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bgn846 · 4 years ago

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I Got It Covered, Trust Me - FFXV FIC

Summary:

Gladio decides Iris' new boyfriend has to go, he's an idiot. Iris doesn't agree. Gladio takes matters into his own hands and invites them both over for dinner, and a little chat. What could possibly go wrong?

Notes:

I had a great time doing a little collab with Blackchocomuffin for this piece. Please, go check out their awesome art of Gladio being a good overprotective brother. ART,

TW: For animal blood on an apron.

Work Text:

The one thing Gladio didn’t take into account was Prompto freaking out. He was covered in blood, so he shouldn’t have been too surprised by the reaction. However, what Gladio didn’t foresee was having to explain everything to Ignis, since he couldn’t see what Prompto was going on about.

“What do you mean he’s bleeding?” Ignis exclaimed rushing forward to try and touch him.

“I’m fine Iggy, babe trust me it’s not even my blood.”

Prompto decided now would be a good time to tell Ignis, in great detail, what he looked like. This did not go well. Namely, because Gladio had decided that Iris’ latest boyfriend needed to go, and his bloodied appearance was directly linked to that.

“First off he’s wearing an apron?” Prompto questioned as he announced it to Ignis like that would instantly explain things. “And it’s covered in blood and what is with the knife big guy? It looks like you murdered someone!” Prompto asked with concern.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? Do I need to fetch a medic?” Ignis asked, his voice rising higher and higher by the second.

Gladio wanted to pull his partner into a hug, but being covered in blood prevented that action. Guess he’d have to fess up. Gladio was doing so well on his little mini-mission and then Prompto had to swing by unexpectedly.

“Listen, the both of you, just let me explain. I’m uninjured; this is leftover blood from the recent kill at the hunter’s guild.” Gladio paused for a moment when Ignis’ handsome face adopted a very bizarre expression. When the man didn’t say anything Gladio continued. “I’m going to, to, um,” and this is when the sheer stupidness of his idea hit Gladio. He was trying to scare his little sister’s boyfriend so he’d go away. Gods, he was an asshole. “Er, uh, shit, you’re both gonna say I’m a total jerk, but this is to scare off Todd.”

“Oh,” was all Prompto uttered.

“Todd, as in Iris’ new boyfriend, Todd?” Ignis clarified.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Why may I ask, have you decided that Todd must go?” Ignis queried.

“Okay, in Gladio’s defense Todd is an idiot.” Prompto chimed in with a thoughtful look. “He thinks corn and flour tortillas are the same thing. That’s weird.”

Surprised to hear Prompto throw Todd under the bus, Gladio had renewed hope in his plan. “Iggy, all I wanna do is have Todd see me like this so he’ll get freaked and leave Iris alone.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work? What then? I’m not sure Todd seeing you,” Ignis paused and waved his hand around nondescriptly. “As Prompto described you will do anything.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to tie him up and put him in my trunk for a night. He’ll get lost after that for sure.”

“Prompto I can’t tell, is he joking? I fear he’s being serious,” Ignis sighed trying to remain calm.

“Why the apron?” Prompto asked instead.

“Oh! Well, Iris wanted me to officially meet Todd so I told her to bring him over for dinner tonight. The thing is Iggy wasn’t going to know what I looked like, so he could remain innocent when Iris yells at me later.”

“Oh damn, did I screw things up by swinging by?” Prompto queried.

“Aside from destroying Iggy’s alibi, it’s not a big deal Prom.”

“Wait, I’m still lost over here, you are wearing an apron that has been covered in blood? Correct?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got some on my face too to match.”

“Six save me, that’s why you didn’t give me a kiss when you got back earlier. You were trying to spare me from getting dirty.”

“Right, so are we all on board for scaring the shit outta Todd?”

“I can’t imagine this young man is so bad. Though, I’ve never personally met him.”

“He’s not the brightest bulb in the box Iggy,” Prompto admitted. “Did I mention that his brother is a flat eoser? I mean come on that’s terrible enough.”

“Excuse me, he’s a what?”

“No, not him, his brother. You know a flat esoer, someone who thinks the eos is flat.”

Ignis licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak but gave up after a moment.

“So yeah I’ve got maybe twenty more minutes to get real dinner started so I’m a believable cook when they get here,” Gladio supplied quickly.

“Are you not going to explain anything when they arrive?” Prompto asked with a small smile. “How do you see this going?”

“I’m hoping Todd will give me a look that says he’s scared for his life and then I’ll probably make some sorta comment about Iris’ last boyfriend being a troublemaker, and that I took care of em’.”

“And you both claim Todd is an idiot,” Ignis grumbled as he shuffled away to find the couch and sit down.

“Seriously he is! That is why I’m doing this.”

“Do be careful Gladio, she may try and date his brother in retaliation.”

“Nah, Iris wouldn’t do that, she’s too smart for that.”

“At least one of the Amicitia siblings has their parent’s wits.”

Prompto barked out a laugh before Gladio could respond. “Guess I should head out so you can get prepared. I want to hear all the little details. Ignis, let me know how hard Iris hits Gladio. I know you’ll be able to tell based on the sound.”

Ignis gave Prompto a nod signaling he’d heard and went back to using his phone, listening to the daily reports from the marshal. As quickly as Prompto had arrived he was gone, off to find some of the glaive to relax for the night. They’d all had a busy day and it was time to unwind. Unless as in Gladio’s case, he was attempting to not alienate his litter sister or upset his own boyfriend. It was a fine line he was treading.

Time flew after Prompto left, and Gladio soon found that he was not only covered in blood but cooking stains as well. At least they’d have a good dinner, or Ignis would if Iris killed him before they ate. The tall tale sound of footsteps approaching meant the moment of truth had arrived. Grabbing his large carving knife complete with dried blood covering every inch, he waited to hear a knock before he answered.

However, when he shuffled out of their tiny kitchen towards the door Ignis was already standing and waving him back. “Allow me, your reveal will be better from the kitchen,” he whispered while waiting near the door.

Unable to keep the grin from his face Gladio leaned forward and gave Ignis a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks, babe, you’re the best!” he offered in a hushed tone before retreating back to his spot by the stove.

Ignis merely shook his head and put on his best ‘I know nothing’ face when someone knocked. Iris’ voice rang out a second later announcing their arrival, his little sister was always mindful of Ignis not being able to use the peephole in the door. Forced to turn away from the door Gladio took a deep breath and waited.

“Lovely to hear you again Iris,” Ignis offered easily to which the younger Amicitia laughed brightly. “Ah yes, this must be who we are here to meet, Todd correct?”

A low voice answered, but not loud enough for Gladio to hear well.

“Do come in and make yourself at home, Gladio’s been busy in the kitchen all evening,” Ignis supplied before closing the door.

Thinking of how his dad might have reacted to meeting one of Iris’ boyfriends, Gladio put on his best impression of their late father and spun around to meet Iris and Todd. “So this is the young man you’ve been so enamored with, huh?” Gladio stated before frowning. “I do hope you treat my sister well, she’s a very special lady.”

Nothing but silence filled the room when he finished talking. Iris was looking at him like she wanted to throttle him and Todd; well Todd was just not paying attention. The little shit. The moment he fully turned around to see the rest of the apartment behind him Iris stepped forward and punched Gladio in the arm, hard. Training with Cor was paying off; Iris had a mean right hook.

“Uh, do you need help with anything?” Todd asked with a blank look when he focused again. “I didn’t realize you got so into cooking, you’re like covered, in, um, lots of stuff.”

“Blood, Todd, I’m covered in blood,” Gladio deadpanned in a moment of anger.

“Are we having meat? Oh, I thought Iris told you, I’m a vegan.”

“What?” Gladio asked in confusion. How the hell had this kid not noticed that this was an overly excessive amount of blood to be covered in. Even for cooking.

“You know like someone who doesn’t eat meat or dairy products. Plant-based only.”

“How?” This was bad, this was very bad. Gladio was so thrown off he couldn’t even speak full sentences anymore.

“Oh, uh, I grow a lot of my own food but it’s like really hard and sometimes I don’t eat enough. I mean it’s so dark out all the time, and it’s hard to gro--.”

Gladio had already tuned Todd out, this little brat didn’t even know what it was like to eat meat, let alone butcher it. That, he hadn’t taken into account. This didn’t mean Todd was dumb though, just massively out of the loop. Still, he thought he’d managed to at least look like a horror movie villain. Maybe Todd didn’t watch scary movies either?

“—like that’s how I usually do it, but it’s hard to find tofu sometimes, but I can make fake chicken with flour and that’s not bad. Uh, when are we eating, I have to stick to a strict schedule otherwise my body gets out of whack,” Todd finished with an expectant look.

Sweet shiva, Gladio was starting to seriously consider his options for actually doing away with Todd. Fine, he doesn’t eat meat, but he could at least not be an asshole about it! “Dinner should be ready soon, why don’t you go help Ignis with the wine.”

“I only drink wines that haven’t been aged in wood; do you have anything like that?”

Gladio couldn’t even form words; this guy was a piece of work. Thankfully, Ignis was ready to field that request. His partner guided Todd away towards their modest wine rack to select something. Gladio already knew they didn’t have what Todd wanted. They had nothing Todd wanted. His garula steak pasta sauce paired with egg pasta wasn’t vegan. The bread rolls with cheese baked in most definitely weren’t. Though, why did he care, the little shit could starve, he wasn’t here to make Todd happy! He was trying to make him go away.

The second Todd stepped away with Ignis, Iris got close and promptly kicked him in the shin. Biting back a yell Gladio limped back into the kitchen space. “He’s an idiot!” Gladio hissed under his breath.

“He’s my idiot!” Iris whisper shouted back.

“Can’t you select a different one? He’s sorta rude.”

“I can’t believe you, trying to scare him like this.”

“Well, it didn’t work! See, he’s an idiot!” Gladio huffed excitedly.

“No, he’s not,” Iris growled lowly.

“I look like I mur—Did you two find a good wine?” Gladio asked cheerily when Todd came back over holding a bottle.

“Not sure, the label on this one is too faded for me to tell if it’s been aged in wood barrels or not. I won’t drink it because it’s like cruelty against trees and all. Ignis said there might be a magnifying glass over here for me to try and read the label better?”

“Excuse me? What about trees?” Gladio was well out of his element with this kid, he wasn’t an idiot he was just plain weird. “I don’t think they fe--.”

“I know where there is one!” Iris interjected, “One sec baby let me grab it for you.”

Baby!? Dear lord his little sister was calling this tool bag baby. The world had officially ended. Gladio nearly threw up in his mouth when Todd repeated the name back to Iris. He almost didn’t catch the barely concealed snort from Ignis across the room. Damn him, at least he was having fun.

Dinner was a disaster. The more Gladio worked to fluster Todd, the more Iris would fawn over him. Figures, she’d act that way, she was doing this out of spite, he was sure of it. Ignis on the other hand was having the time of his life. When Todd started talking about conspiracy theories, Ignis, who knew every little thing there is to know, easily debunked each and every one.

As the night crawled on, Gladio realized Todd was getting drunk. The kid had only been able to eat the small salad they’d made. He’d declined the dressing since that wasn’t the right way to eat greens. Something about being respectful to their natural state and covering them in oil and vinegar was a huge mistake. This of course made Gladio smother his salad in dressing, just to see if he could elicit a reaction out of the tool bag.

It didn’t work.

Nothing was working, Todd was terrible, but Iris wasn’t going to dump him, he’d failed his mission. However, right when Gladio thought all hope was lost, Todd opened his mouth and proceeded to stick his foot in it. Guess getting drunk had made him a little loose-lipped.

“Gladio,” Todd announced seriously, “You should tell Iris to be careful when she fights. I keep telling her that she won’t look good with battle scars.”

“Sometimes you have no choice but to take up arms buddy, it’s the way things are nowadays,” Gladio answered meaningfully. “We’ve sworn an oath to protect the people and that may come at a cost.”

“Yeah, yeah, but like for Iris specifically, she shouldn’t fight, it’s not right.”

“What?” Gladio and Iris asked in unison.

“Baby, hear me out, I like you and all but like you can’t keep fighting, what if you get scars like your brother? You won’t be pretty anymore.”

The deathly silence that followed Todd’s proclamation was the best thing Gladio had heard all night. Maybe things were turning around after all. Todd wasn’t an idiot. He was a duche bag. Even better!

Iris had cried a few times since Ignis had asked Todd to leave after his comment. Something about having an angry blind man remove his visor, and pointedly stare at you left little room for argument. Ignis’ bold move had done more than Gladio’s bloodied apron had even come close to achieving. Todd’s utter look of fear at being singled out was a thing of pure joy to behold. Gladio didn’t like that it came at the expense of his sister's feelings, but Todd needed to go.

“Is he blind?! Sorry Ignis but I’m still in shock,” Iris lamented. “I mean you both clearly have visible scars, why would he say something so, so rude.”

“He’s a douche bag, that’s why!” Gladio cut in.

“It’s alright, that wine he drank had been aged in an oak barrel for at least fifteen years. He had to go on my word that it hadn’t been,” Ignis added calmly.

“You lied to him?” Gladio asked with a smile.

“I may have fibbed; I can’t be expected to keep all my wine bottles straight. I’m unable to read any of the labels personally so I can’t really be blamed.”

“Who doesn’t use dressing on salad, that’s stupid,” Iris mumbled a second later.

“I knew you’d come around! Come on let us find you a nice normal boy to date. Iggy and I will invite them over for a nice din--.”

“NO! No, no, no I’m fine. Gladio you stay outta my business,” Iris cut in, though she was smiling a little.

Laughing loudly Gladio pulled Iris over, nearly toppling her chair, for a proper hug. “Okay truce, I won’t go actively hunting for a boyfriend for you, but can you at least trust us when we tell you they might be an idiot?”

“Maybe, just don’t do the bloodied apron knife thing again, that was awful.”

“What did he look like? I’ve had Prompto describe his look but I’d like to hear it from you, if I may.”

Iris happily obliged and described all of Gladio’s elaborate planning, down to the black trash bags on the counter with a sticky label on them that read ‘Todd’. Prompto hadn’t noticed those.

By the time she’d finished and they’d cleaned up everything Gladio decided he could break out dessert. No reason to waste his efforts. Iris merely rolled her eyes when he took out a plate of simple sugar cookies that he’d decorated with little radioactive symbols. “What?! It was a backup plan in case Todd hadn’t figured out things.”

“Ignis, he’s made cookies with the hazardous symbol all over them. Do you think we are safe to eat them?”

“Oh that’s what you were doing,” Ignis exclaimed with a smile. “Yes, they should be palatable. I helped with those. I didn’t realize what Gladio intended to use them for. He added the decoration afterward, I believe.”

“You are such a dork Gladio. Thanks for looking out for me though.”

“Anytime Iris, Iggy, and I are here for ya no matter what.”

Iris leaned over and gave him another hug. “Sounds good, but there is one thing I gotta know,” pausing she pulled away. “Where the hell did you get all that blood?!”

#ffxv fanfiction #ffxv #gladio #iris #ignis #this might be crack #you've been warned

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milenasanchezmk · 6 years ago

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Primal Camping Meals: Weekend “Car Camping” Edition

Most camp food is terrible or the opposite of Primal. Or both.

It’s either an expensive REI tetrapak full of wheat flour, dehydrated “meat,” and desiccated Crisco, a Dough Boy, or the entirely overrated s’more. I’ll get flak for that last one, but I don’t care. S’mores rarely live up to the hype past age 12.

Just because you’re living out of a tent doesn’t mean you have to settle for terrible, unhealthy, unappetizing food. If anything, you should be eating healthier when you camp. It feels corrosive to defile the sanctity and purity of the wild with processed junk food wrapped in plastic. You generate all this trash. Whole, Primal foods taste even better when you camp; packaged garbage somehow tastes even worse.

I’ll cover backpacking food in a future post, but car camping cookery is my specialty. That’s what I’ll cover today—the kind of weekend trip that allows for a sizable cooler, some extras flourishes, and more than a single cooking pot. There’s nothing better than turning your campsite into a full-fledged camp kitchen, creating hearty meals whose scents permeate the grounds, arousing jealousy and any nearby wandering bears. There’s something about serving up dark chocolate chili and a nice Malbec while the family next to you nibbles PopTarts, heats up the $12 freeze-dried dinner from REI, and plays their 20th game of “War.”

What are my go-to car camping favorites?

Sometimes I’ll just do the basics: eggs, bacon, a piece of meat or fish, some grilled asparagus.

More often, I’ll turn to my favorites….

The Hobo Pack

The hobo pack harkens back to those ancient days when hobos, tramps, and vagabonds of all sorts would travel the dusty roads and endless railroads of classic America carrying heavy duty aluminum foil pouches of meat, taters, and vegetables.

The hobo pack is versatile and forgiving. Anything works, and almost anything will end up tasting damn good. Create a pouch with two layers of aluminum foil. Fill the pouch with meat and vegetables. Place pouch on coals.

Pot Roast—beef, onion, carrot, garlic, salt, pepper, a little red wine.

Salmon—salmon, lemon, broccoli, butternut squash, salt, avocado oil.

Whatever you do, pair your meats and vegetables well. Fish cooks quickly, so you’ll want to include vegetables that cook quickly, too. Beef chuck takes longer, so you’ll want something heartier, like sweet potatoes.

Buried Winter Squash

My absolute favorite winter squash is the honeynut squash. It looks like a butternut squash, only about 1/3 the size and a deep orange. The taste is phenomenal.

Get a nice bed of coals going. Bury your squash in the coals and hot ash. Cover it on all sides.

When they’re soft and tender all over, pull them out. Brush off most of the soot and slice lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds.

They’re good plain, with a little butter, or even a scoop of chevre (soft goat cheese) and salt.

Shakshuka

First, make the harissa from this recipe. Set aside.

Heat up a dutch oven over the fire. Add olive oil, a few chopped garlic cloves, one chopped hot pepper, one chopped sweet pepper, and a tablespoon of ground cumin. Sub cayenne and sweet paprika if you don’t have fresh peppers. Cook until fragrant.

Add the harissa along with a can of crushed tomatoes (or the equivalent in fresh tomatoes, if you have access) and two teaspoons of tomato paste.

Reduce until thickened, salting to taste. When it tastes just right, make a few indentations in the sauce and crack an egg in each. I aim for at least 6 or 7 eggs.

Cover and cook until eggs are cooked to your desired doneness. I like the yolks runny. Serve with a dollop of Greek yogurt, creme fraiche, sour cream, or labneh.

Pancakes with Camp Preserves

For the pancakes, I’ll either do these almond pancakes or these blueberry pancakes. One time, I even mixed some masa harina (lime-treated corn flour, the same stuff used in traditional tortillas) with an egg and a little coconut milk; turned out great. Any Primal pancake recipe you like will work.

For the camp preserves, just chop up whatever fruit you have. I’ve done mangoes, bananas, pears, and strawberries. I’ve done apples and pineapple with cinnamon. I’ve done blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. Every combination I’ve ever tried has worked. I just heat up a pan over the fire, add a little butter (seriously, not much), and throw in the chopped up fruit. Cook until soft, add a little water, mash, and reduce until you have thick camp preserves. Spoon over the pancakes.

Camp Chili

Every time I camp, I make a pot of this chili. I won’t expand on the recipe; you can just read the link. But there are a few ways to streamline the process.

Chop all the peppers and onions and garlic before hand.

Mix all the spices together so you can just keep them in one container and add them in one fell swoop.

Oh, and in the last 10-15 minutes of cooking, drop in a bar of 85% or higher dark chocolate. The one that seems to work the best for me is Valrhona Le Noir 85%. If you can’t find it, any high-cacao content bar will work.

You can also transform the entire character of the dish by adding a tablespoon of cardamom pods with the other spices. That alone makes it almost curry-like. If you go this route, you can also get away with doing lamb instead of beef. Just be sure to strain out the cardamom pods before serving.

Lemon Onion Wings

The day before your trip, blend one large or two medium onions with the juice from 5 lemons and a couple tablespoons of fish sauce in a well-sealed baggy or tupperware container. This is your marinade.

The morning of, place 4-5 pounds of chicken wings in a reliable Ziploc bag and pour the marinade over. You’ll want this to marinate for at least a day, so having this for dinner that night works perfectly.

When you’re ready to cook, place a grill over the campfire. Lay out the wings on paper towels and wipe off most of the marinade. Some bits of lemony onion will remain. That’s fine.

Salt and pepper the wings all over. Place on grill.

Assuming you’ve allowed enough time for the marinade to penetrate, grilling these wings over open flame/hot coals caramelizes the onion-imbued skin. Turn frequently. You want char, but not burning. When you suspect they’re ready, remove the largest wing and cut it open. If it’s done and no pink remains, take the rest off.

Primal Chocolate Cake

Take a Japanese sweet potato—the ones with the purple skin and white flesh. Bury it in some coals and hot ash. If you like the charred flavor and prefer extra caramelization, throw it directly into the coals. If you like a more steamed tuber and wish to avoid charring, wrap it in foil.

Remove from coals after 30 minutes and give it a squeeze. If it’s soft, it’s done. If there are any hard spots, throw it back in for another 5-10 minutes.

Once it’s done, split it down the middle. Insert several squares of good dark chocolate. Sprinkle sea salt. Mash, eat. Primal chocolate cake.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of car camping food, but it’s a solid list of dishes I’ve found to be both doable/realistic and delicious. You’ll notice that the carb counts for many of these dishes are a bit higher than usual. That’s because when I camp, I’m usually very active—hiking, swimming, exploring, playing. You should be, too.

Now I’d love to hear from all the campers out there. What are your favorite Primal foods to cook in the great outdoors?

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

0 notes

fishermariawo · 6 years ago

Text

Primal Camping Meals: Weekend “Car Camping” Edition

Most camp food is terrible or the opposite of Primal. Or both.

What are my go-to car camping favorites?

Sometimes I’ll just do the basics: eggs, bacon, a piece of meat or fish, some grilled asparagus.

More often, I’ll turn to my favorites….

The Hobo Pack

Pot Roast—beef, onion, carrot, garlic, salt, pepper, a little red wine.

Salmon—salmon, lemon, broccoli, butternut squash, salt, avocado oil.

Buried Winter Squash

My absolute favorite winter squash is the honeynut squash. It looks like a butternut squash, only about 1/3 the size and a deep orange. The taste is phenomenal.

Get a nice bed of coals going. Bury your squash in the coals and hot ash. Cover it on all sides.

When they’re soft and tender all over, pull them out. Brush off most of the soot and slice lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds.

They’re good plain, with a little butter, or even a scoop of chevre (soft goat cheese) and salt.

Shakshuka

First, make the harissa from this recipe. Set aside.

Add the harissa along with a can of crushed tomatoes (or the equivalent in fresh tomatoes, if you have access) and two teaspoons of tomato paste.

Reduce until thickened, salting to taste. When it tastes just right, make a few indentations in the sauce and crack an egg in each. I aim for at least 6 or 7 eggs.

Cover and cook until eggs are cooked to your desired doneness. I like the yolks runny. Serve with a dollop of Greek yogurt, creme fraiche, sour cream, or labneh.

Pancakes with Camp Preserves

Camp Chili

Every time I camp, I make a pot of this chili. I won’t expand on the recipe; you can just read the link. But there are a few ways to streamline the process.

Chop all the peppers and onions and garlic before hand.

Mix all the spices together so you can just keep them in one container and add them in one fell swoop.

Lemon Onion Wings

When you’re ready to cook, place a grill over the campfire. Lay out the wings on paper towels and wipe off most of the marinade. Some bits of lemony onion will remain. That’s fine.

Salt and pepper the wings all over. Place on grill.

Primal Chocolate Cake

Remove from coals after 30 minutes and give it a squeeze. If it’s soft, it’s done. If there are any hard spots, throw it back in for another 5-10 minutes.

Once it’s done, split it down the middle. Insert several squares of good dark chocolate. Sprinkle sea salt. Mash, eat. Primal chocolate cake.

Now I’d love to hear from all the campers out there. What are your favorite Primal foods to cook in the great outdoors?

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

0 notes

cynthiamwashington · 6 years ago

Text

Primal Camping Meals: Weekend “Car Camping” Edition

Most camp food is terrible or the opposite of Primal. Or both.

What are my go-to car camping favorites?

Sometimes I’ll just do the basics: eggs, bacon, a piece of meat or fish, some grilled asparagus.

More often, I’ll turn to my favorites….

The Hobo Pack

Pot Roast—beef, onion, carrot, garlic, salt, pepper, a little red wine.

Salmon—salmon, lemon, broccoli, butternut squash, salt, avocado oil.

Buried Winter Squash

My absolute favorite winter squash is the honeynut squash. It looks like a butternut squash, only about 1/3 the size and a deep orange. The taste is phenomenal.

Get a nice bed of coals going. Bury your squash in the coals and hot ash. Cover it on all sides.

When they’re soft and tender all over, pull them out. Brush off most of the soot and slice lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds.

They’re good plain, with a little butter, or even a scoop of chevre (soft goat cheese) and salt.

Shakshuka

First, make the harissa from this recipe. Set aside.

Add the harissa along with a can of crushed tomatoes (or the equivalent in fresh tomatoes, if you have access) and two teaspoons of tomato paste.

Reduce until thickened, salting to taste. When it tastes just right, make a few indentations in the sauce and crack an egg in each. I aim for at least 6 or 7 eggs.

Cover and cook until eggs are cooked to your desired doneness. I like the yolks runny. Serve with a dollop of Greek yogurt, creme fraiche, sour cream, or labneh.

Pancakes with Camp Preserves

Camp Chili

Every time I camp, I make a pot of this chili. I won’t expand on the recipe; you can just read the link. But there are a few ways to streamline the process.

Chop all the peppers and onions and garlic before hand.

Mix all the spices together so you can just keep them in one container and add them in one fell swoop.

Lemon Onion Wings

When you’re ready to cook, place a grill over the campfire. Lay out the wings on paper towels and wipe off most of the marinade. Some bits of lemony onion will remain. That’s fine.

Salt and pepper the wings all over. Place on grill.

Primal Chocolate Cake

Remove from coals after 30 minutes and give it a squeeze. If it’s soft, it’s done. If there are any hard spots, throw it back in for another 5-10 minutes.

Once it’s done, split it down the middle. Insert several squares of good dark chocolate. Sprinkle sea salt. Mash, eat. Primal chocolate cake.

Now I’d love to hear from all the campers out there. What are your favorite Primal foods to cook in the great outdoors?

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

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3one3 · 7 years ago

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The Sequel - 900

Food Blog

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“What are you doing? What is that sound?”

“I’m cutting limes into wedges for the tacos but I’m trying to cut them on a plate because my butcher block and cutting board are both covered in veggies, so every time the knife hits the plate it makes that terrible sound.”

“That’s a lot of vegetables.”

“I’m drowning in avocado and red onion.”

“Want me to let you go?”

“No. I miss you. I missed your voice. You never call me.”

“The phone works both ways, cariña.”

“Actually I do need to get off. I just don’t want to. Can I call you during the dinner? I’m not gonna sit out there and make it weird.”

“Text me 30 minutes ahead of time and it’s a date.”

“K.”

“Bye, baby girl.”

“Later.”

Okay, two pans worth of onions and peppers ready to go. Sweet potato cubes ready to go. Avocado cream drizzle just needs a squeeze of one of these limes. Rice is cooking. Black beans are on the stove ready to fire. Pico needs to be mixed. Cilantro is chopped and covered. And gross. Still need to slice avocados, but that can wait ‘til closer to dinner. Need to cut some for the guacamole too. Red onion, check. I know I said I’d do a version of the avocado cream with cashew cream instead of yogurt but I’m too lazy. What else? Christina wiped her hands on a towel and looked around her kitchen, which was organized chaos.

Grilled steaks and fish were out. Taco Night was in. She told André his team dinner menu was impractical, because everyone likes their steak and their salmon cooked differently and it would be difficult to make sure everyone got what they liked if two people were trying to bulk-grill all the food. Instead she furnished a list of ingredients that were heavier on the prep but much easier to actually cook. There was 7 pounds of spice-rubbed pork shoulder getting fork-tender in her slow cooker for the meat eaters, shrimp defrosting in the sink for the pescatarians, and spicy sweet potato and black beans for the vegetarians and vegans. They had flour and gluten-free corn tortillas. Everyone was covered, and most importantly, everyone could serve themselves and have exactly what they liked. Christina could put everything out on her island counter like a buffet and then be completely done with her hosting duties.

They’re supposed to be here in like half an hour, which means I have 15 minutes before I need to put anything in the oven. I’m taking a chip break, the rider decided upon completing her prep survey and checking the time. She grabbed the bag of whole wheat tortilla chips, ripped it open, and dumped the whole thing in a wooden salad bowl. Then she scraped the diced tomato and onion from her cutting board into a smaller bowl with finely chopped Serrano chile and some of the cilantro. She squeezed one of her lime wedges over it, sprinkled some salt on, and delicately mixed it all together. It seemed like she only stepped away from her chips and salsa for a couple of seconds- just enough time to open the refrigerator and get the bottle of Pellegrino- but André managed to get in there and start eating her snack.

“Do you need anymore help, pretty girl?” he asked with his mouth full. He’d been on the patio getting the space heater and the fire pit going. The extra folding table was already set up end to end with the glass one so that everyone could sit together, face to face, and he brought the dining room chairs out after promising he would make sure they didn’t get dirty. Before all that, he had to help in the kitchen.

“I think we’re good for now. I was just going to sit for a little.” Christina picked up the pico de gallo and the tortilla chips and walked away even as the player was trying to dip a chip. He followed her around to the other side of the big island and pulled a stool out for her so that they could have a break before the swarm of Bees arrived. On a scale from 1 to letting a 4-0 Revierderby lead slip, how pissed would she be if I asked her to finish making the guac before she sits down, he wondered. Then he felt the bag of ice wrapped to her ankle hit him in the knee as she climbed onto the tall seat and decided not to ask her to get up to make him more food. Christina had to ride and teach all day, and there was no rest for her between rushing home from the barn to see Lukas off with Zoe and Noah and beginning her vegetable cutting. She just changed her clothes, strapped on her ice, and went to work.

“Thanks for doing this,” André told her once he was in his own seat. She was gobbling chips.

“You can thank me by getting your shit sorted out and winning some games.”

“On it.”

“Can you make sure the puppies don’t get too much people food?”

“Where are you going to be?”

“I’m making myself a burrito bowl and hiding upstairs.”

“Why?”

“I’m not part of the squad. You guys should be alone to talk out whatever you’re gonna talk out. Believe me, I’m perfectly fine eating dinner in bed and watching TV all night.”

“I have a gift for you that I wasn’t going to give you yet, but maybe you could use it tonight.”

“I like gifts.”

“I’ll go get it.” The player scooped some chunky salsa for the road, but paused to kiss his girl’s cheek before getting down from his stool. Christina pushed both bowls away while she chewed her last crunchy whole wheat triangle. She didn’t want to ruin her appetite. The pork smelled amazing. She had designs on pigging out, having a long chat about nothing with Juan in bed, and passing out. Lukas was having his first sleepover and his dad vowed to do all the cleanup from the dinner. There was no reason to have to do anything else for the rest of the night. She hoped the gift was a holiday candle, or an interesting face mask, a cozy blanket, or maybe, if she were really lucky, an air popper. Popcorn and a movie sounded great. But André came back with a long, slim box wrapped in chrome paper and tied with a burgundy velvet bow. It definitely wasn’t big enough to be an air popper.

“I can tell you didn’t wrap it,” the rider smiled once the box was in her hands.

“I paid the extra €5 to have it wrapped for Christmas! Open.” A sneaky smirk lurked behind the unusual humility with which he presented the present. Normally he openly salivated in anticipation of the response. He watched her tug the pretty bow loose and carefully place the ribbon on the counter. It was nice enough to keep. The top and bottom of the box were actually wrapped separately, so she didn’t need to tear the heavy duty paper. Before lifting the lid, she shook the box and asked if it was a dragon. André said it was not, and apologized for that.

“Okay, let’s see...” Christina plucked the top off the box and immediately recognized her gift as a sex toy. It was an unmistakably phallic wand with bulbous top after a pinched in bit at one end. It was smooth black silicone, just as she asked for. The length of it was plain- tapered at the tip and a little narrowed in the middle. It was not intimidatingly big or disappointingly small. The proportions were just right, like her other toys.

“It’s rechargeable, bendy, and self-heating. How nice is that?” her partner asked like a salesman. “I think it has 10 different vibrations.”

“Thanks, babe,” his wife chuckled. She then bit her lip, but it wasn’t a shy gesture. It was more like she was trying not to laugh.

“Do you like it? Try bending it. It’s probably not charged yet so I don’t know if it turns on.”

“I definitely like it. I’m just...” Christina snorted and couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you really want me to be using this upstairs while you’re outside having crisis talks with the guys? Isn’t that weird? Who does that? Who is like, “Oh, there’s a dinner party happening at my house but I’m not really part of it so I’ll just go masturbate”?”

“Why would I care? Now that you mention it, it might actually be kind of sexy to think about that- To know what you’re doing. I for sure would know what we’re doing together when everyone leaves! It’s supposed to be very quiet, by the way.” He watched her lift the toy from the box and investigate its flexibility. It was a solid thing, so it took some effort to bend it. It held whatever curve one shaped it to. “I think you’re supposed to use that big part for your clit. That’s why it bends. To make it more comfortable to hold, I guess.”

“You did good. I’m very interested in this self-heating business.” Seriously, he’s good at picking out vibrators. He’s three for three, she realized. I can’t wait to try this. I have a phone date with Juanin. It’s like my stars have aligned! Except that would be particularly cruel wouldn’t it? Break in the new vibrator boyfriend gave me with Juan instead? While boyfriend is home, even?

“Go plug it in in the bedroom so it’s charged up for later.”

“Okay,” she laughed. Things had really changed. There was no way she would be so relaxed in a conversation about a sex toy with André when they first got together. It had become just a regular thing, or a funny one. She pulled the USB cord out of its indented place in the packaging to make sure she wouldn’t need scissors to free it, and then took everything upstairs. Just holding the device- feeling the silicone texture, and the weight of it, and the hardness under the surface- was kind of exciting. She thought to check the tiny user manual to see if it indicated how long it took to charge. There was always the possibility of trying it out and then eating dinner. Especially when she discovered that it was already fully charged. She went up through the different speeds and vibration patterns, and turned on the heating feature. The device took about as long as a curling iron to warm to a sort of humanlike temperature. It wasn’t going to burn anything. I’m gonna take a picture of it and text it to Juanin with my 30 minutes notice.

André helped with the food when his party caterer returned. He was in charge of dredging the shrimp in chili powder, cayenne, salt, pepper, and cumin, and skewering them for the grill grate on Christina’s gas range. Having 6 burners, a grill, and a griddle made the range her favorite feature in the whole house. She gushed over it to people all the time, like her mother-in-law. This made André feel very proud. His dad once told him that one of the most important things a man can do for his partner is flatter her with the finest kitchen appliances. He’d enlisted his son’s help in choosing a new toaster oven for Luise, and his teenage son had no interest or patience for walking around the store and comparing all the toasters. A toaster was a toaster. The wisdom stuck with him though, because his mom was thrilled with the eventual choice. She was happy for days, and used it to make things she normally would have put in the regular oven. And her happiness was tied to who gave her the very nice, extremely expensive, top quality toaster oven. Thus “he who provides his wife with the finest goods for her kitchen is the most accomplished man” was ingrained in André and set out as a future goal. When he met girls that made him smile, he tried to imagine their future response when he was able to give them the best appliances money can buy. Doubt was cast upon a budding relationship if he decided the girl probably wouldn’t care that much.

Christina loved having two ovens and a separate broiler too. She had three sheet pans of vegetables going in there while she made the guacamole and started setting out serving dishes and plates and bowls and utensils on the island. They did get the holiday decorations out the night before but never actually started the decorating, except in the kitchen. The rider filled her glass fruit bowl with white, silver, glittery, and disco-ball like tree ornaments, and put two staggered height pillar candles in there with them. It sat on the raised part of the island with the stemless wine glass and the carafe full of Cabernet Franc. André teased her about how unnecessary it was to decant wine for that specific dinner “party”, and she countered with some excuse about how it made up for the fact that she was wearing skinny track pants and a sweatshirt.

“The onions and peppers go on the long platter so that they’re not all piled up and steaming themselves,” she told him when he grabbed the plate in question with the intention of using it for the trio of cheeses.

“You know how we’ve been talking about what you want to do next with your career, and what else you want to try? You should do something with cooking, pretty girl,” the footballer suggested somewhere between kidding and thoughtful.

“Like what? A YouTube channel?”

“Or a blog. I don’t know. You’re so good at this.” Who else thinks about the shape of the plate and the effect it has on the food? Oooh, people must be here.

“Your phone is ringing.”

“I hear.”

Christina didn’t have much time to consider the suggestion. The embattled Bees arrived in a steady stream of calls and texts seeking passage through the security gate and guidance on where to park. André handled that, and his wife handled transferring food to the appropriate plates and dishes, shredding the pork, grilling the shrimp, warming and setting out the tortillas, showing the guys where to find different drinks, and accepting cheek kisses and compliments on her spread. She did in fact make herself a big bowl of rice, savory carnitas, cotija, cheddar jack, pico de gallo, and shredded lettuce before announcing to the 30 footballers milling about her home that “the buffet” was open, and she did take it straight upstairs. Spencer and Lucky were invited to join her but they were much too interested in running around to sniff all the strangers. She put the bowl on André’s nightstand because it was the closest to the door, went in her dressing room to take her pants, sweatshirt, and bra off, and was then surprised to hear her partner in life and in food prep call her name questioningly from said door.

“What do you need, babe?” she asked, leaning out of her closet and looking toward the adjacent doorway.

“Thank you so much for taking care of everything,” the blonde forward said. He walked over to give her a smooch. “Love you.”

“Welcome.” His girl smiled inside and out. It’s very nice to be appreciated, she thought. Even if it’s for something he shouldn’t have sprang on me in the first place. He’s been very helpful and he gave me a really nice new vibrator so I guess it’s all okay. “If I hear a riot, I’ll call the police, mm?”

“Sounds good.” André gave her another kiss, on the forehead, to close out his hit and run, and went to get some food and take his place at the table outside.

I’m gonna eat and watch TV and then I’ll call the Spanish Teddy Bear. I’ll give him his heads up now. I think I should save my gift for later with boyfriend though, especially if he doesn’t finish this dinner with a good feeling about the team. I can make him feel better, or distract him at least. I’d be such a ho if I christened the new vibrator with somebody else. That’s ungrateful ho shit. But I’m still gonna send the picture to Juanin because I’m a tease like that. I miss the fuck out of that boy, Christina thought as she got settled under the black satin quilt and chose a jersey pillow to serve as her lap table. Schü was right yesterday. I did want his attention. I want anybody’s attention. Sometimes it really sucks to be here with him while he’s in a bad mood, or he’s really busy, or wants to do stuff alone all the time, when I know there is someone in London who is desperate to hang with me, and be fun, or even just be with me on the couch. It makes me miss Juanin even more than I always do. Plus I want to complain to him every day about how angry I am that we moved here for Dortmund and Dortmund just keeps getting worse, and I mean as a whole situation, not just results. It’s been nothing but bad for us. I want boyfriend to be happy. He was happy one night when he scored an equalizer against Real Madrid and he was semi-happy when they won the league cup. That’s it in a year and a half. The rest he’s hurt, not playing, or losing. This pork came out soooooooo good. What did Teddy Bear say? The rider rested her fork in the oversized salad bowl and lifted her iPhone off the pillow to read the Chelsea midfielder’s response to her photo.

“Do you give it a name?”

“No. I’m not that girl.”

“See if it fits in your butt.”

“Not that girl either.”

“Your Christmas wish list is weird this year.”

“I’m that girl that asks for a new vibrator and secondhand sweatpants.”

“One of a kind.”

“Do you think I could be that girl who does cooking tutorials on the YouTubez? Or nah?”

“I think you can be any girl you want. That would be a big project though. We’ll talk about it when you call?”

“K. See you in 30.”

Christina wrote one more text, to Zoe, before fully resuming her burrito bowl grazing. The text breaks were actually important because they prevented her from inhaling the food too quickly, as she was prone to do. She asked Zoe how dinner went and if Lukas wanted to talk to her or Face Time or anything before bed. Zoe said she was letting the boys stay up until Noah’s regular bedtime, a bit later than Lukas’, and that they were playing with action figures and watching Toy Story. Lukas’ mom was really looking forward to introducing him to some classic Christmas movies. His dad told her to pace herself and not overdose on Christmas too soon and run out of Christmas stuff. André told Lukas a different story. He told him it was going to be wall to wall Christmas, for weeks, and that they were going to help Mommy have the best Christmas ever. Of course, that was before he forgot their tree shopping date- the very first part of the holiday season.

Her 30 minutes of dinner, CNBC Europe, and getting upset about geopolitics went quickly. Juan called right on time. He was on his couch with a blanket, his MacBookPro, and a to-do list of images to make for the restaurant’s Christmas menu announcements to be posted on social media. His faraway friend shared André’s stunted idea about doing some sort of cooking or food blog.

“What do you think? Should I do long pithy posts and funny videos with cool recipes?”

“I think you should ride. You just told me the thing you want to do is ride and win. You know you can’t do it as well as you used to if you take on too many other things. Make riding your focus. You haven’t found the same kind of motivation again yet. I’m afraid if you stray now, you may not get it back,” the Spaniard testified with logic and levelness, and most importantly, keen interest. “Not too many days ago you got very upset- furious, even- and then very unhappy about a mistake from hours earlier that you had already dismissed as meaningless.”

“Well it didn’t bother me that much when it first happened,” the rider shot back, referring to a miscalculation she made in the ring in Doha on her Winter Soldier. It cost them a rail in the second round of the Champions League finale. She walked out of the ring shaking her head at Daniel, who was already saying the name of the sponsor on the jump. But then she just shrugged and said it wasn’t a big deal, and that riding the approach to that fence differently could have resulted in a knockdown anyway. Hours and hours later, at a corner table at the jazz club, Christina worked herself almost to tears of condemnation for not doing better in the tack, and being smarter, and above all else, for acting like her mistake didn’t matter. She hated letting herself off that way. The attitude disgusted her when she was able to look back on it. “It just gnawed at me whenever I re-rode the class in my head.”

“It gnawed at you because you were careless, it cost you, and you pretended not to care to protect yourself from being disappointed. I don’t know how you never learn that doing that to yourself- trying to put off the disappointment- just makes it worse when you finally let it in. You used to always face everything head-on, cariña,” Juan practically whined. He was always lamenting the disappearance of that quality in her.

“I know.”

“Don’t load up your schedule with other commitments again,” he reiterated, voice lowered, intensity dialed up. “Work on your horses, on your body, and your relationships. The mind takes care of itself when you do that. You’ll be happiest when your horses are performing their best, you feel good physically, and you spend lots of time having fun and relaxing with your family and friends.”

“Okay.”

“I know you’re looking for things that help keep you sane and happy, so that you can ride with a clear head.”

“Yeah. I just keep thinking that maybe more non-horse hobbies would help with that,” Christina shrugged before rolling over onto her side and pulling her blanket up.

“I get it,” her absentee teddy bear affirmed, emphatic. “I just believe you’re better off making your relationships your hobbies. I don’t want to sound selfish when I say this, but the time you use for writing a food blog or something is time you aren’t spending with Lukas, or André, or your girlfriends, or me. For you, and I think for me too, the most important thing is to be with my friends and family. Then it doesn’t matter what we do- it’s always fun, or relaxing. Don’t launch a video account and teach people how to make lasagna two ways. Just cook something with Lukas. Come here and cook with me in a professional kitchen. You get what I’m saying?”

“Yes. But I’m gonna be real honest. What if I go 100% No Holds Barred Show Jumping All-Star and I’m still making dumb mistakes and my instincts are still bad? At least when I’m not 100% committed I can keep telling myself I’m not at the top because I’m not trying that hard. I’m really and truly afraid that my best- No- That Dirk’s best, for example- isn’t good enough anymore.” Phew. Got that out, Christina thought, applauding herself. It was hard for her to air real fears and insecurities. What she said could never be for Tom’s ears, for example, because it would jeopardize the footing her whole working persona was built on. Her whole professional existence was staked on confidence and an unyielding belief in her horses and their supremacy over the others. To let anyone see her doubts in them or herself would feel like a violation of her very being. But it was a petit, intelligent, and understanding Chelsea midfielder that she was speaking to, and he could learn anything about her without changing his belief in her.

“You have to find out, cariña,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation. His immediate reactions were so valuable to her, because they were instinctive and real. He didn’t take the time to think about what she said and then take care to qualify his response so as not to upset her, or to deliberately manipulate her in some way. Sometimes André’s ponderous nature on matters of consequence that he didn’t fully comprehend from the get-go read as strategizing and made the eventual reply feel a bit contrived. “You find out the answer as quick as you can, and if it’s the wrong answer then you go to work to fix it. If your best isn’t good enough anymore, you make a new best. And don’t even try to argue that because I know you believe too that’s how it should be.”

“I do agree on that,” she chuckled, amused by his forcefulness. “It’s daunting though. I don’t want to feel like Stevie G.”

“I really don’t think you need to be worrying about that. Your 80% is better than most riders’ 110% right now. Get back to the hundred and you’ll be the best again. Use getting to the hundred as inspiration and motivation to get the extra 10% you used to unleash in big moments to shock everyone. I would love to see this.”

“Thanks. You have a way of making me feel better about myself by making me feel bad about myself.” That is the clearest way I’ve ever been able to put The Juan Effect into words! By George, I’ve got it!

“You’re welcome? I guess?”

“I would hug you so hard right now if I were in London.”

“Have you ever had shaved octopus?”

“Is that food or like a sex thing?”

“Food, cariña.” Juan’s eye-roll was audible over the line. He was calm again after getting a little excited there about self-improvement and reaching for top. Christina could hear his typing and taps on the computer resume too.

“So like octopus carpaccio?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. You know the answer to that.”

“You should try.”

“What else is on the holiday menu?”

“My mum’s slow roast lamb, and Spanish bread pudding.”

“Sign. Me. Up. Are you having Christmas dinner at home or at the restaurant?”

“Home! The whole family will be here with me Christmas Eve to eat.”

“Good. That’s how it should be. Are they all staying for Boxing Day football again? I didn’t even look at the fixtures yet. Are you home or away?”

“Home, against Brighton. Most of the family is coming. I’m saving a ticket for my girlfriend though, in case she decides at the last minute to come to her favorite match of the season.”

“Do you want me to?” she questioned in a small voice after a brief pause to be touched by the player’s sweetness. “Or are you just looking out for my love of Boxing Day at Stamford Bridge?”

“If you’re asking is it important to me that you come for that game? No, not especially. I know you love the atmosphere with all the kids. I always want to see you though.”

“That’s very sweet. Lemme ask you this though- which do you want more- for me to come over that morning for the football and stay one night while your family is there, or...for me to come the morning of New Year’s Eve, and stay for a party and the associated hungover lie-in on New Year’s Day?”

“Is “both” an option?” the Spanish footballer laughed. Christina said it was not. “Would you really come for New Year’s?” he asked with more sincerity in his lilt. “I thought you wanted to be at home?”

“I do. Home is as much with you in London as it is here.” THERE’S a truth I’m willing to confront head-on. For better or for worse.

“Come home whenever you want, baby girl,” Juan sighed with something like muted satisfaction. There was a softness in his voice too, which the primary listener found deeply comforting and personalized for her. “If you’d rather come for a party than football, or if you want to be alone together the next morning instead of surrounded by nosy Spanish people, either is okay with me.”

“Let me think about it, okay?” She pushed and pulled idly at the “stuffing” in her satin quilt to make it fit evenly in its square instead of bunched up in half of it. It was one of her favorite blankets but it was impossible to prevent that bunching problem. No amount of shaking it out helped. It drove her nuts whenever she let herself think about it for too long. Luckily she wasn’t really thinking about it while she tried to fix it. She was thinking over André’s potential reaction to either London visit. The New Year’s one was something on the fringes of her mind for a few days already. It was amplified a little the previous morning when she found the pretty and romantic red party dress in her closet. The flared Gazar silk skirt, with its organza underpinnings, was a touch dramatic for her, and it begged to bounce and twirl at a glamorous celebration.

“Mhm.”

“Hang on a second. I have a message.”

“Come downstairs. We’re going to have dessert. Schmelle brought you an Oreo cheesecake as a thank you,” Christina read on the screen.

“I’ve been summoned downstairs. I’ll call you back?”

“I’ll be here.”

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waywardgiverobservation-blog · 7 years ago

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The Popular Food Game

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houstonlocalus-blog · 7 years ago

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Dear Audrey: Texans Deserve Better?

Post from Robbwalsh.com Leave a comment/read the entire post here

Katie Walsh comments on a recent article in the Daily Texan:

The chile relleno at Matt’s El Rancho in Austin—which was Lyndon B. Johnson’s favorite dish here—came covered in queso instead of ranchero sauce, by request.

My sister Julia ordered the Grilled Old Fashioned tacos, which we’ve been eating here for at least 20 years. We’d just caught wind of the recent Daily Texan opinion piece, and we both took a moment to marvel over the absurdity of insulting such beautiful, delicious food before happily digging in.

In case you missed it: Last week, in a twisted shout to the 65th anniversary of the family-owned establishment, a columnist named Audrey wrote that Tex-Mex was “distinguishably disgusting”; “white-trash snack food wearing an inauthentic Mexican mask.” I have so many questions, Audrey.

Where ya from? How many Google clicks did you give your research? Ever *eaten* at Matt’s? And most importantly, where the heck have you been getting your Tex-Mex?

Matt’s El Rancho was opened by Matt and Janie Martinez in 1952. Matt grew up selling tamales, chili and pralines out of a wooden pushcart on Congress Avenue for his father, who had a Tex-Mex joint called El Original. Today, Matt and Janie’s daughters run the restaurant. The recipes have been passed down for generations and the in-house tortilla factory grinds its own non-GMO corn. Like many of our Tex-Mex staples here in town, they’ve even got multiple vegetarian options, @veg_lomein.

I’m not sure why you chose the anniversary of the Martinez family legacy as the occasion for your uninformed rant, but I apologize to them on your behalf, and tbh I’m kinda stunned at your ability to mindlessly erase the history of an entire family and an entire culture in a few poorly-formed generalizations.

Katie Walsh at Matt’s El Rancho in 2008

This isn’t the first time someone bashed Tex-Mex with the ugly bastard stick. Back in 2012, I wrote a piece for Latino Magazine about the ongoing, impassioned fight about Mexican food culture and the lines we draw between “authentic” Mexican and the ever-evolving foodways of Mexican-Americans. Purists like author Diana Kennedy agree that Tex-Mex is “inauthentic,” but the question is, to whom?

As yourself and Diana and countless others like you have failed to recognize, the American regional cuisine known as Tex-Mex is and always has been Texan, even as the political and geographical lines that define the state changed. Tex-Mex cuisine actually dates back to the Spanish mission era of the 1700s, and tells the unique sociological story of Tejanos: native Texan peoples, Mexican-born Texans, and their descendants.

Tejano history is deep and rich, and it has been the driving cultural force in Texas since long before any of us had opinions about the authenticity of its food. After learning Spanish agricultural practices, Tejanos created the iconic Texas ranching tradition—which, by the way, would later be adopted by the Czech and Central European settlers you’d rather we celebrate. Tex-Mex is the food of Tejanos.

In his book “Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America,” Gustavo Arellano illustrates the dismissal of Tex-Mex and other modern, American-born adaptations of Mexican food as a dismissal of Mexican-Americans themselves with this quote from writer Jesse Sanchez:

“Tex-Mex is important to us because it’s our bond to Mexico, even for us born in the United States. And it’s just Mexican food to us. Are we less Mexican or Mexican-American because we are Tejanos? We consider ourselves all part of the ‘Mexican food’ family and are surprised to hear when people speak of our food—or us—with disdain. The critiques sound elitist to us, and that says a lot coming from a state where we claim everything is bigger and better.”

Elitist is a good word. Audrey—girlfriend—you say that the three main ingredients of “flavorless tortillas, bland rice, and lackluster beans” “should be enough to send any well-minded consumer running in the opposite direction.” Who exactly are these “well-minded consumers”? You mean white folks with money?

Tortillas, rice, and beans are central to the cuisine of many Latino cultures, including “authentic” Mexico’s. They are often important foods for the nutrition and survival of the working poor and impoverished (and even some of your fellow students), and both in restaurants and in family kitchens they are prepared with the same steps and spices that have been used by grandmas and great grandmas and great great grandmas.

I actually feel bad for you. I’m so curious where you found all this tepid muck you insist is the “cornerstone” of Tex-Mex. I’ve been eating buttery flour and floral corn tortillas, veggie-studded rice, and rich, long-cooked beans since I was a baby. I’ve sampled them in numerous local Tex-Mex restaurants and in the homes of many Mexican-American friends. They are almost always bursting with flavors; soft and bold, herbal and earthy, creamy and spicy.

So Audrey, I really wanna know—who fed you such a shitty meal and why did you decide it defined a whole cuisine?

Look, I get it—you had some crappy, cold queso and some under-salted beans, you ended up in a cheap dive that reheats Mission premades and questionable meat on greasy plates, you picked the wrong restaurant—happens to the best of us. But Audrey, mama, you can’t just write off an entire people and their food because of your bad experience.

Or maybe you just don’t like it, and hey, that’s cool too!

I know plenty of folks who don’t like the heavy use of easy-melt cheeses in Tex-Mex—it “never looks too far off from Velveeta” because most of the time, it is. And there’s a reason for that. I acknowledge that it isn’t a healthy option, but nonetheless, there’s history behind it that deserves respect.

As a family friend named Richard Flores explains, Velveeta and cheeses like it likely worked their way into Tex-Mex tradition due to the historically lower socioeconomic status of Tejanos. His and many other families depended on the 5-pound blocks of “government cheese” that were handed out to low income families in the ‘70s and ‘80s to fill their enchiladas.

“You couldn’t buy queso fresco when I was a small child. It wasn’t available. So you used what you had, and what we had was American processed cheese,” Flores said.

You could’ve made a great argument for updating traditions like these now that we’ve got higher quality options. But to flippantly brand the food that defines the experience of many Mexican-Americans in this state as “white-trash” and “inauthentic” isn’t only terribly misinformed, it is a perfect example of the tone-deaf ignorance that continues to distance white folks from our brethren of color, at a time when what we really need is solidarity.

To then suggest that we should instead focus on the European influences on our state is, whether you intended it or realized it or not, both a racist and neocolonialist way to look at the world.

As a matter of fact, Texas’s other most famous food, barbecue, has long suffered from this very same racist viewpoint. While Mexican vaqueros and African-American chuck wagon cooks contributed equally to Texas barbecue history, it is often only the Czech and German traditions which receive recognition and credit. Oops.

Audrey, our state was shaped by First Nations peoples. Our state was shaped by black people. Our state was shaped by brown people from Mexico and brown people who were born here. Our state has been shaped and reshaped by these peoples for centuries and it is dynamic and beautiful because of it. Celebrating their influences on our food traditions, whether we like them or not, isn’t just important, it is our duty as white Texans living in a world that already does enough to erase the merits and existence of people of color.

I’m really, really sorry you had such a bad bowl of queso. But don’t be a jerk, Audrey. Tejanos aren’t white trash, their food isn’t disgusting or flavorless, and Texans don’t deserve better. In case you haven’t heard—no matter what tradition we come from—we’re already the best.

-Katie Walsh

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Dear Audrey: Texans Deserve Better? this is a repost

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