#so frozen bread dough it is

[isilienelenihin]

Christmas Adam is for making sticky buns

[blujayonthewing]

GRIPPED with the sudden overwhelming desire for a pumpkin-shaped soup bowl to eat pumpkin soup out of

[rodentbehaviour-on-main]

If my macarons have one gram of extra powdered sugar, the world ends

End of story

the funniest dynamc between my boyfriend and i is the chef/baker divide runs so deep. experimentally my boyfriend is a genius with figuring out what flavor profiles will not just taste good together but also will be enjoyed by the specific audience he is cooking for. a recipe is not a guidebook so much as a suggestion and he will frankenstein ideas together to get exactly what he wants to happen. he also didnt know that sugar will not work properly if you dont mix it with the wet ingredients in banana bread and when i asked 'why didnt you do it in the order of the recipe' he said 'i didnt really think it mattered'. autistically i exploded his head in my mind

[kedreeva]

I tried to make sourdough biscuits to freeze as a test to see if they would bake afterwards, and how, and so I mixed them up and cut them out and carefully preserved them on parchment paper in my freezer and then hours later I bagged them once they were frozen so I could take them to my mom's and then I went to sit down and realized oh FUCK. I fucking forgot the butter. I FORGOT the BUTTER. I skipped a whole ass step.

And I told my mother, shit I forgot the butter, and she goes what do you mean like inside or on top?

Inside!!! Inside!!!!!!!!! I didn't mix the butter in during prep!!! These are unbuttery biscuits!!!

And she goes

I didn't add butter to mine (I had brought her some discard to bake these biscuits with a few days ago)

I said what do you mean?

She goes, the recipe you told me didn't have butter (I told her the recipe from memory)

I FORGOT THE BUTTER TWICE

but wait there's more!!!

She goes, your dad liked them

At which point I'm forced to ask: did he tho. Did he like them, or did he tell you he liked them, the way he LIED to us for 35 years about liking pizza?

Well, she says, I don't know. he did admit tonight to not liking brussel sprouts

Which they've been eating together for years now, literally this man is incapable of telling someone he doesn't like a food which explains a lot of my childhood meals

So I'm like okay okay okay okay. Okay. I know I forgot the butter and I know these biscuits are frozen hockey pucks right now but hear me out... What if I turn the oven on to preheat it, and then put the biscuits under the oven vent to thaw, and then just mix the butter in after? Surely nothing will go wrong with this plan.

So I break out the biscuits, and I turn on the oven, and I start thawing them, and I put the butter into a bowl, and start frantically trying to mash it with a pastry masher. This goes about as well as you might expect, which is to say terribly, because the butter just sort of turns into a pile of butter instead of a stick, and I need it to be pebbles of butter.

So I start sprinkling in flour, just until the butter stops re-amalgamating. The biscuits are basically thawed by this point so I try to mash those in and that goes very very very badly, so I clean the tool and just start folding the butter in with my hands like kneading bread, desperately just trying to mash it into one coherent form. It makes a ball of dough, or good enough to pass for one, and I cut out six biscuit sized chunks.

Put them in. Bake them. My oven light doesn't work so I can't even check on them while they're baking to see if I fucked it up worse.

Finally I pull them out, and I realize I fucked up but at least it was in the right direction. The biscuits don't look like they're supposed to, but they do look like layered biscuits, and they taste fine. I put a bunch of honey on one of them and it was pretty good.

I tell all of this to my partner when he gets home and he listens to all of it in silence. When I'm done his only comment is:

"Well, I guess we know how puff pastry was invented, now."

Yeah, it was some asshole hundreds of years ago trying to cover up biscuit sins!!

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

Okay so, I had an idea for a story a long time ago and I was going to write this out, but I figured I'd try a hand at making this into a fanfiction first. I think y'all will really like the idea though. Hear me out:

Exectutioner!König

I know others have done the idea, but this is a world I've been building for ages with its own established lore and history. I think you'll all find this to be pretty fun.

CW: public execution, mild descriptions of gore,

Wordcount: 4.8k

Art from This Post

Story below the Cut

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

You hated execution wakes*. They were miserable, wretched shows of viscera and torment for the insatiable masses below. You despised the way the crowd roared and cheered as the criminal’s severed head was held up to the crowd, eyes still fluttering with prayers for forgiveness on their trembling lips. You were revolted by how judge Holten would laugh like a great, bellowing tracker* as the criminals would writhe and beg for mercy at his feet. What chilled you most of all, though, were his eyes. Not judge Holten’s, most certainly not Father Kim’s, but his.

Cold blue eyes like the hold of Criah’s-turn* on your heart. A chilling draft through thatched roofs. His blank stare felt like stepping into a frozen forest, lost under a pale sky without neither a hearth or home in reach. Whenever he looked at you, you could feel the cold chill winding up your spine. You were a good, honest woman. A good, honest woman was always afraid of a bad man. Any woman would be afraid of a beast like him.

You shuddered as you kneaded the sourdough bread beneath your hands. Your aunt clucked her tongue at you.

“Well come on! We don’t have all day, now do we?” she shook the dark curls that framed her face, “daylight’s fading fast!”

“Auntie, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off!” you complained as you dropped the dough into a bowl to rise again.

“Well I’ll knock them off if you keep up with your whinging!” she squawked and threw another tray of buns into the oven.

“You know, if you’ve got this sort of energy, you’re free to go out to market tomorrow in my stead,” you tried once more as you drew out another batch of dough to knead.

“I’ve got three young’uns underfoot,” your aunt scolded you, “I don’t have nearly enough time to go out hawking bread to those animals.”

“Animals” you scoffed, “I didn’t think witch Rozlin was an animal.”

“Witch Rozlin is a good woman, but anyone going out to one of those blood shows is naught much more than a pig out back,” Auntie sniffed.

You rolled your eyes as you got to kneading the next batch. It wasn’t like you disagreed with your Auntie, but you were rather nonplussed by the idea of going out and selling buns to the rabid mob that was sure to form in the town square next Brak-Hah’s-watch*. Your Auntie had a point. The three rapscallions that currently out at school would be a handful on a Hollinwake, but all god-watch you’d been looking forward to having the day to yourself. After all, Hollinwake was the one wake in a god-watch devoted to caring for yourself and for your family. It was meant to be a day of peace, rest and personal growth. As such, it figured that judge Holten would schedule an execution for the final day of a god-watch. It was just another tally onto the ever-growing list of why judge Holten was the most deplorable man in Mormonia.

It wasn’t like anyone else disagreed with you. Judge Holten was a miserable toad. He was a stout man sporting a grotesque belly overhanging his gilded rope belt with a pugnacious air to him radiating off him with the scent of his tobacco. He’d walk around town in his blessed scarlet robes, scoffing as he whacked small children and animals alike out from under his foot. It was a wonder that any woman willingly shared a bed with the man. You just wished that Halax* might take a shine to you and smite the bastard from existence.

Alas, Halax had long-since turned her back on you when your uncle had fallen ill. Normally, he’d be in your place to prepare the bread and buns for tomorrow, but he had been struck ill at the start of the god-watch. He’d been bed since last Dandorwake*. You’d prayed at church with Father Kim, who’d kindly offered you a cup of mead and a fresh cabbage from the church’s gardens, but you’d declined and urged him to keep them for someone else. He’d tried to insist while gardening, but by the time he turned to hand one over you were already out the door. Maybe it was a sin to turn your back on a priest when he hadn't finished giving an offering, but you knew full well that he needed that cabbage far more than you ever could.

Last cycle* had been cruel. This turning-time* had been fruitful in harvests, but it didn’t make up for an entire cycle of suffering. There had been nothing but torrential rain to drench the ground followed by ages of heat that left the earth splitting with cracks and coughing dust. Most families had to turn to their own reserves, but of course, Father Kim and the church had no such stores. The church, as any good church ought to be, was entirely dependent on donations to run. With families unable to feed even their own children, Father Kim had to make do with an entire cycle of kitchen scraps and meager growth from their garden. Even now, Father Kim was still bony and frail in frame, a mere shadow of the power and might he’d carried the cycle before.

Maybe it was because you’d denied Father Kim’s offerings that your uncle still lay sick, but you weren’t too concerned. Just last wake, witch Rozlin had come with the town apothecary, Darnell to your door. On seeing your uncle, they laughed and told you he’d be up and on his feet within a couple wakes. They still charged you for their time, but you were glad to only be giving over a handful of brass coins rather than paying full price for some balms. So, with the reminder to wait, your uncle had been urged to rest and you had gone out to give the good news to your cousins.

A spark of embers caught your attention. You realized your Auntie must have left to go grab the children from the school master for the evening, leaving you alone in the bakery to work on the next batches. You heaved a sigh and straightened your aching back momentarily before turning back to your work. After all, you had plenty of work to do.

The next wake had started with you loading up the market wagon.

“Auntie, are you sure you want to sell the salted buns?” you asked as your Auntie piled in another load of bread.

“I’m sure of it,” your Auntie declared, “they’re the best thing I’ve made in moons!”

“But-”

“No buts!” she held a roughened finger up to your lips, “just go! You’ll be lucky if it’s not over by now.”

“I hope it is,” you muttered back.

“And just you be careful about The Axe, alright?” your Auntie worried over you as she adjusted your head scarf.

“Worry about The Axe? Why?” you asked.

“He’s a mean one, he is,” your Auntie warned you, “barely talks but… Well… He’s an executioner, dear. He’s not a good man. You’d best keep your distance if you can.” 

“Doesn’t my uncle deal with him?” you frowned.

“Oh he’s nice enough to your uncle, but to a young lady?” your auntie clucked her tongue, “I don’t like thinking about it. He’s not right in the head. If only I could I’d go with you, but with the little ones…”

You smiled warmly, “I understand. Don’t worry Auntie, I promise I’ll be safe.”

“Make sure you have someone with you when he comes to get his rations!”

You barely heard her as you picked up the handles of the wagon and set off to to the Criahlin’s* stone. It wouldn’t be more than a half watch* to get there by foot, less by beetle. You’d always tried to get your uncle to buy one, but he’d stubbornly refused each time you brought up the idea, pointing out the cost of feeding such a thing.

At the very least, the walk was a good one. The warmth of Brak-Hah’s turn had a spring in your step as you moved down the dirt path, formed by generations of beetles, turtles and lizards drawing wagons from town to town. Being on the outskirts had its benefits, that couldn’t be argued, but you sometimes found the walk to be tiresome. At least today the skies were bright and cheery, much like the sun god himself.

As you pushed the wagon, you let yourself focus on the growing wheat of your uncle’s fields. They were slowly turning a nice, bright golden yellow with the coming of Hanndoal’s-turn*, which was heralded by the trees in the distance turning a rugged burgundy splattered with patches of golden yellow. And as you’d noted earlier, the sky above was bright and blue, a glorious day for an outing. It truly was a beautiful day for an execution.

You rolled the cart through the cobblestone streets to the Criahlin’s stone, where the red splotched platform had been dutifully erected. Already, a crowd was milling about in their fine clothes, all shades of bright yellow, soft green and pastel blues, a fond farewell to the warm sun of Brak-Hah’s-turn* and welcoming in the cool winds of Hanndoal’s-turn. You smiled at the sight of it all.

Already, a few others had set up their stalls in preparations for the day. You saw the farmers arranging their Brak-Hah’s-turn’s crops and hanging up garlands of spices to draw in patrons from the crowd. Across from that roughened few, a cobbler was setting up a place to clean people’s shoes of the blood. Today looked like it was turning out to be a beheading. If nothing else, it was an easy death.

You spotted a familiar dark head of hair and hurried to her side.

“What’s the crime?” you asked as you came up to Salvatrice.

She glanced back at you, the scar on the left side of her face bunching with a grimace.

“Why’re you out here?” she growled.

“Is that how you’re greeting a friend?” you laughed.

“Well, it’s how I greet you,” she snorted as she turned to face you properly, “but where’s your uncle? Usually he comes out to these sorts of things.”

“He’s sick as a tracker right now,” you laughed, “but he’ll be up on his feet soon. We had Darnell and witch Rozlin come out to take a look at him.”

“Why didn’t you get your aunt to come instead of you?” Salvatrice scowled.

“It’s almost like you don’t want to see me!” you put your hands on your hips accusingly.

That at least brought a smile to her scarred face, “I just didn’t think you’d like being here. I know you’re not too big a fan of what we’ve got going on this wake.”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “I can look away. But I already know what I’m doing, what’s the crime here? Who’s getting whacked?”

“Judge Holten found Cramus Wright guilty of murder,” Salvatrice explained, “he punched some poor bastard in the back of the neck so hard that their spine cracked.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “why’d he do that?”

“Beats me,” Salvatrice shrugged, “but he did it, so here he is. Or, well, will be.”

You looked up at the platform where Father Kim was reciting his prayers to the crowd. Most of the crowd looked at him blankly, only a few bowing their heads with his. Beside him, Judge Holten was scratching his stomach and yawning. His great book of law was tucked under his other arm like a fat black slug.

“Where’s the executioner?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

“Leading Cramus, I’d think,” Salvatrice fiddled with one of the skinning knives on her belt.

“So it should take a while to get here,” you surmised.

“You should start selling that bread before he shows up,” Salvatrice reminded you, “people might not be so hungry after.”

“Oh you know they always are,” you groaned, but wheeled your cart back to a spare stall and laid out your goods.

It only took a couple of shouts for people to starting making their way over to you. You rolled your eyes when your Auntie’s salted buns sold out first, but vowed to tell her what a great success they were when you got home. Sadly, your uncle’s browned beetle meat buns weren’t quite so popular, but at the very least your crisprunch buns were selling well enough for you to feel confident in your experiments. Of course, the salted turtle buns sold well, but so did anything your Auntie made. You didn’t quite have the talent for coming up with recipes like she did. At the very least, what you lacked in useful creativity you more than made up for in technical skill. You knew your lattice pies were always sure to win over the crowds.

You passed a turtle bun to a small girl when you heard the yelling from behind you. You turned to look, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

There in the center of the road was a great monolith of a man carrying the soon to be departed Cramus Wright, wailing like a mowler on his back. You shuddered as he neared the square, his heavy footsteps slowly trudging by you to make his way to the great platform. The crowd split silently for the man, not a soul daring to step within his radius. Children huddled into their mother’s aprons and men shuddered at the sight of him. Up on his back, Cramus Wright threw his meaty hands against the giant and bellowed like a swamp toad. His eyes bulged so that even from afar you could see the whites of his black eyes as they whirled round and round in their sockets.

“It ain’t me!” the man’s voice carried through the crisp air, “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!”

Judge Holten rolled his eyes as Cramus was strapped into the stocks. He begged and cried until his voice went hoarse as he thrashed against the black iron chains. His neck strained as he tried to move his head from the chopping block, but eventually his body gave out and he slumped down over the wood.

Judge Holten sighed and turned to the crowd. He pulled out the black and gold leather book and started up his readings, calling out with a pious voice that grated on your ears. You ignored his callings to focus on Father Kim, who sensing his opportunity, had kneeled by the prisoner’s side to give him his final prayers. He painted the man’s face in pigmented oils, forming complex patterns that linked and looped across his cheeks up to his forehead, where Father Kim painted a bright and glorious eye in red. When he’d finished, he kissed the man’s forehead and stepped back to stand beside the half-giant and speak to him. The crowd roared and cheered as Judge Holten whipped them up into a fury, but you saw past them to the silent duo who stood waiting by the edge of the worn wood platform.

There with his cursed black hood stood the half giant only known in the village as ‘The Axe’. He was a horrendous man, what with his tremendous body and his hulking pose. He stood out in any crowd he stood in, a shrouded wraith covered in dark cloth from head to toe, save only for a tan tunic he tucked in with a girthy black leather belt. He lorded above Father Kim, and yet there was something so tender in seeing a man born of blood and death bowing down so that a chosen holy spirit could whisper into his ear. You couldn’t see his eyes from here (and thank Halax for that), but you could see the man’s shoulders shake with a good laugh.

Eventually, Judge Holten closed his book and tucked it back under his left arm, turning to face the unfortunate Cramus Wright.

“Cramus Wright,” Judge Holten’s voice boomed around you, “you are found to be guilty of murder in the highest degree. Additionally, you are charged with the theft of four-hundred gold coins, thirty-eight silver coins, forty five bronze coins, and ten copper coins. You are hereby deemed unfit to live amongst common man, and are to be beheaded with a blunt axe. May Forruxik* have mercy on you.”

Your knees felt weak. A blunt axe? That seemed absolutely barbaric, and yet the crowd cheered all the same.

From the back, you saw The Axe take his namesake axe from his side, rusted red with a grotty hardwood handle. He twirled it expertly in one gloved hand as he walked forth, ignoring Cramus’s screams and the cheering of the crowd. He leisurely sauntered to the side and looked down on Cramus. He bent in half to lean down to the man’s ear. A brief exchange was made, and The Axe rose back up to his full monstrous height and raised the axe up high above his head in his tremendous hands. The crowd was silent as The Axe took a deep breath, momentarily soaking in the moment, then swung down with all his might. You turned away just in time to hear a fleshy thud.

The crowd screamed with wild delight as Cramus’s head was raised up his, painting The Axe’s creamy tunic in bright scarlet red as blood rained down upon the crowd. They eagerly surged forward to try and catch some of it on any piece of clothing, anything to keep as a memento of the event. The Axe looked down upon them with those cold, cold eyes. You could see the sheer hatred and disdain from where you stood at your stall. You shivered as The Axe took the head and hurled it into the crowd to be torn apart. They grappled over it like wild lizards, teeth gnashing and spit flying as they tried to get a piece for themselves.

When you looked back at the stage, Father Kim had his hand on The Axe’s bicep and was speaking to him. Judge Holten was stepping down the platform stairs to make way for the morticians that crawled up from the earth to take their prize. They’d get the head in about an hour, when all was said and done. If they were lucky it’d be picked clean by then.

You sneered at the display, and instead focused your energy on making your sales to the now-ravenous mob.

You made your sales easily. It was sometimes easier to turn your brain off and just take the coins, tuck them into the pouch on your belt. You worked quickly, efficiently, not fully realizing how many you’d gotten through until the sky started to turn and the crowds dwindled to nothing.

Only once all the patrons had left for the day did you notice a shadow crossing your stall.

You looked up, only to immediately freeze under the watch of those frozen eyes.

“Hallo?” his voice was strangely accented, “I am here for my rations.”

You blinked as you took in The Axe. You’d never seen him this close before, where you could actually see the red trails that hung below the holes he cut out for his eyes.

“Your rations?” you whimpered as you trembled.

The Axe nodded slowly, almost as though you were stupid.

You looked around your stall, but it was bare of any goods. Everything had been sold that day. What did he mean?

“What rations?” you managed to squeak out.

“My bread,” The Axe said as though that might help clarify his meaning, “I want my bread. The provisions bread.”

You blinked up at him.

“What provisions bread?” you asked, now confused more than afraid.

“For my duties I am given rations by the council,” The Axe explained in his whispery voice, “your uncle always puts them aside for me.”

Oh! The rations! Surely your auntie had packed them somewhere.

You turned and rummaged through the cart, but there wasn’t so much as a bun to give over. The shelves under your stall held naught more than a coating of fresh crumbs. You turned up to him with a frown, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any bread for you. Are you sure that you’re meant to get rations from us today?”

“There is no other miller in the village,” The Axe grunted, “do you not have my rations?”

You cringed at his accusations and subtly tried to shift your coin pouch away, ever so carefully creeping from him as you told him, “I don’t have your rations. I’m sorry.”

The Axe stood still. You couldn’t help but freeze under his icy eyes. You swore you saw rage like no other in those Criah’s turn eyes, cold and billowing out like a hailing gale. He looked you up and down with those frosted eyes before letting out a puff of air, making his black mask billow out before resting back on his face.

“Then next time,” he said quietly.

You turned to leave but he coughed to grab your attention.

“What?” you asked, a bit ruder than you intended.

“Is your uncle alright?”

You lowered your tensed shoulders, then scowled, “Why would you care? You’re not looking for him, are you?”

The Axe swung his head back and forth slowly, “I just want to know if he’s alright. He’s kind when giving me my rations. What happened to him?”

“He’s sick,” you said tersely.

“A shame,” The Axe said quietly, “I hate to hear that a good friend is suffering.”

Your scowl deepened, “What do you mean? That’s literally your job. You kill people all the time. You make people suffer for money. If you don’t like hurting people, then why are you still here?”

“It pays well,” The Axe muttered, “and it’s all I’m allowed to do, anyways.”

You paused. What in Mormonia* was he talking about?

“Couldn’t you get a job as a tailor? Maybe a glove maker?” you offered.

“Who would take an executioner’s son as a journeyman?” The Axe chuckled, “you see how the others are afraid to even be near me. Nobody would take me in.”

You drummed your fingers on the counter, “Why don’t you go to another town?”

“With what work history? Nobody will hire me,” The Axe supplied.

You nodded slowly before grimacing and offering your final solution, “Why don’t you become an adventurer? Somebody as big as you would make a good fighter, right?”

“And leave my home?” The Axe shook his head, “I love my home. I could never abandon what little I have. And anyways, what if I lose it all? What if I lose more than what I have now? Nobody likes me here, but this place is safe. I’m happier here.”

You leaned on the top of the stall, curling your fingers into a fist under your chin as you thought carefully. The Axe didn’t seem quite so scary now. You’d always figured him to be rude and abrasive, a beast of a man, but now that you spoke to him he seemed just as nervous of you as you of him, if a bit (understandably) melancholic.

You tried to think of another solution, but all that came up was, “Why don’t you make somebody else do your job?”

“Hah!” The Axe barked, “nobody can do my job as well as I can. They would draw out the pain, make the prisoners suffer. I make it quick! I try to make it as painless as possible. After all, it might be my head on the stocks one day,” his eyes softened, “I can only hope whoever’s next is as forgiving as I am.”

You nodded slowly. In the end, he managed to take a man’s head off with one sweep of a dull axe. There wasn’t another man in the village that you could imagine being able to pull off the same feat. He easily could have drawn out the killing, had every excuse with a dull axe, and yet he chose to make it as quick as possible. 

“So, you really don’t have a choice,” you concluded.

The Axe shook his head mournfully.

“That…” you slumped a bit, “that’s terrible. I’m so sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s not so bad,” The Axe offered, “just lonely.”

“Lonely?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Lonely,” The Axe nodded, “only a small few are willing to speak to me, and only because they must. I am friends with Darnell, Witch Rozlin, and Father Kim. Occasionally, Sister Callisto or Sister Mila will speak to me. But if they are not forced to speak with me? Nobody speaks to me. Everyone in this village hates me. If they don’t hate me, they are afraid of me.

“So,” The Axe shrugged, “I am lonely.”

You frowned at the thought. It sounded like a miserable existence. You’d always known the community to welcome you with open arms. You laughed with neighbors, chatted with vendors, haggled with patrons with ease. Life was always busy with five nieces and nephews running underfoot in at home. 

The Axe, though, was a different case.

You knew The Axe to be the only son of a waif of a woman and a giant man that had hung himself after his wife passed. For at least four years, you knew the Axe to live on his own out in a cottage deep in the woods, father from town than even your uncle’s mill. Supposedly, it was to protect everyone from the butcher’s rage. Now, you were starting to think the reverse might be true.

“That sounds awful,” you admitted, “I can’t imagine everyone in the village hating me.”

“You get used to it,” The Axe offered.

You frowned, “You shouldn’t have to ‘get used to it’. You should be able to have friends like anybody else.”

“Well, would you be friends with the man who kills for a living?” The Axe snorted.

You looked the man up and down carefully. The blood on his tunic had turned a maroon red. In the dying light of the sun, you could make out some flecks that had made their way onto his slider belt buckle. You flicked your eyes away from his crotch to look down at his thighs, each one thick as tree trunks and just as sturdy. Looking back up at his face, his cold eyes now seemed less dour, severe. Instead, you wondered if he was lost in his own frozen forest.

“I think I would be,” you offered.

The Axe’s eyes widened.

“You would be?” he parroted.

“I think if he let me,” you gave him a small smile.

The bells of the church rung out, indicating the late hour. You hissed as you scrambled to grab your wagon and pull it out from behind the stall. When you turned, The Axe was still standing, looking completely shell-shocked.

“Hey,” you caught his attention, “if you come back tomorrow at the start of the tenth watch*, I’ll get you your rations.”

“But won’t that be after sundown?” The Axe shifted his weight.

“The moon will be up by then,” you agreed, “but it won’t be too late. I can still make it out here and back before my Auntie and Uncle go to sleep. Do you wanna meet up then?”

The Axe looked down at his hands and shuffled awkwardly, “If you’re willing to do all that for me…”

“I’d love to,” you cut him off, “anyways, it’s getting late. I should probably get him before my Auntie gets worried.”

The Axe nodded and sent you off with a wave.

You walked down the path, following the glowing blue and white blossoms of moon flowers. A few patches of luminescent moss growing across the wood fences helped keep you on course when you finally made your way home.

When you did manage, your Auntie was waiting in the living room for you.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around you before pulling away, “I’m so sorry! Was he mean to you? Did he try to hurt you?”

You screwed up your face, “Auntie, what’re you talking about? Who would’ve hurt me?”

“The Axe!” she exclaimed, “I forgot to pack his rations for you today! Didn’t he yell at you for them? I only noticed once you’d left! Surely he got upset, didn’t he? Was he too scary? I can tell your uncle he needs to find another baker if he tried to hurt you.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “he was fine. I just told him I’d get them to him later.”

Your Auntie shrieked so loud you had to cover your ears.

“You told him you’d see him again?” she screeched, “what in the realms* were you thinking, girl!? Oh what have you done?”

“I told him I’d meet him at the tenth watch,” you explained, “out by the Criahlin’s stone.”

Your Auntie looked like she’d keel over and faint right then and there, “Oh by Halax’s name, what have you done?” she paused and shook her head, “no, you’re not going. I can’t have you seeing that dangerous man on your own, and especially not after dark!”

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, “I made a promise! You can’t have me breaking a promise, can you?”

“Oh I most certainly can!” your Auntie huffed, “it’s what’s best for you!”

“But Auntie he wasn’t that bad!” you tried to reason with her, “he’s nice! He’s just lonely!”

“Lonely?” your Auntie scoffed, “pah! That’s ridiculous. Now you listen and you listen close: you’re not to go and see him tomorrow. You stay right here with us. If I see you skeeving off, you’ll be in for a realm of trouble!”

You glared at her, but you were too tired to argue. You simply closed your eyes and nodded.

“That’s a good girl,” your Auntie sighed, “now, off to bed with you. We’ve got a busy day of baking tomorrow!”

You tromped up the creaking wooden stairs to go to bed.

You brushed out your hair in the window, thinking about how lonely The Axe must have been out in his cottage. You could see him now, sleeping alone in his thatching, shivering without so much as a fire to warm him. As you settled down into the straw, you vowed to make sure you’d change that.

Glossary

Wake - Day

Tracker - Type of lizard used for hunting (Mormonia's version of dogs)

Criah's turn - Every turn is a season named after a god. Criah's turn is named after the god of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. This turn is effectively winter

Next Wake - tomorrow

Hollinswake - tenth day of the week (there are ten days in a week), named after the goddess Hollin (diety of dreams and nightmares)

Halax - Creator goddess

Dandorwake - fifth day of the week, named after Dandor (diety of aspiration and responsibility)

Cycle - year

Half Watch - half an hour

Brak-Hah - God of the Sun, Light, Children and Joy

Hanndoal's Turn - Fall season, named after Hanndoal (diety of Trickery, Fun, Truth and Creativity)

Forruxik - God of Justice, Order, Wisdom and Intelligence

Mormonia - World

Tenth Watch - Days are split into 12 watches, each lasting 2 hours 24 minutes long

The Realms - There are an undetermined amount of realms of reality, with the three most pressing ones being the Looking Realm (our realm), the Feeling Realm (the realm where the otherworldly live) and the Highest Realm (the realm where Gods live)

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[chronicpaingirlie]

Tips For Baking While Disabled :) <3

1. do stuff the “wrong” way [pt: do stuff the “wrong” way]

- my number one tip for literally everything is to do it the “wrong” way if that is the way that will make it accessible to you

- sit down while you prepare stuff. use a machine to knead your bread if it’s too hard on your hands. take as many breaks as you need. use disposable items like parchment paper, foil pans, and paper plates if washing dishes is too much. make things work for you however you need to

2. question everything [pt: question everything]

- if you have the spoons & the brain power, plan ahead & question what the recipe says you have to do

- do you really have to flour the counter & make an extra mess just to knead dough, or can you knead it in the bowl instead? do you really have to use an extra dish for this step?

- there’s lots of things like that that recipes will state as fact that can be adjusted to save you some effort

3. if possible, recruit help [pt: if possible, recruit help]

- i have a bunch of younger siblings who will almost always jump at the chance to help me bake stuff

- see if u can find a family member/friend/housemate/caregiver etc who is willing (maybe even excited!!) to split the baking workload with you

- it fr makes it so much easier even just to have someone who will help you whisk together your ingredients or grab something you’ve forgotten to spare you the effort of moving across the kitchen

4. lay out everything you’ll need ahead of time [pt: lay out everything you’ll need ahead of time]

- this includes all the dishes, utensils, and ingredients you’re going to use for the recipe

- this helps soooo much with my combination of adhd + brain fog problems (aka forgetting things and getting distracted constantly)

- i like to make a designated area (e.g., on the stove or on a separate part of the counter) to immediately put what i’ve used so I know that i’ve used it; this ensures that I don’t add something twice & that i don’t miss any ingredients

- it also makes less moving around in the moment/less getting up & down ! a godsend fr

5. take advantage of built-in resting times [pt: take advantage of built-in resting times]

- when stuff is in the oven, sit or lay down !! it’s free resting time !! pleaseee take advantage of it

6. make cleanup as easy as possible [pt: make cleanup as easy as possible]

- i like to put something under my workspace (bath towel, tablecloth, paper towels, etc) so that when i inevitably spill something, i can just pick it up and shake it off instead of having to scrub my counters

- if you can spare the spoons, scrape off and rinse out the dishes you used so nothing gets hardened & caked on

- fill everythingggg with hot water and leave it in the sink for later!! don’t push yourself too hard & try to do dishes right away; the hot water will make it so much easier for later & you’ll get a chance to rest

7. you don’t have to do everything from scratch [pt: you don’t have to do everything from scratch]

- baking something from a box is still baking!! boxed is good & will help you save spoons but still scratch that baking itch

- you can make just one element of your baking & buy another - e.g., buy pre-made pie crusts and make the filling yourself

- buy pre-chopped/frozen fruits for crumbles and tarts, buy pre-made frosting for the cake you bake, grab some cookie dough from the store and throw it in the oven !!

8. experiment & adjust [pt: experiment & adjust]

- find what works for you & what doesn’t. figure out what recipes you can do & what ones you can’t. see how much effort you’re physically & mentally able to put into baking (without overtaxing yourself!) & take that into consideration for the next time(s) you bake.

- i highly recommend writing down the stuff you figure out - it helps me to both remember & stick to my limits & saves me from pushing myself too hard

(some misc stuff under the cut bc this is so long)

a few things to invest in if you can:

1. kitchen stool [pt: kitchen stool]

- if you’re like me and have Shitty Legs, this means so much less standing & has been a lifesaver for me tbh

2. hand mixer and/or stand mixer [pt: hand mixer and/or stand mixer]

- if you have the strength to both hold up a hand mixer for up to five minutes at time, and to sit up while you do it, they’re almost always the cheaper option, and they take up less storage space. if not, the stand mixer likely will be more expensive & will take up more counter space/storage space, but will be a lot more worth it for you

- check ebay or local online markets for secondhand ones if you can’t afford new ones - I found a used but perfectly good stand mixer for $30 !

3. latex/rubber gloves [pt: latex/rubber gloves]

- makes cleanup so much easier (especially if you have a hard time with hygiene, e.g. bathing or washing hands, extra especially with stuff like batter or dough that can be harder to get off, or with bad textures that will be on your hands)

- reusable ones you can drop in some water and clean off later if you don’t have spoons to do cleanup right away, and disposable can just go in the trash

4. boxed mixes [pt: boxed mixes]

- you’re still baking even if it’s not entirely from scratch!! boxed mixes mean fewer ingredients & steps, and shorter amounts of time spent upright/moving around

—

a few links:

justtherecipe.com clears away everything except the recipe for you - no misc stories from the author or ads popping up every 5 seconds . genuinely cannot recommend enough

baking with chronic fatigue

baking with hand pain

a few no-knead bread recipes (link 1) (link 2) (link 3)

[inthewindandinthewater]

A Kiss, and Maybe Something More...

A/n: Hi! It's been a bit hasn't it? I've been a little busy with family gatherings and the holiday but happy New Year!!! This is just a little story with Remus, I've always had the idea in my head that Remus and baking just go together? I don't know, I kinda wanna write something where he's a GBB contestant, I just think it'd be so cute. Would y'all read that? anywho reader is painfully shy because.... she's me. I don't mean shy like cutesy shy, I mean like frozen in anxious fear of abandonment shy. I hope some of y'all can relate. Kisses - El

Summary: You intend to make bread, Remus intends for other things.

Warnings: a little steamy, reader gets their boundaries pushed a little but in a good, consensual way, reader is very very shy, not proof read.

A Kiss, and Maybe Something More… 

“Okay, so that’s the dough finished. Now we just need to make the filling while it proves” 

You’re whirling around the kitchen in a flurry trying to prepare the different elements for your babka. Baking had always been a hobby of yours, but after you met Remus it became a couples activity and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Remus helped where he could, often you got stuck in your own world mixing and kneading all while he watched. Not that he minded, he loved the look in your eye and the confidence of your movements, something about watching you do what you love with such practiced ease set his heart humming. 

You breeze across the kitchen, barely moving your hip out of the way of the island on your way through. Going up on your tiptoes you reach up to one of higher shelves, your fingers just brushing the cinnamon before you feel a warmth against your back and a hand on your hip, effectively halting your movements. 

Turning your head to side youre met with Remus’ profile as his larger hand brushes yours to side, grabbing the spice with an ease you could only dream of. He pulls the bottle down and hands it to you just as your eyes meet his and you're speechless. Before you can open your mouth to speak he leans down and pecks your lips before separating himself and walking to the opposite end of the kitchen to look over the recipe book. 

It was little silent interactions like these that often left you frozen in place, waiting for the next beat. Remus on the other hand always seemed unaffected, likely because he was always the one to take initiative. He was the one doing the touching and the teasing and the flustering, it didn’t bother you, you had never been the kind of girl to be forward or overly affectionate. It didn’t come easy to you and you didn’t exactly have the practice he did; which, if you thought about it too much, made you sick. 

It was this spiral of thoughts that led to a series of events so oddly out of character that your own boyfriend questioned the existence of bodysnatchers and fair folk. Timidly, with shaking hands and a racing heart that you tried to quell the only way you knew how, with more thinking, you made your way across the kitchen to him, all the while trying to convince yourself that you’re being ‘totally normal’. 

When you reach him he’s still bent of the recipe, mumbling something under his breath that you don’t quiet understand. It takes you a moment to realize his muttering is in Welsh and you melt a little, he had a way of reverting back to his childhood tongue when he was really confused. You weren’t sure why but you found it so endearing, you didn’t understand a word but you liked to listen nonetheless. 

That only cemented your decision to wrap your arms around his waist and tilt your head back to hook your chin over his shoulder. Almost instantly his mumbling ceased, a moment passed before he leaned back into your hold and rested his head against yours, “something wrong, cariad?” he says, his accent a little thicker than normal. You hum in response at first but decide against letting your shyness overtake you, “no, just wanted to hold you” you feel your cheeks start to burn at the admittance and almost start to chastise yourself for being so painfully shy. 

Remus begins to turn in your hold and for a second you begin to doubt yourself, he had always said he found your shyness adorable. Did he like your reserved nature so much that this was too big a change? It seemed so simple just moments ago. But instead of pushing you away he simply wraps his arms around you and smiles down at you, “I wish you’d do more of it.” He says simple, relief floods you. 

“I’ll try.” you say softly, struggling to find much of a voice under his gaze. He leans down and pecks your forehead before hooking a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him before kissing your lips once, twice, then a third longer, deeper time. Remus holds you close to him, as though you would pull yourself away at any moment and leave him forever. He knew he needed to be slow and steady with you, that you’d never been in a relationship or been involved with many guys at all but it was difficult when you were right there with your soft lips and sweet smile. Everything about you was so inviting, who would he be to refuse you. 

“Please..” He mumbles against your lips, catching his breath for a moment “please do.” The giggle that breaks from you is so light that it makes one bubble out of his chest in time. It’s a sweet moment but a short one before his lips claim yours again and his hands travel up your body and to your cheeks, holding your face securely against his. 

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as his thread back through your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp. You sigh at the feeling, giving him the space to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring the sweet taste of the cream cheese filling you’d made prior. It makes you melt even further into him, letting your arms drape over his shoulder and your body go slack against his. He takes a step back to lean against the counter, pulling you along by waist. 

You disconnect briefly, both of your chests heaving as he dips his head to mouth at the expense of your neck. You’d never gone past making out and this felt like another hurdle he was guiding you over in his own way. As he nipped at the skin of your jaw and ran his hands over your curves you felt your mind begin to slow, the rushing thoughts of doubt and inadequacy suddenly vacated and feelings of adoration took up residence. 

Just as Remus’ hands slipped under the thick knit of your sweater and onto you flushed skin a shrill beeping invaded both of your senses. Remus winced at the harsh sound of the oven timer signifying that it was finished preheating. He sighed heavy against your neck and slowly lifted his head to look at you, “terrible timing” He says. 

You gape at him, “It’s not my fault!” You say, “pardon me for trying to innocently bake some bread” you rib at him. “Ah, am I corrupting you?” he responds, cocking his head to the side with a cheaky little grin spread across his face. Suddenly you're once again very aware that his hands are still on your waist under your shirt, thumb rubbing circles into the skin. “I suppose I’ll go and let you bake in peace then.” He begins to withdraw, but he doesn’t get far before you’re pulling him back and pecking his lips, “you aren’t going anywhere until you finish what you started” you say matter of factly, “the bread can wait, I won’t.” Remus’ eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “Where did my girl go?” he says fondly, shaking his head at you as his hands take their place under your sweater once again. You only smile up at him and shrug before pushing your finger through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “I’d be happy to finish what I started” He says, kissing you once again 

[bitchsister]

post eyy bucky saving up to buy a pair of rings... nothing fancy, just a pair of gold bands, one he wears on his ring finger and the other around his neck on a chain- with the word "angel" engraved on the inside. he kisses it every morning when he wakes

PlllllASEEEEEE YOURE MAKING KE FEEL SICK AND ILL!!!!!!

Bucky keeps the ring around his neck, a gold band, beside the two tags with Curt’s name on them. For awhile he felt guilty for keeping his tags for so long — in the back of his mind he thought Ruth might deserve some piece of him to hold onto.

“I meant to tell ya,” He holds the tags in his hand, the chain wrapped around his fist as if he never wanted to let them go. “We uh — switched tags ‘round before the last mission he flew.”

Ruth’s expression softened as they stood in the kitchen of their little home in the Bronx where Bucky had caught a flight out to visit, where Curt learned to walk, where he learned the alphabet, where he ate breakfast before going to class, and where he learned how to say his name.

Cutty Biddig

“You’re his Mama, you oughta have somethin’ of his.”

Ruth shakes her head, wrapping her fragile, warm hands around Bucky’s as she grins. “No, no,” she insists. “Those are yours, sweetie.”

Bucky didn’t fight that, but he stood frozen in his place.

“Wait till you see how much of his junk I got. How’s a Mother meant to get rid of it all?” She rose a hand to gesture toward his room where the door was cracked open, a lazy fat orange cat inside lounging around on his bed and waiting for her favorite boy to return.

Though he never will, and she doesn’t understand that, she looks for him every morning.

And although it still didn’t feel right, Bucky nods and slips the ring in his pocket back through the chain, putting it over his neck and tucking it beneath his shirt.

“What’s the ring?” She asks, her lips tugged into a smile as her hands kneaded dough for home made bread.

It was nice having Bucky around for the weekend.

Someone to take care of since Curt’s sister had gone away to college only a month ago.

“Uh,” Bucky wasn’t used to being so open with his elders — had never met a mother so accepting of her young. Curt was gay, and she’d known that far before anyone else did. Before Curt did, even. “We — well, it’s -“

Ruth softened again, her eyes brimming with tears.

Bucky hadn’t only lost his lover, or a best friend, he’d lost so much more than that.

“Curt loved to talk about gettin’ married.” Her tone was musing as she thought of all the times Curt had mumbled something about roses being tacky for a wedding, I’d never have goddamn roses at my wedding, Ma. Or how coral was never going to cut it. Why do these broads insist on coral? It’s tacky. “For such a bruiser, he had the softest damn heart.”

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Small flatbreads stuffed with ground 'beef' and green olives; a plate of mlouwi and a Moroccan teaset are in the background. End ID]

بطبوط معمر بالكفتة / Batbout m'mr blkefta (Moroccan stuffed flatbreads with 'beef')

Batbout—also known as toghrift (تغريفت) or mkhamer (مخامر), based on the region—are Moroccan flatbreads which usually have an interior pocket. Large batbout are often served with grilled meats or to sop up juices from tajines, while smaller ones are stuffed with various fillings. Batbout are sometimes made thicker so that a pocket does not form, and then dipped in a honey-butter syrup like baghrir; some Moroccans reserve the term "mkhamer" for this preparation.

Batbout are eaten year-round, but are especially enjoyed during Ramadan as a side dish on the ftour (فطور; fast-breaking) table, where they are stuffed with ground beef, tuna, chicken, or cold cuts. You could also serve stuffed batbout as a main with a green salad or Moroccan cooked salad.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Makes about 15 small flatbreads.

Ingredients:

For the flatbread:

1 cup (120g) bread flour

1 cup (165g) semolina flour

1/2 Tbsp active dry yeast

1 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp sugar

About 3/4 cups water

For the filling:

3/4 cup TVP (textured vegetable protein)

1/2 cup + 2 Tbsp water or vegetable stock

1 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp vegetarian beef stock from concentrate, or substitute more soy sauce

1 onion (yellow or red), minced or grated

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1 Tbsp tomato paste

1/2 small green bell pepper, minced

1/2 small red bell pepper, minced

Small bunch of green herbs (ربيع / rbi'): cilantro and/or parsley

2 tsp sweet paprika

1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground ginger

1/2 tsp ground cumin

Red chili powder or hot sauce, to taste

Squeeze of lemon juice (optional)

Olive oil, to fry

You may use your preferred ground beef substitute in place of the TVP; in this case, omit the water and stock concentrate.

Instructions:

For the flatbread:

1. Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl. Make a well in the flour and add in just enough water to make a smooth, slightly sticky dough. You may need more or less than 3/4 cup.

2. Once the dough comes together, knead it by hand for 10 minutes, or in a stand mixer with a hook attachment on medium-low for 7 minutes, until it is very smooth, soft, elastic, and tacky. Add additional water or flour as necessary.

3. Form the flatbreads. Larger flatbreads may be formed by breaking off a small handful of dough, rolling it in flour, and patting it flat until it forms a round about 1/4" thick. Small flatbreads are often made by rolling out the dough about 1/4" thick on a floured surface, then cutting circles of the desired size out with a cookie cutter or glass.

4. Set flatbreads aside in a single layer on a floured surface, cover, and allow to rest for one to two hours, until noticeably puffy.

5. Heat a large dry skillet on medium and add as many flatbreads as will fit. When they puff up slightly, flip each one to the other side. Continue to cook, turning over as necessary, until flatbreads have dark golden brown spots on each side. You may find that the flatbreads puffing up gives you room to add more to the skillet; continue in this way until all flatbreads are cooked.

Batbout breads may be kept at room temperature for a couple days at this stage, or frozen for use later.

For the filling:

1. Mix all ground spices in a small bowl. Hydrate TVP for about 10 minutes in hot water, stock concentrate, soy sauce, and a spoonful of the spice mixture.

2. Heat 3 Tbsp olive oil in a large pan on medium-high. Add TVP and spread it out in a single layer. Allow it to brown without agitating for a few minutes before stirring it, scraping the bottom of the pan. Repeat this process a few times, adding more oil as necessary, until the TVP is deeply golden brown on all sides. Remove TVP from the pan.

3. Heat another 2 Tbsp of olive oil and fry onion for a couple minutes until softening. Add bell peppers and spices and fry for another couple minutes until spices are fragrant.

4. Add tomato paste and stir to combine. Add olives and herbs and mix. Return TVP to pan and mix to combine. Remove from heat. Add hot sauce and lemon juice, as desired.

To serve:

1. Cut a slit in the side of each flatbread with a small, sharp knife. Stuff with hot filling and set aside. Serve warm.

[sucharide]

you know what lads i need you guys to see how bread-like my latest loaf of bread is.

genuinely one of my best yet!

it's not like bread you'd get in a bakery because i am just using plain flour — but it's still great!

and this one is particularly surprising because i fucked up the dough SO badly and repeatedly? But i managed to save it!

The yeast hadn't woken up properly before i had put the dough in the fridge bc i had run out of time (i hadnt mixed it in warm water first! I added it straight to the flour like a fool.)

AND I hadnt added enough (warm) water to the dough so it was REALLY stiff

so when i took it out of the fridge and put it in a warm place it rose a liiiittle bit, but i decided to be crazy and reknead the dough with more warm water and some oil (which i had also forgotten)

and it was shaping up SO badly.

bc it was like

i was trying to incorporate more water into dough that i had already kneaded for like 10 minutes???

and somehow. it worked out

and it rose really nicely

and it turned into a really nice loaf of bread! it has been sliced and frozen. :)

anyway. breadmaking is surprisingly forgiving. Like if you are making it for yourself and u arent super fussy.

[mjrtaurus]

Imagine if you will

Kuzan, currently disgraced marine and mildly depressed wanderer of the world, with only a giant penguin he could call friend and a ever present bottle of booze in his hands, finds himself on the coast of Elbaf.

He had intended to only stay for a handful of hours, just enough to sleep away the pounding hangover induced headache when Camel had excitedly begun waddling near a small cottage, chirping and squealing all the while about something smelling delicious.

Giants, despite occasionally enlisting, still had a tumultuous relationship with the World Government and thus wisely Kuzan wanted to keep his distance but the scent Camel had been chasing after found him quicker.

Pumpkin Bread.

It immediately brought him back to autumn in the East Blue, where a kind woman who he was honoured to call his mom had shown him how to make it.

(Well she has tried to at least, he had no knack for baking and had learned quickly that there's no Garp mandated training that could compete with bread dough kneading, so he had deigned to just watch and keep her company)

Snapping out of those pleasant memories, Kuzan quickly followed after his companion because no there was no Mom here, his was a bird still in the North Blue and Kuzan's had been gone..for..years?

Stopping dead in his tracks, the former admiral was frozen, her hair had turned a shimmering silver, her face creased with smile lines and wrinkles but there was no doubt in his mind: it was her.

She was staring right back at him, her face a mixture of surprise and relief as she walked closer and closer to him and gently placing a hand on his cheek

‘It’s good to see you again, dear.’

Kuzan opened his mouth once, twice, three times before promptly passing out only recovering consciousness when the cool feeling of a fresh washcloth hit his forehead.

At the very least he hadn’t thrown up, small victories and all

(He had actually, half covering her shoes and the other falling near the turnips of her garden, she just hadn’t had the heart to tell him)

Oh, she was so happy to see him again, despite the worry for how haggard he was looking. She could smell the alcohol on him, even with how unkindly age had treated her senses. The poor, poor boy…

Well, at least he was able to catch a break now.

She doesn’t mention the ice prosthetic. She knows how it happened, Garp told her through teeth clenched so hard she could have sworn she could hear them cracking.

That Sakazuki brat was a dead man if he so much as showed his face to her. She may be old, but she’s still an excellent shot, and she has a handful of seastone bullets with that volcanic degenerate’s name written all over them…

[hallow-witxh]

Easy Kitchen Magic Ideas

Sometimes beginning a new kind of magic can be intimidating. As someone whose craft is a majority of kitchen and herbal magics, here are some easy ideas for stepping into the world of kitchen magic.

Get wooden spoons and spatulas, and carve runes onto them. Runes such as stability, power, creativity, and calmness are all runes I recommend for kitchen magics.

Cook with moon/sun water and/or blessed oil. Blessed oil can be made in a variety of ways, so don't forget to do some research and figure out what works best for you.

There are some ingredients that have a variety of colors: bell peppers, carrots, etc. Different colors of these ingredients represent different things.

If you're like me, then you may have altar herbs and kitchen herbs. Use altar herbs in your cooking. They're infused with power that kitchen herbs may lack.

When it comes to beginning kitchen magic, figure out what ingredients you use the most and make a chart of their representations. For example, onions are great for protection, endurance, prosperity, and stability.

You don't have to start big. Start small. Like I said before: start with using moon water, blessed oil, or altar herbs. Another tip to start small is to cleanse your kitchen and set your intentions.

Baking is the way into so many hearts. Let a loaf of bread rise and cut a rune on the top before baking. You can use frozen bread dough from the grocer for this.

There are many, many small things that can be done. Do some research, find out what works best for you!

Blessed be!

Support your local witch on Ko-Fi or at my store, Hallow Grove!

[copperbadge]

This morning I realized I needed to run a number of errands within a few days’ time -- I had to go to the dispensary to stock up on edibles, procure a steamer basket, and get beef and chicken. I also wanted to procure some specific items that I could only get at a real grocery store, as opposed to a Target grocery section. 

So at 8:30, after making pizza dough and putting it in the fridge, I headed north to the dispensary, stopped at Target for the steamer basket and some staples, then went to the supermarket and picked up, no lie, fifteen pounds of meat -- three each of chicken breast, chicken thigh, top round, sirloin tip, and ground beef. I also got kale, which has been in short supply lately. I feel very good about getting home by 10:30, all things considered. I got lucky with train timing.  

The kale has been tossed with oil and garlic-onion seasoning and is in the dehydrator now for kale chips. The top round (trimmed and sliced) is brining ahead of going into the dehydrator for jerky once the kale is done. The sirloin tip has been trimmed, seasoned, and put into the slow cooker with some beef broth to make italian beef. I’ve cooked up about half the ground beef with tomato sauce and seasonings, and frozen the other half, along with all the chicken thighs and most of the breast, reserving two breasts for making a pulled-chicken filling for tamales. 

Tomorrow I’m making mushroom pizza, bagels, a loaf of bread, and the tamale filling, and Saturday I’ll make the tamales. You’d think I was throwing a party for New Year’s, but really I just have fun new appliances to play with and improved executive function.

[yummilily]

Pizza Toast (15 min)

I think originally my parents and I tried this at a local fair, but it’s so quick and easy to make, it has been a staple in my family ever since. If you’re craving pizza, but don’t have a frozen one on hand and lack the patience to make the dough from scratch, this is the way to go!

Equipment

Oven

Toaster (optional)

Ingredients

1 slice of toast

1 tbsp tomato paste

Italian spice mix

Salt

Toppings of your choice

~30g cheese (I use mozzarella) 

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 180°C (upper / lower heat).

Optional: Lightly toast the bread. You really don’t want this to get too dark, because it’s still going into the oven, but giving it a light toast first will prevent it from turning soggy.

Evenly spread the tomato paste and season it to taste. Then add your toppings.

Bake for 10 minutes or until the cheese is sufficiently melted. If your oven has a broiler setting, you can turn that on for some extra colour.

Enjoy!

Notes

The thing to burn first when making this is the tomato paste, especially where it’s thin around the edges, so keep an eye on that!

You’ll likely want more than one of these. Toasters fit two slices for a reason.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

as diwali starts to roll back around again i can’t help but think about eli. i know there was a reference in one of his fics to holi (when i tell you i SCREAMED) and it made me so happy (I SCREAMED)

anyway. would it be possible to receive a little snippet about eli’s feelings this time of year? no pressure ofc i’ve just got the brainrot

(It's true! Eli was born and spent his early childhood in India, before his parents moved to the United States when he was twelve years old. His earliest memories take place in northern India - his family is from Uttar Pradesh)

-

When he turns all the lights out, the lamps flicker and dance with a warm yellow and orange, placed on small tables on either side of his bedroom door. The rest of the room is lit with candles only, but at the doorway - the boundary between his own space and the space that others inhabit every day - he has placed the diyas. He has more in the window, just two small ones, but still.

Diyas - the small earthenware lamps he has lit using cloth wicks soaked in oil, bought from a store where a woman had greeted him with grandmotherly familiarity and a lyrical voice that had nearly split his head in two with a powerful memory.

Eli had stared at her while she gave him cheerful advice on which brand was best on something - he doesn't even remember what any longer, although it must be one of the things he bought, because he didn't argue with her.

But it wasn't her he was listening to. It wasn't the flat florescent light of the store he saw.

He heard his mother's voice, saw her lighting the lamps, her hand on his head as he pressed against her leg, holding tight to the sheer fabric dotted with gold threads in tiny circles she wore over her loose skirt. He remembers it being blue, and that single detail hurts in a way he can barely breathe past.

She had dressed to go visiting through the neighborhood, where everyone else also had lamps and there was laughter and singing everywhere he looked, and the house smelled like sugar and spices from what she had been cooking to take and share, but they hadn't yet left.

Nazadeek se dekhen, Jairaj, had come the memory of her voice. Eli had frozen in the aisle, staring at the woman, her lips moving but his mind was years ago and thousands of miles away. Bhay par aasha. Andhakaar par prakaash. Kya aap dekhate hain?

He had bought the lamps in a rush - a half-dozen of them, without question. Then he'd ended up leaving with another two hundred dollars' worth of anything that made his head hurt worse, anything familiar. He felt like he must look completely insane to those who watched him, squinting against a migraine and sweeping what felt like entire shelves into his rickety basket, and yet he couldn't stop himself.

Somehow he wound up with eight separate chutneys, an armful of spices in what he thought must be the exact jars and brands hiding underneath his thoughts, waiting to break free. Coriander, cumin, cardamom, mustard seeds, fenugreek, fennel seeds, tamarind, ajwain, asafoetida, chiles, fresh curry leaves even. He couldn't stop. He found bread, not just naan but paratha, ready-to-eat, in a refrigerator towards the back, and shoved it into his basket as well.

Paneer, he remembered paneer, cheese so fresh it squeaked sometimes between your teeth. His mother would fry it until it was brown and he would come home from school sometimes to a snack of chili cashews and spiced paneer, along with her smile and her voice calling, Jairaj!

The whole damn store smelled like something he had once known as well as his own hands, and now was strange to him and he chased the memories, even as his head hurt worse and worse.

Next to the cash register, there were little plastic containers with familiar round balls of dough inside, soaking in syrup. Eli's voice had caught in his throat, and he had wordlessly shoved one of the containers at the cashier, who had given him a slightly puzzled smile and wished him a good day.

Sitting here in the doorway, enjoying the lamplight coming from the diyas, he pops open the plastic container, inhales the strong scent of sugar and rose, with a hint of pistachio.

He is absolutely going to pass out from the pain in his head, but not before this.

Not before this.

He reaches inside, picks up one of the gulab jamun, and bites into it. Tears sting as he chews and run hot down his cheeks. Behind him, thousands of miles east, thousands west, a lifetime away no matter how you measured it, there were people laughing just outside the window as his mother offered to let him have just one taste before they took the rest for sharing, in a neighborhood lit with a thousand lights in every window, at every doorway, declaring that darkness did not win, that evil could not vanquish good, that hope remained even after despair.

Maybe his mother is still sitting, somewhere, with her own diyas lit and maybe even with the rangoli in its geometrics and curves laid out in fine colored sand seeming to dance in the light. Maybe his mother still cooks to share with a neighborhood full of lights.

Maybe she thinks of him, out there, wherever she is. Maybe she remembers a boy named Jairaj, when the remnants of that boy no longer can.

Eli weeps. He cries while he eats every single perfect chewy sweet ball in the container, and for the first time he can remember... Eli prays.

He can't remember the right words.

But he hopes that the memory that he did know, once upon a time, is enough.

[riflebrass]

It's not much to look at, but it turned out better than I expected.

Starting off with the bread sticks I got some frozen bread dough which I've never used before. I put it in a bread pan, wrapped it in plastic, and set it in my roommate's bedroom window to thaw out since it was getting direct light. That wasn't working too well since the apartment is air conditioned so I ended up putting it in the bed of my truck for a couple hours. I took a couple sticks of butter and added a bunch of peeled garlic and some herbs and let it simmer for a long time as the garlic cooked. When it was soft and spreadable I used a stick blender to blend the mix smooth. I grabbed some chunks of dough and rolled them out flat then put a stick of string cheese in the middle and sealed it up as best I could. I brushed both sides with the garlic butter mix then set it aside while I worked on the rest of the meal. Next I turned my focus to the potatoes. I strained out the oil from the butter mix and made a roux with an unmeasured amount of flour. From there I added milk until it got the desired consistency then added the rest of the garlic and herb mix then hit it with the stick blender while I slowly added in some monterey jack. From there I sliced up 4-5 potatoes and dumped it in the sauce. I had way too much sauce. I really should have measured the flour better lol. I dumped everything into a casserole dish then tried covering it with shredded cheddar to give it a nice skin on top. The cheddar completely sank into the mix. I covered it in foil then tossed it in the oven. For the chicken I put it on an improvised broiler pan using a cookie sheet and some cooling racks. I covered the skin in a rub then put it in the oven at 350. After an hour I pulled the foil off the potatoes then cranked the oven up to 425. When the oven came up to temp I pulled the chicken out and put the bread sticks in. After about 20 minutes the bread sticks were ready and I just phoned it in with canned green beans.

The bread sticks ballooned up so much. I was afraid that rolling the dough out was going to push out all the air and it wouldn't raise anymore. Well it sat out for about an hour and a half while I was working on everything else so it ballooned up again then got even bigger in the oven. It came out really fluffy with a nice light and crispy crust to it.

The potatoes came out really soupy as expected but it tastes pretty good especially with all the garlic.