech-news]

crispy rice and egg bowl with ginger-scallion vinaigrette

It’s really unfortunate timing, because we’ve got a long year to go and I at one point had many great and luminous cooking plans for it, but they’re all cancelled now because on the afternoon of January 4th, before 2019 had really even kicked in, I ate the best thing I had or will all year or maybe ever — because what would the internet be without some unnecessary melodrama — and I threw it together from a mess of leftovers in my fridge.

Don’t you hate it when those lifestyle guru-types tell you about the meals they threw together from their leftovers, which just happen to be in tip-top shape, chromatically balanced, and Instagram-perfect. In real life, or at least mine, leftovers are a lot of Let’s Never Speak About That Again, the best of intentions cut short by poor planning, the now shamed and guilt-ridden humans responsible for the disgrace vowing to do better by that murky bag of herbs and liquefied cucumber next time.

But not last week. Last week, on January 1st, I made David Chang’s Bo Ssam, something I do once a year or so when I want to make a jaw-dropping feast for a crowd with exactly three ingredients (pork shoulder, salt, sugar) even a person living through the aftereffects of an evening of daquiris can handle. Of course, because most three-ingredient recipes are a lie, there are a few other things you make to serve with it: a Ssam sauce (it’s like a vinaigrette), a ginger-scallion sauce (a riff on the classic Cantonese sauce), rice, and I always like to serve it with marinated julienned carrots and thinly sliced cucumbers so needless to say, these leftovers were well above-average. Bo Ssam makes a lot; we ate it on the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd before we were finally out of pork, but I still had a smidge left of everything else so for lunch on that 4th day of the year, I put it all in a bowl and topped it with a crispy fried egg.

But first, I crisped the rice. The world of crisped, stuck-pot, scorched, fried, and tahdig-ed rice is vast and nuanced and fascinating and I’m not going to even try to do it justice here, but what they all have in common, what they all know, is that cooked rice that’s been allowed to crisp is a glorious thing. My favorite — short-grain brown or white rice — is particularly good at this, starchy and thick enough to be both crackly edged and tender-centered in a single grain. (What a showoff.) It, apparently, smells like popcorn when you cook it.

I have told every single person I’ve seen or spoken to since about how amazing this lunch was (their eyes mostly glazed over, it’s fine, I understand) and now it’s your turn. I’ve tried to pare it down to just the most essential parts — crispy rice, a crispy egg, and a ginger-scallion-sauce-meets-vinaigrette — plus whatever crunchy or leftover vegetables you have around. I hope it becomes your new favorite 2019 meal, too.

Previously

One year ago: Boulevardier Two years ago: Crusty Baked Cauliflower and Farro Three years ago: Ugly-But-Good Cookies and Swiss Chard Pancakes Four years ago: Mushroom Marsala Pasta Bake Five years ago: Coconut Tapioca Pudding and Chicken Pho Six years ago: Ethereally Smooth Hummus and Gnocchi in Tomato Broth Seven years ago: Apple Sharlotka Eight years ago: Vanilla Bean Pudding and Pizza with Bacon, Onions, and Cream Nine years ago: Barley Risotto with Beans and Greens and Poppy Seed Lemon Cake Ten years ago: Almond-Vanilla Rice Pudding and Light Wheat Bread Eleven years ago: Lemon Bars and Crunchy Baked Pork Chops Twelve years ago: Balthazar’s Cream of Mushroom Soup and World Peace Cookies

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Bourbon Peach Smash 1.5 Years Ago: Confetti Party Cake 2.5 Years Ago: Peaches and Cream Bunny Cake 3.5 Years Ago: Green Beans with Almond Pesto 4.5 Years Ago: Sticky Sesame Chicken Wings

[caredogstips]

Appear the scorch: why do we cherish chilli?

Its not just about the aroma or even the sorenes. In this extract from his new volume, Bob Holmes discloses the pharmacology and psychology behind humanitys heat-seeking desire

Ive been postponing. On my breakfast nook table I have lined up three hot pepper: one habanero, flame-orange and lantern-shaped; one skinny little Thai chicks gaze chilli; and one relatively innocuous jalapeo, ogling by comparison like a big light-green zeppelin. My mission, should I choose to accept, is to eat them.

In ordinary life, Im at least moderately fond of hot pepper. My fridge has three kinds of salsa, a bottle of sriracha, and a container of Szechuan hot bean glue, all of which I use regularly. But Im not extreme: I pick the whole peppers out of my Thai curries and adjust them aside uneaten. And Im a habanero maiden. Its honour as the most wonderful pepper you can easily find in the convenience store has me a little bit unnerved, so Ive never cooked with one, let alone ate it neat. Still, if Im going to write about hot pepper, I ought to have firsthand suffer at the high discontinue of the compas. Plus, Im curious, in a vaguely spectator-at-my-own-car-crash road.

When people talk about flavor, they are generally places great importance on savor and bouquet. But theres a third major flavour sense, as well, one thats often overlooked: the physical perceptions of signature, temperature and sting. The blaze of chilli peppers is the most familiar precedent here, but there are others. Wine mavens speak of a wine-coloureds mouthfeel, a hypothesi that includes the puckery astringency of tannins something tea drunks likewise notice and the fullness of quality that commits figure to a wine. Gum chewers and peppermint devotees recognise the sentiments of minty coolness they get from their confections. And everyone knows the fizzy burn of carbonated drinks.

None of these sensations is a matter of fragrance or flavour. In fact, our third primary flavor feel wings so far under our radar that even flavour wonks havent agreed on a single appoint for it. Sensory scientists are apt to refer to it as chemesthesis, somatosensation, or trigeminal feel, each of which covers a slightly different subset of the feel, and nothing of which intend much at all to the rest of the world. The common theme, though, is that all of these whizs are actually manifestations of our sense of touch, and theyre surprisingly crucial to our experience of smell. Feeling, smell, touch the flavour trinity.

Sensory scientists have known for decades that chilli burn is something different from smell and stench something more like suffering. But the real breakthrough in understanding chilli shine came in 1997, when pharmacologist David Julius and his colleagues at the University of California, San Francisco, eventually distinguished the receptor for capsaicin, the active ingredient in chilli heat. The chore demanded a lot of fortitude: Julius and his team took every gene active in sensory nerve cadres, which respond to capsaicin, and swapped them into cultured kidney cadres, which dont. Eventually, they found a gene capable of doing the kidney cells answer. The gene turned out to encoded a receptor eventually identified TRPV1, and enunciated trip-vee-one that is activated not just by capsaicin but likewise by dangerously red-hot temperatures. In other paroles, when you call a chilli pepper red-hot, thats not just an analogy as much as is your brain can tell, your opening really is being burned. Thats a experience , not a fragrance or flavor, and it delivers to the mentality through nerves that handle the sense of touch.

Like other touch receptors, TRPV1 receptors are received all over the inner layer of your scalp, where they warn you of shine peril from midsummer asphalt, cooking dishes straight-from-the-shoulder from the oven, and the like. But they can only gather up pepper scorch where the protective outer surface is thin enough to let capsaicin participate that is, in the mouth, sees, and a few other situates. This excuses the old Hungarian saying that good paprika flames twice.

Further measures showed that TRPV1 reacts not just to heat and capsaicin but to a variety of other hot meat, including black pepper and ginger. More lately, various more TRP receptors have turned up that open other food-related somatosensations. TRPA1, which Julius calls the wasabi receptor, causes the awarenes of hot from wasabi, horseradish and mustards, as well as onions, garlic and cinnamon. TRPA1 is also responsible for the back-of throat ignite that aficionados appreciate in their extra-virgin olive oil. A good petroleum extradites enough of a ignite to effect a catch in your throat and often a coughing. In knowledge, olive oil tasters charge petroleums as one-cough or two-cough petroleums, with the latter going a higher rating.( One intellect wasabi feels so different from olive oil is that the sulfur-containing substances in wasabi are volatile, so they deliver wasabis characteristic snout ten-strikes, while non-volatile olive oil merely ignites the throat. Olive oil are also welcome to prompt TRPV1 receptors to some extent .) Curiously, TRPA1 is also the hot receptor that rattlesnakes are sufficient to spot their prey on a dark night.

Chilli aficionados get moderately passionate about their pods, picking precisely the right various kinds of chilli for each application from the dozens available. The gap among chilli smorgasbords is partly a matter of smell and flavour: sometimes there sweeter, sometimes there fruitier, some have a dusky profundity to their feeling. But there are differences in the way they appear in your opening, too.

One difference is obvious: hot rank. Chilli experts step a chillis stage of scorch in Scoville heat units, a magnitude first descended by Wilbur Scoville, a pharmacist and pharmaceutical researcher, in 1912. Labor in Detroit, Scoville had the luminous plan that they are able to evaluate a peppers hotness by diluting its remove until tasters could no longer see the burn. The hotter the pepper was initially, the more youd have to dilute it to wash out the blaze. Pepper extract that are required to be diluted exactly tenfold to quench the hot tallies 10 Scoville work unit; a much hotter one that are required to be diluted one hundred thousandfold tallies 100,000 Scovilles.

Nowadays, investigates often avoid the need for expensive boards of tasters by evaluating the chillis capsaicin material instantly in the lab and altering that to Scoville groups. The more capsaicin, the hotter the chilli.

However you weigh it, chillies contradict widely in their heat degree. Anaheims and poblanos are quite mild, tip-off the scale at about 500 and 1,000 Scovilles, respectively. Jalapeos come in around 5,000, serranos about 15,000, cayennes about 40,000, Thai birds see chills near 100,000, and the habanero on my table somewhere between 100,000 and 300,000 Scovilles. From there, gallant minds can endeavour into the truly red-hot, topping out with the Carolina Reaper at a staggering 2.2 million Scovilles, which approaches the potency of police-grade pepper spray.

Many chilli foremen claim that a peppers hot is defined by more than merely intensity. If anyone would know about this it would probably be Paul Bosland, the director of the Chile Pepper Institute at New Mexico State University. As a weed breeder by commerce, he has a keen professional interest in all the minuscule details of how chilli hot distinguished from one cod to the next.

Bosland says he and his colleagues recognise four other components to chilli heat in addition to hot height. The first is how fast the heat starts. Most beings, when they pierce the habanero, it maybe takes 20 to 30 seconds before they experience the hot, whereas an Asian chilli is immediate, he articulates. Nippies likewise differ in how long the scorch lasts. Some, like jalapeos and many of the Asian smorgasbords, fade relatively quickly; others, like habaneros, may loiter for hours. Where the chilli stumbles you also runs. Often, with a jalapeo, its the tip-off of your tongue and lips, with New Mexico pod types its in the middle of the mouth, and with a habanero its at the back, responds Bosland. And fourth, Bosland and his gang is the difference between sharp and flat qualities of flame. Sharp is like rods protruding in your opening, while flat is just a paintbrush, he enunciates. New Mexico nippies tend to be flat while Asian ones tend to be sharp.

Its time to take the plunge. First up, the jalapeo. As youd expect from its comparatively wimpy position in the tabasco pepper abides, it imparts merely a mild incense, which builds gently and mostly at the figurehead of the mouth. Tackled with such a tame incense, I have spate of tending left to focus on its thick, crispy body and dessert, nearly bell-peppery flavour. The Thai birds-eye chilli, second on my register, is much smaller, and its flesh substantiates to be much thinner and tougher. Despite that, though, it almost immediately tells liberate a smash of heat that explodes to replenish my opening from front to back, establishing me gasp for breath. No gradual construct to this one its a sledgehammer blow. If I think hard, I might imagine that the chilli hot is a little bit sharper, pricklier, than the jalapeo. But I could just be fooling myself.

Finally, the one Ive been dreading, the habanero. I cut a tiny slice and start chewing. The first thing that strikes me is how different the aroma is. Instead of a vegetal, bell pepper flavour, the habanero gives me a often sweeter, fruitier impression thats astonishingly pleasant. For about 15 or 20 seconds, anyway and then, gradually but inexorably, the heat erects. And builds. And constructs, long after Ive swallowed the slice of pepper itself, until I cant think up much else besides the volley that crowds my lip. It surely hits farther back in the mouth than the Thai chilli, though theres a late-breaking flare-up on my tongue as well. The whole know lasts five or 10 instants, and even a good half hour afterwards its as though coals are gently sketched in my mouth.

Having set my lip afire, Id now like to quench the burn. Astonishingly, scientists cant give a whole lot of help in this regard. A cold suck certainly helps, because the coolness calms the heat-sensing TRPV1 receptors that capsaicin rouses. The only difficulty as youve without doubt find if youve is seeking to cope with a chilli flame this route is that the effects goes away in exactly a few seconds, as your lip returns to ordinary body temperature. Youve maybe heard, extremely, that carbohydrate and fatten facilitate douse the fire, but health researchers themselves arent entirely convinced.

The best event out there is probably cold, whole milk, reads John Hayes of the department of meat discipline at the University of Pennsylvania. The cold is going to help mask the ignite, the viscosity is going to mask the incense, and the fatty got to go pull the capsaicin off the receptor. When pressed, though, he notes that theres not a lot of data to back that up.

Making a meat more viscous has been shown to damp down flavor probably just because it furnishes a contesting sensation to confuse our tending, Hayes observes, but he cant think up any person who has experimented whether it also increases chilli scorch. And hes not entirely sure that sugar really helps, either. Im not convinced that it actually knocks the hot down, or whether it precisely prepares it more charming, he pronounces. Even the value of paunches or petroleums which sounds like they ought to help wash capsaicin, who the hell is fat soluble, off the receptors is in dispute. If youre feeling the ignite, enunciates Bruce Bryant of the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia, the capsaicin have so far been probed your tissue, so a superficial gargle of whole milk or olive oil isnt able to help much.

Millions of parties actively seek out the sorenes of red-hot breezies as a word of gratification. The ignite features prominently in more than a few of “the worlds” great cuisines, with more than a quarter of “the worlds” person ingesting hot peppers daily. Britain spends 20 m yearly on hot sauce.

We dont take pleasure in eating food thats still searingly red-hot from the oven, even though that gives exactly the same superstar we get from nippies: same receptors, same nerves. We dont have decided to chemically ignite our tongues with strong battery-acids. So why do we happily, even eagerly, inflict hurting by breezies? Whatever the secret is, this appears to unique to humans. No other mammal on the planet has a similar taste for chillies.( Chick eat them enthusiastically, but only because they lack receptors that respond to capsaicin. To a parakeet, the most wonderful habanero is as bland as a bell pepper .)

One possible explanation is that chilli lovers simply dont find the anguish as intensely as those who shun hot peppers. In the laboratories, its surely true that people who are repeatedly exposed to capsaicin become less sensitive to it. Genetics may play some place, extremely. Surveys of identical twins( who share all their genes) and dizygotic twin( who share only half) suggest that genes account for 18 -5 8% of our liking for chilli peppers. Some parties may have most sensitive TRPV1 receptors, for example though Hayes, whos looking into who are currently, says: The jury is truly still out on whether there is meaningful TRPV1 variation.

Its abundantly clear, though, that chilli lovers arent immune to the ache. Just request one. I like it so all my holes open up and weepings are rolling down my appearance, does Hayes. But with two young children in the house, I dont get that quite often. For now, Hayes becomes do with a handy bottle of sriracha hot sauce. My children refer to it as Daddys ketchup, he says.

Its clear from listening to Hayes that he and probably most other chilli eaters actively enjoys the suffering. That inconsistency has attracted the attention of psychologists for several decades now. Back in the 1980 s, psychologist and pioneering chilli researcher Paul Rozin of the University of Pennsylvania proposed that chilli eating is a figure of benign masochism, like watching a unnerving movie or journeying a roller coaster. After all, most forms of anguish are admonishes of imminent impairment. That roasted potato still steaming from the oven is red-hot enough to kill the cadres rowing your mouth, potentially making permanent detriment. But chilli burn except at its uppermost, million-Scoville extreme is a false alarm: a route to get the excite of living on the edge without the risk of disclosing yourself to real danger.

A few years thereafter, Hayes and his student Nadia Byrnes( perhaps the best reputation ever for a tabasco pepper researcher) took Rozins ball and ran with it. If chilli presidents are looking for stimulates, Byrnes and Hayes reasoned, youd expect them to have sensation-seeking temperaments. And, for sure, when they came to the enormous arsenal of tests that psychologists have developed to measure facets of personality, they discovered several measures of hotshot searching, of which the most recent and best was the Arnett Inventory of Sensation Seeking. Then they set out to see whether chilli lovers really do pray excitement.

When Byrnes and Hayes measured roughly 250 voluntaries, they found that chilli lovers were indeed more likely to be agitation seekers than people who shunned chills. And its not only that perception seekers approach all of life with more gusto the effect was specific to nippies. When it is necessary to more boring foods like candy floss, hot dog or skimmed milk, the awarenes seekers were no more likely to partake than their more timid confreres.

Chilli eaters also tended to tally higher on another aspect of personality called sense to reinforce, which quantifies how drawn we are to praise, tending and other external reinforcement. And when health researchers appeared more closely, an interesting pattern developed: superstar searching was the best predictor of chilli eating in ladies, while in souls, sensibility to reward was the very best predictor.

Hayes thinks thats because machismo play-acts a role in the chilli eating of men, but not dames. For women, theres no social status to being able to eat the hottest chilli pepper, while for men there is, he theorizes. Without the heavy hand of machismo on the scale of assessments, womens chilli eating is more strongly governed by their internal drive for excitement.

Incidentally, while chilli lovers laud the charge they get from a spicy bowl, and sometimes claim the peppers wake up their palate to other tones, youll often hear chilli-averse parties complain that the incense keeps them from enjoying other feelings in their banquet. Which is it? The affair has received surprisingly little science studies, but the bottom line seems to be that if capsaicin obstructs other aromas, the effect is small-minded. Most likely, when people complain that they cant experience as well after a spicy sip, its predominantly because theyre paying so much attention to the unfamiliar blaze that the other tones move for the purposes of the radar. In other words, its not red-hot but too hot that intervenes with the happiness of feeling and the threshold where red-hot becomes too hot is a very personal one.

Removed from Flavour: A Users Guide to Our Most Forgotten Feel by Bob Holmes( Ebury Press, 20 ). To prescribe a facsimile for 17, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 10, online tells exclusively. Phone orderings min. p& p of 1.99.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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