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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago

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Writing Reference: Food History

B.C.

10,000 - almonds, cherries, bread, flour, soup

8,000 - wheat ⚜ 7,000 - wine, beer, pistachios, pig, goat, sheep, lard

6,500 - cattle domestication, apples ⚜ 6,000 - tortilla, dates, maize

5,000 - honey, ginger, quinoa, avocados, potatoes, milk, yogurt

4,000 - focaccia, watermelons, grapes, pomegranates

3,200 - chicken domestication ⚜ 3,000 - butter, onion, garlic, apricots

2,737 - tea ⚜ 2,500 - olive oil, seaweed, duck ⚜ 2,300 - saffron

2,000 - peaches, liquorice, marshmallow, pasta, ham, sesame seeds

1,500 - chocolate, vanilla ⚜ 1,200 - sugar ⚜ 1,000 - mangoes, oats, pickles

900 - pears, tomatoes ⚜ 700 - cinnamon ⚜ 600 - bananas, poppy seeds

500 - artichokes ⚜ 400 - pastries, appetizers, vinegar

300 - parsley ⚜ 200 - turkeys, asparagus, rhubarb ⚜ 65 - quince

1st—13th Century

1st Century - chestnuts, lobster, crab, shrimp, truffles, blueberries, raspberries, capers, kale, blood (as food), fried chicken, foie gras, French toast, omelettes, rice pudding, flan, cheesecake, pears in syrup

3rd Century - lemons ⚜ 5th - pretzels ⚜ 6th - eggplant

7th Century - spinach, kimchi ⚜ 9th - coffee, nutmeg

10th Century - flower waters, Peking duck, shark's fin soup

11th Century - baklava, corned beef, cider, lychees, seitan

12th Century - breadfruit, artichokes, gooseberries

13th Century - ravioli, lasagne, mozzarella, pancakes, waffles, couscous

14th—19th Century

14th Century - kebabs, moon cakes, guacamole, pie, apple pie, crumpets, gingerbread

15th Century - coconuts, Japanese sushi and sashimi, pineapples, marmalade, risotto, marzipan, doughnuts, hot dogs

16th Century - pecans, cashews (in India), Japanese tempura, vanilla (in Europe), fruit leather, skim milk, sweetbreads, salsa, quiche, teriyaki chicken, English trifle, potato salad

17th Century - treacle, pralines, coffee cake, modern ice cream, maple sugar, rum, French onion soup, cream puffs, bagels, pumpkin pie, lemonade, croissants, lemon meringue pie

18th Century - root beer, tapioca, French fries, ketchup, casseroles, mayonnaise, eggnog, soda water, lollipops, sangria, muffins, crackers, chowder, croquettes, cupcakes, sandwiches, apple butter, souffle, deviled eggs

19th Century - toffee, butterscotch, cocoa, Turkish delight, iodized salt, vanilla extract, modern marshmallows, potato chips, fish and chips, breakfast cereal, Tabasco sauce, Kobe beef, margarine, unsalted butter, Graham crackers, fondant, passionfruit, saltwater taffy, milkshakes, pizza, peanut butter, tea bags, cotton candy, jelly beans, candy corn, elbow macaroni, fondue, wedding cake, canapes, gumbo, ginger ale, carrot cake, bouillabaisse, cobbler, peanut brittle, pesto, baked Alaska, iced tea, fruit salad, fudge, eggs Benedict, Waldorf salad

20th Century

1901 - peanut butter and jelly ⚜ 1904 - banana splits ⚜ 1905 - NY pizza

1906 - brownies, onion rings ⚜ 1907 - aioli

1908 - Steak Diane, buttercream frosting ⚜ 1909 - shrimp cocktail

1910 - Jell-O (America's most famous dessert)

1910s - orange juice ⚜ 1912 - Oreos, maraschino cherries, fortune cookies

1912 - Chicken a la King, Thousand Island dressing

1914 - Fettuccine Alfredo ⚜ 1915 - hush puppies

1917 - marshmallow fluff ⚜ 1921 - Wonder Bread, zucchini

1919 - chocolate truffles ⚜ 1922 - Vegemite, Girl Scout cookies

1923 - popsicles ⚜ 1924 - frozen foods, pineapple upside-down cake, Caesar salad, chocolate-covered potato chips

1927 - Kool-Aid, s'mores, mayonnaise cake ⚜ 1929 - Twizzlers

1930s - Pavlova cakes, Philly cheese steak, Pigs in blankets, margaritas, banana bread, Cajun fried turkey ⚜ 1931 - souffle, refrigerator pie

1933 - chocolate covered pretzels ⚜ 1936 - no-bake cookies

1937 - Reubens, chicken Kiev, SPAM, Krispy Kreme

1938 - chicken and waffles ⚜ 1939 - seedless watermelon

1941 - Rice Krispies treats, Monte Cristo sandwiches ⚜ 1943 - nachos

1946 - chicken burgers, tuna melts, Nutella ⚜ 1947- chiffon cake

1950s - chicken parm, Irish coffee, cappuccino, smoothies, frozen pizza, diet soda, TV Dinners, ranch dressing ⚜ 1951 - bananas foster

1953 - coronation chicken ⚜ 1956 - German chocolate cake, panini

1957 - Quebec Poutine ⚜ 1958 - Instant ramen noodles, crab rangoon, lemon bars ⚜ 1960s - beef Wellington, green eggs and ham, red velvet cake

1963 - black forest cake ⚜ 1964 - Belgian waffles, Pop Tarts, Buffalo wings, ants on a log, pita bread ⚜ 1965 - Gatorade, Slurpees

1966 - chocolate fondue ⚜ 1967 - high fructose corn syrup

1970s - California rolls, pasta primavera, tiramisu ⚜ 1971 - fajitas

1975 - hicken tikka masala ⚜ 1980 - turducken

1980s - Panko, portobello mushrooms, bubble tea, chicken nuggets, Sriracha, Red Bull energy drink, everything bagels

1990s - artisan breads, Jamaican jerk ⚜ 1991 - turkey bacon, chocolate molten lava cake, earthquake cake ⚜ 1993 - broccolini

1995 - Tofurkey ⚜ 1997 - grape tomatoes

21st Century

2002 - flat iron steak, tear-free onions ⚜ 2007 - Kool-Aid pickles, cake pops

2008 - Mexican funnel cake ⚜ 2013 - cronuts, test tube burgers

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#food #writing reference #writeblr #dark academia #spilled ink #literature #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #studyblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #light academia #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing inspo #food history #writing ideas #writing resources #history

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alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody · 4 months ago

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kinktober #21

Chained Up ⛓️ / Silky Soft 💕

One day, in another world not far off, unburdened by such things as “lease agreements” and “student loans,” Marcille and Falin will live closer together. They’ll have a dreamy little two-bed full of plants and terrariums and soft colors, and they’ll take turns cooking dinner and Marcille will volunteer far more often than it’s her turn because cooking is her favorite form of magic and she likes knowing that Falin is well-fed.

But until then, she’s stuck rollerblading across town with a dozen eggs in her backpack, precariously padded by a t-shirt, boxers, sleep socks, and tomorrow’s clothes. The grocery store near Falin’s place isn’t as nice as the one near Marcille’s, and the eggs there are always either sold out or smashed in their cardboard nests, so she’s resorted to bringing her own if she really needs them. Falin won’t eat them on her own, but Marcille can hard-boil the rest while she bakes tonight and keep them in the work fridge for her lunch all week. Her job at the university library — well, that and Falin’s graduate courses — are what brought them together in the first place; Falin is in one of those fancy master’s programs where they pay you to study, which is great because studying is objectively what Falin’s best at. Marcille is a good librarian but a better researcher, but research doesn't pay the bills.

Falin's got an evening class tonight, so Marcille lets herself in with the spare key under the large ceramic frog on the front porch. When they’d found it at a yard sale, its paint was grayish-brown and flaking off, and Falin took it upon herself to repaint it with a startling degree of accuracy as a North American leopard frog.

She throws the eggs in the fridge, peels off her pads, leggings, and hoodie, and takes a quick, brutal shower — Falin has the nicer apartment but the worse hot water system — before changing into her comfy clothes and hanging her skate clothes on the couple feet of clothesline she and Falin rigged on the tiny back porch to air out in the crisp October breeze. Then she ties up her wet hair and sets up shop in Falin’s galley kitchen, separating her eggs, zesting a lemon, and lining up the other ingredients with their corresponding measuring cups and spoons.

She’s made plenty of chiffon cakes by now, and she falls into the rhythm of it as she bops along to the K-pop playing from her phone. While the cake bakes and the rest of her eggs boil, she starts on a whipped cream frosting and adds a packet of the instant vanilla pudding mix Falin keeps around for emergencies to stabilize it.

By the time Falin comes home, the cake is done and frosted and the boiled eggs are safely ensconced in an airtight container, and fortunately the kitchen smells a lot more like the former than the latter. “Surprise!” exclaims Marcille as Falin steps toward the kitchen, and Falin’s face lights with a grin.

“I didn’t know you were coming so early! What’s the cake for? It looks amazing.”

“Special occasion,” beams Marcille. “Guess.”

“It’s not our anniversary,” says Falin, puzzled. “That’s not for another couple of weeks. What’s today?”

Marcille takes her in her arms and pulls her in close. Falin’s current favorite soap is somewhere between basil and mint, green and leafy, and Marcille thinks she always smells like a bright summer day. “A year ago today,” she says, the tip of her nose just brushing Falin’s, “we held hands for the first time.”

“Oh, my gosh,” says Falin, laughing. “On the boardwalk? When I kept falling over on my skates?”

“Yes,” says Marcille, twirling her around. “We did technically hold hands, because I had to keep you upright somehow. And we decided it was technically our first date later! So it counts!”

“It counts, it counts,” Falin agrees. “I just can’t believe you remembered what day that was.” She drops her backpack by the door and kicks off her brown loafers. Her navy slacks hug her plump legs, and her cream-colored sweater has caramel-colored suede patches sewn over the elbows. A slim headband holds her hair back from her face, and she looks so cute and textbook-scholarly that she’s hard to look at dead-on. “Let me change and then we can have cake?”

Marcille nods. “Did you have dinner?” she calls after Falin as she starts down the hall.

“Cake is dinner!” Falin yells back, and Marcille rolls her eyes affectionately. Not that she can really fault her. Falin’s learned by now that Marcille is clinically incapable of serving her just a single slice of cake, and Marcille has learned, to her profound dismay, that Falin is deep in the habit of forgetting about food when she could be doing school instead. Hence the emergency pudding packets, emergency instant mac and cheese cups, and emergency Pop-Tarts in the cabinet. Marcille has made it her mission to create a life for Falin where she doesn’t have to think about what she’s going to eat because Marcille has already thought about it for her and made it appear in front of her, but it would be a lot easier to do from the same apartment.

While Falin changes, she rinses some blackberries from the farmer’s market in the park nearby and sets them out in a dish, then gets out the sparkling wine she specifically planted in the back of Falin’s musty liquor-and-specimen-but-mostly-specimen cabinet a few weeks ago. Tonight has been in the works for months, not because Marcille feels especially strongly about celebrating minor dates, fun as that is, but because that day on the boardwalk, the two of them dissolving into giggles as Falin lost her balance over and over again, was the day she knew that what she felt for Falin was unlike what she’d felt for anyone else. She wanted to go over every bump in the road just like this for the rest of their lives, hand in hand and laughing.

Falin appears in the doorway just as Marcille is pouring wine into plastic champagne flutes she’s had squirreled away behind the baking dishes for at least a month and a half. She looks resplendent in a white tank top that shows off her pillowy upper arms and incredible boobs and barely covers her wide, plush belly. Her lavender sleep shorts are patterned with little dragonflies and only fall to the tops of her plump, dimpled thighs, and Marcille can see every pink stretch mark, every delicate fold on her soft, creamy skin.

“The wine!” says Falin, pointing, and Marcille yelps as she realizes she’s pouring sparkling rosé all over the table.

“Shit! Ah!” She sets down the wine and dives for paper towels, and Falin grabs the dishtowel from the hook by the sink.

“Well, at least it was cheap wine,” says Marcille, mopping up the spill and tossing the sopping paper towels into the trash. “Sorry, I was momentarily blinded by your beauty.”

Falin beams and does a little curtsy thing with the edges of her shorts. None of these clothes are new, they’re things Marcille has seen her wear a thousand times, but they still take her breath away. The way the shorts tug around the abundant curves of her hips and backside, the little hint of stretch-marked cleavage she can see above the dip of her tank top’s neckline, the way the fabric clings just enough for her to see each roll of Falin’s ample belly when she sits —

“Sit, sit!” says Marcille, scooting the less-full glass in front of Falin and heading back to the kitchen for the cake. “And you’d better eat some blackberries, too, so we can agree that this is a multi-food group meal.”

“Already on it!”

“Good.” Feeling grand despite her new-hire orientation university t-shirt, boxers from the men’s section, and slouchy socks, she carries out the cake and sets it triumphantly in the center of their little folding table. “Voilà!” she proclaims, and Falin gives her a smattering of light applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” she says, taking a bow before ducking back to the kitchen for the cake knife. “All right, say when.”

She makes the first cut into the cake, then moves her knife to signify a larger and larger hypothetical slice.

“Yes,” says Falin blithely when the knife has moved to about a quarter of the way around the cake. Marcille almost drops the knife.

“Really?”

“Sure,” says Falin with an angelic smile. “I didn’t eat dinner. I had a Pop-Tart for lunch. Why not?”

“I packed you lunch!”

Falin shrugs. “I ate it when I got up this morning. I didn’t feel like making something else.”

“I swear to god,” says Marcille, pointing a fork at her playfully. “One of these days I am going to get you eating three meals a day.”

Falin flutters her eyelashes — clumsily, which is all the more endearing. “Please! I would love three meals a day. I just don’t want to make them.”

Marcille grumbles good-naturedly and heaves Falin’s quarter of the cake onto her plate. “Thank you!” Falin chirps, sprinkling blackberries over it.

She cuts herself a slice and waits for Falin to take a bite, and she isn’t disappointed when she does. Falin’s eyes flutter closed, and she makes a soft, tender sound that kick Marcille’s feet out from under her, even sitting down.

“Oh, Marcille,” Falin breathes. “This is so, so good.”

Marcille beams. “Good! The way you looked when you tasted it is the way you make me feel.”

“How did I look?”

Marcille makes what must be a poor approximation of Falin’s pleasure, because Falin bursts out laughing. “Is that how I make you feel?”

“Listen!” yelps Marcille, but she can’t help laughing too. “Just take my word for it, okay? You made a really cute face!”

“Well, you made a really good cake,” Falin returns, taking a tiny sip of sparkling wine. “Oh, that’s nice! Fruity.”

“You’re nice and fruity.”

Falin wrinkles her nose in a laugh, but the gesture is interrupted by a hiccup. “So are you, but you’re easier to swallow.”

Clearly Falin did skip some meals today, because she finishes her chunk of cake in record time and pushes her empty plate back to Marcille. “A little more, please?” she says sweetly, and obviously Marcille says yes.

“Another quarter, or a … half of a quarter?”

“That’s an eighth,” Falin corrects. “But maybe another quarter. I kind of like the idea of eating half a cake. It sounds like it should be hyperbole.”

Marcille, unable to help herself, says, “You sound like you should be hyperbole.”

“Yes,” says Falin, palming her belly where it bumps the edge of the table, “I am subject to amplification, it’s true.”

She grins while Marcille makes disgruntled noises and plates her second piece of cake. Falin takes more blackberries, and she hiccups again when she takes another sip of wine. She tells Marcille how her classes went today, and Marcille tells her about the silent drama two students have been waging by taking out and returning the same novel with notes in it over and over again.

Finally, Falin sets her fork on her empty plate and leans back in her seat, eyes closing happily. “That was so good, Marcille. Thank you.”

“Any time,” says Marcille, coming around to take her plate and drop a surprise kiss on her cheek. “Always. Did you have enough?”

Falin nods, resting her hands on the crest of her belly. “Mmm-hmmm.”

“I’ll wrap up the rest of the cake,” says Marcille, stroking through Falin’s hair. “You go get comfy in bed and we can cuddle for a bit?”

“I’d love that,” says Falin, stretching her arms over her head. One hand on the cake plate, Marcille reaches down with the other to jiggle the soft, perfect roll of belly that falls out from beneath her shirt.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it!” she says, dancing away as Falin laughs and grabs for her hand. “Go to bed! I’ll be right there!”

She wraps the cake at the speed of light and swallows the last of her wine, then practically sprints across the small apartment to Falin’s bedroom. Falin’s propped up on a couple of pillows, which is probably prudent given the amount of cake she just ate, and she looks so lovely, like it’s unfathomable that someone could have even invented the word lovely without first seeing her.

Marcille dives into bed next to her, jostling the mattress enough to make Falin’s body jiggle. “Hi,” she says, brushing her flyaways out of her face. Falin laughs and cups Marcille’s face in one soft, warm hand.

“Hi,” she says. “Come here.”

Marcille cuddles up next to her and leans her head on Falin’s shoulder, one hand creeping under her white tank top. Her belly is so perfectly doughy, soft and springy like the beginnings of bread or buns, and Marcille wobbles gently as she lies against her, breathing in her fresh, green smell and scalp prickling as Falin strokes her hair.

She slips her hand just below the line of Falin’s sensible cotton underwear, where there’s the silkiest slip of skin Marcille has ever had the mind-melting pleasure of running her fingertips over. She sighs gently, and Falin’s body moves with a laugh.

“Did you find the spot?”

“Yeah,” says Marcille dreamily. She runs her hand down Falin’s thigh, carefully squishing the thick, dimpled fat at their backs, then walking her hand back up so she can start again. “Your body’s so good. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” says Falin, pulling one of Marcille’s hands up to kiss the back. “I love that you remembered which day we first held hands. That was a really nice day.”

“Yeah, it was.” Marcille idly plays with the soft flab of Falin’s upper arms. “I could have sat at that little ice cream shack with you forever.”

Falin nods. “I barely even noticed how cold it was because I was having so much fun with you.”

Marcille nuzzles her face into Falin’s arm. “You were the one who suggested ice cream!”

“It’s never too cold for ice cream!”

“Okay, okay, fair.” Marcille rubs her socked feet against each other, trying to warm them up a little. “Hey, I know there’s still a while before your lease renews, but —”

“But you want to move in?” asks Falin, eyes bright, and Marcille nods.

“I know we sort of talked about it a few times, but I didn’t want to —”

“Yes!” says Falin, sitting up a little straighter. “Yes, yes. Even if I have to pack everything up and find somewhere new, I want you to be with me.”

Marcille feels like that bottle of sparkling wine, thrilling and fizzing with pleasure. “Perfect,” she says, snuggling close to Falin. “I can’t wait.”

#feedist kinktober #feedist kinktober 2024 #my fic #my writing #dungeon meshi #marcille x falin #chubby falin #farcille #silk chiffon.mp3

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