#rose harissa

[morethansalad]

Rose Harissa-Roasted Vegetables & Chickpeas with Tenderstem & Tahini Yogurt (Vegan)

[magz]

[ Original Twitter Thread by @/beelektra ] - Not by Magz, am not Palestinian

Palestinian Foods. (long post)

Quote:

"�� Thread of Palestinian desserts I've grown up around and seen A thing I'd like to add is that I just like to share my culture! I do not want to spread the narrative that our culture is dying, I only want people to see our foods and traditions 🇵🇸

"As mentioned in the last post, we have knafeh (or kunafa), a buttery dessert made with shredded pastry layers such as cheese and other ingredients like pistacho or cream!"

"Burbara; which comes from Saint Barbara, fun fact! It's a soup dessert that mainly consists of barley, licorice spices, anise, cinnamon, and fennel powder This is a dessert usually many Christian families have to celebrate Saint Barbara, which is December 4th!"

"Malban, which resembles a fruit jelly! Made from starch and sugar Specifically, it's made with grape molasses, thickened with starch and flavored with rose water, and stuffed with almonds (or other nuts including walnuts, treenuts, and peanuts)"

"Khabeesa is simply just a pudding made with grapes, but you prepare it by mixing the grape juice with semolina and nuts + seeds."

"Mtabbak or mtabba, a crispy dough stuffed with crushed walnuts. It also contains cinnamon, sugar, and syrup. Photo credits go to Bartek Kieżun on Instagram"

"Tamriyeh, a fried pastry filled with semolina pudding, scenter with mastic and orange blossom water, and topped off with powdered sugar"

"Ka'ak bi Tamer, which are date paste filled cookies with cinnamon! A dessert made for Eid-Alfitr. It's topped with nigella seeds, and the cinnamon-spiced date paste is the most important part of it all– you can eat it on its own or have it with coffee"

"+ Ka'ak Asawer, another dessert that can be prepared for Eid-Alfitr. It's translated to bracelet cookies, and they use date paste, flour, anise seeds, sugar, ground cinnamon, and olive oil"

"Muhallebi or mahalabia, a milk pudding that's made with sugar, corn starch, and fragrant flavorings! It's topped off with nuts, pistachos, and almonds and sprinkled with ground cinnamon or shredded coconut"

"Rice pudding, which is a common dessert in Palestine, and it's your choice to top it off with nuts or not"

"Stuffed dates, using medjool dates and cracking them open to be stuffed with goat cheese and pistachios– but you're free to add anything else"

"Ma'amoul, a buttery crisp cookie primarily made of farina and can be stuffed with (spiced) dates, walnuts, or pistachios. This is another Christian dessert made by Palestinian mothers during the week of Easter Sunday."

"Halawit Smid, a farina based dessert with added sugar and unsalted cheese. It's preferably served fresh"

"Namoura cake, aka harissa dessert! It's made with semolina or farina flour, and then topped off with syrup once baked"

"Qatayef, which is eaten during the month of Ramadan. It's made of farina, flour, water, and yeast blended together– the process is pretty similiar to making pancakes, but only one side is cooked"

"Since I've mentioned using zaatar for a lot of things, I recently just discovered this but– there's also things such as zaatar cookies!! It's just as implied that the cookies are filled with zaatar, I'd be so willing to make this on my own"

"Baklava, made from phyllo pastry dough, butter, nuts, basil, and a sweet honey syrup"

"Aish el saraya, arabic version of a bread pudding. It's basically a layered bread, where it starts from the bottom, then covered with a sweet syrup, cream, and crumbled pistachios."

"Awwami, it's defined as "crisp donut ball" in English. It's a deep fried dough ball coated with sesame seeds, and dipped in cold syrup water."

"Halawet el Jibn, a sweet cheese dessert rolled with custard, heavy cream, drizzled rose water + syrup, and garnished with nuts."

"Lastly, I'd like to add watermelon and cheese– for me, it's like,,,, bittersweet!!! You should totally try it and we also have this during Ramadan"

"Well, that's all I can think of for Palestinian desserts! Here's the first part for general foods, I know I did make a promise for part two

I hope you guys liked this thread, and if you have any opinions please feel free to quote tweet anything on here if I made a mistake, feel free to correct me, it's always appreciated P.S if you're a zionist commenting here I really don't care, just scroll, I'm sharing my culture

One LAST thing. if you want any of the recipes from here, check out this website, the creator (Wafa) shares so many wonderful traditional Palestinian dishes."

[End Quote]

[bonjourlasodomie]

Spicy Chicken Couscous with Rose Harissa

[pouringforever]

Rose harissa braised chicken legs with whole banana shallots, celery and clementine. Served on a pool of seasoned tahini with some pickled green chillis and a garlic & parsley butter naan bread

[copperbadge]

I am so close and yet so far from being done with The Chicken Salad War, argh. I have the entire rest of the book plotted out, and there's a little less than a quarter of it remaining to write, I think, but it's going to be an intense quarter. And then the rewrites will be a little more extensive than usual because I've basically been skipping scenes I don't want to write, which isn't a lot but isn't zero.

Anyway, have a scene where Ylias and Simon realize that attempting to make an edible sauce using davzda and harissa paste may be an error.

It took a few more minutes of scraping and blending, but in the end the warm, fragrant harissa paste was scooped out and into a bowl, and they both examined it.

"Now…davzda," he said, sounding excited and doomed at once, like someone about to attend an execution but fortunately not theirs.

"I'm wondering, should we just try to loosen it up with the raw hooch?" she asked. "Or actually make some shakshouka and stir the davzda into that?"

"I think to start, we make a sauce -- some beautiful paste, some davzda, and some broth," he said. "I will reserve some for further experiments."

She carried the bowl to the stove and set out a saucepan, spooning some of the harissa into it and then shuffling aside so he could add broth; he whisked them together cold, then added a careful pour of davzda from the ubiquitous gray-green bottle. The smell that rose from the mixture was…herbal, but it began to fade into something more pleasantly spicy as it heated.

[insert brief hold music here for a part of the scene I don't want to spoil yet]

"Now, I must begin prep for dinner, I think, while this simmers."

"Can I help?" she asked. 

He blinked at her. "Oh -- it is my job and I am too accustomed to it. But..." he added, considering, "You won't go yet, will you? You must taste this sauce. And I have been accustomed to company, but not so much with Eddie now looking after the little ones." 

"Can I criticize your technique?" she asked, grinning, and he laughed. 

"Only in French, and I will not be gracious about it," he replied. 

"I'd worry if you were," she said, stationing herself at the stove to mind the sauce while he gathered ingredients. By the time he was done assembling the meatballs, the sauce had thickened and darkened to an almost mahogany color. Simon procured some twist-bread and fetched crudite from the fridge ("I keep carrot sticks for Joan, and His Majesty will enjoy the leftover cucumber at dinner,") and she spooned some sauce out into a bowl, dipping the bread while he tried a piece of carrot. 

At the first taste, he looked thoughtful, chewing the carrot and harissa sauce with a blank look on his face. Ylias, taken off-guard, coughed and nearly choked when she finally tasted it.

"Oh, no, oh dear," she said, taking a long sip of water while he grinned, still chewing. "It's...so earthy."

"The flavoring in the alcohol, I think," he said, finally swallowing and rinsing his own mouth out. "The oil in the chilis brings out the mushroom in the davzda."

"Ugh, but the worst part," she managed. "That's awful. It's not even bitter, really, not like davzda is, it's just...almost cloying." 

"Yes, but..." he considered, eyes narrowed. "There is good flavor there too, just not in balance."

She tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth, chasing stray hints of the sauce, then braced herself and took another, smaller taste. 

"You can almost get to it," she agreed, considering more deeply. "I never bother with mushrooms in shakshouka because they're just texture at that point, the flavor's too delicate for the spice. But maybe...if you could just cut the flavor a bit."

"Less davzda?"

"Defeats the point, but maybe. Or..." she considered. "There's a lot of tomato coming through, but it's the acid. Do you think a sweet note would help, or would that just make it worse?"

"Make this worse?" he asked, amused, but he was already reaching for a jar on the counter. "The family likes muscovado in their coffee," he said, using the little spoon in the jar to lift out a mound of golden-brown sugar. "Yes?"

She gestured for him to give it a try; he added a few spoonfuls and then stirred it with the whisk again. The sauce darkened further, but when they tasted it this time, the horror had receded. 

"Oh, that's...actually nice," she said. "Salty-sweet. You could even use molasses -- or a sherry if you wanted."

"Yes. Very good," he agreed, and then he leaned in and kissed her. 

It surprised them both, she could tell; she didn't pull away -- he was a very good kisser -- but when he leaned back, he looked startled by what he'd done.

"Ah, perhaps inappropriate," he said. "Only -- I like this very much, this experimentation. With the sauce," he added in a stammer. "Although, of course -- "

She held up a finger and he fell silent, looking relieved.

"I like it too," she said. "A little warning next time, maybe."

[mariacallous]

Offal, aka organ meats, are about to make a comeback. Yes, I predict that brains, livers, spleens, tongues and testicles will feature heavily on the menus of Israel’s (and the diaspora’s Jewish/Israeli-style) hottest eateries by this time next year — if they aren’t already. Why? Because young chefs are increasingly inspired by traditional Jewish dishes, driving a return-to-roots style of cooking. And these old-school classics are notably innard-heavy.

Offal is an oxymoron; it’s both a poor-person food, which is why it was so popular in the shtetl, and a celebratory food, eaten on Shabbat and festivals. Many Sephardic cultures consider it a delicacy. Read on and decide for yourself.

Let’s start with an old Ashkenazi classic: chopped liver. While for me, it will always be in style, many of my contemporaries don’t feel the same. Luckily, young Jewish chefs have already set their sights on it, and may well have the power to convert millennial diners. Take Anthony Rose’s recipe in “The Last Schmaltz,” which sears the livers, then deglazes the pan with arak before blending, serving the chopped liver with thyme-scented caramelized onions.

Another well-known offal dish is the Jerusalem mixed grill. Made with chicken giblets and lamb parts, and seasoned with onion, garlic, black pepper, cumin, turmeric and coriander, this classic street food is believed to have originated sometime between 1960-1970 at one of two (now feuding) restaurants in Jerusalem’s Machaneh Yehuda Market. While the Jerusalem grill is far younger than most Jewish offal dishes, it originated in a similar way: Butchers had a surplus of unwanted offal so they sold it off cheaply, then some savvy chefs turned the offal into a desirable dish. The mixed grill was one of the first offal dishes to receive multiple modern makeovers. At his restaurant Rovi, Yotam Ottolenghi adds baharat onions and pickles, while Michael Solomonov included a Jerusalem grill-Southern dirty rice hybrid in “Israeli Soul.“

Of course, this is not the first dish based around grilled offal; Tunisian Jews liked to throw a selection of lamb or veal innards onto the grill, which they called mechoui d’abats, and Baghdadi Jews sought a similar smokiness, which they achieved by cooking chicken livers on the tandoor.

Roman Jews preferred their offal battered and fried, rather than grilled. Few know that their famed carciofi alla giudia (deep-fried artichokes) was often served alongside fried sweetbreads, livers, and — most notably — brains. North Africa’s Sephardi communities loved their brains, too, commonly serving them in an omelet called a meguina or menina on festive occasions. Meir Adoni referenced this love in his brain fricassee — a North African-French fusion dish of veal brains inside a croissant with harissa and preserved lemon — at his New York restaurant Nur.

Offal was also commonly used to add a depth of flavor to a soup or stew. Yemenite Jews — one of the few communities who continue to cook traditional offal dishes — make a soup with bulls’ penis and cows’ udders, while Eastern European Jews, particularly of Polish descent, continue to add kishke  — a sausage made of stuffed beef intestine — to their weekly Shabbat cholent. A slow-cooked stew called akod is one of the better-known dishes of Tunisian Jewish cuisine, where tripe flavored with cumin, garlic, harissa and tomato paste is the star of the show. Moroccan Jews eat a similar dish on Passover, which ditches the tomato paste but adds liver, heart, and beef dumplings.

Admittedly, there are some offal-based dishes that may find it trickier to stage a comeback. Ptcha – an aspic that reached its height of popularity in shtetl-era Ashkenazi communities — is arguably top of the list. However, it’s not without hope; ptcha was actually born in Turkey in the 14th century as a peasant soup made with lamb’s feet, served hot. This, I’d wager, is a more palatable gateway (it’s basically bone broth) to the Eastern European version, which opts for calves’ feet and allows the soup to cool and set into a jelly, thanks to the gelatin in the hooves.

It only takes one dish to change your view of offal from weird and unappetizing to tasty and versatile. If livers, brains and tripe were good enough for our ancestors, not to mention famed chefs, who are we to turn up our noses? Happy eating!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eighteen

Back in Clontarf, I perch at the gleaming, marble island while Jude prepares dinner. I watch him doing it with undisguised interest, because he cooks the way that I imagine he makes art, fully absorbed, with precision and confidence, and completely and utterly in the flow of his own enjoyment. He connects his iPhone to a Bluetooth speaker and plays music for a while, until Ivy bursts in and complains that she can’t focus on her homework with all of the noise.

He switches it off for her, but even in the silence he moves around to the beat of the music in his head, with a smile on his face that only endures the more stupid questions I ask him about what he’s doing. He’s making a spice mix in a pestle and mortar, he’s coating the fillets in flour, that’s actually rose water, not vanilla, yes, he taught himself how to do this, those flowers are actually totally edible, they’re not just there to look good, so a shallot is actually stronger than an onion, that’s why he’s using it. He prepared a lot of it earlier, marinating fresh fish in harissa for hours, and par boiling the potatoes so that they’d be oven ready by the time we got home from visiting Jen, and when I ask him where he found the time to do all of this he explains that he was simply procrastinating, because he doesn’t want to write his thesis. 

We eat at the dining table with Ivy, who shovels the food into her mouth in the span of about five minutes despite her complaints about it tasting bad, and gives a series of very bored, one word answers to his questions about school in between mouthfuls. He reminds her that she should practise for her piano lesson tomorrow and tells her that he can’t collect her from afterschool hockey so she’ll have to get the bus. It occurs to me that this is perhaps the most un-sibling like relationship I’ve ever witnessed. Perhaps it’s a symptom of their age gap. 

“Where’re your parents tonight?” I query once Ivy rushes off to her bedroom to reconvene whatever teen girl things were interrupted by dinner, and he looks down at his plate. “Working late again.”

“Seems like they really like to work.”

“They sure do. Or they really like not having to be in this house.”

He’s said things like this to me before, these kind of vaguely troubling statements about his parents in very casual, matter of fact ways, as though they’re entirely absent and have no love for each other whatsoever, and this is something he finds normal. I’ve never asked him about it before, and something I’ve never quite been able to handle the idea of broaching, but now, since we’re… kind of, sort of going out with each other it suddenly feels important to know whether his expectations for his own relationships are different to his parents’ strange marriage.  

“What is it about them?”

“We don’t have to discuss these grim things about my family, it’s alright.”

“We don’t have to, but I think I’d like to know about it.”

He pushes his food thoughtfully around his plate. “They just shouldn’t have gotten married, I suppose. I think they meant well initially but it’s ultimately done more damage than good.” He glances towards the closed door and up towards the ceiling, where his sister is, and lowers his voice a little bit. “I think they’ll probably get a divorce as soon as Ivy finishes school.”

“Oh.”

“I’m the reason they’re married, and she’s the reason they’re still together. They had this amazing idea at one point that having another child would solve all of their issues, but now they’ve just trapped themselves in a bind for an extra nine years. They could be blissfully divorced by now, but they won’t do it until she’s moved out, because they don’t want to disrupt her schooling.” 

“How old were they when you were born?”

“Nineteen and twenty one.” 

“Oh, God.”

“Yep, big mistake. Whoops.” he tosses a chunk of potato into his mouth and leans back in his chair. “Mom finished school and went to stay with her aunt in America, took up a job at a department store in Albuquerque, hooked up with a med student at a bar on her first month there, and well…” He throws up his hands in mock celebration. “Here I am!”

“I suppose that being unmarried with a child wasn’t really an option for your mother at the time.” 

“No, not at all, I mean, she had come from catholic Ireland. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to live at home again unless she married the man from that bar.” The way he speaks about his father is strange, as though despite his presence in their lives, he’s still some random, nameless med student from San Bernardino. 

“And then what?” 

“Well, then my dad continued school, and my mom began her studies and my great aunt took care of me on and off until my dad got his doctorate degree. Then they had Ivy, on purpose, by the way, and when she was a baby we moved back here.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”

I breathe out a laugh. “You’re so cagey.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah it’s like you don’t want to talk about them, or your home life, like, ever.”

He doesn’t look like he’s all that bothered by my interrogation, he just gives me this self-effacing little smile. “Come on, Evie. It’s because this stuff is boring.” 

“I don’t think it’s boring at all.” 

“Well, okay. They didn’t want to be together, they shouldn’t have had kids, and they act like they never did because they barely parented either one of us. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at letting things drop?”

“Yeah, loads. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at talking about serious things?”

“Of course.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and he lifts my arm from the table to kiss the inner part of my wrist. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

“Yes, you. Tell me what it was like for you when you were growing up.” 

“I’ve told you loads about my childhood already though.” 

“Yeah, you have, and I loved hearing about how badly behaved you were and what it felt like to live in America, but I wish you’d get into the guts of it, the real stuff.”

“The real stuff?”

“The stuff that makes you so clearly sad. You get that look on your face whenever it comes up.”

He hasn’t let go of my wrist, and now his thumb is gently stroking the skin that he kissed a moment before while he stares out into the garden through streak-free glass patio doors, and he chews on his lip before deciding to speak. “Well, when Ivy was born I stopped being a kid, I suppose. My parents didn’t have a lot of interest in caring for either of us, and I was lucky, because my great aunt in Albuquerque did all of that for them when I was little, but when we moved here the support system really fell away. Nobody had considered that. We have my mom’s parents, but they’re about as warm as she is, and even though we’d be dumped over to theirs at the weekends, it wasn’t like we had especially fun or memorable times. Usually we’d get some bucket of crap toys from the seventies and whatever was on the three TV channels that they had. They were okay, but Ivy was a really nervous toddler. She didn’t like being around unfamiliar people, to the point that our grandmother would have to roll her bottles down the hallway to where she was hiding at the bottom of the stairs so that she’d drink anything at all. She just screamed whenever either of our grandparents came near her. It just wasn’t working out, so we eventually stopped having to go, and by then, when I was like eleven, it just made sense that I’d look after her instead.”

“What did that involve?”

“Everything. Feeding her, dressing her, putting her to bed, shopping for food, toys, eventually bringing her to the creche. She used to go to the childminders while I was at school, but only until I finished at three or four o’clock, and then I’d swing by and get her. A child collecting another child, like, I don’t know if they’d let that kind of thing happen anymore, but it was a small family run childminders, the kind of lawless place where they have this one old granny looking after about twelve children in her house and everything and anything goes. My mom used to come home and cook dinner for a while, but she was delighted when I got old enough to do that for her too. It meant she could stay out of the house for longer and do whatever she used to do. Have affairs or whatever.” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean, I really don’t know if that was ever the case but I wouldn’t be that surprised. Everything got really confined because of Ivy, you know? I always had to be home, and helping, and collecting and living my life on this schedule while all the other teenagers were just being blissfully selfish and… just teenagers.”

“But you had time to yourself, surely?”

“Yeah, at night when my parents were finally home from work, but I mean, yeah, it wasn’t about not having time to do hobbies or hang out with my friends, it was about having to do it at all. It was about having to consider those things. Nobody should have to parent their siblings, it was really stifling and really unfair. If my parents wanted another child then they should have been prepared to take care of her. You can’t just offload that responsibility onto the older child. I resented it, and I still do.”

I spear my fingers into the side of his hair and run my hand down the back of his head. “That’s why you went to Berlin.” 

“I just didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have ever had to.”

“Right.” He hesitates and his teeth rake over his lower lip, pulling the skin until it’s taut and white. “I just feel like going to Berlin was the most selfish thing I could have possibly done though.”

“No way.” I say. “It forced your parents to do what they should have been doing all along, and look after your sister.” 

“Yeah but it didn’t really do that. I look at Ivy now, and she’s doing a lot of those things I used to do for her all on her own. My parents never stepped up like I hoped they would, so she’s just becoming another teenager with too many responsibilities, and parents that will divorce as soon as they can and leave her without a solid base to come home to when she’s in college. And then, you know, on the other hand I think about Jen, and how bad everything has become for her and I know that if I’d stayed, and if I’d been here for her then maybe I could have-”

“It’s no use thinking that, Jude. You had to be on your own for once. You can’t hold up the whole world on your shoulders.”

“I’m selfish.” His voice is acidic, and the moment I feel his fingers loosen on me I grab a hold of his sleeve, because all of a sudden it feels vitally important to keep a connection between us.

“You didn’t get a proper childhood. I’d be even more selfish if I were you. You need to be doing the things that you want to do, seeing the world, partying with your friends, all of that stuff that you’ve been doing for the last four years. It’s all food for your soul.” 

“You’re too forgiving of me. It’s okay to say that I’ve been generally inconsiderate.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself.” I say quietly. “And you know that’s not true. You’re a good person, and you were always so nice to me, even when I was quiet and shy. You made an effort to talk to me at that time that Jen invited me to that modern art exhibition in Dublin, and you made me feel so included and asked so many questions about me even though I felt so nervous around you both.”

“I feel like that’s the least anyone could have done.” He says sulkily, as though he doesn’t really feel like being talked out of his mood. “The more I dwell on it the more I think there is something seriously wrong with me. Something that should have been figured out a lot earlier, but like, here I am, a twenty two year old, in the final months of my final year at college and I feel a bit… I dunno, lost, or something. I’m floundering, and I don’t really know who I am anymore. I swore I had it figured out at eighteen but now that seems laughable to me.”

“Nobody tells you how weird it is to be in your twenties.” I declare. “They insist that it’s amazing and fun and you’ll have all of this independence, but actually it feels strange and vulnerable, and there’s no rule book about how to navigate your way through it. One day you’re a stupid teenager and the next you live on your own and you have to know how to use the city bus and remember the pin of a debit card.”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s alright that you find it hard, is all I’m saying, and I for one, feel like I truly knew nothing about being an adult. To be honest sometimes I get a bit freaked out by how lost I feel. But then I try not to think about it, and I just go on with my day.”

“That’s your advice?” He says, with the hint of a smile threatening to crack through the gloom. “Just don’t think about it?”

“Probably shouldn’t be, should it?”

“I think that’s terrible advice, Evie.”

“Well that’s all I have for you.”

He leans into me and lightly kisses my jaw before going back to his food, and the featherlight touch of his lips sends shivers right down to my toes. “Well I think we should think about hard things.” He says. “I think that ignoring them only gives them more power, actually.”

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be processed now. They’re meant for later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know. Just later.” I push the last of my dinner onto my fork and into my mouth and try not to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s watching me like I’m under a spotlight. 

“I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of the things that happened you in first year then-”

My chair makes a hideous scraping noise against the parquet floor. “Do you have any pictures of you when you were small?” I say, wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans, and he blinks. “Um. Why?”

“Just when we were talking about your childhood, like,” I stack his empty plate on top of mine. “I was wondering to myself what you might have looked like as a little boy. That’s all.”

“There are some, somewhere yeah. I can root them out if you want.”

“I’d love that, would you mind?” I hastily pack things away in the dishwasher, and I put the plates in crookedly, and I can’t find where the cutlery goes, and Jude is there, and he takes the forks out of my hands and gingerly places them into the sink. 

“It’s fine. Leave it.” He says. “Come into the living room, I’ll get the baby photos out.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cordeliaflyte]

I'm a vociferous proponent of having rose harissa + hummus + a fried egg on some nice bread

[morethansalad]

Vegan Rose Harissa Chickpea Stew with Burnt Chard

[kasienda]

Adrino Mixtape - Cooking

Thanks to @bbutterflies for organizing Adrino week! I'm loving all the adrino artwork and stories!! Feeling absolutely spoiled and well fed!

Read on Ao3

Day 2 - Cooking

Nino clapped his hands together in satisfaction. The table was set. He still thought the rose petals were probably a bit much, but Adrien liked grand romantic gestures so even if it was cheesy as hell, he knew it would make Adrien smile. 

And Nino needed it to be over the top too because words were not his strong suit, so the setting needed to do half the talking for him. Maybe more than half. Nino was really bad at talking. 

He moved back to the kitchen to check on the lamb shanks. He opened the oven and the sudden wave of heat fogged up his glasses. He waited for the moisture to clear and then poked at the lamb with a fork. It wasn’t quite falling off the bone, but it was getting close.

The sauce wasn’t quite right though. It needed more spice. He was sprinkling on more harissa when he froze. 

Was this too much spice for Adrien? Adrien was obviously well traveled, but he was still white.

He glanced across his small kitchen, tugging at his hat. Would Adrien who had grown up with five star chefs preparing every meal even like a home cooked meal from Nino? Like, Nino knew he wasn’t a bad cook. He really enjoyed the things he made himself as it was really the only time he got to have anything that tasted like home. But would Adrien?

Nino’s stomach twisted into a tight ball of anxiety as he took in the table setting again. It was so over the top . There was no misinterpreting what it meant. Adrien had been his best friend for years, and yesterday when Adrien had smiled that soft smile with sparkles in his eyes, Nino had been certain that he wasn’t the only one who had caught feelings. 

But what if Nino had imagined it? What if Adrien took one look at the candles and rose petals and bolted? What if he felt so awkward about the whole thing that he stopped hanging around? 

Nino couldn’t lose him. Not now. 

Did he have time to revert the table back? 

A playful rhythm knocking at the door said he was out of time. Leave it to Adrien to arrive stupidly early. 

Nino wiped his hands on his shirt and swung the door open. 

Adrien’s smile was like the sun dawning over the horizon. 

“D-Dri?! What are you doing here?” 

Adrien brows furrowed. “You invited me? You said seven right?” He glanced down at his watch. “I guess I’m a few minutes early.” He smiled that beaming smile again. 

A few?! Adrien was like an hour—

Nino caught the time and felt the blood drain from his face. Adrien was only four minutes early.

“I was just excited! After yesterday–” 

Where had all the time gone? How had Nino managed to run so far behind? The food wasn’t ready, he hadn’t showered or changed.

“Do you need me to be late?” Adrien asked. “I can come back…?” He twisted around pointing to the empty wall behind him. 

Nino shook his head. “No! Don’t be silly. Get your butt in here.” 

He ushered Adrien ahead of him, and followed, pinching his shoulder, staring at Adrien’s feet as Nino followed him, terrified of seeing his reaction. 

Adrien stopped walking. Nino heard his sharp intake of breath. But Nino still couldn’t bring himself to look up. And Adrien didn’t say anything. 

Nino’s eyes remained glued to Adrien’s bright orange shoes that absolutely couldn’t be the same ones he had in the first year of collège, but they looked like the same shoes, which meant Adrien must have really liked them. 

Adrien shifted, and turned back toward him.

“Nino?” 

Nino’s eyes shot up to Adrien’s face. This was it, this was when Adrien told him ever so gently that he was flattered, and that he loved him like a brother. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Is this—? Is this what I think it is?” His voice held so much hope, and his eyes were glassy. 

Nino grinned, suddenly feeling light, like he could fly. How had he ever let himself doubt that Adrien was interested? 

“Umm, yeah, probably. I just— after yesterday, I realized that I— You’re like, my favorite person in the world. I really wanted you to come home with me and I never wanted you to leave. It’s probably just as well, though because if you had, I would probably have done something stupid like kiss you, or I don’t know. I just—“ 

Nino cut off abruptly, painfully aware that he was rambling and making less sense by the moment. His face and neck were on fire and Adrien had closed the space between them to almost nothing and it was hard to think with him so close Nino could feel his breath.

“What if I kiss you now?” Adrien asked. 

Nino nodded dumbly, and Adrien didn’t waste a second. Nino poured years of longing into that kiss. Adrien responded with the same enthusiasm as if he had been pining for just as long. But that couldn’t have been the case. That would have been stupid. 

It was only when the smoke alarm went off, that Nino pulled away in panic. 

“The lamb!” 

Dinner was ruined. 

“It’s fine,” Adrien reassured, his fingers tracing light trails down Nino’s arm in a way that was making him shiver. “I’m not particularly hungry right now anyway. But if you are, we could order something?” 

Nino sucked in a breath, pulling Adrien into his arms. His boyfriend was right. They could eat later. For now, they had other things to occupy their time.

[quarklynx]

Here it is folks, the long-awaited Genshin Impact Birthday Cake Breakdown, Episode 3: Sumeru Cake!

Details below the cut!

For a filling between the two layers, I’d recommend a Swiss meringue, stabilized whipped cream or another kind of frosting flavored with Saffron, Caramel, Coco, Vanilla, Tahini, or another nut/seed butter. If you want to try something a little different, you could try making an Iranian/Persian Halva (comparable in consistency to a fairly dry fudge) to add in a thin layer between the cakes, with or without additional frosting layered in. 

Jumping right into it, the cake has inclusions that appear to be a nut of some sort and judging by the color and theme I believe that Pistachio would be an appropriate choice, though Almond is one of the few nuts canonically in Genshin Impact (according to the english translation) so that would also work. Cardamom, Rosewater, or Orange would be an excellent flavor accompaniment, especially since pistachio doesn’t have a super strong flavor on its own if you choose to go that route. If you use almonds, use blanched and halved ones, if you use pistachios make sure they're shelled and broken into pieces.

In the countries/regions of the world that Suemru is analogous to I found one kind of cake that stood out to me: Basbousa (also known as Revani, Namoura, Shamali, or Harissa) a kind of cake typically made with Semolina and yogurt that is then soaked in syrup, it can even be made with almond, coconut, or pistachio included in the batter. But if you’re feeling less adventurous, or simply want a consistency that is more expected of a western-style layer cake, then I do encourage you to at least find a recipe that includes your nut of choice in the ingredient list.

If the type of cake you choose allows for it, a syrup soak could enhance the flavors of the cake and keep it moist since it’s not frosted all the way around. Any of the flavors I suggest for other parts of the cake would be suitable for this, especially Rose, Citrus, and Cardamom.

Swiss meringue, stabilized whipped cream, or any other kind of frosting would be just fine for the piped star dots on the top, and the ring of dots around the filling as long as it has the correct consistency to make large full blobs. 

Now for the decorations. 

The berries on the side would likely be easiest to craft with fondant (which you can diy with marshmallows), but you could take that extra step to make the berries shiny by brushing them with egg whites or vodka and letting them dry. They also bear a resemblance to Goji berries, Cape Gooseberries, and Strawberries if you squint, so you could use some of those to decorate the cake instead. And though they do look quite a bit like tomatoes, I do not suggest putting tomatoes on your cake. 

The Sumeru roses do not seem to have a real world counterpart, though Columbine, Dendrobium Orchid, Lisianthus, and Rose of Sharon flowers seem passably similar. Gum paste or fondant may be your best bet here otherwise. Crocus, Hibiscus, and Lily flower tutorials in your chosen medium would likely help you to best put together an accurate looking Sumeru Rose. If you plan to use real flowers, always check to make sure they’re not toxic before putting them anywhere near food.  

The musical score and bird standing up in the back could easily be done with fondant or gumpaste adhered to dowels or skewers to keep it upright, but Chocolate would be an elegant option as well. The technique used in this video would work to create the large shapes and the bird, and this one would be suitable for the music notes and the treble cleff. 

The leaf behind everything is large enough that fondant or gum paste might be too heavy without substantial support, so I would recommend using Wafer Paper/Rice Paper. This video should help in the creation of a big leaf (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOI-I0IhUHY), though it may still need some support to stay in place. Synthetic lilypads and monstera leaves are available for purchase online and in some craft stores if you would like a simpler but inedible option. 

That's a wrap! Good luck, and if you try to bake it be sure to share your efforts with me, I'd love to see!

The Aranara heads and hats would also be easiest to accomplish with fondant or gum paste, though it could be possible to make the heads themselves out of buttercream like the frogs in this tutorial, or to make them like cake pops. The hats would be doable if you follow a morning glory or leaf tutorial for fondant or gum paste, use whichever substance you’ve already used for the other elements. Just don’t forget the glasses, tiny leaves, and the little bow!

Finally, there appear to be blanched almonds, small pistachios, pine nuts, or lotus seeds placed around the edge of the frosting on the top, and scattered flower petals and more crushed nuts. Rose, violet, pansies, or edible orchids would work here, though I'd recommend orchids if you can get your hands on them.

[adz]

this is the fucked up meal that makes me squeal (canned bean, canned chicken, rose harissa)

[tiffinandteaofficial1]

Easy, Creamy & Spicy Harissa Pasta

This Easy Creamy & Spicy Harissa Pasta with onions, rose harissa and cream is delicious, spicy and ready to eat in 20 minutes making it a great weeknight meal/recipe. If you are a fan of all things Pasta, why not try Gigi Hadid Pasta without Vodka, Butter Chicken Pasta or Rigatoni Al Forno with Béchamel Sauce. Easy, Creamy & Spicy Harissa Pasta In this recipe the Pasta is smothered in the most…

[catboycooks]

Beef harissa noodles! I actually got this recipe on tumblr and I make it fairly often due to being easy and tasty.

Modified quite a bit bc my ingredients are pretty heavily limited to what I can get at the store by my apartment, so I use regular instead of rose harissa and I’ve only had it with broccolini once. The store had broccolini ONCE and I was like oh yay, I can cook with broccolini now! Then it never had it again. I need to get my drivers license so I can go to the good stores.

[queerworldtravelers]

Sidi Bou Saïd, Tunisia

36°52′0″N, 10°20′0″E

The time had come for us to head back to the US. Our second Schengen visa was nearly up and we have a 90th birthday party and a wedding to go to. It turns out that air fare this summer is wildly expensive. A one-way flight from Rome to New York started at $2,000 each and kept increasing in price. There had to be another way! Lucky for us Google Flights lets you search from an airport and see flight costs for anywhere in the world. After a little digging we discovered a $500 flight from Tunis, Tunisia to New York City with a layover in Casablanca. Rock on!

Getting from Palermo to Tunis can be accomplished in two ways: an expensive one hour flight or a cheaper ten hour ferry ride. We opted for the ferry ride because when else will we get the chance to cross the Mediterranean? We also anticipated that the border control at the port would be less picky than at the airport and we were dancing really, really close to a creative interpretation of Schengen visa laws. In retrospect we encourage anyone considering this journey to take the plane.

We had to check in for the ferry at 6:30am and there was no ferry at the port. Interesting. We picked a spot under a tree and posted up for the next four hours. We packed a lot of snacks because everyone said the ferry was a nightmare. We watched as cars piled with suitcases filed into lines to board the ship once it actually arrived. At the border control station I handed over my passport not thinking anything of it and nearly had a heart attack when the agent started flipping through our entry and exit stamps and then counting on his fingers! Thankfully we had nine days left from our last entry stamp and proof of an onward journey. Never underestimate the port.

The ferry ride was wild and truly a beautiful cultural experience. We were corralled and pushed on board and then took our pullman seats that we paid to reserve only to observe that general deck passage gets you on board and then you just go look around for an empty seat. Brilliant. We left port at 2:30pm (our original departure time was supposed to be 10:30am). It was sort of like a dirty mall with lots of kids throwing shoes at the wall and running up and down the stairs. Not completely horrible, but also not a sought after experience. We arrived at the Port of La Goulette at 12:30am and witnessed an almost stampede to get off the boat.

We read that the border control in Tunis can be formidable and we were prepared for bribes. We printed every single document for where we planned to be between the port and New York City in French, Arabic, and English and arranged to have our host pick us up.

Often while traveling US passports afford a privilege that others are not privy to. Tunis was an example of this. We handed over our US passports and were shooed through every check station with very little questioning.

Our host Nabil was a saint! When we exited the border control station the sidewalks were packed with people offering rides, selling food, and looking for their loved ones. Nabil swooped us up and then gave us a driving tour of Carthage on the way to Sidi Bou Saïd. He pointed out the best grocery store (where they won’t charge the Americans 5x more) and the best bank to exchange money at. As soon as our heads hit the pillow we were out!

The next morning we stopped by the café Nabil suggested for a rose cardamom latte (WOW) and then adventured to the grocery store. Dates and amazing cans covered in Arabic script full of harissa met us as we collected provisions for the week.

It was also at least 110°F every day we were there. In a stroke of genius we realized we could start shifting our schedule to match New York City time and take advantage of the cooler nights, so that is exactly what we did!

Tucked on the main street in Sidi Bou is a gorgeous homage to traditional Tunisian life. Dar El Annabi feels like someone just stopped living in the house and set up a ticket booth at the front door in the 90s. Traditional and historical items surround things like a VCR. The views from the top were really special and being able to enter the prayer rooms and drink mint tea were appreciated privileges.

From 1909-1921 a French painter named Rodolphe d'Erlanger had the Ennejma Ezzahra Palace built (Tunisia was a French colony from 1881-1956). He is said to be responsible for funding and implementing the white and blue building motifs throughout Sidi Bou Saïd. The palace was a gift to wander through. It took us a bit to find the door, but once we did it did not disappoint.The day we visited was a toasty 114°F and the palace was cool and refreshing inside. A true testament to the power of engineering in the days before air conditioning. Today, the palace is a museum that houses the Center for Arabic and Mediterranean Music. You can tour the palace virtually and listen to the music collection!

The Tunis médina is a wandering, mystical maze of goods trading. From the 12th-16th centuries Tunis was considered one of the greatest and wealthiest cities in the Islamic world. The médina is centered around a central mosque and the souqs (shops) radiate out in all directions. We dove in and headed to Dar Slah for a nourishing and traditional Tunisian lunch. Imagine lamb roasted with potatoes, dates, and figs. We then hit the narrow alleys in search of goods to stuff into our packs for the folks we love. The whole complex is below ground apparently so when camels came in loaded with goods they could be easily unloaded. It also kept everything refreshingly cool compared to the ambient temperature outside.

We had been warned that folks will approach you and act as your friend, making suggestions, and showing you things you must see only to demand payment for their services at the end. We wandered in and looked around and tried to find our way and then we got twisted around. As soon as we passed the same point for a third time a man popped out and started to suggest, guide, and ask questions in very good English. We also read that a firm “no thank you” usually does the trick. We are here to report that five firm no thank yous released us from the spell of the unwanted guide. A little flustered, we attempted to make our way back toward the entry gate and somehow ended up in the back alleys outside of the beaten path. Five months in the Ballarò, which is truly just a one thousand year old Arabic médina stuffed in what is today considered Italy, prepared us to tread bravely through the trash-ridden streets as we passed dead kittens swept up with the rest of the day's waste. We made it back to the beaten path with no incidents at all, but have a deep and profound understanding for the mysticism of One Thousand and One Nights as it sort of felt like we were lost for that long.

The greatest gift of being in Tunisia was the undeniable kindness of her people. We have been on the road for nearly a year now and the kindness we encountered in Tunisia is second to none.

We made our way to the airport and flew Royal Air Maroc to Casablanca. We can not recommend them enough! The seats had ample leg room and they fed us on a three hour flight! In Casablanca we just booked a hotel by the airport and discovered that if you have a layover longer than eight hours Royal Air Maroc will put you up in a hotel and pay for it! Next time, friends, next time. We arranged an evening tour of the sights and we are so glad we had a tour guide! He picked us up and took us around to the key places, Hassan II Mosque, Rick’s Cafe, and the médina. We aren’t normally big sight people, but getting between places was most fascinating.

Our flight to JFK was early and it was fun to slowly collect the familiar swagger of the Americans as we waited at the gate. We have new eyes that can clearly see what makes us so unmistakable in the rest of the world. We were also swiftly reminded that black bodies are not safe in the presence of authorities in the United States as we navigated Moroccan customs with a black man from New York City. There was no denying we were headed back.

[morethansalad]

Rose Harissa (Vegan)