#pomme image is fresh though

[gorefreaklintjrwi]

hiiii :3 thinkij.about cannibalism as any normal person would

Grabs You Like This hello ev everett balls okcoolthanks

(the rats are not hurt by this. looks like im squeezing them but i am not i swear) (they are chill as fuck)

ACHH

Hi mousewhats up

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter Three

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 3,700

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George had finally dared to leave after what seemed like days alone in that room. The TV kept her entertained for a bit, she'd even fallen asleep on the surprisingly comfortable bed. After a while though, she began to need to use the facilities more and more urgently. She tried to hold out for as long as she could, but when she woke up from a second nap with a painful bladder, she knew it was time to go (literally).

Incredibly, Rowena had left her fresh clothes that actually fit, although George was a bit concerned about the fact that there was more than one extra outfit. How long did Rowena anticipate her being here? Or was she just giving her options? Trying not to think about it, she grabbed some fresh under things (even the bras were the right size… What is happening?), distressed dark blue jean shorts, and a plain, white, long-sleeved v-neck t-shirt to change into.

Surprisingly, she had not been able to stealthily make her way to the bathroom without anyone seeing her as she'd planned. It had seemed like an easy plan, considering when she'd entered the room, her and Rowena were the only two people there. But now there were a million people in the bunker. Once she realized the influx of visitors was due to Dean and Sam having made it back with all the alternate world's refugees, it made sense. It also ended up being perfect timing.

She'd had great success maneuvering her way around and found the bathroom surprisingly easily. With so many people, she got mostly ignored and hadn't been spotted by any of the-as she called them-"major players:" Sam, Dean, Cas, Jack, Mary, Bobby-basically anyone she might get overly starstruck by running into. She decided to use that to her advantage and try to look for Rowena. Clearly, everyone was back through the rift, so now it was time to send her back home. Unfortunately, as she moved carefully through the maze like corridors, she took a few wrong turns and got a little lost.

Hearing people-distinctly male and familiar sounding people-headed down the hallway in her direction George froze. Panicking, she turned on her heel and tried hiding in a room marked 25, but it was locked. She bolted quietly down the hall further and ducked around a corner on the right. She knew she should keep moving but the fangirl in her pressed against the wall to listen for a beat.

As he and Sam walked into the hallway, heading towards their respective rooms for some much needed rest, Dean asked, "Hey, you remember… Remember you asked if we could stop it?"

"Yeah," Sam affirmed. Taking a deep breath before holding, George peeked her head around the corner. Her eyes went wide and she ducked back into her hiding spot, trying to keep from freaking out. Sam and Dean Winchester were mere feet from her. She could hear them talking! If she wanted to, she could walk out there right now and say hello. Definitely a bad idea, but she decided to allow herself to stay momentarily and listen to them chat.

"All of the evil in the world? If we could really change things? Well maybe with Jack we can," Dean said wistfully.

Sam nodded and shrugged, "Maybe you're right. Then what would we do?"

I have a few ideas… George closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from saying the words out loud.

Dean contemplated the question, "Mmm, Yea," then lifted up his beer, "This. Whole lot of this. But on a beach somewhere, ya know? Can you imagine? You, me, Cas. Toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously."

George put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at the image. She'd kill to see that scene.

"Some hula girls," Dean added at the end.

Of course, George rolled her eyes with a smirk.

Sam looked at his brother skeptically, "Are you talking about retiring? You?"

"If I knew the world was safe? Hell yeah! And you know why? Because we freakin earned it, man."

"I'll drink to that," Sam lifted his beer to his lips and took a sip. He left Dean and walked down the hallway.

George smiled wistfully at Dean's plans. She agreed. They'd certainly earned retirement, though she knew their road wasn't over just yet.

By the time she realized the hallway had gotten quiet again and it was her cue to leave lest she get caught, it was too late. A tall, solid behemoth of a man suddenly turned down the hallway she was hiding in. The two collided gently, his beer spilling a bit down the front of her new shirt.

She squeaked a panicked, "Oh, fuck!" when she realized who it was.

"Ooof!" Sam stumbled back a bit and adjusted the bottle carefully. He looked at the obstacle he hadn't expected to find in the middle of an empty hallway and saw a woman. Dressed in a form fitting white v-neck tucked into a pair of blue jean shorts, she was around 5'8", had a thick curtain of pin-straight wheat-blonde hair falling to the middle of her back. She also had deep dusty blue eyes that stood out against her pale and freckled Irish skin. When Sam took a moment to appreciate her curvaceous, plump body he spotted some brightly colored splotches of orange and red ink on her calf and thigh that distracted him. It took him a moment to notice the large wet spot on the shirt across her chest and realize his drink had spilled on her.

"Oh! Shit, sorry-" Sam had unconsciously reached out to… he didn't know? Brush the liquid off? He regretted it when she slapped his hand away from her chest quickly.

"Nono! I've got it, thanks!" Blushing bright red, she grabbed the wet fabric and pulled it away from her skin, fanning it gently.

"Right, sorry!" Sam held his hands up and away non threateningly, watching her. A strange ball of emotion was building in his chest. He felt an undeniable attraction and also... familiarity? But he couldn't think of her name or where he knew her from; he didn't think she looked like any of the people he'd met from the camp. But obviously that's where she had to be from. Where else could he possibly recognize her from?

"No, it's my fault! If I hadn't been lurking in the hallway like a creeper…" She made the mistake of looking at him and the second she met his eyes, she could feel the color draining from her face and she got a bit light headed.

Jared-fucking-Padalecki was standing in front of her, more tall and gorgeous in person than she'd even anticipated. She felt simultaneously cold and hot, as her mind wrestled with the knowledge that it wasn't really Jared Padalecki at all. It was Sam Winchester and that somehow made it way worse. And she'd slapped him! She hadn't exactly meant to slap him, she was just trying to prevent him from touching her and causing her to burst into a ball of fangirl flames. This wouldn't have happened at all if she had just listened to Rowena and stayed in her room!

"Are you sure you're OK?" Sam asked with a concerned furrow of the brow. She'd turned a peculiar sort of pale green the minute they'd locked eyes.

"I'm fine!" It came out more forcefully than she intended and she rolled her eyes at herself, "Sorry, I'm just… wet?" She finally shrugged helplessly, struggling to find a suitable explanation. George could see a faint blush on his cheeks as Sam looked down quickly, trying to mask a chuckle. When she got the innuendo-or, more accurately, realized he got the innuendo-she blushed again and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she motioned to her shirt with an embarrassed smile, "Er-uhh-f-from the beer?"

"Right," He smiled, deeply intrigued by the strangely familiar woman. "Listen, I'm sorry, I feel like we've met but I can't remember your name." With a charming smile he held out a large hand to her and introduced himself, "I'm Sam."

"Uhhhh…" Her stomach plummeted through the floor, unsure how to respond. They'd definitely never met before, she was sure of that. Probably just a line he uses, though the thought that Sam would 'use a line' seemed wildly out of character and she dismissed it almost right away. She knew she couldn't tell him too much but… she guessed her name was fine?

With a gulp, she took his hand and shook it a little too firmly, answering, "Georgia! M-my-my name is Georgia. Uh-most people call me George." The feeling of her hand in his was electrifying. George's knees buckled a bit and she squeezed tightly. Get it together, you thirsty hoe!

"Nice to meet you, George." He asked with an interested eyebrow, "How are you adjusting?"

She'd been distracted by how beautiful his hair looked in real life, when she noticed he was looking at her expectedly. With a quick head shake she asked, "Uh-What? Sorry."

"I was wondering how you were adjusting to being here? Can't be easy, coming to a new reality?" She furrowed her brow, stunned. How did he know that she'd come from an alternate reality? Thankfully, he hand fed her her cover story by quickly clarifying, "You must be from the refugee camp, right?"

"Refugee? Oh-right-Apocalypse World!" She looked amazed, thanking her lucky stars that the timeline worked out perfectly for her at that moment. Darting her eyes around the small hallway, she tried to come up with a better-more honest-explanation, but failed miserably. Finally she said, "Sure, the camps. That makes perfect sense!" She nodded definitively, hoping that was enough for him to move on. Then she realized he was still waiting for her to answer his original question. She couldn't remember the question. "Shit, sorry," Covering her face with her hands, she laughed at how stupid she was being.

He thinks he's just a regular person for god sakes! Stop acting like a groupie and just talk to the man!

"I guess maybe that answers my question?" Sam teased. She just nodded in agreement, still unable to form words no matter how hard she tried. This man was just too gorgeous and for fucks sake he was Sam. Winchester. Surreal didn't even begin to cover it.

Sam twitched suddenly and then held out his beer to her, "Would you mind holding this for a sec?"

She shrugged and took it from him helpfully, watching him reach into his jeans pocket to pull out his phone. Looking at the screen he glanced up at her with a frustrated expression, "I have to take this, I'm sorry." Wordlessly, she motioned that it was fine, and he held the phone up to his ear, "Hello?"

While he answered, she glanced around for her exits and tried to figure out an escape plan. She should not be interacting with him this much. Who knows what kind of strange ramifications this could have back in her reality! As much as she didn't want to, she had to get away.

The sudden alarm in his voice drew her attention back to him.

"Whoa, slow down! What?!" As he spoke to the person on the phone, he stole a glance at her. When he caught her eye, she quickly turned her head, nonchalantly lifting the beer up for a drink. The second the bottle touched her lips she remembered it wasn't hers and she froze, looking back at him. The surprised smirk on his face made her blush and she pulled the beer away, apologizing silently.

He shook his head as if to say 'it's OK,' but stopped short, catching the tail end of what the person on the other end of the line was saying. He broke eye contact and turned his head to listen carefully, "Wha-sorry. Say that again?" His face dropped and he gulped. Into the phone he said, "Uh, hold on-"

Pulling the phone away from his ear, he smiled kindly though there was worry in his eyes. "Hey, George, I-I have to go. It was very nice meeting you and I'm sorry for… getting you wet." Thankfully, she was standing against the wall already, because her knees definitely buckled. He started to walk backwards down the hallway, urgently needing to find Dean. "Now that I know you're here, I'll make sure to check my corners for beautiful women first." She blushed furiously, a look of shock on her face, and bit her lip hard to keep from grinning like a maniac. He motioned to the beer in her hand and offered, "You can keep that by the way," before turning and disappearing down the hall.

She stood speechless, staring at the air where he'd been standing. After an embarrassingly long time, she shook herself out of her stupor and let out a guttural breath, "oooohkay, well." She looked up at the ceiling and begged, "listen, if this whole thing does turn out to be fake and you got that on film, I will pay a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. for a copy." Looking down at the beer in her hand, she considered it before taking a swig and muttering to herself, "Fuck me."

A short while later, she slowly and carefully exited her room again. This time she was hungry and she figured she'd already been caught; what's the worst that could happen? Worse than starving to death? She'd take her chances. Proceeding cautiously, she made her way toward the kitchen, taking the long way.

Nearly an hour later, George saw Dean heading toward the map room from her hiding spot in the hall. She'd snuck her way through the bunker, waiting until she was sure most of the major players were preoccupied before attempting to fix herself some food. She did not want a repeat of the hallway scene… well, OK, if she were honest, she wouldn't mind an exact repeat of that, actually. But she knew it was wrong, so was doing her best to avoid it.

George swiftly darted into the kitchen. As she lost herself in mentally replaying Sam insinuating she was beautiful on a loop, she started to gather her supplies for a turkey sandwich. She was barely able to get the bread on the counter before there was a loud booming sound elsewhere in the bunker. She turned toward the entrance she'd come from and suddenly all of the lights in the kitchen began to flicker with a terrifying sense of urgency. Her heart beat nearly matched the flickering as she was plunged into darkness over and over again, calling up every horror movie she'd ever seen.

Like that one that takes place in an old abandoned bunker that's haunted by the ghosts of all the people that have died there and now you're trapped inside with them too?

She closed her eyes tightly and mentally slapped herself, stop that NOW, you moron! Although she came from a reality where she logically knew no such things exist, she'd always been deathly afraid of ghosts, demons, and other supernatural beings. A fact that conflicted fiercely with her love of the horror movie genre. As a single woman living alone, she couldn't sleep for a week after watching Paranormal Activity unless it was light outside. She'd never admit it to anyone, but it was actually the reason she'd adopted her senior cat, Oren. Everyone knew cats could sense evil. Oren protected her from her imagination for almost nine years.

Unfortunately, she was now in a reality where all those things were real and he wasn't there to help at the moment. George could already feel the beginnings of a panic attack. Every time the lights flickered back on she was sure a terrifying, old-timey ghost professor was going to appear in front of her with a rusty machete.

She yelped when more distant pounding began to echo rhythmically throughout the bunker. Quickly, she began yanking kitchen drawers open looking for a weapon. The third drawer was a jackpot. Plenty of sharp kitchen cutlery, but a beautiful, shiny silver 12" butcher knife was laying on top and she could have kissed it. Instead, she picked it up and clutched it to her chest tightly.

After taking several deep breaths, she spoke to herself again, OK, bitch. You can do this. I know the supernatural terrifies you, but the good news is this is just a TV show and none of it is real! So, even IF a psycho ghost doctor who's coming to give you a lobotomy with a broken ice pick did appear in front of you right now, it's OK because it's not real! Besides, they don't do a lot of bunker ghost episodes-that I know of-so really, chances are all this noise is just Lucifer coming to kill everyone! Stay calm, everything's fine! She paused her peptalk contemplatively for a moment, noting the irony of that statement with a frustrated huff.

Think, Georgia, think! Safest thing to do would be to get back to my room and hide. Just move slow. Use your senses. And if anything comes for you: stab first, ask questions later.

She started moving toward the exit, headed for her hidey hole, which was unfortunately on the other side of the bunker. When she reached the doorway, she listened carefully and, other than the pounding, things seemed quiet. Ducking her head out quickly she breathed a sigh of relief at the empty hallway, and couldn't see anyone in the map room to the left. Climbing the short steps and leaping across the small corridor, she flanked the right side, which gave her the most cover for the direction she was headed.

Just as she reached the mini staircase that took her to the map room there was a deafening crash of metal on metal, causing her to step back and press herself against the wall in fear. It was quiet again for a moment and she noticed the lights had stopped flickering. Quickly shifting back to the staircase, she slowly moved her head out to see what she could see of the map room beyond.

She caught a glimpse of Sam and Dean, with their backs to her, drawing their guns and aiming up. Then, bullets went flying. Quickly dropping into Child's Pose behind the wall for cover, she plugged her ears, tried to breathe, and stay still. When the shooting stopped, she heard some grunting and a thud. Lifting her head slowly, she heard more scuffling and then suddenly a large blur of hair and plaid came into her line of sight as Sam was tossed back against the wall at the staircase.

As a scream threatened to erupt, she slapped a hand over her mouth and watched helplessly as he crumpled to the ground. Shifting forward to look in, she saw Dean throwing punches at a man she didn't recognize. Unfortunately, the man wasn't phased. Looking back at Sam to see if he was ready to lunge in there at just the right moment to save Dean, she winced; he was barely up on his elbows and moving sluggish. When she spotted another trench coat covered body in a heap on the floor to the right, the gravity of the situation hit her hard.

Quickly shimmying herself back along the wall until she could only see Sam, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to keep from dry heaving. Clutching the knife tightly she debated with herself about whether or not to storm in. Her heart told her that it would at least maybe distract the guy long enough for someone else to do something and possibly save them. Her head-and her survival instincts-told her that a more likely outcome would be getting herself killed instantly and pointlessly.

She heard a noise and looked up, seeing Sam with his head down against the ground. It sounded like he was praying. She watched him for a moment, tears springing to her eyes at how hopeless this situation was.

Are you serious? Did I really just come here to watch Sam and Dean Winchester die? What the fuck kind of fan experience is that? As an irrational rage began to build inside of her chest at the injustice, she adjusted her grip on the knife and made her decision.

Just as she was about to leap up and barge in, Sam's head snapped up and his eyes landed on her. A confused expression appeared on his face. Seeing the knife in her hands and her look of resolve and determination, his expression changed to sad very quickly. He glanced in Dean's direction and then back to her, shaking his head just enough to send a clear message. He then motioned covertly for her to run in the opposite direction. Tears fell down her cheek and she hesitated, gripping the knife tighter and leaning toward him. The pleading look he gave her stopped her in her tracks and she gulped.

"Go," he mouthed to her, before his head snapped back toward something in the room that made a loud echoing sound. Whatever it was, she couldn't see, but the noise terrified her. With hardly any control of her body, she leapt up and bolted down the hallway away from them. Finding a small unlocked supply closet as far down the hallway as she could, she closed the door and locked herself inside.

[suzie81blog]

On Thursday night I was invited to a special ‘Meet Marco’ event at the Marco Pierre White Steakhouse and Grill on Level 25 of The Cube in the Mailbox, Birmingham.

I have been to the restaurant a number of times. This, however, was slightly different: Marco himself would be there, meeting guests and signing copies of his book. I was asked if I would like the opportunity not only to try new dishes from the menu, but to sit and talk with the great chef himself.

Along with Lauren Foster from What’s On Birmingham (check out the interview in their June edition) and a small media crew filming us, what was supposed to be a short interview became an informative and, quite frankly, rather hilarious chat that lasted well over half-an-hour. He’s an incredibly charismatic and charming character and while my nerves were obvious, it was easy to relax into conversation and enjoy his company.

Marco explained his inspiration for the new items on the menu, with an emphasis on seasonal ingredients and dishes in rotation while being conscious of vegetarians and vegan options. He revealed his own experiences with veganism, adopting a pure vegan diet and stopping all carbs, drinking and smoking for nine months which resulted in a massive five-stone weight loss. The philosophy? Understanding and talking about vegetarian and vegan food can only be done if you’ve practised it yourself. He told us about his visit to Sri Lanka and how the spices and seasonings in Asian and indeed, Italian foods were perfectly suited to vegan and vegetarian lifestyles and the importance of a balanced diet.

I asked him about the foods that he really dislikes.

The only thing that I’ve really struggled to eat in my life is chicken’s feet… it doesn’t do it for me. I’m really into strange food, don’t get me wrong. I like eating, eating is one of my great passions in life… I go to this restaurant in Singapore… (he explains about the chef bringing a dish out to him and the fact they are fascinated that he likes tendons) and I said, “What is it?”. “It’s a surprise.”

Cue giggles from myself and a long pause while we wait in anticipation for the answer.

Cow throat. Not for me… Can you imagine eating windpipe? I said, it’s not for me, but please apologise to the chef.

Interviewing Marco

As an honorary Brummie and former teacher, I was particularly interested in the advice he would offer a working-class Brummie who wants to become a respected chef.

Firstly, the advice I would give is that when you go for a job, keep your fingers crossed and hope that you get it, and by not asking by how many hours and how much you’re going to get paid, your chances of getting the job have increased enormously… you’ll soon find out how you’re being paid, you’ll soon find out how many hours you’re going to work, and what I’ve learnt in my life is that knowledge is your passport to freedom. It really is, and my father gave me that advice as a young man. He also told me never to call in sick. You turn up for work if you’re ill, and the chef will see that you’re not well… So, I think the advice I would give, is conduct your interviews correctly, and that’s not just for chefs, that’s for everything. And what’s really important is always be punctual…

And I used to go for interviews and I would sit there with my fingers crossed and pray I get the job. I remember I went for an interview with Pierre Koffman who – we’re great friends, Pierre and I, and we have a business together… and he said “I have no position in my kitchen” and it was the first time I’d ever been turned down, and the only time. So I said (even though I could afford it) “I’ll work for nothing.” I worked for three weeks for zero money, I was really on the breadline… he called me in (Marco then explained that Koffman then employed him). Prove yourself…

I wanted to know his thoughts on the incredible food scene in Birmingham.

Well, it’s all of those cultures isn’t it? It’s a beautiful jigsaw, it’s a melting pot, and also because it’s the second city it’s brought all these businesses in which brings money, which allows people to pay… so Birmingham is one of those great gastronomic cities of Britain in my opinion.

Above all, my burning question was one that would hopefully solve the continuing argument that has raged between my friends and I for quite some time…

The big scone debate: cream or jam first? (Incidentally, he pronounced it to rhyme with ‘gone.’)

Well, you’ve got to look at logic. Logic must always dictate… the reality is that it looks prettier with the cream on first and then the jam, it looks way prettier, but you try spreading jam on cream… it’s not about etiquette for me. At the end of the day I take a scone, put my jam on and then put my cream on top.

And then, there was the big northern divide: Lancashire versus Yorkshire. As a proud Boltonian, and with Marco hailing from Leeds, the northern banter began as soon as I told him where I was from. We discussed Peter Kay (he’s got a kind face) and the fact that I haven’t been able to order garlic bread in public since Peter Kay became famous, Bolton Wanderers and ‘Big Sam’ and my Yorkshireman husband. I jokingly informing him that he was from the wrong side of the Pennines, he explained that Lancastrians are referred to as ‘long necks’ (I’d never heard of it, but it was because we’re always stretching our necks over the hills to find out what’s going on – we’re nosy, apparently) and that he always tells his sons to buy white roses instead of red because of the House of York. I took advantage of this to remind him that – *cough* – we won, referring to the War of the Roses. He laughed and joked with us throughout, seemingly enjoying the chat, and openly admitted that he likes interviewing the interviewers.

My hair was in his face…

The book signing area

The whole experience went by so quickly – thirty minutes felt like more like five. Marco signed a copy of his book for us, inscribing ours as ‘Suzie and the Yorkshire Lad,’ and in one for our gastronomic friend (we were graciously given a book each), in which he signed it as being from ‘The Bird from Bolton.’ We took selfies and I added to my awkwardness by positioning myself so that I accidentally covered half of his face with my hair. I said goodbye, thanked him and shook his hand, and he told us to come and say goodbye to him after we had eaten.

We were then shown to our table, which was seated right next to the window with a a panoramic view of the city.

The menu for the evening focused solely on new dishes, with four options to choose from for each course.

The Starter options were:

Calamari

Classic French Onion Soup À La Normandie with croutons, gruyère cheese and cider.

Poached Pear, Alex James Cheese Salad with candied walnuts and merlot vinegar (Vegetarian)

Wheeler’s Crispy Calamari with tartare sauce and fresh lemon.

Mr White’s Scotch Egg with Colonel Mustard’s Sauce.

The Bloke and I both ordered the Calamari – we both love seafood but often avoid ordering squid at restaurants as it is often a dish that can easily be overcooked and rubbery. This, however, was beautiful. Fried in a thin coating of very light and crispy batter, the calamari were piping hot and perfectly tender, and the punchy tartare sauce complimented them perfectly. I also loved the fact that the accompanying lemon was wrapped in a thin muslin to allow the juice to be squeezed without the pips falling onto the plate. It was a small touch, but the attention to detail made me smile.

For the Main courses our options were:

8oz Rib Eye Steak

Honey Roast Bacon Chop with boxtree red cabbage, pommes fondant, Marco Polo glaze and honey roasting juices.

Creamy Polenta with Italian hard cheese, leaf spinach, Fricasée of woodland mushrooms and extra virgin olive oil. (Vegetarian)

8oz Rib Eye Steak with roasted vine tomatoes, triple cooked chips and béarnaise sauce.

Wheeler’s Salmon Fishcake with buttered leaf spinach, soft boiled hens egg and tartare sauce.

I ordered the steak – medium – and The Bloke had the fishcake. I often avoid ordering steak when dining out, finding the quantity of red meat a little too much for one sitting, but it seemed ridiculous not to try the dish that the restaurant is famous for. It was perfectly cooked – seared, full of flavour, juicy and beautifully pink and served with a classic Béarnaise sauce. The Bloke equally enjoyed his fish cakes – made from freshly cooked salmon and coated in a fine breadcrumb. The only slight disappointment was that I would have preferred the chips to be slightly warmer, but our main courses overall personified Marco’s notion that simplicity in cooking can produce exquisite results.

By the time dessert arrived we had experienced a beautiful sunset and the ambience of the restaurant had been enhanced by blue/purple mood lighting, in lovely contrast with the view of the lights from the buildings in the city outside.

For Dessert the options were:

70% Bitter Chocolate Mousse with hazelnut nougatine.

Mr White’s Rice Pudding with apricots and vanilla.

The Boxtree Mess.

Baked New York Cheesecake with blueberry compote.

(It’s worth noting that all of the dessert dishes were suitable for vegetarians).

I opted for the chocolate mousse (of course) and The Bloke ordered the cheesecake. I’ve commented during previous visits on the fact that the mousse was the best I have ever eaten and this was no exception. Rich and incredibly smooth, the mousse was complimented by the texture of the crunchy hazelnut nougatine and the sweet whipped cream piped on top, and was just the right amount to finish the meal before it became sickly or too filling. Click on the images for the full size…

The Chocolate Mousse

New York Cheesecake

What an evening! The Bloke seemed to enjoy himself as much as I did. As we were leaving, Marco was still signing books and I didn’t want to disturb him or interrupt another guest’s experience so I didn’t say another goodbye. However, this ‘Bird from Bolton’ thinks the Lad from Leeds well deserves his reputation as a fabulous chef – and also proved to be a lovely person…

Disclaimer: I was invited to meet Marco Pierre White and review the new menu items free-of-charge, but was given no instructions or questions to ask and was under no obligation to provide a positive review. The interview was filmed with our permission.

An Interview with Marco Pierre White On Thursday night I was invited to a special ‘Meet Marco’ event at the Marco Pierre White Steakhouse and Grill on Level 25 of The Cube in the Mailbox, Birmingham.

[topbeautifulwomens]

#The #Passion #of #Pomegranates #bfirstapparel #farmasi #fashionblog #girlfriend #instamakeup #instapic #makeover #modelling #pled #water

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A native of Persia, the Pomegranate is one of the oldest end result acknowledged to man and its origins can be traced back again to almost 4000 B.C. Due to the fact its humble beginnings, this historical fruit has been shrouded in controversy, intrigue and imageism. Historians feel the Pomegrante, not the apple, was the forbidden fruit that tempted Eve on that fateful working day in the Backyard of Eden. During its hitale, the Pomegranate has experienced a significant influence on faith, mythology, art and literature and it has influenced a lot of poets, composers, painters and sculptors to create amazing operates. The title “Pomegranate” is derived from the Heart French phrases, pomme and garnete, which interprets to seeded apple, and owing its’ over abundance of seeds, and rounded form, the Pomegranate has lengthy been a symbol of fertility and new existence.

These days the Pomegranate is symbolic of good flavor and good health. Whilst it is currently making the most of a super-meal superstar popularity, after it originally resurfaced, and was nominated as “fruit of the yr” in The Top American Recipes 1999; most assumed it was absolutely nothing more than a passing trend however in accordance to the Countrywide Cafe Affiliation, Pomegranates are nonetheless a sizzling food vogue for 2007. “There is certainly no denying that the pomegranate has designed a replaceation for currently being elegant,” mentioned Pam Holmgren, Boss of Company Communications at Pom Fantastic in Los Angeles. “The Pomegranate is highly regarded not entirely for its taste but for its many health positive aspects, which helps make it not only trendy, but a rediscovery that is here to remain.”

Just before Pom Wonderful’s launching of its intense market placeing marketing campaign in 2002, most People in america had minor body of reference with the elusive Pomegranate. It had been significantly underutilized and was most frequently viewed as a garnish, centerpiece or table accessory. But thanks to POM’s thorough exposure on the candy-tart essence and dietary benefit of Pomegranates, Americans are embracing this now popular fruit and integrating it into their resides. The Pomegranate has become the most functional produce on the planet; lending its unique taste, beautiful coloration and luscious scent to everything from burritos to human body butter. Its uniqueness and independence makes it fun to experiment with, and because of its brilliant shade of red, crunchy texture and intense flavor, anything manufactured with Pomegranate makes a assertion which is why arbiters of taste like Starbucks and Oprah, and cooks and residence cooks include additional this vibrant and curious fruit to their culinary repertoires.

Barbara Hulick CEC, Director of Functions for Clean Cuts at Purchase Fresh Income in Las Vegas, grew up on Pomegranates. “I was excited when Pomegranates made a comeback, not only as a produce seller but because they taste so good and they are so good for you. Pomegranates are the new ‘cranberry’. Many years back, cranberries and cranberry juice were all the rage because of the taste and wholesome qualities, and now, with all the buzz about anti-oxidants, the Pomegranate is the ‘prince among produce’. During period, we’ve a substantial call for them from the Accommodations for their dining establishments and banquet centers, and as well from a lot of neighborhood locations about city, and because you can freeze them clean, you can enjoy the seeds and the juice year round”.

With the greater commonity of the Pomegranate, it is regrettable that they’ve such a brief shelf. Dependent on in which you live, this “Jewel of Winter season”, is cultivated in hotter climates globally and is only obtainable fresh about 6 months out of the year; from August to November or Oct to January but for the duration of that time you can uncover them in appetizers to desserts and everything in in between. “I love cooking with fresh Pomegranates”, said Chef Mark Hopper, Chef de Delicacies, from Bouchon; Chef Thomas Keller’s award-successful Bistro in the Venetian Hotel. “They are extremely healthier and versatile, and they provide added dimension to any dish. Fresh Pomegranates are a labor of love but well worth the energy. After they’re in season, I use them in assorted dishes, especially in our house made Duck Prosciutto made with Marshall Farms Honey Roasted Quince. Luckily, the juice can be appreciated year round in such savory liquids as marinades, dressings, glazes and sauces. The Pomegranate has done much to change the world of cooking; it has an outstanding flavor mix and it enables chefs like me to create new dishes with great preferences and beautiful shows”.

Aside from its taste, vibrant color and health-protective outcomes, men and women are romantic about the Pomegranate for its aphrodisiacs properties. Meal and sexual intercourse often go hand-in-hand and taking in a succulent Pomegranate in the uncooked or introducing it to foodstuff and beverages can be a recipe for romance. Depending on the dimensions, this apple look-alike, with its leathery pores and skin and distinctive crown, can hang up to 800 seeds; the heavier it is, the more juice it consists of and as this juice oozes out; the sweet and tangy flavor combination will explode in your mouth and wake up your taste buds. “The pomegranate is one of the sexiest foods on earth”, said Amy Reiley, Learn of Gastronomy from Le Cordon Bleu and the writer of Daily life of Reiley. “Its crimson shade is the color of prefer. They’re messy and sticky, and because there is certainly no other way to eat a pomegranate than with your fingers, the act of consuming the juicy little seeds gets a sensuous act of perform”.

In purchase to attract the calls for of the more subtle, urbane and health-mindful consumer, food manureal truthurers need to continually develop new and innovative goods. Present day complicated consumers are looking to whet their appetites with a little of the unique, erotic and imprecise, and they are strenuous liquid libations that are aesthetically tasty, refreshing and “healthy”. The Pomegranate is all of people stuff combined and that heightens its appeal. As this “hot food trend” proceeds to effect the beverage industry, bartenders throughout the place are mixing, shaking and stirring up an assortment of innovative cocktails with the hugely mixable and extremely versatile Pomegranate juice.

Its sweet taste with a tangy kick infuses well with a range of spirits, delicate beverages and other juices. “There are a couple of factors why the use of Pomegranates have become so popular in drinks”, said Chef Matthew Silverman of Agave; the wonderfully modern day and first Mexican Restaurant in Summerlin. “The 1st is the fact that they are perceived as being healthy, even though most are combined with sugar and alcoholic beverages. The belief of drinking anything that is good for you whilst still getting to drink your alcoholic beverage is the main reason that it has become popular. The moment reason is that there has been a growth in products that have been revealed in the previous handful of many years in which a tremendous sum of selling pounds have been put guiding them. They’ve sold these drinks productively with that information and now they are all the rage largely with the youthful/hip crowds”.

Julia Infant said, “Discover something you happen to be passionate about and maintain tremendously intrigued in it”. It truly is interesting to find people who are interested in Pomegranates, it evokes great cooks and results in fantastic dining activities, and it also offers people like me an likelihood to write about them because people who are passionate about things usually has a story notify. I requested Cheryl Panariello, Exclusive Functions Director of TAO Asian Bistro New York and Las Vegas, if they are employing Pomegranates in their foods or beverages. “We never use it for anything as of now, not even cocktails, but because it is “all the rage” I believe that will change. Individually, I have loved pomegranates since I was a baby. I utilized to call them Chinese apples and I always made a mess when eating them, staining my clothing, carpets, furnishings; you name it, I stained it! My mom stopped getting them for me and I turned very frustrated, it was so, so unfortunate. Then one day I observed them when I was at the market with my Father. I said, ‘Mother will not likely buy them for me any longer’ and I advised him why. He said “that’s preposterous” and he purchased me one. Against that day in advance, me and the pomegranate were reunited and to this day, we never told my mom”.

There is cosmetic in passion, and people are passionate about the Pomegranate. Probably this undying and powerfully healthy fruit shouldn’t be judged by its cover since it’s what is inside that counts. Even with the fact that it’s messy and a little weird looking, because of its variety, recipe probabilities and unsurpassed taste, the Pomegranate has a vivid and delicious foreseeable future.

The post The Passion of Pomegranates appeared first on Beautiful Women.

source http://topbeautifulwomen.com/the-passion-of-pomegranates/

[beertengoku]

Barley wines. Some regard it as the “peak” of craft beer (personally I prefer imperial stouts) with its merging of flavours and the strong drink of choice for any beer geek.

Courtesy of BeerInfinity

Courtesy of The Beer Bunker

But it wasn’t always this way. For the British readers and fans of British beer, barley wine is a style associated with Whitbread’s Gold Label. Those gold cans sat on supermarket and off-license shelves, next to cans of Tennent’s special brew and was the favoured choice of drink for those looking for a quick boozy hit while Old Tom was associated with smoky pubs and those looking for a strong beer to get them through the working afternoon. [add images]. This stuff wasn’t premium nor top-quality beer – it was strong and potent and designed to give people a buzz – sounds like Strong Zero?

¹But go and ask some of the growing craft beer fans in Japan, the USA, or UK and most of them will have tried a barley wine. Since the mid 90s, the style has seen an increase in popularity, with winter seasonals being full of barley wines. Moreover, imports of barley wines, predominantly from the US, have helped propel the style into the minds and palates of craft beer drinkers in Japan.

But what is barley wine? Barley wines, sometimes written as barleywine, is a misnomer. Though there is wine in the name, there is no wine in the beer. Unlike wine, barley wines are made from the same ingredients as beer uses – malt, water, yeast, and occasionally hops. With it being a traditional style of British beer, there is some subtle dig in the name at Britain’s favourite neighbours – the French.

One of the oldest styles of beer, the current form of barley wine originated in England during the 15th and 16th centuries. Later on, England was often at war with France and it was the duty of patriots, usually from the upper classes, to drink ale rather than red wine, thus taking away funding from the French government, instead funneling it towards the war effort.¹ While at the time barley wine was often brewed in country houses, Bass was the first Bass No. 1 Ale at 10.5%.

Drinkers wanted something that was similar to wine in strength – often between 10% and 12%. Barley wines were also stored for periods of as long at 18 months or two years before consumption, often in oak casks that were once used for wine. When country houses had their own small breweries, it was often the task of the butler to brew ale that was drunk from cut-glass goblets at the dining table.²

Like most versions of British beers, there are now two distinct styles to barley wine – American and English. And like most version of beers that have had an American influence, the US versions of barley wine are hoppier and more bitter, i.e. more aggressive and in your face, while the English versions are malt forward and fruitier.³ The first beer that is considered to be the benchmark for American barleywines is Anchor Brewing Co.’s Old Foghorn in 1976.4 However, there were problems at first:

“Fritz Maytag of Anchor Brewing helped spark interest in the Barley Wine style the US with the release of Old Foghorn Barleywine Ale in 1975. According to sources, he had some trouble with the name at first, because the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms would not approve the use of the word ‘wine’ in a beverage not containing grapes. So Maytag re-named his brew Barleywine and sold it only in California, where the label did not require Federal approval.”5

Like their bold cousin, the imperial stout, barley wines have also lent themselves to being aged in a variety of ways.The high alcohol content in barley wines preserves them better over time than other styles, and the complex malt profiles change into a multitude of flavors as the hops fade off as the barley wine ages. Oxidation may occur in a low amount to produce flavours such as sherry, cognac, or even whiskey. American barleywines will become more like their English counterparts, so you have a tough decision to make – drink them “fresh” to ensure the hoppiness is still there, or age them to reduce the hop flavours and try it with the malts coming through.

Moreover, barley wines have also seen them become part of the barrel-aging programs. Bourbon and whisky barrels are the vessels of choice, with as the dark fruit flavors, such as raisin, plum, date go well with the meld with the vanilla and oak from the bourbon barrels. Breweries have also been seen blending work well with the beers too, and it’s becoming more common to see barleywines made from a series of batches over time.

Of course, this wouldn’t be much of sources of style if we didn’t include some barley wines to try. However, most of them are seasonal specials, so you’ll need to hunt them down during winter to get them. Buy three or four bottles, with one to try now, and the rest to age and test over time to see how the beers change.

Japanese Barley Wines Worth Trying

1) Baird Ganko Oyaji

The Bottom Line: I liked Baird’s take on a barley wine with Baird Ganko Oyaji Barley Wine; something different from the overblown sweetness that comes with the style. Buy two: drink one and age one.

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2016/12/27/baird-ganko-oyaji-barley-wine-by-baird-beer/

2) Nasu Kogen Nine Tailed Fox

The Bottom Line: It was a really nice ale, though, and I’ll definitely be buying more of it in the future to squirrel away. If you’re going to do the same, take my word for it and let it age for at least a year.

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2018/05/21/nasu-kogen-nine-tailed-fox-2017-by-nasu-kohgen-beer/

3) Daisen G Beer Barley Wine

The Bottom Line: If you’re looking for a good introduction to barleywines, then Daisen G Beer Barley Wine is perhaps a good place to star

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2016/02/12/daisen-g-beer-barley-wine/

Japanese Barrel Aged Barley Wines Worth Trying

1) Shonan Tengu Barley Wine

The Bottom Line: Maybe too dry or woody for some, but I found this extremely agreeable. Perhaps let it age to calm down the bitter woody flavours and emphasise the dry fruit.

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2017/12/25/shonan-beer-tengu-barrel-aged-barley-wine-2017-by-kumazawa-brewing/

2) Swan Lake Barrel Aged Barley Wine

The Bottom Line: It was quite smooth for a barley wine – not refreshing smooth – but definitely easily drinkable for a barley wine.

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2017/12/09/swan-lake-barrel-aged-barley-wine-by-hyouko-yashiki-no-mori/

3) Oh! La! Ho Cuve La Pomme

The Bottom Line: It’s not as bitter as a fresh barley wine, and not as heady despite being 15%.

The Full Review: http://beertengoku.com/2016/06/07/cuve-la-pomme-2012-by-oh-la-ho-beer/

Let’s be honest – if you’re going to try a style of beer, then it’s also worth trying out some of the overseas beers. Here’s some foreign barley wines we also recommend. Check out the label on the bottle to see when the beer was bottled, and also ask how the beer was imported. Was it in a cold chain from start to finish? Was the beer stored in a chilled environment in store? If the shop assistant can’t, or doesn’t know the answer, then give it a miss.

AleSmith Old Numbskull (USA)

Anchor SteamOld Foghorn (USA)

Firestone Walker Sucaba (USA)

Robinson’s Old Tom (UK)

Wild Beer III (UK)

Sources Used

1 – https://www.morningadvertiser.co.uk/Article/2017/08/22/What-is-barley-wine 2 – http://www.camra.org.uk/barley-wine 3 – https://www.bjcp.org/2008styles/style19.php#1c 4 – https://www.pastemagazine.com/articles/2018/01/62-of-the-best-barleywines-blind-tasted-and-ranked.htm 5 – http://mendobrew.com/blog/889_barley-wine-sometimes-older-is-better/

Source of Styles #7 - Barley Wines - the peak of craft beer or just an excuse to get drunk quick? #craftbeer #beer #japan Barley wines. Some regard it as the “peak” of craft beer (personally I prefer imperial stouts…

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Linda Nochlin, Feminist Art Historian Who Changed the Game, Dies at 86

Linda Nochlin standing in front of her wedding portrait by Philip Pearlstein (photo by Hrag Vartanian for Hyperallergic)

Linda Nochlin, who passed away on Monday at 86 years old, was an art historian, not a bomb-thrower. Nevertheless, when her 1971 essay, ironically titled “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?,” appeared in ARTnews that January, it triggered a nuclear chain reaction that reconfigured not just the art world, but seemingly all areas of culture.

An authority challenging authority, Nochlin proved that the institutional barriers encountered by female artists at academies and museums made her question moot. How could there be great women artists if they were once barred from the schools, museums, and genres that conferred greatness? With great clarity and greater wit, Nochlin turned the question around, famously concluding, “The fault lies not in our stars, our hormones, our menstrual cycles, or empty internal spaces, but in our institutions and our education.”

It was my freshman English professor who advised my class to read Nochlin’s essay the winter of that same year. Almost immediately we could feel the explosion of energy — was it fission? — released in other corners of the culture.

Eleven months later, Gloria Steinem and Dorothy Pitman Hughes published Ms. magazine. In 1972, John Berger’s Ways of Seeing, a critique of the implicit ideologies of Western art, aired on BBC television. Then, in 1975, Laura Mulvey’s “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” an analysis of how Hollywood films aligned viewers with “the male gaze,” was published in the British journal Screen. We couldn’t prove that Nochlin was a direct influence, but it seemed to many of us that Steinem and Berger and Mulvey stood on her shoulders. For me, Nochlin personified the heroine in Delacroix’s 1830 painting, “Liberty Leading the People.” (And I bet I wasn’t the only one who collaged and Xeroxed the Delacroix, adding Nochlin’s head to Liberty’s body.)

“Linda Leading the People” (image by Benjamin Sutton for Hyperallergic)

Had Nochlin written only “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” she would still be a seminal figure in the history of art. Yet that was not enough for this systematic thinker. If the academies and art institutions were hermetically sealed and needed their doors and windows to open to fresh thinking, then she would make that happen by educating generations of future art historians and curators with an expanded, some would say radical, curriculum. In 1969, she introduced a course at Vassar College (where she herself had received her BA in 1951) titled “The Image of Women in 19th and 20th Century Art,” which explored — among other topics — how male and female artists depicted women differently. (This led to another of her great essays, “Issues of Gender in Cassatt and Eakins.”)

Though both were transformative, it was neither Nochlin’s writing nor her pedagogy that had the most profound effect on me. What rocked my world was how Nochlin literally excavated the basements and archives of museums around the globe to rescue female artists from oblivion. In the 1970s I could name maybe three historic female artists: Mary Cassatt, Kathe Kollwitz, and Georgia O’Keeffe. Nochlin changed that when she co-curated, along with Ann Sutherland Harris, the landmark Women Artists: 1550–1950 exhibition at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Brooklyn Museum. They introduced me to Rosa Bonheur, Sonia Delaunay, Alexandra Exter, Artemisia Gentileschi, Berthe Morisot, and Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, and 35 other important female painters.

The experience was as life-affirming as it was life changing. And the kick of it was Nochlin showed everyone that yes, indeed, there had been great women artists. That show was the gift that kept on giving, inspiring historians to explore the work by other neglected artists (for instance, Frida Kahlo and Meret Oppenheim) and to reattribute works originally thought to be by men to their female students. For years after that exhibition, women came up to Nochlin and described how the show changed their lives. Who knew before that women were part of an international artistic tradition?

One who never personally encountered Nochlin and read only her eye-opening books (for example, Realism, and her monograph, Courbet) might not know that she was a performative lecturer and cutup. It would be fair to say that she was a performance art historian. At a 1972 meeting of the Collage Art Association in San Francisco, she famously delivered a keynote on “Eroticism and the Image of Woman in 19th Century Art.” Rather puckishly, she compared “Buy My Apples,” a famous 19th-century photograph of a naked woman whose breasts rest on a platter of pommes, to “Buy My Bananas,” a photograph she took of a naked male colleague whose manhood dangles above a platter of the curved yellow fruit. According to those in the room, it was the first experience of many of the male art historians in that room of sexual objectification.

Nochlin was many things: she was a scholar, professor, activist, Francophile, and knowledgeable of all-things Yohji Yamamoto; as well as twice a wife, twice a widow, and twice a mother. First and last, though, she was a historian.

“Nothing, I think, is more interesting, more poignant, and more difficult to seize than the intersection of self and history,” Nochlin wrote in “Starting from Scratch,” the 1994 essay in which she remembers and reconsiders feminist art history and her role in that unfinished enterprise.

Rereading that essay, I realize she wrote her own epitaph (or is it an epigraph?) more eloquent than any I could match.

“In 1969 and the years that followed,” she wrote, “the intersection of myself and history was of a different order. It was no mere passive conjunction of events that united me to the history of that year and the ones that followed, but active engagement and participation, a sense that I, along with many other politicized, and yes, liberated, women, were actually intervening in the historical process and changing history itself: the history of art, of culture, and of institutions, and of consciousness.”

“And this knowledge even today, almost 25 years later, gives us an ongoing sense of achievement and purpose like no other I know of.”

Godspeed, Linda Nochlin. So typical of you to sidestep your own personal success and instead credit collective action.

The post Linda Nochlin, Feminist Art Historian Who Changed the Game, Dies at 86 appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[okcoolthanks]

Oh realbro me when I think about the consumption of another person consuming their flesh to be fuel and a part of me in a way that’s nearly impossible in another

Grabs You Like This hello ev everett balls okcoolthanks

(the rats are not hurt by this. looks like im squeezing them but i am not i swear) (they are chill as fuck)

ACHH

Hi mousewhats up