#mixed spice

[morethansalad]

Homemade Christmas Granola (Vegan & Gluten-Free)

[corvidconventicle]

Your seasonal spice shopping list is

allspice, anise, black pepper, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, coriander seed, ginger, mace, nutmeg, and white pepper.

get the dried and ground stuff for shelf life and time saving.

tbsp = table spoon, tsp = teaspoon. A tablespoon is roughly 15 grams and a teaspoon is about 5.7 grams.

british mixed spice: 1 tbsp cinnamon, 2 tsp allspice, 2 tsp nutmeg, 1 tsp cloves, 1 tsp ginger, 1 tsp coriander, .75 tsp mace

pumpkin spice blend: 3 tbsp cinnamon, 2 tsp ginger, 2 tsp nutmeg, 1.5 tsp allspice, 1.5 tsp cloves

chai spice: 4 tsp cinnamon, 3 tsp ginger, 2 tsp cardamom, 2tsp anise, 2 tsp allspice, 2 tsp cloves, a pinch of black pepper

gingerbread spice: 3 tbsp ginger, 2 tbsp cinnamon, 1.5 tsp allspice, 1.5 tsp cloves, 1 tsp anise, .75 tsp nutmeg, pinch of cardamom, pinch of white pepper

apple pie spice: 2 tbsp cinnamon, 1 tbsp nutmeg, 1.5 tsp allspice, 1.5 tsp cardamom

This is just a general base, you can and should adjust the ratios to fit your preference. Make a small batch, taste test, adjust ratio as needed and then you can make a bigger batch to get you through the months when the flavours are "unavailable."

If you're the type that feels like you need the pumpkin to be in the pumpkin spice you may actually want to stock up on some cans of pumpkin puree in coming months. Since the spice is just supposed to be what you put on pumpkin it doesn't usually include it, but Starbucks does have pumpkin in their drinks so if that's your goal you may want to procure some.

[askwhatsforlunch]

Apple and Nut Parcels

These Apple and Nut Parcels, filled with deliciously Autumnal flavours, make a beautifully seasonal dessert to end your Sunday Lunch. Have a good one, friends!

Ingredients (serves 3):

5 medium Ribston Pippin apples, rinsed

1 teaspoon Mixed Spice

1 1/2 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 heaped tablespoon good Chestnut Honey

1/4 cup pecans

1/4 cup hazelnuts

6 brik pastry circle (paper thin Tunisian pastry discs resembling filo)

6 tablespoons good Chestnut Honey

Peel, core and dice Ribston Pippin apples, and place apple dices into a medium bowl. Sprinkle with Mixed Spice, tossing well to coat; set aside.

In a small saucepan, melt butter over a low flame. Once melted, remove from the heat, and stir in Chestnut Honey. Set aside.

In a small frying pan over a high flame, toast pecans and hazelnuts until just browned and fragrant. Remove from the heat and allow to cool, before chopping the nuts roughly.

Preheat oven to 180°C/°F.

Line a baking tray with baking paper. Set aside.

Lay a brik pastry circle onto your work surface. Brush generously all over with Honey butter. Lay a second brik circle on top, pressing gently.

Spoon a cup of the spiced apple dices in the centre of the pastry disc. Sprinkle with chopped pecans and walnuts, drizzle genenrously with 2 tablespoons Chestnut Honey, and wrap the pastry to form a parcel. Place it onto prepared baking tray, seam and edges down.

Repeat with remaining brik pastry circles, spiced apple dices, chopped nuts and Honey, saving a few of the chopped nuts, until you have three beautiful parcels.

Brush them with a little of the Honey butter, and place baking tray in the middle of the hot oven. Bake, at 180°C/360°F, 20 to 25 minutes, until a nice golden brown colour.

Remove from the oven, and brush parcels with remaining Honey butter.

Serve Apple and Nut Parcels hot, sprinkled with chopped pecans and hazelnuts.

[clove-pinks]

Christmas Pudding 1.0

The pudding has been steaming for a few hours now. My wife and I took turns stirring it East to West (the journey of the Three Wise Men) while making a wish. ("I think we probably wished for the same thing," she said after).

I am using a recipe from The Daring Gourmet blog, which carefully describes each step (with pictures), and also has nuts optional, which was a must for my wife. I found that most Christmas Pudding recipes called for nuts. The link is every ad-ridden, long-winded recipe site cliché, be forewarned, but serviceable.

With the slight chaos of my life I didn't purchase any candied peel in time for Stir-up Sunday. The store didn't have it, and I didn't have time to make it. Sorry I Americanized the pudding with a substitution of sweetened dried cranberries. We don't make candied peel here, we have cranberry bogs.

Another learning experience: it takes a lot less toasted fresh bread to make two cups of crumbs than I imagined. I made the crumbs by pulsing the toast in a food processor, as the recipe instructed, and it worked wonders. I chopped up toast with a knife for the 1915 Eggs in Tomatoes and while that sufficed, it wasn't really crumbs. So help me, I am scared of the food processor and don't use it enough.

I also made the "mixed spice" (linked in the Daring Gourmet recipe), which the writers swear is some kind of very traditional and authentic British spice mix.

I really have no idea if this is an authentic British thing or not. (It's not in Captain Marryat's novels, that's for sure). The earliest reference I could find is in a very interesting 1855 book called Food and its Adulterations, that feels ahead of its time. My real Day Job is in food safety, and this book is quite similar to current guides for adulterated foods! Including the scientific investigation of samples with a microscope.

The 1855 guide to authentic mixed spice states that it "rarely" contains nutmeg or mace—two ingredients in the modern recipe I followed, along with coriander.

My new pudding mould is 2 litres (which I thought was a standard size), but it seems huge?? It just barely fits in the massive pot I use for lobscouse.

[choclette8]

Simple Tea Bread: aka Bara Brith or Barmbrack

Tea bread is a very British type of simple fat-free fruit cake. This recipe is easy to make and very tasty, especially spread with butter.

Tea bread is a very British type of simple fat-free fruit cake. It’s not as sweet as most fruit bakes, but it is more of a loaf cake than a bread as it doesn’t contain yeast. Dried fruit are soaked and plumped up in black tea. This recipe is super easy to make and very tasty, especially when spread with butter. When I have lots of bits and pieces of dried fruit taking up valuable space in the…

[grrimssims]

passionate mornings ༉‧₊˚.

18+ ↴

[feyhunter78]

Three Times Buck Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Did)

Description: Three times Buck had to hold himself back and the one time he didn't, (but it's not what he thinks, and somehow maybe better?)

Part 2!

Buck is pretty sure if he ever slept with you, Maddie would kill him, though she’d have to dig him up first because Hen would put him six feet under before he could even blink. So, he tries very hard to not sleep with you, and he’ll admit as the year has gone by and the two of you have gotten closer it’s gotten easier. He finds himself craving the sound of you laughing at his dumb jokes, your comforting presence next to him in the kitchen, or even just you bossing him around, more than he craves the feeling of your skin against his.

More than the idea of how good you’d look lying in his sheets, wearing nothing but his jacket. But then you do something. Squeeze his thigh in an innocent, friendly way. Groan his name in annoyance, or pout up at him when you’re trying to get your way, and the urges return full force, leaving him wondering if he can claw himself out of the grave Hen will put him in.

One: It’s only been a few months into his job, he's bouncing back from Bobby's second warning and forgivenss, riding high on the adrenaline. He’s only known you for six months and honestly Buck thinks he might be cursed, or maybe you’re secretly trying to make him suffer.

It's one of the two because he's pulled away from picking the perfect song to start his drive with by you banging on the driver’s side window of his jeep wearing nothing but a bikini top and incredibly short shorts. He rolls down the window, swallowing hard as you cross your arms over your chest, unintentionally pushing your breasts up.

“Buck, are you serious? You can’t just drive off without me.” You huff, adjusting the beach bag on your shoulder. You’re standing on the sidestep of his jeep, and it puts him face to chest with you.

“Oh I, uh, I thought you were going with Hen?” Buck says, trying not to stumble over his words like an idiot.

You look so good, it’s unfair, and that bathing suit top is cute, too cute for the way it makes his mouth water. It’s pink with white hearts all over it, your hair is pulled back, oversized sunglasses rest on your nose, your beach bag has some cartoon drawing of a margarita wearing sunglasses on it. But the worst part, the worst, are the light wash denim shorts clinging to your thighs. Fuck, he just wants to grab them, wear them like earmuffs until you’re trembling in his grip, and he’s drank his fill.

You shake your head, and lean on his windowsill, the scent of your perfume, or maybe that’s just what your skin smells like, suddenly overwhelming his senses, scattering any coherent thought he might have had. “She said there wasn’t enough room, Danny wanted to bring a friend with him. Didn’t she text you?”

Hen probably had, but he’s been so focused on psyching himself up to go to the beach with everyone, including you—without begging you to let him fuck you in a changing room—that he hasn’t even checked his messages.

“Yeah, probably, just been busy. Hop in.” He unlocks the passenger side door, giving into his impulses just enough to watch as you round the car, his dark sunglasses hiding the way he traces your every curve with his eyes.

You smile as you slide into the seat and buckle yourself in. “Okay, let’s go, beach time!” Your voice has a singsong tone, and it makes his heart melt.

“Beach time.” He echoes, turning the radio on to drown out the voice in his head urging him to ask if you want to take a detour to his backseat.

Two: It’s his birthday, and while the crew has made a big deal out of it, he doesn’t expect you to. Doesn’t expect you to be at his door with a cake, singing happy birthday, surprisingly well. The candles are lighting up your face in such a way that he feels like he’s in a movie, and everything is zooming in on you, only you, like he’s got tunnel vision, and you’re at the end of it.

“Make a wish!” You cheer, leaning on his kitchen counter, the cake between you two.

He bends down and blows, watching the flames flicker out in an instance, small whips of smoke rising then dissipating into the air.

“Twenty-six, it’s a big number, feel any different?” You ask, looking at him over the cake with your stupidly beautiful eyes that shine with genuine curiosity.

He cuts a slice of cake for you and then himself, putting them on paper plates and sliding yours across to you.

You catch it, and thank him, waiting for him to take a bite, or answer, probably answer.

“Not at all.” He says, taking a bite of the cake for good measure.

You laugh, “I doubt I’ll feel any different on my birthday either.”

“It’s in a few months, right?”

You nod, and take a bite of your own, moaning softly. “Oh, wow, okay, this cake is really good.”

Your moan goes straight to his cock, and he’s glad the island is between you two, blocking your view.

“Yeah, yeah it’s great, thanks again, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

You lean on your elbow, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I did, it’s your birthday and come on you’re like the first real friend—no wait that’s Hen, the first person to look out for—no that’s Athena, you’re a nice gu—wait that sounds bad.” You cover your face with your hands, laughing embarrassedly. “Let me start over.”

He laughs and takes another bite of his cake; it is pretty good. “Go for it.”

“Of course I did, Buck, not just because it’s your birthday, but because I wanted to. I wanted to celebrate you, and thank you for going out of your way for me when I first moved here and for changing the batteries in my smoke alarm and making me laugh when my dates end up sucking, and just being a good guy, that I can trust and count on.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, and his pants are growing tight. You haven’t said anything he hasn’t heard before more or less; you haven’t even said anything technically hot, but somehow, it’s different, it means more, has more layers when you say it. He pinches himself and tries to think about safe, nonsexual things, old books, his grandma, cleaning mud off the truck, white bread, cake, your little moan when you tasted the cake—nope, nope something else, think of something else.

You peek at him through your hands when he doesn’t say anything. “Sorry, that was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

He wants to say, no it was perfect, can you say it again while you ride me? Also, I think I do need to see a therapist because I’m pretty sure I’m getting turned on by emotional intimacy and that’s a new revelation for me. But he doesn’t, instead he skewers another bite of cake on his fork and gives you a teasing smile. “Yeah, a little bit.”

You pout up at him. “Rude.”

He bites his tongue to keep from bending to your will and bending you over the island, instead pointing out with a shrug. “You asked.”

You roll your eyes and take another bite of cake. "I take back every nice thing I said."

Three: He’s tasked with driving over to Athena’s precinct to pick you up. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but Hen slaps him on the shoulder and tells him to get there ASAP before someone gets hurt. He’s not worried about you, Hen made it clear you’re not in any danger, just that it was going to take more than Athena’s stern words to get you to stand down. He’s actually curious, you’re not one to cause a scene or argue with Athena unless you really thought she was wrong, and he’s seen that happen maybe twice?

Buck hates to admit it, but the scene he walks in on…turns him on.

“You know what? You’re just a greedy hack who preys on the hopes and fears of poor, innocent people. You want my professional opinion? You can go fuck yourself.” You snarl, holding your head high as you glare at some white dude with a tarot card tattoo crawling up his forearm, and a feather earring.

“Dr. Y/L/N, please, I have to ask you and Mr. Chester to leave.” Athena says calmly, jerking her head towards you when she sees Buck.

“No, I’m sorry, Sergeant Grant, but I can’t walk away when this conman is trying to ply your victims with false hope.” Your arms down by your side, fingers flexing ever so slightly, and you’re tense like you’re going to lunge at the dude.

“Conman? You’re a psychologist, we all know psychology is fake,” Chester scoffs.

Buck rolls his shoulders back; this is not going to be good.

You laugh, high-pitched and mocking. “Fake? Fake? You’re the fake. Fake as that earring, and your claims of studying with shamans in the desert. Newsflash asshole, I looked you up. All you’ve got is a clip-on earring and an arrest for public intoxication from when you and your little business major buddies did ayahuasca on the Santa Monica pier.”

Buck stifles a laugh, and Athena glares at him, urging him forward. He does as she silently asks and makes his way to you, raising an eyebrow when his eyes meet yours.

“You can't understand my vision quest, you weren’t there,” Chester shoots back.

You laugh again, and Buck thinks maybe it’ll be okay, but then you snatch Chester’s earring from his ear and throw it to the floor, the plastic clip breaking off and skittering across the floor. “This man is a fraud, ladies and gentlem—”

“Yeah, okay, time to go y/n.” Buck says, as he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, large hands keeping you secure as you try to wriggle out of his hold.

“Don’t listen to this charlatan, trust the good men and women of the LAPD they will help you, not some hack psychic!” You continue, and Buck can all but feel your eyes burning a hole in Chester as he carries you out of the station.

“Charlatan? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?” Buck snorts, his hands warm where they hold you, his skin tingling at the points of contact. You weigh nothing to him; it’s like holding a pillow, and the thought of how easy it would be to toss you onto his bed makes him bite down on his tongue.

“Shut up. That guy comes in all the time and promises the world, but he never delivers. I hate people like him, who take advantage of the vulnerable, it’s just not right.” You grumble, as he keeps one arm pressed against your legs while opening his car door for you with his free hand.

He gently sets you in the seat and buckles you in. “It’s not, but you can’t just try to fistfight him in the middle of a police station.”

You roll your eyes and smooth down your hair in the visor mirror. “I wasn’t going to fistfight him, I’m not crazy.”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“Just drive.” You snap, turning away from him to look out the window.

“Someone’s a little bossy.” He jokes, putting his jeep into reverse.

You turn away from the window, fire in your eyes. “You wanna see bossy, I’ll show you bossy.”

Fuck, he wishes you would. He’d love to see you riled up and demanding, your nails scraping against his scalp as you yank his head forward.

“Maybe later.” He says, switching gears and driving away from the station.

The one time:  Buck rubs his eyes, groaning as he blindly reaches for his vibrating phone, it’s two in the morning, he just got home from a double shift, somebody better be dead or dying. He winces at the brightness of his screen and scans the multitude of messages, but it’s the most recent one that catches his attention.

Y/N: Need yuo come over?????!!??

He rubs his eyes harder, there’s no way you texted him that. No damn way.

Y/N: Buck

Y/N: Buck

Y/N: Evan Bucckely

Y/N: Come obrr

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face. Maybe you’re drunk? You’re usually a stickler for proper spelling and grammar. He goes to text back asking that very question when a voice message pops up. He turns up his sound and presses play.

“Buck please, you gotta come here, I need your help, I can’t do it by myself.” You whine, and all his blood runs south.

“Fuck.” He groans, trying to force himself to think about anything but what you might have looked like as you recorded that message.

“I need your skilled hands, mine just aren’t working.” You continue, and he bites down on his fist, all exhaustion banished. You sound so pretty, so desperate, so adorably needy, how can he ignore you, ignore your request?

He sends a quick text swearing he’ll be over in two minutes.

As he pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants, he remembers how he thought it was a curse that you two lived in the same apartment complex. But now as he walks over, swinging his keys around his finger, he’s unbelievably glad.

Buck knocks on your door, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hey, he gave it a good run, a solid year of holding himself back and not sleeping with you. But when you’re asking him directly, he's not going to say no. It would be rude to deny you something you so clearly need.

You pull the door open and grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the couch and plopping down before placing your high-heeled feet in his lap.

“Well, hello to you too.” He says, resting his hand on your shin, admiring the smoothness of your skin. You definitely went out, the heels, the tight black dress, the makeup, you look stunning, and he’s practically salivating.

“I can’t get them off.” You pout, tugging uselessly at the straps of your heels.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He purrs, unbuckling one heel then the other before caressing your skin, his hands sliding higher until he grips your thighs.

Your eyes are slightly glassy, and you’re wearing the biggest, most adoring smile he’s ever seen as you sway in your spot. “You’re amazing, my hero.”

“How much you have to drink tonight, Y/N?” Buck asks, his training kicking in despite the lust that rages beneath his skin.

You clamor into his lap, looping your arms around his neck, the fabric of your dress riding up your plush thighs as you straddle him. “Buck, I thought you were a firefighter, not a cop.”

He chuckles and smoothes his hands down your side. “I am a firefighter, but I can also see you’ve been drinking.”

“Just a little bit.” You say, holding up one hand and pinching your fingers to show him how little you’ve had to drink. It would maybe be believable if you didn’t nearly lose your balance in the process.

“Oh yeah?” He hums, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your breath audibly catches in your throat, and you nod, “yeah.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I feel like you maybe had a lot to drink.”

You pout at him, and he bites his tongue to keep himself steady. You’re drunk, way too drunk, he’s not that kind of guy, he’s not going to take advantage of you no matter how badly he’s wanted this.

“Maybe a bit more than a little, but we were celebrating, and I haven’t gone out drinking in forever.” You stretch out the word forever, giving Buck a bright smile when he pats your outer thigh.

“Why don’t I help you get into bed, huh?”

You start to nod but stop yourself, the light dimming in your eyes as you begin to mumble to yourself.

Buck thinks he catches the words, but Maddie and places his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, just to sleep, nothing else. You need to rest and let your body process all that alcohol.”

You nod, slide off him and onto the couch, laying back onto the cushions, your eyes already closing.

“Whoa, hey, not here, and not with your makeup still on.” He says, gently trying to get you to your feet.

“Too tired, carry me?” You ask so sweetly, he’s pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his life carrying you if you asked him to.

“Alright, come on, but you have to keep your eyes open, okay?” Buck says, slipping his arms underneath your form and lifting you from the couch.

“Okay, I promise…I will try.” You say, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

That’s the best he’s going to get, judging by the way your breathing begins to even out, and your grip on his shirt loosens.

Now, if he spends some time gently cleaning the makeup from your face and waking you briefly so you can change into pajamas before carrying you to your bed, then no one needs to know that.

And if he stays by your side definitely because he’s worried about how hungover you’ll be tomorrow and definitely not because you sleepily insist, and he can’t resist you, that’s no one’s business.

And if he falls asleep in your bed with your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, his chest feeling weird, like he’s got butterflies or heartburn, then no one needs to know that either. He’ll just take the best sleep he’s had in a long time and deal with the consequences later.

No lie I have a whole /reader profile created for this man, just waiting to be unleashed

[plomegranate]

i love palestinian and arab culture so much.

my grandma wearing thobes around the house and making us tamriyeh. my cousins wedding when we all wore thobes and keffiyehs and took photos downtown and we danced with someone playing the guitar on the street and this lady stopping us to tell us we all looked so beautiful. walking the graduation stage in a thobe. the girl who liked to guess arab peoples ethnicities telling me "you're wearing tatreez... do you want me to write 'palestinian' on your forehead?" the keffiyeh my brother keeps on the drivers seat of his car.

my dad sending me off to my last semester of college with 2 pomegranates and a jar of palestinian olive oil. my cousins wife coming up with new ways to make zaatar and cheese pastries. me and my grandma sitting on the floor and making waraq 3neb- my job was to separate the leaves so she could roll them easier. my mom sending me and my brother to school with eid cookies for my teachers and tasking us with delivering some to the neighbors. my aunt glaring at me and piling more food on my plate and then asking if i was still hungry (i wasnt). my mom always telling me to invite my friends and cousins over for dinner and asking me what they like to eat. my family getting my dad knafeh instead of cake for his birthday. the man who told me i made the "best fetteh in the western hemisphere".

the man in the shawarma shop who gave me my fries for free and baklava i didnt order because we spoke about being palestinian while he took my order. the person on tumblr who i bonded with because we are from the same palestinian city. the girl i met on campus who exclaimed "youre palestinian? me too!" because i was wearing my keffiyeh. the girl in my class that showed me the artwork about palestine her dad made and donated for fundraising. the couple in the grocery store who noticed my palestinian shirt and talked with me for 20 minutes and ended up being a family friend. the silly palestinian kids i tutored sighing in disappointment when i told them i was born in america because they were hoping that id have been born "somewhere cooler". my friends family who bought me dinner despite me being there by chance and having met me for the first time the day before.

the boys starting uncoordinated dabke lines in my high school's hallways. the songs about the longing and love for our land. the festivals and parties and gatherings where everything smells like shisha and oud. memories of waiting in the car for an hour as my parents talked at the doorway of their friends homes. my cousins and i showing up at each others homes with cake or fruit or games as if it was the first time we ever visited even though we always say "you dont have to".

kids stubbornly helping to clean and make tea after a meal while being told to go sit down because they are guests. the necklaces in the shape of our home countries. people hugging and laughing and acting as if theyve known each other for years because they come from the same city or know people with the same last name. the day i finally got to bully my friends into letting me pay the bill because i had a job and they were still students. my moms friend who calls us every time she's at the grocery store to see if we need something

palestinian people are so resilient and hardworking and charitable. they love their culture and their community and are so quick to share and welcome anyone in. everyday i am so thankful and proud to be part of such a warm and lovely culture

[sincerely-sofie]

It’s Narilamb fankid hours.

[bl0ssom-skies]

Im not sure what compelled me to do this, but I did it anyway

[morethansalad]

Old Fashioned Sweet Barley Pudding (Vegan)

Sweet barley pudding or barley porridge is simply an adaptation of the medieval frumenty and has been enjoyed in Scotland for hundreds of years.

[commonplaceish]

Or, as it's been known in the Isles since the 1820s, "mixed spice". You can get it from supermarket shelves year-round.

So apparently it is pumpkin spice latte season, and for the record, Starbucks is under no obligation to put pumpkin in the thing. The term ‘pumpkin spice’ refers to a mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger and cloves.

[askwhatsforlunch]

Spiced Roasted Red Kuri Squash Soup

This hearty Spiced Roasted Red Kuri Squash Soup, fragrant with seasonal spice, makes a deliciously comforting and heartwarming dinner, after spending the arvo installing Christmas lights in the cold (and rain!) Happy Monday!

Ingredients (serves 4):

2 small or one large Red Kuri Squashes, thoroughly scrubbed

1 onion

2 garlic cloves

1 teaspoon coarse sea salt

½ teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1/2 teaspoon Mixed Spice

1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 ½ litre/6 cups boiling water

2 tablespoons demerara sugar

Preheat oven to 200°C/395°F.

Halve and seed Red Kuri Squashes, cut them into large pieces, and place into a large roasting tin. Peel and quarter onion, and place in the middle of the tin as well. Peel garlic cloves and add to the tin, too.

Season Red Kuri Squashes with coarse sea salt and black pepper. Then, sprinkle evenly with Mixed Spice and smoked paprika. Finally, drizzle generously with olive oil. Toss with clean hands, to coat the Red Kuri Squash pieces in spices and oil.

Place in the middle of the hot oven, and roast, at 200°C/395°F, 1 hour.

Remove roasting tin from the oven and wait about 5 minutes. Combine roasted and Red Kuri Squash and onion and boiling water in a blender, in batches if necessary, and blitz until smooth, adding more water if necessary.

Pour into a large pot, and heat over medium heat. Stir in demerara sugar until dissolved.

Serve Spiced Roasted Red Kuri Squash Soup hot.

[fraternum-momentum]

do u have a design for pure sydney? i feel like i only see u draw them corrupted (valid)

‼️WARNING‼️ OLD UGLY ASS ART 😭 but the right one is more recent u can look at that

i do ! actually my first dol fanart has pure syd in it but its from last year so i privated it bc uglyyyyy 💀 but yeah im not a huge p!syd fan bc theyre theyre more shy and submissive in my head and im a whitney enjoyer so you can probably understand my personal taste from that

[screechingfromthevoid]

Dorian and Orym's kitchen is like a kosher kitchen. There's two of everything. Cabinets and counters at different heights. Two sinks, two sets of utensils, two ovens

Dorian wanted to make sure Orym was comfortable in his own home. He shouldn't have to use a step stool to do everything. He shouldn't have to struggle with a bowl and spoon that doesn't fit his hand.

Orym made the argument that Dorian shouldn't have to crouch or use things too small for him.

So they have both so that they can cook side by side, comfortable and easy.

[coffeebrownn]

dungeon meshi sona