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#Fried Squash Blossoms
haveyoueatenthis · 3 months
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woolysocks · 7 months
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this weekends car console bounties became feasts :')
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on an entirely different track:
one of my neighbors left Halloween gourds to decompose on their stoop over the winter and they now have some LOVELY squash plants growing among their annual flowers in their front garden. They have blossoms and everything. It’s kind of a look.
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shwlg · 9 months
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Deep Fried Squash Blossoms
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tempest-melody · 10 months
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Fried Zucchini Blossoms
A couple of years ago I had a squash plant and was able to get a handful of squash blossoms to eat. I tried to get some blossoms from the plants I had in the garden last year but something killed my plants. This year, until my own plants starts producing I was lucky enough to come across a vendor at the local farmers market selling squash blossoms and I was so excited to find them. This batch…
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booksandbrimstone · 1 year
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Stuffed and Fried Squash Blossoms
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bohobedlove · 1 year
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Deep Fried Squash Blossoms
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bunsicalcrossing · 1 year
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Deep Fried Squash Blossoms
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exhaustedcosplayer · 2 years
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Squash Blossoms Crispy Fried
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saltfatacidheat · 2 years
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what are some dishes you really want to try
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AITA for making my mom’s boyfriend feel bad on purpose?
disclaimer: my parents have an open marriage
so i (20m, northern cheyenne) don’t have a problem with the modern celebration of thanksgiving.
really. i don’t.
the whole “pilgrims and indians” schtick is gross, but i find that generally, outside of elementary schools, nobody thinks about that part very much. people mostly just want to see their families and eat weird food. and i fucks w that.
the problem comes in with my mom’s boyfriend.
my mom (52f) is white, but she’s been married to my dad (53m) who is also northern cheyenne for 26 years. she’s the DEI coordinator for our county’s public school system and she’s one of my favorite most trusted shire people ever. so i never really have to censor myself around her. i can make jokes and complain and vent and etc etc etc. she’ll always listen.
her BOYFRIEND though.
i really do like my mom’s boyfriend (41m). he’s super cool, recommends good books, teaches me about plumbing, all sorts of other Manly Step Dad Shit (/hj).
but he is decidedly extremely caucasian. like so white.
he’s not /racist/ but he’s that in-between that a lot of white people are where they’re never mean, but you gotta watch what you say around them bc they bruise like a two week old apple.
there have been a few instances where i have in fact bruised his sensitive white man apple skin.
1) i was listening to a podcast with my mom about people indigenous to Hawai’i protecting Mauna Kea. we were listening to it out loud in our living room, and her boyfriend came in and listened for a few minutes before asking me to turn it off because it was “depressing”. fair enough. i figured he was having a rough day and i turned it off. (side note, it was All My Relations, “For the Love of the Mauna”.)
2) we were driving somewhere and trading off command of the AUX. i put on a song by Nahko and Medicine for the People, specifically their parody of “My Country Tis of Thee”. he again said he didn’t like it, it was depressing, and could I please turn it off. i did.
3) this is where i’m the asshole. we’re planning for thanksgiving, and i mentioned wanting to do a anticolonial thanksgiving. we’d watch some stuff about the wampanoag tribe (first contact tribe at plymouth rock), i’d make frybread and fried squash blossoms (along w my mom who would make the thanksgiving basics) we’d have a grand old time. her boyfriend asks why we can’t just enjoy thanksgiving without making it too political.
i’m like. that’s not political? it’s cultural?
and he says that to him it feels self flagellating and it would make him feel bad.
and i said honestly? the idea of thanksgiving’s history makes Me feel bad. and not to complain dude, but as an american indian, it’s always about you, and never, ever about me. so truly, i don’t care if you feel bad. we’re not doing a fucking colonized thanksgiving in this house. so if you’re just here for that sham bullshit, go and stay gone.
my mom says she agrees with me that an attempt at a decolonized thanksgiving is a good idea and a good compromise for our mixed family, but that i was way too harsh on her boyfriend and should’ve tried explaining in a kinder way first, since he’s really not educated on this stuff. i see where she’s coming from; i worry i might’ve scared him off of ever learning about cultural decolonization. ik it’s not my responsibility to make him care, but that doesn’t change the fact that plenty of white people are subconsciously looking for a reason not to care about natives, and by being a dick i might’ve just handed him that reason. so not only was i an asshole to him, but an asshole to my community at large by disservicing our reputation.
idk. i think i ruined thanksgiving :/
What are these acronyms?
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Theory for DP Blood Blossoms
What if blood blossoms are actually a really powerful medicine in the ghost zone?
Like, if they grow surrounded by the ectoplasm, they are in they’re natural form and actually really helpful for ghosts. But without that ectoplasm, I.e. they grow in the living world where there isn’t enough ectoplasm for them to properly grow, then the blossoms become poisonous/parasitic to ghosts and ectoplasm in general. Maybe by growing in the living world, when they come in contact with any source of ectoplasm, they leech off that source and if it’s a ghost cause harm because of the flowers eating them away. But if the plant grows in an ectoplasm rich environment then it’s not parasitic but medicinal for ghosts, or maybe a popular snack food amongst different ghost cultures like how squash flowers are eaten after battered and fried (ie)
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If the trigun gang (Milly, Meryl, Vash, Wolfwood, Livio/Razlo, maybe Roberto?) had the ability to access any food they want in the world, be it from no man's land or earth, what do you think would be their favourite? (I kept thinking about your polygun's presentation night and the food discussion and how I went crazy warm and excited with the food choices you had mentioned there, so now I'm curious about further thoughts if that's okay :3 )
It's totally okay! I do have some thoughts that are kinda rolling around in my head. I think that the availability of a lot of these foods depends on the proximity to Plants, and what kind of food the Plants are largely programmed to make.
Milly: She likes ceylon tea, which has a very light flavor, so I think she'd enjoy fresh, herbal food and drinks. This girl loves tabbouleh! Especially since an abundance of fresh herbs would be hard to come by, I think salads would be delicacies! Fried squash blossoms, nasturtium salad, lavender tea, she likes edible flowers.
Meryl: Likes banana sundaes, which is such a big, extravagant dessert that is also kind of childish? Most people don't think about banana sundaes very often, lol. I think she has a secret sweet tooth, so she'd almost definitely like sweet dairy desserts like kunafeh, cheesecake, mahalabia, etc.
Vash: Ok, this is 100% entering my own personal hc time...but he LOVES seafood (or its closest equivalent, whenever he can get it), and it's for Plant reasons. It's got nutrients that he craves without realizing, so he goes a little wild. Other than that, he has a soft spot for Malaysian food, bc that's what Rem made when he was little.
Wolfwood: Ah, my beloved foodie. I write him Mexican (projecting), so his comfort food tends to be Mexican dishes-fried plantains, flautas, etc-but he really likes anything with lots of spices. The hotter and more flavorful the better! Kufta, golayat bandora, curry-he likes new flavors! But also somebody with a sweet tooth. Would adore baklava.
Roberto: hmmm, we don't get to see a lot of Roberto's food choices, but we do know from the stampede development presentation that his flask is full of tequila?! Help.
Anyways, this is a man on the go. He's spent his life pulling long hours in weird locations as he tracks down stories. He loves shawarma (I miss good shawarma waaaaaaa). He loves falafel sandwiches. Anything portable? Yes. But he also really likes mint, I think, and fruit. There is a Jimmy Buffet slumbering deep within him.
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It makes me so sad, that 99% of gardening plants get overlooked.😭 They're so cute, and each on has unique animations. I'm also shocked at how much money you can make from them even if it's something other than couch potatoes.
I think it's cool that the plants actually give you items based on the type of plant they are! For example:
Jewel Star Blossom: *various metals and gem related items!*
Snow Apples: Crab apples, Wyrmy Apple, Amber, *various frost related treasure cards*,
Ultra Fly Trap: Fried Worms, Boiled Spider Legs, Wolfbane Tea, Crystal Web Candy.
Huckleberries: Drakeberry Cobbler, Berry pound cake, Huckleberry muffin, lots of different seeds.
Melting Cheese Tree: Cheese broccoli, stinky cheese, cheese, (so much cheese😭).
Moonflower: *various polymorph cards*
Golden Couch Potatoes: Golden squash, golden pizza, golden candy bar, golden biscuit, golden peanut,....gold.
Red Couch Potatoes: Potato chips, redskin peanuts, fries, poncherello chips.
Sugar Krystal: Prism cards, *various crystal related housing items*
I think this also confirms my theory that plants are also mostly likely eaten as regular food, oh no lol. 😭I hope this year I can make a compilation of gifs for the plant animations.
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foodmyheart · 9 months
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Stuffed and fried home-grown squash blossoms Source: https://reddit.com/r/foodporn http://foodmyheart.tumblr.com | https://campsite.bio/foodmyheart
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crimsonrosinante · 1 year
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It's Not Wasting Time If I'm Wasting Away With You
Byakuya Kuchiki x Reader / 2.3k words / Domestic Fluff / Gender-Neutral Pronouns
They say you only ever get one soulmate in a lifetime, but who's to say that's true for souls themselves? From the day you met Byakuya Kuchiki, he felt as though you turned his hourglass anew, and he would not waste a second chance.
Returning from a long mission, your husband stood waiting at the door, intent on making sure you knew how greatly he missed having you home.
He was in the swelling wind on the walk home, caressing the tip of your nose with cherry blossom kisses no matter the season. Every cobblestone step was light as air in the comfort of that phantom embrace. Maple leaves blushed under your feet as you crossed the threshold of that wrought-iron gate after too many weeks away. Twilight’s faint persimmon glow fell around you, casting a long shadow ahead that stretched across the courtyard until it melded into another. You looked up with a knowing smile and were met with a gaze dripping in honeyed earl grey. 
You began to unfurl his scarf from where it wound around your neck, carrying him with you wherever your missions took you between two worlds. His noble blood kept him standing prim and proper like a reed at the edge of a riverbank, upright and unrelenting. It was ever the amusing sight, but you held your laughter and only smiled upon your last few steps toward him. 
Sometime ago, he no longer greeted you armed at the ready; the lavender-hilted zanpakuto once attached at his hip was now left to rest on the wooden rack just beyond the sliding doors. And yet, you stood before him, cloth-wrapped fingers lightly tapping against the hilt of your own. A wall of a thousand blades turned to ash; a heart left unguarded in your wake. It made you incandescently happy. 
As the sun greeted the rise of night, soft light danced across his tall nose, painting his fine features like silkscreen behind a dozen swaying branches. With both hands, you draped the scarf over his shoulders and gently smoothed the fabric over his chest, leaning into the steady beat that lay underneath. Loose strands fell in his eyes as he peered down, covering one hand with his own, and bringing your wrist closer to his face with a slight frown. The pad of his thumb swept over skin darkened to deep plum flesh and you winced at the still-tender spot. He grumbled and brushed his lips across the bruise recalling the times he’d seen you in much worse shape. You gave him a look as though you were just waiting to hear him scold you again, but instead he offered you nothing but a warm scoff of a laugh. “What? No disapproving welcome home speech?” you teasingly inquired. With a simple hum in response and quick peck to your temple, he grabbed your sword and slid the doors open to go back inside while you followed closely behind. 
Shoes discarded at the door, you stepped into a cloud of jasmine wafting through the halls from slow-burning incense at every corridor. Your muscles unraveled as you tucked the sweet, floral scent into your lungs. Though you could not tell from his back, Byakuya’s lips quirked ever-so-slightly at the sound of your contented sighs. He gently set your sword below his own on the rack, pausing to admire them resting side-by-side before turning away. Trailing his hand down your arm as he walked past, he brushed over every fingertip until just your pinkies curled together, gently dragging you toward the dining table. 
Eyes wide, you took in the plentiful array of dishes laid out before you. Steam wafted from bubbling matsutake soup that sat atop a miniature coal burner, grilled mackerel was scorched to perfection, and a spread of pickled turnips, stir-fried lotus root, and simmered squash were set in blue-glazed porcelain between them. You turned to Byakuya, brow raised in question, and prodded, “I thought we agreed upon no more acts of servitude?” 
It was in fact something brought up early on in your marriage: it was alright if the Kuchiki clan’s maids came to help tidy up once in a while, but no more servants otherwise. Byakuya may have been born with a silver spoon, but you surely hadn’t, and it brought you no comfort to have unpaid souls waiting on you hand and foot. So, over the years, you taught him how to properly clean every nook and cranny of your shared home, but otherwise failed to get him acquainted with the kitchen. 
He merely returned your gaze, unblinkedly, and replied, “I prepared them.” You were still as stone in surprise. Upon regaining your senses, you ambled over to kneel on a satin cushion and took a closer look at the mouth-watering assortment strewn across the wooden table. Lifting the cover on the bowl set directly in front of you, a familiar aroma fanned over your face. He even made chestnut rice, your favorite. A pleasant chuckle of utter disbelief made you sit further back on your haunches. “If a Hollow has locked me away in some dream, I can hardly complain,” you jested. 
Byakuya padded over and out of sight, until you felt a pair of arms slither around your waist. He drew you into his lap, and scooted you both forward so the meal was still within reach. With a shake of his sleeves, he took hold of the chopsticks and plucked the meat of the fish from the bone, leaning over your shoulder all the while. His silken whisper warmed your cheeks to sunkissed cherries, “Then I must take better care, so I do not lose you to some silly dream.” 
He filled your bowl with bite-sized servings of everything for you to try, but did not go as far as to feed you like a child. Instead, he settled the dish back into your waiting hands and held you steady with one arm while taking up his own bowl. You quickly realized he had no intention of letting you go as he comfortably began to eat while silently urging you to accept your seat for the evening. Your back certainly appreciated the extra support after the long journey home, so you gave in, allowing the hearth of his chest to warm your weary bones. Two sets of legs stretched and tangled together underneath the kotatsu as you tried to steal the bites he brought to his lips and he urged you to deliver something sweet in return. 
Hard as he tried, you wouldn’t allow him to clean up alone. Stubborn as you both were, instead, you agreed to share the task of undertaking the aftermath of the dinner that filled your satiated bellies. Byakuya smiled to himself as he scrubbed the dishes one by one, basking in the rising moonlight and the melody of whatever song you sweetly stumbled through beside him. 
Born into Soul Society with a strict upbringing, Byakuya harbored intrigue for your humanity and all the quirks that came along with it. He would listen to stories of your mortal life and allow you to indulge him in all the books and music you brought back from your trips between two realms. It was a selfish thought, but he was happy. If repentance was owed, he would gladly pay it forward and love you more diligently for every year on earth you left behind. 
A groan escaped you as you rolled your neck and Byakuya perked up at the sound. He dried his hands and tossed the cloth aside, sauntering up behind you until you felt his thumbs knead into the knotted muscles strung from shoulder to nape. You melted into his touch with a heavy sigh and felt his lips graze your temple. “Shall I draw you a bath? In the jar you left by the tub, the sakura salt you cured this past spring awaits you still,” he offered, already pulling away as though your answer was clear in his mind. Lazily, your fingers held onto his as they lingered just within reach, not bothering to turn back while you finished wiping the countertop. “Only if you join me,” you requested. Byakuya’s brow raised at the seemingly bold suggestion, but held onto the small laugh that bubbled in his chest. His grip tightened just a fraction, lightly scraping his nails across the delicate skin of your wrist. “My love, did you not intend to rest?” he questioned with a mirthful lilt. You giggled and craned your neck toward him with a teasing grin, “I know not where my dear husband’s mind wanders, but I only meant for you to relax until you succumb to pruning alongside me.” Rosiness dusted his cheeks as he curtly nodded, aqcuiesing your remarks, and disappeared from sight; your incessant snickering following him down the halls as he fled toward the washroom.
Floral, earthy; it was sweet in its subtlety and bore heavy in your lungs like crushed velvet. The room was swathed in gossamer air and the fondest scent you knew. It was him, blanketed all over you in a welcome vice. Your love was beauty like polished morganite, he was strength like steady currents and calm, rippling streams, and he was sweet like a cup of green tea on a rainy afternoon. He sat in the tub with his scar-littered back to the door, arms spread like cherry blossom branches, petals floating around him as though they’d just fallen from his supple flesh. Once each layer of fabric you wore unraveled to the floor, you padded to the space beside him and dipped your toe. The water was tepid and inviting as you settled in, leaning into the shoulder that longed to cushion your weary crown. Byakuya keened to your touch as you brought your fingers to rake through his scalp, lovingly coaxing the inky strands to unfurl from their dampened tangles. You stippled his neckline with moth’s wing kisses until his palm rose from the water and cradled your jaw, bringing your gaze to meet his. He looked as though wrought with fever in the most blissful of ways. A sunset glow took hold of his complexion, even sprouting a horizon of warmth in the greys that hid beneath lowered lashes. “I would exchange a thousand lifetimes just to love you one day more,” the words slipped past your tongue like a prayer. A knot formed between his brows and he sought you out, letting go of a shaky exhale as he nuzzled his forehead against yours. He spoke with a smile most sincere, “And I would wait a thousand more.”
After towel-drying each other’s hair until no drops would fall, you both half dressed knowing a chill would pass through the night, mostly at Byakuya’s worrisome insistence. You entered your shared bedchamber together, but he surmised you were distracted and lost in your own mind as your steps fell out of time with his. While he opened the wardrobe to pull out a more suitable wool blanket to layer atop the sheets of bamboo silk already neatly tucked on the bed, you returned to the bath to search for the item you left behind. Byakuya’s eyes trailed your every move from where he lay on his side when you re-appeared, elbow propped to keep his neck from straining. You sifted through your previously discarded laundry on the floor, digging through any pockets or linings until you let out a victorious ‘ Aha! ’. 
With a spring in your step, you clambored into bed and wiggled closer to your husband as he brought the sheets and blanket over your hip. Candlelight waltzed within your widened pupils and beckoned him to ask what all the fuss was about. But, rather than speak on his curiosity, he simply pressed the pad of his finger to your nose, for above all else, he found you impossibly adorable. You grinned, lifting your chin to give him a playful bite, then lowered his hand to place something in it. Byakuya shifted onto his back to admire the object where his shadow did not obstruct the flickering flame at his bedside. “Before you think to scold me, I didn’t steal it,” you started, earning a smirk of suspicion your way. But, he did not make a sound, allowing you to continue, “I helped an older woman while I was in the human realm and she insisted on repaying me. She happened to be an antique collector and I perused her shop and storage for hours before I found this ink brush. It was custom-made for a scholar by their unrequited love, who sent it with a letter professing their affection, but died from illness before they ever received a word in return. The handle is hand-carved moonstone and whale bone with inlaid pearl and silver leaf whilst the hairs were shed by an ivory fox that often slept by the artisan’s hearth. I was told it remained unused even for centuries, but the wax coating was sturdy enough that it kept the hairs from falling. Though, she tried to sell me on the idea that it was the endurance of true love’s tears or whatever, so, of course, I humored her nonetheless. I’m just glad it’s still in one piece considering the nasty fight I got into with a Hollow that very ni–” Byakuya stole your mouth, abruptly ending your story with the dizzying heat of even his softest kiss. He pulled away, barely, inhaling your sighs and stroking the curve of your cheek. “Thank you. Know that I will cherish it as if it were born from your very marrow,” he said, as though his heart spoke those words directly. 
You curled into his ready embrace, molding yourself to him. “I love you,” you whispered into his collarbone, delivering the words like kindling to his chest. And you knew you could say it for eternity and it would never quite equate to the way he swirled in your veins and clouded your sanity like ambrosia. Byakuya draped his arms around you, drawing moonlit patterns over your skin to lull you to sleep. Your lashes fluttered over his heart and your lips brushed his flesh, bidding him goodnight with a tender kiss. Once he knew you were one with the land of dreams, he closed his eyes and whispered back, “Then, I will love you more.” 
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