#it's celery with peanut butter and raisins on it

[ded-inside-anonymous]

I'm mad at Amaryllis 'flowers'

LOOK AT THIS--

THIS IS CLEARLY CELERY DISGUISING ITSELF AS A FLOWER!

So naturally I Google to see if the stalk is edible because look at the crunchy, water filled stalk THAT IS 100% JUST CELERY COSPLAYING AS A LILY

THE WHOLE THING IS POISONOUS

I SWEAR THIS WAS WRITTEN BY THE AMARYLLIS 'FLOWER' AS A COVER FOR IT BEING FREAKING CELERY!

Unfortunately I have no proof this is not written by scientists so I now have to debate risking death to find out what the forbidden celery tastes like

I'm very conflicted, my friends

Very conflicted

[phoenixyfriend]

Ants on a Log: Cut celery sticks into several-inch pieces. Fill with peanut butter. Arrange raisins on top to look like ants marching down a log. You can leave the celery sticks whole if you want, and the amount of peanut butter is up to you.

This is traditionally a snack for children, which is why the name is a little whimsical; it encourages them to eat a healthy snack!

(Image Source)

[sbnkalny]

You eat celery sticks With peanut butter & raisins and call me toast

[dilfy-shitposts]

ants on a log is a hotdog

[sinhasfluffyheadfur]

I think everyone should look at my autistic son immediately

[averytiredbitch]

🥺💜

[gloombog]

i'm convinced that whoever came up with ants on a log was just looking for a creative way to force children to eat weird food combinations disguised as a fun snack. like did anyone actually enjoy eating that shit. peanut butter with raisins seems inoffensive enough those flavors work well together but why would you introduce celery into the mix. evil

[phoenixyfriend]

I am vaguely offended [joking] about the number of people declaring my favorite snack disgusting in this poll.

It's a good snack! You get a crisp, clear, refreshing taste that's sometimes a little bitter, smoothed out and given weight with a savory nut butter that can combat that occasional bitterness, and then give it a little twist of sweetness with the raisins. It's so good!

Don't knock it 'til you've tried it!

(Unless you're allergic. Then don't try it. Do not hospitalize yourself for a snack.)

(You are exempt if you viciously hate one of the component parts, but if you're neutral to all of them then please try it. I don't even like celery that much on its own, but it is so good with peanut butter and raisins, give it a shot.)

[doofnoof]

Blue Cheese ♥️, Canned Tuna 💚 Chicken 💚 Coffee Cooked Fish 💚 Crab 💚 Grapes 💚 Ketchup 💚 Mayonnaise 💚 Mustard 💚 Nutella spread 💚 Oysters 💚 Peanut Butter 💚, Raw Fish 💛, Shrimp 💚, Snails (Escargot)♥️, Sourdough Bread 💛, Soy Sauce 💚 Tea 💚 Vinegar 💚, Carrots 💛 Tomatoes 💛, Cucumbers ♥️, Cabbage 💛,

Cauliflower 💚 Asparagus Beef Turkey pork Liver, Brussel Sprouts, Dark Chocolate Garlic, Lettuce, Broccoli, Zucchini,

Coconut, Onions, White Chocolate, Tofu, Avocado, Oranges, Grapefruit, Raisins, Strawberries, Apples, Wheat Bread, Celery,

Mushrooms, Eggplant, Beets, Watermelon, Cottage Cheese, Pickles, Peas, Pineapple, Bananas, Milk, Olives,

Yogurt, Green Beans, Lima Beans, Quinoa, Shrimp, Honey

Picky Eater Disliked Food Bracket

I saw this image going around and decided to open this blog I'd make polls about it!

I'm going to start with this list (minus ranch dressing, because it's pretty much unknown outside the USA), but I'm accepting submissions for more. The winner of each poll will be the most disliked food item.

Current list of contestants: Blue Cheese, Canned Tuna, Chicken, Coffee, Cooked Fish, Crab, Grapes, Ketchup, Mayonnaise, Mustard, Nutella spread, Oysters, Peanut Butter, Raw Fish, Shrimp, Snails (Escargot), Sourdough Bread, Soy Sauce, Tea, Vinegar, Carrots, Tomatoes, Cucumbers, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Asparagus, Beef, Turkey, pork, Liver, Brussel Sprouts, Dark Chocolate, Garlic, Lettuce, Broccoli, Zucchini, Coconut, Onions, White Chocolate, Tofu, Avocado, Oranges, Grapefruit, Raisins, Strawberries, Apples, Wheat Bread, Celery, Mushrooms, Eggplant, Beets, Watermelon, Cottage Cheese, Pickles, Peas, Pineapple, Bananas, Milk, Olives, Yogurt, Green Beans, Lima Beans, Quinoa, Shrimp, Honey

[buckysgrace]

Not sure if you’re still taking requests or if fluff is okay but I would love a little piece where Billy is a daddy and his little daughter is painting his nails and maybe the mother of the little girl walks in and giggles because she’s remembering tough guy billy from high school and she’s watching him be so sweet to their daughter. Hopefully that makes sense

Both are definitely okay!! Hope you enjoy! <3

You balanced the sippy cup in one hand, using the other to balance a plate full of snacks on the other. Maisie liked to assemble her own ants on a log, although she didn't like to call it that. She always said that it would be too weird to eat ants, so she called them celery boats instead.

A plastic spoon rested in the glob of peanut butter, next to two celery sticks and a small assortment of raisins and chocolate chips. Then you had cut up half an apple for her too, figuring she might want that too. Or perhaps it was because you had wanted the other half.

The door was still open as you approached, your feet stalling as a grin formed on your lips. Your four-year-old was still dressed the same, bright pink princess dress on with a crown thrown messily over her head. She was sat at her little tea table, rambling off about something as she messily dragged a little brush against her father's nails.

Billy was across from her, nodding along and gently asking her questions. His blond curls were pulled back with blue glittery barrettes. His eyelids were a bright pink, making you wince as you thought about how it was probably the same eyeshadow that had stained your lids for a few days. Oh well.

His glossy lips moved as he asked Maisie another question, laughing as she cooed and spit out her answer enthusiastically. She had an imagination, a rather large one.

The wife beater showing off his skull tattoo on his arm was the only resemblance to the boy you had once known in high school. The one that would crinkle his nose up at the sign of a mess and always had a strict routine on how he allowed himself to look. Which didn't align with this.

Fatherhood had softened him, trimmed his rough edges away and left him more vulnerable than you could ever imagine. His patience had flourished, his tongue had dulled in the way his fathers never had. He was so sweet to your baby girl.

"You both look pretty," You grinned as you approached, making their attention snap towards you. Red. Your daughter was painting your husband's nails red. Cute, "Here's your snacks." You hummed as you put it all down on the table, before you joined Billy on the floor.

"She said pink is my color." He snorted as he turned towards you, puckering his lips softly to show off the pink gloss on his lips. You giggled, looking at how it had slightly smeared up into his mustache.

"It really is," You agreed as you leaned over to kiss his cheek, laughing as he held up his messy nails, "Oh my. Maisie, you are quite the beautician." You replied with a nod of your head, watching the way her eyes sparkled in joy.

"Tank you," She replied sweetly as she smeared the peanut butter into one of the little celery logs, "Daddy needs a crown." She replied before she munched down on her food, making Billy chuckle as he turned towards you incredulously.

"His head might be too big," You teased as you adjusted the barrettes against Billy's loose curls, "Maybe we could make him a paper one." You suggested, enjoying the way he dramatically rolled his eyes and pulled a lazy grin to his lips once Maisie began to squeal about it. Nothing was uncool if it came from her.

[memorycycle]

ants on a log seems like the most random assortment of flavors and textures possible like theres no way it could taste good or feel good in your mouth. tough celery fibers mixing with sticky peanut butter and then for some reason theres also a raisin there? just why

[maculategiraffe]

my sister had made the baby a snack of ants on a log (celery spread with peanut butter and decorated with raisins) and he was like "ba don like dat. ba need gummy bear." so I was like "buddy I bet gummy bears SEEM like what you need right now because when you're hungry it's because your body needs fuel. and the sugar in gummy bears is quick burning fuel that gives you a quick burst of energy. but the protein and iron in ants on a log is a slow burning fuel that gives you energy for longer!"

and he grinned and said "ba be truck. brrrrm brrrrm" and mimed driving past his mom with her plate of ants on a log and said "ba drive past ants on a log fuel station. ba drive towards gummy bear fuel station. brrrrm brrrrm" and mimed driving to the pantry where the gummy bears are kept

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

So many of you grew up in the raisin region. Sad!

What is ants on a log

Celery with peanut butter and chocolate chips so kids eat celery.

[sunday-bug]

Terry the Terrific - The Magic of Yearning

Part 2

Click here for Part 1.

Terry walked back into his mom’s kitchen to find Howard making a snack plate of ants on a log. 

“Hey, buddy, where ya been?” Howard asked while popping a raisin into his mouth.

“Next door,” Terry replied, keeping it vague.

“Ah, with Maggie?” Howard wiggled his eyebrows toward Terry.

“How’d you know she’s back?” Terry asked, exasperated with his old friend.

“Les mentioned that she’s coming to dinner tonight. I’m grilling ribeyes,” he answered, “you want some?” Howard gestured to the celery and peanut butter concoction.

Terry shook his head, “Let’s raincheck dinner tonight, ok?” 

“Oh, ok. You got a gig tonight?” 

“No, I’m just going out. Need some solo time,” Terry replied.

“When do you think you’ll be home?” Howard asked.

“Why?” Terry asked, staring daggers at his friend.

“Just wonderin’, ya know, I might leave a sock on the front door if you know what I mean.” He crunched into a celery stalk, peanut butter getting stuck in his mustache.

Terry stood up suddenly and spit out, “Ah, fuck. Don’t choke on a raisin, Howard. That would be a shame.” He rushed out of the room up to his childhood bedroom and laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling covered in plastic stars. A soft knock came to his door and he heard his mom’s withered voice. 

“Come in, Mom,” he replied to her. She rolled in slowly, a soft smile on her face. “Hey,” he said softly.

She rolled up next to his twin-sized bed and placed her wrinkled hand on his. “I’m glad you’re happy, Mom. If that’s with Howard, I’ll learn to deal.” She placed the brass picture frame she was holding into Terry’s hands and pointed to it. It was a photo of him and his mom when he was around twelve. She had taken him to see Penn & Teller in the city. She pointed again to the photo and then to her heart.

“I love you, too, Mom,” Terry replied quietly, wrapping her in a hug. “Hey, I asked Maggie about dinner tonight, but she’s busy, so we’ll have to try another night, ok?” His mom nodded and gave him a cheeky smile before rolling back out of his room. He laid back on his bed and looked at the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table. Nearly 4:00. He had time to take a quick nap before getting ready for the night. He wanted to shower and reapply his makeup so it stayed fresh during karaoke.

At the neighboring Victorian home, Maggie was in her makeshift bedroom, getting ready for the evening. She glanced up at the clock. 6:15. She couldn’t quite calm her pulse as she pulled the white silk gloves up her arms. She decided to call her roommate turned best friend, Ruby, to try to settle her nerves. The line rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, Mags, how’s it going?” Her familiar voice instantly put Maggie at ease.

“Good, how are you?” She replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Fine… you good? Is Chaplin ok? You sound weird,” Ruby pressed.

“Oh, yeah, Chaplin’s fine,” she said too quickly. “Hey, can you check my nightstand and see if I left my good perfume there?” 

Maggie heard the rustling sound of Ruby walking to her apartment bedroom. 

“Yeah, it’s here,” Ruby replied. “Wait-”

“No, Ruby,” Maggie chided.

“Why do you want your sexy perfume? Did you meet someone?!” Ruby squealed on the other line.

“Um, not exactly,” Maggie replied, not able to keep the smile from reaching her voice.

“Tell me, tell me!” Her friend begged.

“Okay, remember when you and I got drunk off that cheap champagne last year and sat on the kitchen floor spilling our guts?” Maggie asked.

“A cornerstone of our friendship. How could I forget?” Ruby asked with a laugh. “I was so sick the next morning.”

“Remember me telling you-” Maggie started before Ruby stopped her short.

“TERRY! Oh my God, it’s Terry isn’t it?! ‘The one that got away’, as you put it,” Ruby shouted through the phone.

“It’s Terry,” Maggie confirmed.

“How did this happen?” Ruby prodded.

“He’s home visiting his mom. I didn’t even know if she still lived there, but yeah, she does. So, anyway, he helped me move a box today, and then I made us drinks, and long story short we’re going to a bar tonight,” Maggie admitted, the excitement rising back in her chest at the thought.

“Get it, Margaret!” Ruby exclaimed. “You HAVE to call me tomorrow and tell me how it goes.”

“You know I will,” Maggie replied, “Love you, Rube. And don’t call me Margaret.”

“Love you too, byeee!” Ruby ended the call, and Maggie laid her phone down on the vanity top. 

Terry finished the last perfect swipe of his left eyebrow and looked intently into the mirror. He had to admit, he was looking forward to his evening with Maggie, but he still had so many questions for her about why they drifted apart. Sure, they were kids, but he found it hard to set aside years of her basically pretending that she didn’t know him, and then there was the night before she left for college. Peer pressure is a hell of a drug, and he knew he didn’t fit in with her crowd back then, but they were adults now. Maybe she’d had a change of heart. He was determined to find out more tonight. Straightening his bow tie, he headed to go pick her up.

Maggie tried sitting on the couch, but she couldn’t relax, so she just started pacing around the first level of the house. She caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror and checked her teeth for lipstick. All clear. As she looked down at her watch, noting the time, 6:59pm, the doorbell rang. She didn’t want to seem too eager so she just stood there like a frozen Sim for 10 seconds before answering the door.

Terry felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight of Maggie’s costume. He swallowed, doing his best to keep his eyes somewhere respectful - anywhere but on her upper thighs encased in black fishnets.

“Ta-da! I’m Zatanna!” She said cheerily, waving her hand from her tophat to her leather boots.

The sides of Terry’s lips turned up in recognition and he snapped his fingers, “Ah, that’s it. Zatanna. I get why you said we’d match now. Very clever. You look great. You ready?” He pointed over his shoulder. “My mom’s letting me borrow her car.”

Maggie saw the 90’s Buick complete with wood paneling idling in the street. “My chariot awaits,” she giggled.

The drive to Birdie’s Lounge was short, and they were able to find a parking spot quickly. Maggie pulled her jacket closer to her body, warding off the slight chill in the early October air. Terry opened the door to the bar for her, and she walked in, enjoying the warmer atmosphere. 

“I’ll get us drinks if you want to find a booth,” he said, gesturing to the wall of dark wooden nooks complete with dark red velvet cushions. 

“Sure, um, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Maggie replied, and started making her way to the nook closest to the karaoke stage. She’d never been in here before, and wondered if Terry had. After high school, she left for college in Boston, and hadn’t been back since. 

Terry walked back to their booth, two old-fashioneds in hand. Maggie noticed the veins in his hands for the first time and wondered if they’d always looked like that, and if so, how she’d ignored them before. Watching him set her drink down made her neck flush.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. 

The bartender walked over with a small bowl of cherries and placed them on the table.

“Thanks,” Terry smiled at him.

“Ooh, I love cherries,” Maggie exclaimed, picking one up by the stem. Terry’s eyes widened slightly as she put the cherry in her mouth and bit it off the stem. He shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat.

“It should fill up here soon,” he gestured to the half-empty karaoke lounge.

“Have you been here before?” Maggie inquired, popping one more cherry into her mouth. Terry noticed how it was nearly the same shade as her lipstick.

“Um, yeah, a few times with Howard. We did karaoke once, and I actually had fun with it.”

“You could always sing,” Maggie replied, smiling at him. “Do you have a go-to song?” 

“Nah, I just pick whatever feels right at the moment,” he says. “Do you know what you’re going to sing?” 

Maggie scoffed, “I’m not going to sing anything! I’m here for moral support and the costume contest.” 

“Oooh, that’s where you’re wrong, Maggie Jean,” he said, lightly chuckling, “I already signed you up at the bar.” He shrugged sarcastically. “No take-backs, darlin’, sorry.”

“You middle-named me, you punk!” she huffed out. 

“I know you can sing. I’ve heard you sing before. You have a nice voice,” Terry replied, trying to cushion the surprise.

Maggie smiled at him devilishly, “Okay, Terry, you want me to sing? I’ll sing. Just remember that you asked for it.” 

They had another round of drinks to build up their liquid courage. Terry was right, the lounge was almost completely full. 

“Maggie, can I ask you something?” Terry traced a finger through the sweat dripping down his glass.

“Yes,” she muttered, noticing his serious gaze.

“Why-” His question was cut off by feedback from the microphone.

One of the bar staff spoke to the room, “Okay, folks, we’re going to get started with karaoke! There is a list in the corner of the screen here of who is on deck, so be ready and have fun! Looks like our first up is Gene W. Also, if you’re participating in the costume contest, go see Sam at the bar for a ticket.”

Terry pulled two tickets from what looked like thin air, “Already done.”

“Like a true magician,” Maggie replied, impressed.

The first singer stepped onstage, and the familiar tune of Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen began to play. Maggie looked at Terry, realizing that is exactly how she would describe his current gaze as she put another cherry between her lips. “Do you want one?” She asked, offering the tiny fruit to him. 

“Sure,” he replied, reaching up to grab it from her, but her arm moved past his to his mouth. “Open,” she said in a sultry tone. He obeyed and let her put the cherry between his teeth, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“So, you were going to ask me something?” Maggie pressed, putting her arms on the tabletop, safely away from Terry’s mouth.

Terry chewed the cherry thoughtfully, considering whether or not now was a good time to breach the topic of the past after all. They were clearly having fun and flirting a bit, and he didn’t want to harsh their buzz. He made up a new question on the fly, “Oh, I just wanted to know why you decided to steal my lipstick shade. It’s my signature.” Terry gestured to his painted lips and laughed.

“MAC D for Danger?!” Maggie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Terry. How could I?!” She pretended to feel awful.

“Oh, it’s not the same anyway,” he replied, shrugging it off. “I think mine is called Sin.”

“Oh, hey, I actually have that one,” Maggie giggled. “It probably looks similar to this shade on me because your lips are pinker than mine.” 

Terry looked down and smiled secretly, wondering how many times she’s looked at his lips to memorize the color.

Maggie started cheering for the singer onstage that just finished Hungry Eyes before looking at the on-deck list. Her eyes widened. “Terry, after this next singer it’s me. Not only did you sign me up, but you’re making me go first. You little shit!” 

“Ladies first,” he chuckled, finishing the rest of his drink.

“Ever the gentleman,” Maggied rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, if I’m almost up, I need a shot. You want one? I think I’m getting tequila.”

Terry leaned back into the booth and stretched his arms out to the sides, “Yes, but-”

“No lime, I got you,” Maggie winked at him and hurried off to the bar to order their shots.

While Maggie was waiting at the bar, Terry checked his phone and noticed a text from Howard.

[Sorry about the sock joke earlier. Have a good night man.]

He shook his head, blowing out a long breath. When he looked up from his phone, a clearly inebriated man sat across from him dressed in a Captain America costume. Terry could smell the beer on his breath from across the table.

“Hey, bro, is the magician chick your girl?” Captain America gestured to where Maggie was leaning over the bar, talking to the bartender. Terry contemplated telling him the truth, and saying no, that she wasn’t more than a friend, but the way this frat douche was looking at her made Terry’s jaw clench and his hands ball into fists.

Terry started, “Um-”

“Um means no, dude,” the drunken male replied lazily with a chuckle.

Terry snapped internally, “Get out of our booth. Don’t look at her. She is mine, has been for years. Now go.” 

“Woah, bro, alright. She’s hot. You’re lucky. I’ll let you two be,” Captain America removed himself sloppily from the booth and headed back over to his friends. Terry glared daggers at him until he was fully seated and stopped staring at Maggie across the way. She was making her way back to him with two tiny shot glasses of clear liquid, one without lime. She set that one in front of Terry, and the other on her side.

“Cheers?” She said, picking up her glass and knocking it against his. They both downed the burning liquid, her sucking on the lime after. “Ooh, tequila makes me warm.” She wriggled her body animatedly, and Terry laughed.

“You should have some water after you sing,” Terry suggested. “I don’t want you to feel sick in the morning.” 

“Are you going to come take care of me if I’m hungover?” Maggie asked, sliding her shot glass to the edge of the table. Terry copied her, lining up their empty glasses.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t have a hangover, smartass. Also, I think you should head backstage to get ready. You’re up,” Terry pointed to the on-deck board, where Maggie saw her name flashing. She stood up from the booth quickly, “Oh, I’m starting to feel it.”

“Be careful in those heels, Mags,” Terry said, putting his hands on her waist to steady her. “You sure you’re good?” She put her hands over his.

“I like your hands,” she said breathily, staring down at where he held her. “I’m gonna go sing for you now.” She sauntered off toward the stage, leaving Terry staring down at his own hands, feeling the goosebumps where she’d touched him. The last karaoker walked off stage, and Terry saw Maggie peek through the curtain. The bar staff announced, “Next up, Maggie!”

Maggie emerged from the curtains, and cradled the microphone stand between her hands. A simple drum beat that Terry didn’t recognize started through the speakers, and Maggie began to sing, “Drowning in the Blue Nile, he sent me ‘Downtown Lights’…” Her voice sounded so breathy, and more mature that Terry remembered from the last time he’d heard her sing. It was… sexy, quite frankly. Maggie moved her hips with the beat of the music and continued singing. He wished he knew the song, but couldn’t place it. Maggie was looking around the crowd while she sang, and Captain America’s table seemed extra into her performance. Terry huffed out a breath and trained his focus back to Maggie as she looked right at him and sang, “What if he’s written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?” She grazed her upper thigh as she sang the lyrics, and Terry felt his legs heat up.

Maggie continued with the Taylor Swift song, swaying with the music, looking around at the rapt audience, and occasionally making eyes at Terry when she wanted him to feel a particular lyric. Sure, she was tipsy, but she picked this song for a reason. Sometimes music can say the hard stuff for you. She closed her eyes as she sang, “These fatal fantasies, giving way to labored breath,” before opening them and gazing at Terry again, “Taking all of me, we’ve already done it in my head.” 

Terry adjusted his sitting position at the last lyric, one eyebrow raised in shock. She did say she was going to sing for him, he remembered. His heart rate was slowly increasing with each lyric and sway of Maggie’s hips, fishnets coating her perfect thighs. He wanted to tear into them. As he was fantasizing about that, the music came to an end, and Maggie took a bow before exiting the stage. Captain America and all his friends were cheering and whistling after her.

Maggie came around the corner of the booth and took a seat across from Terry, “I told you… You asked for it.” 

“That was, uh, that was…” Terry tried to find the right words.

“It’s your turn, T,” she said, putting him out of his misery. She knew she’d had an effect on him.

Terry got up and started toward the stage. Confused about what to sing, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. If she wanted to play games, he could play them right back. He told the bar staff what he wanted and thankfully they had it. “Okay, everyone, here’s Terry!” 

The announcer walked off the stage, and the music began. Maggie could tell Terry was nervous, which surprised her because he performed for people for a living. She tried to catch his eye in an attempt to calm his nerves, but he wouldn’t look at her. He began to sing, “Do you think I care about your new job and your new hair? Do you think I cry ‘bout your new friends and your new guy? Well I do.” The music picked up with some guitar. Maggie swallowed, relishing the sound of gravel in his voice. He sounded older and sexier than she remembered. Everything about him was like a fine wine. As he kept singing, she could hear something in his voice that sounded like pain, and listened more closely to the lyrics, “Wait, in line, ‘cause you’re not alone, no, you’re mine. I bet you never take your time, all you do is scratch and bite. Was I just a waste of time?” The last lyric hit her right in the chest. This was to her. He was singing to her. He was pouring his heart out to her. She felt a small wave of nausea at the fact that he ever thought that she thought he was a waste of her time.

Terry takes a small bow and exits the stage, heading back to the booth.

“Terry, can we go somewhere and talk?” Maggie asked softly as he sat back down. She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Maggie’s song:

Terry’s song:

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #6

Prompt #6: Cooking

While preparing for an upcoming family dinner, Emmet has to put up with his brother's (innocent) antics while also preventing the house from being burned down. And he's supposed to be the kitchen-ignorant twin.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

“Elesa, taste test this please.” Emmet pushed over a steaming bowl of stew toward his friend, watching carefully as the woman drew up a spoonful of the rice and stew and blew on it.

               Her eyes immediately lit up and she swallowed. “That’s really good, Em! That’s a really huge improvement from the one you made last year! What’d you put in it?”

“Blaziken sauce, Garganacl salt, Bayleef leaves.” Emmet ticked off the various ingredients on his fingers, keeping himself preoccupied with the many pots and pans boiling on top of the stove. His extended family consisting of Drayden, Iris, Drayton and his parents, and a few other family members were coming over to have dinner- a usual family get-together that took place every late autumn. Emmet had taken charge this year and had prepared a lengthy list of recipes that would feed everybody while leaving plenty of leftovers to snack on for the week after. “A slow-cooked stew. A recipe that I stole. From the Internet. Uncle Drayden should like this one- he liked the other stew I came up with last year.”

“But didn’t that one have Basculin instead of Miltank?”

               Emmet grimaced. He remembered all too well the sudden issue of having the power go out in his house. All of the meat that he had purchased ahead of time- the expensive, hard to find meat that his uncle and his niece had a fondness for- had spoiled while he was working at the subway. He had had a few choice words for the power company after wasting a few thousand poké for nothing. “Yes, Elesa. I remember.” Emmet then turned. “Ingo, could you begin baking the cookies? The peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, and molasses ones that I prepared a few minutes ago?”

“Of course!” Ingo still hadn’t regained his hand-eye coordination when it came to cooking but he had been eager to help out ever since Emmet had gotten up early that morning to prepare the slow-cooked stew. He almost seemed to hum as he stumbled around the kitchen, delighted in being of use.

“Wait. Molasses cookies?” Elesa’s nose wrinkled and she stared incredulously at the much darker batch of covered cookie dough that Ingo pulled out. “I’m just gonna skip over the oatmeal raisins since I know your uncle is a weirdo like that. You guys eat syrup cookies?”

“I don’t,” Emmet replied, taking a break from the boiling ingredients to cut up a few carrots and celery, letting them slide into a pot bubbling with rich soup stock. “Ingo and Drayden like them for some reason.”

“They’re quite good!” Ingo retorted defensively. “Raisins are good for your health! Maybe you should stop excusing yourself by your lack of a sweet tooth and actually try them.”

“One of us has cavities and it’s not me,” Emmet replied just as quickly, dodging Ingo’s hand as his twin attempted to cuff him over the ear for his smart remark.

“They would taste like syrup, wouldn’t they?” Elesa reasoned dubiously. “Can I have one once they’re done baking? I actually really want to try one now that I think about it.”

“You’re both crazy. But. I will save you a cookie because you asked so nicely.” After a moment of hearing nothing, Emmet piped up again. “Ingo? The cookies?”

“Yes, of course.” Ingo donned a pair of oven mitts and carefully lifted two of the six trays over to the oven, his voice dropping off the closer he approached.

“Ingo?”

“He’s pondering the knobs,” Elesa snickered, sipping on a glass of sweet tea. “Go-Go, do you need a refresher for how ovens work?” she asked kindly. “I can help- “

“No, thank you. I haven’t entirely regressed from knowing how basic kitchen appliances work.” Ingo slowly opened the oven door, wincing. “That is quite hot.”

“That’s how ovens work,” Emmet teased.

“Right, right.” Ingo then paused for an incredibly long time.

“Go-go?”

“The temperature on the oven is too low.”

               Emmet blinked and then sighed. “No, it isn’t. It should be set to three hundred and fifty degrees. The temperature that I set it to fifteen minutes ago.”

“And that is too low,” Ingo retorted, as if Emmet had called him stupid to his face. He set the cookie trays on a nearby counter and removed his oven mitts, the oven beginning to beep as Ingo moved the temperature higher. “In order to bake them in a timely manner, the temperature should be higher. Much higher.”

               Elesa raised an eyebrow. “Ingo, that’s- hey wait- Ingo, that’s too high! Turn it back down! Em, stop him! He’s trying to bake the cookies at four hundred- no, wait, four hundred fifty? Ingo, stop!”

“But theoretically- “

“No,” Emmet responded tiredly, not even bothering to turn around. He was used to Ingo being overconfident in gauging his skills with operating small appliances. And then failing at whatever he was trying to do. “We are not cooking the cookies the Hisuian way.” The Hisuian way being, ‘mess around and find out what works best’.

“Should it not be possible?”

“You will burn the house down, Ingo.” Emmet pinched the bridge of his nose as he carefully took off the lid of a nearby pot, observing the contents before poking them with a fork. “Too rigid. Needs more time boiling. Turn the oven temperature back down to three hundred and seventy-five degrees and then leave the cookie trays in.”

“Are you quite certain I can’t evenly bake the pastries with a faster method?” Ingo asked incredulously. He was positioned near the oven, holding a baking sheet lined with peanut butter cookie mix and oatmeal raisin mix that Emmet had been preparing to bake. “At this rate, it will take forever to bake evenly. I don’t see the issue of turning up the heat. Would it not produce evenly baked cookies faster?”

“Ingo, my dearest brother. My beloved co-conductor. My twin cab,” Emmet drawled sickly-sweet, trying his best not to explode with laughter. “That is not how baking works. The cookies will come out raw. We will get sick. Our family will get sick. Follow the schedule.”

“Why?” Ingo’s question was genuine. Confused and indignant, but genuine. Ingo had always questioned why modern things worked the way they did; today would be no different.

               At the kitchen counter, Elesa just barely stifled her own rambunctious laughter, absently flipping through a magazine as she scratched her Emolga on the top of its head. “Ingo, do you know what salmonella is? Do you want to get sick from uncooked cookie dough? Would you like to experience food poisoning?”

               Ingo made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “No, thank you. Living in Hisui gave me plenty of first-person experience with food poisoning. I’d rather not.” He then sighed loudly. “Fine. I will follow the schedule.”

“Thank you,” Emmet replied back, letting that worry roll off of his shoulders.

               Elesa then shot Emmet a mischievous glance. “Reminds me of that age-old question from Spindlr.”

“Don’t say it,” Emmet warned, turning up the heat on the pot full of stew that he had been preparing since the day before. He knew well what post she was referring to, often using it against him when Emmet himself had started learning how to cook years prior. “You’ll only encourage him.”

“Encourage me to do what?”

               In a mocking tone, Elesa drawled, “So I can either bake these cookies at four hundred degrees for ten minutes or four thousand degrees for one minute.”

“Correct!” Ingo sounded off, his voice laced with angry relief as he opened the kitchen oven to slide in the rack of raw cookies. “The latter should be the correct method! Finally! Another person has seen to match my deductions!”

“Ingo, it’s a joke post! That’s not how you bake anything!” Elesa laughed, burying her face in her hands.

“Should I set the oven at a higher temperature then?”

“No!” Emmet yelled, his own shoulders shaking with laughter as he gestured for Haxorus to keep the oven shut while he wrapped up whatever he was doing by the stove. “Steel boils at close to five thousand degrees, Ingo.”

“That is ridiculous,” Ingo grumbled. He then brightened, his face suddenly rife with mischief. “I propose that I can bake these cookies at four million degrees for one second. Does that sound fair?”

“Ingo, you are going to burn this house down!” Elesa cried. “Modern ovens don’t even go that high! Just follow the instructions- “

               The sound of the oven door creaking open echoed throughout the kitchen. Ingo had already deposited all six baking sheets in the oven, reaching for Emmet’s Larvesta who had evolved into a Volcarona. “I am going to harness the power of the sun to bake these cookies then!” he announced in an all-too serious tone. Volcarona only gauged the size of the oven for a moment before eagerly crawling inside.

“Ingo- “