#oven cleaning in London

[fastovencleaning]

Learn how to deep clean your oven before moving out with this easy step-by-step guide. Make sure your oven is pristine for your future tenant to avoid fines for cleaning!

[homecarecleaning]

Professional Oven Cleaning Services in London

Transform your oven with Home Care Cleaning’s top-notch oven cleaning services in London. Our expert technicians use the latest cleaning technology and safe, non-toxic products to banish grease, grime, and stubborn residue, leaving your oven sparkling and looking as good as new.

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Blame Yana T’s rendition of Full English Breakfast on Chapter 212 that I suddenly craved for it.

Apologies if you are a vegan bc of the meat assault.

How to make your own full English breakfast fast with your combination :

The basic idea would be like this. “There is no fixed menu or set of ingredients for a full breakfast.”

Mine goes something like this: assorted small sausages, hash browns, baked beans in tomato sauce, fried/grilled tomato slices, fried/grilled mushrooms, eggs, toasted bread. Paired with orange juice and tea.

You need sausages, different varieties. If you only have the Frankfurter, that’s fine too. Cut them in half and fry them. I love hash browns so I reheat them in the oven. It is safe to say that I didn’t prepare anything here, but just fry them after purchasing them from the supermarket. There is a British shop here but I didn’t like their sausages so Austrian it is. Choose huge tomatoes for frying after you cut them in slices. I love mushrooms too. After cleaning them by removing the outer layer (don’t soak them in water !) and fry both sides. Baked beans in tomato sauce can either be bought or cooked. It is your choice. There is one by Heinz, but I prefer the Austrian product, bc it is cheaper and organic. Calculate how much baked beans you would eat, I use my Chinese small bowl. Microwave it. The crowning glory is the sunny side up eggs 🍳!! And there you go. I love some toasted bread with butter so yes, bring them on. All in all I spent 15 euros for this and I didn’t get to finish all of the ingredients.

I ate full English breakfast in London and Edinburgh but the best I had was in Prague. It was in a clandestine street in the inner district where no one would notice that it was a coffeehouse but once you entered inside, it was so spacious, full of living plants and the owner was playing blues. So it was good. It is a full meal for a day bc of how heavy it is. Others have sworn of its dietary integrity.

Of course you can also make it vegan. There are sausages based on other ingredients like beans, but like always it is up to you.

[221bug]

May 8th- Hobby

John opened the door to the apartment and was met with a symphony of noises coming from the kitchen.

Splash. Crash. "Whoops." Bang.

"Sherlock!" He bemoaned, "I just cleaned up your experiment from yesterday, this morning."

He heard the sound of a pan hitting a rack in the oven. Oh Jesus, he's about to set the flat on fire. John burst through the door to the kitchen to reveal chaos and experiments.

However, this time not those of his husband.

Rosie wore an apron that was covered in flour, a bowl in one hand, an electric mixer in the other. Batter dripped from the mixer paddle onto the floor as she moved across the kitchen. Rosie set the bowl down on the table where Sherlock sat. He dipped a finger into the batter and licked it clean.

"Hm, could do with less salt, I think." Sherlock analyzed.

"Ah," John let out, realizing what was happening, "Didn't know Rosie's bake shop was opening up in our kitchen." John was quite pleased his daughter chose such a delicious hobby, he just wished it didn't mean nonstop experiments in the kitchen. "It looks like The Bear in here."

"Why would there be a bear in central London?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Dad, we need more baking powder, please." Rosie announced, placing a kiss on his cheek as she continued moving through the kitchen.

"Alright then, I'm off to the shops." John started off.

His kitchen would never be clean. He couldn't be happier.

-

I finally joined in on @calaisreno's May writing challenge. Inspired by my own adventures in baking and all the adorable parentlock blurbs i've read lately

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (28) Empty

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 28)

Summary: Will Rosie be able to keep her secret from her parents until the big day?

Twenty-Eight Years Old

Seen in hindsight, the trip to Greece was a catalyst of what came later. On our last evening, Timothy and I had dinner at an almost empty restaurant on the cliffs of Fira. The sun was about to set, and the sea was bathed in colours of gold. When Timothy took my hands in his and asked me to marry him, it really was the perfect ending. Cliché, perhaps, but who cares? Luckily, he hadn’t bought the rings at one of the ridiculous jewellers on the island but brought them with him from London. (I said yes, by the way.)

***

As if faith wanted me to keep my secret from my parents, they were away on a three-week trip to New Zealand when we arrived back in London. I called Dee before I went to Baker Street to collect mail and check the fridge for outdated milk and decayed body parts. She had closed for the day, but when I called with my inquiry, she was instantly intrigued and asked me to pop into 221A before I left.

It was strange to see someone else living at Nana’s. Her old furniture had been donated to second-hand shops, new wallpaper, art, and futuristically designed chairs, tables and shelves made 221A look like something taken out of Star Trek or whatever. The kitchen and bathroom were recognisable with bits and bobs I remembered. Nana’s oven mittens, the kitchen utensils and the wallpaper. Over the kitchen table was a big photo of Nana.

“I’ve made some sketches for you,” Dee said after she’d inquired about the trip. “One on each shoulder, yes?”

She showed me her drawings and after some discussion, she made the adjustments I wanted. 

“See you tomorrow at six,” Dee said when I left. 

“Can’t wait!” I retorted excitedly.

***

Dee’s Den was everything you don’t expect a tattoo-studio to be. (At least if you’ve never set foot in one.) Airy, spacious and clean in the extreme. The first time I entered, I felt I needed to take my shoes off.

“No customer of mine will suffer from an infection. I’ve seen enough of that shit,” Dee said gravely.

Her improved sketches had been coloured when I arrived the next day, and they looked even better than I’d dreamt of. The tattoos would adorn each shoulder. One red poppy on the left, and a bee on the right. A t-shirt would cover them, and by the time Dad and Papa were back, they would’ve healed properly so I didn’t need to wrap them in plastic, and the soreness would be gone. I hoped to keep them a secret until the wedding day. My dress would be sleeveless and make sure to show off the tribute to my beloved parents.

***

We decided on a May wedding, and it was Dee’s idea to check if the venue from Nana’s funeral was available.

“She would’ve been so pleased that you all had some good memories from that place. Dancing and laughing, celebrating love.”

Both me and Timothy loved the idea, and we were in luck. Normally, the place needed to be booked at least a year and a half in advance, when it came to weddings, but they’d had a cancellation due to a broken engagement. Nine months to prepare.

***

I chose Liwia as my maid of honour. We had stayed in touch over the years, and she adored my parents, after they’d given her shelter when she needed it in the middle of her teens. Bella had been switched for Iris. They’d been together almost eight years, and Iris was six months pregnant with their first child. An unknown donor was the father.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you were traumatised when you stayed with us,” I said on the final fitting of our dresses.

“What do you mean?” Liwia asked, clearly puzzled.

“Board games,” I explained dryly.

She laughed wholeheartedly and admitted that she’d never played Scrabble, Cluedo, orMonopoly, but stuck to chess and card games.

“Wise choice,” I retorted with a grin. “Though I have experienced knights, queens and bishops being thrown across 221B.”

***

My uncles picked me up at the salon where I’d been styled and dressed. Uncle Myc cocked an eyebrow when he saw my tattoos, but he was unable to hide how moved he was by this permanent gesture. Uncle Greg…well, he wasn’t that subtle, and needed a stern talking to from his husband to avoid ruining my dress and hair when he teared up and embraced me.

“You’re going to destroy them with this, love,” uncle Greg murmured.

I hadn’t been nervous before, but when the familiar place came into sight, my palms started to sweat, and my heart pounded in my chest. Inside, Timothy and my parents waited. The most important people in the world, apart from the men helping me out of the car. I kissed them and let them go in first to find their seats. One of the staff stood waiting for me to open the door once I’d decided to enter.

For a while I just stood there, my head blessfully empty. And then out of nowhere a wave of emotions washed over me. The memories of all the preparations and anxiety of the last week, regarding the flowers, the last seat arrangements we had to change the day prior, one of my shoes that disappeared without a trace… 

“Come on, Watson. You can do this,” I interrupted myself, using Papa’s former name on me to get me out of the unending loop of trifles and keep me focused.

I nodded to the man by the door who opened it for me, and I slowly made my way down the corridor to where Dad and Papa waited. They stood hand in hand outside the door to the ceremony room and turned abruptly when they heard my heels on the wooden floor.

“You look…”

“Oh, Bee…”

They were both teary-eyed, which didn’t bode well. I hoped they’d piled up with tissues, because this well would not be emptied any time soon.

With my heels on, I was the height of Dad. I seldom wore high-heeled shoes, so it was an alien feeling to stand face to face with him, literally speaking.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear when he hugged me.

“Thank you,” I said and turned to Papa.

He’d frozen and he blinked profusely. Dad looked worried at him. He still hadn’t seen the tattoos. Papa’s eyes darted between them, clearly shocked to the core. I took his hand and squeezed it.

“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

“Like what?” Dad inquired; his eyes hadn’t left Papa’s face during all of this.

“Look at me, Dad,” I said and finally he saw what Papa had seen minutes ago.

“Oh, my god,” he said and covered his mouth with his hand. “Rosie.”

“They are…” Papa clearly knew but was too shaken to believe what he’d deduced.

“Yes, Papa. They are. My tribute, homage, or whatever you want to call it. To you and Dad. To show you and everyone how much you mean to me. Dee made them while you were away. You have no idea how proud I am that I’ve managed to keep it a secret until now.”

Finally, out of his daze, Papa cupped my face and kissed my forehead and cheeks, careful not to disturb my hair or makeup.

“My precious girl,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“Stop! You’re making me cry,” I protested and tried my best to stay composed.

Dad sniffled and batted his eyes with a handkerchief.

“I’m never going to survive this day,” he muttered.

“John!” Papa exclaimed. “Don’t you dare.”

I knew I had to take the lead, or we would be stranded outside that door forever.

“Come on. The game is afoot,” I teased.

Also available on AO3

YES, there will be a continuation tomorrow.

This is also my entry for this month's Sherlock Challenge and the prompt ink.

@calaisreno @sherlockchallenge @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Hi bb are you requests open? If so can I creep in here…

Kindly asking for Steven + domesticity aka reader is his cute pretty housewife 🙈💕 only if you’re up to it !!

When I think of pretty housewife, I think of baking, idk why, but sorry this took long and I hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 853

Steven immediately knew what you were up to as soon as he entered his flat. A sweetness was trapped in the air, the familiar smell of homemade blueberry muffins greeting him at the door. 

“Dove?” He called out, tossing his satchel aside and toeing off his shoes. He went straight toward the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of you clutching a mixing bowl to your waist as you furiously mixed away at the batter within. You had a pretty dress on, a blue, floral thing that swished around your knees with every movement. It was covered in flour despite the apron you wore—the one that said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

There were trays upon trays of already baked muffins scattered about, along with trays of cookies, and even a pan of sourdough bread. Steven didn’t even know how you’d both get through to eating all of it. He’d have to bring some to work the next day and share with some of his coworkers so that all your hard work wouldn’t go to waste.

Something must have happened—you only baked this much when your day was beyond stressful. The little crease between your brows was enough of an indicator that your work day may have had a toll on you.

“Dove?” He tried again over the blaring music, another indication of your displeasure of the day. Your eyes had been trained on folding the blueberries into the batter that you barely noticed him until he placed his hand on your elbow.

“Oh!” The rubber spatula you’d been using almost flew from your hand had Steven not gripped your wrist to hold it in place. Batter went flying everywhere from the erratic movement, some of it landing in Steven’s hair and face. “Steven! I didn’t hear you come in!” You dropped the bowl on the counter, “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mess of you.” 

“It’s okay,” he smiled, letting you fall in his arms as soon as he invited you in, “what’s wrong, love?”

“What makes you think somethings wrong?” You muttered, wiping some batter from his cheek only to pop your finger into your mouth to wipe it clean. Steven did his best to ignore that.

“You only bake like this when something’s wrong. What is it? You know you can tell me, right?” He urged, gently swaying you along to whatever indie track you had playing in the background. You smiled, giving him a quick peck on the lips before sighing.

“My parents.” You muttered.

“What about them?”

“They’re coming to visit in a few weeks.”

“Well, that’s fantastic news, innit?” Steven pulled away to hold you at arm's length, “I finally get to meet them, yeah?” he noted your hesitation, the uncertain look in your eyes, “what’s wrong?” You bit your lip, red and plump from your worrying it so much.

“I’m nervous.” You finally said, turning from him to tend to whatever it was you had baking in the oven.

“Well, that’s normal, it’s been a few years since you’ve visited them,” Steven strode over to hook his chin over your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist as you tested the muffins you pulled out with a toothpick. His hands worked to smooth down the silky fabric of your dress, placing a kiss on the nape of your neck.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes fluttering, “but…they’re complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Like, judgy complicated.” 

“Oh.” You rarely spoke about your parents. All that he knew was that they did not agree with your decision to go to baking school, nor did they agree with your move to London. But you’ve been successful since then, working as a second in command in one of the top pastry restaurants in the city. How could they judge you when you’ve accomplished so much? “I’m sure they’ll be proud to know how successful you’ve been, love. You know how proud of you I am.”

You hummed, leaning back against him. “Yes, I know.” Steven breathed in the scent of your hair, and you felt his smile through the strands.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he said, his hold on you tightening, “and if I have to, I’ll remind them of how amazing you are. They’ll be so happy, you’ll see.” You giggled when he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. You delicately plucked a warm muffin from the tray, breaking a piece off and shifting in his arms to face him.

“Thank you, I love you,” you said with a tiny smile, “here, try this batch, I added Greek yogurt to this recipe.” You pressed the piece past his lips and Steven immediately moans at the sweetness.

“God, your hands are magic.” In more ways than one, he would’ve said, but he left that part out. He really did enjoy your baking skills. 

You beamed, taking a piece for yourself and humming in approval.

“Come on,” Steven suddenly said, grabbing your hand.

“Wait,” you giggled as you followed along, “I have more muffins to bake! Where are we going?”

“Bedroom. Gonna make a mess of you.”

[fastovencleaning]

Natural Oven Cleaning: How to Clean Your Oven Without Harsh Chemicals

Cleaning your oven is often one of those dreaded household tasks, but it doesn’t have to involve harsh chemicals and unpleasant fumes. There are effective, natural cleaning methods that can tackle grease and grime without exposing you to strong, toxic ingredients. Whether you’re looking for a healthier way to clean or just want to avoid the overpowering scent of store-bought cleaners, this guide will show you how to clean your oven using safe, non-toxic solutions.

Why Choose Natural Oven Cleaning Methods?

Using natural cleaning methods is not only better for your health but also safer for the environment. Traditional oven cleaners are often packed with harsh chemicals that can irritate the skin, eyes, and lungs. By choosing natural alternatives, you can achieve a clean, sparkling oven without health risks, and you won’t have to worry about lingering chemical smells affecting your cooking.

Plus, natural cleaning ingredients like baking soda and vinegar are budget-friendly and already found in most households, making it a cost-effective option.

The Essentials: Gather Your Natural Cleaning Supplies

Before you get started, gather your cleaning essentials. You won’t need any specialised products—just a few simple ingredients you likely already have in your kitchen:

Baking soda

White vinegar

Water

Lemon (optional for extra cleaning power and fragrance)

Microfibre cloths or rags

A non-abrasive scrubber or sponge

Spray bottle

Rubber gloves (optional, but good for protecting your hands)

With these natural ingredients, you’ll be ready to tackle even the dirtiest of ovens without exposing yourself to harsh chemicals.

Step-by-Step Guide to Cleaning Your Oven Naturally

1. Remove and Soak the Oven Racks

Oven racks can accumulate a lot of grime and burnt-on food, so it’s best to start by removing them and giving them a good soak.

How to Do It: Fill your bathtub or a large sink with hot, soapy water. Add a few tablespoons of baking soda to the water to help loosen tough grime. Let the racks soak for at least 30 minutes while you work on cleaning the rest of the oven.

Pro Tip: Use an old toothbrush or non-abrasive sponge to scrub the racks clean after soaking. Rinse and set them aside to dry.

2. Make a Baking Soda Paste for the Oven Interior

Baking soda is a natural powerhouse when it comes to cutting through grease and grime. It’s non-toxic and safe for most surfaces, making it the perfect base for cleaning your oven.

How to Do It: Mix half a cup of baking soda with a few tablespoons of water to create a thick paste. You can add a few drops of lemon juice for a fresh scent and extra grease-cutting power if you like.

Once your paste is ready, you’ll apply it to the inside of the oven.

3. Apply the Paste and Let It Sit

Now it’s time to coat the inside of your oven with the baking soda paste. This will work to break down the grime and make it easy to wipe away later.

How to Do It: Wearing gloves, spread the paste over the entire interior surface of your oven, avoiding the heating elements. Focus on areas where grease has built up, and use a thicker layer of paste on stubborn spots.

Pro Tip: Let the paste sit for at least 12 hours, or overnight if possible. The longer it sits, the better it will work to break down burnt-on grease and food residue.

4. Wipe Away the Baking Soda Paste

After the baking soda paste has done its job, it’s time to wipe it away and reveal a cleaner oven.

How to Do It: Use a damp microfibre cloth or sponge to remove the dried baking soda. For any spots where the paste has hardened, you may need to scrub lightly, but it should come off easily. If necessary, use a plastic spatula to gently scrape off any stubborn bits.

Be sure to remove as much of the baking soda as possible before moving on to the next step.

5. Spray Vinegar to Neutralise and Clean

To finish the job and ensure all traces of baking soda are removed, it’s time to bring in vinegar. Vinegar is a natural disinfectant and cleaner that will react with the remaining baking soda, helping to break down any leftover grime.

How to Do It: Pour white vinegar into a spray bottle and lightly mist the inside of your oven, focusing on areas where the baking soda is still present. You’ll notice a fizzing reaction as the vinegar interacts with the baking soda.

Pro Tip: After the fizzing stops, wipe down the oven with a clean, damp cloth to remove any remaining residue and leave the oven interior sparkling.

6. Clean the Oven Door and Glass

Don’t forget about the oven door, which often collects grease and food splatters. The glass can be tricky to clean if it’s been neglected, but baking soda and vinegar can help here too.

How to Do It: Apply a small amount of the baking soda paste to the glass on the oven door and let it sit for 15–30 minutes. Then, spray the vinegar and wipe the glass clean with a microfibre cloth for a streak-free finish.

7. Replace the Racks and Give the Final Touch

Once you’ve cleaned the inside of the oven and wiped down the door, it’s time to replace the oven racks. Make sure they’re completely dry before putting them back into place.

For the final touch, give the outside of the oven a quick wipe with a damp cloth and a little vinegar to remove fingerprints, smudges, and grease.

Maintenance Tips to Keep Your Oven Cleaner for Longer

Once your oven is spotless, it’s worth taking a few extra steps to keep it that way for longer.

Wipe spills as they happen: Clean up spills as soon as they occur to prevent them from baking on the surface.

Line the bottom of your oven: Consider using an oven liner or a baking sheet to catch drips and spills. This will make cleaning much easier.

Regular light cleaning: Rather than waiting for a deep clean, give your oven a quick wipe-down every couple of months to prevent build-up.

Ready to Ditch the Chemicals?

Cleaning your oven doesn’t have to mean using harsh, smelly products. With baking soda, vinegar, and a little elbow grease, you can achieve a sparkling clean oven without exposing yourself to chemicals. Plus, you’ll enjoy the satisfaction of knowing your kitchen is clean and safe.

Do you have any natural oven cleaning tips or experiences to share? We’d love to hear from you! Drop your tips in the comments below, and don’t forget to like and share this guide with anyone looking for a safer way to clean their oven.

FAQs

Can I use natural products like vinegar and baking soda in a self-cleaning oven?

Yes, vinegar and baking soda are safe to use in self-cleaning ovens but avoid scrubbing the special liners to prevent damage.

Is it safe to cook immediately after using natural cleaning methods?

Absolutely. Natural products like baking soda and vinegar leave no harmful residue, making it safe to cook right after cleaning.

Are there any other eco-friendly alternatives to vinegar for oven cleaning?

Yes, lemon juice and citric acid are great alternatives to vinegar for breaking down grease and leaving a fresh scent.

© Fast Oven Cleaning

[homecarecleaning]

London's Top-notch Professional Oven Cleaning Services

Get rid of dirt, grime, tough stains and spots on your oven without putting any effort with the professional oven cleaning services in London provided by Home Care Cleaning. Be assured that they use the most effective cleaning tools and supplies for a new redefined glow of your oven.

[handycleaners]

Office Cleaning Companies London | Handy Cleaners

Elevate your workplace hygiene with top-notch office cleaning in London. Professional services for a pristine and productive office environment! https://handycleaners.com/

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter one

a/n: hello everyone!! finally had some inspiration, so this will be the first part of a lockwood x reader multipart series!! i hope you enjoy!!

warning: angst, mild language gn reader

full collection: here

It's a warm day out, and you can feel the heat of it even deep within the kitchen at Arif's, intensified by the humming ovens. Sunlight beams through the open window, and you can faintly hear singing birds within the bustling noise out in the front of the store. Summertime is always busy, and although not many people can actually sit in, queues are often out the door, bringing with them loud conversations and whispered gossip.

Soft music plays from a speaker as you roll out some dough, hands dusted in flour, and you find yourself quietly singing along. The smell of pastries of all kinds baking is soothing.

You're the only one working in the back. Arif is dealing with orders at the counter. Kate and Lana are off running deliveries. Jack is on holiday, revelling somewhere in the Scottish countryside. But you don't mind. Even with all the customers, the rush is something you've grown used to over the past few months, and you've found ways to manage it. The less you rush, the quicker the food gets done, as strange as it sounds.

When Arif appears in the kitchen doorway, your hands are buried in a fresh batch of dough you're in the middle of making.

Arif's a big guy, but he's got a sweet face and an incredible recipe book, so it's no wonder he's so popular in this part of London. Even though he's been working out front, he wears his trademark pink apron that had been a gift from you and the others for his birthday. He's smiling, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. A habit, you've found, when he's about to start baking.

"Shift swap?" you say.

He nods. "A few customers sitting in, but the queue has died down for now. I'll wait out front while you clean up."

It doesn't take long to finish making the dough and clean your hands. Swiftly, you swap your flour-covered apron for your front-of-house one, which looks much more presentable, but Arif still has to dust flour from your hair as you pass him.

It's routine now. Come to the bakery in the morning, work the kitchen until lunch, and then swap into the front until closing. Surprisingly, it took only a few days for you to fall into the routine, despite the dozens of late nights you worked in your previous position, and you've found yourself enjoying it.

Even if you have to hear his voice almost every day.

He comes in around ten in the morning, so it's not like you have to see him or be the one to serve him. Usually, you're in the middle of making a fresh batch of pain au chocolat or scones, depending on what day it is and which regulars have arrived, and you know that that's down to Arif's rota. Unknowingly, he's saved you a lot of unease. You're not even sure that he's aware you work here now.

But today is the exception.

You're in the middle of refilling the display cases with doughnuts and croissants when he appears, framed with beautiful golden sunlight. His hair falls over his forehead, brushing just above his dark eyes, lined with thick lashes. The past few months of summer heat have not permitted him a tan, but there are a few very faint freckles on the bridge of his nose. And despite the temperature, he still wears that ridiculously long greatcoat.

"Surely you're melting in that," you say, closing the case and coming to stand by the till. "It's twenty-five degrees out."

It's now that you notice the frozen look of shock on his face. His eyebrows, barely visible under his hair, are almost comical in their position, raised halfway up his head, and his mouth hangs open slightly.

"(name)," he says after opening and closing his mouth a few times. "I didn't - um, where's Arif?"

"In the back making the goods." You keep your voice light, but it's easy to pick out the undertone of strain in it.

You haven't seen Anthony Lockwood in eight months. Yes, you've heard his voice frequently when he's come to place orders. Yes, you've even made his orders - and been tempted to replace the almond sauce he likes with lemon - but it's insanely different from standing in front of him now. Even though he's uncharacteristically quiet, all you can hear is your last conversation together and the horrible things you both said.

"What can I get you?" you ask, trying to shove down the awkward tension that's forming between you both. "Just the usual?"

"You know my order?"

"I've been making it for the past eight months. And I also used to be on the receiving end of the deliveries." Already, you're typing it into the register. "Two jam doughnuts, one glazed, half a dozen almond fingers, and three croissants, all for delivery, right?"

He looks even more shocked than when he first saw you. "Uh, yes, please... Oh, and -"

"Three teas to go?"

That part isn't memorised because of your job. That part you know from your time spent at Portland Row. You know exactly how much milk to put in each cup.

"Erm, yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

"I don't mind at all. In fact, I get paid for this."

He hands you the money for the total order, and you print out the delivery order, slipping it through a small window behind the counter that leads to the kitchen. Arif's hand, covered in chocolate chip cookie dough, snatches it away.

Lockwood stands as you fill the to-go cups with tea and milk, and he watches carefully as you squeeze a dollop of honey into one of them.

"You know," he says, "I've actually been looking for you. We need to talk."

You hand him the cookies, eyeing the bakery door. "Yes, well, you've found me, but talking will have to wait. I've got customers to serve."

As if on cue, a short old woman, one of your favourite regulars, clears her throat behind Lockwood. Next to him, she looks tiny, but the look on her face has him shuffling to the side and out of the way.

"Just the usual, Nancy?"

She nods, and you type in her order.

"When do you finish?" Lockwood asks as you step back over to the coffee machine and begin making the order. You take a few cookies out of the case as you wait.

"That's for me to know," you say. Then, plastering on your customer service smile, "Thank you for popping in. See you around."

But he doesn't leave yet. He watches as you serve the next few customers, only hesitating when the queue begins building up again for the lunchtime rush. Relief overtakes you when he does leave, finally free from the weight of his gaze, and you can breathe again.

You're not very lucky, though.

An hour later, he reappears just shortly after the rush has died down and there are only a couple of customers left, sitting and chatting at the tables. He saunters up to the counter, filled with the confidence he lacked earlier.

But you know him. You can see that it's not entirely genuine from the way his fingers discreetly tug on his pocket zip and fiddle with the hilt of his gleaming rapier.

"Hello. What can I get for you?"

"A few minutes of your time."

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you say, "I'm afraid that'll be quite expensive. And, unless you're going to order any food or drinks, it's also quite improbable that you'll get that order."

"Fine. I'll have one of those."

Your eyes follow his pointed finger and you raise your brows. "Apricot Danish? Lockwood, you don't like apricot."

"Lovely of you to remember. I'll have one anyways."

Begrudgingly, you pluck one out of the case and place it in a little box once he's handed you the money owed. The whole time, his eyes follow you.

"Now, how about those few minutes of your time?"

You almost smile, ready to tell him that you've no time to spare, and another customer is entering the bakery, but Kate, one of your coworkers, appears, smiling.

"I've finished deliveries," she says, brushing her dark hair into a ponytail. "Arif says you're on break."

The look you give her is murderous, but she only grins, nudging you out of the way as she pulls on a pair of gloves and greets the next customer. Lockwood looks slightly too happy.

"Go sit somewhere," you grumble. "Give me a minute."

He disappears, and you huff as you tear off your gloves and apron.

Although it's been over half a year since your fight, seeing Lockwood brings it all up to the surface, bubbling and boiling. Your skin feels hot with anger and sorrow you haven't felt for a good while, fresh as if you've been transported back to the day it all happened.

Lockwood is sitting at one of the corner tables, far from the other customers, nudging the box holding his purchase. At the sight of your approach, he perks up, donning that infamous white-toothed smile of his.

"Here you go." He pushes the box over as you sit.

You stare at him. "What?"

"For you. You used to get them all the time."

Part of you wants to leap with joy at the fact that he remembers a small detail like that, but it's squashed almost instantaneously by your anger and confusion. You don't touch the box as if it is contaminated. It hurts that someone so distant from you now remembers such a thing.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"Yes, you've mentioned. We're currently talking."

He shoots you a look, but there's no anger behind it. Not even frustration. "I need your help. We need your help."

"We being you, Lucy, and George?"

"Yes."

"And what makes you think I'll help you?"

The question stumps him, but he recovers quickly, brushing imaginary dust off his pristine white shirt. It's infuriating how the sunlight hits his face, emphasising all of his perfect features. His eyes sparkle like molten bronze.

"It's a big case, a lot of money involved, and you could get a decent cut of it. There are some things we need, but that involves -" He lowers his voice, leaning close to you - "stealing." Sitting back again, he speaks normally once more. "Now, if this were any normal case, we'd be fine on our own. But it's not a normal case. The documents we need are at the Rotwell building, and nobody knows that building like you do."

You cross your arms. "You're telling me all of this as if I'd accept. Judging from the fact that you want me to steal from the second-largest agency in the country, it'll most likely be a pretty dangerous job and, while that would rack up a lot of money, I'm sure you can tell that I'm not an agent anymore. I'm rusty."

"(name), you know I wouldn't be here asking you for help unless we really needed it."

"The last time we saw each other, you called me a hindrance to the team and demanded I leave lest I kill myself or the others."

He winces. "And if I remember correctly, you called me, and I quote, 'a massively conceited asshole who cares more about his company's status than the lives of his agents'."

"And I'd say it again. But if I'm such a problem, why come to try and hire me again?"

"It's temporary," Lockwood says. "And, like I said, you know Rotwell's just as well as George knew Fittes', if not better. We need this information."

"What do I get out of it? Peace from you? A written apology?"

"A cut of the money."

"Yes, you said, but do you really think that a sum of money is going to console me when I'm working with the guy who fired me because of a small slip-up?"

"It wasn't small -"

"It most certainly was. Do you think I meant to trip over Lucy? The iron circle had been fixed immediately, and no one other than me was hurt. My arm was in full working order a week after it happened, thank you for asking."

He's quiet for a minute, pondering, but his eyes are unnerving. They follow your every move as if waiting for you to pounce. You don't miss the way his fingers tap on the table, a tell-tale sign of his nerves.

"You won't see me again."

"What?"

"You heard me." He finally looks away, finding the Apricot Danish more interesting than you. "I'll make sure you don't see me again. Things ended badly, worse than they should've, and there's obviously still a lot of animosity on your part, so I'll stay away until you're ready to speak to me again, or forever if I have to."

Forever...

A small part of you, the same part that enjoyed the feeling of being known, is screaming, begging you not to accept. But, at the same time, it's painful merely sitting in front of him right now, and, if he's offering you peace from that, you should take it. It won't take long to get this job out of the way, and then you can be free of him.

"You don't have to decide right now," he clarifies. "But, if you accept the offer, come to the house once your shift finishes. We can discuss things then."

As he stands, he pushes the box holding the Danish closer to you.

Then, with a swift brush of air, he's gone, leaving nothing but a sense of... confusion, anger, and a little lingering absence, in his wake.

<- full collection part 2 ->

[lnfours]

Can you make a blurb about reader and Tom cooking at home for a date then it goes to hell? I think this would be so friggin cute 🥺

omg anon 🥺 it would be so cute

cleaning out my inbox 🌿

date night was yours and tom’s favorite night of the week. normally, the two of you would go out on a friday night to the pub or to one of your favorite restaurants in london and just spend quality time together. it was your special moment between the two of you that you got to have once a week, turn everything off and start the weekend off with having fun together.

tonight, however. tom had the brilliant idea of having date night at home. he had set up the dining room with candles, letting them dimly light up the room. he had even bought a bottle of new wine for the both of you to try, going through extreme lengths to make the ‘date night in’ the best one yet.

that was until he had accidentally burned the homemade pizza the two of you made in the oven. you giggled from your spot on the couch, watching as he desperately tried to get the smoke alarm to turn off as he waved the oven mitt around to clear the smoke. you bit down on your bottom lip, holding back a smile as you got up and opened the back door to let the lingering smoke out.

he turned and looked at you, visibly upset about the fact that he ruined the food, “i’m so sorry.”

you waved your hand, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck, “‘s okay, baby.”

he sighed, “maybe we should’ve went out, huh?”

you giggled, shrugging your shoulders a bit as you ruffled his hair, “you know, we could always order from the chinese restaurant.”

his eyes lit up as he grabbed his phone off the counter, typing in the number for the restaurant. he smiled into the phone, hearing them greet him on the other end of the line.

“hey, mate. can i get a number 11 combo and a number 6 combo?”

[timetraveltasting]

MILK SOUP, THE DUTCH WAY (1747)

It has been a few weeks since I made a historical dish due to a busy schedule and a weekend trip tp London (where I picked up an interesting historical cookbook, 'Churchill's Cookbook', which I intend to use here if I run out of Tasting History recipes). To keep in the English mood, I decided to make my next Tasting History dish, Milk Soup, the Dutch Way. While it may have been inspired by the Dutch style of making Milk Soup at the time, it is, in fact, an 18th century English recipe from Hannah Glasse's 'The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy', published in 1747. This soup technically follows the rules of Dr. George Cheyne’s Georgian English fad diet of “Milk, Seeds, Bread, mealy Roots, and Fruit”. While it follows Dr. Cheyne’s rules, this soup less a healthy soup and more a dessert. I chose to make this recipe entirely because Max says it tastes exactly like the milk left over from Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal - a nostalgic breakfast treat from my childhood. Milk soup may sound a little strange, but it will hopefully be delicious. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I stuck fairly close to the recipe, other than the fact that I halved it. The only minor change I made is that instead of using whole milk, I used 1.5% milk, mainly because I bought the wrong one, mindlessly purchasing our default milk. For the sippets, I used French baguette, and for the butter, I used Kerrygold unsalted.

Milk Soup was a pretty quick dish to make, but did make a few dishes to clean. While the oven preheated, I fried the baguette slices in butter. I threw them in the oven, but they definitely took less than 30 minutes to dry out. As a result, mine were a little on the crispier side than Max's were. I heated the milk and attempted to dissolve the cinnamon and brown sugar into it with some constant stirring, but the cinnamon, like Max warned, did not quite want to combine all that well. It eventually did, but just a little. I added in two sippets, leaving the others on the side so I could try dipping them and 'croutoning' some of them into the soup when trying. I beat the egg yolk, then added half of the milk mixture to it, then poured it all back in the pot. It was super frothy at this point, so I simmered it a bit longer until the bubbles went down. I served up two portions, with a few sippets on the side, and was quite happy it looked similar to Max's Milk Soup!

My experience tasting it:

I first tried the soup by itself. To my delight, it did taste exactly like the milk left over from Cinnamon Toast Crunch! Then I tried a spoonful with some of the soup-soaked sippet: it was cinnamony, sweet, and a little buttery. A little soggy, but not terribly - similar to the last few bites of cereal before there is only milk left. Next, I dipped a crispy sippet into the soup and took a bite: this time, the sippet was almost too dry and crispy, it barely soaked up any of the soup flavour. Lastly, I broke up a sippet into crouton shapes and threw them into the Milk Soup. Taking a spoonful with these fresh, crispy bites of buttery toast was the winner for sure - probably the most literal interpretation of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It blew my mind to think that this exact flavour and texture combination was a thing in the 18th century, long before Cinnamon Toast Crunch graced our kitchen cupboards! My husband and I both enjoyed the Milk Soup, but I would probably simplify the recipe if I was going to make it again. I think you would get the same flavour if you didn't add the beaten egg yolk. I also think that kids would really enjoy this recipe; it's a little interactive, sweet, and very close to modern flavours in desserts. If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Milk Soup (The Dutch Way) original recipe (1747)

Sourced from The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy by Hannah Glasse, 1747.

Boil a quart of milk with cinnamon and moist sugar; put sippets in the dish, pour the milk over it, and set it over a charcoal fire to simmer, till the bread is soft. Take the yolks of two eggs, beat them up, and mix it with a little of the milk, and throw it in; mix it all together, and send it up to table.

Modern Recipe

Based on The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy by Hannah Glasse, c. 1747, and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Sippets

4 tablespoons butter

8-12 small pieces of bread, I used a baguette sliced 1/2” thick

Soup

1 quart, plus 3/4 cup (1.1 L) whole milk

1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/3 cup (70 g) light brown sugar

2 egg yolks, beaten

Method:

For the sippets: Preheat the oven to 225°F (105°C) and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Melt the butter in a pan over medium heat, then add the bread slices. Cook for 1 minute on each side, or until nicely browned.

Place the bread on the baking sheet and bake for 30 minutes or until they are dry and crisp.

For the soup: When the sippets are almost done, pour the milk into a pot and whisk in the cinnamon and brown sugar.

Bring to a simmer over medium heat, then add the sippets. Simmer, stirring occasionally to make sure the milk doesn’t burn, until the sippets are soft.

Add about 1/2 cup of the hot milk mixture to the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then add it all back to the pot and stir for 10 to 15 seconds. Remove from the heat and serve it forth.