#marie la riche

[histoireettralala]

Marie de Bourgogne

[etherealarte]

Marie-Lou Nurk

[littlefankingdom]

Assassin's Creed Unity: Killing criminals is okay, but killing the king and the queen who are against the human rights, have slaves, live in luxury, don't care about the people starving, and have started a war in the goal to have as much of their people killed as revenge for asking for equality? Bad, very bad. Killing nobles that never cared about their people and treated them like sub-humans? Bad. Killing poor peoplz who had enough of being exploited? Okay, totally fine! The way the people murdered the minister of finance was barbaric and shame on them! (Let's forget he told them that they didn't deserve to eat better than his horses because their life have less value. Yep, that's something he said and that's why the people killed him.) Less judge the violence of the people while turning a blind eye to the violence of the privileges, oky?

[afabstract]

The Billionaire, the Butler & the Boyfriend Review

Enter the opulent world of Liliane Bettencourt, a billionaire who who was entangled in a legal battle sparked by her daughter's unease over a flashy French photographer. Read our review of the docu series "The Billionaire, the Butler & the Boyfriend".

⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 3.5 out of 5. The title, ‘The Billionaire, the Butler & the Boyfriend,’ might evoke thoughts of a sizzling Mills & Boon romance novel, yet this three-part Netflix documentary delves into a narrative less about love and more about the intricate interplay of wealth, family dynamics, and politics. It documentary focuses on a feud between Liliane Bettencourt with her daughter Françoise…

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[heavenlyyshecomes]

misc readings

On books and reading!

Reading insecurity, katy waldman, slate

The deep space of digital reading, paul la farge, nautilus

The curse of reading and forgetting, ian crouch, new yorker

Why read the classics, italo calvino (pdf)

How reading is like love: italo calvino on the ecstasy of surrendering to other dimensions of experience, the marginalian

Just read the book already, lauren miller, slate

Treasure the books no one else seems to love, molly templeton, tor

Papyralysis, jacob mikanowski, los angeles review of books

How to nurture a personal library, freya howarth, psyche

Brief notes on the art and manner of arranging one's books, georges perec

If I don't remember what I read, did I read it at all? molly templeton, tor

Never do that to a book, anne fadiman, slate

Mary oliver on how reading saved her life and the greatest antidote to sorrow, the marginalian

On the pleasures and solitudes of quiet books, emily st. john mandel, the millions

Being a better online reader, maria konnikova, new yorker

How 11 writers organize their personal libraries, emily temple, literary hub

How many errorrs are in this essay? ed simon, the millions

Adrienne rich on resistance, the liberating power of storytelling, and how reading emancipates, the marginalian

How we read series, wired

Fiction detective: on literary citation and search engine sleuthing, sophie haigney, the drift

our autofiction fixation, jessica winter, the new york times

[shiftingwithjaidyn]

🎞️ ⋮ writer/fame dr

★┊ BASICS .ᐟ

timeline:

this dr takes place around late august of 2022 due to the fact i intend to be part of one of the films i work on right from its beginning

locations:

los angeles, california (main)

vancouver, canada

new york, new york

san antonio, texas

london, england

notes:

i scripted out a lot of things that occur in this reality (due to the fact i scripted the timeline of everything somewhat similar)

some movies in my filmography are book adaptations that do not exist in this reality however exist in mine and most tv-shows in my filmography are cancelled shows in this reality so i decided to make them continued in my dr (just incase of some confusion hehe)

★┊ ABOUT ME .ᐟ

name: lilian maricel villaécija

nicknames: lily, lia, celia, mary/mari

gender & pronouns: demigirl || she/they

birthday: august 11th, 1980

height: 5’6”/167 cm

zodiac sign: leo

mbti: enfp

nationality & ethnicity: american || filipino-chinese

occupations:

screenwriter

script supervisor

production designer

director of photography

make-up artist

storyboard artist

aesthetic:

★┊ CAREER .ᐟ

movies:

center stage (2000)

in the mood for love (2000)

uptown girls (2003)

eternal sunshine of a spotless mind (2004)

pride & prejudice (2005)

the devil wears prada (2006)

black swan (2010)

if i stay (2014)

la la land (2016)

lady bird (2017)

the glass castle (2017)

to the bone (2017)

the greatest showman (2017)

oceans 8 (2018)

crazy rich asians (2018)

always be my maybe (2019)

little women (2019)

all the bright places (2020)

pieces of a woman (2020)

last night in soho (2021)

everything everywhere all at once (2022)

one last stop (2023) [film adaptation of the book by casey mcquinston]

tv shows:

grey's anatomy (s2-s13) || 2005-2016)

rupaul's drag race (s5-s14 || 2013-2022)

rupaul's drag race: all stars (s2-s5 || 2016-2020)

anne with an e (s1- || 2017-present/ongoing)

the marvelous mrs. maisel (s1-s5 || 2017-2023)

pose (s1-s3 || 2018-2021)

instinct (s1-s3) (2018-2023)

the umbrella academy (s1-s4 || 2019-2024)

the haunting of bly manor (s1 || 2020)

bridgerton (s1- || 2020-present/ongoing)

yellowjackets (s2- || 2023-present/ongoing)

★┊ RELATIONSHIPS .ᐟ

╰┈➤ FRIENDS

(i have a lot of friends due to the fact i've been in the industry for quite a while now, but these are just my closest)

trixie mattel

shea couleé

katya zamolodchikova

kate walsh

emmy raver-lampman

sandra oh

nicola coughlan

gemma chan

simone kessell

a huge special mention as well to @ixzotica a.k.a. aaliyah sinclair in my dr!! the one and only best friend, neighbor, sister, and platonic soulmate of mine in every single universe <3

╰┈➤ PET

name: mari-pusa (Mariposa)

nicknames: mari, choco butternut,

gender & pronouns: female || she/her

birthday: january 15

zodiac sign: capricorn

mbti: istj

breed: tortoiseshell

╰┈➤ S/O

gonna keep him a redacted for now as i am not yet comfortable sharing much about my dr but i just wanted to let u guys know he's an actor, he's a libra, and that he exists HSHJSHDSHKJHL

★┊ EXTRAS .ᐟ

links:

patter banner || gradient divider || star divider || heart divider

note:

feel free to ask me about this dr or any shifting related thing in general!! i'd really appreciate it! : ]

[norry-yippee]

Marauders Era characters and what American city I think their from-

Qualifications- American who has been a lot of places

Sirius and Regulus- New York City (this just seems obvious)

James- Miami(his parents are from Cuba)

Remus- Boston(just imagine him with a thick Bostonian accent)

Peter- Seattle(I see him as very Canadian but whatever)

Lily- Nashville (grew up on Willie Nelson and Shania Twain)

Barty- Las Vegas(idk just vibes)

Evan and Pandora- Philadelphia (rich in history and still a little chaotic)

Mary- Los Angeles (she is that girl y’know)

Dorcas- Chicago(like south side)

Marlene- San Antonio(modern and colourful)

[starkwlkr]

love in las vegas | mark webber

through the decades masterlist

Las Vegas, 1967

Mark didn’t know why he even agreed to accompany his friends to sin city. He would much rather stay in his cosy bed and sleep, but he knew how much the trip meant to his friend, Tom, since it was a bachelor party.

“Think we’ll get lucky tonight?” Tom asked Mark as they walked the Las Vegas strip. Tom had talked all day about going to the casino so he was more than confident that he would be walking home with a few hundred dollars.

“I don’t want to jinx it.” Mark chuckled. Soon the group of friends found themselves in Caesars Palace. Mark never imagined himself at such a fancy place like Caesars Palace. He always thought it was for big name celebrities like Paul Newman and Audrey Hepburn.

Still he was here to enjoy time with his friends.

“Hey, I think I’m going to check out the rest of the building. I heard the pool is pretty nice.” Mark said to the group, but no one heard him since they were too busy on the slot machines.

He walked away and found himself wandering around. He wasn’t sure what direction the pool was located in so he kept walking and admiring the art work on the walls. That was until a sweet voice caught his attention.

“Honestly, Mary, why can’t I go alone? I’ve done it once, I can do it again. Fuck what the press thinks, they already think I’m a bitch!”

Mark watched as the most beautiful woman in the world walked down the hall. She had on red heart glasses and wore a shade of red lipstick that Mark loved. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her until he almost bumped into a wall.

“Mary, I’m going to be by the pool. All this thinking is making me stressed and I can’t be stressed.” Mark didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but he was going to the pool either way.

He watched as you were greeted by every person as you made your way to a cabana. You took your sunglasses off and laid on the lounge chairs.

Go talk to her . . No, she’s busy. . But it can’t hurt, right? It might! Think positive!

His inner thoughts were stopped when you called for him. He looked around thinking you were calling someone else, but he was proven wrong when you pointed at him.

“You are talking to me . . ” Mark nervously chuckled as he approached your cabana.

“Well yeah, you look lost.” You laughed. “You have an accent. I take it you’re not from here.”

“No, I’m from Australia. I’m just here with a couple of friends. They’re in the casino.” Mark explained.

“You can sit down, I don’t have germs.” You joked when you noticed that he was still standing. So Mark sat in the lounge chair across from you. “How are you liking Vegas?”

“It’s loud that’s for sure. It’s . . . perfect for those fancy rich celebrities. Especially those actors like that guy from to kill a mockingbird!”

“Gregory Peck? He’s lovely. Wonderful kisser too.” You reply with a smirk.

“What? Is it like a rumor?”

“No, I speak from experience. It was also lovely to work with him. He invited me to his house in California. I declined, but it was still nice of him to invite me.” You recalled the time your friend had invited you to his California home.

“Wait . .” Mark thought for a second. “You’re —”

You nodded. “One of those ‘fancy rich celebrities’ except I don’t come to Vegas often. I’m only here a couple hours. You see, I am supposed to be on a flight to Santa Monica for the academy awards, but I wanted to spend some time here. I like it here, it’s one of the few places I enjoy.”

Mark instantly felt like an idiot. He didn’t mean to insult you. Well then again, he didn’t know you acted. He hardly watches any new movies anyways. He had been busy with racing.

“I never asked you your name.” You said.

“Mark.” The Australian replied.

“Well Mark, do you want to explore Vegas with me?”

Mark didn’t have to think twice. You took him to your favorite restaurants, took pictures with your Polaroid and walked the strip until your feet ached. But there was one final stop that was a must do when you’re in Vegas.

Graceland Wedding Chapel

Was it a stupid decision? You and Mark didn’t think so.

That night, you had married a nice stranger.

“I can’t believe that we just got married!” Mark said as you walked out of the chapel with the certificate in hand. “Holy shit, we’re married!”

“Call me Mrs. Webber.” You held out the hand that Mark had been holding. The Australian grabbed it and kissed it.

“I think this is the best night of my life.” Mark sighed. “Wait, that makes my life sound extremely sad. Don’t listen to me.”

You laughed. “It’s okay. This is the best night of my life too and I’ve been to so many places, but being here with you is my favorite.”

As Mark leaned in to place a kiss on your lips, you gasped and pulled back. You had completely forgotten about the academy awards ceremony that you needed to attend in a few hours.

“I need to go! Wait, you need to go with me too!” You said.

“What? I can’t!”

“Why not? We just need to get to Santa Monica, get you a suit and get to the ceremony. I’m nominated for best actress!”

Best actress? You couldn’t miss that!

“Fine, but if my friends find out I ditched them—”

“They won’t notice you’re gone, I promise.”

Mark grabbed your hand and together you ran to the parking lot where his Porsche had been parked. Before you could get the chance, he opened the door for you and gave you a charming smile.

“Mrs. Webber.” He winked.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Webber.” You blushed.

Soon, you and Mark were on your way to Santa Monica. Mark had rolled the windows down and turned up the music. It was perfect. You could feel the cool air going through your hair, the sweet sound of ‘I think we’re alone now’ by Tommy James and The Shondelles filled your ears. Mark kept glancing at you every chance he got. In his eyes, you were the love of his life. He was a firm believer in soulmates and here you were in the passenger seat of his Porsche. You were living proof that love at first sight existed and he was head over heels in love with you.

The four hours it took to get to Santa Monica, you and Mark talked, sang and you even got a few minutes to nap. When you arrived, you took Mark to get a suit. Mark had only wore a suit a handful of times. He hated wearing them as a child, but now they weren’t too bad.

“What if I get asked a question?” Mark asked. “I don’t know anything about movies or actors!”

“Relax, i lie when I don’t know stuff. It’s fun.” You smile.

“It’s easy for you, you’re an actress. Wait, what if someone asks who I am to you? Don’t you have to talk to your manager or someone important before you say something?” Mark was too busy stressing while you were busy thinking how you were going to celebrate even if you didn’t win.

“Tell them the truth. You’re my husband, is that a bad thing?”

Being married wasn’t a bad thing, especially if you were his wife, mark thought. He would marry you everyday of his life if he could.

“I’ll scream it from the highest rooftop if I have to.” He kissed you.

After giving the cashier his last fifty dollars for the suit, Mark drove you to the Beverly Hills Hotel where your manager and makeup team were. He had never stepped foot in such a fancy hotel like the Beverly Hills before, sure he was in Cesars palace not too long ago, but the Beverly Hills was an upgrade.

You eventually made it to your room and entered the suite. Again, Mark was amazed by every little thing from the painting on the wall to the fluffy pillows. You honestly found it adorable.

“Where have you been?” Your makeup artist, Alexander, asked you.

“It’s a long story. Alex meet Mark, Mark meet Alex. There, we’re all good on introductions for now.” You smiled as you sat in the makeup chair.

“Where did you find him?” Alexander questioned as he got started on your makeup.

“Vegas. He’s Australian and he’s technically my husband. I’m Mrs. L/n-Webber.” You stated confidently. You were living up to the title now.

“What!?” Mark stood beside your chair not knowing if Alexander hated him or not. He wished he was anywhere else.

“Relax, we won’t say anything about it to the press.”

And that was the biggest lie. Well, sort of.

By the end of the night, Mark was introduced to most of the biggest faces in Hollywood. He got to walk the red carpet and posed for pictures with you. He also got to witness you win your first academy award where you publicly declared your love for him.

“Lastly, I want to thank Mark. These past few hours have been the craziest, but I wouldn’t change a thing.” You spoke into the microphone as you held your golden statue in your hands.

Mark was seated beside your manager, Henry, who was thankful the night was almost over. Little did Mark know that his friends had been watching the ceremony in their Vegas hotel room. Some of them were still drinking while others wondered how Mark even got an academy award winner to marry him.

The Australian smiled as you left the stage. This was certainly an interesting night that nobody would forget and nobody did. You and Mark stayed married. While Mark raced all over the world, you worked on numerous films and won awards. During the summer of 1969, you gave birth to your first child, a girl named Diana. Then four years later, your baby boy was born. Little Michael Webber, a spitting image of his father. You were in love with your little family even if it all started with a wild night in Vegas. You wouldn’t change any of it.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Food (5 Mother Sauces)

for writing your cooking and other food-related scenes

Mother sauces, first classified by French Chef Marie-Antoine Carême and later codified by Auguste Escoffier, are the starting points for countless ‘daughter’ sauces in French cuisine.

In 1833, Marie Antoine Carême published a classification of French sauces in his reference cookbook L’art de la cuisine française au XIXe siècle ("The Art of French Cuisine in the 19th Century").

These foundations are essential to traditional French culinary creations, but by adding various ingredients can be transformed into a wide range of sauces ready to enhance and complete different dishes.

The Roux

Master the making of roux (“roo”), and you will have a variety of French sauces at your fingertips.

Roux is basically cooking fat and flour together before adding in the liquid you want to thicken.

The fat used is generally butter, but oil or other fats can also be used.

The fat and flour cook together to cook out some of the floury, pasty flavor in the flour.

Cook the mixture for 5 minutes for white, 20 minutes for blond, or 35 minutes for brown roux.

The darker the roux, the nuttier the flavor.

When the liquid is added to the roux, and everything comes to a boil, the flour thickens the liquid, and you end up with sauce.

Four out of the five mother sauces are thickened by roux.

The 5 French “Mother Sauces”

1. Béchamel (“bay-sha-mel”)

Also known as a white sauce, this is a white roux whisked with milk or other dairy to make a white sauce.

White and just a tad bit thicker than heavy cream.

The flavoring is up to you, although the French like to do a little salt and pepper, while the Italians like to throw on a pinch of nutmeg.

Another traditional flavoring option is to steep the milk with a whole onion that has been studded with a couple of cloves and a bay leaf before being combined with the roux.

By itself, béchamel is quite bland, which is why it is usually cooked with other ingredients and not used as a finishing sauce.

Béchamel is classically served with eggs, fish, steamed poultry, steamed vegetables, pastas, and veal.

The sister sauces include:

Mornay = béchamel + Gruyère + Parmesan + butter

Cheese = béchamel + cheddar + Worcestershire sauce + dry mustard

Soubise = béchamel + onions + butter

2. Velouté (“vuh-loo-tay”)

It’s made similar to a béchamel, except in this case, stock replaces the milk.

A velouté is a blond roux whisked with chicken, turkey, fish, or any other clear stock.

The resulting sauce takes on the flavor of the stock, and the name is derived from the French word for velvet, which suitably describes this smooth but light and delicate sauce.

Commonly, the sauce produced will be referred to by the type of stock used, for example, chicken velouté.

Velouté is classically served with eggs, fish, steamed poultry, steamed vegetables, and pastas.

The sister sauces include:

Bercy = velouté +shallots + white wine + fish stock + butter + parsley

Normandy = fish velouté + fish stock + mushrooms + liaison

Allemande = veal/chicken velouté + liaison

Suprême = chicken velouté + cream

3. Espagnole (“es-puhn-yohl”)

Commonly known as brown sauce, this rich sauce is made using beef or veal stock, tomato puree, and mirepoix (meer-ph), which is a combination of diced carrots, celery, and onions, all thickened with a very dark brown roux.

If you’ve heard of demi-glace (deh-mee-glass), it’s nothing more than equal parts of Espagnole sauce and brown stock that has been reduced by half for an even more flavorful sauce.

Espagnole is rarely served on its own due to the strong flavors.

Espagnole is classically served with roasted meats like beef, veal, lamb, and duck.

The sister sauces include:

Bordelaise = demi-glace + red wine + shallots + bay leaf + thyme + black pepper

Châteaubriand = demi-glace + mushrooms + shallots + lemon juice + cayenne pepper + tarragon + butter

Madeira = demi-glace + Madeira wine

Mushroom = demi-glace + mushroom caps

4. Hollandaise (“hol-uhn-dehz”)

This is the one mother sauce not thickened by a roux.

Hollandaise sauce is an emulsion of butter and lemon juice or vinegar using egg yolks as the emulsifying agent (to bind the sauce), usually seasoned with salt and a little black pepper or cayenne pepper.

Heat control is essential here to prevent curdling of the sauce, and therefore, it is usually done in a double boiler.

Hollandaise sauce is classically served with eggs (Eggs Benedict), vegetables (especially asparagus), light poultry dishes, and fish.

The sister sauces include:

Béarnaise = hollandaise + shallots + tarragon + chervil + peppercorns + white wine vinegar

Chantilly = hollandaise + whipped heavy cream. The tomato sauce is classically served with pasta, fish, vegetables, polenta, veal, poultry, bread, and dumplings such as gnocchi.

5. Tomate (“toe-maht”)

Sauce tomate, better known as tomato sauce, is based on tomatoes.

A roux is traditionally used in making tomato sauce, but many chefs skip it because the tomatoes themselves are enough to thicken the sauce.

The classic sauce tomate is made with salted pork belly, onions, bay leaves, thyme, pureed or fresh tomatoes, roux, garlic, salt, sugar, and pepper.

If you don’t want to get that fancy, you can leave out the pork belly and roux to make a standard tomato sauce.

The sister sauces include:

Creole = tomato sauce + onion + celery + garlic + bay leaf + thyme + green pepper + hot sauce

Spanish = creole sauce + mushrooms + olives

Milanaise = tomato sauce + mushrooms + butter + cooked ham

Sources and other related articles: 1 2 3 4 5

If these notes inspire you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

More: On Food

[histoireettralala]

Marie de Bourgogne

[hedgehog-moss]

My top 10 nonfiction reads of 2023 (the asterisked ones are in French with no translation as of yet) :

Belle Greene, Alexandra Lapierre

The Indomitable Marie-Antoinette, Simone Bertière

Reporter: A Memoir, Seymour Hersh

Red Carpet: Hollywood, China and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, Erich Schwartzel

Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty, Patrick Keefe

Servir les riches, Alizée Delpierre*

La Comtesse Greffulhe : L’ombre des Guermantes, Laure Hillerin*

Le Courage de la nuance, Jean Birnbaum*

The Book Collectors of Daraya, Delphine Minoui

Flowers of Fire: The Inside Story of South Korea's Feminist Movement, Hawon Jung

[chronically-ghosted]

between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood. 

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass. 

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month. 

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep. 

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky. 

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed. 

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north. 

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings. 

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale. 

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms. 

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

[contenteditor]

Idée déco 💅🏻 Cette grande pièce était la chambre de toutes les souveraines de France depuis Marie de Médicis jusqu’à Eugénie. C’est dans cette pièce que se déroulaient en public le grand lever et le grand coucher. Marie-Antoinette n’a jamais connu cette chambre terminée pour elle en 1787. l’appartement de la souveraine fut redécoré suivant le goût du jour. Pour le salon des Jeux de Marie-Antoinette, l’ébéniste Beneman livra en 1786 deux commodes exécutées sous la direction d’Hauré à partir d’un meuble de Stöckel. En effet Benneman fut chargé en 1786 de modifier une commode à rinceaux de Stöckel achetée à Sauvage et d’en exécuter une seconde sur le même modèle pour la chambre de la Reine à Compiègne. A peine les meubles achevés, il fut finalement décidé de les transformer et de les envoyer de Compiègne à Fontainebleau, pour le salon des jeux de la Reine. Avec leur riche décor d’entrelacs végétaux et de plaques en porcelaine de Sèvres à figures antiques, elles complétaient le décor des murs de la pièce alors peint en style arabesque. Ces commodes furent choisies par Joséphine pour meubler la chambre de l’impératrice #fontainebleau #france #patrimoine #royal #sculpture #frenchdesign #XVIIcentury #boiseries #gold #delorpartout #versailles #henriIV #violet #chateaufontainebleau #frencharchitecture #frenchinterior #frenchart #interiorgoals #photography #colors #XIXcentury #europeanroyalpalaces #napoleonIII #caclaque | by hugues.mr

[try-set-me-on-fire]

How about odd socks for the soft prompts?

Eddie tries to write his vows. Poem excerpts from E.E. Cummings’ [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], Mary Oliver’s The Mango, and Pablo Neruda’s Finale. Plain text version on AO3 here and under the read more!

Dear Buck oh its not a letter

Buck

Evan Buckley (?)

From the day we met, I

I take thee to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part except I don’t want to stop loving you when either of us die. I don’t want to part. Till the glaciers have melted and the oceans have dried up, till Mount Whitney (the tallest mountain in California, I looked it up) is eroded to a molehill, till the heat death of the universe do us part. Maybe that will be enough time

I keep thinking about that time you wore those fucking socks to work and Bobby and everyone were trying to really gently asses if you were having a breakdown because we just see AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE on your ankle and then you laughed and pulled up your pants and it said “GET LOST IN NATURE AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE” which like I still think is kind of a fucked up thing to put on a sock but you just did one of your beautiful sunshine grins (we weren’t even together but god I still got light headed looking at you) and were like “I thought it would be neat to remind people the importance of safety in nature” and I was kind of teasing and annoyed and laughed about it and that was like three years ago Buck and I still feel guilty about it because if you were going through some kind of crisis I don’t ever want to be annoyed and laugh about it, I want to be there for you no matter what and I hope I’ve proven that to you over the years, that I don’t just love you on easy days, I love you every single day all the time even when everything’s fucked even if I can’t write wedding vows to save my life christ this is terrible

I love your nose and your birthmark and your eyebrows and your hair and your shoulders and the bends of your elbows, and your wrists and hands, and I love your nipples and hip bones and cock and ass and knees and your shin, I love the scars on your shin, I love every scar you have because none of them killed you

How about

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Or

But this was a rich house, and clever too.

After salmon and salads,

mangoes for everyone appeared on blue plates,

each one cut in half and scored

and shoved forward from its rind, like an orange flower,

cubist and juicy.

When I began to eat

things happened.

Or

your head on the pillow,

your hands floating

in the light, in my light,

over my earth.

It was beautiful to live

when you lived

The world is bluer and of the earth

at night, when I sleep

enormous, within your small hands.

Before the ceremony I told Shannon “It’s going to be okay” and in the moment I believed it because I had her and I was scared but she was my best friend and up there in front of her parents and mine I said the regular vows but I think that first one was what counted even if it didn’t end up being true. Maybe I’ve been telling you my vows for years. You can have my back any day. There’s no one on earth I trust with my son - with our son - more than you. Every time I tell you I love you, isn’t that a promise?

I’ve been happy before in my life, despite everything I don’t think I was an unhappy man, not always, only sometimes, but you make me happier than I thought was possible. That kind of feeling when you laugh too hard and you’re not getting enough oxygen to your brain. Isn’t that romantic, you give me hypoxia

Here’s the thing you know I’m going to get up there and just start crying immediately so I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find words I won’t even be able to get out

No hi this is me two hours later of course this is important you’re important you knowing how much I love you is so important to me and I will stand up there blubbering at you for hours if that’s what it takes

I trust you. I love you. I am happy with you. I want to wake up beside you always, Buck I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you next to me first thing in the morning (or night or afternoon or whenever we’ve finished sleeping), touching your warm body with your lungs breathing and your heart beating and the solidity of you feels like a miracle

I’ll buy you socks so your feet don’t get cold and I’ll bring you fruit because you like to eat sweet things and wherever I live will be your home and I’ll be by your side as long as you do me the honor of wanting me there and everything I have and am is yours and I

[sgiandubh]

C might mean well, but I find businesses using charity to sell suspicious.

Dear Provocative Anon,

What you say deserves an audio (there have been two of them two weeks ago, compensating for last week's silence). I have many things to tell you and please excuse the delay:

They really can't win, with people like you, can they? And that goes for both C and S, mind you. No matter what they do and try to promote as a side project, there is always going to be someone unhappy and vocal about it. When it's not you complaining 'business using charity to sell' is 'suspicious', there's the other fuckwit asking recently why S hasn't given all MPC's profit to charity, as Paul Newman did with Newman's Own.

So, I will be brutally honest with you, Anon. I have thoughts and questions about your own point of view and this is partially why it took me so long to answer you. It would seem you are not familiar at all with what is called 'corporate social responsibility' (CSR), since at least the Sixties. Which means, in a nutshell, companies who choose to focus part of their activity and dedicate part of their profits to charitable projects. It is done with various degrees of ethics, success and bona fides all around the world, and it is often used as a strong marketing and sales argument.

Think about these people, whose brand is probably immediately recognizable wherever you go, spare perhaps Pyongyang:

I just picked this Coca Cola Foundation recent CSR project in Brazil totally randomly, using Google. Some might think it's just another cynical diversion: one of the world's biggest corporate profiteers, happily contributing to the current obesity pandemic (including in Latin America), suddenly showing one of its biggest markets they do have a conscience, after all, and a social one to boot. And addressing, at the same time, one of the continent's post-colonial bleeding wounds, which is to say, the organic imbalance between rich and poor, as far as access to means of production, land ownership and use and sales opportunities go. 480 farmers benefitting from Coca Cola's magnanimity is probably but a tiny drop of hope in an ocean of dour social injustice, but the truth is, Anon, if nobody does anything good, then nothing good will happen at all. It is as simple as that, and while their modus operandi is probably not exactly my cup of tea, you will have to admit it works, at least to some extent and for some people. Plus it greatly enhances the company's do-good, sensible and reliable global image, because of course, what happens right now in the state of Minas Gerais is but a tiny part of a bigger strategy.

Might I add that even those robber barons, à la Cornelius Vanderbilt or Jay Gould, who made their ruthless fortunes building the railroads of a still very young United States of America, ended up giving a very small part of their same fortune to various charities. It wasn't nearly enough what we would consider as 'reasonable', in 2024, but it did start a philanthropic trend, that took considerable speed after the 1919 Boston Molasses Disaster. The Sixties have just added more pragmatism and gave a name to what was, at its very start, quite an opportunistic endeavor.

Even so, Vanderbilt and Gould themselves did not invent anything, really. One should look to good old Europe to find what is probably the first big CSR project in human history, still going strong since 1521. May I introduce you to the Augsburg Fuggerei:

[for even more pious charity: https://www.fugger.de/en/fuggerei]

Renting one of those wonderful Hansel and Gretel houses for less than one euro/year, plus three daily Hail Mary is something to behold, right? Jakob Fugger the Young, the guy who had this brilliant idea (which, might I add, is still run and operated by the Fugger banker family, even nowadays) was literally a ruthless kingmaker, a colonial trade and exploration pioneer, but also a religious bigot who flatly refused to extend his charity to Protestant families. Still, his pious dream goes on - the Fugger Family Foundation even actively plans its next 500 years. This is Germany, after all 😉.

Those people’s money stinks more of corruption and crime than S or C’s ever could, Anon. Still, they are remembered as benefactors, by many. History is seldom cruel to those who are willing to pay for their posterity.

But you know what, Anon? Compared to the Fuggers and the Vanderbilts and the Goulds, S and C are really small fish in an even smaller, fickler pond. I think they are doing it out of their good heart and I think they are honestly, genuinely responsive to the idea of giving a chance to young, struggling artists. But, in the process, are they also trying to market themselves as more approachable and less controversial, considering the (oh, I shall never tire to repeat this, with gusto) cosmic amount of bullshit plaguing their respective public images? My somewhat cynical answer is also yes, Anon. To which may I immediately add that it's not even important: all that counts are the tangible results of whatever good things they do with their booze and/or fitness profits.

Results and helping trigger a change in one's life is all that really interests me, Anon. It seems to bother you, though, so I will cheekily end this long rant with a couple of questions: do you have a problem with poverty? do you believe in giving people a (second) chance, or do you think only the rich are worth considering and valuable?

If so, I honestly pity you, girl. For the real indigent in all this might be you.