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thebrethrenpost · 2 years

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Things I will take home. #Thailand Edition 🇹🇭

Thailand is actually the Philippines if you’re going to convert everyone to Christianity. Instead of Chapels and Cathedrals, You will see Temples and Palaces. People are hospitable, kind and beautiful. It didn’t take long before I felt like I’m still at home despite the foreign land.

People even talk to me in Thai as if I’m a native there. I always say “C̄hạn mị̀ k̄hêācı”(I don’t understand) and “C̄hạn pĕn khn filippins̄̒” (I’m Filipino). Yet of course that is not a hindrance for me to learn the language even for a short stay. I manage to make conversations, mostly with Massage Therapists and 7/11 cashiers. My wife isn’t much of a talker so I took on the advantage to look like a wandering idiot in learning the language. I use on-the-spot google translate if I struggle to express myself and whatever means to improve my communication with them. In the conversation I had, there are some things that I observed and learned that surely I will take home.

People in Thailand are Very Tolerant

There were times when I share the same frustrations when police and tourist security call out foreigners for innocently not following the rules in the temple. Though these things are unintentional, telling people what not to do over and over again can be very annoying - At least from my perspective. There was one time my wife and I were eating out. The street store ran out of rice so I just agree to eat the food without it. Little did I know that the things I order needed rice. (Asian countries. DUH) A young man's vendor told me about something I didn’t understand while pointing at the 7/11 store.

Vendor: “lays... inaudible”

Me: *Nods and smile as if I understand what he said*

Vendor: “lays... 7/11... inaudible”

Me: “Ha? what?” (started to get confused about what’s going on)

Vendor: *starting to get frustrated, tried to find the menu*

When the vendor started to look for the menu it was then I realized he was talking about rice available in the 7/11.

Me: “OHHHH.. R-I-C-E”

Vendor: “Yes, Rays!” *happily expressed with relief*

I was about to go into another trouble because I was about to ask the 7/11 cashier where I can find the rice. But the vendor, knowing I don’t communicate well despite my English, join me in the store and pointed out where the rice was located.

I was very impressed and grateful for the tolerance of that young vendor in enduring my language barrier so that I can enjoy eating my Thai food properly.

Other than the young man, I’ve experienced many times when Thais were very patient in dealing with me just so they can understand me. I’m grateful to the Pad Thai cook for waiting for me to respond in Thai via Google translate on what I want just to give me salt for free. I’m also grateful for the 7/11 cashier who was also trying to communicate with me by pointing to the toaster if I want my wife's Ham and Cheese sandwich cooked. And many other events.

The Kingdom of Freedom

For an authoritarian government, the Thai people are one of the most liberating people I’ve ever met. They are open to beliefs and topics that most countries are against “i.e. gender identity, marijuana, religious freedom, etc..” At some point, they manage to come to peace with people by learning how to deal with them. Despite having a Monarchy as the central power of government. Thais are free to express their gender identity, religion, and other perspectives. Of course, there are still certain topics that are controversial, especially in politics and other issues yet the people are not as polarized as in other countries.

Thailand is one of the countries that weren’t colonized. This may explain why Thai people are very proud of their country and their Monarch. And with still lasting sovereignty, they have the power to have freedom on their choices on principle and policy.

To Be Fluent, Lose The Accent.

In the 5 days of my travel to Thailand, there are many things that I find different yet fascinating. One of which is language. Like literally the language, not only do they have different characters, but they also have different ways of saying it in English. “Eat in” instead of “Dine In”. “Looking for you” instead of “Where are you?”. And yet, perhaps the most extraordinary thing for me was the accent. Being Filipino, I can speak English in an american accent and that’s the most fluent accent you can hear. But going to Thailand, it’s different. It’s not understandable and I tried.

In order for them to understand me, I must lose the accent. “We is tren stasion” Where is the Train Station) “sevew-eleven” (7/11) “no have” (I don’t have). “have” (There is, I have, Available). In a land where people speak, act and live differently, it is obvious that they have their own way of expressing things differently. And setting a standard for them so that you can be universally understood will just likely make them feel isolated and foreign.

I’m excited to go back to Thailand and I will definitely miss the memories of the first foreign country I’ve set foot on. I’m grateful for the learnings and experiences that I gained there. Truly, these are the things I will take home.

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doanchaoc · 2 years

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All About Vietnamese Cold Cuts, Deli Meats, and Sausages

When you think of Vietnamese cuisine, what comes to mind? Pho? Banh mi? Spring rolls? While these dishes are certainly some of the most well-known examples of Vietnamese food, they're far from the only ones worth trying. In fact, one could argue that some of the best dishes in Vietnamese cuisine are those that make use of the country's delicious cold cuts, deli meats, and sausages.

Read on to learn more about these delicious ingredients and how to use them in your cooking.

Vietnamese Cold Cuts, Deli Meats, and Sausages 101:

Vietnamese cold cuts, deli meats, and sausages come in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, and flavors. The most common types are listed below:

Cha lua: A type of pork sausage that is often served as an appetizer or banh mi filling. It is made with ground pork, fish sauce, sugar, garlic, and spices.

Chorizo: A spicy pork sausage that is popular in Hue-style dishes. It is made with ground pork, garlic, chili pepper flakes, and vinegar.

Gio lua: A type of pork sausage that is similar to cha lua but does not contain fish sauce. It is made with ground pork, sugar, salt, pepper, and star anise.

Lap xuong: A type of pork sausage that is popular in southern Vietnam. It is made with ground pork shoulder, salt, sugar, and black pepper.

Mam ruoc: A type of shrimp paste that is popular in central Vietnam. It is made with fermented shrimp paste (mam tom), water, sugar, salt, and chili pepper flakes.

Pate: A type of liver pate that is popular in banh mi sandwiches. It is made with chicken livers (or sometimes duck livers), butter, onion, garlic cloves , Cognac or brandy , Madeira wine , parsley , thyme , bay leaf , clove , nutmeg , white pepper , and salt .

Rau muong: Water spinach that is often used as a banh mi filling or spring roll ingredient. It has a slightly sweet taste and a crunchy texture.

Soai mo: A type of pork sausage that is popular in northern Vietnam. It is made with ground pork belly , shallots , garlic , fish sauce , sugar , black pepper , rice wine , MSG , baking powder , tapioca starch .

One of the more popular sausages is the Vietnamese Blood Sausage.

What is Vietnamese Blood Sausage? Vietnamese blood sausage is a type of traditional pork sausage that is made with pig’s blood, sticky rice, and spices. It is often served as a banh mi filling or an appetizer. It's also an ingredient in the popular dish bun bo Hue. Its flavor is slightly sweet and earthy, while its texture is both creamy and chewy.

What Dishes Use Vietnamese Cold cuts and sausages? Now that you know a little bit more about the various types of Vietnamese cold cuts, deli meats, and sausages available, let's take a look at some of the dishes they're commonly used in.

Below are just a few examples:

Cha gio thit heo quay:

Fried egg rolls filled with cha lua (pork sausage)

Chorizo (spicy pork sausage)

Gio lua (pork sausage)

Lap xuong (pork sausage)

Mam ruoc (shrimp paste)

Rau muong (water spinach)

Soai mo (pork sausage).

Served with dipping sauce on the side.

Banh mi thit heo quay- A banh mi sandwich filled with:

Cha lua (pork sausage)

Chorizo (spicy pork sausage)

Gio lua (pork sausage)

Lap xuong (pork sausage)

Mam ruoc (shrimp paste)

Rau muong (water spinach)

Soai mo(pork sausage)

Pate(liver pate) and vegetables.

Served with pickled vegetables on the side.

As you can see from the above list, there are endless possibilities when it comes to using Vietnamese cold cuts, deli meats, and sausages in your cooking. So next time you're looking for something new to try, why not give one of these delicious ingredients a chance? You might just be surprised at how much you like it!

"If you’re looking for Asian-style Pho soup in Kleinburg, Vaughan, Toronto, Woodbridge, or Hamilton visit TorontoPho.com.

We are a growing Vietnamese restaurant committed to serving authentically prepared Asian Vietnamese foods done right and healthy. Our PHO is a proud creation, alongside so many of our other menu items."

This post first appeared on(https://www.tumblr.com/torontopho/701902675892125696/all-about-vietnamese-cold-cuts-deli-meats-and?source=share&_branch_match_id=1149315064965271335&_branch_referrer=H4sIAAAAAAAAAw3GYQqAIAwG0BOtQSBRt5k6MJou9DPo9vV%2BvQLc42AWLJg1Wl%2BSV4Z3b%2FC7OIsZSfQJek5Fk6pDKbllShODstpJVeWvtMy6rbuE0N8Rrg%2B2AFVRWwAAAA%3D%3D)

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tonkiprima · 2 years

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Dirty land dirty stick

Fanny-BlowerĪccording to one 19th-century glossary of industrial slang, a fanny-blower or fanner was "used in the scissor-grinding industry," and comprised "a wheel with vanes, fixed onto a rotating shaft, enclosed in a case or chamber to create a blast of air." In other words, it’s a fan. It was also once used to refer to holes in watchtowers used by lookouts and guards, or to openings left in the walls of church towers to amplify the sounds of the bells. DreamholeĪ dreamhole is a small slit or opening made in the wall of a building to let in sunlight or fresh air. Their name is apparently an imitation of their alarm call. Standing little more than a foot tall at the shoulder, the dik-dik is one of the smallest antelopes in all of Africa. The origin of its name is a mystery, but one theory claims the beetles are so characteristically aggressive that they can be made to fight one another like cockerels. The cockchafer is a large beetle native to Europe and western Asia. In any case, it’s derived from coque, the French word for a seashell. Cock-bellĪ cock-bell can be a small handbell, a type of wildflower that grows in the spring, and an old English dialect word for an icicle. CockapertĬockapert is an Elizabethan name for "a saucy fellow" according to the Oxford English Dictionary, but it can also be used as an adjective meaning "impudent" or "smart-alecky." 12. ClatterfartĪccording to a Tudor dictionary published in 1552, a clatterfart is someone who "wyl disclose anye light secreate"-in other words, it’s a gossip or blabbermouth. When listed on Indian menus, it goes by the slightly more appetizing name of “Bombay duck.” 10. Like the aholehole, the bummalo is another tropical fish, in this case a southeast Asian lizardfish. A bumfiddler is someone who does precisely that. To bumfiddle means to pollute or spoil something, in particular by scribbling or drawing on a document to make it invalid. In his Dictionary of the English Language (1755), Samuel Johnson described a bum-bailiff as "a bailiff of the meanest kind," and in particular, "one that is employed in arrests." 8. BoobyallaĪs well as being the name of a former shipping port in northern Tasmania, boobyalla is also an Aborigine name for the wattlebird, one of a family of honeyeaters native to much of Australia. Bastinadoĭerived from bastón, the Spanish word for a cane or walking stick, bastinado is an old 16th century word for a thrashing or caning, especially on the soles of the feet. It can also be used as a verb meaning "to deforest," or preparing wooded land for farming. AssartĪssart is an old medieval English legal term for an area of forested land that has been converted into arable land for growing crops. By "spreading their legs, and so stretching the largeness of their skins," he wrote, "they have been seen to fly 30 or 40 yards." Assapanick is another name for the flying squirrel. While exploring the coast of Virginia in 1606, Captain John Smith (of Pocahontas fame) wrote in his journal of a creature known to local tribes as the assapanick. The final – ite, incidentally, is the same mineralogical suffix as in words like graphite and kryptonite. It takes its name from the village of Aktash in eastern Russia, where it was first discovered in 1968. AktashiteĪktashite is a rare mineral used commercially as an ore of arsenic, copper, and mercury. Aholehole is pronounced “ah-holy-holy,” and is the name of a species of Hawaiian flagtail fish native to the central Pacific. If you read that as "a-hole," then think again. Here are 50 words that might sound rude, but really aren’t. Some words really do sound like they mean something quite different from their otherwise entirely innocent definition (a mukluk is an Inuit sealskin boot, in case you were wondering), and no matter how clean-minded you might be, it’s hard not to raise an eyebrow or a wry smile whenever someone says something like cockchafer or sexangle. To paraphrase Krusty the Clown, comedy isn’t dirty words-it’s words that sound dirty, like mukluk.

#Dirty land dirty stick

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buexjeff · 2 years

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Fan Tang among the upper echelon of ABQ’s Chinese restaurants

ABQ Chinese restaurants Ask a dozen locals to name their favorite Chinese restaurant, you might get a dozen different answers. Ask a hundred, then you’ll probably hear Fan Tang in Nob Hill mentioned a few times.

Since opening in 2011, Jason Zeng’s restaurant has become one of the more popular places in town to get orange peel chicken, lo mein noodles and other American Chinese favorites.

Zeng comes from a family of restaurateurs. His grandfather had a restaurant in China and his parents are the founders of Chow’s Bistro in Santa Fe and Albuquerque. While attending UNM, Zeng noticed the relative lack of Asian dining options in the Nob Hill area and saw an opportunity when an historic building on the northwest corner of Central Avenue and Carlisle Boulevard became vacant.

That building is a former gas station built in the 1940s in the streamline moderne style, with rounded corners and a stepped tower rising from the roof.

There’s a small parking lot on the west side of the restaurant, accessed from Central. The entrance, set back from the street, opens on a curving bar with a large menu stretched across three walls behind it. Booths along the windows offer sweeping views of one of Central’s more picturesque intersections.

Like most Chinese places in town, Fan Tang is something of a fusion operation. Dishes like pho and Pad Thai are offered alongside all the American Chinese standards.

The menu stands out for its numerous vegan and gluten-free offerings. Gluten-free Singapore Noodles ($9.99 plus $1 for shrimp or beef), are served for takeout as a thick slab of rice noodles in savory lobster sauce with onions and baby bok choy. As most Chinese food lovers know, lobster sauce doesn’t contain lobster. It gets its name because Cantonese restaurants in North America would use it to cook the pricey shellfish. Fan Tang’s presentation is redolent of garlic and ginger and an infused chili oil that sneaks up and stings you long after the bite. Hidden inside the chewy noodles were a half-dozen sprightly shrimp. I appreciated the addition of an egg cooked over easy, the yolk still runny enough to make a sauce.

Among the signature dishes on the menu, Mapo Tofu ($10.95) is the one most associated China’s Sichuan province, a landlocked region in the southwestern part of the country known for its spicy food. Fan Tang’s version certainly lives up to that reputation. It activates the mucus membranes so decisively, it should come with a small box of tissues. The tofu presents as cubes that yield to a fluffy center that sponges up the molten broth. Served with tendrils of pork, it offers a wealth of heat and umami – all that’s missing is a little crunch. The side of white rice helped subdue the intense flavor and heat. The portion was easily enough for two people.

Coffee Chicken ($11.95), another Fan Tang signature dish, was my go-to at Chow’s Northeast Heights location before it closed back in 1999, so I was eager to revisit it. The bits of stir-fried chicken breast come out the dark brown color of the French roast coffee rub. The sweet sauce balances the coffee’s bitterness in the same way that sugar takes the edge off a shot of espresso. It was missing the promised heat, but the green beans served with it were nicely al dente.

The Chinese have been smoking ducks and eggs and other foodstuffs for centuries as a way to preserve them while adding flavor and fragrance. Fan Tang honors that tradition with its Tea-smoked Beef ($12.95) served with rice and chopped green bell peppers. The meat, smoked with applewood and tea leaves, had an appetizing char and the compelling aroma of backyard barbecues and Chinese spices. The broad, flat strips of meat, however, were mostly tough.

I ordered by phone and the food was ready when I got there 15 minutes later. Servers were friendly and efficient. There was a 3% charge on the bill for using a credit card; I would have preferred a few fortune cookies instead.

Fan Tang serves up big portions with lots of flavor and heat. Its unique menu items and vegan and gluten-free options place it in the upper echelon of Albuquerque’s Chinese restaurants.

#Chinese restaurants

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ashitakaxsan · 3 years

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This Awesome Art Exhibition

Any time I take looks of the manga A Bride’s Story(by Mori Kaoru sama)I don’t take my eyes away.It really impresses me with it’s Lovely,Detailed Art,along with the story’s significance:)

Premise:

” It's the 19th century in a tribal town near the Caspian Sea, Central Asia. People lead simple lives along the Silk Road, believing in various customs and traditions as they have for many years. Amir Halgal is a beautiful 20-year-old woman skilled in archery, hunting, and horseback riding. She has come from a faraway village for an arranged marriage to a charming 12-year-old boy by the name of Karluk Eihon. Due to the large age difference, the relationship between Amir and Karluk is a little awkward initially. However, everyday interactions between the two allow them to develop feelings of love and respect for each other that eventually strengthen their bond. Otoyomegatari follows the daily lives and challenges of Amir and Karluk alongside various other couples across Central Asia, in a beautiful portrayal of the culture and traditions of the brides of the era”.

Now the popular manga is getting its first original exhibition at TOKOROZAWA SAKURA TOWN in Tokorozawa city of Saitama prefecture. The exhibition is hosted by Kadokawa.

Not only the Artwork,but the exhibition will also feature a special lunch menu hearten by Central Asian cuisine,with joint cultural events in cooperation with the representative embassies of Central Asia, and event products designed with original illustrations by the author.

Mori sama left a message about the specific presentation:

"A Bride's Story, set in Central Asia (or Central Eurasia at large), is a region that doesn't get much exposure in Japan. For it to be enjoyed by fans to the extent that I'm now able to share it to an even wider audience through an exhibition makes me very happy.

The exhibition isn't just about the manga, but also an introduction to Central Asian culture. Fans will of course enjoy the show, but even non-readers should have a good time learning about the region and each country's respective culture. Through the manga medium, a manga-ka like me is able to form a distant connection with my reader. With this exhibition however, I hope we are able to close that distance and establish an even deeper connection, even if by a little. The show runs about a month, which is longer than your typical exhibition, so please do give it a visit. I'm looking forward to it too."

My say:Wow,it will be an Interesting Event.I can’t be there,but my heart is tied up with it.

#乙嫁語り #Otoyomegatari #A Bride's Story #manga caps #Mori Kaoru mangaka #森薫 #Central Asia #Caspian Sea #Historical #Drama #Slice Of Life #Amir Halgal #アミル・ハルガル #Karluk Eihon #カルルク・エイホン #Kadokawa

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foulladybasement · 2 years

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#little asian central menu #little asian Kotara #asian restaurant Kotara #delivery and takeaway kotara

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oprerroma · 4 years

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from @terms_of_engagement on Instagram

Transcribed Image Descriptions below the cut

[Image ID: The first panel shows a round icon of the Romani flag which has a red wagon type wheel in the centre, blue in the top half to represent sky and green on the bottom for the land. This icon is on a black banner with the words 'terms of engagement' in white and three little dots beside it for the menu button. 'Terms of engagement' is written as terms (underscore) of (underscore) engagement. The main panel is a cream background with dark blue writing. The title is in a circle and this is surrounded by sketches of sunflowers as well as various wildflowers, some in bloom and some in bud. The name of the blog 'Terms of Engagement' is repeated again as regular text. The title of the panel reads 'Correlations between Witchcraft and Romani Traditions', then in smaller text 'How the spiritual practices of Romani peoples are intertwined with shamanism, stereotypes, mysticism and magic.' End ID]

[Image ID: The second panel is more so in colour. It has a dark blue background and is square. The part with wrting on is styled to look like square graph paper with lots of tiny boxes in blue and made to look as though it were torn out of a notebook with a piece of tape attaching it to the blue backing. Underneath, so to speak, the tape, is a cutting of a wildflower with a green stem and buds and lilac petals. The text, again in dark blue black, reads 'Disclaimer (this is in capitals to emphasis it is a title and important). The following is a brief overview of what is a very long history of not only shamanism and witchcraft but also of the influences it has had on Romani peoples and vice versa. We would like to emphasize that witchcraft and the beliefs of the Romani peoples are not mutually exclusive. Romani communities are diverse in their spiritual beliefs and traditional practices. Historically and today, organized religion exists alongside and in cooperation with the shamanistic spiritual and healing practices of Romani communities. This is neither a commentary on any religion or spirituality, nor is it an expose on what have been and should remain closed practices within the Romani community. This is intended to breakdown the misconceptions that have led to the persecution of Romani peoples for their spiritual beliefs and to encourage those non-Romani who are interested in learning more, how to proceed with caution and respect. The information from this piece has been compiled from both non-Romani and Romani resources, with the emphasis on the insights of practitioners in the Romani community. End ID]

[Image ID: All the following panels are cream with blue black writing and illustration. The third panel is titled 'Historical foundations of witchcraft in Europe'. The illustration is an image of the High Priestess card from the Rider Waite tarot deck. The text reads 'Folk magic has been practiced around the world by many different groups for the majority of human history. From continent to continent, ancient civilizations have employed herbal remedies, divination, cartomancy, astrology and other spiritualistic services as paths to healing. The conquering and expansion of territories and trade routes, triggered a migration of healing peoples from Asia into Europe. Among them were the Romani drabarni/chov'hani. Healers were revered within communities as those who practiced "the people's religion ", providing townsfolk with crucial services to meet their physical, mental and spiritual needs. It wasn't until the 15th Century when the concept of "witchcraft" emerged and transformed the very fabric of society. During this period, there was a socio-political shift from the Christian state viewing folk magic as mere superstition to redefining it as witchcraft. At this time, witchcraft was seen as a "mode" of religion rather than a worldview, placing it in direct opposition to the Christian Reformation and Counter-Reformation. The movement sought to suppress spiritualities and folk magic which threatened power of the state who sought to weaponize spirituality as a means to control, exploit and supervise citizens. The state indoctrinated manifestos like the Malleus Maleficarum, which specifically identified women as "witches" and practitioners of devil worshipping, causing the inquisitions to commence. Efforts to suppress folk magic grew violently quick and quickly violent.' End ID]

[Image ID: The fourth panel shows an image of a Romani woman with dark hair. She is cradling a crystal ball, has bangles on each wrist and is wearing hoop earrings and a headscarf tied in the stereotyped way of a fortune teller, but from its pattern it appears to be a traditional Romani headscarf. Her eyes are closed and she shows an expression of calm focus. Her nails are long and well manicured and her fingers appear to be adorned with many rings. The title reads 'Modern implications of myths and stereotypes'. The text reads, 'The history, practices and influence of Romani healers on European society have long been neglected within the historiography of witchcraft. This has allowed mysticism to guide the public's harmful perception of Romani peoples and their beliefs, placing them in the same category of mythical creatures as fairies, unicorns and mermaids. Those accounts that do exist have been made by outsiders like Charles Godfrey Leland who, like many others in the 19th Century, created a disparaging depiction of the once celebrated Romani healer as synonymous with the archetypal g slur witch. As was done in the past, Romani women were specifically targeted by these efforts, cast as either the poor, haggard and disgruntled witch who curses innocent bystanders or the mysteriously exotic and promiscuous fortune-teller who swindles innocent patrons. Each of these depictions of Romani witches draw on centuries-old stereotypes of criminality, dishonesty, hyper-sexuality and mysticism. In truth, many Romani either assimilated to or adopted the beliefs and practices of dominant religions to avoid persecution. Today, the physical and cultural violation of Romani peoples continues by both the state and its citizens as a result of the perceived and real practices of Romani peoples. Many healers and their communities remain ostracized, struggling to teach the next generation a millenia's worth of traditional practices that are quickly being forgotten to an unwritten history.' End ID]

[Image ID: The fifth panel shows an illustration of flowers on the left hand side, seemingly poppies. The title reads 'Traditional beliefs in the Romani community.' The main text reads 'While biological and linguistic evidence places the Romani people in India near the 11th Century, traditional Romani beliefs mirror ancient Hindu and Buddhist shamanism. At the center of these beliefs is dualism, two opposite and complementary forces that-through ceremony, offerings, practice and prayer, must be maintained. This is reflected in Romani values of purity and impurity (marime), the presence of good and evil spirits, as well as the separation of the inner and outer worlds. Romani traditions emphasize keeping a close connection with creation and paying tribute to the Earth and all its creatures. Other traditions which mirror shamanistic practices in India include the belief in reincarnation and most importantly, the worshipping of a female deity, Sara-la-Kali. In opposition to hierarchy, misogyny, environmental derogation and the centralization of power, Romani beliefs were viewed as an obstruction to the Western colonial project. As there was no one book, place, ceremony, prayer or ritual that is commonly used by Romani peoples to article these traditional beliefs, it was easier for the Christian state to systemically fracture and then violate Romani traditions by correlating it to witchcraft.' End ID]

[Image ID: The sixth panel shows an illustration of a cup and saucer of seemingly porcelain, containing tea or coffee steaming genty. Beside it is a bottle with a vintage illustration of a beehive with the label 'honey'. The title reads 'Modern practices in the Romani community'. The main text reads 'For centuries, Romani matriarchs had passed down traditional practices such as tasseograpy (reading tea leaves), cartomancy (tarot), and chiromancy (palm reading) whose origins are in Asian shamanist traditions. With their migration to Europe in the 14th Century, these practices followed and were shared with royalty and townsfolk alike. Romani peoples began employing these practices as their occupations. Travelling from one countryside to the next, Romani healers not only financially prospered but also were able to build trust and influence local views. Not only did this threaten the Christian state's attempts to financially exploit and impose on community politics but it also allocated too much power to women who were viewed as intellectually and spiritually inferior.To regain power, the state targetted female practitioners, discrediting them by claiming that their witchcraft conjured evil spirits to make townsfolk depedent on hiring them. Since, the practices of Romani peoples have been steeped in wide-spread suspicion, invalidating its practitioners, and undermining women's rights to practice and be paid for their traditional occupations. To this day, tarot, palm reading and other forms of divination are used to both inform personal and community decision-making as well as a form of employment. The state continues to highly regulate witchcraft and the practicing of Romani traditions by forcing healers to register with the government as a business, which many Romani are unable to do and by heavily taxing them on their income.' End ID]

[Image ID: The seventh panel shows illustrations of bunches of herbs in the top section of the frame, tied with string as though hanging from a wooden roof beam to dry. The main title reads 'Healing in the past and present'. The main text reads 'Practitioners used their natural and learned talents for healing to cure sicknesses, assist in births, and promote wellness. Using locally grown plants and animal by-products, healers were able to help prolong the lives of primarily poor townsfolk and other travellers who otherwise did not have the time or resources to see a medical practitioner. The onset of the Great Plague or Black Death was used as an opportunity for the Christian state to further justify the persecution of Romani healers. Having been accused of using spirits to both cure and cause illness, they were gradually ostracized from the communities they once lived and held influence in. What were once considered spells, incantations and elixirs used by Romani healers are now regarded as ointments, herbal teas and medicinal recipes, grounded in a basic understanding of herbology. Through close observation of and respect for the human body, plants and animals, the Romani healers were able to create powerful medicines that are still used to this day, curing everything from a sore throat, to energy imbalances, menstrual cramps and the presence of evil spirits.' End ID]

[Image ID: The eighth panel shows a bunch of thin stemmed wild flowers on the right hand side. The main title reads 'Spiritual appropriation outside of the Romani community'. The main text reads 'Though various shamanistic practices have been intertwined for centuries, there has been an ever increasing rise in the adoption of neo-shamanistic beliefs and practices. While practicing a spirituality that resonates with you is not in itself oppressive, the ways in which they are adopted can be. As seen within other communities that have been exotified for their spiritual beliefs, the Romani peoples have also experienced the harmful appropriation of their tradtional practices. As previously mentioned, Tasseography (reading tea leaves), cartomancy (tarot), and chiromancy (palm reading) are intrinsically linked to the Romani culture and yet, they have been haphazardly adopted without recognition of their importance to the community. Most often, those who have appropriated the practice employ the same deprecating imagery and derogatory narratives that were used and continue to be used to persecute Romani peoples. Perpetuating these false perceptions of what it means to be a practitioner delegitimizes those within the community who have deep spiritual connections and divine gifts. What is most harmful however, is the commodification of these practices. The commodification of these practices by those outside the community not only draws economic opportunity away from a community which disproportionately experiences intergenerational poverty, but it also leads to the exploitation of resources and the unethical acquisition of traditional tools used by Romani communities to practice.' End ID]

[Image ID: The ninth panel shows an illustrated palmistry hand with all the lines and divisions marked. There are also astrological symbols and writing appears to be in Latin, while the wrist of the hand bears a frilly cuff. The main title reads 'Things to consider when practicing'. The main text reads 'Questions to self reflect on: How has your faith contributed to the persecution of Romani peoples? How are you perpetuating stereotypes of Romani peoples through your practice? How do your spiritual practices promote the liberation of Romani peoples? Ethical practice includes: 1. Learn more about Romani history, culture and tradtions. 2. Not seeking out practitioners to educate you on closed practices. 3. Not entering into Romani communities with the intention of learning without their permission. 4. Asking when and where it is appropriate to practice these traditions with Romani people. 5. Not commodifying these practices for your own financial gain. 6. Redistributing the wealth if you have profited off these practices. 7. Standing in solidarity with Romani women who are fighting to practice their traditional occupations. 8. Paying for their labour if you request the services of Romani healers. 9. Using ethically sourced materials from Romani owned businesses. 10. Not exacerbating or endangering natural resources for your personal or commercial practice. 11. Taking caution when using traditional medicines and seeking medical attention when necessary. End ID]

[Image ID: The tenth and final panel shows a sketchy illustration of a table. On it is an open book with its pages fanned out in a semicircle. Beside that is a candle, in an old fashioned holder, dripping wax from the top and casting a circle of light onto the wall. Behind that is a stack of closed books. The main title reads 'Further exploration'. The main text reads 'Romani Practitioners Offering Services and Goods.' This is followed by a number of handles for Instagram. These are as follows: @mihaelamincaoffical @jezmina.vonthiele @schooloftraditionalmagic @thelivingaltar @opulentwitch @shuvanicandleco @snakeandwildroots @primordialsoups (underscore) @baby (underscore) reckless @katelanfoisy @fairybogma @spell aroma. The next piece of text reads 'Media resources' Followed by a list of books, as follows: A Practical Guide for Witches by Ylua Mara Radziszewski, Sara Kali: The Dark Madonna by Mihaela Dragan and Mihai Lukacs, The Appartition of Choxani by Luminita Mihai Cioaba's (this surname uses punctuation to express sounds not found in English I believe. The word with an x is pronounced 'Cho ha nee'). The Romani Goddess Sara Kali by Ronald Lee, Infoxicated Corner: Essay on Romani Poetics, History and Culture by Jessica Suzanne Reidy, We Borrow The Earth by Patrick Jasper Lee, Romani Remedies and Recipes by Gypsy Petulengro, Gypsy Folk Medicine by Wanja von Hausen. The final text reads 'If you are or know of other Romani practitioners or resources that can assist others in learning, please link them in the comment section below.' End ID]

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travelingbytastebuds · 3 years

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NEPAL WHERE: Everest Nepali Kitchen (212 Grande Heights Dr, Cary, NC 27513) It's pretty hard to find an actual Nepal restaurant that isn't just Indian food (since it's so close to India that they share a lot of the same cuisine), but I was able to find one in Cary, North Carolina called Everest Nepali Kitchen. I've been interested in this country ever since I was at Animal Kingdom in Orlando a few years ago because there's a part of that park that is decorated with Tibetan Prayer Flags (probably because it's close to the ride Everest now that I think about it). These flags are used to bless the surrounding countryside and for other purposes and I was actually quite happy to see that the restaurant decorated with them as well. For the appetizer, they brought me some free pretty typical naan bread, which was oddly crispy-- I've had it before when it was more doughy. I'm not sure what kind of dipping sauces they gave me with that, but again, they were all spicy. The green sauce was the best one though. Then for what I actually ordered: I tried the fried momo-- which I love the name of! They are cute little dumplings filled with minced lamb and Nepalese spices. They've been a staple of Nepalese cuisine for centuries and are found in every corner of the country and every restaurant and hotel, big or small. According to Wikipedia, "The food is thought to have been spread by caravan routes connecting the Central Asian steppe to both East and West." It's typically served with sesame yellow and red garlic chili sauces (both of which were too spicy, so I ate most of the momos without sauce). I could just keep popping these suckers in my mouth all day. They were so good. For dessert, I had the gulab jamun, which is more from the entire Indian subcontinent than just Nepal. They were so good though! Little fried milk dough balls soaked in sweet rose water... I don't think I was supposed to drink the saffron and rose water after eating the gulab jamun, but I downed it like the milk you have when you're done with your cereal. Sweet, sticky saffron-y rose water is deliciously diabetes-causing. Then I had the mango lassi, which is again more from the Indian subcontinent than strictly Nepalese. But it's one of my favorite smoothie type drinks and when it's on the menu right in front of you it's always the right call! मलाई मन पर्यो

#gulab jamun #nepal #nepali #asian #travel #traveling #food #cuisine #ethnic food #saffron #Nepalese #lassi #momo #dumplings #north carolina #raleigh #adventures #prayer flags

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

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swarmkeepers · 4 years

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Top 5 Vietnamese dishes?

AAAA AJ what a GOOD QUESTION. nothing against pho or banh mi but if you can get your hands on these I HIGHLY recommend.

5. Tofu pudding - i don’t know if this is vietnamese or just asian? literally just warm soft tofu, a little plastic container of sticky-sweet caramel syrup, and some coconut cream. apparently some of my friends’ parents banned them from eating this bc of the estrogen in soy? but this was go-to dessert every family gathering.

4. Pandan waffle - coconutty, bright green, warm in a paper bag, a buck fifty at the vietnamese deli or at the vietnamese bakery at the mall. so so good and simple. sunday breakfasts

3. Bánh bột lọc - this is childhood breakfast on special saturdays (along with banh nam), tapioca dumplings in banana leaf. we usually had shrimp but bbq pork is my favorite filling for these.

2. Mì quảng - i love pho but this is my all time favorite noodle soup dish, with wide yellow noodles and banana flower and crispy sesame crackers you dip into the broth until they get good and soggy. it’s also a very central region dish and that’s where my family’s most strongly rooted!

1. Bánh khọt - on the menu at my family’s favorite vietnamese restaurant they translate this as “shrimp cupcakes” and idk if i can explain them but they’re crispy-on-the-outside soft-on-the-inside fried half-spheres kind of like takoyaki, with pieces of shrimp and green onion and crispy bits? so so good with a spoonful of fish sauce on top and a lil lettuce wrap around it.

#oooOPS i got carried away #these are all like. not special occasion foods #but they're foods my family never made at home #they're harder to make and therefore Special #these are go-to-vietnam-town foods or get-a-care-package-from-ong-ba foods #at home my parents cooked more fusion #or at least like. quicker #more stuff in the oven for example #which is not very vietnamese #and that's how i cook if i'm cooking for myself #easy stir fries and soups and stuff #but my favorites??? that's these special ones #food #thank you aj this was very fun #sola said #thevalleyisjolly #sola answered

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 4 years

Text

Final Fantasy X Review

Year: 2001

Original Platform: PlayStation 2

Also available on: PS3 and PS4 (HD Remaster)

Version I Played: PlayStation 2

Synopsis:

Tidus is a renown blitzball player in the city of Zanarkand. One day, his mysterious buddy Auron whisks him away to the land of Spira after a massive entity known as Sin attacks Zanarkand. Tidus ventures into Spira, a strange world lacking in advanced technology. There, he finds many uncomfortable truths after joining a pilgrimage with the summoner Yuna.

Gameplay:

I will preface this by saying that this was my very first Final Fantasy game way back when I was like 13. I wasn’t keen on handling RPGs yet so it took me ages to finish. The result was me falling in love with everything about it. Final Fantasy X is the last main Final Fantasy game to feature turn-based combat. One of the coolest features of the battle system in this game is being able to switch characters in the middle of a battle. I missed that afterwards. When I played more Final Fantasy games after this, I kept thinking instinctively that you could switch characters in the middle of battle.

Leveling up is conventional but also introduces a Sphere Grid. You gain Ability Points to progress through a grid where each sphere unlocks a special ability or a higher stat. You can pick different paths along the grids and, typically, by the end of the game you are crossing over other character's grids.

The only truly annoying aspect of playing the game was the sphere puzzles in the temples. Every so often you have to enter a temple and solve a puzzle by placing spheres in the right places. It was so mind-numbing and the irritating music really didn't help either.

Because of how the story is told, the game is much more linear than its predecessors. The bulk of the game is spent journeying on foot across Spira. But don’t worry – there are plenty of secrets and extras to unfold – PLENTY. You eventually get an airship, but instead of flying around a world map you simply pick a destination on a map and you’re there. It sounds lame but the world is already so massive and detailed that Square probably couldn’t fit the graphics of flying around a world map.

Graphics:

The cinematics blew everyone away – because for the first time we have VOICE ACTING! JUST LIKE WATCHING A MOVIE! The voice acting worked really well in this game. It was only ever awkward when Tidus was being, uh, really annoying.

Exhibit A:

youtube

The in-game cutscenes can also be a bit stiff.

Story:

Final Fantasy X was my very first Final Fantasy game – as such, I could be biased in how I feel about it. Or maybe not. I’ve grown to be enough of a dick to crush my own dreams.

The story is completely different than the rest of the series. Completely different. While the rest of the series likes to make references to Western mythology and atmosphere (medieval and industrial settings), Final Fantasy X actually has an East Asian setting. There are no knights in armor or empires fighting rebels or even technological powers like Shinra. There are no witches or wizards. The story and references are quite esoteric, more mysterious and conceptual.

The narrative is radically different from the entire series. For the first and only time (so far), the main character narrates the unfolding events to the audience. After getting sucked out of his homeworld of Zanarkand, Tidus gets caught up in a pilgrimage to defeat Sin. Sin is a massive creature that returns every so often to punish the world for its dependence on technology. (So Sin is basically a kaiju.) A summoner with his or her friends go on a quest to defeat Sin, and the Calm returns for some time until Sin returns.

Spira is probably my favorite Final Fantasy world. It’s beautiful and haunting at the same, sad and bright. You can tell that there was once a great cataclysm but the long years have overridden the past. The rules of the world are so unique. Monsters are explained as the ghosts of people who have not passed on. A summoner this time not only summons great beings (called aeons) but also “sends” the dead away so they can find the Farplane, essentially Heaven. Like I said before, the concepts of Spira are very esoteric and East Asian. While Final Fantasy X does derive influences from Christian concepts (i.e. pilgrimage, priests, doctrines), it just as much references many Japanese and Buddhist concepts (rebirth, wandering souls, sacred temples). Overall, Final Fantasy X’s story is the most religious and spiritual in the entire series.

It’s relatively rare for a JRPG to take on an entire fictional world with a visual design referencing Asian settings. Usually, Final Fantasy and other JRPGs are more obsessed with Western settings (i.e. medieval towns). Spira is ripe with influences from island nations and places like Thailand and Bali.

The major plot twist require you to wrap your head around a bit, but surprisingly nothing is truly complicated. For the most part, you follow the story through the pilgrimage, learn some backstory stuff, and then face the end.

There are several “main” villains. For argument’s sake, and for the sake of not ruining any spoilers, let’s go with Seymour. Seymour is a recurring villain who again ups the ante on the bishonen trend. He’s also the biggest pain in the ass out of any Final Fantasy game. Ask anyone who has played this game and they will get Vietnam flashbacks of fighting Seymour. The bastard keeps popping up every so often to hinder the party’s progress. Seymour may look strange, but don’t let that fool you. He is also seriously one of the most fucked up villains in the entire series.

Tidus is unique in that he is an outsider viewing the story. He tags along and has his own story arc to deal with. Tidus’s story is one of the most personal and relatable. It’s so unique to play as a character who is not a conventional fantasy hero like a thief or a mage or a knight, but a sports celebrity with daddy issues.It’s also unique in that Tidus isn’t even the central character – Yuna is. Yuna is the summoner on a pilgrimage to defeat Sin. Even so, Tidus still plays an important role by falling in love with Yuna, influencing her goals on the pilgrimage.

In retrospect, Final Fantasy IX appears to be a prototype to Final Fantasy X. Tidus is a version of Zidane, except, unfortunately, a bit more annoying when he tries to woo Yuna. Zidane and Garnet’s relationship mirrors Tidus and Yuna’s; both involve an upbeat male trying to woo a reserved, quiet female. Tidus is the temptation to Yuna’s repressed Catholic schoolgirl personality, advising her to loosen up. The existential crisis that Tidus faces is also similar to Zidane’s.

All that being said, Final Fantasy X is my personal favorite in the entire series. It has its flaws, and yes, it’s a sappy romance. But I love it. I fucking love it. I LOVE IT ALL. I love the world. I love the plot. I love the music. I love all the characters. Auron is so fucking cool. Just look at how cool this guy is.

And that ending. Oh man. I really don’t want to spoil anything but at the same time. UNGH. This game. It is poetry. Everybody is a real gangsta until they watch what happens at the end.

Final Fantasy X is probably the most unique out of all the Final Fantasy games. Different didn’t pan out well for Final Fantasy VIII. But for Final Fantasy X – different was good, really good.

Music:

Final Fantasy X does a few things radically different from its predecessors. For one, the series’ main theme isn’t featured. That may sound like blasphemy to some. In retrospect, it might have been a good move because frankly I can’t see the main theme being played anywhere in a story like this. The “Prelude” theme is only briefly featured in an opening menu, but this time it’s given a sick beat that makes you want to dance a little jig.

Alas, Nobuo Uematsu begins to detach himself from full reign of the soundtrack. Two other composers, Masashi Hamauzu and Junya Nakano, also co-wrote a bulk of the soundtrack. While Uematsu composed the main themes of the game, Hamauzu and Nakano composed many of the other tracks. While not everything they did was so different from Uematsu, there are a couple tracks, namely “Assault”, which is distinctly unlike something Uematsu would ever compose. I don’t say this in a bad way at all. The score is still golden. But after Final Fantasy X we see Uematsu depart, and Final Fantasy music starts diving fresh into the unknown.

The pop song for this score is “Suteki da ne”. It’s pretty good although I prefer “Eyes on Me” and “Melodies of Life”.

The HD Remaster soundtrack seems to skewer the original sound of the music. I’ve listened to it and was very displeased by what they did to “Assault”, which was one of my favorite pieces. The original soundtrack has more umph, more pomp and circumstance.

Meanwhile, “Otheworld” is a metal song – a first for the series. It plays in the opening when Tidus plays blitzball, and in one of the final battles. “Otherworld” is frequently misattributed to Rammstein, especially back in the days of Limewire. They had nothing to do with it. Uematsu composed “Otherworld”, and Bill Muir, a lead singer from the metal band xtillidiex, sang it.

Uematsu’s fully orchestrated work on the ending scene is masterful. The emotion behind it brings tears to my eye. It wrecks you, man. It pulls those heartstrings and doesn’t let go. It hurts so good to listen to it and remember how the story ends. It is the most emotional track for the most emotional Final Fantasy ending. It is here where you realize that Nobuo Uematsu could really be a movie soundtrack composer. His craft came full circle here.

Notable Theme:

“To Zanarkand” – the main theme of Final Fantasy X. Beautiful, gentle, and solemn.

youtube

Verdict:

Final Fantasy X is my personal favorite. Final Fantasy VI can objectively be called the best, but I have a soft spot for Final Fantasy X. I admire its unique story and its world. It can be campy and corny at times but I love it overall. Objectively, it’s still of a higher caliber in the series.

Direct Sequel?

Yes. Final Fantasy X-2, or also known as Final Fantasy X-2: For Fangirls Who Couldn’t Handle the Ending to X.

I kid. That was harsh.

But I mean. . .

They gave this Charlie’s Angels vibe with Yuna, Rikku and this new girl Payne.

And like I guess it’s cool but like the tone is soooo campy.

And then they sing and it’s like J-Pop and . . .

Yeah.

This was the sequel.

This was the first Final Fantasy sequel ever made.

And it was. Uh. It was something.

At the time, I could only play about a quarter of the way through before feeling wrong about it. Many critics would agree that it robs the dignity of the original game. I do want to actually try playing it again. I might come into it with a new mind. But. Still. I prefer they leave the original ending untouched.

#final fantasy #final fantasy x #final fantasy x-2 #yuna #tidus #final fantasy tidus #tidus x yuna #square enix #fantasy rpg #jrpg #video games #onvideogames

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