#kitchen manners

[mayasdeluca]

MAYA AND CARINA STATION 19: 7x04 'Trouble Man'

[deimosatellite]

laughing again abt the Acesan Kitchen Bit bc like ofc ace was totally hitting on him but sanji on the other hand probably wanted to kiss ace on the mouth when he asked if he needed any help with cooking bc like. YOU KNOW NONE OF THE STRAWHATS HELP AROUND THE KITCHEN sanji was like what you want to. help me cook. you . what .

[ahedderick]

Manners matter. maybe.

Now that Son has moved out, we have family dinner on Monday nights. This includes Roommate. Last night I was reflecting on this, in comparison to dinners that I grew up with.

My parents managed to somehow occupy both ends of the spectrum of parenting. Practically speaking, this meant that one day I'd be a beloved child, so smart, so good looking, have a cookie, we'll buy you a pony - followed by screaming abuse, curses, I was the worst, most Ungrateful Childe ever, silent treatment. And so on and so forth.

They also had a sort of two-pronged approach to life in general. We lived on a farm, raising beef cattle. Being barefoot and mud-smirched in the garden, or in heavy boots, smeared with blood and cow manure in the barn, went side-by-side with expectations of perfect grammar and enunciation, Emily Post table-settings and manners, and the highest grades in school. It was, in a word, very weird. And honestly, the emphasis on elegant table manners, matching silverware/tableware/glasses, etc never really sat well with me. Manners at that level always struck me as ridiculous and fake. Especially in a damned farm kitchen.

Anyhoo. This is in my mind as I regard my own table. The plates matched, almost. Cups and silverware were a random assortment. Son was talking animatedly to my husband about forestry, K and I were chatting (my elbows were on the table, as they often are), and Roommate was hunched over his plate moving his fork up and down like a sewing machine needle. Ten hour shifts welding; he's hungry. Everybody was happy, engaged, and getting full of nutritious food.

That. That was all that mattered.

[scoringeffects]

nonsense mattyjo Because one day i will write something terribly romcomish regarding them but today is the day for this

Jo knows he’s rambling. Knows Matty can’t possibly give a shit about the prequels. But he’s still talking, and Matty’s still listening. He’s pretty drunk though, flushed and swaying with it. Jo could feel bad about effectively taking advantage like this, but the more he talks, the more Matty leans in, and Jo feels awfully addicted to the way Matty's eyes blink at him.

“And the CGI is pretty goofy, right, even for the early 2000s, but I think it adds to the ch–”

“You’re really pretty, Joey, you know that?”

“What?” Jo says through a laugh, to give Matty his chance to clarify what the hell he’s talking about.

“Like you have your eyes and your hair and,” he reaches out clumsily, “your sticky-out ears, and your smile, Joey, holy shit bro.”

“Matty–”

“Joey–”

“Matty, bud, I think it’s time we get you home, yeah?”

“No,” Matty pouts, and Jo desperately wants to kiss his bottom lip, red and slick, but they’re in a bar and Mitch is close enough that he certainly heard all of that and is certainly pretending that he didn’t, rambling rapid-fire to Auston about the PK, or something, and Matty probably didn’t even mean it in a gay way, because he’s not. Gay, that is. 

“Yeah, bud, we should, I’ll close the tab and get an Uber to JT’s place, okay?”

Matty pouts some more, mumbles something about surviving two years of college well and good, but goes easily with Jo when he hauls him out the booth.

“Woller, I’ve got the tab, don’t worry, just get him home safe,” Auston calls to him, breaking out of whichever spell Mitch had him under for just a second.

“Aye aye, Cap,” Matty answers for him, and earns an eye-roll from the table for it.

“Yeah, yeah, funny guy,” Jo mutters under his breath to him as they leave. Matty’s fucking heavy, but he mostly holds himself up until they’re outside, and then lets himself be propped up against the brick when they’re outside, leans on Jo a bit. The crisp air might do something to sober him up, the huddle of smokers a couple feet away from them might not.

“You think I’m funny?” Matty asks, while Jo’s trying to get an Uber to accept his request.

He’s a little distracted, still tipsy, when he answers, a little too honest, “‘Course I do, bud, you know you always make me laugh.”

Matty nudges his head against Jo’s, like a cat, “Everything makes you laugh,” he mumbles, frowning a little, “but you think I’m a funny guy?”

“You wanna be special, Matty?” Jo teases him, tipping his head back. Matty’s hair is terribly greasy, but his cheek radiates warmth, and the rest of his body, pressed tight against Jo’s shoulders through hips through knees and ankles, is solid, dense, and burning hot.

“Hey, can we go to your place?” Matty asks, sticking his nose in Jo’s phone and blinking at the pending Uber request, “I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

“I’ll make you waffles,” Jo counters into Matty’s greasy head, cancelling the request for Matty’s place and putting his own instead.

“Real ones,” he demands, pulling away from his phone, speaking clearer than he’s been for the past hour, “not the protein ones.”

“Picky,” Jo elbows him, instead of saying something insane like, yeah, bud, always, anytime you want.

[lazy-toad]

btw if you come into someone else's kitchen and start fucking vaping in there without even standing by the window I should be allowed to hunt you for sport

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[cobra-creampuff]

people who see someone frantically shoving food into their mouth and think they're rude or gluttonous or whatever are... well "unspeakably naive" is the nicest possible way to phrase it.

[sockowl]

Kale bean soup, caramelized onion biscuit with melted cheddar, and a fresh local peach Kale, bok choi, pinto beans,and chickpeas in the soup. Heavily modified Thug Kitchen Bad Manners' Chickpea Dumpling Soup. These NYT biscuits, subbed canola oil for butter (again), hand-formed instead of cut

[bogkeep]

first week back at school and ahhhhhh everything is a little overwhelming currently

- my living space is full of boxes i have simply not had the energy to unpack at all.... hopefully this weekend (but i have also been invited to a Social Event so WE SHALL SEE)

- this school year is going to have So Much Important Stuff happening inbetween the many weeks of practice placement

- such as The Academic Text

- AND i need to finish the big project i was supposed to have finished ages ago

- our teacher this year speaks swedish with a very thick french accent and i speak norwegian with a dialect, we really struggle to understand one another but maybe hopefully that will change over time.... please...........

- i'm stressed about Stupid Bureaucracy Stuff

- and im so so sleepytired :(((

- and it's too humid and warm for comfort :(((((

AT LEAST I HAVE CUTE SOCKS

purchased in a distraught jetlag haze and subsidized by my travel insurance. they're my favourites now

[cealesti]

society will never advance as long as the discourse on self-insert characters or character/reader fics is focused solely on "it's not cringe!!! write whatever you want uwu" rather than emphasizing "bitch learn how to fucking TAG oh my god"

[good-beanswrites]

Could I request "cooking is an art form" with mahiru and presumbly orekoto? I read your Night drabble of those 2 and now the idea of a potential friendship has been stuck in my mind for days, that was probably the sweetest interpretation of him I've seen! Mahiru can't cook in the current state she's in though so I guess orekoto could act as her hands...?

Ah thank you so much!! I was so worried about doing Orekoto justice, that's so exciting you enjoyed 😭 We still don't have a ton of characterization for him, so bear with me, but I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request -- with food playing such an important role in Mahiru's story/symbolism, and the pair's unique relationship, this made me so crazy to think about !!!

The knife twirled through Mikoto’s hands. He brought it down with a grunt. Emotion pulsed through his veins. He went back for another swipe, much harder than necessary. He wiped spatter from his face.

“You’re making a mess.” Mahiru observed from behind. 

He glanced back to find her scowling at the tomato he was taking out his frustration on. “Who gives a shit? We’re not on cleanup duty.” 

He wasn’t supposed to be on cooking duty, either. It was Mahiru’s night according to their usual rotation, but she was in no shape to do any physical activity. Mikoto must have volunteered, and also gotten into some fight about it, because now there he stood: angry at an unknown source, full of adrenaline, and worst of all, in charge of tonight’s curry.

“I suppose…” Mahiru said. “I think that’s Muu tonight, I’ll apologize to her later.”

It was unsettling, how she remained positively cheery as she walked him through each step of the recipe, despite her current condition and his bad attitude. Not that he’d ever turn his anger on her. Mikoto approved of her, and that was enough for him. She’d been going through so much at the hands of their common enemy, he wouldn’t say a single thing against her. Even as she tested his temper with her cooking instructions.

“No, no!” With her good hand, she tugged on the side of his uniform. “You have to turn the carrot as you cut it. Like -- yes, like that!”

Mikoto rolled his eyes as he did what he was told. “It’s all going to get cooked together anyways, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is! You have to take your time with things like this.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It’s about the process, not just the final product. Cooking is an art form!”

“It’s about the final product to me. I’m fucking starving.” 

She was briefly distracted with the next set of instructions, telling him how to combine everything over how much heat. When she returned to the topic, her lighthearted voice was laced with a bit of desperation. “I mean it, there’s something magical about pouring your heart into something for someone else. Putting in your time. A little finesse here and there.”

“I know what it’s like to do something for someone else -- and there is absolutely no finesse involved. Or potatoes.” He gestured to the cut pieces before dumping everything into the pot over the stove.

“One of the most universal love languages is food, you know? People make meals and treats for their loved ones in every culture, in every time.” 

“They do a lot of other things, too.”

“You went to art school, you understand. This is an expression of yourself!”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s the surest way to help someone!”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

There was a pause. Then a nervous laugh. Then, “yeah.” As she dropped into more uncharacteristic silence, he stole a glance at her. 

Tears poured from her eyes. 

“Mahiru?” Fuck, he didn’t mean to make her cry.

“It is.” she hiccuped. “I thought… I thought it could save him. I made this big meal… I thought… But I was so stupid…”

She buried her face in her hands, offering weak apologies for the sudden outburst. He threw the lid over the pot before stepping back to her.

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don’t cry.” It was a command rather than a comfort. 

She didn’t listen. She just continued sobbing and blubbering on. “It was all stupid, worthless… I should have known…”

He crouched by the wheelchair. There didn’t even seem to be anything wrong, they’d just been talking about food. Why was she such a mess? He gave an impatient sigh. No reaction. What was Mikoto’s nickname for her again? “Listen, Mappi --”

She snapped her head up to look at him. 

Her teary eyes flicked all over his face, making him scowl. “What?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, though her breath still hitched. “Sorry. You said… and well… I thought you’d gone away. I want you to stay.” She took his hand. “You.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you understand me.” 

He did not. Like, at all. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thankfully, she was too talkative not to explain herself. “You love someone very much. That love turned out to be dangerous -- deadly. And you weren’t forgiven for it.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing the wave of emotion that almost overcame her. “And now we’re both getting what we deserve for it.”

“Like hell we are.” He felt the spark of rage again. “Neither of us deserve any of this shit, okay?”

“But --”

“No.” He glared at her. That familiar fire rose up inside him. “I’m tired of all your speeches and optimistic crap. You’re always falling over yourself for others. You’re pathetic. This place is hell, so you need to get your shit together and act like it. You might be willing to forgive the others, you might be able to treat them with that stupid sweetness all the time, but no one’s going to do the same for you. Stop letting them fuck with you.”

She gaped at him. He realized he’d leaned in very close. He prepared himself for more tears, or maybe some cowering away from him. Good. Mikoto didn’t need people like her who would convince him this verdict was deserved. He didn’t need any of these people. It was fine to push them all away.

Mahiru surprised him by leaning over. Her head rested on his chest. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, Mikoto. But… I’ll try.”

His attention was quickly ripped away by a hissing behind him. He yanked himself away from her to run to the curry, which was bubbling and burning and spilling out of the pan all over the stovetop. 

With an outpouring of profanities and clattering of dishes, he cleaned the sad remains of dinner off the burner. When he looked back at Mahiru, she had dabbed at her eyes and composed herself slightly. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll pick something easier you can make instead.”

“Nah, I’ll make more curry. Tell me how much of everything again.” 

“A-alright.” 

His agitation slowly faded as she began her gentle instructions again. Though he had just tore her apart for it, he was grateful for her patience with everyone around her. He probably could have left, then, seeing how calm the kitchen became. But he wasn’t risking ruining the meal a second time with an unexpected switch. 

And maybe Mahiru’s words still played through his mind.

The food was back on the stove in no time. He stood diligently next to it. They’d lapsed into a content silence. He still didn’t know what had set her off earlier, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

Mahiru had regained her usual bright smile. “Hey, when I get better, I’ll cook something for you, okay? I think you don’t appreciate cooking because no one’s made something special for you before. I want to do that.”

He sneered. “Heh, sure. And I’ll let you in on my preferred art form.” His words were layered with sarcasm. By now, she could guess that included destroying things by putting all of one’s might behind a powerful swing. 

But she giggled, completely unfazed. “Well, friendship is about give and take, right? I’d love to try.”

[piratefalls]

i downloaded the finch app over a week ago and i'm so mad that it's actually helping me get some shit done. helping this fuckin bird grow is the app equivalent to getting gold stars when you complete a task.

[saudebazi]

my mom's college is sooo nostalgic 😭

[rookedcrow]

sleep deprived ro.ok + her sweet tooth + late night attempts to make tiramisu in the kitchen ( so coffee and cocoa and sugar everywhere ) because it can't be that difficult, right? = i know it looks like one of an.toine's grenades went off back there but have a piece of this and pretend you didn't see anything.

[death-rebirth-senshi]

I can be awfully unforgiving of other people's executive dysfunctions considering everything about me

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

having to budget for food an b careful w food an not having a lot of space to put my food can b pretty annoying but when my roomates are throwing away 3/4 of their groceries that i cannot touch it makes me feel like im going insane