#a crusty old baguette

[baguttelikespicnic]

The dogs trying to look muscular to make Anya like them is honestly so funny to me😭😭🤌

#spy x family #sxf anya #sxf yor #sxf #new season of sxf #i am so happy theyre backk #😭💟😭 #i love them sm #waku waku #anya forger #loid and yor #anya and yor #anime #a crusty old baguette #funny

[nelapanela94]

Okay Firstly, love your work🤩 thanks a lot for everything you do.

I've seen someone answer a question about head canons of levi cutting onions? And since then I cannot stop thinking of Levi and his s/o in the kitchen, preparing something cause- maybe Kuchel is coming over for dinner?

And maybe both cut onions and crying and laughing

or maybe just Levi and his s/o is feeling bad/making fun of him?

Or maybe his s/o is cutting onions and Levi is making fun of her?

Now, you can definitely ignore this request but yes. Just some domestic fluff in the kitchen with both being married is really fluffy

First, thank you so much! 🥹🥺

TW: None. Set in modern au where Kuchel is alive and Levi grew up as mama’s boy.

The cotton ‘sac à pain’ brims with two crispy crusty fresh baguettes, one unscathed, the other victim of your bread-tearing fangs. The warm chewy inside contrasts with the teeth-cracking outer layer and melts in your mouth like cotton candy. For your loyalty, the clerk added an extra wheel of roman bread.

Two by two, you climb the stairs to the third floor to make up for the load of carbs. 302. A glint sweeps over the copper plaque. you step on the Don't wear shoes in my house door mat Kenny got for Levi on his last birthday and Christmas. Two birds killed with one stone, he says every year. That's one of the reasons why Levi is always shooting daggers at his uncle.

You lift the knocker and rap three times. Ten seconds later, the tapping of your impatience crouches in every corner of the hallway. During the wait, you break another bite-size chunk and bundle it into your mouth. You shrug. Levi must be keeping an eye on the roasted duck. A drizzle of crumbs mingles in the synthetic fur as you rub your hands on your jeans; a smidge of panic rises, and you dredge them off with your foot, scattering them around, hoping to conceal them through the streaks and twists of the silvery marble veins. The hand of keys rattles as you hook the ring out of your pocket, fiddling for the pink one, and shove it into the keyhole. A click, and you push the door open.

The alluring whiff of rosemary and garlic strikes into your lungs, making you levitate and drool. The house smells devine, and you can’t wait to sit and stab that bird. The award for the best daughter-in-law of the year will be all yours.

At the entryway, you scuff your shoes off, push them under the bench and slip into your kitty flip-flops.

“They didn’t have Brie, got Camembert instead. We’ll make it work.” Your voice blares through the apartment as you cross the living room to the kitchen, but you don’t get any reply. Slowing down, you take a look around, inspecting; being married to Levi Ackerman obligues to develop a dust-hunting radar.

It all looks pristine. The dining table perfectly set, melting swans of cloth napkins roost on each plate, families of forks lying on the left side. Why do you need that many? Who knows, but it looks so fetch. The shiny cutlery set you reserve for the special occasions finally sees the daylight.

Fresh daisies enliven the coffee table. The curtains dance in the soft breeze, natural light skims every corner of the main salon. Smoke swirls up in threads from the incense sticks, their scent quarreling with that coming from the oven.

A yummy sizzle whispers from the kitchen, and dragged by the smell, you continue your way, but then, a sob cracks, barely perceptible, the aerial in your ears tune to the right frequency, and you slip the gear to two.

“Levi!” You storm in the kitchen and stop dead in your tracks when you see him wiping his eyes in the sleeve of his t-shirt, dabbling it with a darker gray.

Squinting, you equip with a sword of bread to fight whatever the root of your honeybun’s distress is. What dares hurt your man will face your rage. Nothing on his left, nothing on his right.

Or what if Kuchel bursts in, finds her thirty-year-old baby boy weeping and blames it all on you? Your eyes bang open at the swivet twisting your guts. You shake your head frantically, tossing away the image of your mother-in-law recoiling into a fighting stance. Your award hanging by a thread.

You should never mess with the puppies.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

The knife hits dull the cutting board.

“Shit.” A hiss breaks from him, and he sucks in a long sniff. Levi reels away from the instigator and winces at the sting, scrunching his face as if he had run his tongue over a lime. He leans back against the countertop and clenches his hands around the rim. His eyes remain squeezed shut.

Your head tilts to the side, and one eyebrow curves into a knap; your misgiving slopes into curiosity, then swerves to amusement when you catch the mutilated body of the culprit, the white onion craggily chopped in fourths. The strap glides from your shoulder to your hand as you throttle a snort by clamping shut the gawky chasm between your wobbly lips. Your body bends fighting the convulsions of mirth, but you can't contain your guffaw, a slap on the knee and you crack in a storm of giggles.

knurls bridge the gap between his brows, tiny veins gnarl like red cobwebs in the white of his eyes. Glaring, his mouth twitches in a pique. He grunts, and puffs out a cheek, peeling off the counter, and thumps to you, snatching the bag of bread from your hand. "This is why I don't trust you with bread."

You straighten up and wipe off a misty line of tears from under your eyes. "That's why I always buy two instead of one, plus the bread boy added this one too." You fling your arm up, the other bag swinging at your elbow.

"He's flirting." Levi takes that one too and delves into for the woodened cheese. He oversees the baked camembert dip.

"He's just nice and rewards his best customers." You throw your head forwards and loop your hair through the donut, restricting the disheveled strands in a messy bun. "For you, whoever is nice to me is flirting." Your eyes sag at his lack of affection, and you go after him, but he flings away from your attempts of hugs.

"Don't." He pouts and sets the knife down. Strings of cheese snap as he removes the rind lid, itching to turn around and kiss you. He's just holding up, acting like the spoiled brat he is. Deep down, he knows he is.

"Are you mad at me?"

He places the cheese in a ramequin and sprinkles thyme on top.

"I'm sorry." You drape your arms around him from behind, straining your cheek over the rippling muscles of his back. at least, this time he doesn't shoo you. "Are you ok?"

"You're so mean, Y/N." Levi whines. “It’s your fault for leaving me alone dealing with those devilish onions.”

"But-"

"Don't want to hear you."

"Cry baby." You press a kiss on his back and free him from your arms, grab your bunny apron and pick up his half-hearted job. "You silly, you had to keep the root. That's what Gordon says."

"I'm not you, nuzzling in cooking videos before going to sleep."

"No, 'cause you're glued to Marie Kondo."

Glowering, his face snaps to you. He hurls a rag onto the countertop and wriggles the mittens on. The heat whacks him as he opens the oven and recoils, letting the steam escape before drawing out the dutch oven. You do know what you're doing. inwardly, he brags about how lucky he is for marrying you. That V you drooled over is hardly visible nowadays.

Ceramic clanks on the rack, and he shuts the door, unfettering his hands.

The glinting blade rakes clean the cutting board, and the seductive frizzle tickles your ears and nose. Hopefully, Kuchel will knock on time. Broccoli, mushrooms, bell peppers, you bring color to the stir fry.

Levi tears a piece of bread and crams it into his mouth. Rests against the countertop, arms folded over his chest, crumpling his matching apron. He smiles, trying not to sneer at you sticking out your tongue in concentration as you cut the vegetables.

You’ve been wringing up all your energy to impress his mother, even though he insisted to keep it simple. He sighs. Why was he upset anyway? That’s not longer relevant. He can’t be pissed at you for too long. How could he? A bat of lashes and you’ll have him on his knees. He’d walk in red coal to get you a napkin and dab the corners of your lips.

With you, he’s the fidgeting eighteen year old who stealthily picked up flowers from the neighbor’s yard to pin behind your ear.

#attack on titan levi #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #snk #levi aot #snk levi #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman/reader

[obsessivedilettante]

February 2023 round-up

Went to Antarctica, which means that I have now stepped on six continents. It’s been a childhood dream of mine and I can’t believe it actually happened! (Don’t worry, Australia — you will have your turn soon!)

Also enjoyed a few days in Buenos Aires and Patagonia. Would love to return and get more time in both those places beyond a quick day tour.

Ate my weight in French bread, thanks to being on a French ship, with a French culinary team. Fresh baguettes in Antarctica is the best way to experience expedition travel. I’m already sad that there is no one to magically appear with a crusty bread roll and refill my wine glass each night.

Made some new friends that we may hopefully bump into again on future travels.

Tbh that Antarctica trip really took up most of the month and I don’t have more to add. On the plus side, I never got seasick, even when we had some severe “Drake Shake” returning to Argentina. But it has taken me a couple days to feel like I’m no longer rocking on the ocean. If I close my eyes and lay still, my equilibrium tries to convince me that the land is moving a tiny bit. So, that’s fun.

Anyway, here is some media that I have enjoyed this month:

Poker Face. I’m obsessed. I love old-school murder/mystery shows, so the wink-and-nod to shows like Columbo is delightful. Natasha Lyonne is a treasure and the weekly guest stars are fabulous. For once, I am eagerly awaiting each episode as they air. And I want a banjo theme song of my own!

Extraordinary. Love the conceit, although the main character was sometimes hard to root for. But maybe that’s her super power in the end — getting people to do things for her and forgive her, no matter what. Jizzlord is everything, though.

#I bet that last sentence is one you never expected eh? #anyway it was a great month #but I think I need next month to recover from it #personal round-up #antartica things

[hauntingthechateau]

Sunday November 5th

High of 11 low of 8. Rainy morning but patches of sun in the afternoon. Clear evening (could finally see the stars walking home).

Yep, that breakfast at 9 again. Got up and got my start with a shower and chai tea at home and dragged my feet for a while before heading to the studios to kill a little time before breakfast. Breakfast is wonderful as always and its just great having all these wonderful new souls to meet and chat with about things big and small, heavy and light; I really feel some friendships coming on 🥲. I ate an excellent pastry breakfast which helped my poor upset stomach, and then took a second helping down to the stables as lunch so I wouldn’t have to walk back up in the hill in the rain mid day and interrupt my work flow.

Then I got to work.

I organized my space enough to get to work, finished hanging the rest of my panels, and then I grabbed a small one and got to work on it. All in all I got the first pass done on five paintings, and also blocked the dark darks and shadows into another seven. I was either stingy or forgetful when packing my fluid paints because I didn’t bring a yellow ochre or a burnt umber and I’m missing them both dearly, so I went down to the supply closet in the Chateau when I had a lull in my productivity to see if I could find myself some. Yellow ochre was no problem, I even found a large bottle of artists’ quality fluid yellow ochre which has been treating me very nicely. Burnt umber for some reason was more illusive! I found a very crusty, little old tube of Windsor and Newton and after searching all the bins, finally found a larger tube of Amsterdam. Gave myself quite a fright when I found that I had what appears to be either oil or slow drying acrylic on my hands while I was wearing my victorian tweed which in regular life I try not to even bring near the studio with me, but here I was wearing it absentmindedly while going through old bins of paint 😬. I whiped most of it off on my apron and it doesn’t appear that I got any on my jacket… Phew. Back at the studio, I found without real effort I couldn’t get the cap off the Windsor and Newton so I gave myself a glob of the Amsterdam and went back to painting… man what crap! The Amsterdam is hardly pigmented, its so translucent. I sometimes forget what a treat these Tri-Art fluid paints are, I’ve come a long way from when I was okay with using Amerstam paints and I had no idea, in my memory they weren't this bad! 

Anyway, I did all that painting and felt pretty satisfied by the end of then day. Headed up to the Chateau around 6:30 to chat with people until our 7pm meal time. Dinner tonight was a pork soup (that had some special French name that I admittedly didn’t catch), along with a greek salad, a carrot slaw, buttery rice and thyme roasted potatoes (and baguette with EVERY meal, obviously). The meat in the stew was in BIG chunks but shredded apart with a spoon. It was luscious and fatty and I think cooked with a healthy amount of white wine. The carrot slaw was also a pleasant surprise, I think I ought to start making that at home! For dessert was a big ole birthday cake for Claudio’s birthday! We sang and had candles and everything, it was great! The cake itself was a white coconut cake with white chocolate icings and a message written in chocolate chips, it was delicious! 

After dinner we stayed and chatted a while longer over wine, I got a nice cotes du rhone out of the wine cave that may be my favourite yet! It’s got a lute on the label and gold foil, so it feels fitting that this would be my wine. I excused myself around 9 so that Craig and I could watch taskmaster together. The walk home was clear and the sky felt HUGE with all the stars, so many stars. Got ready for bed and then we watched the show together over discord and that was really nice (good episode too). Good to see his face, I know he’s stressing about getting things done for their cabin weekend coming up this Friday. So long as its not cancelled, I know he’ll have a great time. I’m glad he gets to do some more camping and I can’t wait to see the pictures! I got to say hello to Shrew who apparently has been depressed since I left which just hurts my heart! I’m glad I at least have a cat to pet while I’m here.

Went to bed at a good time and could barely keep my eyes open while I was reading my book. I’ve decided to switch my journaling to first thing in the morning in my studio while waiting for breakfast and this tactic seems to be timing out perfectly. Back to a normal sleep schedule and a good routine! 

Xo

[morte-par-le-chocolat]

Crab Dip

Description

For the best texture, use lump crab meat and each ingredient listed. No substitutions! Serve with crusty baguette, sturdy crackers, celery sticks, or pita wedges.

Ingredients

8 ounces (226g) full-fat brick cream cheese, softened to room temperature

1/4 cup (60g) mayonnaise

1/2 cup (120g) sour cream

1 and 1/4 cups (155g) shredded cheddar cheese, divided

1/2 teaspoon ground mustard

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1 and 3/4 teaspoons Old Bay seasoning*

2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

1 pound fresh lump crab meat*

optional: 2 dashes of hot sauce (or to taste)

Instructions

Preheat oven to 375°F (191°C).

In a large mixing bowl using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the cream cheese on medium-high speed until smooth and creamy, about 1 minute.

Add the mayonnaise, sour cream, 1 cup cheddar cheese, ground mustard, lemon juice, Old Bay seasoning, Worcestershire sauce, and hot sauce (if using). Beat on medium-high speed until combined. Using a spoon or rubber spatula, gently fold in the lump crab meat. If you used hot sauce, taste, then add more hot sauce if desired.

Transfer to a 9-inch (or slightly larger) baking pan, pie dish, or oven-safe skillet. Sprinkle with remaining 1/4 cup of cheddar cheese.

Bake for 25 minutes or until hot and bubbly around the edges.

Serve warm.

Cover and store leftovers in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Reheat in the microwave or in a 350°F (177°C) oven until warmed throughout.

#recipe courtesy of sallysbakingaddiction.com #jean's recipe book #crab dip #one of dethklok's favorites!

[kaijubrains]

yo whats your favorite food

Im a greedy bastard, so I can't pick just one. Top picks atm are probably:

Chicken Tikka Balti (the best curry)

A full Sunday Roast (with homemade yorkshire puddings and sausage meat stuffing) (obligatory top choice for uk folks)

Spaghetti and meatballs

Like a GOOD chicken burger and fries

Slow cooked beef stew (with a nice crusty baguette)

Primordial ooze

Dvds

Moss

Static from crt monitors

A little bit of prosciutto! (yummy old stink meat)

#rant #ask #anon #i have a problem with cured meats #if so old why so tasty #makes no sense #i could eat kilos at a time if they sold it in those quantities

[brainvsbraun]

How to make croutons

Croutons are delightful little nuggets of toasted bread that add a satisfying crunch and flavor to salads, soups, and other dishes. Making your own croutons at home is not only easy but also allows you to customize them to your taste preferences. In this article, we will provide you with a simple and delicious recipe for homemade croutons that will elevate your meals and leave you craving for more.

Ingredients:

Day-old bread (preferably a crusty variety like baguette or sourdough)

Olive oil (or melted butter)

Seasonings of your choice (such as garlic powder, dried herbs, salt, and pepper)

Instructions:

Preheat the Oven: Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). This temperature ensures that the croutons toast evenly without burning.

Prepare the Bread: Start by selecting a day-old bread loaf or slices. The slightly stale bread will yield croutons that are crisp on the outside and slightly chewy on the inside. Cut the bread into small, bite-sized cubes. You can remove the crusts if desired, although leaving them on adds a rustic texture.

Season the Croutons: Place the bread cubes in a large mixing bowl and drizzle them with olive oil or melted butter. Use enough oil or butter to lightly coat the cubes, but be careful not to saturate them. Season the croutons with your preferred seasonings, such as garlic powder, dried herbs like oregano or thyme, salt, and pepper. Toss the bread cubes gently to evenly distribute the oil and seasonings.

Spread the Croutons on a Baking Sheet: Transfer the seasoned bread cubes to a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Arrange them in a single layer, ensuring they have enough space between them for even toasting. This allows the heat to circulate and gives the croutons their desired crispness.

Bake the Croutons: Place the baking sheet in the preheated oven and bake for about 10-15 minutes, or until the croutons turn golden brown and crispy. Keep a close eye on them during the last few minutes to prevent burning. The exact baking time may vary based on the size and type of bread cubes, so adjust accordingly.

Cool and Store: Once the croutons are beautifully toasted, remove them from the oven and let them cool completely on the baking sheet. As they cool, they will continue to crisp up. Once cooled, you can store them in an airtight container or a resealable bag for later use. Homemade croutons can stay fresh for up to a week when properly stored.

Enjoy the Croutons: Homemade croutons can be used in a variety of dishes. They add a delightful crunch and flavor to salads, soups, pasta dishes, or even as a standalone snack. Get creative and experiment with different seasonings to suit your taste preferences.

Making homemade croutons is a simple and rewarding process that elevates the flavors and textures of your favorite dishes. By following this easy recipe, you can enjoy crispy, flavorful croutons that are far superior to store-bought alternatives. So, the next time you have some leftover bread, don't let it go to waste—transform it into delicious homemade croutons that will impress your taste buds and enhance your culinary creations.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

You set yourself up, Publix.

#crusty white faguette #bread #baguette #faguette #im big funny #meme #lol #funny #im queer so its ok #i swear im an adult #im almost 25 and my sense of humor has barely evolved past what 12 year old me found funny #humor

[bookersebastien]

Could you tell us about Booker and Nicky's friendship too?

we really don’t talk about these two enough

petty motherfuckers

esp petty with each other

oh sorry booker no i didnt know i left a knife on the bed or no nicky i wasnt aware those were your leftovers

nicky and booker butchering each other’s languages when they’re annoyed at the other, and some very americanized pronunciation of the word ‘croissant’ on nicky’s part

will argue about the dumbest shit ever and will go to extreme lengths to prove themselves correct which is how the team ended up in southern mexico so nicky could prove what color the safehouse walls are 

sorry nicky but joe agrees with booker that they are more green than brown, and no way he can argue with joe

consistently compete and feel the need to one up each other (hence the bets) and it’s resulted in many rules because andy is sick of their shit

one time they bet who would win in a race down the stairs of the eiffel tower, nicky tripped booker who promptly fell all the way down and died on impact

after an extremely loud argument in several languages they went again and booker won but nicky refuses to pay him because booker's height is an unfair advantage (its been 50 years)

if joe and booker are the worlds best bullshitters, nicky and booker are the "fuck around and find out” gang

when in a situation where they’re undercover and speaking to the mark and they get any kinds of suspicious, they immediately start complaining about them and their business, putting on extreme versions of their accents to really pull the ‘pretentious european’ vibe

popular topics: their clothing, nationality, that those aren’t mints in the bathroom, the fact that their mothers are probably disappointed in them

intimidation station

nickys stare + bookers size? no one dares fuck with them on the street

as ive said before, these two are responsible for every single stray that's ever ended up in their safehouses for the nights they are there and the ones responsible for the missing money which they use to leave food out for the rest of the strays

andy has definitely come home to them covered in cat fur as nicky is on bookers shoulders trying to get one of them off the top of the cabinet

italian vs. french rivalry is real

food, language, culture, it's all fair game to insults, yes booker has been called a crusty baguette and it started a war which resulted in no less than 15 insults being banned from being used

nicky probably tries to get booker to eat healthier, bc while nicky definitely appreciates fast food, booker you can't just eat fries and whiskey please eat a single lettuce

i like to think they cook together, i think booker is probably a good cook but it’s not something he does much anymore, not since becoming immortal really but nicky shared his love of cooking and occasionally they cook something together, finding old recipes from their homelands

covers booker with a blanket anytime he wakes up early to find him passed out half off the couch but also definitely takes a picture first 

love to go antique shopping, booker is a surprisingly good negotiator 

#teentitantruefriend #userkayla #tuservi #tuseradriana #usernicolo #usercacau #userhegel #userlyde #moonlightandromache #swquser #the old guard #sebastien le livre #nicolo di genova #tog hcs #usrbkr hm #outlawarya #in true fashion posting this late at night lol #usertriz #ask

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Also saw you're doing requests so yay!!. Any chance of jercy bakery au? Love your work sm hope you have a great day ☺☺

My Darling Anon how dare you make me fall more in love with Jercy???????? I squealed when i saw this and then promptly started writing even though i should be studying for my (ironically) Greek Mythology test.

i hope you love it because if i fail at least i know it’ll be worth it :) Also this was honestly supposed to be a quick drabble and it somehow ended up as 1,5K+ words so??? #isanyonesurprisedthough

Masterlist

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

Jason Grace smiled as the birds beside his head chirped and then swiped his phone to cut off the amusing sound. His fiery friend, and co-worker thought it was hilarious to steal his phone and change his alarm tone every few weeks. Usually it was something inane and silly like a cartoon laugh track or just a repeating “It’s time to get up BakerBoi” that gets increasingly louder. He had arrived to work with a scowl on his face only to see the shit-eating grin of Leo Valdez waiting at the door.

Now Jason stumbles out of bed, letting his limbs loosen as he pads softly to the bathroom, feeling cool tile and a winter breeze on his exposed skin. He loves mornings like this, when the world isn’t quite awake, and the sky hasn’t decided what colour it wants to be for the day. He knows in is baker’s bones that it’ll be cold and rainy, but he has time for a morning jog before the world starts crying.

“Good morning boss,” A bright eyed, fidgeting Leo greets as he steps into the bakery.

Jason had been there at seven thirty, pulling down the café chairs and cleaning the counters. He already had a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies and about three different types of muffins in the oven. The bread was waiting for the busy hands of Leo and Hazel who somehow always seemed to make heavenly fluffed, soft rolls and the deliciously crusty baguettes. Hazel jokes that it’s the New Orleans blood that flows through her veins. They’re all half inclined to agree.

“Morning Valdez, I like the alarm this week.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder before going back to his icing ritual. Mix, taste, mix, ice.

“I figured you would old man. Even though i much prefer my ASMR food audio from last week. What’s the specialty today?”

“We need to get beignets out and the pain au chocolats before the breakfast crowd. Also the fruit stuffed pastry twists and the honey bread have to be prepped before we open so we can bring them out hot in time for the brunch crowd. Specialty today is a new thing I’ve been working on. Blue blondie doughnuts with Oreo cream filling and sugar glaze.”

“Gods boss, you tryna give people heart failure?”

“Just trying to insert some sweetness into the world,” He winked.

Before Leo could give an undoubted snarky reply a bubbly head of dark brown curls and glittering eyes popped around the door.

“Goooood morning everyone,”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that graced his face at her cheeriness, “Hello Miss Levesque, glad to see a prettier face around here,”

Leo made a strangled noise of indignation from the other side of the kitchen but didn’t get the chance to voice his offense before the last member of their little group walked in.

“Ah there you are Miss McLean, I do wonder how you arrive with Hazel and still manage to get in after her.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I have to say goodbye to my girlfriend before I come in Boss. You’re the one who banned couple calls in the bakery.”

“Well maybe if we didn’t have to hear you and Annabeth explicitly planning your night’s activities I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

Piper just rolled her eyes and went to grab her apron and a cloth to wipe down the tables.

"Everyone ready?" He asked, from the door of the kitchen an hour later.

"Ready for the storm boss," They all yelled back, as they did each morning.

"Then let's roll like thunder," He grinned, flinging the doors to Ambrosia Bakery open.

"Oh thank the heavens, I could smell the goodness from here and it was a struggle to keep the drool in," One Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano breathed in deep.

"Good morning my favourite customer," Leo smirked from behind the counter.

"Jason tell your bread boy to stand down before I make him,"

"Is that an invitation?" Dark eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

"That is a threat," She growled.

"Well mark me down as scared and h—"

"Valdez I swear if you finish that sentence I'm putting you on wash-up duty for the next week."

A faint "you got it boss" followed Jason into the kitchen, where he allowed himself to smile. It was an ongoing amusement that Leo flirted with Reyna and in return she came up with increasingly terrifying threats.

"Jason, your sister is here to see you" Hazel said, gently shoving him out the way so she could take over rolling the pastry.

"Get the doughnuts ready for the fryer I'll be back soon, thank you!"

He maneuvered around a blushing Leo who had icing on his nose and a suspicious lipstick stain on his cheek, finally making his way to the confectioners stand.

"What's up loser?" He said by way of greeting.

"Hey you're only allowed to call me that if you come baring nice things." Thalia Grace frowned.

"I am nice things," He pouted.

"Not even on your best day." She snorted, "I want to know if you're coming to the gala this weekend. I need a date to steal extra bread-sticks for me."

"Why can't I just make you bread-sticks and we can sit in your lounge and watch bad reality TV?" He groaned

"Because I have to show face or the sponsors aren't going to sponsor. Besides you need a night out. You're gonna start smelling like bread if you don't take a break."

"It's insulting that you think I wouldn't want to smell like breadsticks."

She laughed at, that ruffling his hair, "Just be ready by seven. You better be wearing a suit."

And with that his sister had grabbed her daily croissant and cappuccino and vanished into the drizzling day.

Before he could make it back to his safe haven beside the ovens and marbled counter-tops a flash of black hair caught his eye.

Turning around he couldn't contain the grin that tugged at his lips; standing by the counter already staring intently at the newest creation was Jason's favourite customer.

"Hello Percy Jackson,"

"Jason," A dazzling smile revealed pearl white teeth and the tiniest dimple on a cheek the color of rich toffee.

"I see you've already found Neptune's Tridoughnut,"

A bright laugh escaped a wickedly beautiful mouth, "Oh I love that. How'd you come up with that one?"

Jason smiled softly, debating whether to tell the owner of the 5-Oceans Conservation Company that he was the muse behind all of his latest creations, hence the variations of green and blue.

Instead, as he did every time Percy asked, he lied, "My sister went to an opening ceremony for a new exhibit at the Education center all about Mythology so I thought I’d offer my services and well, they were a hit."

Piper who was walking past at that exact moment coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Liar" but with a pointed glare she disappeared behind the counter.

"That sounds great. Guess I'll have to recruit you for all my functions," He winked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Jason cursed his pale cheeks and hoped the blush he now sported wasn't too noticeable, "What can I get you besides a specialty doughnut?"

"Can I get one banana and walnut muffin, a dozen chic chips, and I'm gonna go see mom this afternoon so maybe a couple of caramel pastry twists and some blueberry muffins?"

"Sure. I guess Estelle is off her carrot cake faze?" He laughed, remembering how Percy had to stop at the bakery twice a week to grab carrot and pecan mini cakes just for his little sister.

"Ugh she's onto wanting fruit in absolutely everything now so my mom has been frantically buying boxes of peaches, strawberries and apples to cut up and send with her for lunch at school." Green eyes rolled in fake annoyance.

"Well if she likes fruit things maybe she should try the raspberry and orange pastry twists?" He pointed to a display stand piled with various pastries coloured by blackberry jam, apricot pieces, kiwi slices and mango syrup.

"I could kiss you right now!" Percy exclaimed rushing towards the display, unaware that the baker was frozen to the spot.

I could kiss you, could kiss you, kiss you, kiss...

Jason's brain had short-circuited, his neurons too busy having a dance party with his hormones to process the world.

I could kiss you.

A lazy, unconscious smile took over his face as he stood there in the middle of his bakery, arms slack, head lolled, and eyes crinkled.

"Jason?" A faraway voice called.

"Jason? Hello?"

And suddenly a hand was waving in front of his vision trying to get his attention.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, blinking back into existence, "Right yes the pastries"

"Didn’t get enough sleep last night?" Percy teased, slugging him softly in the shoulder.

He snorted at the implication, "Unfortunately I'm a bit of a grandfather. Sleep early, rise early."

"Oh guess you like morning activities then,"

He sputtered, head snapping up to stare into twinkling eyes, "N-no, I just meant—"

"I'm kidding Mr BakerMan," That brilliant, bright laugh again, "I know you're a homebody. Your sister likes to tell me how boring you are."

He huffed at that, "We'll see if she gets her pear tarts this weekend."

"Speaking of this weekend," A sly grin played at Percy's mouth, "Are you coming to the gala?"

"Yea," He sighed, "Thalia says she needs me to steal bread-sticks ."

Sea green eyes widened before Percy burst out laughing. In a matter of moments tears were streaming down his face.

If Jason wasn't so smitten with that gorgeous smile and those mischievous eyes he may have been inclined to laugh too. But Percy Jackson was a vision he half believed only his dreams could conjure.

When the laughter had mostly seized Percy wiped his eyes and managed to gasp, "That sounds exactly like something Thalia would ask. When we worked on the marine life project together she always stole the mints from every CEO’s office because she said they had enough money to buy a mint factory, they could afford to replace a single bowl."

"Yep, her life goal is to end capitalism. I swear if it wasn't for Annabeth, Thalia would be walking into office buildings with a sack like some reverse Santa Claus where she steals the office supplies and fruit bowls."

"Well I can't wait to see you stuffing your pockets with bread-sticks on Saturday so I guess I'll see you then," He gave another dazzling smile.

"Yea, and say hello to little Estelle for me. Tell me how she likes the pastries."

"Don't worry I'm sure I'll be back soon with a long list of request."

"Can't wait." He grinned.

Percy chuckled, "Me neither, see you Friday." And then he was gone.

Oh gods, Jason thought, how am I ever gonna survive Percy in a suit?

***

Spoiler alert past-Jason: you didn't.

#Okay but i lowkey love baker jason and big boss percy #Thank you Anon #this ask was too cute #PJSSG asks #she speaks #jercy fic #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series #jercy fanfic #percy jackson #jason grace #jason #grace #percy #jackson #PJO #HOO

[somepieceofteenagewildlife]

BOWIE TITLES

“Thin white duke”

- iconic but old and stale

...Meanwhile !!!

“Fat Crusty Bitch”:

- new, fresh, delicious

- Everyone can relate !!! (nobody can be the duke I mean cmon)

- you sound like a baguette witch with a Bowie fetish

#whats not to love #david bowie #bowie #shitpost #meme

[thealmostrhetoricalquestion]

1,2 and 31 pls? x

I, a walking talking fool, reblogged that post and then promptly forgot about its existence, so I apologise deeply for that! Having said that, thank you for the ask, dear! 

1) things that inspire you

I never really know what to say to this. People always seem to have deep reasons that root back to old works of fiction or childhood moments etc. I feel like I am very easy to inspire! That said, I do keep a little list on my phone when I see/think of something that I might want to come back to or include in a story, so I shall copy and paste a bit of that here. 

there is a dog wearing a raincoat outside / rain making sounds on the plant pots (all filled up) / crusty baguette sound / oooh Bly Manor has a statue garden?? do something with that?? maybe there is something underneath one of them, and they only move when something happens ahhh / cobblecog market / (friend) said “just for bedevilment” /  peeling away tree bark and finding velvet (unexpected thing? concept?) inside /  the clockmaker’s apprentice / forruhesturm /  lady in car simply cannot park - magical driving lessons? carriage driving lessons? FLYING carriage lessons??? / raining again 

That’s just one snippet of nonsense haha, so do with that what you will. But I think that everything you see/hear/stumble across has the potential to inspire a story, no matter how small!  

2) things that motivate you

Oh, this one is easier! I really, really want to see something that I have written sitting on the shelf in a bookstore one day. So that’s the Big Motivation behind writing. I find I am motivated by small challenges, and collecting things - like the prompt challenge I’m doing right now, I can’t stop writing because I need to collect tickets. Motivation also comes from friends, who are very encouraging, and my cat, who meows daily to let me know that she would like us to be rich and living in a mansion soon, please. 

31) easiest part of writing

I think I am better at building a world than I am at building a character, or conflict. Magical systems, social hierarchies, actual physical worlds with maps and histories and cultures - all of that is so much fun to dive into that I think it makes it feel easy, even when it’s hard. I would also say that if it’s an emotion that I’m familiar with, or one that I can picture easily enough, that also comes across quite smoothly most of the time. I think, anyway!

Thank you again for the lovely ask, and for letting me ramble a bit!!

#asky ask things #magpiefngrl #lovely people #thank you for asking!

[allie1804-fan]

A Doorway Is Opened (Chapter 10)

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 Warnings: Explicit Content The following morning, Keanu awoke to the wonderful aroma of baking bread. Hannah had got up without waking him at 7 so she could get everything set for their taste of France breakfast.

 She’d laid out the place settings and all the accompaniments on the patio table and was sitting at the kitchen island enjoying a coffee when the aroma lured Keanu from his bed.

“Oh my God, I could get used to this!” he said wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Just then the timer beeped and she pulled out 2 crusty brown baguettes and a giant boule from the oven all with cracks on the top revealing the treasure within. She set them on the cooling racks and then lent over placing her ear close to the breads

“what are you doing?!”

“Listening for the crack”

“the what?”

“In France, she explained, when the bread comes out of the oven it starts to make a lovely cracking noise and they say “ca craque!” it’s such a gorgeous sound.

Keanu joined her in her little listening project

“oh yeah cool, you really can hear them, how long do we have to leave them to rest? I’m starving!”

“When are you not?”

“touche!”

Once the bread was cool enough, they went outside and feasted like kings on the delicious baguettes. Keanu spread his first slice thickly with the fine butter she’d brought from home which had salt crystals running through it and dove in, making yummy noises all the while. His favourite was having it with apricot jam - another item she’d bought from home because it was her favourite Bonne Maman brand imported from France. Keanu raved about it all leaving Hannah proud of herself for having the idea and the delicious outcome. After breakfast they stayed chilling by the pool, each lost in their own thoughts.

“what you thinking ‘bout’ Keanu asked eventually

“just time passing ……… and you going again is rushing up at us like a steam train”

“yeah, me too, I’m sorry about that …………. You regretting what we’ve started?”

“uh uh  - not at all silly, it’s been lovely” she sighed “you’re lovely” she said softly, meeting his hazel eyes.

“You too” he answered threading his fingers together with hers.

“Come ‘ere” he said

She rose from her chair and went to sit straddled across him, leaning down to meet his lips.  

They sat kissing in the chair for a long time, gently exploring each other’s mouths, low moans accompanying their kisses.  She could feel wetness pooling in her panties and his hard on growing beneath her.

“Ever done it out here?” she asked.

“You know, actually no – I never have” he answered honestly.

“and here’s me thinking of you as some lothario doing it all the time in every room and on the patio, in the pool……..”

He laughed.

“I told you, I haven’t actually had that much action and to be honest I have often chosen not to bring women back here, you know, to my space”

“I’m honoured” she said

“and rightly so” he answered “So that’s what you want? To do it out here?”

She nodded, giggling and stood to remove her panties from beneath the sundress she was wearing while he un-zipped his jeans and pealed them off along with his boxers.

“Climb back on” he encouraged and Hannah willingly obliged, carefully lining up with him and sliding down onto his rock hard cock, groaning as she did before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Her feet could reach the patio and she used it for leverage to rise up and down on him going agonisingly slowly at first but gradually speeding up as Keanu thrust up grunting and grabbing onto her hips more tightly.  

“God you feel so good, so hot around me”

“and you’re so hot and fucking hard in me” she said groaning and leaning back slightly. Keanu could see her breasts bouncing through the light fabric of her sundress with each movement.  At this new angle, Keanu’s cock rubbed perfectly against her G-spot and her breath started to come in rapid pants as she quickly neared her climax.

“God I’m close, are you coming for me Baby?”

She only nodded in response, as a low moan accompanied the pulsing and clenching of her pussy around him. The sight of her letting go and the feel of her clenching his hard dick was enough to push Keanu over the edge. He shouted out as the pleasure coursed through his veins reaching his fingers and toes. She fell forward, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing hard. He squeezed her tight, holding her close as his heart-rate slowly calmed.  Eventually she raised her head and grasped his face with both hands and placed a tender kiss on his lips, a tear rolling down her cheek as she did.

“hey what’s wrong?” Keanu asked, concerned.

“nothing, nothing at all, they’re happy tears” she said taking a shaky breath

“I thought I was, you know, all closed up literally, you know like Diane Keaton in your movie, that I wouldn’t have this kind of intimacy ever again, so thank you”

“back at ya!”

“now my 31 year old self really would be giving me a hi 5” she laughed and he joined in chuckling and giving her a literal hi 5 before hugging her tightly again.

“Come on, let’s clean up and go in, I gotta start thinking about my packing, see if I need to buy anything before I go”

The next few days passed in a blissful haze of making love, cooking meals, bike rides and general companionship. They watched movies, played chess and scrabble, listened to more music and sometimes just each read a book in comfortable silence.  She helped him with packing and they made plans for their keeping in touch calls and a grand reunion in September - they hoped he could be back in time to celebrate his 56th birthday on 2nd September.

On their last night, their lovemaking was passionate yet tender. Keanu took things slowly, wanting to prolong the pleasure and the feelings of togetherness as long as he could. His cock was so hard and thick that Hannah was a writhing mess as she came over and over again as he rubbed over her G spot with skill and precision. When he came his face was writhed in bliss and he yelled out her name as he rode the tingling waves of ecstasy.

As they lay exhausted in the tangle of sheets, breathing hard, fingertips just brushing, he turned to her.

 “You OK”

 “mmmm”

 “Good enough send off for ya?”

“Absolutely perfect thank you – I feel like jello on the inside!”

He giggled “me too, my fingers and toes are still tingling, good to know we oldies have still got it right?”

“yeah – god my kids would probably be horrified to know I’m still “doing it!”

“you going to tell them? About me I mean?”

“What about you”?

“errrrm ….” Keanu frowned, suddenly feeling vulnerable then she quickly smacked him on the arm

“of course I’m going to tell them…………. Don’t quite know how to broach the subject” she paused, wondering whether to go for it or not “ how to broach the subject that I’ve fallen in love again”

She held her breath, wondering if she’d made him freak out.

Keanu rolled to face her again, looking into her eyes with the most tender expression.

“I love you too………… and I’m not just saying it coz you did, don’t think that. I haven’t felt this giddy or this sad about being apart from someone for a very, very long time”

They kissed softly, not needing any more words, each storing up this happy memory to carry them through to September.

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#romance #explict #miscarriage #stillbirth #grief #keanu #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #fluff #friends to lovers

[drakewalkerfantasy]

When the stars align? Part 1

Summary: This is continuation to my series Can you fake love? This fanfic will portrait two dates in two part. The first part will be their date before their friendship became something more. And second part taking exactly 1 years after their first unofficial “date”. Also this is the date she mention in Can you fake love? Part 4  (Mature)

Author’s note: All rights on The Elementalists and characters belong to Pixelberry.  English isn’t my mother language, so please excuse my mistakes. Tagging users who expressed interest in first series.

@fluffy-marshmallow-heart​ thank you for the naming for this fic. It is perfect. 

No Beta used.

Words count: 2973

**Warnings: fluff nothing else**

Maeve set alone on Beckett’s porch crying. Her soft sobs broke the silence of the early evening. She was supposed to be on a date, but instead, she sat on her best friend’s porch, her face puffy from tears, and she didn’t want to return home. Coming to the only place, where she knew, she will be not judged. She sighed heavily, turning her face toward the dark window of her best friend’s room, not hearing soft footsteps approaching her. Suddenly she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, turning to face a person who stood in front of her. Her warm earthy eyes met his steely ones.

In an instant, he was by her side, crouching next to her, the books he was holding dropped on the ground carelessly. And he tenderly ran his thumbs along her cheekbones, brushing away Maeve’s tears. His thumbs gently caressed her soft, velvety skin.

“Mae, what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” quickly asked Beckett, watching the girl in front of him carefully, to make sure she isn’t in any physical pain. After making sure she is okay, he exhaled sharply, the breath he even didn’t realize he was holding. “Mae, what’s wrong?” softly asked he, kneeling in front of his best friend, holding her arms in his.

“I… we… we were supposed to… meet for a date,” sobbed Maeve, new tears formed in her eyes, and she wiped them angrily. “I… I waited for hours… And he… he didn’t even show up.“

“He is… he is what?” exclaimed Beckett, letting go of her hands, the anger bubbling inside him, and his hands balled into fists.

“He didn’t show up…,” repeated Maeve in a quiet voice, hiding her puffy, tear-stained face between her palms. Her voice dropped so low that he could miss what she said if he wouldn’t move closer. After taking a shuddery breath, Maeve started to speak again, her voice raw and husky with emotions.  “And then--- then he just texted that he--- he got other plans and--- and he cannot make it and even didn’t explained why,” she sobbed quietly into her hands, feeling Beckett’s fingers gently touching hers, making her uncover her face. For a moment, they gazed into each other eyes before Maeve looked on a pile of books, the ones that Beckett dropped when he has seen her tears. “Sorry, I--- I probably should go… you obviously have other plans for the evening. See you tomorrow,” spoke Maeve, wiping away her tears, and hastily standing up from the steps to leave just to be stopped in her track by a gentle touch.

Without a moment of hesitation, Beckett gently caught Maeve by her wrist, turning her to face him.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” spoke Beckett, not letting Maeve object. “Please, just--- just trust me and no questions,” he warned her softly, “and don’t change your clothes. Okay?”

“Okay,” whispered Maeve in confusion, watching Beckett walk into his house.

—————————–

After a couple of hours had passed, Maeve had heard a faint knock coming from downstairs. Her lips slowly curled into a smile before she ran down the stairs toward the door.

“So did you finished your study for tod…,” asked she flung the door open, the word froze on the tip of her tongue, and her eyes widened, taking in her best friend’s appearance. Her mouth fell agape, and her eyes roamed over his body.

He had worn a dark blue worn off designer jeans with a navy shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned. The black soft leather jacket was thrown over his shoulders. And the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

“What is happening,” asked Maeve, gaping at him in surprise when he held out his hand, in a gentlemanly manner. “Where are we going? Will you tell me what happening and where are you taking me?” tried again Maeve when he walked her out of her house.

“For a person who was asked earlier not to ask any questions, you ask them surprisingly a lot,” replied Beckett without stopping, still leading her toward his old vintage car. “I’m taking you out for a date, and it’s all that I’m ready to tell you for now.”

“What--- why--- I… I thought you were studying and just needed time,” exclaimed Maeve. “What does all of these mean?” she asked, still feeling confused.

“Mae, just come with me. I promise you will not regret it. You are my best friend, and some jerk stood you up. Do you really think I would let you sit home, pitying yourself? I know how much effort you usually put into these things. And you were so upset--- Although, I probably should have asked first,” he mumbled, stopping abruptly and turning to face Maeve. His hand holding hers. “Maeve, would you go out on the date with me?” asked Beckett, his cheeks turning pink.

“Are… are you serious,” asked Maeve, her free hand fiddling with a hem of her white knee-length dress, that hugged her figure perfectly. Her long golden locks flowed down her shoulders, and a slight blush dusted her cheeks when Beckett nodded affirmatively. “Okay… I would be honored,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to the ground before meeting his.

When they finally reached his car, he helped her in, jumping onto the driver’s seat. Turning ignition on, he drove out from the driveway, heading to an unknown direction.

After about 20 minutes of driving, they finally stopped on the side of the road. The field of wildflowers opened in front of them, and the sun slowly was sinking behind the horizon. Maeve looked around in awe waiting for Beckett to help her out of the car.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We are in a field, obviously,” slyly replied Beckett, taking Maeve’s hand and leading her further into the field, choosing a narrow path toward a lonely standing tree. Maeve’s eyes grew wider, the closer they approached their destination. The details of an area becoming more visible, and she gasped when she noticed that a tree was lit up brightly by different lanterns hanging from it and placed around a picnic blanket, set for two. “Beckett, how… when…,” she asked when they finally reached the top of a small hill where the tree stood. “This is… beautiful,” she whispered, and her heart made a flip when she looked around them.

“You are beautiful,” murmured Beckett, approaching Maeve from behind and standing next to her before walking toward the sitting area.

“What?” blinked Maeve in surprise, taking her place next to Beckett on the blanket. Carefully she took her heels off and tucked her legs under.

“I mean…,” Beckett cleared his throat, a blush reaching his cheeks once again. “I mean, isn't it what people usually say on a date… right? And you look very nice in this dress, so it was simply stating a fact.”

“You mean on a fake date?” questioned Maeve blushing, but her face brightly lit with a smile and her eyes shining.

“You are impossible, you know it?” he laughed freely, glad that she finally smiling again, all traces of tears she shed, gone from her eyes.

“Ohhhh, yes. I know. But can you blame me for this? Not every day your best friend takes you out on a date even though a fake one.” she giggled, making him roll his eyes, smiling in return.

“So, I can take that you liked it?” hesitantly asked Beckett, taking out a bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic beverage, filling two tall glasses.

“I love it here,” murmured Maeve, taking a glass from Beckett’s hands and taking a sip from it. “Thank you, for coming out of your ways to make me feel better. You are the best friend I could ever wish.”

“What do you think best friends are for?”

“I always thought, to tucked up on the couch, under the comforter together and binge-watch a TV series, eating a giant pack of ice cream. But I still cannot imagine how did you manage to set up all of this with a little bit more than two hours you had?”

“It isn’t a lot--- if I would have more time, I would be able to do something more special. Although, I packed some food that I could find in our kitchen: fruits, cakes, cheese, bread loaves. Thankfully, my parents just returned from France, so….”

“Beckett, please tell me you got French Roasted Peach Macarons and baguette with this fancy French board of cheese bites,” exclaimed Maeve looking at Beckett with hope in her eyes.

“Do you really think I could forget about Macarons or your favorite cheese board, the one my parents explicitly brought from France for you? I know you quite well to know, that if I wouldn’t, and you would find out about this later, you would never forgive me.”

“You bet, I wouldn’t,” confirmed Maeve, bouncing up and down in anticipation.

“Then, this is a good thing I know you so well,” said Beckett sheepishly, starting to take out the food he collected for them. In a moment, Maeve joined him in setting out a picnic area. After a couple more minutes, Beckett reached into the basket for the last time, taking out a beautiful pack of macarons and handing it to Maeve, her eyes glowing brighter than obsidian stars.

“Beckett, this is incredible,” beamed Maeve. “Although I’m not sure how about you, but I'm hungry. So--- can we start?”

“By all means, let's start,” smirked Beckett taking a piece of baguette and smearing it with butter and soft cheese. He held a piece of small toast toward her, and she carefully took a bite. Her lips brushing his fingertips slightly, when her teeth sunk into a crusty fresh baguette with soft melting cheese on top. The heavenly combination of flavors exploding on her taste buds, and she closed her eyes in pleasure.

“Mmmmmm,” moaned Maeve opening her eyes to meet Beckett’s, a happy smile brightens her face, “This is fantastic. Please, thank your mum for thinking of me and my favorite food while abroad. And Beck…,” she murmured, clasping his hands in hers and looking him deep in the eyes, “thank you for taking me out today.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just couldn’t stand seeing you so upset. I never have seen you so upset before, and this--- He shouldn’t do this to you.”

“It’s okay--- really,” quietly said Maeve, sighing heavily.

“No, it’s not okay,” firmly said Beckett, furious with the fact that this guy even doesn’t realize how special Maeve is, and how lucky he is. He lightly squeezed her hands before letting go of them. “What he did isn’t okay. I would never do something like this to my girlfriend.”

“Oh my god, Beckett Harrington,” she gasped, and her eyes widened. “Do you have a girlfriend, and I didn’t know about this? Oh my god, she will be furious with you took me out on a date. Even though it is not a real date, but--- We probably need to go. Thank you for everything, but we really need to---,” mumbled Maeve, standing up abruptly, feeling Beckett’s fingers wrapping around her wrist, tugging her back to sit.

“No… NO, I… I don’t have a girlfriend. You know I just don’t have time for this at the moment. It’s our first year in college, and I need to focus on my study, to prove my worth.”

“Okay,” replied Maeve sinking back onto the blanket, watching Beckett make them both two separate toasts and handing her one.

They sat in silence for a moment, watching how the sun hid slowly behind the horizon, taking in the beauty of the field in front of them. The last rays of sun painting it in a variety of colors. The quiet conversation carelessly started to flow between them, and occasionally the happy laugh broke the quietness of the late hour. They ate and drunk without even noticing that the sun finally hid behind the horizon, and first stars dotted the night’s sky. They sparkled like fireflies on the dark midnight canvas, and lanterns flickered for the last time before leaving them in the complete darkness.

“Shit,” cursed Beckett quietly before apologetically looking at Maeve illuminated by faint moonlight. “Sorry, I didn’t think we will spend here so much time, and we will need to return in darkness.”

“Beck, can we stay for a bit longer?” murmured Maeve quietly. “You remember when we were younger our parents took us out on a picnic and we used to stargaze?” asked Maeve, biting her lower lip.

“Yes, of course, I remember this. This was basically the best part of it. Although, now I know much more about stars, and planets, and galaxies. So, if you want to stay and stargaze, we can.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to distract you any further from your study night. I know how seriously you are about them. But this would be nice to hang out with you for a bit longer. You know we didn’t do this for a while,” laughed Maeve, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly.

“We can stay--- for a bit,” he replied softly, his lips curling into a smile once again.

“Who are you? And what have you done with my friend,” asked Maeve suspiciously, watching him carefully.

“I may have my selfish reasons. Also, you are right, we didn’t do anything together for a while, and this--- this would be nice. And also, as I said, I have my selfish reasons," said Beckett, watching at the sky before facing Maeve again.

“Would you care to share with me which reasons are we talking about?” laughed Maeve lightly.

”You know usual ones… like to tell my friend everything about the stars, and planets, and galaxies.”

“You are such a nerd,” smiled Maeve softly, rolling her eyes. Suddenly, she felt goosebumps rising on her bare arms when the light breeze swept through the field. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” asked Beckett, noticing how a shiver ran through Maeve, concern lacing his voice.

“A little. But it’s okay, nothing that I couldn’t handle,” replied Maeve.

“Here,” said Beckett holding out to her his leather jacket.

“Beckett, thank you but if I take it, you will get cold,” quietly spoke Maeve, looking at her best friend with a hesitation.

Slowly, Beckett moved toward Maeve wrapping his jacket around her shoulders, running his hands up and down her arms warming them up a little. “I’ll be fine.” murmured he before laying down on a blanket, folding arms under his head. After a moment, Maeve joined him on the ground, their hands touching, and they turned their faces to look at each other before facing the sky once again.

Beckett quietly started to speak about everything he learned about the stars and constellations. About galaxies and faraway planets. Pointing and naming to Maeve, brightest stars in the nighttime sky, stating facts why some of them couldn’t be seen from where they lived. His voice soft and deep, filling a space between them, and he could feel how she moved closer to him, placing her head over his heart. Curling up closer to his side.

After telling Maeve all the facts he knew, he moved toward the beautiful legend he heard once. The legend he never truly believed but knew that Maeve would love it. The old Chinese tale about two stars, Altair and Vega. The legend in which two people were joined together in love but separated forever by stars. He pointed out two stars in two different constellations called Aquila and Lyra. Two constellations separated forever by Milky Way.

“Vega was celestial princess, a goddess of the sky. Immortal but doomed to live in eternity alone. One day Altair, a mortal, caught her eyes and she descended from the heavens to greet him. Getting to know each other they fell deeply in love and Vega promised Altair that they will be together in the heavens,” quietly spoke Beckett lowering his eyes to meet Maeve’s both smiling softly to each other before raising their eyes back to the sky. “When Vega’s father finds out, he is enraged that his daughter would fall in love with a mere mortal. His fury only grows when he discovers that Vega promised to bring Altair up to the heavens with her. In the most cruel of fashions, Vega’s father grants the promise that she made. The two lovers were placed in the sky as stars. Yet while they were both in the heavens, they were not together.  The great Celestial River separated them. Yet each year, on the 7th night of the 7th moon, a bridge of magpies forms across the Celestial River. Though it would be for one night a year the two lovers are reunited as Altair dares to travel to his beloved. Yet, sometimes Altair’s annual trip across the Celestial River is too dangerous and he doesn’t quite make it. In those dark years, Vegas’ tears form raindrops that fall from the sky.”

When Beckett finally finished the story, he looked at Maeve, finding her sleeping peacefully on his chest, a soft smile touched her lips, and blond curls fell onto her forehead. He could feel how the warm feeling spreading inside him, and he gently brushed the strand out of her eyes. His fingers lingering for a moment longer, and he hesitantly pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, wrapping his hand tighter around her. He could feel how tiredness catching up with him, and his eyes fell heavily before sleep finally overtook him. Both of them falling asleep in each other's arms, with no idea what the future may bring, only knowing that their friendship will last forever.

Taggs: @fluffy-marshmallow-heart​​ @annekebbphotography​​ @perriewinklenerdie​​ @thequeenofcronuts​​ @symonde​​ @lapisreviewsstuff​​ @madampugzalot​​ @emichelle​​ @elles-choices​​ @lilyofchoices​​ @boneandfur​​ @walkerismychoice​​ @hopelessromantic1352​​ @confessionsofabrokegirl​​ @msjpuddleduck​​ @desiree-0816​​ @universallypizzataco​​ @feartheendlesssummer​​ @catlady0911​​ @the-soot-sprite​​

#the elementalists #the elementalists au #the elementalists 2 #the elementalists fanfic #the elementalists fanfiction #beckett harrington #beckett harrington fanfic #beckett harrington fanfiction #beckett harrington x mc #beckett x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #long post #longpost

[pfenniged]

The Law Industry, being boring old crusty baguettes: Dress conservatively for an interview- anything less than a black suit and a white shirt displays unprofessionalism.

Me, getting dressed in a bright blue Porcelain print shirt and a double-breasted suit jacket for an interview, looking like the reject child of Oscar Wilde and not expecting anything less from myself: Well, I tried to warn you-

#informational interview tomorrow with a super basic-looking girl tomorrow #that I feel will judge me because she seems like the type of basic bitch who is judgmental if you don't fall into the traditional image #of what a 'feminine' person is supposed to look like #like clearly if you don't have ass-long hair and wear a pencil skirt you clearly don't take your job seriously #so sorry gweneyth #anyhow #wish me luck #I still am not changing my fabulous style for you idiots so fuck all y'all #style is literally part of my soul and I will never change it #a firm that respects that about me will be where I work and nothing less #you can't change what they think of you so just let the chips fall where they may

[toddlazarski]

The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.        

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.  

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.    

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown. 

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose. 

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.   

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.” 

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.    

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town. 

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches. 

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.  

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.  

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat. 

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa. 

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life. 

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.   

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care. 

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect. 

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.   

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.  

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking  the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.   

 8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating. 

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.    

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.  

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.   

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken. 

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.   

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.   

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.  

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.  

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated. 

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really,  with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.   

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck? 

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.   

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for. 

3. Tlayuda - La Costena 

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different. 

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town. 

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.   

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.  

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?  

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.  

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.  

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument. 

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually. 

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.    

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.