#unseasoned shepherd's pie

[cosmermaid]

God dammit am I going to have to apologize to my singular British friend for all the times I sassed his country's inability to cook? Cucumber sandwiches are British. Cucumbers aren't even British. I'm dead.

[rugessnome]

from a post discussing this:

Inspired by that poll coming for British food, have an alternative.

Shout-out to @sigh-the-kraken for suggesting American delicacies I wouldn't want to touch 👍

[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: III

Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 2,720

Content Warning: Not smut yet (apologies), references to SA, almost SA, violence, threats of violence, crime, weight talk, eating, belly admiration, cooking

Author's Notes:

Thank you for your patience, Friendos! I promise to make it up to you for missing a week.

Once again, a gigantic and orgasmic thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for contributing ideas, being a sounding board, essentially co-writing this chapter and beta'ing this. Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

And thank you to @theywhowriteandknowthings for their love and support.

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! 👌

Beefro’s Master List | Previous Chapter

--------<3---------

The next week went on like it had that first day. Will would come collect you, have you help him with bookkeeping and filing, provide lunch, and eventually deposit you back to your quarters. You had no further run ins with Pope or Frankie, but Benny would come sit with you if Will needed to step away. You were falling into a routine and making the best of it.

It was later in the afternoon, coming close to the time that Will would be telling you to wrap it up when Benny came into the office.

"Hey honey...”, he smiled at you, then quickly turned his attention to Will. “Fish’s sayin’ we’re needed.”

Will looked up at him, over his ledger he had resting in his lap on his crossed leg. “Needed?”

“Yeah. All hands on deck.”

Will swore under his breath and motioned at you. “And her?”

Benny looked at you with a nervous smile, then back to Will. “Fish wants to handle her.”

Both Will and Benny looked at you when your breath hitched in your throat. Your face and neck bloomed with a red blush, and you quickly averted your eyes back down to the stack of receipts for the bowling alley in front of you.

Will let out a soft huffing laugh and twirled his pencil in between his fingers as he watched you, and Benny looked you over sympathetically.

“Won’t have Benny here to help clean up your mess, honey.”, Will chuckled.

“He wants her in the kitchen.”, Benny added in a soft tone.

Will scoffed as he stood up. “Last thing he needs is that... Jesus...”

“Dude...”, Benny sighed, then turned to you. “Come on. I’ll help you get this put away then take you down.”

*****

After being taken to the kitchen and given a quick rundown of where everything was, Benny left you alone to sort out dinner. He gave no instructions other than to make ‘a lot’, and you assumed he meant enough for all four of the men.

Frankie had yet to arrive, but Benny had said he wouldn’t be too long. It didn’t matter. Your insides were churning; you were mentally preparing yourself for his intimidation. The way he hollered at you, the way his eyes sized you up, the way he stood so close but never touched you. You didn’t know if you were terrified of him or turned on by him... maybe it was both. Either way, you gave yourself a mental peptalk while you sorted through an old recipe book you found in the cupboard above the fridge.

Deciding that despite the unseasonably warm fall weather currently outside, you were going to make an autumnal favourite of yours – shepherd’s pie. You found all the ingredients you needed and a large casserole dish to assemble it in, and you got to work.

As you got started on peeling potatoes, you heard the door open and close, followed by heavy footsteps. You kept your back turned, wanting to seem aloof and unphased by him as long as you could manage, knowing the risk this would entail as it would either impress or enrage him.

After feeling his eyes boring into you for a few moments, you heard his footsteps move and a stool pull out. The metal stool squeaked and groaned under his weight as he sat on it, you felt his eyes on you again.

It was a battle of wills; who would break first?

After peeling and dicing the potatoes, putting them into a large pot on the stove, you began cutting up carrots and onions.

You felt his eyes on you the whole time and you refused to turn around. At this point, you would have preferred him to corner you and holler, intimidate you, make you call him Mr. Morales. Goddammit, you remembered how he looked at you when he told you want to call him - his voice pitching deeper, his eyes getting darker, his large frame dwarfing yours in more ways than one. Christ, you could feel your legs getting weak under you just thinking about it, and how he looked watching you. Were his eyes dark? Was his lip curled? Was he sitting back in the stool, resting his thick, veined arms over his middle, making his stomach more prominent, or was he leaning over the counter letting his belly hang?

But you were also nervous. What if he was glaring at you, eyes full of disdain? What if he was waiting for you to turn around so he could ridicule you, belittle you, make you feel insignificant? What if he decided you weren’t worth it and you were taking up precious space when you were of no use to him? What would he do with you? What would he do to you?

Your mind began to creep to dark places as you tried keeping your composure. Thinking about what he would do to you or what he could have someone else, like Pope, do to you made your hands tremble as your breathing became shaky. You prayed he didn’t notice, but you knew he would. He didn’t get to where he was by not being perceptive and he was watching you carefully.

Finally, after cooking the beef and other vegetables then mashing the potatoes, you could assemble the shepherd’s pie. The problem was that the casserole dish you wanted to use was on the counter directly in front of Frankie.

You debated looking for another dish but knew this was the only one that size based on when you found it in the first place. That, and where the dishes were stored still would have you facing him. You sighed to yourself and turned around.

Despite your attempt to keep your eyes aloof and away from his, as soon as you turned, you were met with Frankie looking right back at you. He was sitting forward leaning on the counter, eyes meeting yours, and his mouth in a neutral line. You must have kept his gaze for a beat too long because he raised his eyebrows in a question, but you quickly grabbed the dish and returned to your workstation.

Once you’d assembled the different layers, you put the dish in the oven and set the timer for 30 minutes. You could still feel his eyes on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, your hands on the counter in front of you, leaning forward.

Before you could do anything further you heard Frankie breathe out and then the stool creak as he lifted himself off it. His footsteps moved towards the barracks and the door closed behind him. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

****

You spent the 30 minutes the food was in the oven mindlessly cleaning the kitchen up – not just your mess, but the neglect this room had received from only being used and not cared for.

You weren’t quite done cleaning when the timer went off, but enough was done. As you pulled the casserole dish out of the oven you heard it: the door opening. Heavy foots step came towards the kitchen and you almost dropped the dish.

Placing the dish on the stove top, you refused to look up at him, instead looking for a serving utensil and a plate for him. You waited for the creak of the metal stool, but nothing came. After finding what you were looking for, you finally turned and found him standing at the door of the kitchen, watching you.

He looked down at the casserole dish then back at you; his eyes dragged up your body, lingering at your chest then back up to your face. He smirked and huffed a cold laugh, then moved towards the two-person table in the kitchen and sat down. It dawned on you that he was waiting for you to serve him, to bring him his dinner.

If it wasn’t for the fact that that having his full attention made you wet, you would have scoffed at his audacity. Instead, you plated a serving and brought the food to the table and placed it in front of him. As he picked up the fork and took a bite, you turned, heading back to the kitchen.

“Bring the rest.”

You jumped at his voice, then looked back at him, noting he’d consumed a good chuck of his food already.

“M – Mr. Morales… it’s dinner for every – “

"Fuck’em!”, he snarled. “They can have ramen. You feed me, honey.", he grunted as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

Your core grew hot, and your face flushed at his command. You grabbed the dish, brought it to the table and loaded up his plate again. Once his plate was loaded, he tugged you closer to him, pulling you onto the chair next to him. You felt your body catch on fire as his eyes raked over you again.  He let go of your wrist and picked up his fork to eat.

As he ate, he would periodically look up with a slight grin and make sure you were still seated and watching him, like he wanted you to know he was enjoying what you prepared for him.

“Tell me, honey…”, he said between mouthfuls. “Will being good to you?”

“He’s been decent. Quiet. Only speaks to me when he needs to.” You withheld telling him about the clear annoyance Will harbored against you, apparent in every glace he shot your way.

A small smile blooms on his face and he huffs a laugh. “Sounds about right.” He takes another bite and after he swallows it, he continues. “And Benny. He seems to be treating you good. Anyone else causing issues? Anyone touch you, honey?”

“Other than you? No.”, you said flatly, not realizing the mistake of your candor.

He looked up at you, fork suspended with a warning eyebrow raised at your tone. You felt yourself shrink under his stern gaze, and you couldn’t pry your eyes away from him.

“Sorry. I - I meant… no one other than you, Mr. Morales.” Your voice was small and pathetic, but under that glare, you had no other way of getting your voice out.

“That’s better, baby…”, he said in a lower voice, his eyes going back down to his plate of food as he took a mouthful. “Mind your manners with me. Last warning.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave you a small nod and ate a few more forkfuls in silence before talking again.

“You don’t have anything to say to me? No questions, honey?”

You stared at him, debating asking the question that you wake with and fall asleep to chanting in your mind. You didn’t want to anger him… or did you?

“How… How long am I going to… be here, Mr. Morales?”

He didn’t look up at you. Instead, he reached across the table for a napkin, and he wiped his face.

“You ready to leave so soon?”, he said with a smirk. When he saw that you were looking back at him nervously, he chuckled and licked his lips.

“Baby, you’re here until your brother’s debt is paid.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a finger to silence you.

“And how long that will be… not sure yet, honey.” He smiled and picked up his fork again.

*****

The casserole dish was empty, and you stared at his empty plate. Frankie sat back, toothpick in his mouth as he stifled a burp. He’d eaten the whole thing, and the swell of his stomach was proof. Swell was putting it mildly. His belly was pulling the buttons of his bowling shirt to the max, and his belt was digging into his waist.

He shifted with a wince in his chair, trying to get comfortable.  Taking that as your cue, you stood up and began to clear the dishes when he grabbed your wrist again.

“Honey… no.”, he said in an unnervingly soft voice. “No, sweetheart. That can wait. Benny’ll handle it.”

He released the grip, but kept his fingers on your arm, gently touching your skin. At the involuntary goosebumps he drew out of you under his touch, he gave you a lopsided grin while keeping eye contact. He then moved his hand down to adjust his belt, even though it didn't budge under the weight of his belly. You watched his big hand wiggle the belt and adjust himself over his worn jeans.

“Need your help, honey.” He spoke in that unnervingly quiet voice.

“Yes, Mr. Morales?”

He chuckled and gave you a menacing grin. “Help me to my room, baby.”

Your blood froze in your veins. Despite how hot he made you, you didn’t want this. Not like this. You hesitated.

The grip on your wrist returned, even firmer; his large hands enveloping your arm. An ounce more of pressure and he could probably snap your wrist, no issue, and you looked at him, eyes wide and breath quick. His eyes darted to your heaving chest then back to your face, and his eyebrow, once again, raised in warning.

Maybe this was part of the debt you were paying for your brother. Letting this goliath of a man turn you into a hole he can abuse at his leisure. Your mind raced, and you worried that you’d underestimated Frankie and what he was truly capable of doing to you with no repercussions.

You nodded quickly, feeling your body begin to tremble. His glare never broke from you, but his hold relaxed. He gave you a curt nod and put his hand on the table to steady himself as he used his grip on you to hoist himself out of the chair. If you thought his belly was impressive before he ate, you were astounded at it now that it was full. A dinner for four full-grown men sat heavy in his middle, and his shirt pulled tight across it. He groaned once he stood up and pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and encasing you against his side.

“That was good, honey. Shit… you might actually be useful.”, he grunted as you walked with him to the door to the barracks.

Once in the hallway, you tried to put some distance, even a fraction more, between you and Frankie, but he held you firm against his side. His body pressed against yours as he unrelentingly guided you towards his room. His scent was overwhelming you; sandalwood, clean laundry, his natural musk all rolled together and forcing itself into your memory banks. Your body once again trembled, but also were losing your resolve to fight this. Your mind reeled at the seesaw of wanting and not wanting what he was going to do to you.

As you approached his door, he stopped at yours and opened it. You stood next to him, not sure what to do. He moved around to face you, keeping a grip on your shoulder.

“Just too fucking pretty…”, he crooned lowly to himself, his free hand coming up to gently touch your jaw.

You were staring right into his eyes and suddenly, any and all softness and warmth disappeared, replaced by a cold, hard, menacing stare. He gripped your jaw hard.

“You ever hesitate when I tell you to do something again, I’ll fuck that pretty mouth yours till your teeth break. Is that understood?”

Your breath came out in short, labored pants through your nose, and you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Say it.”, he growled.

“I… I w-won’t hes - hesitate again, Mr. Mor-Morales.”, you sputtered out, whole body shaking.

He huffed and tightened his jaw. Eyeing you one more time before shoving you into your room and slamming the door.

You stumbled in and heard his door open and slam as you stood in the dark of your room alone. You listened and heard the dampened sounds of him grunting and groaning as he flopped hard onto his bed.

You didn’t even bother turning your lights on as you crawled into your bed. You fucked yourself with your fingers, his furious “Mind your manners with me” playing over and over until you came, biting on your pillow to muffle your whimpers and you calling out his name.

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TAGLIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @toxicanonymity @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal

[musingsofabooklover]

btw here's the actual seasonings that traditional english meat dishes tend to use: - butter (lots) - salt - black pepper - 1 to 2 herbs that match whatever the meat or fish is - gravy if you add these to your meat + veg / shepherd's pie / whatever it'll instantly taste british plus depending on the dish there might be vinegar, mustard, or some other kind of sauce

if a white english person makes you plain unseasoned meat that somehow doesn't include any of these or have them available it means they're on a diet (looking at my mum here) and if i went to their house i would add salt and butter at minimum to the finished dish before i started eating

[theonlyren]

Ryme City Gengar

This is Kati

She's my Gengar partner.

DISCLAIMER: The following is my account of how I came to own my Gengar, Kati. It is a true story, however, I have falsified names and omitted the direct address of relevant parties in this story for their “protection.” Please do not seek these people out or harass them. They are not worth your time or energy. This is not a happy tale, especially if you like Ghost-types, are a Hex Maniac, or have a shred of common decency. Now, without further ado.

Consider the Gastly.

Gastly is one of the most well-documented, well-known, common ghost types across the regions. It’s in Oak’s original Pokedex and even shows up in Laventon’s old field journals. Its body is 95% gas, and it’s one of the lightest known pokemon in the world, to the point where a stiff wind will make the thing vanish (it’ll re-materialize later just fine, though). The remaining 5% of it is somewhat less clear. It could be argued that this 5% is undoubtedly what gives the Pokemon its Ghost typing. Some believe it is the souls of those its gas has killed, others believe it’s the ghostly essence of graveyard grievances, or forlorn memories of departed people or places.

All Kati remembers is waking up in front of the grave of a girl named Catherine.

I was backpacking through Galar at the time, I had the clothes on my back, the spares in my pack, some few thousand Pokedollars, basic Pokemon care and healing supplies, a phone, and my Eevee and Zorua, Vivi and Aka, respectively. I was looking for a place to crash for the night and wound up at a village in the southern edge of the region. Extremely quaint, very lovely, and I ran into the residents of a very old chateau, whose family had lived there for generations. They were trust fund kids, basically. The husband, who we’ll call John Doe, lived in the estate with his wife, Jane, his parents - his father being the local (and, if you’ve been following my Chatotter, a certain) reverend - and his grandparents. I met John and Jane at the town's only pub, and they were utter sweethearts; to this day, I still wish them well and the best for them. Upon telling them I was the son of Pokemon Rangers, and an Arceist, they asked if I could help them with an issue they’ve been having at the chapel.

Now, to a normal person, this probably would’ve set off every red flag in the universe. Supposedly rich family is inquiring about an outsider for “help”? Boi they’re about to steal your Pokemon and lock you in the basement. Turns out, something being locked in the basement was the issue. I initially declined, but then John made an offer to pay me a… moderately life changing amount of Pokedollars, provided I could solve the issue, which- er, piqued my curiosity enough to at least humor the couple. I figured I had Aka with me, and if things become sketchy he could use a clever illusion to help bail me outta there.

This village I went to was absurdly secluded, they hardly ever received tourists or travelers. The local authorities were in the back-pocket of John’s parents, which he was quick to explain as he led me to the estate. Once we arrived, he played me off as a guest of his wife’s side of the family, and I was introduced to this man’s elders.

I know the saying goes to respect your elders, but one look at this man’s family told me everything I needed to know about why John trusted an outsider with this. These were the most miserable, leery-eyed, snobbish, conservative-ass, “only polite because I have to be” motherfuckers I have ever had the discomfort of meeting and breaking bread with. The bread was the only good thing about their dinner as well, come to think of it, with unseasoned vegetables, beans, and… ok, the shepherd’s pie was alright, but still.

Later that night, John led me out as if to politely escort me off, but detoured around the back of the mansion to the village’s church, where we went through a cellar entrance.

And that’s where I would meet Kati for the first time.

As he opened the door, I saw paper talismans on the interior side. Cleanse tags. Prayer tags. The like. They dotted the stairwell down, to a locked door, which my escort unlocked to reveal a room, lined - wall-to-wall - with tags. And sitting, suspended in a cage, also laced with these tags, was a Gastly.

Cleanse Tags have long been a staple item for the traveling trainer, useful in helping ward off unwanted wild encounters, if a little uncomfortable for most pokemon to hold. A ghost type can handle holding one for the sake of their trainer.

An entire basement lined with them is torture of the highest order. Especially for a ghost.

This Gastly was well and truly trapped. Being locked in stasis inside a Pokeball would’ve been a kinder fate. Everywhere in this room that she could look, she saw searing wards and condemning reminders that told her in no uncertain terms that she was an unwelcome monster. She could not escape this place, the talismans well and truly suppressed any and all ghost energy she could even try and muster. No phasing, no vanishing, no shrinking or morphing, nothing.

John wanted her freed.

I was quick to agree.

It was clear the man was wrestling with the idea of freeing her for a while, and, when I pressed him about why the poor thing was locked away in the first place, he explained that the Gastly had been locked down here for generations, his late great-(great?)-grandfather had apparently caught the thing at the local graveyard, “communing with Giratina,” if you believe such malarky. So his family took it upon themselves to “catch” the ghost and seal her away in their church to cleanse or contain the sin within her, to the point where it’s become an obsession for the family, and they’ve never known peace since. So it was, she remained down there for something to the effect of over eighty years. 

At least three generations of Does is apparently what it took before one realized “hmm, maybe this Gastly down here is fine???”

So of course because things had to be dramatic, we heard the upper cellar door open the moment I tore enough tags off the cage to get the Gastly out. John told me to get my Zorua out and hide as he’d go distract whoever it was. I did so and told Aka to blend us into the wall. John went up, tried to tell his father the Gastly had escaped, and when he angrily came down to verify, well.

The Gastly didn’t like seeing the old man’s face.

She gassed my face to break free and immediately went for the old-timer. The illusion broke and I now had an angered reverend cursing my name, breaking every rule of engagement, since “the next coming of Giratina” was on the line as he threw his entire fuckin’ team at me. A “prize” furfrou, a machop, and a houndour. 

Trying to remember the fight as best I can, Vivi was strong enough to take out the Houndour, but the Machop made quick work of Aka. My new Gastly friend managed to poison the Machop in turn, but a bite from the Houndour nearly took her out instantly. Vivi weakened the Furfrou and Machop with a quick Swift, but, well, at the time my two team members were both weak to fighting, so the Machop was quick to take him out as well.

It was at that point I discovered the Gastly knew will-o-wisp as it cursed the Machop with its flames, taking it out, and I had an idea.

It was time to run from a trainer battle.

I kicked the Houndour in the face (sorry pup!) and told Gastly to set the remaining tags on fire. With the ones I had already desecrated, she had strength enough to set the room ablaze, which freaked out the reverend father and his pokemon enough that I was able to throw an empty pokeball at the Gastly to “catch” her, lob her out of the cellar as she struggled to break out, and get the absolute hell out of there.

John was waiting in a car outside. An extra broken-and-lobbed pokeball later to get the Gastly away from the reverend, we were driving from the estate and I had a very angry Gastly I was trying to calm down in the backseat of a speeding vehicle. It took a while, but she calmed down when it became clear we were tearing her away from that awful place.

John dropped me off at a graveyard, presumably (and, I would later find, purposefully) the best spot he thought to release the Gastly, - cliche, I know, - he wired me the money, and sped off. The Gastly tore itself free from me, and hovered at one particular grave. It was an old headstone, weathered and faint, but I could just barely make out the name “Catherine” on it. I sat near her as she stared at it. And we stayed there for a while; long time. Appropriately, I think we left at about midnight, when I offered her one more Pokeball and the chance to travel with me, safely, and see the world she was locked away from. Gave her the name “Kati” then and there, both as a shortening of her old name, and because it translates to “Pure.”

We beat feet from that village and never looked back. 

My backpacking journey was a lot more comfortable after that, I’ll say that much. Dude gave me bank.

But, here we are, me and the reverend, locked in something of an awkward stalemate where if either of us try and report what happened, we have to inadvertently confess to crimes we ourselves committed. Pokémon Abuse for the Does. And uh, Arson and Pokémon A&B for me. Trainer Disengagement too, but that’s a misdemeanor more ‘n anything. The fact that both of us have a decent amount of influence, should things get legal, doesn’t help either. Haven’t been back in or extradited to Galar since, and it’s basically been something like a 10 year cold case, so I’m not too concerned about this actually biting me in the ass, but the Reverend Father Doe sure is getting spicy with me on Chatotter.

He can rot for all I care.

Kati’s mine.

And she can burn through any holy tag you throw at her, now.

[lady-limarie]

UNSEASONED SHEPHERD'S PIE?!?!? MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!

Anyway, I love beans on toast 😊

[nothorses]

op had to specify 'unseasoned' meatloaf because it's riffing on a Real Bad Take Post by americans about british poverty foods that said 'unseasoned' shepherd's pie, as if anyone is eating that. (I know, haha meme white people don't season their food, but like.) americans are so myopic and fucking mean about the rest of the world, but can't take it themselves. (not that the brits don't deserve it, but frankly, SO DO YOU, AMERICANS, the citizens of the imperial core, the only global superpower.)

Gonna be honest, I think you're making some pretty wild assumptions here, anon.

Like. I have not seen the post you're referring to. I also didn't reblog the one I DID see- just replied to it- which means you saw that comment and decided to come pick a fight with me HERE instead of replying in comments like a normal person. So you both aren't actually a follower of mine, and won't see this anyway unless you've committed to obsessively refreshing my blog to check for the next few days.

Weird!

So y'know, I haven't actually seen the shepherds pie remark, I personally enjoy shepherds pie, and I don't really know what to tell you there. I don't know that "you can dish it but you can't take it" makes any fucking sense in a situation where I did not, in fact, dish it or know that it was being dished.

Also... there are lots of American foods that fucking suck, dude. I'm not out here defending Midwestern "salads" that consist mostly of mayo and perhaps some canned goods, or like most (if not all) jello dishes, or even most of the stuff on that post. There's plenty to hate and make fun of, and I do it all the damn time. You don't know that because you don't know me, and also couldn't know even the amount that my followers know about me. You literally saw me defend meatloaf (which isn't even originally an American dish, just something we have a version of?) and fucking blacked out, I guess.

And I don't care if you like meatloaf, genuinely. I don't mind making fun of food choices or arguing over generally inconsequential food stuff! It's fun. I was saying that in good fun.

What makes this ask particularly fucking unhinged is that you took out all this frustration you have over, I guess, Americans making fun of your food... on some rando who pointed out that most people have sauce on their meatloaf.

For what!! Who cares!! Oh my god!

And I would have just deleted this, but dude. My guy. Holy shit. Like a solid third of those "gross American foods" (if not more, idk- I'm an idiot from the PNW) are like, pretty classic black southern dishes.

I simply do not think you can argue that black americans "deserve it" the same way white brits or white americans do, actually. I don't think it's fair to act as if they are equal "citizens of the imperial core, the only global superpower".

Like, we're not making fun of British Indian food. We aren't making fun of teriyaki or other American immigrant food. Why do you think "American biscuits and gravy" is cool to mock? I don't think black people "have it coming", man. I think that's a pretty weird take, actually.

Also... like... their food is objectively miles better than whatever midcentury depression-era mess white americans are still trying to pretend is edible.

[theretirementstory]

Here I am again, bringing you a slice of my life in the beautiful Champagne region. It is currently 14c but I am assured, by M��téo, that we will have 26c this afternoon. Unseasonably warm but I am not complaining after having spent a lot of the sunny days of summer in a hospital bed.

The Foire aux Bulles last Sunday turned out to be a successful day for the ladies of the knitting, crochet and patchwork group. Two of my items sold which was a nice surprise. Apparently, they were talking to a lady who is interested in joining the group, she sews as well so we may manage to attract more people if we offer that facility. the more the merrier I say.

While we are onto the good news, I really must pass on the wonderful news that “The Ex Psychology Graduate” received her grade for her dissertation and only went and got herself a first! She is now awaiting one more grade to calculate her overall Masters grade. Huge congratulations are in order 🥳🥳.

“The Trainee Solicitor”, celebrated his birthday and what a wonderful birthday he had. It has continued until the weekend (well why just keep it to one day!)

“The Daddy” has not had his children this weekend, he has been visiting elderly relatives and friends as well as working too. He has “irons in the fire” to make his work life more manageable, at the moment he has a long journey to and from work (I remember those days), to be able to reduce this is so much better, mentally, physically and financially. We will have to see what happens but I wish him luck.

I do believe I have employed my new cleaner 😃, she is coming on Monday and Thursday and I am so looking forward to that. She requested a step ladder, unfortunately I don’t have one and being unable to go out shopping I still haven’t got one. Maybe my neighbour could lend me his for this week so that she can clean the windows and the shutter housing.

I am still reliant upon my friends (and neighbour) to do shopping for me. It is so hard trying to think what to have to eat, at least if I was in the shops I may see something which catches my eye. As most of my friends cook from scratch (no convenience foods for them) one friend seems to not have the faintest idea of portion sizes. She was trying to buy me a 750g shepherds pie 🙄. I have to cook my food and eat it within 15 minutes, it cannot be reheated so I doubt I could have “polished that pie off” all by myself. I have been rather nauseous with no taste so it would have been a lot of waste I reckon. I was salivating this morning as I asked another friend if she could buy me some greek yoghurt, unfortunately the supermarket in town didn’t have any 😩, however, she is going out this afternoon (with her work) if she manages to catch the supermarket before it closes she will look to see if she can get some there.

Anie delivered some hot soup, compote and some jars of another concoction, I hadn’t the heart to tell her I couldn’t eat any of it, but I did send her the information leaflet I was given. She quickly responded saying you cannot eat any of that food! It is so sad because people are only being kind but I really need to keep myself “right” as I don’t want an upset tummy or worse while my immunity is still low.

Another success was phoning the plumber and arranging an appointment for him to service my central heating boiler.

My gardener pulled up outside of my neighbours house on Monday and I was trying to catch him about trimming my hedges. Typically, I turned my back and next time I looked he had gone! I did ring him and all he said was he would ring and let me know when he can come out. Well better than nothing I suppose.

It looks as if this week has been very successful for me, I like weeks like that!

Now let’s have a look at the songs I have chosen. It seems to be a recurring theme of musicians taken before their time but such is life and as I have said before they leave us with some fantastic songs that we can listen to again and again. So my first one this week is by Phil Lynott, the song is back to 1982, “Old Town”.

The second song I have chosen is an album track featuring the distinctive voice of a Middlesbrough (UK) born “lad”. The track is “Weep No More” from the album “Straight Shooter” by Bad Company released in 1975 (I remember it like it was yesterday) If you decide to listen to the album online (or even just want to hear this track) let it play the next track “Shooting Star” as it really was a toss up between these two tracks. Just this week I found out that Paul Rodgers had suffered a massive health scare 4 years ago. Although thankfully he appears to be fully recovered and has just released a new album.

The photos this week should be titled “What a difference a day makes” (cue for another song).

Well that just about wraps up my week for this week. There will be more from me next week!

Bon dimanche!

[thedreadvampy]

white americans will look at a photo on google of a minced meat dish and say "well I can't see any seasoning"

white americans will be like oh british food is so unseasoned and underspiced and then talk as if taco bell is extremely flavourful. this is true I've seen it happen multiple times.

[adelesbian]

yall need to stop putting food (unseasoned) in your polls like just because someone you know doesnt know how to cook doesnt mean I can relate the shepherds pie and meatloaf and whatever I've had has always been fantastic because my family knows how to cook sorry you cant relate

[jennaflare]

re that British foods poll, I would have picked shepherd's pie if not for the fact it said UNSEASONED. That's evil.

[hairtusk]

Seasoning doesn't mask the flavour, but enhances it

in certain dishes, yes. but the post I was talking about specifically mentioned unseasoned shepherd's pie - and I would strongly argue that shepherd's pie doesn't require seasoning anyway

[bmctrivia]

Bull McCabes may not have cheesecake, but Chef Kacey's Smashburger and Shepherd's Pie will soothe your winter blues.Join us on this unseasonably warm February evening for trivia, with a special Round 2 on Fun Food Facts! Make sure you get there before 8PM to snag some bar spots.

[thedreadvampy]

The thing is. Bad/gross food is rarely a DISH - when food is bad it's because it's been badly made, whether because of skills or available ingredients. but a dish p much only exists recognisably and has a name because someone likes at least one version of it.

which is to say. there isn't really a way of naming a dish, school of dishes or specific food culture and going EW ISN'T THIS DISH UNILATERALLY CONCEPTUALLY DISGUSTING without denigrating quite a lot of people.

like you don't have to like it in any form. but it's eaten and shared because it's good to a not insubstantial number of people when cooked right.

(and I don't really understand how you approach that with total incuriosity when it's a dish you haven't tried like. ARE rocky mountain oysters good? Maybe! I would very much eat some to find out!!!!)

this is actually something the British food poll did in a way the American ones I've seen haven't really - they described how the food they're imagining is, specifically, badly prepared (grey meat and veggies; unseasoned shepherd's pie). which is wildly tipping the scales by calling it British Food but. like. that is an on point definition of why that food is gross.

(this also applies to American chocolate, which like. Broad category but I think most of us understand this refers to low-cocoa high-sugar chocolate, probably with bucolic acid. so we are being invited to imagine Badly Made Chocolate not. the concept of chocolate)

personally I just think it's very rarely a good or funny idea to shittalk how gross any given food culture is. partly because food is important and culturally evocative for most people, partly because it's very...alienating? to be like WHO COULD EAT SUCH A THING? just because you wouldn't, and largely because to be frank it says more about you than about the food that you have so little imagination or curiosity that you can't imagine why a food might be enjoyable to folks who aren't you.

yes this includes jello salad, I would like to try it. ONCE. if it wasn't appealing to someone it wouldn't be so widespread.

[musherum]

have to make vegan shepherds pie for my sister tomorrow bc family is coming and my parents are incapable of cooking anything other than unseasoned meat and boiled vegetables. really wish i had more than 1 days notice so i couldve gotten ingredients together but my family cant make decent plans to save their goddamn lives