#yellow tail wine price

[winemastery]

Unveiling The Exciting Journey Of Yellow Tail Pinot Grigio: Episode 408!

[edosianorchids901]

Triumph

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "imperfect sign"

This infernal bookshop really was stupidly hard to find. Alan Whiting pulled out his mobile and checked the map again, then turned and headed down the street in the opposite direction.

Finally, he spotted it and sighed with relief. A.Z. Fell & Co., recipient of an honestly impressive number of negative reviews online. But the smattering of positive reviews spoke of rare books not seen anywhere else for decades.

Whiting liked rare books. He liked buying rare books. He especially liked selling rare books for astronomical sums, and then treating himself to some very expensive wine.

He crossed the street, made a rude gesture at the car honking at him, and paused in front of the bookshop. Every review had spoken of this place as having truly bizarre opening hours, and it lacked an open or closed sign.

Determined, Whiting inspected the opening hours sign. But with each line, he only became more confused.

“While occasionally I open the shop as early as eight, I have been known not to open until one,” he read, and frowned. Confusing.

He tried a few more time to decipher the sign, then decided to try the door. It opened, and he smiled at his triumph.

“Aha,” he said as he stepped inside. “I knew you were open. Even thought your sign is… imperfect, shall we say. You know, I know people who could redo that for you. Experts.”

The proprietor—presumably—sat in an armchair behind the counter. He held a book, and a thick black blanket sat on his lap. He didn’t look up from the book. “Oh, no thank you. The sign is perfect just as it is.”

Whiting snorted to show his disagreement.

The blanket on the proprietor’s lap hissed back. As Whiting watched, the blanket moved, uncoiling, a head with huge yellow eyes emerging from the center. It swung towards him, tongue darting out.

Whiting stepped back, breath catching. “Oh. You have a snake.”

“Mhm.” The proprietor still hadn’t looked up, but he shifted his book to one hand and stroked the shiny black scales. “Really, my dear. Be polite.”

The snake hissed again, and Whiting could swear it had gotten even bigger. He took another step back. “I was just, um. In search of some rare books?”

“That’s nice.”

The snake hissed again.

When no further help came, Whiting inched away and examined the nearest bookcase. He frowned in confusion, struggling to make sense of the organization. Most of the books had old leather covers, but there were a few more modern titles slipped it between them. And he couldn’t find prices anywhere, on any of them.

And every time he glanced between the shelves, the giant snake was glaring at him. It almost seemed to be smiling too, displaying sharp white fangs.

After one final glance at the snake and its disturbingly calm owner, Whiting’s courage failed. There was something very strange about this bookshop, and he didn’t like it one bit. There had to be other rare bookshops in the area, ones that didn’t have anything hissing at him.

“Didn’t see anything I liked,” he said nervously, backing towards the door as the snake raised its head again and rattled its tail. “You should really consider doing something about this… this imperfect organization.”

“It’s perfect just as it is,” the proprietor said, still not looking up. He stroked the snake absently, apparently unconcerned about the fangs. “Have a nice day.”

Whiting fled and wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands were shaking, and when he looked back through the glass, the snake was still glaring at him.

No. He was not having a nice day. And he would be sure to leave a negative review of his own.

---

Aziraphale set aside his book and smiled. “Nothing like the sight of a retreating customer, hmm?” he said, running his fingers down Crowley’s scales again. “I must say, I am glad you’ve been spending more time in this form. I believe that’s our eighth frightened customer today.”

Crowley hissed in disagreement. “Ninth.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale examined the scrap paper with its tally marks, and added the latest. “Yes, you’re quite right. Ninth. You might have been overdoing it a bit with that fellow, though.”

“Nah, I don’t think sssso.” With a softer, more contented hiss, Crowley settled back down on Aziraphale’s lap. “Every desire in the guy’sss head was greedy. I didn’t like him.”

“Well, in that case, good work.” Aziraphale bent and kissed the top of Crowley’s head, pleased at their joint triumph over yet another annoying customer.

Then he picked up his book and leaned back, still petting his serpent. It was a nice day. A perfect day, really.

[nonobadcat]

What would afo be like to his dear wife (hostage) during the holidays

AFO's obsession with family combined with the "tradition matters" general feeling of Japan leaves me to believe that he'd have VERY clearcut expectations.

Christmas in Japan is a very lover based holiday (more like Valentines day in the western world). You better believe that any lover of his will be spoiled rotten but in a VERY controlling way.

Don't have a nice enough outfit for the date? Not a problem. He'll take you shopping and chose one for you.

You're going out to dinner because he needs to show you off. 30,000 yen a plate Michellen Star resturants only. He'll order for you. After all, he knows what's best.

"Have another glass of wine sweetheart, it's only once a year."

Christmas cake 🎂 is a must. Traditional sponge cake with whipped cream frosting and strawberries. Nothing else will do. If you could burn water, he'll just order one. If you enjoy baking, he'll expect you to make it. It won't be subtle.

All For One leaned on the kitchen table, red eyes hooded as that perfect, pleasant smile curled his lips.

"The doctor and I were having a debate the other day. He said that whipped cream frosting is only good for 48 hours. I told him 72."

His grin widened until pale cheeks streched tight over tombstone like teeth. Burning scarlet glowed from beneath his dusty, white lashes.

"When, exactly, do you start baking your Christmas cake?"

As to presents, there isn't a price tag limit. There is currently some speculation that AFO may be Gen Z based on the timelines that are mentioned in BNHA. Therefore, if he reverts back to his roots, you may see some retro throwbacks. However, you better believe that he prefers things that remind him of his favorite person in the whole world: himself. After all, it is not uncommon for Japanese couples (and other cultures) to dress alike as a way to show they are together.

Holding the yellow fleece before your face, you stared into black, embroidered pools of sightless kawaii softness. The long ears, tipped in black, flapped against your wrists. You turned it around, staring blankly at the lightening bolt tail.

Your husband held a (larger) Pikachu kigurumi aloft with a brillant grin. "We match now!"

[aestheticvoyage2023]

Day 228: Wednesday August 16, 2023 - "House Wine"

The Finca has it's house wine, going into our fourth years as homeowners.

What I thought was a special drink only on special occasions bottle of wine with Finca on the label, gifted to us by my sister in law, was actually a conveniently cheap $5 wine from Trader Joes! "Get out! -well then lets open it up! " And it was perfect - the tasty Malbec forced us to go out and find two more bottles, which we drank over the next couple of nights. Its like a knock off of my favorite yellow tail, at a cheaper price, and the name of our house on the label! As we finished our glasses for the night, Audrie looks at me and says "I think this is our house wine." Beautiful idea. The House Wine. Guess we should stock up! What a gift!

Song: Leif Vollebekk - Vancouver Time

Quote: "I drank a bottle of wine for company. It was Chateau Margaux. It was pleasant to be drinking slowly and to be tasting the wine and to be drinking alone. A bottle of wine was good company.

Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary.

~Ernest Hemingway

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 52

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is the product of my limited knowledge of Chinese characters as I attempt to learn the language. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

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Chapter 52

He slept until dawn the next day. It was a night of chaotic dreams featuring a foggy stone courtyard. The sky was grey and decadent, with snow about to come. He was wrapped in a silver fox fur coat and had a pot of wine hot. In the cold night, he can hear snowflakes falling. There were rustling sounds in the atrium. It was the Chinese New Year.

A row of red lanterns hung under the eaves. The water in a copper pot was gurgling and boiling. A blue vase was filled with two taels of green bamboo leaves. The smell of incense floated out of the golden beast furnace. The fox fur was warm and fragrant. Someone sat cross-legged on the opposite side. The fingers of the wine pourer were slender, and he couldn't see his face clearly.

Lin Yan turned over in his dream, groped for a while and grabbed a cold hand. He clasped his fingers and slept peacefully.

In the morning, he was woken up by paws. When he opened his eyes, he saw an arrogant fox sitting on his chest, scratching his nose with the tip of his tail. No wonder he felt an itch in his dream and wanted to sneeze. Xiao Yu picked it up, its four paws stretching out, revealing the belly, revealing proof that it was male.

"It's hungry again." Xiao Yu smiled wryly, "It said that if you don't buy it food, it'll go steal the chickens raised in the backyard."

Lin Yan was wearing a pair of big shorts and brushed his teeth with his upper body bare, swallowing a big mouthful of toothpaste foam in a daze.

He asked the waiter to buy another live rabbit and threw it to the fox. After having breakfast with Yin Zhou and A-Yan, the three of them, a ghost and a fox, gathered in Lin Yan's bedroom to discuss a plan of action. While talking, Yin Zhou suddenly choked on laughter, coughing for a long time, and gestured: "Do you think we look like a group of people having dinner in "My Fair Princess" and discussing big plans in the guesthouse?"

With a strange smile, the person at his side said, "Hanxiang, hurry up and show yourself. Mengdan's memory is too weak*!"

*(T/N: A reference to characters from the show "My Fair Princess.")

Regarding "Lin Yan's" previous life, Xiao Yu still couldn't think of anything. Everyone took turns questioning him, but they made no progress.

"This is very formidable." Yin Zhou sighed artificially, "We have to do it ourselves again. First, we should turn to the history books? Are there any simplified characters? Leave the simplified characters for me to read. I don't know the traditional characters."

"I have an idea." Lin Yan took a T-shirt from the box, put it on, and said in a muffled voice, "The coffin."

"What?"

He tugged at the hem of the T-shirt and waved his hands at a few people: "Hey, I'm changing my pants, and I don't think anyone should look."

He was referring to Xiao Yu, who accidentally injured A-Yan. The little Daoist was embarrassed to look up. Lin Yan was also embarrassed. It took him three times to step into his jeans before he sat on the side of the bed with flip-flops.

"I'm talking about the coffin. I looked at it when I entered the tomb. The coffin was a vivid yellow, with landscape patterns and a slight fragrance. It's genuine golden Chinese redwood. Do you know how expensive that thing is? The price of fragrant rosewood couldn't compare to it."

Yin Zhou scratched his hair: "Is fragrant rosewood expensive? My old man has a lot of it. He always holds a string of Buddhist beads in his hand."

Lin Yan rolled his eyes: "All these trust fund kids really don't know the sufferings of average people. Your father's string of rosewood is full of pear oil in its vein lines. If you drain it out, you could fill up a car."

"Golden Chinese redwood is more valuable. A piece of Chinese redwood is said to be ten thousand taels of silver. In order to save on transportation costs, Ming people would often bring carpenters to travel thousands of miles into the mountains with them. When they cut down a good tree, they made coffins on the spot. Southerners paid tribute to the whole redwood. It was inconvenient to transport, and they had to wait for the annual mountain torrents to wash the wood down. Usually, one hundred carpenters went into the mountain, and only fifty returned. The things made of this wood were impossible for ordinary people to even look at, let alone use.”

"So being able to afford such a precious thing means that the Xiao family had high status?" Yin Zhou asked, confused.

Lin Yan and the little Daoist looked at each other and said helplessly: "Code monkeys are so uneducated. Golden redwood was used by emperors in Ming and Qing Dynasties. Qianlong, an old man, had to secretly demolish the Ming Tombs if he wanted to get some wood*. If the Xiao family had the guts to be so bold, they would have already been exiled to the Northwest to enlist in the army."

*(T/N: 乾隆, emperor of the Qing dynasty, reigned sixty years (1735-1796))

"So what's the conclusion?"

"Use your brain and think about it. There's a lot of clues available." Lin Yan slowly poured water for everyone. "Who is the person who could afford to use golden redwood and dared to rely on the fact that they had high status and the emperor was far enough away to not notice? Have you forgotten where we are now?"

A-Yan's eyes lit up: "Back then, Shen Wansan was as rich as an enemy country, and he boasted that he would reward the Three Kingdoms for Zhu Yuanzhang, which caused him to be exiled.*"

*(T/N: Shen Wansan was a merchant at the start of the Ming Dynasty who accumulated great wealth. Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty, was jealous of his wealth and exiled him for it)

Yin Zhou took a sip of water: "You mean the merchant?"

"This should be a breakthrough." Lin Yan said: "It's strange that there was no surname 'Xiao' among the famous Shanxi merchants in the middle of the Ming Dynasty*. It may be that 'I' really took the risk to get the wood in that life. My family may have some capital. It makes sense that the coffin is full of tokens of love."

*(T/N: Shanxi merchants were among the earliest Chinese businessmen, and their history could be traced back to the Spring and Autumn Period and the Warring States period. In the Ming and Qing Dynasties, Shanxi merchants really stood out among other Chinese merchant groups, building a strong and long-lasting commercial network and accumulating enormous wealth.)

"There are many wealthy Jin merchants, and you can't be called rich unless hundreds of thousands of them exist. There are also many Confucian merchants, and every family has scholars. . ."

Before Lin Yan finished speaking, Yin Zhou suddenly stared at him with wide eyes as if he had seen a ghost.

Lin Yan felt a hand on his shoulders, and he subconsciously thought it was Xiao Yu and continued without thinking. Yin Zhou shook his head vigorously and pointed behind him: "You, you, you. . . Behind you. . . "

Lin Yan turned his head suspiciously and bumped into a boy's face. He was fair-skinned, only eight or nine years old, with a sharp chin and shining golden-brown eyes. He was on the short side, with soft hair covering his shoulders, extremely shiny.

"Who's this kid? When did he get in?!" Lin Yan was so frightened that he rushed away, staring at the boy in shock.

"Every day, I have rabbit. I'm tired of eating it. I want to eat chicken." The young man took a handful of copper coins from his jacket, threw them at Lin Yan, and said with a haughty attitude, "Hurry up and buy some chickens!"

"This is the fox." Xiao Yu said innocently, "Don't you know why I asked you to buy chickens? It's been urging me all day, it's very annoying."

Lin Yan stared suspiciously at the handful of copper coins in his hand and fiddled with them. There were Jiaqing, Daoguang, and Xianfeng coins, and a fifty yuan coin was mixed in*. The boy seemed to think that there wasn't enough money, so he took out another coin from the lapel of his shirt for Lin Yan. This time was better, a flat silver yuan coin.

*(T/N: Ancient Chinese currency changed depending on who the emperor was. Jiaqing coins were coins from the Jiaqing emperor (1796-1820), Daoguang coins were from the Daoguang emperor (1782-1850), and Xianfeng coins were from the Xianfeng emperor (1831-1861))

The boy pointed at Lin Yan, shook his head and said, "I know you. Last time when the peach blossoms were in bloom, you went into the mountain once. When you went in, you were alone. When you came out, you took him with you. Grandfather said he used to live in a deserted tomb in the mountain. Grandfather also said he was fierce, but I think he's pretty."

As he spoke, he rolled his eyes and gave Xiao Yu a wink. Because of his young age, he looked nondescript.

A-Yan burst out laughing. He took out a piece of talisman paper from his waist, but before he could paste it, the boy snatched it away, threw it on the ground and stepped on it several times.

"Don't try to plot against me. He's the oldest in this room, and then me. You are all a bunch of little kids." The boy propped himself up on the edge of the bed with his hands. He sat down with his legs dangling. His baggy homemade pants were bound by a pair of fine deerskin boots tied on his feet. He bit his fingers triumphantly and gave Lin Yan a side-eye. "I am two hundred years old. You guys should call me grandfather. Kneel down and kowtow!"

Before he could finish speaking, Lin Yan had already reacted to the horror. He took the boy's arms and dragged him to the bathroom while scolding: "Stop jumping around here. Did you brush your teeth after eating meat? The rabbit fur is so dirty. "

Through the door, the sound of the shower and the boy's unwilling wailing came from the bathroom. Yin Zhou pointed to the door with an unbelievable expression on his face: "When did this guy become a demon tamer?"

But after a while, everyone was surprised when Lin Yan and the fox demon reappeared. They didn't know what method he used, but the young man had swallowed his arrogance just now and reluctantly took Lin Yan's hand. His tail was sweeping behind him, his wet hair draped over her shoulders, biting his fingers.

"What should it be called?" Lin Yan raised his eyebrows.

"Older brother." The fox glanced shyly at Yin Zhou and A-Yan, turned around and called Lin Yan again. He jumped to Xiao Yu's side, and the boy rubbed patches of water on his white clothes.

Yin Zhou was confused by the boy's obedient appearance: "Holy shit, how did you do that?"

"To deal with the child, I lied to him that if he was obedient, he'll get to eat chicken, and if he's disobedient, he'll only get worms." Lin Yan spread his hands.

At 1:30 in the afternoon, five people checked out of the room under the waiter's reluctant gaze and rushed to the only bus station in the town. This time, it was five real people. The boy hid his tail and ears, bouncing around like a primary school student. Lin Yan forcibly took off his hunter clothes from an indescribable dynasty and bought some knockoff Adidas in the morning market. The bossy boy was reluctant, and Yin Zhou blamed Lin Yan for being stingy. Lin Yan shrugged: "I'd love to buy authentic ones, but I can't.”

Xiao Yu wore Lin Yan's clothes; jeans, a T-shirt, and hiking shoes. He was actually a bit taller than Lin Yan, but the clothes were on the longer side, so he could barely make do with them. His long hair was tied into a ponytail, like a painter's. It was the first time this ancient man dressed up like this, and he felt uncomfortable. Lin Yan also felt awkward seeing him and secretly laughed as he walked.

It seemed like it had been so long since they had all been so relaxed. Blue sky and white clouds passing, green mountains and water, creaking flatbed trucks passing by, drivers waving mulberry branches to repel mosquitoes. Xiao Yu led the fox demon down a straight dirt path. Lin Yan, Yin Zhou and A-Yan followed side by side. The boy that had just come out of the mountains looked back excitedly from time to time. Lin Yan was a little depressed. The person next to Xiao Yu should have been him, but unfortunately, the ghost refused to get too close to him, no matter what.

When lovers break up, it always feels like the other party still belongs to them, but they are separated by an invisible wall. Occasionally their gaze would cross, and he would turn his head hurriedly, his heart pounding.

When Lin Yan asked the little fox demon if there was any way for others to see Xiao Yu, he didn't actually have much hope. Unexpectedly, the boy readily agreed. He put a leaf on Xiao Yu's forehead and fiddled with it for a while. Everyone was suddenly surprised to see an extra person in their group.

"There's our fox family's magic." The boy rolled his eyes, "But it won't work when there's thunder."

Lin Yan asked, "Why?"

"I'm afraid of thunder." The boy said shyly.

"You have a name?"

The young man squinted his fox eyes, and it took him a long time to reply shyly, "My name is Che because I was born by the lake when the azaleas were in bloom and the lake was cool and clean."

Passing through the field of wild sorghum, in front of him was a flat slope of wild grass with small white flowers swaying on the ground. Lin Yan felt a sense of familiarity. He thought for a while and was suddenly surprised to find that this place was similar to the environment in his nightmare on the first night. The grass was lush, and the sun was harsh and dazzling. Walking up the road, there was only a wild grave in the place where the thatched cottage had been in the dream. It had been there for several years. The grave was almost flat, and there was a wreath of wildflowers. The flowers had been sun-dried and vaguely blackened.

"Is there any incense?" Lin Yan asked the little Daoist priest. A-Yan took out a small bundle of unopened ones from his bag, Lin Yan lit three sticks, respectfully sticking them on the grave.

"What are you doing?" Yin Zhou was puzzled. Lin Yan shook his head and sighed: "What your time comes, it will come regardless. Let's go."

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the bus to the city came. Several people crowded in to head to the city to sell hens and buy seeds and left Liumu Town. They bought train tickets in the nearest town where the train was accessible and rushed overnight to the former Shanxi Merchants' gathering place, five hundred years later, Taiyuan prefecture.

[thehungrykat1]

Nobu Sunday Brunch is Now Available on Saturdays

Nobu Manila at City of Dreams Manila is offering the ultimate indulgence as it extends its popular Nobu Sunday Brunch to includes Saturdays as well. The Nobu Weekend Brunch now lets food enthusiasts enjoy another daytime indulgence in the world of Nobu. 

I was back at Nobu Manila last Saturday for another unlimited adventure through Japanese-Peruvian cuisine. Here's a short video to show you what you can enjoy at the Nobu Weekend Brunch which is now available on both Saturdays and Sundays.

The Nobu Weekend Brunch highlights a distinctive experience with the innovative new-style Japanese cuisine popularized by the globally renowned Chef Nobu Matsuhisa, and deliciously served by Nobu Manila Head Chef Michael de Jesus and Head Sushi Chef Kei Hirukawa.  

Nobu Manila’s hybrid buffet includes an all-you-can-eat a la carte selection showcasing Nobu specialty dishes prepared a la minute, which on a rotating menu may include Signature Sashimi Trio: Tuna Matsuhisa, Yellow Tail Jalapeño and Salmon Karashi Su Miso and Black Cod Butter Lettuce. 

The a la carte choices complement the buffet of premium sushi, sashimi, nigiri, salads, hot dishes, and other Japanese brunch favorites. Not to be missed are the fresh Irish Gallagher oysters, slipper lobsters, blue crabs and prawns heaped on a bed of ice, which vary depending on seasonal availability. Diners get introduced to various Nobu signature sauces throughout the meal.

Live action stations featuring carving of the day: Roasted Whole U.S. Prime Ribeye, Porchetta, Smoked Whole Beef Brisket or other specialty carving; kushiyaki (grilled and skewered meats and vegetables); a lavish desserts corner and beverage bar complete the brunch offer. Nobu Manila’s brunch also puts a spotlight on Filipino-inspired dishes prepared the Nobu way, such as pork Nobu Sisig or Nobu-style Uni Palabok. 

Kokoro, Chef Nobu’s service trademark that means “from the heart” makes the difference in the luxurious visual and gastronomic weekend feast. Guests get to choose their seating preferences: whether at the restaurant’s spacious indoor dining area with two private dining rooms, or al fresco at the tropical-themed patio and any of the five floating cabanas surrounded by cooling water features and lush garden. A warm and anticipative service staff trained in custom Nobu style of service elevates the Nobu brunch experience.

The Nobu Weekend Brunch is from 11:30 AM to 3:00 PM on Saturday and Sunday, with varying menu highlights each week. The Regular brunch package is available for P3,499 net per person and includes unlimited non-alcoholic drinks: soda, chilled juices, mocktails, iced tea and hot tea, and coffee, while children ages 6 to 12 years enjoy a special rate of P1,749 per child. At an additional P1,330.70 net per adult, the Standard package comes with unlimited beverages in the regular package plus a host of select red and white wine, cocktails, local beers, and spirits; while the Premium package priced at an added P2,550.54 net per adult is comprised of unlimited beverages included in the regular and standard packages plus unlimited champagne and champagne cocktails.

Nobu Sunday Brunch

​Level 1 Nobu South Tower, City of Dreams, Entertainment City, Parañaque

8800-8080

www.noburestaurants.com/manila

www.facebook.com/NobuHotelManila

[quieteating]

New Post has been published on Quieteating

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/Knc8CL

Jin Kichi

At times, my friends call me a moaner.

At times, they are right.

One particular thing I like to constantly complain about, is the lack of decent Japanese food in London.  I’m not talking about Itsu and Wasabi or even Wagamama.  That’s fake Japanese which is something to offend as much as drinking beer out of wine glasses.  When people ask me why it disgusts my sensibilities so, I fall back to the time tested remark, it just isn’t something that is done.

So if you want to try some real Japanese food in London, you have something of a quandary at hand.  On account of it being either obscenely hard to get in (Sushi Testsu), or just unashamedly not pretending to be that authentic (but thankfully still good (Temaki).  There is of course the stalwart I like, Kiku, although inflation is pushing that price up a bit too much (50% is kind of a lot).  Then there is the place which has a bit too much excitement and a rather rude owner (Jugemu) but much as I like the food there, I do prefer a certain modicum of service.  So in leafy, rather pleasant and much too expensive Hampstead, is a small Japanese restaurant staffed by native staff.

Tori kara, seasoned and sliced chicken, deep fried in batter served with Ponzu sauce.  This was rather crispy, oil free and nicely complemented by the ponzu sauce.  If I could level some criticism, it would be that the meat wasn’t as juicy as I would have preferred, as I suspect they didn’t use leg meat for this.  No matter, it still made me happy.

Shiso maki, grilled skewer of shiso leaf and pork rolls with Teriyaki sauce.  Alright, if fairly nondescript.  Minced pork balls wrapped in a spiced leaf, although the shiso just wasn’t strong enough to make a noticeable difference.

Tsukune, grilled skewer of chicken meatballs with Yakitori sauce.  Crispy on the outside, meltingly delicious inside.  Something to try again.

Negitoro, Chopped Fatty Tuna with Yellow Pickled roll.  Meaty and filling, you could also be forgiven for thinking this was some type of minced meat.  Instead, clear deep tuna flavour shone through.

Take, today’s 10 piece chef’s selection.  Flounder, tuna, salmon, fish roe, prawn, mackerel, octopus, yellow tail, red snapper, squid.  Great, even if I have had better elsewhere.  What let this down was the temperature control.  The fish and the rice seemed to be rather warm where as I prefer a slightly more chilled sushi to highlight the taste of the seafood set off with vinegar rice.

Yakinasu, grilled aubergine with Bonito flakes.  Here, I demonstrate one my many failings.  An example of not getting what I wanted.  Although an accurate description, I had thought (and hoped) that this would be similar to the grilled aubergine with miso paste I’ve had on top.  This instead was lacking the heavier flavouring we sought.  On the plus side, the texture was good.

Gyutan, grilled skewer of ox tongue with salt.  I do not know why more places do not offer this.  It was deliciously chewy and bursting with umami. Of the many off cuts I would eat in yakitori joints back in Japan, ox tongue and chicken heart were my favourites.  Although, I didn’t see the latter on the menu.

Gindara, grilled black cod marinated in white miso served with ginger.  They had gone a little too easy on the miso here, as the taste was not as deep as I expected and preferred.  It was decent though.  Then again, perhaps it is my fault for having this previously at western Japanese joints, which tend to slather the cod perhaps overzealously.

Buta Shouga, pan-fried sliced pork with ginger sauce and spicy Miso served from hot pan.  Great with caramelized onion as you got caramelized miso and rather addictive as you picked up the small onions in which all the pork juice had coagulated.

Una Kyu, grilled eel with cucumber and sesame roll.  In my desperate search for eel in London, I couldn’t resist this when I saw it on the menu.  I would often dream of this, as during my first residency in Japan, a kind friend treated me to unagi.  That Changed My Life.  This poor eel did not do that justice.  Instead, wrapped up in rice, it was rather sadly done as it seemed that being wrapped up in rice made the eel strangely bouncy and robbed it of its flavour.

Yama Gobo, pickled mountain burdock with sesame.  Crunchy and refreshing.  A fitting way to finish this off.

Green tea.  To complement the above, between bites, I washed things down with some green tea.  A apt refreshing cleanser.

I have recently been reminded of the sandwich method of feedback.  Otherwise known by its more rude moniker, the s*** sandwich.  So I guess the same can be applied to my critique.  The majority of the dishes were good, clearly of better standard than most other places in London for Japanese food, the atmosphere slightly cramped but authentic in that way, but the spark of something excellent was missing.  Not that the food was bad, by and by it was better than decent, but it missed that next step in evolution to make it something special.  However, at this price, life is too short and I have other places to try instead, especially given the trek it took to get here.  However, if I could afford to live around this area, I would probably be returning a more than healthy amount.

  A quiet eating 8/10.

Dinner (all of the above for 2 people) was GBP80 per person excluding drinks and service.

  Jin Kichi

73 Heath St, London NW3 6UG

[markymarkmit]

Branding a decentralized product

This case discusses global wine production in four concentric circles: 1) Wine 2) "New World" wine 3) Chilean wine, and 4) Concha y Toro. Given wine production's fragmented nature, it seems that perception is tied to a region (circle 3 - Chile), and it is therefore important for producers from a region to work together to create a high-quality perception (game theoretic incentives to defect from a coalition notwithstanding). The case shares a salient example of this not being done - the 1998 flooding of the Japanese market with low-quality Chilean wines, which Chilevid was unable to fully reverse despite 7 years of effort.

Before doing deep analysis, I'm inclined to prefer the quality route proposed by the CEO. Sure, the French brand Piat hadn't succeeded at their push for quality, but they are solving a different problem: they are a low-quality producer in a high-quality region. Unlike Black & Decker and Toyota, Concha y Toro will have a hard time creating a separate brand with a separate set of cognitive associations as wines are normally thought of by region (e.g. the Japan case). I also feel they will struggle to differentiate themselves from very efficient low-quality producers such as Carlo Rossi and Yellow Tail.

I would have liked to see more insights about the customer decision journey in this case. What are the steps on the customer's journey? My regular-customer wine buying experience includes the following:

Exposure to various wines in a non-buying context - e.g. last night when my friend offered me an incredible pinot noir (Loop de Loop) which is the best wine I have tasted this year.

Stimulus to buy - I am invited to an event where it would be good for me to bring something and when I am too busy to prepare a dish. I then consider which store offers wines with a good price / quality tradeoff.

In-Store - I segment by which wine my friends are likely to want given their background and context (sophisticated wine drinkers or meat dish => dry red, younger / less sophisticated / light vegetarian or fish dish => middle of the road white). I then look for bottles in my typical budget range ($10-20) and scan with Vivino to look for a good rating. I may default to a wine I have had good experiences with in the past (e.g. Atom), a region + grape (e.g. CA Cabernet), or a winery I trust (e.g. J. Lohr). I may also ask the clerk.

Post-buying experience: How do my friends feel about the wine? I generally won't get much feedback, and the feedback I get may or may not have anything to do with quality. This is where I will shy away from North Dakota wines despite quality - perception is reality.

How can Concha y Toro leverage each of these touch points to foment the perception of quality for Chilean wines? Here are some initial thoughts:

Exposure to wines in non-buying context: Find ways to get excellent Chilean wines into the hands of wine influencers. This could include placing Chilean wines in wine tasting classes, grabbing space in online wine forums and Instagram circles, etc.

Stimulus to buy - Know the beachhead market for quality wines - e.g. educated upper middle class people ages 25-45 - and ensure availability of quality Chilean wines where they shop.

In-store - Free samples of Chilean wine, pay attention to Chilean wine section and Vivino ratings and comments, and talk with store owners and clerks.

Post-buying experience: See what consumers like - it may not be the same as professional sommeliers - and ensure that available product stacks up well against it.

[mikeduch]

Between the Concha y Toro case and the California vs North Dakota study, I couldn't help but think of how generously clueless I feel when walking into a wine shop and picking out a bottle. If you asked me how much I know about wine I would respond with "very little", but I do quite enjoy wine. And truthfully I would think I fall right around average. I have some familiarity with regions that are known for their wine. I have a general sense of different types of wine and which ones I prefer. But when I walk into a wine store... I feel excited when I see a bottle I've seen before as it makes me feel like I'm not totally clueless.

In my opinion, not many families of products have as much trouble with brand recognition as wine does. Yeah there are some bottom shelf wine brands that many people know (e.g. Yellow Tail) but generally speaking consumers of wine have much stronger associations with regions, price, or even the look of a wine label than any individual brand. My mind wonders what it is about wine that creates this phenomenon. The case seemed to make a mention of the way consumers of wine like to explore/experiment and I think this is certainly a major part of it. When experimentation is inherently a part of the wine experience for both experienced and inexperienced wine drinkers, it creates a phenomenon where consumers want bounds they can choose within (region and/or price point). Specific brands/vineyards simply don't offer enough choice. It seems to suggest that the Concha y Toro model as an umbrella brand over other brand name wines has the potential to be successful. Someone like myself might find themselves liking having a umbrella brand that I feel comfortable buying within, especially if it delivers on the perception of low price, high quality. This also feels like a recipe to get a customer like myself to maybe enter at a lower price range but be willing to take a step up for a special occasion or as my means allow because of trust I have in the quality of the umbrella brand. With keeping the challenges of a "bottom-up" strategy in mind, coming to the market with a range of brands under a parent company/brand and establishing themselves across the price ranges seems like a potentially viable way to establishing themselves. But then again, you can't be all things to all people and focusing on a customer segment is important. Wine truly poses a unique challenge for brands.

As a funny aside, recently in an effort to keep airline status for one more year, I took advantage of a miles sign up bonus for a wine delivery membership. $80 total for 14 wines... $5.71 a bottle. What a steal. While so far I've only worked through a few of the bottles, there's actually been quite a few I've really enjoyed. But as much as I enjoyed them, it's incredibly unlikely I make any effort to purchase any of those wines again. Not out of lack of enjoying them, but just because that's not how I and many others purchase wine.

[menuandprice]

Outback Steakhouse Drinks Menu

Outback Steakhouse Drinks Menu

➽ Outback Steakhouse has a distinctive range of beverages on its menu. It also offers hot tea, hot coffee, lemonade and many more drinks. ➽ Pick the perfect date to go to Outback Steakhouse and indulge in your Outback favourites with your loved ones! ➽ The drink menu at Outback Steakhouse has non-alcoholic beverages such as tea, coffee, coke, lemonade, Hi-C and more.

➽ As well as cocktails such as blueberry kiwi strawberry, lemonade with lavender, and others. Various beers are available such as Budweiser, Bud Light, Coors Light, etc. ➽ Also, you can have white wine or red wine such as Prosecco, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and many more. You can get all of these beverages for less than $40. ➽ There are many other drinks available, along with the price. ➽ Look at the table below for a more detailed menu of drinks.

Outback Steakhouse Drinks Menu With Prices

Drinks Menu Prices Outback Steakhouse Cocktails Sauza Gold Coast ‘Rita $ 7 Blackberry Martini $ 7 Strawberry Kiwi ‘Rita $ 7 Blueberry Lavender Lemonade $ 7 Aussie Rum Punch $ 7 Boozy Cherry Limeade $ 7 The Wallaby Darned $ 7 Outback Steakhouse Top Notch ‘Tails Top Shelf ‘Rita $ 10.79 Blackberry Sangria $ 7.29 Naturally Skinny ‘Rita $ 7.49 Fully Loaded Bloody Marry $ 7.29 Strawberry Peach Sangria $ 7.29 Castaway Cocktail $ 7.49 Blood Orange ‘Rita $ 9.79 Down Under Mule $ 8.29 Outback Old Fashioned $ 10.29 Huckleberry Hooch Moonshine $ 8.29 Sydney’s Cosmo $ 7.49 Strawberry Mojito $ 7.79 Boomarita $ 7.99 Outback Steakhouse Coldies On Tap Drinks Middy Big Bloke Bloomin’ Blonde Ale $ 4.00 $ 5.00 Bud Light $ 5.00 $ 6.00 Stella Artois $ 7.00 $ 8.00 Foster’s Lager $ 5.00 $ 6.00 Samuel Adams Boston Lager $ 6.00 $ 7.00 Samuel Adams Seasonal $ 6.00 $ 7.00 Outback Steakhouse Bottles & Tinnies Craft Middy Big Bloke Blue Moon Belgian $ 4 $ 5 Angry Orchard Crisp Apple Hard Cider $ 4 $ 5 American Middy Big Bloke Budweiser $ 4 $ 5 Bud Light $ 4 $ 5 Coors Light $ 4 $ 5 Michelob Ultra $ 4 $ 5 Miller Lite $ 4 $ 5 Aussie Middy Big Bloke Foster’s 25.4 oz Oil Can $ 4 $ 5 Imported Middy Big Bloke Corona Extra $ 4 $ 5 Modelo Especial $ 4 $ 5 Dos Equis XX Lager $ 4 $ 5 Heineken $ 4 $ 5 Newcastle Brown Ale $ 4 $ 5 Non-Alcoholic Middy Big Bloke O’Doul’s $ 4 $ 5 Outback Steakhouse White Wines White 6 oz Bottle Prosecco(Sparkling Wine),La Marca, Italy $ 7.29 $ 30.00 White Zinfandel, Sutter Home, California $ 5.99 – Rosé, Chloe, California $ 7.49 $ 29.00 Moscato, Jacob’s Creek, Australia $ 6.29 $ 24.00 Riesling, Chateau Ste. Michelle, Washington $ 6.49 $ 25.00 Pinot Grigio, Ecco Domani, Italy $ 6.79 $ 26.00 Sauvignon Blanc,Francis Coppola Yellow Label, CA $ 7.49 $ 29.00 Chardonnay, World’s Edge, Australia $ 5.99 $ 23.00 Chardonnay, Cupcake, California $ 7.49 $ 29.00 Chardonnay, Kendall-Jackson Vintner’s Reserve, CA $ 9.29 $ 36.00 Outback Steakhouse Red Wines Red 6 oz Bottle Pinot Noir, Mirassou, California7.79 $ 7.29 $ 28.00 Pinot Noir, La Crema, California $ 8.79 $ 34.00 Merlot, Red Diamond, Washington $ 6.49 $ 25.00 Red Blend, Apothic, California $ 7.49 $ 29.00 Shiraz, Jacob’s Creek Reserve, Australia $ 7.79 $ 30.00 Cabernet Sauvignon, World’s Edge, Australia $ 5.59 $ 23.00 Cabernet Sauvignon, 14 Hands, Washington $ 6.79 $ 26.00 Cabernet Sauvignon, Francis Coppola Ivory Label, CA $ 9.29 $ 36.00 Cabernet Sauvignon, The federalist, California $ 8.99 $ 35.00 Outback Steakhouse Non-Alcoholic Drinks Strawberry Lemonade $ 3.79 Kiwi Strawberry Lemonade $ 3.79 Aussie Palmer $ 3.79 Lemonade $ 3.79 Coke $ 3.79 Diet Coke $ 3.79 Sprite $ 3.79 Hi-C $ 3.79 Acqua Panna $ 3.79 San Pellegrino $ 3.79 Dr. Pepper $ 3.79 Coffee $ 3.79 Tea $ 3.79 Coke (Zero sugar) $ 3.79 ➽ If you’d like to enjoy bespoke dishes from Outback Steakhouse, try cocktails such as Saua Gold Coast ‘Rita, strawberry kiwi, blackberry martini “Rita,” Aussie Rum Punch, etc. ➽ The darned wallaby cocktail is a wintry mix of La Marca Prosecco, peaches and SVEDKA. If you want to try OZ-style, you can include an additional splash with La Marca Prosecco. ➽ Boozy Cherry Lemonade contains black cherries mixed with Bacardi lime-infused rum and Sprite. ➽ The filled Bloody Marry has Tito’s handmade Absolute vodka mixed with a full-on Bloody Marry mix. ➽ This Castaway cocktail is a fantastic mix of Cruzan Passion Fruit Rum, Absolute mandarin vodka, Malibu coconut Rum, pineapple juice Blood orange sour. Also, make a strawberry mojito, Boomarita, Sydney’s cosmo. ➽ You can try a middy or a large beer bloke from Outback Steakhouse. The most popular choices include Bloomin Blonde Ale, Bud Light, Foster’s Lager and more. ➽ There is a variety of craft, American, Aussie, imported, and non-alcoholic beer. Blue Moon Belgian soft cider and angry orchard craft beer can be enjoyed while dining at the Outback Steakhouse. ➽ The wine menu at Outback Steakhouse is segregated into red wine and white wine. This restaurant’s most well-known white wines include Prosecco, White Zinfandel, Moscato and Pinot Grigio and numerous others. ➽ You could consist of Mirassou, MerlotRed Diamond and Cabernet Sauvignon for red wines. Many non-alcoholic beverages include kiwi strawberry lemonade, Aussie palmer and tea. Outback Steakhouse Drinks Nutritional  ➽ Read the nutritional information of this drink from the link shown in the table below. Nutritional Information outback.com/nutrition/

FAQs – Outback Steakhouse Drinks

Does Outback have chocolate martinis? ➽ There are 100 calories in an Espresso Infused Vodka and White Chocolate Martini from Outback. Does Outback serve whiskey? ➽ A classic favorite, Jameson® Irish Whiskey is topped with ginger ale and served on the rocks. Does Outback have Coke? ➽ Try one of our ice-cold Coca-Cola products, Gold Peak Tea, or a refreshing Country Style lemonade! How much is lemonade in Outback? ➽ Strawberry Lemonade $3.19 What kind of drinks do they have at Outback? - Favorite Outback boozy beverages to go! - Long Island Iced Tea for Two. $12.50. - Castaway Cocktail for Two. $12.50. - NEW! Sauza Gold Coast ‘Rita for Two. - Strawberry Peach Sangria for Two. $12.50. - Blackberry Sangria for Two. $12.50. - Aussie Rum Punch for Two. $12.50. - Huckleberry Hooch Moonshine for Two. - Bloomin’ Blonde Growler. Does Outback Steakhouse have margaritas? ➽ Sauza® Gold Coast ‘Rita® Our proprietary house margarita made with Sauza® Gold Tequila. What kind of soda does Outback have? ➽ You can also have hot coffee, tea, lemonade, and other drinks. - Non-Alcoholic Drinks. - Strawberry Lemonade $ 3.79 - Aussie Palmer $ 3.79 - Lemonade $ 3.79 - Coke $ 3.79 - Diet Coke $ 3.79 Does Outback Steakhouse have strawberry daiquiris? ➽ It’s our Cocktail of the Month! All February, you can enjoy a Strawberry Daiquiri for only $10. Available to customers 18+ only, outback Steakhouse practices the responsible service of alcohol. Find here: Outback menu with prices The post Outback Steakhouse Drinks Menu appeared first on ❤️ UPDATED 2023. Read the full article

[poojaj]

Moscato Wine Market Set To See Strong Growth by 2030

The Moscato wine market is a subset of the larger wine market, which refers to wines made from the Muscat grape variety. Moscato wines are known for their sweet, fruity, and floral aromas, low alcohol content, and light body. They are typically consumed as dessert wines or paired with light, sweet dishes.

For Sample Report Click Here:-https://www.globmarketreports.com/request-sample/258328

The Moscato wine market has experienced significant growth in recent years, driven by changing consumer preferences and the rising popularity of sweet wines. Moscato has become particularly popular among millennials and women, who appreciate its sweet taste and low alcohol content.

Some of the key players in the Moscato wine market include E&J Gallo Winery, Sutter Home Winery, Barefoot Cellars, Yellow Tail, and Bartenura. These companies offer a range of Moscato wines at different price points to cater to different consumer segments.

The Moscato wine market is also supported by a range of promotional activities, including social media campaigns, influencer marketing, and wine festivals. Many Moscato wine brands have also partnered with celebrities to promote their products, further increasing their visibility and appeal.

Overall, the Moscato wine market is expected to continue to grow in the coming years, driven by changing consumer preferences and the increasing popularity of sweet wines.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

What’s in a Name? Pt. II

A/N: So I know I said that the first part was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done...but this takes the cake. The softest, cheesiest thing I’ve ever written and I will apologize for nothing. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? A few smooches or two.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to propose and the one time he actually does. 

(Beautiful art by my bb @bucketheadredacted​)

Read part one!

Marcus Pike was finally a man lucky in love.

Maybe. Hopefully. God, he really needed to be lucky. Just this once.

He had bought the diamond ring three months after she had moved in—that was him moving slowly! Honestly! He had felt the urge to look at rings only a month after she had kissed him in the park but had refrained, his past failed relationships whispering at the back of his mind. He didn’t want to push her away. Didn’t want to scare her by moving too fast. Didn’t want to break his own heart again. It had been a strange uphill battle to just learn her name—and now he wanted to give her his name, too.

But he loved her. Truly.

And he knew that within a month of stealing kisses and slipping into overpriced hotel rooms between briefings and meetings and auctions across the country. And Marcus hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking her if she wanted to move into his Washington D.C. apartment six months later.

The words had tumbled out of his mouth while they were still half asleep, his alarm blaring in the background, alerting them both that she needed to get up to fly back to New Orleans.

And she…giggled and rolled over to press a kiss to his lips, uncaring of his morning breath. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

And it had been perfect. It had been good to come home and see her jacket slung over the back of the chair, to smell her perfume lingering in the bathroom as she dashed out the door, to wake up next to her when they both had a reprieve from their chaotic jobs and not have to worry that they would have to separate again within a handful of hours. It was good even when she tried a new recipe and the entire apartment smelled like burnt noodles for two days.

But he wanted to call her his wife and he wanted to be her husband. He wanted to have a family with her and maybe buy a house a little further outside the city—she had mentioned that she wanted a dog and a cat. “With room for them to run around!” She said with a smile.

And that all circled back to the ring. The platinum ring with the princess cut diamond. The ring he had been hiding for ages. The ring he wanted to put on her finger—if she said yes. Or he would have to tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs (again) and nurse a broken heart (again) and listen to his coworkers well-meaning condolences (again).

“When are you gonna ask her, man?” One of his fellow agents asked as they parked the agency-assigned SUV in the underground lot. Marcus had made the mistake of mentioning how he had a ring waiting at the back of his sock drawer and this agent—and honestly? Marcus couldn’t even remember his name—latched onto that and had spent the last three hours trying to ‘help’ Marcus come up with a plan on how to propose.

Marcus had a plan already. Thank you very much.

“I am going to take her to see the fireworks over the river.”

“Romantic. Good choice.”

Marcus felt himself puff up a bit at that. It was romantic, wasn’t it? This would be fine.

                                                     **

It was not fine.

The spot Marcus had picked was already crowded by the time they arrived—he was still grumbling about the flat tire he had to fix on the way there but his mood shift when he heard her sigh. It was a happy sound that had a smile pushing at his own lips.

“This is a good spot. Good choice.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek before turning and grabbing the cooler from the back of his car.

Marcus quickly patted his pocket and felt the ring safely in its confines. This could work, right? He just needed to wait for the fireworks. He set a checkered blanket on the warm grass and helped her unload their cooler, filled with her favorite picnic foods and maybe a bit of alcohol too, hidden away in two tumblers. The wind off the river was nice, keeping them from getting too overheated and someone further down the bank had set up a radio, letting music provide a backdrop to the quiet lapping water and the conversations from the strangers around them. He was not the best conversationalist, Marcus had to admit, he was busy rehearsing what he was going to say in his head over and over, trying to imagine if she would cry or smile—or just…say yes. But he made her laugh and earned a few more kisses when he managed to contribute to the conversation and fed her a few of the grapes from the cooler.

It was good…it was fine…until it wasn’t.

It started with her swatting at something on her arm just as the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. That wasn’t uncommon; the East Coast was notoriously buggy during the summer. It was probably a mosquito.

But then it happened again and again and again until she was standing up with a shriek, wildly hitting at herself. “Marcus! Marcus!”

“Honey?”

“There’s ants everywhere!”

He glanced down and…yes, there were ants everywhere. And then he felt his first bite.

They quickly gained more than their fair share of attention as they both scrambled to get the hundreds of ants off of them, knocking over their food and cooler with unpleasant groans and gasps as they gained more ant bites.

In a rushed haze, still swatting at themselves, they gathered up their belongings and all but dumped them in the back of the car. When their tires hit highway, they heard the first boom of the fireworks.

                                       **

“How’re you feeling?” She whispered as she rubbed a bit more cream onto Marcus’s back. It had been almost a week since the ant incident and his body was still covered in small red bumps. A testament to his failure.

He reached back, a little awkwardly from his angle on his stomach, and grasped her hand. “I’m okay, honey.” He hummed when he felt her pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Marcus turned his head just a bit and looked at her hand. Her ring finger was still bare. The ring had been tucked away in his bedside drawer after they both scrubbed themselves clean and then all but bathed in calamine lotion. But Marcus was a man on a mission. Having brunch, just to the two of them, all calm and relaxed, was just as good as fireworks.

When she’d been showering earlier, he had called in a delivery from her favorite breakfast restaurant, the florist down the block, and snuck around the apartment to try to tidy up a bit. Not that the apartment needed much. He had set a new set of candles in two overly-priced candle holders and lit them…and then quickly snuffed them out, deeming it too early for candles. He had slipped back into bed just as she emerged in a puff of lavender steam from the bathroom, looking much more comfortable than she had in days.

He rolled over and sat up to steal a kiss against her smiling mouth before coaxing her down onto the bed to apply her share of the strangely scented lotion to her matching set of bumps and bites.

“You know,” she started, face squished in the pillow, “for what it’s worth, I did have a really good time.”

“Yeah?”

“You know I always like spending time with you.”

“Even if you get eaten alive by fire ants?” He asked, a smile pushing at his mouth as his fingers trailed down her back.

She laughed. “Even then.”

He leaned down to press a kiss behind her ear before finishing her layer of lotion and his smile only grew when he heard the familiar, satisfied hum rumble in her throat. A knock at the door had him rising. “I’ll be right back.” Marcus pulled on a shirt as he moved toward the door and opened it, happily seeing two delivery men. He paid them both quickly and moved to the kitchen to set everything up as he heard one of his least favorite sounds.

Her cellphone ringing.

Marcus placed the flowers in her favorite vase but didn’t even move to plate the food he’d had delivered. What was the point?

She came out of the bedroom, rubbing at her temples and her phone in her pocket. “I-”

“You have to go,” he said, finishing for her. “Where to this time?”

She grimaced. “Nowhere fun. But apparently a Pollock has surfaced at an auction set for tomorrow night.” Her eyes darted to the flowers and her grimace softened. “Are these for me?”

Marcus smiled and handed them to her, chuckling as she all but shoved her face into the blooms to inhale their scent. He tightened the knot on the top of the takeout and handed that to her, too. “Here, you can eat this on the road.” And when she opened her mouth to apologize, he kissed the words away. Marcus would never fault her for her job and its uneven schedule, just as she never held his strange hours against him. “Home by Wednesday?” He murmured against her lips.

“Home by Wednesday. I promise.”

When he closed the door to her taxi and waved as he watched the yellow car disappear around the corner, Marcus sighed. Strike two.  

                                                 **

Patrick Jane was not who Marcus wanted to see right now. And neither was Lisbon. But that was beside the point. The point was that Marcus hadn’t seen his Honey in almost three weeks because of a demanding client wanting more and more art work so she was flown all over Europe to different auctions and private sales.

He had remembered how he heard her sniffle over the phone when she told him that this client was asking her to pick up more art. “It is good money, really good. I can probably take a few months off after I do this but I…” she hiccupped and his heart broke. “But I just really miss you.”

And that was why he had booked a table at this beautiful and romantic restaurant after she had managed to sleep off her jet lag and rinse the grime of the plane from her skin.

Marcus ordered expensive wine that she knew she only ordered when she closed a big deal and asked the chef to place the ring on the top of the tiramisu he had scheduled to be brought out in exactly 47 minutes.

But that plan had been fantastically derailed when that obnoxious blond man spotted him from across the restaurant and then had the gall to ask the hostess to seat them near each other. (What were they even doing in DC?) For her part, Lisbon looked uncomfortable, too, as they made small talk.

With each passing word and each forced anecdote, Marcus felt himself deflate. There was no way he was going to propose to the love of his life in front of his ex-fiancée and her husband.

“You know,” Jane started and Marcus felt his teeth grind, “Marcus always struck me as a family man.”

She smiled and reached out to wrap her fingers around Marcus’ and squeezed. “He is.”

“Oh?” Jane continued, leaning forward in his seat. “Is a congratulations in order?”

Marcus could hear his teeth grinding but her grip tightened on his hand while her smile remained steady. “That is none of your business. I am sure you can fill your time poking and prodding into other people’s lives. Now, please, you have interrupted my long overdue date with the love of my life with your prattle. I’m sure you’re lovely, but I am done entertaining you.” She raised her other hand and asked for the check which was quickly given. The hostess, for her part, did glance to Marcus to make sure it was okay before he subtly nodded. The ring was slipped back into his hand by a sly waiter.

“Marcus,” Lisbon murmured, “we didn’t mean-”

Marcus stood and buttoned his jacket before helping his Honey into her coat. “Have a good night, Lisbon.”

And they left the restaurant, flagging down a taxi as thunder rolled overhead. Marcus made sure to open the taxi’s door for her and let her slide in before joining her in the backseat. The pair was quiet for a moment, and then two before she started to giggle. The giggle grew into a full-belly laugh that had tears gathering in her eyes and Marcus had to laugh, too. She always made him laugh.

“God!” She said. “He’s so full of himself. And truly, Marcus, I’m sure Teresa is lovely but she has terrible taste in men. Choosing that over you? I would never.”

Marcus felt a selfish bloom of pride swell in his chest. “Yeah?”

She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”

And you know? That made Marcus smile just as much as putting a shiny ring on her finger. She wanted him forever.

He could propose tomorrow.

                                             **

He did not propose tomorrow.

Or any day after that for the next three months. There just…wasn’t the right time. The ring he now kept in his suit jacket pocket seemed heavier by the day. Even his fellow agents seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering him.

“Fighting with your lady, Pike?” One of them asked as they were huddled around a table in the art storage room, trying to devise a plan to catch a thief who had managed to disappear with fourteen million dollars’ worth of some blueblood’s family heirlooms which included an Artemisia Gentileschi original. It was a brazen heist and obviously a huge case that needed to be their sole focus.

But sometimes his group of agents were a little nosey.

“We don’t really fight,” Marcus muttered as he looked over the blueprints of the family’s home, trying to find a way that the thief had come in and out. The official police report said a downstairs window was open but he didn’t believe that. “We have our disagreements but she is the most levelheaded person I know. The most heated conversation we had was over which diner had the best waffles.”

Another agent gagged. “You two are disgusting.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘perfect,’ actually.”

Marcus shook his head and bit back a laugh—they really needed to focus on this case. “We’re not perfect.” And they weren’t. No one was. But that didn’t mean he loved her any less.

“Still haven’t proposed, eh?”

“Shut up, man.” There was no heat to his tone as Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face before looking at his watch. It was almost eleven at night. “Go home. It’s late. We can pick this up in the morning.”

The rest of the group grumbled their thanks and disappeared to the upper levels of the building, probably in search of their forgotten dinners before going home. Marcus tapped his pencil on the blueprints, his eyes constantly moving to the door leading into the ‘piano room’ which then led down to the wine cellar. He wasn’t sure why, but something in his gut just told him the answer led to that set of rooms.

“Marcus?”

He jumped at the sudden noise but quickly righted himself as he saw her entering the fenced off storage area, carefully skirting around a prized Greco-Roman statue they had just recovered in Philadelphia. It was no longer a surprise to see her down here, the front desk guards knew her by face and name and all but gave her security clearance, easily letting her through when they knew Marcus was working late. He stood and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips and then forehead in greeting, listening to her hum in contentment as her hands wound around his waist. “What are you doing here, Honey?”

She smiled as she looked at him and shrugged. “I knew you were working late. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d keep you company instead of tossing and turning.”

“You know I’m always happy to see you.” He led her over to the table and told her a little about the case, as much as he could without truly getting in trouble, and let her look over his notes.

She frowned as she turned the blueprints around and looked at them. “These people are like…billionaires, right?”

Marcus confirmed it with a frown but let her continue.

“Right. So, last time I was in LA, I was at that big, private auction at one of the gaudiest homes I’ve ever visited. Remember me telling you about that? The host got so drunk that he demanded he show everyone his three panic rooms and the private tunnel he had requested be dug behind his laundry room in the basement. Apparently he bribed the city inspector to keep it off the official blueprints so that a thief couldn’t use that tunnel.” She held up the blueprints and tapped at the wine cellar. “Ten bucks says there’s more to this wine cellar than just some ridiculous vintages.”

Marcus could feel his face lighting up. She was amazing.

They spoke a little longer, about possible suspects and how there was probably more than one thief—or at least a getaway driver—before their conversations shifted.

“The guys upstairs said something funny.”

“Hm?”

“They called me Mrs. Pike.”

His next breath nearly choked him. He was going to kill the guards upstairs. “O-oh? Really?”

“I think it sounds nice,” she said, her tone a little embarrassed. “Not that I haven’t thought about it before.” She smiled a bit, almost nervous. “We’ve talked about it, me and you, but to hear someone else say it…makes it sound…really nice.” She hid her embarrassment behind her hand and shook her head.

“I think it sounds nice, too.” He could do it. Right now. He could do it. They were surrounded by beautiful art. All by themselves. There was a light in her eyes that made his heart squeeze. His hand patted the pocket where he kept the ring and-

-it was gone.

“Marcus?” Her tone was filled with worry and she reached out to trail a finger over the crease that had erupted between his eyebrows, a gesture she did often when he brought work home with him. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, honey.”

He most certainly was not but it wasn’t like he could tell her that or propose. ‘Yes, honey. I lost your engagement ring. Will you marry me?’ Fuck.

                                          **

The next day Marcus was stopped by the man at the front desk as he headed toward his office. “Everyone’s been telling me about your big plans. Can’t do it without this.” He handed over a small bag and inside…was the ring.

“Where’d you find it?” Marcus asked, stashing the ring in his briefcase this time. 

Apparently his pocket couldn’t be trusted.

“Parking lot.”

Marcus could only sigh.

                                       **

This was it. This had to be it.

If it wasn’t? He was sure the universe was telling him to just give up. They were happy, right? In love? Maybe they didn’t have to be married. Maybe…

No. No, he wanted to be her husband and he wanted her to be his wife. And that was why the ring was (safely and securely) stowed away in his wallet. He just needed the right time.

She was sitting across from him at their favorite diner, a stack of pancakes and a plateful of waffles between them and half-finished milkshakes abandoned near the saltshakers as they tried to guess which type of syrup was in each little carafe from a single bite. It was a game they played a few times before—one they had played on their first official date, actually. It had lasted well past the dinner and museum visit he had planned and into the morning where they had landed at the diner as the sun rose.

“This has to be strawberry,” she said as she finished her bite. “What do you think?” She asked, holding out the fork for him to take.

He took his bite and nodded. “Strawberry, definitely.”

She lifted the carafe and smiled as she read the tape on the bottom. “Point for us!” They high-fived across the table, laughing. The waitress who always served them shook her head with a smile from her place at the counter, knowing their game too well.

Marcus poured the syrup on their next bite and guessed its flavor before letting her take a guess.

“Um…blueberry?” She licked her lips, contemplating. “Maybe?” As Marcus lifted the carafe and confirmed that it was indeed blueberry, she continued. “Oh, a display of Alphonse Mucha is coming to Georgetown.”

Marcus smiled. Over an hour of their first date had been filled with soft whispers and shy smiles in front of a wall of Mucha sketches. They had been asked to leave by a polite but tired museum guard, not realizing they were there past closing. It was one of his fondest memories. One of the first times he realized she was truly special. He fell a little (more) in love with her that night. “We should go.”

“I’ll get tickets!”

This was the time. This was the moment. He pulled his wallet out under the table and curled his finger around the ring and watched as she smiled, wiping a bit of syrup from her chin. “I love you.”

She paused and looked at him, smile continuing to grow. “And you know I love you, too.”

“And I’ve loved you for a long time. You make my life better, make me better. I know our jobs are crazy. But they’re beautiful. Filled with art and excitement. But you’ve really…made my life a masterpiece.”

“Marcus?” Her voice was soft, eyes narrowing just slightly.

But Marcus pressed forward. “And I know that’s cheesy but I-”

And his phone was ringing. Why of all times was his phone ringing? And worst of all, it was the ringtone he had set for his boss. He had to answer. And she knew it, nodding just once with a fading smile. 

He stood from his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before slipping away with his phone pressed to his ear.

                                               **

Marcus was tired. Tired.

He had been to New York to Miami to Orlando to Atlanta and then finally to Rio. The band of thieves, making a run for it with millions of dollars of art—including a da Vinci sketch. But he and his team caught them before they disappeared into the wind and the art was lost to the black market.

But he was tired.

He yawned as he drove through the mostly-quiet streets, ready to slip back into his apartment and pull his honey into his arms and then…sleep for three days. 

That sounded wonderful.

But then his phone rang again.

And he had to answer it.

Thankfully, it was a short call. Someone had just broken in to one of the smaller museums in Georgetown and they wanted Pike to catch the thief in the act. Marcus sighed as he tossed his phone in the passenger seat. If this went well, it meant less paperwork. And then he could sleep.

The museum was dark when he arrived. There was only a faint bit of life coming from around of one the corners and he slunk around in the shadows, a hand on his gun. He was ready. He could stop a theft before it happened. He could-

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks as he realized what he was looking at.

Standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by (electronic) candles and priceless Mucha originals, was his Honey. His Venus.

“Hi Marcus.”

He took one step forward and then two and then three-

And she dropped to one knee and gently grasped his hands in hers, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “You make me smile every day. Even when I feel the need to hide all your socks after you make me mad. You have given me a new way of seeing art, appreciating it. You, Marcus Pike, have helped me grow, helped me breathe when I thought the world was just too much, helped me learn what strawberry syrup tastes like.”

Marcus had to laugh at that, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes. “And pecan, too.”

“And pecan syrup, too.” She squeezed his hands again with a growing smile. “I’ve never known love like this. And I never want to be without it. I never want to be without you. I just…” she hiccupped, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “I just love you. Will you marry me? Can I be Mrs. Pike?”

Marcus pulled his hands from hers and quickly pulled his wallet from his back pocket, pulling the ring (finally), from its depths. “Can I ask you, too?”

She all but tackled him to the sparkling marble floors and pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, chin, brow, and lips, a laugh on her tear-stained lips. “Ask me.”

“Will you marry me?” The words finally came out in a rush, his heart beating wildly behind his ribs as he watched her smile. Her beautiful smile.

“Yes.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think!

[gothicprep]

New weird memory from my childhood unlocked

both of my parents cooked when I was growing up, and I always liked it when my dad was home early because he was better at it. my dad is from northern NJ and is predictably fond of Italian American offerings. sometimes I’d sit on the kitchen counter and watch him make marinara sauce, and usually what he’d do was pour a glass of red wine, and then pour a couple tablespoons of it into the sauce and we’d just sit there and chat for the 30 odd minutes it took for the sauce to reduce to his liking. after a while of this, I started noticing he usually was drinking Merlot

anyway, Father’s Day is coming up and I was at the grocery store with my mom, and we walked through the wine section and I was like “I wanna get dad merlot!” and I ended up picking out a bottle of yellow tail because I thought the kangaroo on it was “fun” and not “boring” like the other bottle art that was typically on what he was drinking

when I gave it to him he was like “alright, when you’re older, you’ll know there’s good wines and bad wines. but this is one of the better ones as far as bad wines go. youll also know what I mean by that too.”

And I hate this so much because now, a decade and a half later, yellow tail is my go-to economy wine because it holds up surprisingly well for the price point

[homesteadchronicles]

Original Writing Excerpt: “To Me”

Hello, my homies! I have an unexpected piece of writing to share with you all today, one not related to my known WIPs. Instead, this comes from the world I detailed here, one I’ve now been given permission to flesh out into a full-fledged story.

You don’t need to know the world in order to read, but I’ve provided the necessary context below in order to dive on in!

CHARACTERS:

Ero “Del’Gris” Idess: An intergalactic music idol in service to her agent, Kiladian Wellthane, who enlists her help in exposing his enemies’ corruption. Yoselle of the Starsea (”Ghost”): Ero’s bodyguard and long-time employee of Kiladian Wellthane whose unspoken feelings for Ero grieve him.

CONTEXT:

Ero and Yoselle have been dispatched by Kiladian to the Polaris Nightclub in order to secure information on the corrupt CEO of a pharmaceutical empire. When Ero botches her mission, she seeks comfort from a source both she and her target know can only lead to complications.

THE EXCERPT:

You are a specter: ethereal, immaterial, insignificant. She is a spotlight: illuminating, enticing, unyielding. These two halves cannot hold one another. These pieces fit different puzzles. But she needs something to elucidate and you did not hallucinate her invitation to centerstage. Still you skirt around the sidelines, flirting with shadows, fearful of exposure. She stands, a beacon in the clubhouse, awaiting your answer.

You refuse to reply.

Polaris, you convince yourself, requires better surveillance than the shoddy bodyguards provide it. Expensive liquor, lavish decor, and a distinct lack of security – the omen of emergencies. It was everything you loathed and Ero loved.

She didn’t seem to mind now, not that she ever had before. Why would she? She has you. Needs you. Wants you, a part of you thinks, hopes, refutes. Ero plays her role without shame. Flattery reserved a permanent space in her mouth and her lips make use of their eternal inhabitant to elicit information even when her hips were in motion.

Your place lies elsewhere. Astride. Afar. Procurer and protector both had their parts to play. Separately.

Then why does she keep staring at me?

It is your fifth circuit around the dance floor when you notice her attraction attention. Her gaze ought to be on your target, on Gentarou Hongou, on the mastermind of a corrupt pharmaceutical company. Her hand would bat his chest as her lashes bat her cheeks and he would indulge her as everyone always did. Their mission depended on his entanglement. Did she expect to seduce him with a half-given gaze?

Either Ero or Gentarou comes to the same conclusion, as she discreetly excuses herself to evacuate the floor and he does not even bother watching as she goes. You give chase, coming to a heel behind her as she reaches the dancing’s edge. Stress tugs her brows together. She has disappointed her target. Disappointed herself. Worse, you realize, she has disappointed Kiladian.

“You’re off your game,” you note. A comment and a question intermingle therein, indiscernible.

Ero maneuvers through the crowd with angered grace. Each foot falls just shy of stepping on another’s toes, the click of her heels on the metal beneath like a tongue snapping against bared teeth. “Hongou’s harder than I thought,” she mumbles, “and not in the way I need him to be.”

The bar comes quickly into focus as you follow her. It’s going to be a long night.

Ero glides into the shaky comfort of a barstool. Before you can intercept, she has the bartender concocting something with a name you won’t remember for a price you cannot fathom. Ero’s erratic when inebriated and adamant when infuriated – not a winning combo for their cause.

She beckons you over with a caress of the empty seat beside her and you stiffen. Your place is beneath behind her. But, for a moment, weariness cracks her mask and the lonely soul inside creeps out. “Ghost,” she drawls. Her fingers walk up your chestplate, eyes unblinking in unspoken expectation, and you will indulge her as you always have. “To me.”

The seat is filled before you can stop yourself.

Two drinks slide along the countertop and stop in front of them, one a glittering gray encrusted with crystal and the other a dusty yellow clouded by rising mist. Ero cradles the latter before acknowledging the former. “Oops. Looks like I ordered one too many.” Her tone holds no remorse, only mischief. She nudges the glass towards you. “Guess someone ought to keep me sober.”

You can’t deny that. Deny her. You drink.

Each sip is a burning kiss to your lips, searing all the way down until the sweetness kicks in thereafter. It’s easier to forget the sting when the aftertaste settles in. You swallow again. Again. Again, until you learn to love the flames, too.

Ero only toys with her order. It’s not her usual selection, not her Nightfire. The glass in front of her holds Del’Gris’ favorite - all flash and fruitiness - but no bite. Which means she believes the show must go on. Which means Del’Gris gets an encore.

You need to navigate this delicately. “Hongou gave you the slip?”

“He may as well have. Kiladian’s information was off – Hongou’s not involved.”

“You’re sure?”

Ero dips her head as if to nod before it droops in defeat. “Honestly? I don’t know. Making heads or tails of the man is more complicated than making eyes at him.” She retrieves the cherry inside her drink and rips it clean off the stem. “I’m not myself tonight.”

“That’s not true.” The words slip out before you can subdue them. An unfortunate error, but Ero appraises you with wide-eyed surprise and you wonder whether it was a blessing in disguise. “You were not Del’Gris tonight, true. Del’Gris holds every man captive in her grasp. But you were Ero tonight – and any glimpse behind the curtain is enough to fluster a lesser man like Hongou.”

Ero twists your words around in her mind like the stem she knots in her mouth. When she pulls the stem free, her answer spills out too. “You know me too well.”

Not as much as I’d like, you think. Still not enough to keep you safe. It is an unbidden - but honest - admission. Not one Ero would adhere to half-plastered and wholly penitent. You settle for “well enough to know when you’re not well.”

She scoffs into her cup, a bitter laugh against sweet liquor. “Can’t get any worse”. Ero raises her hand and requests another round of liquid courage: Nighfire on the rocks. It’s a slow burn, she told you once, reeking of booze and other bodies, just the way I like it.

You hadn’t liked it. Hadn’t liked the way her hair ensnared your shoulders, encircling you in her scent as you scraped her offstage. Hadn’t liked the lingering kindling of body heat. Hadn’t liked how much you dreamt of her touch afterwards.

The bartender brings her his poison and she tips it back in one go. Tipsy, but standing, Ero advances towards the dance floor. “Well, if our mission’s botched, must as well bust a move.” Half-lidded eyes hone in on you. “Don’t make me do it alone.”

There’s a plea beneath that tease, but the implications complicate your reaction. To stay would be wise. To go would be wine, a gradual inebriation, a delight today and a mistake tomorrow. A slow burn.

Noticing your hesitance, knowing your heart’s a mess, she approaches. “I’m not the only one unwell,” Ero whispers. Her tender denouncement strangles your judgment. “But we both have to choose health.”

She steps away. The crowd begins to swallow her, enclosing on all sides. Ero extends her hand to you. “Ghost,” she calls out. Her fingers curl inwards, a gambler clutching their stake. “To me.”

Your hand finds hers before you can stop yourself.

Polaris’ patrons shove you deeper into the throng of hedonism. Writhing bodies surround you on all sides, ushering you and Ero closer, closer, closer along to the beat of a song. You can’t make it out – not over the beat of your heart. 

But Ero can. She leans into you, giggles sending shockwaves against your skin, and it’s then you realize: the woman on the soundtrack is Del’Gris, but the one in your arms is Ero.

In my arms. The thought locks into place before you can register that your arms are, in fact, around her. Mechanically? Yes. Uncomfortably? Undoubtedly. Neither of you seem to mind, if the way she slides her hands around your neck and nuzzles into its crook is any evidence. 

Then again, you always were the problem. After all, what right have you to hold her after haunting her for so long?

“You’re overthinking it,” Ero says. You’re not the only one who knows the other too well. “Maybe I ought to take the lead.”

You both laugh at that, at yourselves, at everything that your twisted lives have led to because if you don’t laugh, you might both break. Then again, at least you’d crumble into one another.

Ero only leans back and leads on. Your hands keep her feet aloft, her back aligned. This imperfect rhythm, this imbalancing act, leaves you both in synchronized breathlessness.

Neon lights illuminate your mingling skin in a patchwork of discordant colors. They rise to wreath Ero in a heathen’s halo: green envy, violet ire, scarlet lust. The crowd around exalts her alias - “Del’Gris! Del’Gris! Del’Gris” - but Ero has only ever worshipped you.

Always the star, you muse, and I am but the planet trapped in orbit.

“They’re calling for their queen,” you tease.

“They’re calling for Del’Gris,” she clarifies, “but I believe someone requested Ero.”

“You must have heard a ghost.”

Whatever impish inclinations Ero might otherwise maintain were exorcised in an instant. Seriousness seats itself in place of playfulness, mouth thin and eyes taut. Her hand rises to graze his cheek. “Ghost you may be to everyone else, but you’re always Yoselle to me.”

You have been brutalized by mobsters, held for ransom by hitmen, and crushed by an atmospheric crucible more times than you can count, but nothing has ever taken hold of your heart half as hard as that. “I never mind playing the specter if it means shadowing you.” And it’s true. You would spend the rest of your days in obscurity if it meant skirting around her radiance.

But Ero has never been one to settle for second best.

“Oh, is that so?” That ruinous mischief reclaims her lilting smile as she presses herself inward, upward. “In that case,” she whispers and her breath is a phantom promise against your lips. “Ghost, to me.”

Your mouth finds hers before you can stop yourself.

[ruchiebranding]

Concha y Toro and Yellow Tail

As wine critic Tim Atkin put it, Chilean wines can be seen as “the Volvo of the wine world . . .… safe but boring.” And to be honest, a safe but boring wine has no place competing in a saturated market. The company faced a crucial decision:

1. Bottom(s)-up” Strategy: “Avoid the margins squeeze by gradually leaving the lower end ($5 to $7) of the price spectrum, which faced tougher competition, and emphasizing the premium and super-premium segments”

2. “Top-down” Strategy: exploit the prestige of its high-end wines to expand into the basic segment (i.e., $5 to $7 range)

This made me want to do an analysis of my go-to wine brand from when I didn’t know what good wine actually tasted like: [yellow tail]. As it turns out, Yellow Tail also struggled to find their place in the American market and needed to strategically think about where they fit in as a brand. I learned that they used a “Blue Ocean Strategy” as to swerve away from the overcrowded wine market and rather dive into the open “blue ocean” where there are no competitors in sight. 

This specifically meant absolutely not engaging in any sort of competition with premium wines, because they knew they would not win based on the quality of the wine. Instead, they very intentionally chose to rebrand the very idea of drinking wine in itself. As the economists who authored the Blue Ocean Strategy put it: “instead of offering wine as wine, [yellow tail] created a social drink accessible to everyone: beer drinkers, cocktail drinkers, and other drinkers of non-wine beverages.” This was unlocking a whole new market of wine drinkers- the people who don’t actually care about the quality of wine, the type of wine, the type of grape, or the country that the wine came from. There would be no aerators required, no wine fridges to purchase and none of the other “fancy” things required to be a wine drinker. The packaging was very specifically designed simply to match this- no frills at all, just a brightly colored label and the grape variety as seen below. And this strategy worked! They found their home in the American Market. 

Yellow Tail Research Source:  https://www.thebrandingjournal.com/2014/05/yellow-tail-clever-product-positioning-within-american-wine-industry/

[exophile3d]

This is the last of my current Monster BF request ficlets. @ur-favorite-pincushion​ asked for naga mutual masturbation. It’s taken me a while as I struggled a bit with the inspiration for it, but it all came together today. Also doodled him, but I hate the pose and his crappy hand so meh.

Poison

Male naga / Female reader (NSFW)

“You’re poison running through my veins.” Alice Cooper.

-----------------------------

The familiar scent coils around you as you descend the stone path into the dark maw of the cave. The light from your torch licks the walls and leaves orange stains that fade to black as you pass. You know what awaits, far below in the depths. You need its aid, for it alone can give you what you need, and you know the price it will put upon its produce, a price that already has goosebumps setting the hairs on your arms on end. There is no other source for this unique toxin however, which paralyses then eats away at your enemies from the inside out while they still live. Your foes are many and foul, deserving of a horrific death, and this is not the first time you have bartered with the creature for its goods.

The narrow sloping tunnel opens onto a well-lit, circular cavern, no more than forty feet in diameter, which makes up the subterranean trader’s living space. The roof is hung with roots that have grown down from the daylit world in search of water, and now serve a new purpose as they form loops when they try to grow back out towards the light. Shelves and chests line the walls, filled with books, crafting and potion-making paraphernalia, and assorted trinkets. While the trader makes and sells his own ready-made potions, you have come to take directly from the source, to harvest the product in its raw form, and make your own, even deadlier brew.

The cavern appears empty as you step across the threshold, and for a moment you wonder if he has perhaps gone hunting, but a lazy hiss from above soon puts paid to that idea. Your gaze shoots up in alarm, and there, in an almost impossible position is the naga you have come to procure from. His upper body hangs free, dangling in mid-air about ten feet above your head, while the thick, lengthy coils of his tail are looped in and around the roots hanging from the ceiling. Black hair frames his slender face, and his scales glimmer in the light of the torch in scintillant shades of golden yellow and cerulean blue. Short, sharp horns protrude from his face at nose and temple, and put you in mind of some of the more dangerous vipers you have seen in the wilds.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” you say. He has never been bothered by your intrusions in the past, but there is always a first time, and you really do not want to be on the wrong side of him.

He descends smoothly towards the ground and you step to one side to allow him to alight, the coils above unwinding in stealthy silence as he does so. Once the last of his tail has reached ground level, he holds his torso aloft on the front quarter so that he is looking down on you from a height of around seven feet. He smiles, although the expression is one you had to come to learn, so different is it from a human smile. His mouth is stiffly edged, with no mobile flesh at its borders, just larger scales that hint at where lips would be on another being. It extends back to the base of his ears, and you know from intimate experience just how wide his jaw can open. Now it hangs ajar just an inch or so, and his forked, red tongue slips out occasionally to savour the air: his smile, or his closest approximation of one.

“Not at all,” he replies. The voice is deeper than you would expect from a creature with a face so slender, and it is as soft as velvet. You resist the urge to look into his eyes. You know the danger inherent in that, although he has already told you he is not in the habit of harming his customers: it would be bad for business. “So what will it be today?” he asks lightly. “I have some new brews that are colourless, tasteless and undetectable when added to wine, for example.”

You swallow, your eyes drawn up over his hard mouth as he speaks, and itching to wander higher. You both know that is not what you came for.

“I’ve also been working on a condiment, a spicy sauce that will leave the taster burning inside,” he offers. A normal trader would be lifting the relevant bottles now and placing them in the customer’s hands, enticing them to buy. He has not moved from where he hovers just before you, tantalising your nostrils with the dry, earthy smell of him. Your gaze passes the small, spiked horn on his nose and pauses at his cheek.

“My need is for something a little more … raw,” you say. You are swaying on your feet now with the effort of keeping your gaze away from his eyes and you can feel your resolve wavering. His hand catches you under the chin, the underside of it cool and soft, and one of the few areas of his skin that is bereft of scales. He helps you past the final few seconds of your resistance, tilting your face up until your eyes meet his and your surrender is complete. Twin orbs of gold, speckled with jade suck you into their depths and your entire body suffuses with warmth.

“I think we can accommodate ‘raw’,” comes the silky response, but it sounds muffled, distant, external. All you care about is drowning yourself in those golden eyes. A familiar pressure begins to build, starting at your ankles, then working its way slowly up your calves and thighs as hard, gold-and-blue scaled coils are thrown around your body in quick succession, and you draw a deep breath, while you still can.

“Let’s see what we can … negotiate, shall we?” he asks. You nod, careful not to move your head too far in case those fascinating eyes are lost from view. The pressure is around your waist now, pinning your arms to your sides, and you are lifted from the ground as easily as you would lift a doll. You are aware of the cave ceiling above you moving as he transports you bodily to the pile of satin-covered cushions and plush furs in the circular depression in the far corner of the cave, and deposits you neatly in its centre. His coils undulate against you, squeezing and releasing as he rearranges you both to his liking, and in the process, he strips away your clothing in slow, efficient motions, holding your enraptured gaze through every last second of the undressing.

Presently, he hums in satisfaction. Your torso is secured in the lower, tapering end of his tail, while the thicker portion closer to his midriff is parting your legs as his upper body hovers above you. You can see the salacious enjoyment he is taking from having you trussed and yielding like this, and it alone would be enough to arouse you. But it is what he does to you physically, creating sensations no male of your species could ever emulate, that brings you back here time and again for the experience that only he can provide. His ridged scales tickle and tease where they rub between your thighs, and the length of  tail he has pressed around your chest is moving from side to side incessantly, dragging cool and smooth against your nipples. With each movement, he constricts just ever so slightly, making each breath just a little more of an effort, and causing the blood to pound in temple and crotch.

He lowers his face to yours, brushing the cool scales of his mouth against your lips, and tasting you with a darting, forked tongue. “You know my price,” he hisses. You nod, heat snaking through your belly as you think about what is in store, and as always, you hope that this time, he will give you what you truly want.

“My arms,” you slur, appalled at the sluggishness of both your words, and your limbs as he releases them. His tail wraps tightly around your breasts as soon as your arms are free, and begins to constrict and slide against them once more, sending tingles through your body from breast to groin. You reach down, trailing numb fingers across the soft scales of his belly, down to where his vent awaits your touch. You find he has already broken free, and his twin shafts are emerging steadily from their sheaths, slick and hard beneath your fingers. You draw in a ragged breath at the evidence of his desire for you, and as you exhale, he closes his coils to the point where you know your next breath will be a tiny, shallow mockery of itself.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against your mouth. Those golden eyes seem to swirl in your vision at this intimate proximity. He knows. He has always known, but you suspect he likes to hear you say it while he denies you. You grasp a shaft in each of your hands, taking as firm a grip as you are able, and begin to slide the skin up and down in long, smooth motions. He gasps against your lips, and tightens his grip around your ribs until you squeak in protest.

“Tell me.”

“Inside,” you gasp. His fingers have reached your own heat now, and they run teasingly against your folds, circling your clit as the wider portion of his tail continues to slide between your legs, igniting its own heated friction.

“You’ll have to be a little more explicit than that,” he advises in a tone that could melt icebergs.

You groan, annoyed at him despite the pleasure that is causing little shivers and shudders throughout your entire core. You want to comply with his racy demand, and tell him how much you want him inside you, but not only does he already know, but you know it won’t make any difference. It is always like this: he teases you with the prospect of the full force of his twin rods plundering your depths, promising ‘next time’, ‘next time’; but he never does. He knows it will keep you coming back, like an addict, hoping that one day he will relent.

His fingers slip past your lips and pass easily into your constricting depths. You draw in a shallow breath, nowhere near as much as you need, and the sensations strengthen as he buries two fingers in you to the last knuckle.

“If you don’t tell me, how will I know?” he asks. His eyes burn, his scales chafe your nipples, and his fingers plunge in a steadily speeding rhythm while you consider how to respond. Your hands work at his cocks, sliding against them with the same tempo as his pounding fingers and you can think of nothing now but how they would feel inside you. They are smoother than the rest of his hide, but ridged in a million tiny scales that you know will set your insides on fire, and warmth floods your crotch as you imagine being taken and pounded and squeezed and ravaged by him.

“What do you want?” he demands, his voice close to a roar now as he finger-fucks you while your hands move in a blur against his slick dicks, and you know you are both close.

Annoyed at your silence, the very end of his tail, no thicker than your wrist, wraps around your throat and closes off what little air remains to you. Your chest begins to hitch. Each sensation blooms with added potency and you shudder uncontrollably as with the last of your air, you gasp, “I want you to fuck me.”

He thrusts forward with his hips, forcing your hands to the very base of his twin shafts as your simple expression of desire, spoken with the very last of your breath, causes a veritable explosion of cum, and he empties himself onto your belly in hot, spurting gouts as his fingers curl inside you and send you shuddering into your own breathless climax.

Panting, red-faced, but tingling with satisfaction, you suck in a huge, noisy breath as his tail unwinds from your chest and throat. You can look him in the eye with no effect now that his needs are met, and you find there the same lazy delight that you are sure marks your own features. You stay still for a while, basking in the afterglow, until he releases you from his coils to perform the service for which you came. You watch fascinated as he opens his jaws to their full extent and milks his own four-inch fangs into the glass jar you brought for this exact purpose. You dress quickly, not wanting to outstay your welcome, and take the jar as he hands it to you. He keeps a grip on it, causing you to falter and glance to his face as you try and fail to take it from him. His eyes sparkle and threaten to draw you in again, and you drop your gaze quickly, noting the jar has twice as much venom in it as the last time you came.

“For your enemies,” he says, and the ‘s’ comes out as a low, vocal rumbling ‘z’ that sets your skin tingling. “May they die in pain and regret the day they crossed you.” Your brows twitch. He has never expressed interest in your use of the toxin before, and you wonder if perhaps it signifies a change in your relationship.

Whether it does or not, you both know you will be back, for next time, next time, he may just fulfill your wish.