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choppedcowboydinosaur · 3 years ago

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Imagine an elf is given a job to do at a human institution. The humans think elves don’t need bathroom breaks, since they know they can hold it for days, but this elf has been traveling to reach their job, and has already been holding it to the point they are in pain. They ask for a break, but their job is important and time sensitive, so they admit they can still hold it when asked. After a full day of work, the elf tries to reach the bathroom in time, but they were never told where it is.

I swear it's like I'm cursed with people asking me this all the time. Fine I'll bite.

The elf tries to desperately find the bathroom. He considers going in a bush or using an empty plastic bottle. The elf keeps walking down the never ending halls of the building trying to find the bathroom. The hallways look the same so it's easy to get lost. It's like a never ending hell for the elf as his bladder is about to burst. He finds a room at the end of the hallway. It leads down a flight of stairs. The elf decides to go down this way since it beats the repetitive hallways. He goes further down the stairwell and it gets darker. The concrete steps slowly transition into rusted metal stairs the deeper he goes down the hole. It gets so dark and the elf is desperate. He can't hold it in any longer. He unzips his fly and pees over the rail down the abyss of the stairwell. He sighs with relief as he unleashes the might of his bladder like a majestic waterfall. Once he's done he zips himself up and is about to walk back up the stairs until he hears a sound.

It's a low growling sound. He noticed when he was peeing his urine hit something at the bottom. It wasn't the floor since the sound was too uneven. Some of the urine sounded like it was bouncing off this object while other sounds indicated it would just drip off of this object. So this would make the target of his urine very uneven. He realizes to his horror he hit something at the bottom of the stairwell.

Suddenly, a loud clanging noise erupts from the bottom of the stairwell. The elf notes that something is climbing up the stair well. He can hear the metal creaking of the rusted stairs. Then he hears that low growling sound permeating through the air again. He hears the clanging metal again and it keeps coming at a faster pace like a drum beat. The faster it comes the more he can feel the metal staircase shaking. He sees a faint red glow and realizes what it is. He mutters the dreaded word of his nightmares, "Balrog".

The elf sprints as fast as he can up the stairs with this creature chasing behind him. The clanging metal sound is getting louder and the metal stair case shaking as he runs. He feels heat behind him. He doesn't know if that's the Balrog or his mind playing tricks on him. He runs with all his might praying to God save him from this horrific nightmare. He swears he'll be a good elf, go to church every Sunday and not be racist to dwarves. He runs faster than he ever has before. This is the marathon of his life. The metal clangs louder and louder and the low growling noise is replaced by a bellowing roar. It is an unholy roar, a roar from Hell itself.

He clenches his butt cheeks and flattens his hands and runs faster and faster. Faster than a deer, faster than a cheetah he runs with all his might. His legs are burning with pain but he knows he must run lest the Balrog comes for him. As he takes his next step he trips. He notices the material of the stairs is different. It's concrete now instead of metal. He's happy, he's halfway there. He looks behind and sees the creature chasing him in more detail. It has a red muscular body that glows like embers. It's slightly bigger than a Grizzly bear. It has gigantic wings like a bat. Horns like a goat. Then he sees it's face, he can't make out every detail but he sees enough to know what it's like. A face like a lion or a dog or a mix. With a mane of fiery fur surrounding its face and neck. But the worst part was the eyes. Those beady little black pupils against a glowing yellow eyeball that stay focused on the elf no matter what. Like a hawk about to snatch its prey.

The elf recovers from his temporary frozen fear and jolts with all his might. He runs as fast and as hard as he can. His exerts such force with his legs he's running faster than an Olympic athlete. Yet the Balrog is no slouch either and is able to keep pace. The feeling in his thighs shifts from burning pain to a tiring weakness. The feeling in his thighs is becoming fainter and his legs are about to give out. He perseveres with all his might. His clothes drenched in sweat, his hair soaked with sweat like a beach bunny who's hair is soaked with salty ocean water. The sweat in his face stings his eyes, or is it the tears? He can't tell the difference at this point and he doesn't care, survival is his only goal. He's so desperate and thinks he might be done for as the roar of the Balrog gets louder.

Then something smashes into his face. "The door!", he shouts with joy! He pushes the door open and blasts through it like a cannonball bursting the side of a ship. He thinks he's free and begins to slow down a bit. He drops to his knees due to his legs giving out. His legs now get a well deserved rest. He thanks God for getting him through this. It's all over.

Then all of a sudden the elf hears a loud crashing noise. The Balrog has burst through the door. The elf tries to will his legs to rise but they are dead. He is immobile. He tries to crawl to escape the Balrog. But then he remembers how the hallways are like a maze. He's scared shitless and thinks he's done for.

Then he remembers that the hallways are a maze. If he can get lost in it, so can the Balrog. So he crawls through a door to his right and it leads to another hallway. This briefly buys him some time. He desperately tries to think of a plan to escape. He can hear the Balrog roar in anger and impotency. The Balrog hasn't figured out where he is but that luck will run out eventually.

The elf has an idea! He will try to make his way to a hallway with the nearest window. Through the window he can make his escape to the outside. Now is the hard part, trying to remember the layout. The elf smacks his head in desperation. He was so desperate to get work he forgot to look into the map of the place he was working at. He breathes and calms down. He decides he will crawl in a straight line to reach a window. If he does this he's bound to reach something eventually.

The elf starts his army crawl and reaches across the hall to another door. He opens it but the Balrog bursts through the door behind him and chases after him. The Balrog pounces after him like a gorilla about to charge an enemy. The elf increases his pace by using his forearms and elbows to pull himself away. He uses his body to slither like a snake to be more efficient. He bursts through another door with the Balrog right behind him.

They keep up this routine for a while and the elf is getting desperate. His elbows are sore and bruised. He can feel immense pain all the way to his bones whenever his elbows hit the tiled floor with desperate force. His legs still haven't recovered yet. His sides are sore and screaming with pain by writhing like a snake. Elves were not built for such primitive movement. He must push through lest the Balrog capture him.

After going through multiple doors and hallways the elf runs into a wall. His head is sore from the impact and he is horrified then relieved. He sees a light coming from the window. It's moonlight! He can see the moon outside unobscured by clouds. He can see the asphalt parking lot below. He can see some bushes lining the bottom of the building acting as a small wall between the building and the parking lot. He can see the delicately manicured trees dotted through out the parking lot to give it a quaint aesthetic. The elf realizes he's about 3 stories up. He tries to crawl up to open the window to let himself out. But the window has no handles since it's built into the building itself. He desperately bangs on the glass in order to break it to no avail. His arms are too weak from crawling and there is very little strength left in him at all. This is it he realizes. He's done for.

Then the Balrog has caught up with him. It's mouth curled in anger like a lion about to go for the kill. The Balrog roars and it's beady eyes move and focus in on the elf. The Balrog lunges at the elf like a panther pouncing on it's prey. The elf tries to move to his right side in desperation and cries. The elf can feel and hear the raw power of the Balrogs voice and the intense heat eminating from it. It's so hot it gives him a sunburn. The elf loses all his will to carry on and just gives into his demise.

As the Balrog lunges at the elf he underestimates his own strength and winds up plowing through the wall like the Kool Aid Man. The Balrog roars in the night as it falls. It falls 3 stories and lands on the rugged asphalt instead of the bushes due to the speed he was running at. The Balrog's face looks up at the sky and the elf in impotent anger and surprise. As he lands on the ground it smashes the concrete and pounds into the earth itself. A big crater is formed with dust swirling around it. The elf crawls desperately to take a look. At this point he's not sure if he'll survive or not.

Once the dust clears he can see the Balrog on the ground. It's arms are splayed and it's chest and back are broken from the impact. It's once mighty bat wings are smashed and look more like a broken hand. It's neck is twisted, bent in a shape that it should not be in at all. It's head is bent to the left side and the back of it's head is cracked open like an egg with brain matter flowing out as it's yolk. It's tongue is hanging out of it's mouth. However, it's beady eyes are still open. They stare at the asphalt.

The elf stares intently to make sure the creature is dead. It's chest isn't moving, there are no signs of breathing. The elf doesn't want to take a chance. He stares intently at that thing for 5 minutes. He concludes the creature is dead. He is surprised. The creature of his nightmares, this all powerful demon that has slaughtered his kind is dead. Not by his hands but by the creatures own bloodlust and stupidity. It was so bent on coming after him it didn't even see the window in front of him or even use his wings to fly.

The elf sighs in relief then he feels shame. The creature died by its own idiocy and all the elf did was run. He'd be a disgrace to his ancestors. He laments on how pussified he and his kind have become. How pussified the world has become. No longer a world of heroes and monsters. Just creatures trying to get by and pay the rent, mortgage and whatever debt they have. Even the Balrog he notices is pussified in its own way. The Balrog appears to be a juvenile one. It's not as big as it's ancestors before it. Only slightly bigger than a bear while it's ancestors would have towered over this office building. It also seemed very stupid while it's ancestors were much smarter and used weapons and cunning to kill their foes not just brute strength. This juvenile Balrog has devolved into a pathetic caricature of his ancestors.

The elf laments this is what life is now? Just mediocrity and patheticness. He stares at the moon and his thoughts go silent. He feels some comfort and his eyes close as his head drops hanging over the building. His body falls into the bushes that cushion his blow. He finally has earned his rest.

The elf wakes up in a hospital room. He sees flowers on a table to his right next to the window. To his left the door and a table with some food. To his front a tv with nothing on it. A doctor and nurse enter the room to greet the elf. The nurse is a young human woman in her mid 20's. The head doctor an older elf, old enough to be his father tells him, "You are lucky to be alive son. You're body was so bruised and broken we thought you'd die of exhaustion. You're muscles were overstretched so much it looked like the sinews would tear. Thankfully, one of your coworkers found you and called an ambulance. You've been here for a month now recovering."

The elf barely takes it all in but he can get the jist of what the doctor is saying. The elf asks the doctor, "How long do I stay here for?". The doctor replies, "Probably another month, we will have to put you through physical therapy." The elf impotently accepts his fate. The doctor and nurse leave. The elf tries to take in his surroundings.

The door opens and the elf's boss enters the room. He greets the elf, "Hey champ how're you doing? We heard what happened and saw you and the dead Balrog in the parking lot in the morning. After we called the ambulance to pick you up we inspected the building. We went to the old fire escape stair way in the back of the building and saw where the Balrog came form. We hired an exterminator to look and he revealed there was a Balrog infestation at the bottom of the stairwell. They expanded their nest from underground to the bottom of the stairwell. So the building is closed until the exterminator can eradicate them all. He and his crew are dwarves so they got experience with this kind of thing. This should last a few months so everyone who can is remote working. The rest are on furlough. But by the time you recover the infestation should be exterminated and we can all go back to work. Hope you have a speedy recovery pal." The boss leaves and the elf is lies in his bed just absorbing this all in. He stares at the ceiling unsure of his life at this point.

He stares in silence at the ceiling. He just stares at the white ceiling tiles pock marked with little random indentations. There is no pattern at all to them. He just stares and lowers his head back to his front. He looks at the blank tv in front of him and sees himself. His neck is in a cast, his face is bandaged, primarily his cheeks. His arms and legs are in casts and lifted to ease the pain. One of his ears is bandaged while the other has scabs from some cuts he got in his ordeal. He's unsure of what to do now with his life after all of this. He then decides to go to sleep.

I hope this answers your question anon.

#elf piss #anon #my story #answering questions #elf piss copypasta #elf #balrog #personal #story #story idea #fantasy #human #dwarves #dwarf

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tiny-smallest · 4 years ago

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day one - cake

Rating: G Characters: Henry, Alice via text Warnings: none Description: Henry acts on a personal belief that birthdays are sacred and tries something new: to bake a cake for Bendy’s second birthday since the studio now that he can afford to do that.

But can he get past his own anxieties at making the perfect cake?

Also on AO3!

----

Birthdays were a big deal.

Most people would agree with that but Henry felt something especially... emotional about birthdays he wasn't sure was normal for other people. There was something about the gesture of celebration for another year of life that was special. Big. Important. Something that deserved attention and very particular care and attention to detail.

He remembered, once, his mother teaching him how to wrap presents- his father's birthday was the next morning and she'd only found the gift she'd wanted for him that day, or something like that. He'd come to see what she was doing in her garden shed so late at night and found her wrapping, and rather than shoo him to bed she smiled at him and asked if he wanted to do a big boy thing, but he'd have to keep a secret.

There were precious few memories of such moments left but he did remember the conspiratorial whispers, the feeling of the heavy paper against his little hands, and the fact that her eyes had been twinkling more than he remembered an image of that fact. She put him back to bed and kissed him goodnight after that.

In hindsight he was pretty sure he'd done an awful job but she didn't say anything about it.

Remembering that incident made the specific emotion he attached to birthdays feel ever more right. Birthdays were important. They celebrated lives- another year here, together, with the people you loved, growing and learning. Birthdays were love.

Everything had to be perfect.

It was with this thought that he rolled up his sleeves to bake his first cake.

Bendy's first birthday after the studio, after everything, was even bigger and more important to acknowledge than any year before, but they were drowning in poverty. Henry was a poor mechanic who made just enough money to live now suddenly with three more mouths to feed and the results were predictably disastrous despite his best efforts. Bendy's birthday passed with Henry out of the house from the crack of dawn until long after the sun had set, their only time for celebration the span of a couple hours after he returned home, where they ate rice for dinner and a tiny cake Henry bought on the way home that he couldn't afford but decided he could eat a little less in the coming days so he could provide it anyway.

But now, the following year, with the toons out in the open and their stage show so wildly successful, it was time to make up for that. For all the years Ben suffered alone in that nightmarish hellscape. For the years before that, as Joey shifted from the fun-loving, goofy caretaker to the monstrous puppetmaster they all knew him to be now.

He could buy a cake. A good cake. He could have his pick of any bakery in Spectrum City, even the fancy ones.

But none of those were good enough.

Henry was going to make Bendy a cake this year.

He kept the cookbook propped open against the wall as he surveyed the ingredients. Dark chocolate, check. Unsalted butter, check. Cocoa powder, milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract, cake flower, sugar. Whipping cream. Check, check, infinite checks.

He grabbed the cutting board and laid the block of chocolate on it as he began to dice. It was a little more difficult than dicing vegetables, but not so much. He poured the diced chocolate into a bowl, which he set in a pot of near-boiling water and dumped the butter in after.

It didn't take long to melt but he still found himself watching anxiously. Calm down Henry. It's going to melt. That's how heat works.

Once it was becoming goop he went to stir it and froze.

For a moment the rich, dark brown was the void-black of Ink.

It wasn't until he heard the clatter of the wooden spoon hitting the tiles that he realized he'd dropped it. With a huff of derision he bent down and picked it up, knees screaming at him--that's what he got for spending so much time on his knees yesterday in the garden--and hesitating despite himself before turning lifting his head to look at the glass bowl.

Dark brown. Not black. Not Ink.

He sighed and went to stir before stopping. No, he dropped this on the floor. He had to wash it first. Shit. The chocolate needed to be stirred. If he left it any longer it'd melt unevenly or burn-

He cut the voice in his head off by lifting the bowl from the water. Shit. Shit shit shit. The recipe didn't say what to do if you were an idiot and dropped a spoon and-

He had other spoons.

Cursing himself quiet liberally now, careful to keep his voice quiet, he threw the spoon in the sink and grabbed another from the drawer, setting the bowl back and giving it a good stirring. The lumps smoothed themselves out soon enough. He was lucky he had more than one wooden spoon.

I've cooked a whole Christmas dinner but I'm all wigged out by one little cake? he groaned to himself as he pulled the bowl off to dump the cocoa powder in.

Well I was just as wigged out by the Christmas dinner. And Thanksgiving before it. And-

Ohmygodpleasestop.

He picked up his whisk and stirred the powder into the chocolate. Ben. Ben was the focus of today. Take it off of yourself. Think of your son.

Think of how absolutely fuck wild he's gonna be once he consumes this cake. Oh dear god this is so much chocolate.

The image of his face when he bit into this fudge was enough to make him snicker. Okay, we might need an exorcist, but at least it's gonna be funny before then.

He poured the milk in. Resumed stirring.

Ben should stay occupied with his siblings and friends until this got done. He hoped. Bendy was nothing if not the kind of person to upend any and all plans he came into contact with, knowingly or unknowingly. Alice and Boris were tasked with keeping him busy all day and he grinned at knowing what lengths they might've resorted to in order to keep his attention without attracting his suspicion. As long as it didn't involve property damage, it was all good.

But it'd probably involve pie. A lot of lemon meringue. Maybe a few dares and taunts. Definitely some very loud sound effects. Henry imagined if they ventured into non-toon areas that the humans would send him complaints about bike horns and car honks. Some would be about the noise. Others would be about what the noises meant.

Eggs. He set the whisk down and grabbed the carton of eggs, moving to another bowl and getting out the item that would help him separate the whites from the yolks. He set it up and cracked an egg into it, watching the whites drip through.

Hah. As if the fact that the language was censored via the noises meant nothing. Some people just lived to clutch their pearls. It was always the ones who didn't know how to have fun once in awhile.

But today was all about Bendy's fun, and Henry would have a few, choice, uncensored words if anyone actually ruined that, thank you very much.

Yolks and whites separated. He added the required amounts of sugar and vanilla extract into the bowl with the yolks and dumped them all into the chocolate batter, attacking it with his whisk.

It was too quiet. He pulled out his phone, dialed the volume up, picked music. "Nobody's home to bother with it," he said. His voice sounded strange in the empty kitchen, and maybe a bit uncomfortable, but he wasn't alone. "Well, I'm alone right now, but I'm not alone-alone."

Not anymore.

He returned to the whisk.

"This is good. This is going well. It's going to go just fine, and he's going to love it. I picked out red striped candles and I'm going to have to restrain myself from adding thirty of them as a joke because I don't know exactly what's going on with his aging but he's definitely not thirty and I don't want to waste all those candles even if watching him pout would be funny."

Silence.

"Also it means we'd have to pick them off the cake before anybody got any and that part wouldn't be very fun."

He'd stirred this long enough, right? Probably. He looked at the cookbook and felt a trill of panic run through him. Where was he again-!

Oh, right, there. "Cake flour."

Cake flour added, shaken through the strainer. "To get lumps out," Henry guessed as he scraped the bottom of the strainer with a clean spatula. He stirred the flour in.

"Okay. Egg whites next," he said as he grabbed the mixer. There was going to be so much shit to clean up. This wasn't even counting his birthday dinner-

Oh wait they were going out to eat for that. "Wonder what place he picked," he murmured as he turned the whisk on, watching the egg whites turn from clear to a sort of... yellow with bubbles in it.

"Is... is that right?"

You have no idea what you're doing. You're never going to make it as magical as you should; you never did, not with any of them, not with Harry or Sammy or Joey or the toons before Joey kicked-

"Shut up," he mumbled as he set the mixer down carefully near the sink and consulted the book so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Okay. That was right. He added the sugar next.

The rest of this process was something of autopilot. Add some sugar, mixer. Add sugar, mixer. He stopped when all the sugar was added and the egg whites now looked like light and fluffy icing, which was the point of this whole thing.

He almost said 'I did it' and stopped. No, that was just asking for something to go wrong. Reel that thought in until later, when he was actually done.

He scooped the meringue into the bowl in two installments and mixed them carefully in. "There's something kind of nice in mixing. Something... methodical. Comforting. I kind of like this," he mused as he poured the batter into the paper-lined baking tin. "I'll like it more once I know I'm doing this right, though."

Oh no, now there was nothing to do but wait until it was done, huh. He set three timers before he was anywhere near satisfied and left the kitchen.

This was the worst part, he decided later when he dropped the pen he was doodling aimlessly with and ran for the oven. He discovered that was wrong when he realized he had yet more waiting to do, because it needed to be cooled and then chilled.

He checked his phone after putting the cake in the refrigerator. Still no texts. Was that a good thing? "Both of them would text me if something went wrong. One of them would remember- oh but if they've resorted to pie throwing maybe not..." Meringue and electronics didn't mix well.

Meringue. Mix. Hah.

He returned to the living room to doodle after setting another timer for twenty minutes. That should be long enough right?

It took way longer for this step than he would've liked but once it was done the last part was mercifully simple. Just take the last of the chocolate, melt it in a glass container with some whipping cream in the microwave, and pour it over.

His phone buzzed. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat as he pawed for it, nearly dropped the glass.

It was Alice.

I'd like to inform you Bendy is no longer the Great Pie Conqueror.

Henry snorted so hard he almost choked as his heart settled. He poured the chocolate over the cake as he typed with one thumb.

Will a cake console the dear general?

He may be too far gone. Give it to me instead. c:

Absolutely not, angel. :I

Worth a try.

It's not like you won't get some! That's how birthdays work.

This is true. But if your baking is half as good as your cooking, can you really blame me for wanting the whole thing?

His face went hot. You flatter me. ^^;

You know me. I don't like liars.

A memory so sharp in its intensity it could cut him in two almost split the happy scene, but the phone buzzing against his hand pulled him back.

Also we're on our way home so soon I get to tell you in person over and over, until you die.

It took a moment before he realized the weak chuckle in the room was his. No fair. That's going to turn into a three v one and you know it.

Then I suppose you'll just have to admit defeat, won't you. :p

You're lucky I can't pull magic pies from nowhere.

Pieing me for speaking truth! I thought fathers were supposed to set a good example! Oh the humanity! Won't someone please think of the children!

Okay okay, stop buzzing my phone repeatedly you devil in disguise. Come get a taste of this cake.

I just want to say first: Thank you. For all of this.

Henry paused.

I mean it. It means a lot to us. It means a lot to him already, and he doesn't even know you spent the last several hours personally baking his cake for him. Even if this cake is a total disaster, it's going to mean the world to him. To us. Thank you, Daddy.

He bit his lip, tapped his foot against the floor, and glanced away. Shaking thumbs returned a message, the only thing rattling around in his head.

I love you.

Maybe perfect wasn’t in the outcome of the cake, after all.

Phone buzz. He checked it through the blur of his tears.

Also we’re covered in pie goo who wants a hug.

... You know what I change my mind I’m eating this whole cake myself.

#the ink demonth #the ink demonth 2020 #henry stein #batim henry #batim henry stein #alice angel #batim alice #batim alice angel #strike up the band au #my writing

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samanthasroberts · 6 years ago

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The best food they ate in 2015

Kebabs in Istanbul, sea urchins in County Cork, a sensational lobster pasta in London: top chefs and food writers share their favourite meals this year

Ã‡iya Sofrasi and KadikÃ¶y market, Istanbul

RenÃ© Redzepi Chef-patron, Noma, Copenhagen

Walking through KadikÃ¶y market in Istanbul you see dried aubergines hanging from stalls, dried chilli peppers and fresh dÃ¼rÃ¼m, and Turkish tea being poured all throughout. You hear street merchants calling out their catch of the day, maybe a bag of sardines, turbot from the Black Sea or a kilo of mussels. I was there en route to Ã‡iya, in the heart of this picturesque market. Ã‡iya to me embodies the perfect restaurant: full of tradition but not afraid of innovating, with a generous and welcoming space. The meal is a cornucopia of all there is to offer from Anatolia lamb stewed with dried cherries, chopped parsley with vinegar, rice cooked with raisins and fistfuls of whole spices… I would happily put myself on a plane just to go and have lunch there on a beautiful spring day.

Pickled herring platter at Russ & Daughters, New York

Yotam Ottolenghi Chef and food writer

It was a platter of pickled herring fillets with three sauce options on the side cream, mustard and curry along with schmaltz herring fillets and then matjes herring fillets. In the centre were pickled onions, roll mops and a beet and herring salad. I had it for breakfast, around 11am, and it left a sweet (albeit fishy) taste in my mouth for the next few days.

I love the cafe, which opened last year and is strongly modelled on the long-established store. Sardines, chubs, rugelach, pickles, boxes of matzo, halva sold by the block, rye bread to blow your socks off, Bloody Marys: these are the flavours which define New York for me.

IdiazÃ¡bal cheese, Urbia mountains, Spain

Elena Arzak Chef-patron, Arzak, San SebastiÃ¡n

This spring I made an idiazÃ¡bal cheese with a shepherd in the Urbia mountains in the Basque country. We used natural rennet which the shepherd made from the stomach of a latxa lamb. When I went to pick my cheese up this autumn (after the ageing process) it had all the rich true flavour of the milk, but you could also sense the environment in which the mother had grazed. I could close my eyes and imagine myself on that windswept mountain top. The fact I made it heightened the flavour. I ate it with my family, either by itself or with walnuts, quince jelly and apple jelly.

Dashi-simmered asparagus, tofu and egg at Koya, London

Sarit Packer and Itamar Srulovich Chef-owners, Honey & Co, London

We went to Koya a couple of days before it closed and had an amazing goodbye meal. The asparagus and tofu dish was so delicious, we ordered another for dessert. It had those really fat English asparagus, blanched and chargrilled, with tofu, bonito flakes and a dashi broth. It was so nicely balanced and full of flavour. The next day, Itamar went back with our head chef to eat it all over again. The food in those last days of Koya felt very organic, more like dishes Junya [Yamasaki, the head chef] would make at home than normal restaurant stuff.

Sea urchins from County Cork

Jacob Kenedy Chef-patron, Bocca di Lupo, London

From now until February or March, you can get amazing sea urchins from Ireland. I had my first one last week and it was mindbogglingly good. You can get warm-water sea urchins, which tend to be bigger and more impressive-looking, all year round, but they are much less intensely flavoured. The Irish ones mine came from John Chamberlain in Dunmanus Bay, Co Cork have an enveloping fishy flavour. Theyre wonderful stirred through pasta or with sushi, but I prefer them on their own with just a tiny squeeze of lemon. You slice them open, clean out the gunky stuff, rinse them in sea water and scoop out the eggs with a teaspoon. It makes you realise how amazing nature is, and how little we should mess with our food.

Sea-salt ice cream in Dingle, County Kerry

James Jocky Petrie Group executive development chef, Gordon Ramsay Group

In Dingle this summer, during a chowder competition with lots of Guinness and live music, I tried a sea-salt ice cream at Murphys. It was one of those things that makes you go, damn, why didnt I think of that? Everyone loves salted caramel, but this is different: just plain ice cream with sea salt. It sounds odd but it really works: the sweetness of the sugar balances the salty character. Its almost savoury but not quite its just a sweet salt. People come from miles around to eat this ice cream.

Lamb kÃ¶fte at Sultanahmet KÃ¶ftecisi, Istanbul

Karam Sethi Chef-patron, Gymkhana, Trishna, London

I went to Istanbul for the first time this year and ate at a place called Sultanahmet KÃ¶ftecisi. After visiting the Blue Mosque nearby, we saw the big queue outside and decided to find out what was going on. They specialise in lamb kÃ¶ftes grilled very simply over charcoal and served with bread, pickled chillies and their house chilli paste. We ordered one and ended up having six. Its tough to find something so succulent and juicy and flavourful. I think its down to the quality and fat content of the meat, and that they serve them hot off the grill, so you can still taste the charcoal. Theyve mastered the recipe over years and years. Its the ultimate kebab.

Yuzu ramen at Afuri, Tokyo. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Yuzu ramen at Afuri, Tokyo

Brett Redman Chef-owner, The Richmond, Elliots, Jidori, London

On a research visit to Tokyo at the start of the year, I had a yuzu shio-ramen at a place called Afuri in the basement of a shopping centre in Roppongi Hills. Im not an aficionado but it was the best ramen Ive ever had. They make it with chicken stock, which makes it much lighter than the rich, milky tonkotsu ramen were used to in London. The addition of fresh yuzu is ingenious: the intensity and fragrance of yuzu peel blasts all the way through the stock. It left my head spinning: how do you get so much flavour into this bowl?

Khao chae at Lai Rod, Bangkok

Fuchsia Dunlop Food writer

I was going to recommend a meal at the Dragon Well Manor restaurant in Hangzhou every time I go there its the best meal of the year but then I had something totally amazing today in Bangkok. I was in Thailand for the first time and the food blogger The Skinny Bib recommended I go to an old-school Thai restaurant called Lai Rod. The standout from quite a long lunch was a dish called khao chae: grains of rice in iced water with flower petals, perfumed with candle smoke. It was served with a platter of deep-fried relishes green chilli stuffed with pork, fish floss flavoured with coconut, caramelised beef and some salted radish with a little egg yolk and beautifully cut pieces of green mango, cucumber and a crunchy yellow root with a remarkable taste. The combination of the sweet, salty and umami flavours from the relishes and the smoky, perfumed rice soup was a revelation.

Grilled shrimps at Sa Foradada, Mallorca

Tomos Parry Head chef, Kitty Fishers, London

I went to this fantastic cliffside restaurant this summer. The whole experience is pretty special: you park your car, jump over a fence (which stays closed to keep wild donkeys in) and walk for half an hour through fields with fig trees and goats. The trek is worth it for the food and the view youre looking out over the bay where they catch most of your dinner. I particularly liked the shrimp, cooked very simply over a grill with wood from the trees around the restaurant. A lot of the skill in grilling lies in restraint, and these shrimp were barely cooked, so you can still taste the sea without being overpowered by the wood.

Grilled shrimps at Sa Foradada, Mallorca. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Unpasteurised cream from Ottinge Court Farm, Kent

Stephen Harris Chef-patron, The Sportsman, Seasalter, Kent

Im slightly obsessed with dairy produce and this year Ive started buying unpasteurised cream from Ottinge Court Farm near Folkestone. We hadnt been able to get it at the restaurant for about five years because the testing required for unpasteurised milk has become prohibitively expensive for most farms. The difference is just incredible. The pasteurisation process wipes out all the interesting things. In this, I can taste a hint of flowers and a rosewater tone. Theres a slight dung-y taste, which some people find offputting but I really like. You know it has come from a cow as opposed to a goat or a sheep, because it smells a bit like when you get near cows. Ive been trying it out with a warm chocolate mousse and a tiny bit of salt and thats probably the best thing Ive tasted all year.

Iio Jozos fujisu vinegar, Japan

James Lowe Head chef, Lyles, London

In February I visited Iio Jozo, a vinegar-maker outside Kyoto which has been producing rice vinegar for 120 years. They oversee all the parts of the process themselves: they brew their own sake and have local farmers growing the organic rice for them. One thing they do is collect the sake lees the fermented rice left over after filtering and pile it into big wooden barrels to age for up to 10 years. It starts out as a white, pure-looking paste but by year ten its black like treacle. The vinegar he makes from it is incredible. He gave me a litre bottle and, at first, I tried to use it sparingly, but I ended up putting it on lots of things at the restaurant. It was gone within a week.

Pasta al forno at La Cantinetta, Barolo, Italy

Sam Harris Chef-patron, Zucca, London

Ive been eating at La Cantinetta since I started going to Piedmont 15 years ago its a very simple little trattoria run by two brothers but it was the first time Id had this dish. They ran it as a special and it was amazing a perfect baked pasta. Pasta al forno is basically lasagne, though the woman serving us insisted there was a difference. This one was quite firm and didnt collapse all over the plate, which is a good thing. There were loads of layers we counted about 15 and a very scant amount of bÃ©chamel and meat ragu, but just the right amount. The seasoning was bang on, it was really crisp on the top. Ive had millions of lasagnes over the years, but this blew my head off.

Ochazuke at Ishikawa, Tokyo

Isaac McHale Head chef, the Clove Club, London

Ochazuke is a dish of rice, a few bits to sprinkle on top seaweed, toasted things, salmon eggs, shiso, whatever you have with green tea or dashi poured over it, a Japanese late-night fridge buffet. The fresh rice, the cornerstone of a Japanese meal, was a revelation. It was fragrant, just chewy, almost al dente and made me really pay attention to the rice for the rest of our trip. Ive been reading about ochazuke in Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art for 18 years and dreaming of a Scottish version, with Assam tea and pheasant broth over barley. To be served one in one of the best restaurants in Japan, made my heart sing.

Porcini in Tuscany

Ruth Rogers Chef and co-founder, the River CafÃ©, London

The family, around 20 of us, go to Tuscany every summer, near Monte Amiata. This year we were there when the first porcini were found. Our gardener brought them for us as a surprise, then I roasted them whole with a bit of garlic and thyme, two hours after they were picked. We put them in the oven for a long time, almost an hour, then ate them with nothing else on the plate. It was the setting as much as the flavour; all of us being there together, the excitement of them arriving. It was late August, so it felt like a farewell to summer and the beginning of autumn.

Lobster pasta at Hedone, London

Nathan Outlaw Chef-patron, Restaurant Nathan Outlaw, Port Isaac, Cornwall

A lot of people told me Hedone was good, but the lobster pasta was the best thing Ive ever eaten in England, and Ive eaten a lot of food in England. It wasnt so much the cooking as the ingredients. They kill all their seafood fresh to order and that makes all the difference. You dont get a menu. If you ask Mikael [Jonsson] for one, he says hell send it, but never does. But from what I can gather he took the coral from the lobster and put it into the bisque, which was slightly aerated. The pasta was just a flat sheet, almost like lasagna, and cooked perfectly. Its refreshing to see a chef sticking to his guns and cooking the best produce he can find. The British restaurant scene is much newer than in France or Spain or Italy, and I dont think weve scratched the surface of whats possible in our own country, with our own ingredients.

Sushi at Masa, New York

HÃ©lÃ¨ne Darroze Chef cuisiniÃ¨re, HÃ©lÃ¨ne Darroze at the Connaught, London

I was in New York with my chefs to cook a special dinner and we went to Masa. Its not the kind of place you can go every day its really expensive but it was an experience. You eat at the counter, and they make everything Ã la minute, right in front of you. The best thing was a piece where the chef took a kind of white membrane of the tuna not the the meat itself and wove it over a piece of rice into a piece of sushi. The rice was a little warm. It was so surprising: very smooth to eat but then the flavour of the tuna was like an explosion in the mouth. Just incredible.

Sushi at Masa, New York. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Pizza at Mission Chinese, New York

Lee Tiernan Chef-owner, Black Axe Mangal, London

I was scared about opening our new restaurant, and Danny Bowien invited me over to spend a few days at Mission Chinese in New York. I always feel calm around Danny. He has a lot on his plate but he just deals with it. The best thing I ate was a cheese and tomato pizza with mapo tofu on top, cooked in their wood oven. The base is made to a Tartine bread recipe, then the tofu is just rolled around on top. Its quite unusual to have a cheese and tomato DOP pizza on a Chinese restaurant menu, but nothings going to stop those guys doing what they want. I think about that pizza every day. I wish I was eating it right now, in fact.

Roast lamb in Segovia, Spain

Nieves BarragÃ¡n Executive chef, Barrafina, London

When I went to Segovia, one hour north of Madrid, I went to JosÃ© MarÃa, a family place where they make the best roast mixed lamb on the wood fire. There were six of us; it was a four-hour lunch. We had two things: the lamb, which came with roast kidneys, and the suckling pig, with amazing roast potatoes and grilled peppers on the side. It was stunning: juicy, crisp It sounds quite English, but the centre of Spain is like this, its very traditional all roasts. Their oven is huge, so beautiful half the size of Barrafina. I would love to have something like that in London.

Tarte tatin in Lamotte-Beuvron, France

Shuko Oda Head chef, Koya Bar, London

We visited Lamotte-Beuvron, an hour or two from Paris, where tarte tatin is originally from. We went to the local bakery and bought the tarte tatin there. I dont normally have a sweet tooth but it was absolutely beautiful. It was a nothing-special-but-everything-about-it-was-special type of thing.

Goats curd mousse at Lyles, London

Anissa Helou Food writer

Lyles has been my favourite restaurant more or less since it opened, and a few months ago I took two young Qatari friends for dinner as I wanted them to taste James Lowes cooking. It was a perfect meal, ending with an amazing goats curd mousse. It was sensational: a little bowl with the mousse on the bottom, covered by an apple granita made with estivale apples and sorrel. The apples werent peeled so the flavour was incredibly intense but not too sweet. And then there was this beautiful crunchy cracker a very, very thin sheet made with apple, sugar and star anise. The textures were incredible: creamy, icy and then crackly. My friends loved it.

Pizza at Gjusta, Los Angeles

Claire Ptak Owner, Violet Bakery, London

The thing thats really been on my mind is this pizza we had in Los Angeles at Gjusta [a bakery and cafÃ©]. It was one of the best, most perfectly seasoned, chewy, crunchy, doughy things Ive ever eaten. Ive been dreaming about it. Its more like pizza bianca that you get in Rome, but thinner. They make it in big rectangular sheet pans. Really salty and oily, and stretched out. The one we ate had tomatoes, red onion, little bits of ricotta, an egg, and just oil and salt. It was transcendent.

Pizza at Gjusta, Los Angeles. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Grouse from Scotland

Blanche Vaughan Cook and food writer

I was standing on a moor in mid-September just when the heather is in flower and I shot a grouse. I plucked it myself, wrapped it up and took it back on the train. Its a nice thing to be able to cook for other people. I made a recipe I learned at the River CafÃ©: you make a bruschetta with roast tomatoes on top, slosh in red wine so it soaks into the bread, then you brown the bird and roast it on top of the bruschetta so all the juices seep in.

Burger at the Four Seasons, New York

Fergus Henderson Co-owner, St John, London

A perfect burger at the Four Seasons bar in the Seagram Building in New York. I had a dry martini, which is a good way to start lunch, and a very nice pinot noir to wash it down. A real treat. It was a classic burger but its the setting: its a beautiful room, a special place. They have chainmail on the windows, which shimmers. The bar has amazing spikes hanging above it, so everything they serve could be the last thing you ever eat or drink before a spike runs you through, which adds a certain twist to the whole thing.

Grilled cauliflower at Hearth, New York

Jasmine and Melissa Hemsley Cookery writers

In September we went to Hearth in New York. They offered us a seat at the chefs pass (directly in front of the kitchen), where we enjoyed the most incredible six-course tasting menu right at the heart of all the action. The atmosphere was electric, the food was incredible the grilled cauliflower with sunflower seeds and capers, and grilled beef neck were especially memorable and typical of chef Marco Canoras food philosophy. His rustic, home-style cooking champions seasonal produce, nose-to-tail eating and a waste not, want not attitude.

Spaghettoni at Ristorante Lido 84, Lake Garda, Italy

Andrea Petrini Food writer, founder of Gelinaz!

Spaghettoni at Ristorante Lido 84, Lake Garda, Italy. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Its simple almost provocatively simple. Spaghettoni [thick spaghetti], butter and beer yeast. When it comes to the table its almost monochrome between pure white and lightly brown-ish in colour. The title of the dish may be simple, but of course its not just one butter, but a blend of three, and the beer has been spread out and cooked in the oven on a very gentle temperature until it solidifies. You have totally al dente spaghetti, the very savoury, milky presence of the butter, the suggestion of the crunchiness of the yeast that adds a dose of acidity, and a gently insinuating touch of caramelisation. Its immediately recognisable comfort food that also pushes the boundaries. Its an instant classic, something I fear the chef, Riccardo Camanini, will have on his shoulders for many years to come. You cannot add anything else, because you would destroy the balance, the subtle dialogue between these three major ingredients. And if you take something out, it falls apart. For me, thats the definition of a dish, or a piece of art. You eat it in three bites, but it stays with you for a really long time.

Porra de naranja at Arte de Cozina, MÃ¡laga, Spain

Samantha Clark Chef and co-owner, Moro, Morito, London

We have a house near Granada and we decided to do a detour and fly into MÃ¡laga to try a restaurant, Arte de Cozina, that one of our chefs had told us about. The standout dishes were porra de naranja and kids sweetbreads. Porras are the precursors to gazpachos but made with fewer ingredients sometimes just bread or dried fava beans, garlic, olive oil and water. This one was scented with orange. The texture was smooth and creamy, the flavour subtle with orange, a fruity olive oil and perhaps a touch of vinegar. Topped with chopped almonds for crunch and salty jamÃ³n to balance the sweetness, it was nectar.

Adidas nigiri at Sawada, Tokyo

Enrique Olvera Chef-patron, Pujol, Mexico City

Sawada is a tiny two-Michelin-star sushi bar with only six chairs, where the owner, Koji Sawada, and his wife are the only ones taking care of every aspect of the entire omakase. It was a tuna fish nigiri, but a totally different cut, between the chutoro (belly area) and the otoro, with so much fat it actually melted in your mouth. It was named by Sawada as the three lines of fat form an Adidas appearance, like the three lines of the sport brand. The thing that inspired me the most was to see Sawada doing such an unusual thing but with so much respect for his culture. Innovating from tradition, applying a subtle change or improvement. You can still do new things that honour your roots.

Bonnat Madagascar chocolate bar

David Williams The Observer wine writer

As someone with expensive tastes in wine and whisky (professional hazard) and cheese (just plain greed), Ive been wary of developing an addiction to posh bean to bar chocolate. The chocolate penny finally dropped with a bar made by French artisans Bonnat from beans sourced in Madagascar. A light, fruity, elegant creamy style described as the pinot noir of chocolate, it had me using words Id usually reserve for wine: balance, texture, and most of all, length (the taste lasted for minutes).

Buttermilk chicken at the Clove Club, London

Thomasina Miers Wahaca founder, cookery writer

For my mothers birthday at the end of January we took her to the Clove Club. They blew us away with the food. We had the buttermilk chicken, consommÃ© and 100-year-old madeira, and an Orkney scallop and orange dish that was so light. Its exceptional how much they make from scratch: the charcuterie, the butter, the bread My mother was blown away. Her eyes were shining like a seven-year-olds at Christmas.

JamÃ³n from Barcelona

Angela Hartnett Chef-patron, Murano, Cafe Murano

I bought a jamÃ³n from Joan La Llar del Pernil, brought it back to London and had a jamÃ³n party in my garden. I invited Nieves [BarragÃ¡n] and JosÃ© [Pizzaro] over, and some of my chefs; I thought Id get everyone round at 2pm and theyd be gone by 8pm, but, of course, everyone was there until two in the morning. Weve since gone back to Barcelona and bought another jamÃ³n.

Squat lobster from the Firth of Clyde

Ben Reade Co-founder, Edinburgh Food Studio, Edinburgh

The most delicious thing I ate this year was a surprise gift of squat lobsters from a fisherman on the Firth of the Clyde called Ian Wightman. Id ordered a load of langoustines [for a festival I was cooking at in North Ayrshire] and he gave us these as a bonus. We cooked them up the top of a glen over an oak fire, with white wine, butter and some nutmeg. They are one of the sweetest, most delicious meats ever, but not many people use them in fact, most fishermen throw them back because theyre so small and they have horrible shells that cut into your fingers when youre opening them. But theyre really worth the hassle, and the less you do when youre cooking them the better.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/the-best-food-they-ate-in-2015/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2019/03/24/the-best-food-they-ate-in-2015/

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allofbeercom · 6 years ago

Text

The best food they ate in 2015

Kebabs in Istanbul, sea urchins in County Cork, a sensational lobster pasta in London: top chefs and food writers share their favourite meals this year

Ã‡iya Sofrasi and KadikÃ¶y market, Istanbul

Pickled herring platter at Russ & Daughters, New York

Yotam Ottolenghi Chef and food writer

IdiazÃ¡bal cheese, Urbia mountains, Spain

Elena Arzak Chef-patron, Arzak, San SebastiÃ¡n

Dashi-simmered asparagus, tofu and egg at Koya, London

Sarit Packer and Itamar Srulovich Chef-owners, Honey & Co, London

Sea urchins from County Cork

Jacob Kenedy Chef-patron, Bocca di Lupo, London

Sea-salt ice cream in Dingle, County Kerry

James Jocky Petrie Group executive development chef, Gordon Ramsay Group

Lamb kÃ¶fte at Sultanahmet KÃ¶ftecisi, Istanbul

Karam Sethi Chef-patron, Gymkhana, Trishna, London

Yuzu ramen at Afuri, Tokyo. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Yuzu ramen at Afuri, Tokyo

Brett Redman Chef-owner, The Richmond, Elliots, Jidori, London

Khao chae at Lai Rod, Bangkok

Fuchsia Dunlop Food writer

Grilled shrimps at Sa Foradada, Mallorca

Tomos Parry Head chef, Kitty Fishers, London

Grilled shrimps at Sa Foradada, Mallorca. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Unpasteurised cream from Ottinge Court Farm, Kent

Stephen Harris Chef-patron, The Sportsman, Seasalter, Kent

Iio Jozos fujisu vinegar, Japan

James Lowe Head chef, Lyles, London

Pasta al forno at La Cantinetta, Barolo, Italy

Sam Harris Chef-patron, Zucca, London

Ochazuke at Ishikawa, Tokyo

Isaac McHale Head chef, the Clove Club, London

Porcini in Tuscany

Lobster pasta at Hedone, London

Nathan Outlaw Chef-patron, Restaurant Nathan Outlaw, Port Isaac, Cornwall

Sushi at Masa, New York

Sushi at Masa, New York. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Pizza at Mission Chinese, New York

Lee Tiernan Chef-owner, Black Axe Mangal, London

Roast lamb in Segovia, Spain

Nieves BarragÃ¡n Executive chef, Barrafina, London

Tarte tatin in Lamotte-Beuvron, France

Shuko Oda Head chef, Koya Bar, London

Goats curd mousse at Lyles, London

Anissa Helou Food writer

Pizza at Gjusta, Los Angeles

Claire Ptak Owner, Violet Bakery, London

Pizza at Gjusta, Los Angeles. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Grouse from Scotland

Blanche Vaughan Cook and food writer

Burger at the Four Seasons, New York

Fergus Henderson Co-owner, St John, London

Grilled cauliflower at Hearth, New York

Jasmine and Melissa Hemsley Cookery writers

Spaghettoni at Ristorante Lido 84, Lake Garda, Italy

Andrea Petrini Food writer, founder of Gelinaz!

Spaghettoni at Ristorante Lido 84, Lake Garda, Italy. Illustration: Nick Shepherd

Porra de naranja at Arte de Cozina, MÃ¡laga, Spain

Samantha Clark Chef and co-owner, Moro, Morito, London

Adidas nigiri at Sawada, Tokyo

Enrique Olvera Chef-patron, Pujol, Mexico City

Bonnat Madagascar chocolate bar

David Williams The Observer wine writer

Buttermilk chicken at the Clove Club, London

Thomasina Miers Wahaca founder, cookery writer

JamÃ³n from Barcelona

Angela Hartnett Chef-patron, Murano, Cafe Murano

Squat lobster from the Firth of Clyde

Ben Reade Co-founder, Edinburgh Food Studio, Edinburgh

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-best-food-they-ate-in-2015/

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beatricedickson · 4 years ago

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#What Pills Can I Take To Grow Taller Portentous Tricks #How Do Increase Height

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