#james beard foundation

[lobuenodepuertorico]

La chef Natalia Vallejo es la primera boricua que gana un premio James Beard Foundation

Este premio es el "Oscar" de la gastronomía

La chef puertorriqueña Natalia Vallejo, del restaurante Cocina Al Fondo en Santurce, fue galardonada esta noche por la Fundación James Beard como mejor Chef de la Región Sur, durante una ceremonia en Chicago.

La fundación concede premios a chefs, restauradores, propietarios de bares, profesionales de los medios de comunicación, autores y otras figuras influyentes del mundo de la gastronomía y la hostelería.

Ganar un premio James Beard se considera uno de los mayores honores de la industria de restaurantes, y un reconocimiento de la fundación puede atraer la atención de la prensa y dar prestigio a chefs en distintas etapas de su carrera.

Vallejo había sido nominada previamente al mismo premio en 2020.

Por Gastrobarpr.com

[phillygrub]

James Beard Foundation to Host Sunday Supper in Wilmington

The James @BeardFoundation to Host Sunday Supper in @VisitWilmington with @ChefAkhtarNawab #VisitWilm

The City of Wilmington and James Beard Foundation will host the inaugural Sunday Supper celebrating downtown Wilmington’s diverse restaurant scene at the new Chancery Market Food Hall & Bar, located at 313 North Market Street, on Sunday April 23rd at 5:30 PM. The event hosted by renowned chef Akhtar Nawab, will feature many of the city’s premier chefs, several who are past James Beard nominees.…

[goodlifevancouver]

The 2024 James Beard Media Award Winners

Congratulations to the winners of the 2024 James Beard Media Awards presented by Capital One. The Media Awards took place in Chicago on Saturday, June 8 and honoured the nation’s top food authors, broadcast producers, hosts, journalists, podcasters, and social media content creators. Join us in celebrating the winners below! More Cookbook Coverage 2024 James Beard Foundation Book Award…

[writers-hes]

tell me you need me (1 of 2) | c. berzatto x reader

It was good when you started but Carmen Berzatto had the ability to make anyone fall in love with him no matter how much you tried not to. (friends with benefits!carmen, smut, mndi!!!, unprotected p in v, smut! smut!, angst!! fluff, maybe some bad words, blood, unedited) MASTER LISTS

TAGLIST

I need you tonight. Want to go?

You sighed at the message that Carmy sent you. “Want to go” was a code for “I want to have sex.” and it’s been working pretty well for these past few months. You both needed some sort of release for the pent-up stress that you both have. Carmy, with the Bear and you, with art. You were a full-time artist; creating art inspired by food using oil paint and other forms of media. You’ve been stressed with your upcoming gallery opening next month. Would they love it? It’s quite hard to meet the expectations after winning the Herb Alpert Award in the Arts last year. It was close to Carmy’s James Beard Foundation award, if not the same. In a way, at the end of the day, you were two people excelling in your jobs except for everything else. You sucked at relationships, friendships, connection…what wasn’t artistic; you sucked at. Carmy was the same. Without thinking, you typed your response, a four letter word. Maybe you’ll see him tonight.

-

Carmy enters your home like he lived in it. He had his own set of keys, it was easier that way. He’s been so stressed with the Bear and the only thing that he needs is to blow off some of that steam before he can be functional again. There was supposed to be a celebrity who was wishing for a whole fucking kitchen tour tomorrow and he had to stay behind to make sure that everything was perfect. 

“Hey,” he greets you when he sees you perched on your couch. He liked your apartment much better; at least you had multiple rooms and your own space. It’s not like his; there was work everywhere while yours felt homey. Except your studio down the hall—damn, how much do artists earn today?

“Hey,” you replied. “Did you have dinner yet? I can heat up some of the Chinese food I ordered earlier.”

“No, no. It’s alright,” he says, removing his shoes in the doorway. You were always so tidy and meticulous. No outside clothes on the bed; he had to learn that the hard way. “Actually, um, can-can I take a shower first? I want to wash the day away and I-I smell like the kitchen.”

“And you took the L,”

“Ubered here, actually.”

“Surge rates?”

“I was in a rush.”

“Oh,” you gulped. “Well, you still have your clothes in my wardrobe and your toiletries in my bathroom.”

“Which one?” he asked. “Which-which bathroom?”

“The one in my bedroom,” you replied. “You know where the fresh towels are. So…”

“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” You only smiled at him. Conversation before your engagements are usually awkward because you both knew what the two of you were there for. It’s more comfortable afterwards; when he talks about the Bear or asks you about your art.

You and Carmy met from a friend of a friend. You were looking for chefs that could serve you inspiration for your paintings when she mentioned Carmen Berzatto. You reached out to him and he replied three months later, telling you that he can show you some of the recipes that he’s been working on. He’s an artist himself—Sistine Chapel art kind of stuff. He explained the components of his dish over dinner in your hotel apartment in New York. You mentioned that you were from Chicago and he mentioned that he’s from Chicago too…you drank too much wine and the rest was history. 

You both stopped communicating when he met Claire but he reached out again, asking if you wanted to meet. He told you all about her and how he fucked up. You drank too much wine again. History has the habit of repeating itself.

You swore to never fall in love with Carmen Berzatto and you didn’t…not until recently. He used to leave immediately once you’re both done. Lately, he’s been staying over. He talks to you about everything. He stays over and wakes you up with coffee and some Michelin Star quality pancakes or French toast. He watches you take your first bite before he takes his, likes to watch your reaction and likes hearing your praise.

You were too lost in your reviere to notice Carmen walking to you, all fresh and clean. He lays a hand on your shoulder and kisses your neck.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice deep and sultry. 

“You,” you replied, reaching up to massage his curls. 

“Good,” he says, removing himself from you and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “Needed you today…but I want to talk first before…before…”

“That’s fine with me,” you replied, inching closer to him. “What’s wrong?” He puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it lightly. Since when was he so comfortable around you?

“I…I just… Mikey,” The name lingers heavy in the air. Anytime Carmen feels the crushing weight of the pressure, he says Mikey. Whenever he feels inadequate, not enough, never enough—he says Mikey.

“He’ll be proud of you, Carm,” you said, smiling at him. “Like everyone else is.”

“I’m sorry for not inviting you to the opening…Claire was-was there and…”

“I understand,” You put your hand over his to reassure him that everything’s okay. “I understand.”

“You wouldn’t have seen me,” he chuckled. “I was locked inside the walk-in the whole time and well, everything was great. What if I’m not needed?”

Is it too late for me to love you? 

“Carm…” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “Of course, you’re needed. The Bear wouldn’t be The Bear without you, you know? Your family must be so proud of you because I know that-that I am. I’m so proud of you and I-I need you so much,” you told him. “I need you, Carmen. More than you could ever know.”

Is it too late for me to love you? 

Maybe it was the words that you said, maybe it was the long forgotten show on the T.V., maybe it was because the T.V. screen illuminated your face in a way that was so, so beautiful. Maybe it was just him.

“Let’s go to bed,” he rasps, taking your hand and dragging you to the bedroom. Once he closes the door behind him, Carmy presses you against it, taking your chin and kissing you. It was slow and needy; this kiss was needy. You trail your hand underneath the white shirt that hugged his figure. You caress his sides up and down; softly; slowly and Carmen releases a whimper into your mouth. I need you. I need you. I need you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, pulling away from you to remove his shirt. “Baby, baby, baby.”

“I need you, Carmen,” you muster the courage to kiss his neck now, sucking and nipping right under his collarbone. He lets you do it, he lets you mark him like you own him. He tugs on the roots of your hair lightly. You lick the purple bruise, nipping it again just so it could last one more week. Carmen was sighing above you, letting you take him like he wanted to be taken. His hands itch, slipping right under the waistband of your panties to cup your heated cunt. “Carmy,”

“I know, baby. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” he asks, pushing you slightly. “Lay down for me. I missed you so much. Let me show you,”

You obey his commands, opening your legs widely like he likes. He crawls until his face is right in front and removes your underwear, tossing it to the side. He’ll take care of that later.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, when he lets his index finger trail along your slit. You buckle in need; silently begging him to do more. “So, fucking wet,” he repeats, parting your folds until he sees your glistening cunt. 

“Carm…” you whine. He spits on your clit and you whimper. 

“Let me taste you, hm?” you heard him say, his wandering fingers rubbing all sorts of shapes on your folds. You could only nod and he takes that, licking a bold stripe. You press your cunt against his tongue and he just takes it. He licks a few more stripes before sucking your clit softly. 

“Carmy,” you moan. Your hands trail down underneath your shirt, thumbs softly flicking your sensitive nipples. Carmy could just come at the sight of you playing with them but he holds back, sucking your clit harsher before plunging his thick middle finger inside you. “Oh, fuck,” 

He pumps the finger slowly…in, out, in, out while he licks your sensitive bud. 

“Fuck, Carmy,” you whimper. “Fuck me,”

“Later,” was his nonchalant reply; enjoying the sweet nectar that dripped from your sloppy pussy. It was better than any dessert he’s ever had before. If it was um to him, he’d have his head buried in between your legs, eating you out forever. You buckle again, pinching your nipples hard and tugging them. 

“Carm…”

“I know, I know,” he says, sucking your clit harshly for one last time before crawling on top of you. “Taste,” he orders. You obliged, opening your mouth and putting on a show with the way you licked your juices off of his finger. “Fuck,” he groans. He palms himself through his boxers while you sucked on his finger. You released it with one last suck before putting your hand on top of Carmy’s to feel his hardening cock underneath. You push his hand away while you squeeze his member lightly. Just enough for him to rut his hips against your hand. Just enough for him to toss his boxers to the side.

You tried to sit up to see him pump a few strokes, moaning your name while he did. He gets off the bed, looking at the way your body moved while you breathed. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself before dragging your body to the end of the bed. He pries your legs open and puts one of them over his shoulder. He liked it like this, it fills you up in ways you cannot describe. “Need you to play with your tits while I fuck you, hm?”

He taps his cock against your pussy.

“Can you hear how wet you are?” he asked, sliding his cock in between your folds. You could feel the protruding vein run along your nub and you moan, massaging your breasts to show him your obedience. “Fuck,”

“Carmy…” you whimpered. “Please.”

He hums, grabbing his member and teasing your wet entrance with his pink tip. “You’re so…”

With no warning, Carmy plunges deep into you and you both groan. You were waiting for this. He’s been wanting this the whole day. He stays there for a few seconds before he thrusts in and out of you slowly. 

“Fuck,” 

The slopping noises inside your room reverberated in your walls and for a few moments, the sounds of your groans and skin slapping against skin heightens your arousal. Carmy thumbs your clit and he feels your walls clench around him.

“Don’t do that, petal,” he rasps, sweat dripping on his forehead. “I’ll cum fast if you do.”

“Sorry,” you choked out. He only grunts as he adjusts his pace. He was faster now and you could hear he ragged breathing. “Carmy, I need you.”

“Y-you need me,” he repeats to himself. “You need me.”

“I do,” you told him, moaning when he plunges his cock deep inside you. “Need you, need you,” 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Tell me that you need me. Tell me,”

“I need you, Carmy,” you whine. “I need you to cum inside me,” 

Carmy’s eyes widened. You’ve never let him do that before. He always had to pull out or use a condom. 

“Want me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice strained. “I’ll fill you —oh, fuck,” 

“Yes, please,” you sobbed, breath hitching at the feeling of his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck, Carmy.”

Sex has never felt this good. 

You could feel the breaking point come nearer and he does too. His movements were sloppier, his breathing even more ragged that it was. Your walls were clenching around him but that seemed to arouse him even more. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunted. “I’ll fill you up, hm?” 

“Yes, please, Carmy,” you whine. He could only nod, doing his best to keep his orgasm at bay. He wanted to prolong this feeling; this emotion but he couldn’t. “Fuck, Carmy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Carm—oh!”

He follows soon after, moaning your name as he shoots ropes of cum inside your pussy. He could feel your walls clench around him and he thrusts in slowly, to ride both of your orgasms away. 

“You-you liked that?” he asked. He doesn’t pull out. Instead he takes your other leg and hangs in on his shoulder. “We have to make sure that not a drop goes to waste.”

You nodded and felt his hands caress your legs slowly. He slowly lays your legs back down on the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing your torso, neck, and your chest while he did. 

“Stay there,” he ordered and you nodded in assent. You just let him cum inside you. He walks over to the carafe on your bedside, filling the glass with water and then, taking a hand towel from your cabinet. He pours a little bit of the liquid onto the towel. You sit up when he wordlessly gives you the glass of water. He watches you finish it and kisses your head when you gave him the glass back. He sets it on the floor carefully before opening your legs so he could clean you up.

“No,” you shook your head and he stops, alert because you told him no. “I’m…I’m still sensitive,”

“Okay, petal,” he nods, taking the glass and the towel away. He picks up the tossed articles of clothing puts it in the laundry basket. He was quiet when he takes a fresh set of pyjamas and underwear from your wardrobe. “Raise your arms,” he says and you do. He puts a new shirt on you. “Lay down.” You followed him. He puts a new pair of panties on you. “Thank you,”

You were so tired now but you were still so aware of Carmy’s actions. He stands up from the bed to wear new clothes and sits down on the bed. He carefully places your head on his lap and plays with your hair.

“Thank you,” he says, bowing down to kiss your forehead. “Why don’t you sleep for me, hm?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“Waffles with whipped cream.”

-

Why won’t you let me love you?

There were times when you’d fight with Carmen. A disagreement over something so, so, so small. This time, it was big. It was the opening of your gallery and he promised to be there. It was a big night—multiple art collectors and mongers from all over America came to see your latest pieces. They were all inspired by the food you grew up eating in Chicago; a collection of how culture, identities, and personalities affect eating. Your paintings were in vibrant colors—cup ramen with cheese, cannoli, food that you grew up eating whenever your mom was away. There were small details on the significance of the new collection to your life and he wasn’t there. You were on the stage, telling everyone how grateful you were to the audience but you were preoccupied, looking for a familiar mop of curls in the crowd. He didn’t come. He didn’t go. 

You smiled at them half-heartedly before leaving the stage, ready to be whisked away by some art dealer. You were whisked away by multiple guests, asking you for more details on the painting. You all told them everything they needed to know, what they should do if they’d like to make a purchase…

It would have been alright if he texted you…but he promised he’d be there. He promised he’d take you home. He promised.

-

Carmy was sitting alone in his apartment. He left The Bear earlier than usual and went straight home. He did it all, shower, put a nice suit, and fix his hair. He did it all, he even ran to the nearest florist to buy you flowers but he didn’t go. 

Isn’t this what lovers do? 

He wasn’t your lover. He couldn’t let himself be distracted again. He had to focus; he couldn’t fail the people that relied on him. He looked at the bag of groceries he got from the store; he was supposed to cook you something special tonight. Have you eaten yet? Fuck the suit that he paid for dry cleaning; fuck the flowers; fuck him. It must have hurt you—he knows that. Tonight was a big night and you were so excited to show him a painting that you’ve been working on. 

“I won’t sell it,” you told him. “I’ll have it shipped to you first thing in the morning.”

Would you still send it to him?

-

By the end of the night, you were exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. It was normal; talking to everyone and being scintillating the whole night was work but it was worth it. Your paintings all had their new owners, except for the painting that you promised to Carmy. Would he still want it? You were alone in the studio, wrapping the 4 by 3 foot canvas with the best quality glassine. You were giving this to him tomorrow. If he doesn't want to have it, you’ll probably just donate it somewhere else. 

You laid awake in your bed all night long, waiting for his text. It was funny, just last week he was begging you to tell him that you needed him but when you needed him most, he wasn’t there. 

You arrive at The Bear just before it opens, the big canvas tucked under your arm. He was sure to be there and had always told you to use the back door if you weren’t dining. You always obliged, of course, opening the backdoor to reveal everyone. You’ve met Sydney and Richie before but you haven’t met the others yet. You were an alien in an unknown world; Carmy’s employees looking at you, as if wondering who this girl was. 

“Hey,” Sydney greeted, looking at the glassine covered thing that you were carrying. “Didn’t know you were coming in today. Congratulations on your exhbit,”

“Yeah, Congrats. What’s that, sweetheart?” Richie asked. 

“Oh,” you just nodded. Carmy couldn’t even look at you. “I just came here to give this to…uh, Carmy,” you cleared your throat. “Carm…?”

“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he stuttered. “Can we go to the office?” 

“Sure.”

You followed him into the office while Richie tells everyone to go back to what they were doing. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, afraid that this was going to be another one of those petty fights that you’ve had with him. 

You were wrong. So, so wrong. 

“You didn’t come last night,” you told him, shielding yourself from him with the painting. “I…I waited.”

“Sorry,” was his laconic reply. You nodded, chuckling. 

“That’s all?” you asked. “Just…sorry? No explanation, no nothing?” you asked. “I was looking for you the whole night, Carm. You promised you were coming,”

“I don’t know what-what you want me to say,” he says, looking everywhere but at you. “I-I-I’m sorry, okay? I had other plans.”

“You promised months ago that you were coming,” you repeated. “I called Sydney last night because you weren’t answering and she told me that you left early.”

“You’re spying on me now?” he asks, suddenly defensive. “I had things to do that night. I can’t-can’t just put everything on hold for-for you.” He spits his words like venom, voice getting louder with every word.

You frowned, not recognizing who the boy was in front of you. It’s not like you asked him to put his life on hold. Your heart was beating so fast in anger, ears ringing. 

“I see. So you just need me around and you-you just I don’t know, call me because you need to get your dick wet?” you asked, matching his volume. “You just need me around when no one else is there to fuck you? Is that it?” you asked. “What the fuck?” 

Carmy blinks, tries to think of the words he’s about to say but he couldn’t stop himself. He could never seem to stop himself. 

“You’re the only one desperate enough to do so,” he shrugs. It breaks your heart in pieces, really. The nights Carmen spent nuzzling his head in your shoulder before you slept probably meant nothing to him. Your face falls, contorting in hurt at what he just said. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I don’t know why you expect me to just-just-just do something!”

“Maybe I wanted you there as my friend!” you shouted over. Your voices could be heard from outside but everyone else pretended like they weren’t listening to anything that you both were saying. You were shouting over each other now, the fuse just breaks. “If you didn’t have any fucking plans to actually go, then don’t give me your good for nothing fucking promises!”

“I don’t need a girl leeching on me when I’m opening a fucking restaurant. Do you want me to put everything on you just because you asked me to? I’m not your fucking boyfriend. You know that right? And maybe-maybe I don’t want to be your fucking friend either!”

“Why would I want you to be my boyfriend, Carmy? You’re-you’re fucking unreliable! You have issues that need fixing. You think Claire could fix that? You think I could fix that? You think the girls you get wrapped around your fucking finger can fix your fucked up fucking head? Huh? Is that what you think? You’re so fucking miserable you make everyone around you miserable! Grow up!” He’s hurt. That’s what you thought of him? That he was miserable? Did he make you miserable?

“I don’t need to go to your fucking art exhibition when they’re all fucking shit.”

You closed your mouth before you could protest. The pain of his words felt like a slap on the face. If he regretted it, he didn’t show it. You turned away, nodding. 

“Fuck you, Carmen. Don’t fucking call me. Don’t fucking knock on my door. Don’t…don’t fucking think of me. I’m fucking done with you,”

“Yeah? You’re done with me, huh? Fuck you,” he spits back. He heard the waver in your voice; heard how you tried to steady everything. He wanted to say sorry but you were already leaving. Richie and Sydney couldn’t even ask you what happened because you were rushing out, throwing the painting you worked hard on for days at the back. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him. 

-

“Fuck!” his chefs could hear from outside the office. Everyone heard the vile things you both screamed at each other; everyone heard why you were so angry. Everyone fucking heard. Nobody dared to move, they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Carmy’s anger; not when The Bear was about to open. Continuous loud bangs and sounds of some object being thrown were heard too. Sugar sighed. 

“Carm?” she called from the door. “It’s almost opening,”

“I-I-I know, Sug.” he replied, blinking. “Uh, can-can you guys go ahead? I’ll be there, I just-just need to you know, calm down?”

“Okay, Bear,” she smiles, tapping the door frame before leaving Carmen in his own thoughts. He gets out of the restaurant through the back door, about to light a cigarette, when he sees the canvas wrapped with glassine. 

“Fuck,” was the only thing he could mutter before taking it and sitting where the staff usually stayed at when they wanted a break. He lights up a stick and lets it hang loose on his lips while he opens your gift with shaky hands. He was so immersed in the experience, gently removing the tape and making sure that nothing was ruined that he didn’t notice Sydney. 

The glassine reveals a painting of a plate of cannolis. He remembered that he told you the story about cannolis during Christmas and how he wanted to recreate that—take it for himself. He traces over the precise brushstrokes shakily. 

“That’s a good painting,” Sydney spoke, her hands behind her back. “Would be a waste to just throw it out.”

“I know,” Carmy nods. “I’m sorry you had to uh, hear all of that.”

“It’s…something,” Sydney replied, making Carmy chuckle. 

“I always…always seem to uh, fuck up everything,” he muttered. “I was on the way there, you know? Last night?”

“Yeah. You were so excited,”

“I was,” he coughed. “But I didn’t go because…” Words died down in his mouth. Why didn’t he go? “I’ve said some things and she-she doesn’t want me to call her anymore and I-I understand but like, I don’t know, Syd.”

Don’t know why I could never seem to just let myself enjoy things. I don’t belong anywhere else but in the fucking kitchen. It’s the only thing I was good at.

“I didn’t really want to to, uh, fuck this up.”

-

I want to talk to you.

Come to my apartment after your shift. Or whenever.

Carmen feels his palms sweat when he reads  texts you sent him days ago. He decided to go today, finally—he was never good at confronting things; always so explosive, so defensive. He didn’t know what he’d feel like today. He knocks on your door and hears the shuffling from the other side. He just got out of The Bear; he was tired but he forced himself to go. He had to go. 

“Hey,” you smiled tightly when you opened the door. “Come in.”

He nods, wordlessly entering your apartment like how henused to. Bag and shoes on the side. Somehow, this made him more nervous than usual. This was a prelude to something else entirely; he believed that.

“How are you? he asked, voice small and looking down. 

“I’m…good,” you replied, looking away. “You?”

“Busy,” he replied. The air felt heavy and his palms were sweating. “I’m…I’m sorry for not being there when I promised you that I would,”

“Why weren’t you there, Carm?” you asked and he could hear the sadness in your voice. He knew that your exhibit meant a lot to you. “You…you told me you will and well, you were…the-the person I want to be there the most.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m- I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “But why? I mean, I-I don’t know art. I like my shit but I-I’m not cool or understand—“

“Because I like you, Carmy.” you told him, looking at him now and trying to go nearer. He stepped back and you stopped your tracks.

“You—what?” he asked, shaking his head furiously; like your confession offended him. “You…like me.”

“I do,” you nodded. “But…it doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck. How many times do we have to go back to this very same place for you to understand?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. He told you before that he didn’t want to date. You told him you understood. You told him he was being egotistic when he told you not to get attached. He wanted to leave. He didn’t expect this to happen—he didn’t want this to happen. “I don’t—I don’t—“

“Carmy,” you cautioned him, trying to ease your beating heart. “Can you listen to me? I-I-I like you, okay and I’ve been thinking about it too. I’m—you’re always staying behind after sex and well, I just maybe thought that you liked me too.” You replied, swallowing his rejection for now.

“I don’t,” he snaps, tone sharp. “We’ll both be miserable in a relationship. I’ll never make-make you happy. You’re right, you know? I’m unreliable and-and-and issues that I need to fix…and I’m not the one you’re looking for,”

“I’m sorry for saying that. It wasn’t my place to do so,” was your meek reply. How does he feel so far away when he feels so, so, so close?

“No, uh,” Carmen blinks, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I-I-I needed to hear those things, you know? I’m sorry too…for everything.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s it then?” he asked. He was distressed. How could he fuck this up after telling Sydney that he didn’t want to fuck things up with you? “I…I had fun,” You were the only one who kept me afloat when everything else turned to shit. I missed you when we stopped talking. I should have fought harder. What else could I have done?

“Fun,” you chuckled bitterly. “Fun…that’s the only thing you’re going to say to me?”

Carmy frowned. 

“What else did you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Carmy!” you exclaimed, pacing back and forth but never towards him. “God! Tell me that I’m important to you. Tell me that I’ll still be your friend…tell me that you—that you—that I mean more than a fuck!”

Silence. Carmy couldn’t find the words to tell you what you truly meant to him…that he wanted what you wanted too but he was too scared to fuck it all up again like he did with Claire.

You nodded, looking away. You breathed in deeply, as if trying to relieve yourself of the hurt. That’s all you’ve ever meant to him. 

“You lead me along and it’s fine. I know that it’s my fault for wanting other things but at least…at least tell me that I’ll still be your friend; that I still matter to you even if I dug myself a hole by feeling things. Tell me that you still need me to put everything on hold for you because I’ve been waiting you to call me all day…”

“I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me,” he rasps. “I don’t…”

“But what if I wanted to?” you asked, face slightly contorted because you didn’t want to be so vulnerable in front of him. Not when he hasn’t told you what you wanted yet. Carmy was just looking at you, tapping his foot on the floor. It was a nervous habit that he developed. Fuck, he needed a cigarette.

“Can you, uh, leave?” you asked, voice low. “I…” 

“No, no, no,” he begs, rushing towards you. He grabs a hold of your elbows to remind you that he was there. Would it mean anything? Would his touch convey all of the words he wanted to say? 

“Carm…” your voice breaks. “Carm…”

“No, no. You’re not just that to me,” he reassures “But you have to understand that-that I can’t love you like that.”

“Carmen, please…” you beg, tears brimming in your eyes. “Please…just, just leave,”

You’ve never asked him to leave before but it seemed like it was what you really wanted—like it was what you really needed. He nods, kissing your head softly before detaching himself from you. 

“I’m sorry,” Carmy said. “For-for not saying the right, uh, things.”

“Yeah,” you nod, hiding yourself from him. He hated that you had to do that when you’ve cried on his shoulders multiple times. He never liked seeing you cry; he just didn’t know that one day, he’ll be on the receiving end of your sadness. He watches you rub your forehead, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying. If you started crying, would he stay?

-

It’s been months since Carmy left. He’s been in his best form in the kitchen. He was making things easier for his staff; he was working twenty four hours a day. Going to The Bear early to help with prep; staying late to help them clean after a long shift of cooking and cooking and kitchen tours. He’s been getting acclaim—more acclaim, really. There was a waiting list on his restaurant and positive reviews from left and right flooded in. The Bear was dubbed as “The Restaurant of the Year” in Chicago despite being less than a year old. 

He’s been doing good—perfect. 

It was like he was a hamster in a fucking wheel with no other way to escape. He likes putting himself in gear, like driving fast because it makes him believe that nothing really hurts him. He didn’t like being at home; it reminded him too much of you. It reminded him of when you’d lean on the kitchen counter, a small smile on your lips while you watched him cook you something. He didn’t like sitting on the couch because it reminded him of when he slept with his head on your lap. He didn’t like it in his bedroom because he’s reminded of that night when you pulled him closer in your sleep. He didn’t like The Bear because the painting that you gave him hung so proudly by the dining area. It was marvellous—they said. How was he able to get a painting that you did when your art was so valuable and in demand? 

He was moving so fast so you wouldn’t cross his mind but it seemed like no matter what he did, he'd end up thinking about you anyway. 

It didn’t matter, how come a fall like that made him feel like flying? Maybe he’s waiting for it to hit him but he was feeling alright. 

He was alright. 

“Chef!” Sydney called, looking at Carmen who was chopping the vegetables like a madman. “Carmen!”

“Fuck, what, Sydney?!” he asked, slamming his knife on the counter. 

“You’re bleeding,” Marcus told him and Carmen looked down, blood was all over the chopping board. “You’ve been bleeding for a few seconds now…we’ve all been calling your name, Chef.” 

“Fuck, I-I-I’m…” Carmen was a blubbering mess, just watching his hand bleed like it didn’t matter. “I’m-I’m,”

“Take a break, Carm,” Sydney says but her partner just shakes his head. “Carm—“

“Sydney, don’t—don’t make me take a fucking break, please.”

“You’ll need to clean up and make sure there’s no more blood,” Sydney told him. “I’m not fucking around,”

“Yeah,” he nods, putting his fist over his heart and drawing circles. Sydney nods and Carmy fixes his station. 

He couldn’t stop shaking, though. Even Tina saw how his hand trembled. What the fuck?

“Carmen,” 

“Yeah…just…just give me a second, please.” he nods, picking his knife again and doing everything perfectly. Like clockwork. He’s back. He’s back. He’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m alright. 

PART 2

AN: Thank you for the love! This is going to be a two-part fic because I love how everything is right now… Don’t forget to comment / reblog if you like it! I read every single little thing you guys type…even the hashtags.

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt @morgthemagpie @hal3ynicol3 @1800-queen-trash

[autism-on-titan]

What if..... SCP foundation highschool au. It's peak cringe and I love it.

So basically it's just everyone's favourite foundation personnel and some anomalies (humanized in some cases) going to a trope-y tv style high school.

Gears at like 16 still dresses and acts like an old fart.

682 is a student, he's like 26 with a full beard but he's been held back a million times.

"and in the old abandoned home ec classroom, that's where some kid named James Talloran *died*!!!" (He did not die, he moved away, but everyone thinks that room is cursed.)

Teenage Bright. He is having a bad childhood.

Clef stuff nerds in lockers and makes them do his homework.

Feel free to add anything in the notes!

[octuscle]

My biggest dream was to backpacking in europe between the end of high school and the beginning of college. But I didn't do it. In a few days I'll celebrate my 50. birthday and my wife told me she has a special present for me realizing my dream from my youth and getting a young lover for herself when I'm back. Now I've this countdown on my phone from your corporation. What's going on?

You think it's a bit silly when you get on the plane. With hand luggage only. A large rucksack. Nothing else. Otherwise, when you get on the plane, you usually have a suit on and your laptop with you. Today? T-shirt and functional pants. Cell phone with extra powerful power bank. You feel dressed up. And you look really dressed up too.

When you wake up shortly before landing in Paris, you stroke your chin. Shit, you can't have grown that much beard between New York and here… Anyway, now you have to make your way to Gare de Lyon somehow. The TGV to Vezelay leaves in four hours. And from there, the first stage takes you along the Way of St. James to Strasbourg. With your little bit of school French, you'll manage quite well. In the metro, you look at your reflection in the window pane. You are a miserable tourist. An ageing man in ugly functional clothing. But the beard looks pretty cool…

When you finally arrive at Vezelay station, it's late. You are tired. You've booked a hotel room near the station for your first night in Europe. A bit of comfort. By the way, the Chronivac timer has expired. The display shows that the transformation is in progress.

The hotel is relatively elegant. You stand out at breakfast. Yes, you are freshly showered. But you could go to the hairdresser again. And although you've had a fresh shave, you've already got a shadow of a beard again.

Now it's getting serious. You're standing in front of the hotel. The rucksack on your back. You're already hot. And your first stage of the day is 25 kilometers. How much is that in miles? And why are you doing this to yourself…

The day is hell. You're sweating like a pig. Your feet hurt. You have a sunburn. On the one hand you're hungry, on the other you feel like puking. And when you arrive at your stage destination, you realize that you can't get accommodation without a reservation. As you pass a building site, the foreman asks you if you are looking for work. You reply that you need somewhere to sleep. He replies that that is not a problem. If you give him a hand, you will be given dinner and a place to sleep. You don't really feel like doing any more physical work. And you've always been a failure as a handyman. But somehow you know how to mix concrete and pour a foundation. And as you drink a beer in the evening sun at around 7:30 p.m. and talk to the other craftsmen, it feels very normal. One of the carpenters asks you if you're from the north of France. Because of your strange dialect. You look at him questioningly. And say that you're from Buffalo. He asks if that's near Lille. You have obviously arrived in France.

When you wake up the next morning in your bunk in the trailer, it's 05:30. You were expecting a hell of a muscle ache. But you feel like ripping out trees. You wash yourself briefly with ice-cold water in the rain barrel and then continue on your way. You've promised to help out for two more days before you move on.

Your wife mocked you when you said you wanted to take time out to do two months of work and travel in Europe. Sometimes you realize that she is simply much older than you. But shit, so is the French president's wife. And he should be about your age. 45 years old, as far as you know. Just four years older than you… Well, he's got further than you. But you look hotter than him. And the fresh air is obviously doing you good. Your wife is really suggestive when you facetime. You didn't even know she was into phone sex. But it's a nice change. Normally you tend to fuck colleagues on the building sites where you're helping out. It's more of a man's world. Something for real guys. And if you're anything, you're a real guy.

You've been on the road for six weeks when you finally arrive in Strasbourg. Shit, it's expensive here. Prices completely spoiled by tourists and European bureaucrats. Fortunately, you soon find a job here too. Not as a construction worker, though. But as a waiter in a bistro. And you can even sleep above the bistro. On the very first evening, you notice that very few guests spend the whole night here. A constant coming and going. And when you have to go to the toilet across the corridor, a not at all bad-looking guy in a stuffy suit asks you if you'd like to come up to his room for a moment. He slips you 50 euros. A hell of a lot of money for a blowjob or something. Should you feel cheap or like a hooker? Who are you kidding? Back home on the other side of the pond, you're the toyboy of an ancient lady. She's already 50 years old.

Strasbourg was awesome. But you only have three more weeks before you have to go back. The new semester at university starts. And your GILF is waiting for you back. She told you yesterday how much she misses you. You went out of your way to make her squeal with ecstasy at the end of the phone call. The PayPal payment arrived immediately. Together with the money you earned as a hustler and waiter in Strasbourg, you can now enjoy your last days to the full. You love the wind on your nipples. Maybe a hot trucker or something will pick you up as a hitchhiker. Tonight you should be in a place called Karlsruhe. Then it's not far to Frankfurt. And from there it's back to Buffalo. Someone there is eagerly awaiting her young lover.

[nolita-fairytale]

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto | chapter three: saturday

summary: you, syd, marcus, and carmy celebrate a job well done. carmy finally relaxes, while you catch up with old friends. you and carmy talk about your future.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language.

word count: 4.7k

listen to: wake me - bleachers | love you for a longtime - maggie rogers | perfume - del water gap | miss simone - sara bareilles | (playlist here)

read: chapter two

(banner by @allthefandomstogether)

Saturday

The sun glares too brightly for it to be early morning, as Carmy begins opening his eyes. It dawns on him that this is the first night in the last few weeks he’s slept through. After blinking his eyes open a few times, he wraps his arms around your waist, curling his body around yours, only to close his eyes again as he drags his lips, softly across your skin. 

“Morning,” you say sleepily, your lips curling into a smile as you feel his touch. 

You’ve been up for a bit, but haven’t been ready to start the day. You’re enjoying the stillness too much now that most of the chaos is finally behind you. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. He presses the tip of his nose against the side of your face, before burying his face in your neck. 

You snuggle up to him, enjoying this change of pace. It feels good – having the luxury to sleep in. You had, after all, stayed up till two in the morning last night, taking a trip down memory lane. 

“How’d you sleep?” you ask, as Carmy breathes you in. 

God he loves the way you smell, the way you feel against him. 

“Good,” he mumbles. “What time is it?” 

There’s no panic in the way he asks you for the time and it may be the first time in a long time that he doesn’t feel hurried. 

You hum in response, reaching for the side table where your phone sits. He protests, letting out a dissatisfied groan as you move away from him. He’s unhappy with the thought of getting out of bed, but before he knows it, you’re sliding back into place, satisfying him once again as you curl your body into his.

“Shit,” you say, as soon as you see the time. “It’s almost eleven.”

“Fuck it,” he says back defiantly, earning a giggle from you. 

It’s not like you have anywhere to be till later this evening – till the James Beard Foundation’s reception they’re hosting as a job well done for last night’s event. 

You enter your passcode, as soon as you see the message notifications from Syd and Marcus, all time stamped from various hours ago.

Sydney: WE ARE HUNGRY. 

Marcus: Heading down for breakfast. You guys up?

Carmy hugs you closer to him with no intention of letting you go. He wouldn’t dream of getting out of this bed. He can hear his phone alerts going off at the same time, from both of your phones,, as the three of you blow up your shared group text. The sound of the pings only further his agitation, making him want to sink into this mattress and never leave.

You: We’re just waking up. Stayed up too late last night. 

Sydney: Ew. 

Marcus: Yeah didn’t need to know that, chef.

You: Get your heads out of the gutter!! Not like that. 

You follow up your text with an eye roll emoji. 

You smile as you Syd sends back a ‘side eye’ emoji. 

Marcus: Ok we just ate breakfast. Heading to check out The Strand and explore the neighborhood some and get a good cup of coffee.

The next text Marcus sends is just a dumpling emoji and question mark, reminding you of the promises you made last night. 

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

You hurriedly type a message, noticing Carmy’s growing impatience with the notifications. 

You: We’ll rally by 1 pm.

Marcus: Dope. 

Syd: Heard.

You: Have fun!!

Carmy groans, taking the phone from your hands and throwing it somewhere onto the floor on his side of the bed. 

“Carmen!” you protest with a giggle, finally turning your body so that you’re laying on your side to face him.

“No more phone,” he grumbles, as he returns to you, pulling you in closer to him, your bodies now chest to chest. 

You smile, leaving a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” he admits, against his wishes. “But I just wanna stay here for a little longer. Before we have to get up.” 

“Let’s order room service then. Stay in this bed till we have to meet up with Syd and Marcus,” you suggest, knowing he’ll like your offer.  

“Fuck yes,” Carmy groans, happily. 

“My girl thinks of all the best things.”

You love it when he calls you his girl, the term of endearment bringing a warmth to your soul you never knew you needed. 

“It’s why you love me.”

He hums in response. 

It is one of the many reasons he loves you. 

“It is.”

“Carmy?” you say. 

“Hm?”

“I love being your girl.”

He smiles. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

*

You spend the afternoon with Carmy, Syd, and Marcus, and you’re relieved to discover that it feels like everyone’s taken a breath. The four of you take the subway down to Chinatown, letting yourselves explore while consuming as many pork dumplings as humanly possible. It’s a completely different pace than the last two days. You’ve all slowed down a little – you’re letting yourselves enjoy the city more – and it feels damn good to be home. 

It’s an afternoon well spent. You part ways till it’s time to rally one last time at the James Beard House for the celebratory reception. It’s one last big push for your social battery, and you’re surprised that Carmy hasn’t tried to get out of it yet. Between the big announcement from last night, the media people that will be there, and all of the networking that goes on at these things, he’s just resigned himself to pushing through it with you. 

You spot him across the room, practically backed up against the wall with a glass of champagne in hand that he’s holding onto for dear life. Your friends have cornered him in what looks like a love-fest that’s caught him completely off guard. 

“Carmy, everything was… fantastic,” Liz compliments, mid-conversation with your boyfriend. 

“And it’s so good to see you!” Maya adds as she joins the conversation. She gives Carmy a big squeeze and he looks a little surprised. 

“Beautiful job last night. Liz is right. Everything was incredible and congratulations on the expansion,” Maya continues. 

“Yeah, thank you for coming. It means a lot,” Carmy replies. 

They exchange over a few different topics and Carmy tries his best to be the conversationalist that he’s never felt he was. He digs deep for it, knowing that these are two important people in your life. He feels more comfortable asking questions than answering them and with Liz, it’s a little easier considering they have shared experiences. 

How’s the new restaurant gig? Did you ever figure out that one dish? Did they ever fire that one guy that everyone hated working with?

And with Maya it’s more: How’s the new baby? I hear you were working for a new brand as their creative director. How’s the promotion been?

It’s not that he doesn’t love your friends – it’s that conversing with them one-on-one feels like an enormous pressure no matter how much you swear they love him. Carmy is relieved to see you approaching, as you make your way towards where your friends have cornered him. 

“Hey, I hope you guys don’t mind me stealing this one away,” you say, giving Carmy the out he so desperately needs. 

“Of course not.” 

Carmy shoots you a ‘thank you’ glance, and you take his hand in his, leading him away. 

“Please do not leave me alone at this party again,” he mumbles to you. 

“I won’t,” you reassure him. “But there is someone I want to introduce you to.” 

He sighs, and you can tell he’s at the end of his rope. 

“One more?”

“One more.”

You lead him over to a friend of yours that he’s seen you talking to at the bar: a darker skinned man in glasses, the hair on top of his head braided down to the nape of his neck. 

“Carmy, I want you to meet my friend, Gregory. Gregory has a restaurant out in Portland and was at the dinner last night,” you say as you introduce him to Carmy. 

“Carmy, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from this one,” Gregory says, warmly. 

“Thanks for coming, man,” Carmy replies, humbly. 

“Gregory and I spent the summer at JBF chef bootcamp together,” you continue, hoping it rings a bell in Carmy’s head. 

“Oh yeah,” Carmy says, his eyes lighting up as soon as he realizes that he’s that Gregory. “It’s great to meet you too.”

“I feel like you’ve been doing a lot of TV lately,” you say to Gregory, hoping to spark some conversation. 

“Yeah. It’s been a great way to keep the momentum going for the restaurant, you know? Uh… you guys ever think of it?” he asks, earning a funny look from you and Carmy.

“Oh no,” Carmy says, practically shuddering at the idea. “No, that is a thing of my literal nightmares.” He gestures towards you, shyly as he continues, and he’s so glad he has you as a social crutch in settings like these. “Besides, if we ever did… it’d be more her thing. Or- or Syd’s maybe.”

“And I just started a new job so,” you add in.

“Oh, where are you at now?” Gregory asks curiously.

“Sustainable food system start up. I’m their culinary education director.”

“Oh shit! Congratulations. That’s like… the perfect thing for you,” he says. 

“Totally. I was ready for a little more consistency and uh, it’s kinda nice with one of us workin’ the whole 9 to 5 thing,'' you reply, with a smile. 

“Well, I’ve got to get going. But it was great to meet you, Carmy,” Gregory says, excusing himself from the conversation. He turns his attention to you, a kind look in his eyes. “Always a pleasure catching up.”

You watch as Gregory exits, and you can see the envious look in Carmy’s eyes. 

“You’re ready to go,” you state. 

“I- if you wanna stay, I can-.”

“No, no. I can see it on your face, Bear,” you interrupt him, giving his hand a tight squeeze. “I’m ready to go too. So… let’s get out of here.”

He nods in response, relieved that you picked up on it. He’d be willing to stay if you’d wanted to stay, and he’s so glad that you’re ready to go. 

You know him so well.

Carmy turns to you, lowering his voice as he asks:

“Think uh… you wanna head back to the hotel… take advantage of the tub while we still can?”

“Sir, are you trying to pick me up?” you ask back, playfully. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles in your ear. Carmy leans in once again, his voice huskier than before as you feel his hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer against him. 

“And yeah. I am.”

With a wicked smile on your face, you agree to his request, more than willing to head back to the hotel and get naked as soon as possible. In classic you-and-Carmy fashion, you find Syd and Marcus, before Irish Goodbye-ing the rest of the party. The five minute walk back to the hotel feels longer, as you can feel both of your social batteries have reached their lowest point after a full weekend. 

You cannot wait to get to the end of your night, as you both stand in the elevator, but it seems your plans will have to wait a little longer. You and Carmy aren’t the only ones in the elevator. There’s a man with his young son and you sigh impatiently as the kid continues to push each and every button for ever floor. 

“No! Not that one!” the father warns, as the kid’s little hands over the ‘emergency stop’ button. The kid turns to him and his father beckons him back over. He shoots you an apologetic look. 

“So sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, trying your best not to sound too annoyed.

The elevator continues to make unnecessary stops, thanks to the child’s antics, as both you and Carmy become increasingly more frustrated. Maybe you’d have the patience if you weren’t at the end of your rope either, but at this point, your feet hurt from the heels you’re wearing, and you cannot wait to take them off. 

Finally, the elevator reaches the man’s floor. He and his child exit the elevator, before turning to you as the doors remain open. He looks to Carmy as his son takes off in the other direction, trying to race his father back to their hotel room. 

“Thank you again for you and your wife’s patience,” he says politely, as he stands a few feet outside of the elevator, trying his best to placate the two of you. 

“Sure,” Carmy mumbles, unconvincingly. 

“I gotta-,” the man says, nodding towards his child, as the elevator doors begin to close. 

You can hardly wait till the doors are fully closed before letting out a laugh at Carmy’s lack of effort. The elevator begins to move again and thankfully there’s only one more stop: yours. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of the elevator moving, when you finally say something. 

“Carmy.”

“What?”

“You didn’t even try to fake it!”

“You didn’t say anything!”

You laugh again, and he scoffs, unable to hide his distaste for the interaction. 

With a shrug he defends himself with, “I’ll like our kids.”

To your delight, the elevator reaches your floor, and as the doors open, it feels like freedom. You follow Carmy down the hallway and to your room, practically flinging the door open and letting out a sigh of relief that you’ve both made it through the evening. Carmy’s flicking on a few lights while you beeline straight to the bathroom so that you can get to the naked and tub part of the evening as quickly as possible.

He’s absolutely right that you should take advantage of the ridiculously large bathtub before you go home tomorrow. 

By the time the tub fills, you’ve already queued up a great playlist, as you and Carmy navigate your setup for the night. You're situated differently this time: your backs resting on opposite sides of the tub, your feet are on the inside, closest to the wall, while his rest on the outside of you, closest to the edge of the tub. 

Carmy is quiet. And it’s not like you’re expecting to have a conversation like last night’s, especially since you’re both drained from three days of social interactions in a row. But there’s something different about tonight’s silence – he’s more pensive than normal –  and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as you go to ask:

“What’s on your mind, babe?”

He waits a beat, the sound of your voice taking him out of his mind and back into reality. 

“I just uh…” he starts, wondering if you’ll think he’s gone mad before he admits, “...can’t stop thinking about what that guy said.”

“What guy?” you inquire. 

“In the elevator,” Carmy replies. 

You shoot him a funny look, because you have no idea what he’s talking about. It’s certainly not the answer you expected either. 

“You know. That he assumed we were married,” Carmy clarifies, his face pink. You’re not sure if it’s from the hot water or the thoughts swimming around in his head. 

“Okay… he’s a… stranger. He was probably too busy keeping his kid in line to be looking for a ring on my finger,” you reply. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t given it much thought at all, and the fact that Carmy’s so hung up on it surprises you.

“I know but…” he trails off, looking away from you for a second. He shrugs, a blush running across his cheeks before asking, “Do you… even want to get married?”

You’re not sure where this is coming from as you stammer out, “I-, uh-, I wouldn’t mind being married to you,” the surprise in your voice evident. 

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, in regards to your lack of enthusiasm. 

“No! I-, I’m sorry. You kinda just… caught me by surprise is all,” you apologize, seeing the disappointment on his face. You sit up a little, reaching for one of his hands. “Actually, I would give up any and all feminism up right now in order to become Mrs. Carmen Berzatto.” 

You’re only being playful and he shakes his head with, “Yo I’m being serious,” the slightest smile threatening the corners of his mouth. 

“Baby I don’t know if using the word “yo’ counts as an initiator for a serious conversation,” you chuckle. 

“Fuck,” he sighs. 

But he does like the sound of it: Mrs. Carmen Berzatto, and he’s not willing to give up on this conversation just yet. He thinks back to when Natalie called you her sister-in-law, and he wonders why he hadn’t brought this up months ago. 

He waits a beat, before finally saying:

“Let’s get married.”

The words fall out of his mouth with the same kind of casualness he’d use when suggesting you pick up Thai food for dinner on your walk home from the restaurant.

“Okay, Bear,” you agree, easing your way back to your previous position in the tub. You press your back against the wall once more, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to sink a little deeper.

You wait for him to say something. Anything. You almost think he’ll take it back, or tell you he’s joking, because you’re not sure he’s even being serious in the first place. It’s such a casual request for a not-so-casual thing that there’s no way he could….

But he doesn’t say anything, and his silence is more than alarming. Your eyes snap open as you begin to sit up a little taller once again. 

“Carmy, what do you-. I mean, are you being serious?” you ask, your voice softer this time. 

He thinks about it for a second before answering with, “Yeah.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you lean towards him, “Like right now? Are you-, like, proposing right now?” 

“Well I don’t have a ring,” he begins, apologetically, which isn’t entirely true. 

He has a ring. But he hadn’t brought it with him to New York thinking there’s no way he’d do it here. Because what if it had gotten lost in transit, or stolen on the subway, so he’d given it to Richie to hold onto while you were out of town. 

“...But yeah. Why not? Let’s get married,” he repeats himself.

And this time, you’re sure he’s serious, leaving you, once again, speechless. 

“Okay, hold on,” you stammer, in sheer and utter shock that this is happening. “Uh… let’s think this through.” 

“Uh oh,” he teases, taking the upper hand. 

“Oh shut up. We haven’t even talked about marriage yet, Carm! I-. There are lots of things we should… you know, discuss,” you explain, justifying your surprise. 

“Like what?” he asks, unconvinced. 

You think about it for a minute. 

“Well for starters… I don’t want to have a huge wedding,” you admit. 

“No. Definitely not,” he agrees, with a sigh of relief. 

It’s not either of your styles. Thank God.

“Something small… maybe?” you suggest, hopeful. 

“Like at the courthouse?” he says. 

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile. “Though I think I’d like to have some sort of celebration after. For all of our friends and family, you know? Even if it’s just like… a dinner or something.”

“Yeah,” Carmy confirms. “That uh-, that sounds nice.”

“And no, you can’t cater it, nor will it be at the restaurant,” you state, making sure that’s clear before he even has the idea.

“I never said-,” Carmy begins to protest.

“But you were thinking it!”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head, because you know him too well. 

“Do we invite your mom?” you ask, hesitantly. 

He shoots you a look – the kind of look that says ‘you’ve got to be kidding me.’

“Carmy, she’s going to want to be there,” you insist. 

You know they don’t have the best relationship, but you know it would be wrong not to. 

“Do we have to?”

“I… think so.”

“Fine. But Mom gets invited to the after party. That’s it,” he negotiates firmly. 

“Yeah, okay,” you agree. 

You’re glad that’s settled. 

“Should I get you a ring?” he asks you. He doesn’t want to spoil the surprise – that he already has a ring for you. And since the conversation seems so practical, he takes it as an opportunity to set you up for a surprise. 

It’s not like you’ve pulled a few over on him in the past few years. No, definitely not.

“I mean, probably eventually,” you reply plainly. “But the ring’s not what’s important to me.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll take you over a ring any day, babe.”

He smiles, unsure of how he got so lucky. 

“Should I get you one?” you ask, since you’re on the topic. 

“What?”

“A ring.”

“Oh,” Carmy sounds, a little surprised by the question. He thinks about it for a second. There was no harm in skipping straight to wearing wedding bands, was there? 

“Maybe just one of those bands made out of silicone… you know. That I can wear in the restaurant.”

“Sounds like something I can work with,” you smile, nodding your head with a sense of accomplishment. 

“So it’s settled then. We’re getting married,” you state casually. It’s almost so casual that it’s painful as you giggle. 

“Yeah,” he answers with a stupid, lovesick grin on his face. 

“Should we shake on it?” you ask, and you’re only half-joking.

He shakes his head, grabbing your hands and pulling you closer to him in the bath tub, “How did I end up with such a silly fiance?”

Fiance. 

It’s the first time you’re hearing it out loud, and you like the way the word sounds coming from him. 

“And no, we will not be shaking on it,” Carmy continues, leaning in towards you as he sits up straight. “I can think of a lot more things we could do to consummate this decision.”

You raise an eyebrow, giggling as you lean in towards him, moving slowly through the water.

“In that case, I would love for you to show me,” you say, your voice soft as your lips are mere inches away from his. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

read: chapter four

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

#Sydcarmychefskiss

In order to be part of the judging panel for the new Masterchef Celebrity edition, all the chefs had to undergo a psychological pre-screening and pass the assessment due to a tragic event related to a previous Masterchef Celebrity season where one of the contestants quit the show due to the pressure she felt from the judges and committed suicide shortly after. After such a devastating turn of events, the production team tightened their belts and decided to be more thorough in the psychological pre-screening of both contestants and judges during the selection process. Plus, they added an eliminatory instance in which those who made it to the semi-finals were going to be also judged by some viewers who would literally pay to eat at their pop-up restaurants for a whole week, and those profits were going to go straight to the International Association for Suicide Prevention, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and the Alliance of Hope for suicide & Loss Survivors.

Carmen Berzatto was invited to be one of the judges, but Syd was not, because at that point in the show's pre-production, she was only a James Beard Award runner-up, and even though The Bear was the talk of the town, and everyone in the business knew that it was being considered for its first Michelin star and that it was the strongest contender on the Chicago shortlist, that star was still a dream, not a reality for them.

So Carmy was quick to respectfully decline the offer unless Syd was also invited.

That was arranged and eventually, she was, but not because of the condition he put forward, but because a few weeks after Carmy made it clear to the Executives and Producers that he was not interested unless Sydney was part of the panel of judges too, she actually won the James Beard Award, so both signed their respective contracts with Masterchef's production company and off they were to L.A. to shoot the final 3 episodes of the show and decide with their palates and delicately curated criteria, which Celebrity was going to be the new Masterchef and take home 500K. Since the prize was half a million dollars, which was the highest prize ever, in the history of the show, the showrunners decided to divide the final challenge into 3 parts aired in 3 separate episodes: The entrees, the main courses, and the desserts. Each participant was going to accumulate points and the one who got the best score took it all. The other 2 were not even given a diploma for having participated in the competition. It was brutal.

Carmy had donated part of his paycheck to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, without telling a soul about it.

That Masterchef Celebrity edition was the most watched to date. And the "hot Chicago chefs" broke the Internet. Apparently, not only was Carmy a hit with the ladies, the bisexuals, and the gay demographic, but so was Syd, with pretty much anyone with a pulse, and on top of that, social media was all about the Masterchef Sydcarmy shippers. They had come up with a hashtag and everything: #Sydcarmychefskiss where the masses shipped them and demanded that they kiss on camera, which they never did because they were not romantically involved and made that clear over and over again when asked. But nobody seemed to believe them. In fact, these statements caused even more frenzy among the shipper fans, who further plagued the trending topics with the Sydcarmy hashtag, saying that the sexual tension between the judges was more interesting than the food on the table. Shippers went crazy every time Syd and Carmy shared a look to come to a non-verbal agreement about the dishes they were tasting. Their feedback was always like a mutual copy-paste, Syd loved what Carmy loved and hated what he hated, and vice-versa. They were always on the same page.

About 6 months after the show ended, Carmy got a strange email that he completely ignored for weeks until he got a call from one of the executives to be part of the next Masterchef edition, this time it didn't involve celebrities, just next-door amateurs, and Syd was also invited. Not because of her accolades, which now included a JB award and 2 Michelin stars she had recently won as The Bear's CDC, alongside Carmy, but because the showrunners had read the room and wanted to continue milking the Sydcarmy shipping cow till the last drop. They were by now fully aware of Syd and Carmy's chemistry and rating-boosting superpowers. So they were offering them a generous amount to be permanent judges of the show, from episodes 1 to 14, the whole season.

Carmy said he would have to think about it. He wasn't too crazy about the exposure he got the last time he was part of the Masterchef universe, and back then he had only done it to help the suicide prevention cause the show was dedicated to, but this new edition had nothing to do with the philanthropic cause that had piqued Carmy's interest before, So he didn't feel like it, even though the money was more than tempting and Masterchef was proving to be great for The Bear as the restaurant was not only always full, but had a waiting list that spanned the next four months since Syd and he stepped into the TV spotlight and became an instant hit, he still wasn't convinced. His hesitation was largely based on the Sydcarmy hashtag and all the hype the Sydcarmy shippers caused the first time around. It got really awkward and he was sure Syd wasn't thrilled either. He had seen the "fanart" online and boy those artists sure had a very vivid imagination when it came to what was underneath her Thom Browne custom-made jacket!

The guy on the phone, one of the Network's big hotshots, told him that he had sent him an email a few days ago with a new and better offer that he wanted them to consider. He said that he had also sent it to Syd, and hadn't heard back from her either, as of yet. Carmy admitted that he wasn't the best at checking his inbox and that he would have a conversation with Syd soon about the offer, where they were going to decide what to do about it and get back to him by next week, tops.

"That's not the kind of decision I made unilaterally, Mark. Um... I'll circle back soon, after Syd and I talk about it. K?"

"Sure, Carmy. Sounds good. Just give me a call, and if you need more time, let me know. I just want to make sure you're aware of what's on the table for you, guys. I think the offer we're making is obscenely good, really…"

"I'm sure it is, Mark, I'm sure it is. And thank you so much for pinging me. I'll get back to you soon with a final answer, you can count on it. Alright?"

"Alrighty then, Carmyman! Can't wait, take care, man. Talk to you soon."

"Um... Sure, sure thing, Mark. Thanks for calling. Talk to you soon!"

Carmy ended the call and finally felt at ease. He couldn't stand the phony friendly tone of voice those professional asskissers used every time they wanted to get something out of someone. It repulsed him. Mark Cronenberg talked to him as if they were lifelong friends who had matching tattoos, when in fact they had only met twice for less than 5 minutes each time.

He proceeded to look for Mark's email by filtering by keyword because he didn't remember Mark's email address. The keyword was 'Masterchef' and that search returned 8 emails. One of them from several weeks prior, with the subject: "Masterchef Celebrity Season 20 team confirmed". It contained a detailed profile of all the judges who were part of the previous edition and the episodes assigned to each. He didn't pay much attention to it and focused on the next 2 emails instead, from just a few days ago. Those were the ones that contained the actual offers. Carmy wondered what would happen if he declined. Would he be offered an even juicier amount or were they going to move on and leave him empty-handed? Carmy was curious as to how far could he push. It wasn't greed that moved him, just curiosity.

He needed to know what Syd thought but he had a pretty good idea already, she was CCed in the last 2 emails and Carmy was positive that if she hadn't touched the subject, it was because she simply wasn't interested.

Either way, he vowed to run it by her after service and talk long and hard about the pros and cons of accepting the 7 figure offer the network and the production company were making them.

The hours passed and 11 pm was the witching hour. They wrapped up the cleaning tasks and by a quarter to midnight, everything looked pristine and ready for the next day's service. That was when Carmy called Syd to the office where Nat still was and all three of them talked about it. By 1 am it was settled: They were going to sleep on it.

Nat was all for it, Carmy was against it and Syd was hesitant.

Nat was sure that Carmy was going to do whatever Syd said so she didn't even try to convince her brother. Syd could not be convinced, and she made a very strong point when she said that if it weren't for the Sydcarmy troupe she'd be up for it in a minute because that offer was a no-brainer but the shippers made her extremely uncomfortable. What she kept to herself was why the shippers made her uncomfortable and both Nat and Carmy wrongly assumed it was because she was not into Carmy at all, so to have half the country and millions abroad trying to pair her up with her business partner was irritating. Well, that couldn't be further from the truth, but she let them think that.

Carmy openly told her that he was going to do whatever she felt comfortable with so, seeing as she was not on board, his decision was made.

Nat was the one who pitched the idea of "running it by the pillow and not making any rushed decisions". It was Friday, and the next day was going to be manic, as all Saturdays were, so they agreed to talk about it on Monday again and come to a final concurrency by then. All 3 parties were A-OK with that plan and went home.

Carmy couldn't sleep, so he started playing with his phone. His fingers had a mind of their own and before he knew it, he was literally checking his email. This was a first for him. He had never proactively checked his emails before, not even when Syd was taking her sweet time signing the docu-sign so that "she could push him and he could push her".

What caught his eye this time were not the emails he had been carefully reading in the office, but the ones he hadn't paid much attention to before.

"Masterchef Celebrity Season 20 team confirmed". Carmy read each profile of all the other judges and made mental notes, even though he already knew them all. Nothing too impressive or that couldn't be googled. And then he noticed there was an attachment that contained a folder called: P.R. Inside the folder he found multiple files on each judge. One of the PDF documents was called: Confidential-P.R. brief on Carmen Berzatto. There was another one about Sydney and every other member of the panel. He thought P.R. stood for Public Relations. What struck him was that it was the only email with attachments, not that it seemed to contain P.R. information. He went straight to the confidential file with his name on it, and what he found there profoundly changed him on an intrinsic level. Nothing was the same for him after that reading.

It was a 34-page document on him, that included a detailed account of his feelings for Syd, which he read as if he were reading the diary of James Beard.

"Carmen has no idea what he feels for his business partner. He is in complete denial, based on a deep state of confusion rooted in the fact that he had never fallen in love before he met her. So when it happened, he couldn't really understand it or call it what it was: Love. He didn't recognize the feeling and therefore couldn't categorize it. It confused him too much and so he decided to deny it outright. That was the safest thing to do.

His confusion increased when his frustrated high school sweetheart reappeared in his life. He mistook what he began to feel for her for love, but it was actually the nostalgia that an old crush ignites when given a new chance to experience what was once stonewalled.

This wasn't love at all, but again, the unsuspecting Carmen had no way to tell the difference for the reasons mentioned above, and so he decided to take the chance to make up for the missed opportunity of the past. When he finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't love and neither was it worth the disruption that this relationship was causing in other aspects of his life that were much more crucial to him, he ended the only romantic relationship he had ever been involved in and focused on the woman he loves but can't understand why or admit that he does because he can't deal with love due to a traumatic upbringing and past traumatic experiences, all related to his family and especially to his mother. In previous sections of this dossier, the subject of her alcoholism and its effect on Carmen has already been explored. The same analysis has also been made regarding Carmen's deceased brother in another section of this document. (pages 8 and 13, respectively).

It's safe to infer based on his description of how his perception of his partner has changed over the years that his attraction to Sydney was physical at first but quickly evolved to love when she impressed him in the professional realm, which is something he is not used to feeling either.

Love and admiration go hand in hand for him.

He can’t love someone he doesn’t admire.

Which fits the profile of any overachiever, like Carmen Berzatto.

That overachieving facet of him is associated with his own addiction. He’s a workaholic, perfectionist, obsessive, overachiever, burnt out, and overcompensates with work the void that his personal life is, as has been previously detailed on pages 1 to 7 of this brief.

He fills his life with work so he doesn’t have to deal with his problems like his feelings for Sydney. He sublimates and transfers his real feelings because coping with them is counterproductive for his ulterior motive of being the best for Sydney. Even when the definition of best he has in mind and hers are quite different and she already feels he is the best as he is.

Carmen developed his workaholism after a falling-out with his brother Michael, suggesting that this is one of the issues he is trying to bury under all this compulsive behavior. The trigger was the feeling that he had to prove himself to be independent and better than his brother. Prove him wrong and show him what he was really capable of and after that stopping was simply not an option for him until Sydney came into his life and his focus shifted to a higher set of emotions, including but not limited to love.

In conclusion, his caretakers: his mother, and his brother, both mother and father figures respectively are the reasons why he developed an addictive personality and an addiction.

Unlike Carmen, Sydney is a Type A, and while she is a perfectionist through and through, which is one of the many things Carmen finds attractive about her, she is not a workaholic and does not have an addictive personality. That's why she enjoys what she does, it's not a compulsion for her and she's not trying to compensate for anything. More about Miss Sydney Adamu in her own section (pages 20 to 30). And in her own exclusive dossier."

The brief went on to conclude he was suited and cleared to participate in Masterchef Celebrity by Dr. Paula Ridderkerk Ph. D. in Psychology and Master in Criminal Psychology and Victimology.

Carmy didn't sleep that night at all. He continued reading and re-reading Sydney's 29-page dossier where Dr. P.R. assured his business partner shared his feelings and that it was a matter of time for them to be on the same page and quit the denial.

When the sun came up he texted Sydney to ask her if she had received an email with an attached folder. She replied: "Nope". She lied. He heaved a sigh of relief.

On Monday he convinced her to accept the offer by promising to give her full liberty on the spring menu, her favorite.

By the end of episode 14 of Masterchef, the Sydcarmy shippers got their wish granted. Carmy and Syd kissed on camera and admitted that things had changed between then and that they were now in a relationship, very much in love and very happy but that they preferred not to talk about their personal lives.

The hashtag #Sydcarmychefskiss became a trending topic on every social media platform imaginable for weeks, and the ratings were once again the best, historically.

After that Masterchef edition Syd and Carmy were offered just about a dozen shows, they respectfully declined every single offer, no matter how many zeros it had. They had a wedding and a honeymoon to plan.

And then came the best-seller books and the Culinary Academy: "Fifth Taste" and then the "Adamu Foundation " which gave scholarships to those students who couldn't afford the Culinary Academy and then the new addition to the family: Bernard or "Jr." and then the baby-food brand: "Bearnie" and then Thom Browne's campaign for his new uniform collection that featured Syd and Carmy in costume Chef whites and then Syd's headscarves’ line: "Sheridan" and Carmy's Professional knife brand: "Bear" and the dreams come true kept pilling up for Sydcarmy.

Dr. P.R. followed them on social media and kept thinking: "I KNEW IT!"

She was yet to fail a prediction based on her profiling skills. Syd & Carmy were no exception.

A/N: This fic was inspired by a great convo I had with @only-one-brain-cell this AM and by my obsession with cooking contests.

Also, it's loosely based on a true story of Masterchef Celebrity Spain that you can read >>> here.

You can also find it on AO3 >>> here.

Thanks for reading! 💋

[devotioncrater]

jason and co being like if there's gonna be a s4 they're gonna need to wait for the inspiration to strike of where to take the story if there even is any further story. meanwhile james is out here with his 70k fic lined up ready to go

JASON SEASON 4 IS TED ACCEPTING LOVE OKAY. HE HASN'T DONE THAT YET HE NEEDS THAT ARC. season 4 ted learns it can be about him. and all these people that love himmmm

SAY IT!!!!!!!! ted needs to break down his walls and allow himself to be taken care of!!!

also....the way i would watch s4 even if the football focus was gone....astronomical. if it was just a season full of no real plot outside of ted in richmond learning to accept love in all its forms, count me in. give me that same type of storytelling derry girls used, where it focuses in on every day life with no big overarching stakes.

it'd never be boring because the past three seasons have laid the foundation for character-driven shenanigans from a stacked cast of individualized characters.

you can't tell me phoebe and henry wouldn't cause mayhem together the second roy and ted introduce them to each other. or that trent and ted in a museum together would be anything but an impassioned game of Who Can One Up The Other In Weird Niche References & Jokes. or that the week before a fundraiser event, rebecca would paint ted's nails over a wine night to see which color would best match her dress, all the while ted opens up to her about whatever is on his mind.

a season of domestic, steady life in richmond where ted isn't under this insane "what am i doing here" pressure would be amazing, i think. we'd finally see what ted is like when he's settled in and relaxed without the strain of living away from henry. what would his home decor choices be? does he teach henry how to bake biscuits? how does he show up for his found family outside of the role of Coach?

i think it would be interesting to see how the other characters operate outside of the Football Club backdrop, too. do will and leslie go to more jazz clubs together? what does dani do on his days off? have moe and beard ever accidentally run into each other on a night out?

there's so much potential there to keep building up the richmond lore & world & relationships

[samwpmarleau]

genuinely wanting someone who hated the james tartt sr. story to explain (not putting u on the spot, others feel free to weigh in!) — in what way is showing a character has chosen to go to rehab & smiling once = redeeming that character ?

i literally feel like people complaining about sr’s “redemption arc” are watching a different show than i am…. having qualms is valid but i don’t think redemption is what anyone was going for here.

Requisite disclaimer that this is just my opinion. Others may have their own.

Putting this under a cut because it's long.

I don't think he was redeemed — in my eyes, he's way beyond redemption — but I think the show clearly wants us to view him as such. Which is an issue because there's absolutely no foundation for it. The last we saw of James, he was humiliating his son in front of the entire team and, had it not been for Beard (whom James later tried to murder, let's not forget), would have assaulted him. Since then, while we hadn't seen James, we'd heard a story of him: Jamie tells us that when he was 14, James facilitated his rape via a prostitute in a foreign country, which traumatized Jamie so badly that he doesn't even remember the encounter.

To say nothing of the other things we've learned and seen:

Throwing a boot at Jamie's head

Laying into him for having the audacity to score merely the winning assist rather than the winning goal

Constantly calling Jamie soft if he didn't dominate, thereby forcing Jamie to put up walls to protect himself

Impregnating Georgie when she was 16 (let's really hope it was a short relationship because oh wait, the age of consent in England is 16 so if they were in a relationship any earlier, James would be a statutory rapist twice over)

Abandoning her and Jamie shortly after Jamie was born

Many many more things we're not privy to

James is a piece of shit, to put it mildly. That's what they told and showed us throughout the first 33 episodes of the show. The incident at Wembley, and James in general, hadn't so much as been mentioned since it happened, not even in the episode in which they played Man City, let alone hints that James suddenly had a come-to-jesus moment.

Then we get to 3x11, and Jamie is having an identity crisis and two near-panic attacks — one of which causes him to faint — because he's spent half his life doing what he did out of anger at his father and to prove himself, and he now has to face what happens when those motivators are no longer there.

He goes to his mother for comfort and advice, which she gives to him, and it's great advice! She tells him that he's an amazing person, that his worth isn't derived from his father, and that James isn't going to change so Jamie shouldn't be torturing himself with hope. All of that coincides with everything we'd seen up until then, and is headed for a sad but important message: sometimes people don't change. Sometimes people won't love you or give you their approval. Sometimes you do need to cut ties with someone, even if that someone is your parent. It's okay to not forgive them or come to a nice rosy conclusion with them, and that you can move on without doing so.

And what does the show do? It has Ted — Ted who is projecting like hell, Ted who thinks every parental situation is the same, Ted who has absolutely no business butting in on something like this, Ted who has already given Jamie shitty advice before — telling him to "just forgive him." Which not only sets Jamie up for falling right back into James's abusive cycle but completely obliterates what Jamie's mother said. Instead of her experience and relevance leading to good advice, the show tells us she was wrong and heartless, that Ted is the one to listen to. Additionally, it tells us that Jamie can't be his best self unless he forgives and reconnects with James.

(Ted also frames this as Jamie letting go of his anger. Which is a rather strange thing to be a lightbulb moment for Jamie, considering that wasn't his problem. He himself said earlier in the episode that he feels so lost because he doesn't have that anger — he has indifference. Jamie didn't need a releasing of anger or forgiveness for his dad, he just needed clarity and guidance.)

Then, it shows us James in rehab. To which I say: since fucking when??? What had we seen or heard from James that would ever indicate he'd go to rehab? Worse, it shows us James nearly crying with pride and love for Jamie (oh, can't forget Denbo and Bug either and their "His dad would've been proud" nonsense). Since fucking when??? James has NEVER shown pride or love for Jamie. Jamie has only ever been a source of clout for him. FFS, he gleefully cheered against him at Wembley!

To say nothing of the fact that James's alcoholism was a symptom, not the disease. Alcoholism doesn't make you the sort of person to do all of the horrific things James did. It may have made things worse, but it didn't cause him to do them and getting clean doesn't magically make him into a good person as the show implies.

All of which I still would've hated but could have probably accepted, were it not for the text. Fine, have Jamie forgive him (ugh). Fine, have James in rehab (maybe I'll pretend it was court-mandated).

But then they have Jamie — Jamie who doesn't even know James is in rehab, the last memory he has is of 2x08 — actually reconnect. They even show that he's deleted the quotes he used to have around James's name in his phone. Jamie says it's "been awhile," that he hopes he's okay, and smiles after sending it. The implication being that he and James will reconcile and perpetuate the bullshit that family is family no matter how abusive they are and you can't not keep ties. What the fuck. Jamie should not have to do that, and the SHOW certainly should not present that message.

It's harmful, repulsive, puts Jamie in harm's way, and I really fucking hate it.

[rockatanskette]

You know what? Fuck it.

Girl Dinner

Carme Ruscalleda i Serra, who holds seven Michelin stars across her three restaurants in Catalonia and Japan, known for bringing traditional Catalan cuisine to an international audience.

Mashama Bailey, winner of the 2022 James Beard Award for Outstanding Chef and Chairwoman of the Edna Lewis Foundation, which preserves and celebrates the history of African-American cookery.

Zineb "Zizi" Hattab, the first vegan chef in Switzerland to be awarded a Michelin star for her restaurant KLE in Zurich; her cooking is noted for its intense flavors and complex balanced dishes in a casual setup.

Girl Math

Maryam Mirzakhani, who won the Fields Medal (the most prestigious award in mathematics) in 2014 for her work on the dynamics and geometry of Riemann surfaces.

Hee Oh, Vice President of the American Mathematical Society, who has worked extensively on counting and equidistribution for Apollonian circle packings, Sierpinski carpets and Schottky dances.

Svetlana Jitomirskaya, who co-solved the Ten Martini Problem in 2019 and won the Dannie Heineman Prize for Mathematical Physics in 2020.

Girl Economics

Esther Duflo, co-founder of the Abdul Latif Jameel Poverty Action Lab at MIT, professor of Poverty Alleviation and Development Economics, and co-recipient of the 2019 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences.

Mariana Mazzucato, chair of the World Health Organization's Council on the Economics of Health for All and member of the United Nations' High-Level Advisory Board on Economic and Social Affairs.

Gita Gopinath, deputy managing director of the International Monetary Fund, awarded the Pravasi Bharatiya Samman award in 2019 for her work as an economics academic.

Girls* are fucking rad actually. Pay them the respect they're due.

*This statement enthusiastically includes trans girls and women. Bigots kindly fuck off.

[importantwomensbirthdays]

Alice Waters

Alice Waters was born in 1944 in Chatham Borough, New Jersey. In 1971, Waters opened Chez Panisse, the first farm to table restaurant in the US. In 1992, the James Beard Foundation named her the "Best Chef in America", making her the first woman to achieve this honor. Waters also established the Edible Schoolyard Project, which has created food education programs in over 5,000 schools.

Image source: US Department of State

[rockislandadultreads]

Black History Month: Biographies & Memoirs

Notes From a Young Black Chef by Kwame Onwuachi 

By the time he was twenty-seven years old, Kwame Onwuachi (winner of the 2019 James Beard Foundation Award for Rising Star Chef of the Year) had opened - and closed - one of the most talked about restaurants in America. He had launched his own catering company with twenty thousand dollars that he made from selling candy on the subway, yet he’d been told he would never make it on television because his cooking wasn’t “Southern” enough. In this inspiring memoir about the intersection of race, fame, and food, he shares the remarkable story of his culinary coming-of-age.

Onwuachi’s love of food and cooking remained a constant throughout, even when he found the road to success riddled with potholes. As a young chef, he was forced to grapple with just how unwelcoming the world of fine dining can be for people of color, and his first restaurant, the culmination of years of planning, shuttered just months after opening. A powerful, heartfelt, and shockingly honest story of chasing your dreams - even when they don’t turn out as you expected - Notes from a Young Black Chef is one man’s pursuit of his passions, despite the odds.

On the Other Side of Freedom by DeRay Mckesson

In August of 2014, twenty-nine-year-old activist DeRay Mckesson stood with hundreds of others on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, to push a message of justice and accountability. These protests, and others like them in cities across the country, resulted in the birth of the Black Lives Matter movement. Now, in his first book, Mckesson lays out the intellectual, pragmatic political framework for a new liberation movement. Continuing a conversation about activism, resistance, and justice that embraces our nation's complex history, he dissects how deliberate oppression persists, how racial injustice strips our lives of promise, and how technology has added a new dimension to mass action and social change. He argues that our best efforts to combat injustice have been stunted by the belief that racism's wounds are history, and suggests that intellectual purity has curtailed optimistic realism. The book offers a new framework and language for understanding the nature of oppression. With it, we can begin charting a course to dismantle the obvious and subtle structures that limit freedom.

The Beautiful Ones by Prince 

Prince was a musical genius, one of the most beloved, accomplished, and acclaimed musicians of our time. He was a startlingly original visionary with an imagination deep enough to whip up whole worlds, from the sexy, gritty funk paradise of “Uptown” to the mythical landscape of Purple Rain to the psychedelia of “Paisley Park.” But his most ambitious creative act was turning Prince Rogers Nelson, born in Minnesota, into Prince, one of the greatest pop stars of any era.

The Beautiful Ones is the story of how Prince became Prince - a first-person account of a kid absorbing the world around him and then creating a persona, an artistic vision, and a life, before the hits and fame that would come to define him. The book is told in four parts. The first is the memoir Prince was writing before his tragic death, pages that bring us into his childhood world through his own lyrical prose. The second part takes us through Prince’s early years as a musician, before his first album was released, via an evocative scrapbook of writing and photos. The third section shows us Prince’s evolution through candid images that go up to the cusp of his greatest achievement, which we see in the book’s fourth section: his original handwritten treatment for Purple Rain - the final stage in Prince’s self-creation, where he retells the autobiography of the first three parts as a heroic journey.

My Time Will Come by Ian Manuel

The United States is the only country in the world that sentences thirteen- and fourteen-year-old offenders, mostly youth of color, to life in prison without parole. In 1991, Ian Manuel, then fourteen, was sentenced to life without parole for a non-homicide crime. In a botched mugging attempt with some older boys, he shot a young white mother of two in the face. But as Bryan Stevenson, attorney and executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative, has insisted, none of us should be judged by only the worst thing we have ever done.

Capturing the fullness of his humanity, here is Manuel's powerful testimony of growing up homeless in a neighborhood riddled with poverty, gang violence, and drug abuse - and of his efforts to rise above his circumstances, only to find himself, partly through his own actions, imprisoned for two-thirds of his life, eighteen years of which were spent in solitary confinement. Here is the story of how he endured the savagery of the United States prison system, and how his victim, an extraordinary woman, forgave him and bravely advocated for his freedom, which was achieved by an Equal Justice Initiative push to address the barbarism of our judicial system and bring about "just mercy." Full of unexpected twists and turns as it describes a struggle for redemption, My Time Will Come is a paean to the capacity of the human will to transcend adversity through determination and art - in Ian Manuel's case, through his dedication to writing poetry.

[swordbisexual]

Hello James Beard Foundation I have a nominee for your consideration

[brostateexam]

The mob has reached the vestibule. It’s 5 pm on a Thursday and the staff of Superiority Burger waits with  palpable tension, a battalion line bracing for assault. There is always a New York restaurant of the moment, but there’s something in the air here, something more than lingering post-Covid hunger FOMO, or the fact that this is the first intoxicatingly warm night of spring, the cherry and crabapple trees in bloom across the street in Tompkins Square Park, and Avenue A doing a surprising impression of Bourbon Street. There’s the usual animal kingdom of trend-chasers lined up outside the new restaurant, in the space that previously housed the legendary Ukrainian diner Odessa Restaurant: the bullies, the beseechers, the selfie-takers. But it’s hard not to detect an extra vibe. Call it an April-appropriate mixture of memory and desire. 

Brooks Headley dons his trademark paper soda-jerk hat over close-cropped white hair. He’s no stranger to running the kind of restaurants that people want, or need, to get into—not least Superiority Burger’s  original incarnation. That was the tiny storefront, barely two-and-a-half blocks away, he opened in 2015—with all of six seats (they had fold-down desk-like tables) and six menu items, all vegetarian. It was an instant sensation; Eater sent in three critics on the first day. No doubt Headley’s bio helped: The D.C.-area-born hardcore-punk drummer for bands like Born Against and Universal Order of Armageddon, who became the executive pastry chef at the four-star Italian restaurant Del Posto, won a James Beard Foundation Award, and then abandoned those lofty heights to sling veggie burgers. 

Almost immediately after opening, SB’s tight focus gave way to a frenetic and inventive rotation of specials, all executed in impossibly tiny facilities. “We outgrew that space on day two,” Headley says. It was big enough to attract a cult following though, and a kind of rag-tag community, from the East Village and beyond, who made a ritual of trucking the paper food boats containing Headley’s latest creations over to Tompkins Square Park to eat. Notably this fan-base seemed to include nearly as many omnivores as vegetarians, presaging a nationwide shift toward plant-based fast food and “vegetable-forward” dining. Here was vegetarianism—even veganism, if you could forego the Del Posto-level gelatos—served without sanctimony or sacrifice. It is at least in part due to Headley’s groundwork that the hottest opening in New York being vegetarian is no longer its first, second, or third most notable feature. 

[wheelscomedyandmore]

"See him once, and he catches your eye. See him again, and he catches your eye, puts it in a cage, gives it a name and keeps it as a pet. We don't want to say what happens when you see him a third time."

- Adam Sternbergh, co-author, "Hey! It's That Guy!"

Some actors work a lifetime to perfect what Vincent Schiavelli could do with a glance. This wasn't because of his acting ability — though he was a fine actor. Schiavelli had the countenance of a melting clock, the hooded eyes of a serial killer, the smile of someone who might be off his medication. It was a curse he forged into a career. By the time Schiavelli died of lung cancer in 2005, he had starred in 150 television shows and movies, usually as a hit man, a madman or a mad scientist. He was name you couldn't remember with a face you couldn't forget.

His looks were at least partly attributed to Marfan Syndrome, a genetic defect that affects the connective tissue of the body. Those who have Marfan — and Abraham Lincoln is considered to be one — tend to be very tall and loose-jointed, with limbs disproportionate to the rest of the body. Schiavelli, all 6-foot-4 of him, was an honorary co-chair of the National Marfan Foundation, and would speak to youth about the disorder.

You can only imagine what the audition was like for his breakthrough role in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" (1975) Schiavelli probably just walked in, all limbs and nose, and they put him in a mental institution. It's a credit to his talents — honed at New York University's Tisch School of the Arts, where he met "Cuckoo's" director Milos Forman — that Schiavelli wasn't trapped in the asylum. In fact, he played comedy more than creepy, in films like "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" (1982) and "Better Off Dead" (1985). In addition, Schiavelli won a James Beard Foundation journalism award in 2001 for a Los Angeles Times article on Sicilian cooking. (Fox News)

Happy Birthday, Vincent Schiavelli!