#but then the next day i had miso for breakfast instead and ice cream in the evening to make sure which one it was

[yslkook]

#risk averse (6)

#corporate masterlist

summary: the last day of being in tokyo consists of: workshops, breakfast, dinner, and an airplane ride back. oh, and you finally have some ice cream with jungkook. properly. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, im not a psychologist so if what i write doesnt make sense dont @ me a/n: this is part 3/3 of being in tokyo!

TUESDAY

Tokyo is probably one of your favorite cities in the world, and yet you’re itching to get out as soon as you can. It’s the last day of the workshop kick-off meeting, and while you’ve enjoyed being back in this city and getting to know new people… You’re exhausted. Your mind has been running on overdrive since Friday afternoon and now it was Tuesday. You’ve never been on for this long, but you suppose it comes with the territory.

Truthfully, you don’t mind the work. You mind Jungkook and how things are still in a strange state of limbo with him. The memory of Saturday night still plagues you and the fact that you still haven’t talked to him pokes at you like a barbed wire.

You scratch your chin, masking your invisible spiral. Jungkook and Sana have set up breakfast for the team in the conference room, complete with steamed rice, fried egg, fruit miso soup, coffee and pastries. You eye the pastries with a gratuitous lick of your lips, your sudden sweet tooth making an appearance. That chocolate cornet in the small basket next to the sweet rolls is calling your name.

You focus on the decadent taste of chocolate rolling over your tongue paired with coffee rather than the anxiety you feel over leaving things between you and Jungkook in limbo. 

A shadow casts over your plate next to you and when you turn your head, you’re surprised to see Mark take a seat next to you.

“Morning,” He chirps, “Your guys did a good job with breakfast, huh?”

“They did a good job with everything, Mark. As they always do,” You say fiercely, with a quirk of your eyebrow, “And good morning to you, too.”

“This week went by fast, huh?” Mark says, taking a sip of his own coffee. Yeah, not fast enough.

Today’s workshop was mainly to finalize the project plan, assign subteams, and deliverables. And to determine when the next workshop would be- Namjoon had suggested that the Tokyo team come to Seoul next time. Which you had wholeheartedly supported. Mark had let his eyes slide over to you, catching your eye and smiling at you. Maybe he’d be able to see you outside of work in Seoul.

You had smiled back, a little obliviously.

And now, you stand up next to the whiteboard to write down your smaller sub teams and your deliverables as Namjoon reads from his notes. For everyone to be able to visualize. You were a firm believer in visual aids.

And so was Jungkook- after all, the way your plaid pencil skirt sits on your ass and hugs your hips is quite the visual. He lazily allows his eyes to roam your backside, enjoying the way your skirt moves with every small movement. Your sleeveless blouse is tucked into your skirt, leaving a hint of your tattoo poking out from the thin exposure of your shoulder. Your beige blazer neatly hangs off of the headrest of your chair. Jungkook counts his blessings, watching every inch of your tanned, inked skin as you continue to write on the board.

Namjoon and Mark spend the rest of the morning outlining expectations and brainstorming for the first deliverable. You challenge them sharply, not afraid to voice your thoughts when you don’t agree with them. 

Irene and Lisa look on with awestruck eyes, chiming in when they feel necessary. You have this way about you, Jungkook thinks. That when you speak, people just listen and people want to be heard by you. Your voice is magnetic, your eyes dark and fierce and he wants to know them. He wants to peel you back layer by layer, if you’d let him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if you have any other tattoos hiding under your meticulously crafted layers.

You catch Jungkook’s lazy gaze, shooting him a small smile. Jungkook swallows and reciprocates. He leans back in his chair, still not taking his eyes off of you. You maintain his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up at the intensity of his stare. He unwraps you with his eyes, as if you’re a present wrapped up all pretty just for him. Dark brown eyes dart from your face to your neck to your hands back up to your lips. A smirk ghosts his face, but it passes as quickly as it comes. 

You can play fire with fire, too. Something bold blazes in your own eyes, your tongue poking out to lick your bottom lip as you check him out in the same unabashed way that he had been checking you out only moments before.

This time, Jungkook is the one feeling a little heated under his collar. Mark’s voice pierces through the air, pulling you both out of your rose-tinted bubble and you both plaster your obedient gazes to Mark.

The moment dissolves with the sound of Mark’s voice- has it always been that annoying? Or was it only that annoying because Jungkook can see the barely hidden heart eyes he throws you when he makes eye contact with you?

Why does it matter? Because he likes you, and the epiphany doesn’t hit Jungkook like an unseen collision. It washes over him in soft, gentle waves. Comforting him and wrapping around him warmly, only lending him the courage to slide his eyes over to you once again.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Annoyance that you’ve wiggled your way into the crevices in between his veins and he is powerless to stop it.

The rest of the afternoon goes by just about the same, with lunch from the cafeteria and finishing up your plan of deliverables. You’re thankful that the day is coming to a close- these workshops are taking a toll out of you, needless to say.

You stretch your arms, opting to stand rather than sit. You hate how your ass goes numb after hours of sitting.

Jungkook doesn’t mind. It gives him a wonderful view of the slope of your chest that he has no qualms appreciating. You catch him a few times, obliviously giving him a small smile or a nod of appreciation.

It makes Jungkook wonder if you even know how pretty you are. If anyone’s ever told you that you were beautiful, with all of the conviction that you deserve.

You scribble in your notebook while leaning against the windowsill as a surface, your brows furrowed together in concentration as Namjoon and Mark speak. You resist the urge to yawn. What time is your flight again?

Namjoon had requested that your flights be at 4 AM on Wednesday morning, so that you could go straight into work. That was the tradeoff for giving the team the extra day in Tokyo. At the time, it sounded like a nice idea. Now, the thought of a 4 AM flight makes you want to keel over.

You start to drown out their voices, instead making a mental checklist of what you needed to do before leaving for the airport tomorrow morning. Call Grandma, pack your suitcase, arrange your makeup, leave your sweats for the morning out, text your therapist for an appointment when you returned to Seoul… 

You’re lost in your thoughts, chewing intently on your bottom lip and absently picking at your cuticles every so often. Mark’s voice cuts through the air again, finally dismissing you.

“It was great seeing all of you,” Mark says, his eyes lingering on you for a second too long.

“Yeah, we’ll be in Seoul soon. You’ll have to show us all the best places to eat,” Irene winks at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck, “See you soon.”

You exchange handshakes with them, with promises from Minhyuk and Lisa that they’ll set up biweekly calls for the Seoul team to have touchpoints with the Tokyo team. Namjoon nods in appreciation.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Mark squeezes your hand and pulls you a little closer by the grip of his handshake either.

Mark promises you, for your ears only, that he’ll text you when he gets to Seoul for the workshop. He asks if he can see you, maybe, if he can take you to that restaurant you had told him about. With the best seafood you’d ever had in your life.

You say yes, because you think nothing of it.

The minute you got back to your hotel room, you took your makeup off, moisturized, sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a good fifteen minutes. Then you changed into leggings and an oversized hoodie, one of Jin’s that you had stolen years ago.

You’re aware of your phone going off, likely the work group chat as well as Jin texting you. But you ignore it for now, instead closing your eyes and letting silence lull you to sleep.

You must have fallen asleep for a few hours- when you wake up, the moon is out and the sky is dark. You had likely slept through dinner.  Moonlight filters into your hotel room and you sigh, rubbing your eyes. 

What had woken you up? You hear the noise again, the sound of knuckles knocking gently against your hotel room door. With a soft groan, you rub your face and drag your feet to the door, not bothering to check the little peephole.

And you’re face to face with a nervous looking Jeon Jungkook, holding a bag in his hand. It smells great, mouthwatering, even.

“Hi,” You croak, clearing your throat of your post-sleep voice.

“Hey,” Jungkook says weakly, “We were texting you earlier for dinner but figured you’d fallen asleep or something. Looks like I was right.”

“Yeah, I accidentally fell asleep,” You murmur with a laugh, “You brought dinner for me?” You ask the question in wonder, as if it’s hard to believe.

“Uh huh,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his neck, “Well, uh, here you go-”

You take the bag of food in your hands, enjoying the warmth that it radiates. You bite your lips in nervousness, suddenly deciding that you don’t want to have dinner alone. You hate having dinner alone.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Jungkook’s heart skips about five beats and he’s nodding at you with big, sparkling eyes. You’re floating, somewhere in the clouds when he looks at you like that. Jungkook thinks you’re pretty, with your messy hair and sleepy eyes. Whether you’re in a sharp pencil skirt and a blazer or in pajamas, he thinks you’re so pretty.

You welcome him inside, gesturing for him to get comfortable in your hotel room. You know you have so much still to talk about with him, to explain your actions from Saturday night. But neither of you can deny the company that comes with a meal. So you set some food aside for him, thanking him for thinking of you.

And you eat, knees knocking into each other as you talk softly with only the moon as witness of a blossoming friendship.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind all morning, from when you had woken yourself up at 1:30 AM and even now as you’re in line to board the airplane. Having dinner with him felt so nice and left you feel warm all over.

And now, a seed of relief settles in your belly, knowing that you’re seated far away from Jungkook. So that you can think about him in peace, and think about what you’ll say to him when you finally get the chance to. You could have apologized to him last night, but it just didn’t feel right. 

You can’t even see his fluffy head of hair from here. Maybe you’ll even be able to sleep a little, considering how on edge you’ve felt for the last four days. You’re exhausted.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes and rest your head on the window, someone taps your shoulder politely.

“Sorry to disturb,” The flight attendant says, sounding genuinely apologetic, “But I believe there was a seat mix up. We have a couple here requesting to be seated together. Would it be alright if we swap?”

You peer behind her to see an elderly couple. You sigh. “Of course, no problem.” You think nothing of it, heading to the seat that the attendant had requested you switch with, until you see a familiar fluffy haired man within your range of vision.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe seat you next to Jeon Jungkook on this crowded plane? Of all the seats, of course you would be told to sit next to him.

“Um,” You say, waving at him a little nervously, “Hi. Is this seat taken?” You try to keep your voice light. He can probably pick up on the awkwardness.

“Oh! No,” Jungkook says quickly, standing up and hitting his head on the roof of the cramped plane. He winces and you suppress a laugh. “Let me put your suitcase up-”

“I got it, Jungkook,” You murmur, easily lifting the suitcase into the overhead compartment. Jungkook’s eyes immediately fall to the small sliver of your belly as you lift your arms above your head.

Taking a seat next to him, you try your best not to bounce your leg incessantly. Your bottom lip is lodged in between your teeth, as if you’re afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Ready to go back home?” Jungkook asks, desperate to alleviate the awkwardness in the air.

“Yeah, I always need an extra day off after traveling,” You reply, letting out an airy chuckle, “How about you?”

“Yeah, me too. And it’s only Wednesday, too. Can’t believe we still have to work.”

“That’s what’s shitty about leaving so early in the morning,” You yawn, “Still have plenty of time to work later in the day.”

Jungkook nods in agreement and yawns. The silence that falls between you both isn’t uncomfortable. It’s too early in the morning to contemplate it any further.

At some point, your eyes begin to close and you can’t stop the sudden wave of fatigue that washes over you. Fatigue from being anxious for the last four days. Somehow, around Jungkook, it dissipates slightly. Slightly enough for you to succumb to sleep. Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to shift when your head falls onto his shoulder. He wants to brush the hair out of your eyes but keeps his hands in his lap. His face is burning. 

A small smile graces his lips when you shift further, sink into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his upper arm. Jungkook pretends like his heart isn’t about to beat right out of his chest, especially when your nose is pressed against his shoulder and he can feel your soft, even breaths as you fall even further into sleep.

Pillowy warmth surrounds you, gently tugging you back down to sleep. But the sound of the pilot over the intercoms forces you to open your eyes. A low groan leaves your lips, you want to bask in your newfound warmth for a little longer.

Wait. Where is this warmth coming from? You look up, seeing a head of dark hair brushing over your forehead.

Your heart immediately accelerates, slamming straight out of your ribcage.

Jungkook feels you shifting before he opens his eyes. You feel so warm, tucked into his side. Even if it’s uncomfortable for both of you, he likes the way your cheek presses into his arm and how he could feel your soft breaths against his neck. The soft groan that escapes your lips sounds like honey in his ears, his cheeks warming.

You have to resist the urge to push his hair back. At least he’s still asleep, you think. What a precarious position to be in. With your coworker who you have unfinished business with. What a cliche, you nearly scoff out loud.

But then you see his warm, doe eyes blinking up at you curiously and you panic. You yank your arm away from him, lifting your head up so quickly that he’s surprised you don’t get whiplash. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, “How incredibly inappropriate. ‘M sorry-”

Before he can reply, the pilot and flight attendant give the all clear that people can begin exiting the aircraft. You’re out of your seat in record speed, ignoring the heat and embarrassment in your cheeks as you nearly run over the elderly couple behind you to get your suitcase. 

It’s the second time you’ve made a fool out of yourself in front of Jungkook. The memory is seared into your brain as you struggle to hold back tears. You sprint out of the airport in record time, and into Jin’s waiting arms.

You’re breaking Jungkook’s heart and you don’t even know it.

The minute you got home and settled in, you made an appointment with your therapist. You finally feel the edge of anxiety beginning to quell. But you’re exhausted, so exhausted. You contemplate taking a day off, but you don’t have a busy day at work today.

You opt to work from home once you let your boss know. Jin also decided to work from his apartment after picking you up. Maybe you can sneak a nap in during lunch.

At your therapy appointment, you finally cry. You can barely speak through your tears, telling Dr. Lee how being in Tokyo felt so cathartic and so heartbreaking at the same time. You tell her about Jungkook, about the friends that you had reconnected with after years. And then you tell her about how confused you are, how you had all but run out on Jungkook on the airplane.

“This is so stupid,” You sneer at yourself, wiping your cheeks angrily, “When did I become so pathetic-”

“Stop,” Dr. Lee says sternly, “There’s nothing pathetic-”

“I’m almost thirty and I’m acting like a selfish teenager! Who does this?” You snort derisively.

“What does age have to do with how you’re feeling? Don’t beat yourself up for feeling things that you’ve never felt before,” Dr. Lee says, “You’ve been closed off for this long. It’s okay to be a little selfish. You’re only human. Don’t punish yourself for feeling. I’m proud of you. For allowing yourself to feel.”

“It’s like… I know what I should do. But I keep doing the opposite. Or I just do nothing at all. What’s wrong with me?” You groan, holding your head in your hands, “I’m a terrible person, all I do is hurt everyone around me-”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people or not,” Dr. Lee says kindly, “Making mistakes does not make you a bad person.”

“Am I a bad person, Dr. Lee? I feel like I’m faking it in my own skin sometimes…”

“Bad people don’t want to fix the things that they’ve wronged. Admitting when you can be better is the first step to fixing it. Let yourself fix it. Let yourself lean on other people.”

FRIDAY

Today, you’re on a mission. You have to get that sad look out of Jungkook’s eyes, the one that you see whenever you happen to glance at him in passing and he catches a glimpse of you. You’ve hurt him repeatedly over the last few days and you need to make it right. Before you lose your nerve, you down an entire cup of coffee and march over to his cubicle.

You don’t even know if he’s in a meeting or not. But it doesn’t matter, you’ll wait. You’ll wait for his undivided attention.

Your courage begins to wear off the closer to get to his cubicle. But nevertheless, you persist.

“Jungkook,” You say clearly, “Hi. Good morning.”

Jungkook swivels in his chair, eyes nearly bulging out of his head when he realizes that it was you. Voluntarily at his cubicle, looking like a vision in your jeans and your plaid blazer.

It was a Friday, after all.

“Uh,” Jungkook says nervously, “Hi.”

“I have to talk to you. But not here,” You rush out, “Willyougeticecreamwithmelatertodayafterwork?”

A sigh of relief. But he’s looking at you like you have ten heads.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t catch what you said,” Jungkook says with an arch of his eyebrow.

“Uh. I want to talk to you. But not here at work. Will you get ice cream with me later today after work?” You mumble, looking at the floor before chastising yourself and meeting his piercing gaze.

Jungkook thinks he must be dreaming. There’s no way that you are asking him to get ice cream. He thought that you were done with him, that you disliked him even. Maybe he doesn’t know you at all.

“With me?” Jungkook sputters.

“Yeah. With you,” You nod with a small smile, “I know a place.”

“You know all the good ice cream spots on this side of the world, huh?” Jungkook says airily.

“I don’t think you had the opportunity to enjoy it in Tokyo,” You say softly, “So I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook nods as his heart sings, “Text me the place and time, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Y-yeah. Okay,” You reply, pulling your clammy hands out of your pockets.

“See you soon, then,” Jungkook says, flashing a bunny smile at you. You haven’t seen that smile from him in a while and it surprises you how much you missed it. How it makes you want to smile back at him.

Your jitters are parallel, if not worse, to first date jitters, except it’s been a long time since you’ve been on a first date. These jitters are so much worse, considering that you think you have a lot to apologize for and explain to Jungkook. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

You’d arrived at the ice cream shop about twenty minutes early. Another nervous habit. You hate being late to things.

Jungkook walks in and you knock your knee into the table as you get up from your seat. “Hi,” You wave weakly, “Thanks. Uh. For coming.”

You feel a little dizzy, lightheaded as you take him in. Long sleeved black shirt tucked into black jeans- he looks handsome. But more than that, you’re nervous to face him and bare your heart to him.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Jungkook asks, peering at the buckets of ice cream behind you.

“Huh?”

“Ice cream? What’s your favorite?” Jungkook asks.

“I like chocolate. I’m easy to please,” You shrug, “Maybe chocolate raspberry. Mint chocolate, too. Oh, and orange chocolate-”

“Mint chocolate,” Jungkook exclaims, scrunching his nose, “Ugh. That’s gross.”

“Oh, whatever,” You roll your eyes playfully. Jungkook gestures for you to order your ice cream first, and then you both sit at a table towards the back near the windows. The sun has long set, blanketing the city in the night sky.

“Do you like it?” You ask, pointing at his selection of cookies and cream. He looks like a deer caught in headlights when he looks up at you, eyes gleaming and lips parted. He nods enthusiastically. 

A few more seconds of comfortable silence go by.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “I think… I should explain myself. For Tokyo.”

He nearly chokes on his ice cream. “No, it’s-”

“Jungkook,” You say firmly, reminding Jungkook of why he is intimidated by you even still, “I asked you to meet me for ice cream because… I’m sorry for blowing up at you that night. You didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. It’s not fair for me to keep one foot in the past and have this chokehold on a time that doesn’t exist anymore. So I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for just… running out of the airport without saying a word to you. I understand if you don’t want to have anything more than a workplace relationship with me- not that we’re in a relationship, oh my god,- I just meant, I get if you don’t want to be more than acquaintances.”

You cut off your own rambling, wanting to pull your eyes away so he can’t see your heart on your sleeve, but you find yourself unable to. Jungkook has never seen you this nervous before. It’s different. He’s only ever seen you be swift and confident, always sure in yourself. There are more layers to you than he knows, and he wants to peel them back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook says, “I didn’t… I didn’t know, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I should have. And I’m sorry. That you haven’t been happy, and that I remind you of-”

“No,” You shake your head, “What I said was wrong. I’m happy now, too. Happiness is dependent on the circumstances. It’s not the same, but it’s there. And I never… meant to make you feel like anything I was projecting onto you was because of you. I mean, we just found each other again after what? Five years? Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, as if he doesn’t have the memory of the last time he saw you before you had disappeared all those years ago stamped into his brain, “And I mean… We don’t have to just be acquaintances. If you don’t want to be. We don’t have to just have a workplace relationship, as you called it.”

He shoots you a teasing smile and you shrink in your seat, with a nervous laugh of your own. “O-Okay. I’d like that. To be friends, I mean. To be friends like we were when we were younger.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Jungkook says, his tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip, “Makin’ it sound like we’re old as hell. And we don’t have to be friends like that-”

Your heart drops, and you can’t hide it-

“We can be better. Than what we were like when we were younger.”

Your face feels warm, the sincerity dripping in his eyes makes you shift in your seat. You smile at him, bright and bold, and he smiles right back. When you both leave the ice cream shop, you can’t deny the flutter in your belly at the thought of a new (but old) friend back in your life after so long.

And it feels nice.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fluff

[phoenix-downer]

Till Death Do Us Part Chapter 3 - Come With Me

Sora/Kairi. Romance, fluff, reincarnation, rebirth, pining. ~1880 words. 

Chapter 1 / 2 

The years passed, and Kairi graduated first from high school and then from university. She had a good job lined up at a prestigious company starting in April, but the month of March was hers to do with as she pleased. 

Maybe waiting wasn’t good enough anymore. If her shadow couldn’t come to her, she should go find him. 

“Mom, Dad, I want to travel,” she announced one morning over breakfast. 

Her parents exchanged glances. 

“Any reason why you can’t wait till Golden Week?” her father asked before snatching a piece of tofu out of his miso soup with his chopsticks. 

“Because I’ll be working then, and I don’t know if the company will let me have much of a break. You know how it is for new employees.” 

“Well, you do have some money saved up, don’t you?” her mother said. 

“Yup, from my part-time job. And I can get a Seishun 18 Ticket to keep costs down.” 

“Where are you thinking about going?” her father asked. 

“Well, Selphie’s family is from Osaka originally, and she offered to let me stay with her. So I figured I could start out with Kansai first, and maybe hit up Kyoto, Osaka, and Nara while I’m with her?” 

“Why not?” her mother said with a sparkle in her eye. “One last hurrah before starting working life.” 

Her father nodded. “Heaven knows you’ll need it, sweetheart. The first year at a new job is always rough. They really put you through the ringer with training.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then handed her several crisp ten thousand yen bills. “Our treat.” 

Kairi’s eyes went wide. “Father, I can’t—”

He just smiled at her. “Yes, you can. Go on your adventure. Have fun. Just keep Selphie with you. Not because I’m worried about you, but because I think her parents might worry about her,” he joked.  

“Maybe you’ll find that young man in the painting you made back in high school,” her mother said with a teasing smile.

“Maybe so.”

With all the logistics settled, she boarded the train for Osaka. Because she was using the discount ticket, it was going to take longer than normal, but she didn’t really mind. She loved seeing all the beautiful sights outside her window, all the sleepy towns and misty mountains and pretty flowers as the coming of spring brought the world back to life. 

When she finally arrived in Osaka, Selphie was there to greet her at the station.

“Welcome to my neck of the woods!” Selphie said with a grin as she took one of her bags. “Now that we’re here, I’ll have to take you to get Osaka-style okonomiyaki, and we’ll have to eat takoyaki at some point too, and we should also go to Universal Studios Japan and the Kaiyukan Aquarium and—”  

“Actually, I was wondering… could we go to Kyoto tomorrow?” Kairi asked. “I was thinking… Kyoto tomorrow, Osaka the next few days, and then Nara?” 

“Sure, that works. But I really wanna take you to my favorite okonomiyaki place tonight!” 

“Deal.” 

The okonomiyaki place was just as good as Selphie had promised. The savory meal with its pork and cabbage filling and delicious toppings was more than enough to fill her up, and she was about ready to crash by the time they got back to Selphie’s house. She made sure to greet Selphie’s family and give them a thank you gift before excusing herself to take her evening bath, but once she was lying down on an extra futon in Selphie’s room with Selphie sleeping soundly beside her, she couldn’t sleep. 

Something major was going to happen, she just knew it. She’d had this gut feeling ever since she’d decided to come here, and it only grew stronger the closer and closer she got to Kyoto. That was why she wanted to go tomorrow instead of waiting several more days. She didn’t know why, but she had to get to Kyoto no matter what. 

The next morning, she and Selphie got up early so they could catch the train. Despite the restless night she’d spent, she was feeling energized and awake.  

“You haven’t been to Kyoto since our high school trip, have you?” Selphie asked as they watched the scenery go by. “Any particular places you want to visit?”

“Are the cherry trees blooming yet? I’d love to go somewhere that has a lot of them. Maybe one of the temples?” 

“How about Kiyomizu Temple? We’ve had an early warm spell this year, so at least some of the cherry trees should be blooming by now. I’d love to get some matcha ice cream on the way back down in Higashiyama, too.”

“Sounds good.”  

Kiyomizu Temple was as splendid as Kairi remembered, and the view from the mountain was gorgeous. All of Kyoto spread out below them, and she made sure she and Selphie got some good shots together with the cherry trees peppering the mountainside. After praying at the main hall, Selphie insisted they stop by Jishu Shrine. 

“Don’t you remember how the legend goes?!” Selphie asked with a pout. “If you can find your way from one stone,” she said, pointing at the one currently in front of them, “to the other,” she said as she jabbed a finger at a second stone a little ways away, “AND you can do it with your eyes closed, you’ll have good luck with love!” 

“Oh, I remember now.”

“So,” Selphie said with a grin, “you gonna try it?”

“Sure, why not,” Kairi said. She had nothing to lose, right?

“Maybe this will summon your dream man.” Selphie giggled and grabbed Kairi’s hand and put it over her eyes. “No peeking, or the magic won’t work!” 

“Right.” 

It was a pretty straight shot from one stone to the other, so if Kairi was careful not to stray too far to the left or right, she’d be okay. Of course, this was easier said than done at a place as popular as this, because she had to make constant little detours to avoid running into people, and people still bumped into her all the same. But she carefully counted her steps and used the sounds around her to guide her. Maybe this was just a silly superstition, but a part of her really wanted to do this right. 

Please, please let me find him, she prayed. Let me reach the other stone so I’ll be lucky at last. 

She had to be getting close, right? How long had she been wandering around without her sight? 

“Selphie? Am I hot or cold?” she called. “I think… I’m kinda lost…” 

She felt an arm loop through hers. “Nah. You aren’t lost. You’re right where you need to be, Kairi.” 

She gasped. That voice. She knew that voice—

She felt a hand go over her eyes. “Don’t look just yet. Can’t have you unlucky in love, now can I? Just follow my lead, and I’ll tell you when we’ve arrived.” 

She nodded, unable to speak. Her shadow. Her shadow was really here. He was here and he was real. He gently led her to the stone, and when her feet bumped up against it, he removed his hand from her eyes. 

“See? You did it!” 

But she didn’t care about the stone anymore, not one single bit. There was something far more important than all the stones in the universe. She turned around so she could see her shadow’s face. He was as beautiful as she remembered, and the smile lighting up his face was radiant. Around his neck he wore a necklace, her necklace, and his blue eyes reflected the longing that she had carried with her her entire life.

No, this life. It was all coming back to her. Their old life, their old memories, everything. 

“Sora,” she cried as she burst into tears. In another moment his arms were around her, holding her tightly. But he was crying now too, and she wasn’t sure who was comforting who.

“I’m back,” he choked out. “I kept my promise.” 

“You’re home,” she said with a sob. “You’re really here.” 

He pulled away a little so he could look her in the eye. “I looked everywhere for you. My whole life I’ve longed to see you again. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” 

He brought a trembling hand to her face. “I still can’t believe you’re really here. Feels too good to be true.”

“It’s not, trust me. This is real.”

He smiled through his tears. “Yeah, it is. My journey is over at long last. And to think, we’d meet each other here by chance, What are the odds?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t chance. It was meant to be.” 

The breeze picked up, lifting cherry tree petals into the air and making them float past. She caught one and smiled. 

“It’s gone.”

Sora tilted his head. “What’s gone?”

“Mono no aware. Sehnsucht. That feeling that something was missing my whole life. That I was longing for something more. You.”

“Kairi,” he said, ever so softly and tenderly. He gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and she sighed happily. Their last kiss had been when the world was ending, but this, this was about to be a kiss of beginning—

“Um, hello?” came a voice, interrupting them. “I’m still here. Got everything on camera, too,” Selphie said with a giggle as she lowered her phone. “So you’re Kairi’s dream guy, Sora. Can’t believe I didn’t remember you till now.” 

Sora scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “Not the first time that’s happened.”

“Hey now!” 

Kairi giggled and Sora grinned. “Glad to see you haven’t changed, Selphie.”

“Well, I know when to make myself scarce. Meet me back at Kyoto Station this evening, you lovebirds. Matcha ice cream awaits me.” 

They said goodbye to Selphie, then looked at each other again. Kairi would never tire of seeing his spiky hair, his beautiful eyes, his charming smile. 

“Well, now that we’re alone in a sea of people…” 

He led her a little ways away from the crowds, then dropped to one knee. A lump built in her throat as she watched him fish a little box out of his pocket. 

“Kairi,” he began, the biggest smile on his face as he opened the box up, “will you marry me?” 

Inside the box was an engagement ring just like her old one. She burst into tears as she nodded and said yes, over and over again. He was a little teary himself as he slipped the ring on her finger and then kissed her hand. She pulled him up into her arms and kissed him over and over again, each kiss to make up for all the lonely years they’d spent apart.  

“I love you,” she choked out between kisses. 

He smiled. “Love you too.”   

She kissed him one last time, a long, lingering kiss that promised him everything. Now that they were together again, she never wanted to be apart from him. 

He found her hand once more. “Come with me,” was all he said, and that was all she needed to hear. 

They were together again, and she wanted to savor every moment. 

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

A big thank you once again to @seaberry-siren for the original prompt, @angel-with-a-pipette​ for reading it over and providing input, and @rapis-razuri​ for her support as well! And thank you to everyone who reblogged, left comments, etc., I really appreciate it!

#sokai #sora #kairi #kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #phoenix writes #phoenix downer #romance #fluff #pining #mutual pining #longing #reunion #reincarnation #rebirth #love #post-canon #post canon #long post

[missguomeiyun]

Homecookings [Oct. ed]

Welcome to month #8 (the 8th post) in this Homecooking series of posts ^^

Bcos I’m not going out to eat now, my blog has obviously taken a new direction. It actually worked out really well for me!

Why?

Bcos for a while, I was thinking about what I wanted to do differently on here - just to switch it up a little. These homecookings posts have been a good way for me to document what I’ve been eating. I’d be interesting to see how my cooking has changed over time :P

For the 1st half of October, I was still on home-cation so I tried to utilize my time to make things I can’t bring to work; namely noodle dishes.

I used the Korean guksu noodles here. I put the noodles on a bed of veggies, then on top, I stir-fried up some pork & an egg. The sauce = kimchi juice & gochujang.

Same guksu noodles, with iceberg lettuce, mini wntons, & fish tofu. I used a canned chicken broth for my soup base, then topped it with some coarse sea salt, white pepper & kimchi juice. I recently opened a jar of store-bought kimchi & it is very rich in ‘juice’; hence I’ve been scooping some onto my noodle soups as a spicy flavouring.

Beef pancake (yook-jeon) on noodles with a beef broth. Flavouring include: gochujang, coarse sea salt, & perilla seed powder. The broth was made using the beef essence powder purchased from H-mart.

Made radish kimchi~ It’s been a while haha

From right to left: my kind of spicy (that my parents probably can’t handle or prefer not to eat); not spicy (just vinegar + sugar); semi spicy. Instead of putting fish sauce in the semi spicy one, I used the salted shrimp sauce instead.

Mapo tofu. I really like mapo tofu; there’s just something really home-y about it haha I can’t say I’m a whiz at making this but I’ve used different sauces for this, & my fav is satay sauce + white ground pepper (plus some salt, of course). It doesn’t even sound like it’d be a good combo... satay sauce & white ground pepper. But I love the extra kick the white pepper offers :P shockingly, Chinese black bean sauce is also not bad.

There were some leftover mapo tofu from the ‘previous’ evening, so I made this for lunch the next day. I don’t normally have rice for lunch at home, but my parents eat rice sometimes, so I got my mom to cook me a small portion too. Then I made some basa fillet + bell pepper stir-fry, & bokchoy + seaweed in miso soup.

Leftover salmon kimchi jjigae (with corn!!!); rice with 2 seaweed rolls, & my homemade radish kimchi.

*honest review of the radish kimchi*

The cube ones were my original recipe, where I used a good amount of chili powder (so it’s spicy) & some fish sauce. Turned out the way I had expected :P the rectangular one was made the same day, but instead of fish sauce, I used the Korean salted shrimp sauce (without fish sauce) & less chili powder. After the same number of fermentation days, the rectangular one was more fermented - more salty, softer, & not that spicy. It was honestly just salty. The cube one was more crunchy & spicier, like usual. Personally, I prefer the cube one more. The saltiness of the rectangular one is likely due to overshooting of the shrimp sauce.. . Although some ppl may like it extra salty, I’m really meh about it. However, the longer it sits/ferments, the saltier it will get, so I’m thinking of using it in soups or something.

Fish cake + cabbage with flat rice noodles. (Reminder that I needed to eat as much noodle soups as possible bcos I can’t eat these when I’m at work lol)

Vacation breakfast :D

Vacation lunch :D

The following few pics are from my family’s Thanksgiving dinner:

1) Homemade artisan bread by my sister-in-law.

2) Salmon lasagna in cream sauce.

3) Stuffing mixed with wild rice; beef + long beans stir-fry

4) Baked chicken (bcos we prefer chicken over turkey)

Leftover bread for breakfast with coffee. This was the mixed herbs loaf (the other one was walnut cranberry).

About a month ago, my brother purchased a Nespresso machine. These were the 4 flavours of pods that accompanied the machine. The vanilla custard one sucked.......... it was so nasty! We typically don’t throw away stuff, but we did. The best flavour of the remaining 3 was the Fortado, then double espresso. The machine is now actually gone (returned to store). It wasn’t very good in multiple aspects & simply not worth the money. We weren’t satisfied with the outcome, & altogether, it wasn’t a good purchase. So anyway, I am unsure if I ever want one of these machines, if they’re all about the same *shrugs* What is your opinion on various models of Nespresso machines?

This, on the other hand, was much more satisfying. I finished this can... gotta buy more of this. You know iced Vietnamese coffee at restaurants? They use this coffee! It is available at Lucky 97 Supermarket =p

Steamed napa cabbage wrapped tofu~

Udon + beef with black bean sauce (aka jjajang-udon with beef)

Sorry I’m a little late for this October post... it’s Nov 2nd already... CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! The past week was a little hectic, to say the least. But it’s done! Halloween was sad this yr.. . my 2 nieces dressed up at my house & that was it, no trick-or-treating, obviously. I hope things will clear up next yr >.< I miss Korea. SO MUCH.

#food #homecooking #home cooking #noodles #nofilter #creative cooking #yolo cooking

[lianneoelke]

Yukon Gold, Part 2: An Involuntary Dismount From the Canoe

Good morning from Fort Selkirk!

With bellies full of hearty chilli and a sky full of smoke, JJ and Falcon Heavy were ready to hit the river for our fourth day of canoeing down the Yukon River.

We were only five minutes past Fort Selkirk when JJ realized we forgot a radio and both cans of bear spray. We couldn’t just turn around and paddle upstream, so we had to land so Brian could run up the beach and grab everything (which was left on the above picnic table). After that, we were well on our way to an 80km day.

We spotted a black bear munching berries on an island.

We weren’t the only group on the river making a pilgrimage to Dawson City for the music festival. We’d play leapfrog with the same groups so often we came up with nicknames:

Spanish Armada: the group of nine Spaniards that made giant Spanish omelettes for breakfast and tied two canoes together because they had an odd number of people.

Walmart: the family that travelled with camping chairs, big tarps, and coolers. JJ disliked Walmart. JJ thought Walmart was American. Those are two separate sentences. Walmart was actually from Whitehorse. 

Gold Diggers: a husband and wife that would set up on islands and pan for gold. Or so it seemed. 

Reckless Youth: a handful of twenty-somethings from UBC with an aversion to life jackets.

Father & Son: they had little to say, to us or each other.

Frenchies: two French guys. That’s it. 

Christmas Trees: a red and green boat of women having a jolly old time.

We learned the Spanish Armada planned to camp at the site we were aiming for that night. We could have joined them, but I, for one, did not travel all that way to the middle of nowhere to make new friends. So we had to find somewhere else. We came across another good campsite early in the day, but the weather was beautiful and we wanted to get more kilometers in, so we kept pushing. This moment would be remembered as the time we “got greedy”.

Storm clouds blew in fast. When thunder started booming, Brian told us all to get off the river. So we did. And we waited. Then the rain started. And we waited some more. 

Brian (very reasonably) didn’t want to get back on the water until thirty minutes after the last thunder, but the thunder wouldn’t let up. Things were looking grim. Then we remembered we had snacks. We survived on gummy bears, chips, tea, toasted pita and hummus, and craft hot chocolate from Portland, for the two and a half hours it took for the storm to pass.

Spirits wavered but never failed. 

By the time the storm passed, we still had another ten kilometers to paddle before we reached our goal of Brittania creek, and we found ourselves in the curious position of chasing the storm we had just weathered. When we finally arrived, the site was full of bugs, but at least there weren’t any new friends buzzing around.

For dinner I made a bastardized version of Pad Thai, using the canoe as a table while being swarmed by mosquitoes. I quickly realized why this particular packet of curry paste was left untouched in our cupboard for years.

By this point JJ had given up on the trappings of individuality and had matured into a fully realized single entity. So when JJ cast a line and caught their first decently sized fish at 11.36 pm, the three of us celebrated the incredible testament to JJ’s speed, momentum, and finesse. Considering all the rain we endured, we figured it was safe to build a small beach fire to cook the fish. 

We all came to regret this decision, as the fish remains and fish-smoked clothes had to be dealt with before we could finally go to bed, in order to minimize bear attraction. However, since I cooked that night, I was able to dodge clean up. I went to bed without a care in the world.

Day five dawned sunny and misty. We knew this would also be a big day, but for a very different reason. This was the day we’d reach the bakery. Yes, somehow there was a bakery in the middle of nowhere on the Yukon River. 

Power strokes would get us there quicker. 

Of course we had to stop whenever we came across moose trampling through the bushes, beavers smacking their tails, and bears ambling down the beach.

The bakery turned out to be less of a bakery and more of a family home that sold $18 omelettes and saran-wrapped cookies (we bought them all). We payed $8 each to stay the night. Camping in someone else’s backyard to listen to their kids blast music and play in their pool felt strange after the solitude of the river, but we knew the daily thunderstorm would hit us soon and the last thing we needed was to “get greedy” again. So we settled in, washed up, and tackled laundry.

JJ waiting out the 6 o’clock thundershowers. 

Of course, no camping trip with JJ (formerly Rob) would be complete without curry. JJ made us a heaping pot, just in time for more rain showers. 

The next day we found ourselves fresh out of fresh ingredients, so we climbed aboard the COUS COUS train and headed for dehydration station.

Rafting up for snacks and map checks.

We had lunch at the island right before the White River, which poured all its glacial silt into the Yukon. The two rivers blended like miso soup. JJ made ramen while Brian flew his drone for a better view.

After lunch, we found a short but steep trail to hike. 

After the merge we could no longer filter our water from the river, which was so thick we couldn’t even see our own feet when we dipped them in. All the silt brushing against our canoes made a constant fizzing noise, like a never-ending glass of coke being poured. 

Just a couple bros enjoying happy hour with river-chilled beer.

After the relative business of the “bakery”, we decided to camp on an undesignated island covered in moose tracks. While the views and privacy were top notch, all the silt made for very muddy shores.

Brian made delicious minestrone soup for dinner, then treated us to freeze-dried ice cream sandos in honour of the 50th anniversary of the moon landing.

You can only get dishes so clean in the silty water, but on day six, cleanliness was no longer a priority. Brian had bought a last minute gold pan in Whitehorse, and while it didn’t find us any gold, it did make an excellent vessel for washing dishes and laundry.

The sky was still light at 1 am, because the sky was always light. We went to bed when it was light. We woke up when it was light. Time had no meaning on the river. It created (for me, at least) a sense of security. Openness. Like the Yukon had nothing to hide. But the truth was, we were in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest town, on a muddy river where every island was covered with bear, wolf, and moose tracks.

We woke to the sound of splashing outside our tent. I immediately thought the moose had come to do us in, but instead of moose on the loose, we saw a gaggle of goose. 

These banks were home to countless cliff swallows that zipped along the river, eating bugs. Yum. 

“JJ first.”

There’s gold in them there hills. But not really.

Our last night on the river was spent at the Mechem Creek site. We set up camp as Brian howled in the cold cold creek, washing off the heat of the day.

Fire bans don’t count on the last day of the trip. Not if it’s been raining every day and you’re careful. JJ struggled to get the fire going (which Brian and I found slightly concerning, considering how dry the sticks were), but all’s well that ends well. 

I made a pesto surprise COUS COUS dinner with brownie bear poo for dessert. Everyone saved some sort of fun surprise for their last meal.

“Very good food on this trip. Every meal has been at least a solid 7.5 out of 10.” - JJ

The site at Mechem creek turned out to be my favourite camp site, not least because we saved a bag of wine for that night. 

We woke up at 6am up to a brilliant, clear sky.

JJ treated us to one last meal on the river.

There’s nothing better than a well packed canoe! 

River travel is tiring work.

We rafted up for one last ceremonial flip of the map, which brought us to our final page. Spirits were high. Jokes were shared. We were finally on the home stretch of our 8 day, 400 km paddle through the Yukon wilderness.

Minutes away from Dawson City, disaster struck.

Brian wanted to stop for a drone shot of Dawson before we paddled in, so we radioed JJ to let them know to land at the tip of the next island. Unable to reach the point in time, JJ decided to land mid island, where the strong current had eroded the bank, causing several trees to topple. It was a bad place to land, and they came in hot hot hot.

Official statement from JJ:

“JJ experienced an involuntary dismount resulting in minor losses from the deck and a minor intake of water. However, the landing was successful.”

JJ thought the word “capsize” was too passionate for the encounter, but Falcon Heavy disagreed. When JJ’s canoe met land, the current hit from underneath, tipping the canoe and its contents upstream. Brian turned to me and said “They capsized. They did exactly what I told them not to do.” No one was injured, although Jordan’s solar panel and Rob’s hat and beloved binoculars were lost to the water. Falcon Heavy found a safe eddy to pull in, then Brian brought out the drone while we waited for JJ to get their shit together.

The paddle of shame.

We had just got back in the water when we heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder. We were faced with a dilemma: get off the water, like all Brian’s experience suggested we do, or “get greedy” and paddle hard to race the storm.

We paddled hard...

... but not so hard we didn’t have time to admire the first and only fox we saw on the river.

That’s Dawson City at the top.

This time our gamble paid off, and we made it to the docks with nae drama (except for the paddleboat that honked at us to get out of its spot).

Safe and sound in Dawson City, it was time to look back at our favourite and not so favourite moments of the canoe trip.

JJ (Jordan)

Highlight: Fort Selkirk. Just the whole fort. So cool.

Lowlight: Involuntary canoe dismount and loss of solar panel. 

Gold Star: Gold Pan/Brian Shaw for getting the gold pan.

JJ (Rob)

Highlight: The River (as a tangible entity and metaphysical being) The colours, the current, the curves...the feeling.

Lowlight: Involuntary canoe dismount and loss of binoculars. 

Gold Star: JJ. The physical embodiment of speed, momentum and finesse.*

*In all my years of highlight/ lowlight/ gold star, I have never seen someone award the gold star to themselves. 

Brian

Highlight: All the Yukon cabins. The history of the Yukon Crossing, the trees growing out of Thom’s Location cabin roof, the historically intact cabins of Fort Selkirk (inside and out), and all the private cabins we saw in between.

Lowlight: Cleaning up the fish & fire at Britannia Creek between midnight and 1am, exhausted from the long day, swarmed by bugs, still stinking of fish, right into the tent.

Gold Star: Jordan, for making the trip (and JJ) happen by stepping in at the last minute and filling the spot, prepared and enthusiastic, and a strong paddler.

Lianne

Highlight: The beautiful site and tasty food at Mechem Creek. Also the fact that none of the canoeists that stopped by the creek for water decided to stay the night, because sharing the site would have really killed the vibe.

Lowlight: Spending hours waiting out the day four thunderstorm under a tarp.

Gold Star: The map. Following along and “staying found”, as Brian would say, was easy and delightful.

Bonus Gold Star: Brian Shaw. The unofficial leader of our canoe trip, Brian looked after us all with his experience, well-muscled arms, moon landing trivia, sexy beard, and positive attitude. 

As always, most of the good pics were taken by Brian. He put together an album of the 2019 Yukon River greatest hits: 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/22674099@N08/albums/72157710102335767/page1

Stay tuned for the third and final part of Yukon Gold. Dawson City will bring a music festival, rowdy casino, epic hike, and a real life Yukon character known as “the Ghost”. 

#yukon #yukongold #yukonriver #canoe #canoeing #canoecamping #exploreyukon #dawson #camping #canada #explorecanada

[kakasaku-shipper]

Natural Progression (Chapter 5)

Chapter 5

Sakura did a stretch as she finally completed her rounds. It was satisfying to hear the cracks of air bubbles leaving her joints as she straightened her spine. It had been a fantastic day so far. Firstly, she had woken up well rested and she had been pleasantly surprised by Sasuke who had gotten her breakfast. She did not expect that he could find a really good strawberry cheesecake! Her job earlier wasn't as difficult or draining as it had been in the past few days; she even had a lunch break! How great was that? And to top the day off, she actually finished her shift right on time. It gave her plenty of time to read the scrolls Kakashi gave, heck maybe she could try to find him for a taijutsu training before she read the scrolls. Maybe, just maybe she could wheedle out some genjutsu tips even before reading the texts.

As she stepped out of the hospital, Saskura smiled as she took in her surroundings. It had been a while since she could take a slow walk and appreciate the smallest things around her. It was easy to overlook the scenery Konoha had to offer when she was so on edge, too preoccupied preparing for the war.

"Sakura-chan!!!"

Sakura looked up as she heard Naruto's voice. There he was, with a ton of his clones helping the craftsmen putting together roof tiles. She grinned at him, waving as she watched a clone jumped down in front of her.

"Nee, nee, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"How do you cook vegetables?"

"Huh?" Sakura blurted out in bewilderment. That was a very random question.

"You see, I'm trying to fulfill the promise I had to kaa-chan. She told me to eat healthy and eat lots of veggies. I hate them because they taste gross but a promise is a promise. So now I need to learn how to cook them, since eating them raw will give me stomach ache, right?" Naruto asked with a tilt of his head.

Sakura laughed at his question. It was so Naruto. "Well, vegetables generally won't give you stomach ache even when you eat them raw. What kind of vegetables are you looking at?"

"I don't know the names, all I know is they're all green," Naruto said as his face twisted into a grimace. "They all look gross."

"Don't you at least read what the supermarket said it was?" Sakura asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Eh I don't know since I'm not the one buying them," Naruto shrugged. At Sakura's puzzled look, he continued, "Kakashi-sensei used to drop it at my house while nagging for me to eat them. But nowadays they're just in the fridge."

Sakura smiled softly at what she had heard. She knew that Kakashi cared about his students, but knowing that he had always showed it, thanklessly, and to such lengths was heartwarming. And he also gave Naruto what he craved most, attention, even though the blond was probably too daft to realise it.

"Why don't you show me what you have? I have a bit of time."

"Awesome!" Naruto exclaimed in excitement as he waved at his clones and skipped his way home with an amused Sakura trailing after him.

When Sakura saw the content of Naruto's fridge, she was surprised to not find any foreign growths on it. Then again, Naruto only cooked ramen, and the only content in his fridge were the bowl of vegetables, a few cartons of milk and some eggs. She also realised that Kakashi had purposefully chosen vegetables that didn't need to be cooked. All of them were the basic ingredients to make salad. After telling Naruto that all he needed was to cut them up into bite sized pieces and eat them with salad dressing, she promised to teach him how to cook some other types vegetables next time.

"By the way, Naruto, shouldn't we be having a team 7 plus catch up session soon? We haven't even had all the original team 7 members gathered together since the war. Maybe we should do it over a nabe? There will be lots of veggies, and it will taste good!"

"Isn't nabe a pot where you just boil the ingredients? I've been boiling the veggies and they taste blergh!" Naruto hissed with disgust clear on his voice.

"That's because you boil them with just water. You need to add seasonings to make them taste good."

"Oh! like ramen!"

"Yes, like ramen. But don't use ramen seasoning, 'cos it's not healthy. There are other things that you can use to season your food. I'll take you to the supermarket in my next day off," Sakura offered as she gave him a soft smile. Naruto, despite being the village hero and also the saviour of the shinobi world, will always be Naruto to her. He will always be the gullible brother she never had.

…

When Sakura got home, she could smell miso soup being cooked. She peeked into the kitchen and saw her mother humming while mixing the soup. "Do we have eggplants, mama?" Sakura asked as she began to rummage through the fridge.

"It's on the bottom drawer. Are you trying to suck up to your Kakashi-sensei?" Mebuki asked teasingly.

"NO!" Sakura denied. At her mother's knowing look, she cowed, "well, not really.."

"So it's a yes."

"Maybe," Sakura answered sheepishly as she began to cut up the eggplant and added them to the soup. At her mother's echoing laughter, Sakura began to giggle too. Mothers always knew what was up.

…

With a soup container in her hand, and a couple of onigiri, courtesy of her mother, Sakura began to walk over to Kakashi's house. She had sent out katsuyu and her summon had confirmed that her target was home. As Sakura reached his apartment building, she didn't bother with the stairs. Instead, she leaped up to his floor and landed just outside of his door.

"It's not locked," came a voice from inside.

Sakura slowly opened the door to see Kakashi lounging on his couch, almost buried in a pile of scrolls. He gave her an eye-crease and motioned her to come in, while he started to tidy up the mess.

"I see that you've come to bribe me."

"It's not bribe," Sakura said with an eye roll. After putting her shoes aside, she padded towards his dining table. "Thank you for always buying me food, sensei. And for Naruto too."

"Maa.. It's nothing," Kakashi said bashfully. Sakura squinted her eyes at Kakashi's direction. Were Kakashi's ears red? It coudn’t be.. Or could it?

"I'm impressed that you know exactly what I wanted eat."

"You eat the exact same thing every time we go on missions. It's not S-ranked jutsu*."

"But you remember my exact order, even Ino still got it wrong till now."

"Well my memory is just that much better than hers," Kakashi said with a shrug.

"She won't be too happy hearing that."

"She won't," Kakashi conceded. "How is she coping?"

Sakura sighed. "I don't know.. I haven't spoken to her since we returned. I'm actually planning to see her tomorrow and maybe drag her to binge watch on some trashy romcom movies while binging on ice cream.."

"Sounds fun."

"Yep, it would be. Getting sick from too much ice cream is always worth it, even the calories."

Sakura waved off Kakashi's incredulous look as she set the table for him.

"Are you up for some training?" Sakura asked.

"Hmm.. I'm free for the rest of the day. What's your shift looking like?"

"I have the midnight shift later tonight and depending on the patient volume I may get a day off tomorrow instead of another midnight shift."

"Then we'll get you started on your genjutsu practice before taijutsu sparring."

"Sounds good," Sakura said as she plopped herself on Kakashi's chair and began to open her scroll. Kakashi took a seat opposite her and clapped his hand in appreciation to the food. A thought suddenly popped into Sakura's head, maybe she could use this opportunity to peak under his mask..

And when Sakura glanced back up at Kakashi, she saw that the miso soup has been demolished and he had taken a bite of the onigiri on his hand. Sakura narrowed her eyes at Kakashi. She had only looked away for what, a second?

"Hmm?" Kakashi tilted his head quizzically, looking far way too innocent. So, Sakura did what a mature kunoichi her age would at the situation. She scowled at him and confiscated the rest of the onigiri, keeping the plate right next to her, out of reach from Kakashi. Satisfied with herself, she want back to reading.

Just as her eyes found the text she had left off, she felt a breeze next to her. As she looked to her right, she saw that the onigiri plate was empty. She immediately turned her head towards Kakashi and she saw him munching down a mouthful while holding the last piece of onigiri. Sakura pouted and sighed in resignation. All those progress and she still couldn't take a peek on her sensei's face.

"You're still a hundred years too early, o' young grasshopper," Kakashi said mockingly as he gave her a smirk.

"Hmph!" Sakura turned her head away from him as her pout deepen. It's not fair! She was so sooo close she could taste the victory of winning that longstanding bet. Just how did Kakashi do it?

Kakashi stood up from his seat towards Sakura. As he began to ruffle her hair, and Sakura immediately swatted his hand away, still petulantly not looking at him. Kakashi chuckled as he walked to his couch to get some of the document.

"Is there any tips you can give me before I read these scrolls?" Sakura asked as Kakashi returned to his seat.

"Everything there is pretty much self explanatory. Just read through it, and once you think you've understood enough you're very welcome to test it out on me."

Sakura nodded as Kakashi and her began to read in silence. The genjutsu he had picked for her were anesthesia and camouflage, which would be very useful for a front line medic nin like her. And true enough, the scrolls were easy to understand, and she could apply it easily. In just under two hours, she had two new genjutsu under her belt.

"So, sensei," Sakura called out as she rolled up her scrolls. "What did you make Sasuke-kun do? Since you knew that he was breaking his confinement rule?"

"Hmm? Nothing too bad I suppose."

Sakura shuddered at his answer. She didn't believe him. If it's ‘nothing too bad', he would have told her, like that time he let her and Sasuke watched Naruto catch Tora and bathe the feral cat on his own. And when the hilarity of the situation started to turn into pity for their teammate, Kakashi made Naruto groom the devil cat as well. 

"Don't worry too much about it, Sakura. It's really nothing that bad," Kakashi said with a laugh.

"By the way you're saying it, I almost feel a shred of pity for him. Though he probably deserves whatever it was you made him do for leaving us."

"Are you still upset about it?"

"No. I've forgiven him. Sasuke-kun will always be forgiven," Sakura said wryly. It was true, no matter how badly Sasuke hurt her or Naruto, the two of them would always find it in their hearts to forgive him.

"Hard to be mad at the boy you love?" Kakashi asked playfully as he wagged his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Sakura opened her mouth to reply, but closed it almost immediately. She did not know how to reply him. She needed to stop and think, which was weird. She had always loved Sasuke, right?

"So?" Kakashi asked. He was not prying too much, wasn't he? Sakura had always been very open with her love proclamation to Sasuke..

"I.. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not entirely sure.. But when they were both bleeding half to death in their battle, I did not rush to Sasuke-kun's side.." Sakura started. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "When we found them in their conditions, my only thought was that I needed to save both of them.  At that moment, Sasuke-kun was not more important than Naruto which was weird, because just a few years ago I would have dropped everything to make sure that Sasuke-kun was alright, even if it means abandoning Naruto and everyone else.." Sakura rambled with a shaky breath, remembering the night Sasuke left. She would have abandoned Konoha and everyone she cared about just to follow Sasuke, had he let her. "It's so weird that I don't seem to hold Sasuke-kun in the same pedestal as I did before. And that I care about Sasuke-kun as much as I care about Naruto.."

After a few moments of silence, Sakura realised just who she was talking to. She groaned as she buried her face in her hands, "I'm sorry for rambling, Sensei."

"With Ino out of commission for the time being, I don't mind listening to your love adventures," Kakashi said with a teasing glint, causing Sakura's face to turn red.

"Ugh, what have I done," Sakura moaned miserably. She really really made a huge mistake opening her big mouth.

"Well, you'll have time to figure everything out. It's not like Sasuke will run away any time soon."

"Yeah," Sakura sighed. How did talking about something so innocent like Sasuke's punishment turned her thoughts into such muddled mess?

"Should we practice some taijutsu now?" Kakashi asked, changing the subject as he got up from his chair.

"Yes!" Sakura said eagerly.  Anything to get Kakashi to stop teasing her. That was mortifying!

…

Sakura slumped against the tree behind her as she was sent flying by a particularly hard kick to her abdomen. Just 15 minutes into sparring, she was already so exhausted that she could feel lactic acid building up in her muscles. The ninjustsu that she had activated in the beginning of the spar to clear the build-up was not fast enough to catch up. And to think that she could usually spar for hours! She glared at Kakashi, who was not even winded.

"How could you improve so much in just three days? This is so unfair!" Sakura groaned. Three days ago she could almost land a hit. But now, she felt like a genin again.

"I have been training intensively with Lee," Kakashi replied as he sat beside her to check the damage he did. Noting that nothing was broken and she was just bruised, Kakashi placed his hand on her shoulder to transfer her some chakra, just enough for her to heal herself.

"But how?" Sakura asked as she gave him a grateful nod and began to soothe over her blackened skin.

"I started using chakra when training with Lee to improve my speed. And using chakra means I need less muscle movements, which reduces fatigue."

"But aren’t you not exhausted? The chakra consumption for that is pretty large."

"Not at all," Kakashi said with a grin. "I can almost do four times the amount of chidori now."

Sakura parted her mouth in admiration, that was impressive. And she learnt three things from his words. One, Kakashi originally had a huge chakra reserve; two, the sharingan consumes much more chakra than she had thought; three, a transplanted sharingan consumes chakra even when it was inactive in non-Uchiha.

“But that jutsu is moot now. I'll have to synthesize a new one," Kakashi said with a sigh. He liked chidori. Really liked it. It was simple enough, and it gets the job done quickly.

"I'm not going to help you with this one," Sakura said with a shudder. She had seen Shino trying to create a new jutsu. And things did not end well for Kiba at all.

"I'm actually planning to make Sasuke my guinea pig for being the punk that he was."

"I really feel sorry for him now," Sakura said sincerely. Was it just her or did Kakashi's tone sounded very sinister?

"Maa.. Don't be. He's a big boy and he can handle it. It's just.. his hair is going to look much worse than it is now by the time I'm done," Kakashi said with an eye-crease.

Sakura guffawed, trying to picture Sasuke's hair sticking out in all directions from being electrocuted, with the sullen expression of a petulant kid on his face. And Naruto rolling around, laughing at him..

"Well, I supposed that there are worse things in life," Kakashi said grimly.

At that Sakura agreed, "There are."

 After parting with Sakura at the training ground, Kakashi spotted Choza Akimichi, who was looking at the menu of a newly built restaurant.

"Choza-san," Kakashi greeted. "How are Shikamaru and Ino-chan coping?"

"Ah, Kakashi," Choza greeted back, as he gave him a tired smile. "Shika is more quiet than usual, but at least, it isn't as bad as Asuma's death.. Probably because he has had the experience of losing someone very precious to him, and this time around, he was fortunate enough to not witness Shikaku dying right in front of his eyes. And also, he knew that there was nothing he could do to save Shikaku, unlike that time with Asuma.." Choza said. "As for Ino-chan, she's not doing as well. Her mother said that she hasn't stopped crying."

Kakashi nodded solemnly. Losing your teammates were hard. But losing your family, it was way, way harder. “We'll have the wake for the fallen soon, won't we?"

"Yes," Choza replied. After a few moments of silence, Choza took a deep, shaky breath. "Kakashi," Choza began. "Do you ever feel guilty for being alive?"

"All the time," Kakashi replied as he too faced the menu. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, but he couldn't look at the man in front of him either. Losses were always very personal, and very painful.

"You're a strong boy, Kakashi," Choza said as he squeezed Kakashi's shoulders. "This is the first time I've ever experienced the death of comrades who meant everything to me. I can't even begin to imagine how you've coped all these time.."

"I don't," Kakashi replied honestly. Because you could never cope with the thought that your team was gone forever, especially if it was your fault that it had happened in the first place. "But I know that the world moves on even without them, and the only thing that I can do to honor their memory is to try to stop one less person from becoming like me."

"Thank you." Choza said as he patted Kakashi's back once more. Kakashi nodded at him, as they parted ways.

…

A/N

1. For the S-ranked jutsu part, it would make more sense if I use the phrase 'It's not rocket science'. But this is Naruto, and they don't have rocket science.. Well, not in the current timeline at least, since 'technologies' don't come into play at least until Boruto's timeline.

2. Genjutsu is so underplayed in Naruto! I mean you can use it for basically a lot of things other than mind-fucking people. Like camouflage, anaesthesia (cue story) and also maybe, hiding one’s face when eating since you can’t really eat through a mask. You see, Sasuke is the only person Kakashi have to watch out to when eating.

#Natural Progression #kakasaku #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[kriskebob-blog]

Day 1, Part 1: Me vs. the grocery store

Hi again. It was really nice to hear from some of my friends and family in response to my post last night! I’m really excited to know that some people are down to read my long-ass posts about plants. I’ve also had several people offer me cookbook suggestions or even offer to have me plunder their own stash. Thanks for being my enablers, guys! (No seriously, thank you, I love you all sm.) Also, I can now reveal that my grandma texted me this morning to confirm she did indeed read my first post to its end. She’s the best!!!! This blog is rapidly evolving into a dual-purpose food/my grandma fan page and I can’t be sorry for it. 

So it’s Friday afternoon as I write this but the day I’ll be writing about is actually Wednesday. Can you tell it took me a little while to get going with the actual blogging part of this project? Anywho, I woke up Wednesday and after taking some time to wake up with a coffee, I flipped open my shiny new How Not to Die cookbook to the pages with the 2-week meal plan. I scanned the lists of recipes, already nervous. There were so many listed for every single day. I’m used to preparing dinner each night and eating leftovers for my lunches. For years my tried-and-true breakfast almost every single day has been two hard-boiled eggs and a piece of toast. So I’m really only used to having to prepare a fully involved meal once a day. You wanted to do this, I reminded myself. You have the summer off. You have the time! Trying to calm my nerves, I opened up the notes app on my laptop and began typing the names of the suggested recipes. There are no page numbers referenced on the meal plan pages, which would have made things a lot easier, just sayin’, Dr. Greger! I found the recipes and opened the grocery list Google Doc I’ve shared with my husband since we moved in together. I started typing up a shopping list. 

This was more than 48 hours ago at this point, but luckily I did stop to write down some initial thoughts. I shall share them with you now, verbatim: 

How the f@#! am I going to buy everything we need for all this? How will it fit in my fridge? Will I spend literally all day prepping all of this? Am I even going to be able to find everything I need for these recipes? 

...

16 recipes compared to my normal 4, MAYBE 5. Eating this way is obviously the vanity project of the wealthy wtf

...

It’s only two weeks. I can spend 2374623645 dollars on food for just half a month right? right?? It’s normal to spend money on hobbies? Gah

...

What the hell is date sugar?

...

I am definitely using vanilla extract instead of buying a giant vanilla bean Fresh turmeric? Where would even sell that? Ground sounds just fine to me

I noted that I began this process at 8:55. At 9:21 I wrote:

I give up… because I can already tell I’m going to be buying WAY too much produce to fit into my crisper drawer. The original plan had been to stock up enough stuff to carry me through until Monday but I can see now that’s just not going to be realistic at all. I’ll stock up on enough stuff to get me through to Friday night. I don’t want to grocery shop on the weekend if I can help it. I’ll just go again on Friday. Then I’ll probably have to go again on Monday, maybe Tuesday if I’m lucky. That’ll be three grocery store stock-ups in one week. I wanted a hobby, didn’t I?? Time to go back and redo my list to only reflect recipes for the next three days then.

I put a break in my recipes list. Alright. That brings me from 16 recipes to 8. Feels much more manageable. I look at the huge list of ingredients I amassed on my Google doc and decide it’d be easier to just delete it and restart from scratch than go through and try to remember what I now do and don’t need. 9:30.

9:45 - done. Still a LONG list. This is only for 2 days plus a dinner. But to be fair I did include stuff for a couple of desserts.

I’m a tad concerned by how none of these recipes call for ANY salt.

I was more than a tad concerned, actually. But I had my mission lined out. It was time to head to Big Y. 

Of the common local grocery store chains in Connecticut, Big Y is probably the nicest one. My husband and I used to frequent Stop & Shop but we stopped because the produce kind of sucked and anyhow the set-up of Big Y is a lot more appealing. I drove on over to the Ellington Big Y, hopeful that I’d be able to find the majority of the items I needed, but also aware that I’d probably end up at Whole Foods later that day. 

I’d been so focused on getting together my massive shopping list and hustling out to the store that I hadn’t attended to my basic personal needs with as much care as usual. I realized two things almost immediately as I crossed the parking lot: I kinda had to pee, and I was also sort of thirsty/hungry. Should I get a lemonade or something from the cafe? I wondered briefly then decided against it. I’d be fine til I got home, surely. 

Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in the produce section. I bagged up two heads of lettuce and an even bigger head of red kale. I bought the biggest container of baby spinach they had and then also the biggest bag of regular spinach. Cilantro and parsley. Scallions. And that was just from the greens section! I was already tired by the time I got to the natural foods section, and I had only shopped for stuff whose location I already knew. 

I spent some time figuring out which seeds/nuts I needed that Big Y sold by the weight. It’s a really convenient and cool system, except the stupid sticker-printing machine is sort of finicky. I must have spent a solid ten minutes before I had the correct amount of almonds, cashews, pumpkin seeds, etc. Okay. Now I needed to look for some stuff that I genuinely had no idea where exactly it might be. I knew they likely were somewhere in this natural foods section, I just didn’t know where. Stuff like hemp hearts and nutritional yeast (sounded gross but it was called for in quite a few recipes). I found them eventually. Cool. Now I needed canned tomatoes and beans, but Dr. Gregor really wanted me to be sure I bought cans without a BPA liner. Seriously? Was that really going to be the thing that would make or break if I lived to see 100? But I didn’t want to half-ass the Dr. Gregor lifestyle. It was only for two weeks, after all. After way too much time studying the shelves of tomatoes and beans, I ended up with two cans of diced tomato that cost twice as much as the brand I normally purchased... and the same exact generic brand of beans I normally went for, because none of the beans at Big Y seemed to be BPA free. Whatever. I was hungrier and grumpier by the minute. I wanted to stuff something into my mouth full of sugar and gluten and whatever other chemicals were out to kill me, stat. Almost done. Just had to find frozen okra (vegan gumbo, y’all! Stay tuned), and also miso. I wasn’t too worried about the miso. Big Y has a decent Asian foods aisle... one that I paced up and down at least four times before accepting that they didn’t seem to have miso. They also didn’t have date sugar, a key ingredient to a no-bake brownies recipe I wanted to try. I have a major sweet tooth (can you tell?) and the idea of two weeks without chocolate bars or ice cream was something I refused to entertain without some sort of chocolate dessert option. Okay. No miso, no date sugar. I also hadn’t been able to find “whole wheat tortillas - no salt added” anywhere in the store. So, I’d be going to Whole Foods. I had figured as much. 

I checked out with a whopper of a bill and tried not to die too much inside at the fact that this was only two and a half day’s worth of groceries. After all, I had needed to stock up on several crunchy hippie type pantry items I hadn’t already owned. Thank god I already had a pretty sizable spice collection or my bill would have been even higher. I tried not to think of how this wasn’t even everything on my list. Not only did I still need to go to Whole Foods, but I needed to go to the farm stand. 

Shout-out to Johnny Appleseed’s Farm in Ellington. Sam and I love them, and they love us back! Okay, they love Sam back because he told them once that he had gone onto Google and fixed an incorrect listing stating they were permanently closed. They really love Sam for that. They have no idea who I am unless I walk in with him. But that’s okay. Every late July through October, Sam and I buy as much of our produce as possible from Johnny Appleseed’s. I stopped over there to load up on tomatoes, onions, peppers, carrots, and an ungodly amount of zucchini. The woman ringing me out seemed amused. “Lots of squash,” she commented. “What’re you cooking?” I stared at her, trying to remember. The recipe planning I’d done only a couple hours ago already seemed such a blur. “Zoodles,” I managed finally. “You know, like when you try to pretend you’re eating pasta but it’s actually vegetables?” She chuckled and nodded. “You make your own sauce from scratch too?” “Usually,” I told her, feeling a sudden pang of longing for a nice meaty bolognese. Wow, I really wasn’t going to be cut out for this meatless life for long. I told her goodbye and got into my car. It was sweltering outside and 10x worse inside my black interior car. I now definitely needed to pee and I was starving. Home couldn’t come fast enough. 

Of course, before I could eat my lunch I had to go through the battle of trying to fit all of this produce into my refrigerator. Even with the clearing out of the usual cartons of eggs and older produce that I’d tossed earlier that morning, it was definitely a game of Tetris trying to fit all of the extremely perishable items I’d just purchased into my fridge. I didn’t even entertain the thought of trying to fit all the vegetables in the crisper. Just to fit them in the fridge itself was an accomplishment. Thank god I hadn’t been quite stupid enough to try to buy enough groceries to last us through Monday. Dear lord, I was really going to have to go back in two days and do this again? You chose this, you chose this I sang to myself repeatedly in my head as I grabbed the container of my last non-vegan meal for two weeks: zucchini turkey meatballs, romano cheese, and marinara sauce over spaghetti. It was damned good. This is still healthy, isn’t it? Do I definitely have to give up cheese, Dr. Gregor? 

Now came the time for my final real dessert of the next two weeks. Something I end up binging on far too often when Sam leaves me at home unsupervised for too long: Aurora honey nut granola with chocolate chips mixed in. It’s so good!!! And I definitely went especially overboard that day knowing it was my last sugar binge for awhile. 

Alright. It was time to head to Whole Foods. The closest one to me is in Glastonbury and a solid 25 minute drive away. The air felt heavy and oppressive as I headed out into the heat. Ominous dark clouds hung low in the sky. I could feel the nasty air pressure in the depths of my sinuses. Blah. Almost done, I told myself. The parking lot at Whole Foods was mobbed. Why are so many people out on a random Wednesday afternoon, I grumped to myself as I narrowly avoided running over a perfectly nice young family (sorry, strangers!!) and found myself a spot. I walked inside and immediately started rubbing my arms up and down. It was freezing. One thing I love about Big Y is that they keep a lot of their refrigerated items behind doors. I forget how cold other grocery stores are. 

I don’t go to Whole Foods very often. I knew where the ethnic condiments were but had no clue where I might find “whole wheat tortillas, no salt added.” I wandered the entire length of the store twice over and finally found a small selection. They really didn’t have much to offer in the way of wraps. Too many carbs for the Whole Foods shopping crowd, I guess? I settled for normal whole wheat tortillas that did indeed have salt as an ingredient. What do you want me to do, Dr. Gregor? I’m only one person. I at least then found the date sugar no problem. Okay. Cool. Only the miso left. 

I wandered into the Asian condiments aisle... and essentially repeated the same pacing act I’d done at Big Y, except I went back and forth even more times because I had a hard time processing that Whole Foods wouldn’t have what I needed. I mean, they’ve got some weird stuff there! They have like 5 different brands of ghee! Miso sounded like such a basic Asian condiment to me. We’ve all heard of miso soup, no? But it was nowhere to be found. Ugh. Fine. I’ll go to the Asian market in East Hartford. It’s not that far from here anyways, I tried to reassure myself. I could feel a sugar crash hitting my bloodstream. I wanted a juicebox and a nap. 

I checked out and made my way to Je Mart. I wandered up and down their aisles and couldn’t seem to find miso there either. It finally occurred to me that I was obviously missing something here. Like I really should have done at Big Y in the first place, I pulled out my phone and Googled “Where do I buy miso in the store?” Within 5 seconds I realized I’d been looking in the wrong spots of the stores the entire time. Miso isn’t a bottled or jarred condiment like Sriracha or curry paste. It’s actually sold in plastic tubs in the refrigerated section. Look near the tofu, the infinite wisdom of the Internet advised. I turned around and what do you know, literally right behind me was the refrigerated section with the tofu. And within five seconds I spotted it: a tub of miso!!! I grabbed at it ecstatically and scanned the label. Was this the white miso that Dr. Gregor had specifically demanded? It didn’t specify, but it looked pale enough for me. And it was only $5 for a pretty decent sized tub. I handed my money gleefully to the cashier and went on my way. Finally. 

I got home and put away my new purchases. It was about 2:20pm and I was beyond exhausted. I really shouldn’t have eaten that much granola, I thought morosely as I flopped onto the couch. I wanted to rewatch Forks Over Knives (it’s on Netflix!). If I started now it would end right around 4, a good time to start trying to actually prepare some of the meals I’d worked so hard all the day just to shop for. 

I’m not saying that I napped for the entire documentary because I definitely didn’t. I remember some parts of it. But can I guarantee I didn’t nap at all? No, no I cannot. 

This was another long post, so obviously I’m going to need to give us all a break and stop here before going on to Part 2, in which I’ll finally talk about cooking and eating these recipes. These first couple of posts have really just been a lot of exposition, I promise I’m going to get to the meat of the plot soon! (pun intended) 

For now, here’s a picture of the miso I drove all over the state searching for before finally acquiring for the very reasonable price of $5 (fyi - Big Y does have miso but it’s red miso and it’s $7 so I guess all’s well that ends well): 

#food blog #food writing #veganism #healthy cooking #plant based #whole foods #still bad at tags

[easyfoodnetwork]

What If Nothing But Chain Restaurants Survive? 

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm.

The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden.

The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s.

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale.

Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore.

Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?”

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China.

After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition.

For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra.

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks.

That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience.

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings.

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt.

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Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm.

The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden.

The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s.

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale.

Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore.

Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?”

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China.

After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition.

For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra.

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks.

That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience.

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings.

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt.

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[kdinthecity]

Confessions of a Teenage Sugar Queen: Flight

So sorry for the hiatus on this one! Very cruel of me to leave Chapter 6 on a cliffhanger, too. So, for Chapter 7, I could not make it fit for Day 7 of Zutara Week (starlight) and I think it’s going to take another chapter or two to finish this story. Hopefully it won’t take me a month to post it, though.

Chpt. 1 | Chpt. 2 | Chpt. 3 | Chpt. 4 | Chpt. 5 | Chpt. 6

The content of the “Blue Spirit” file is not what I expected. I have tried texting and calling Zuko numerous times because he HAS to see this. And I HAVE to know what he found in the “Painted Lady” folder. Needless to say, I do not sleep a wink.

This makes me a miserable wreck in the morning, but I remember to shower and put on clean clothes since I didn’t the day before. Gran Gran fusses at me for not eating breakfast. Apparently I skipped dinner the past two nights, too? I resent the look of utter disbelief she shoots me when I yell, “I am fine!”

I mean, I will be fine once I talk to Zuko. To avoid further questioning and expressions of pity, I wait on the sidewalk for him to pick me up. Except it isn’t his ten-year-old sedan that pulls up in front of my apartment building. I would have never pegged Iroh for a sports car aficionado, yet a white Lotus Elise now purrs in the nearest parking spot with a bearded driver poking his head out to grin and wave at me.

I smile back, but my heart sinks. It’s a two-seater which means no Zuko. That new car smell combined with crisp leather wafts when I open the door.

“Only eight more days until the season premiere of Crossroads! Aren’t you excited, Katara?” Iroh chirps.

I survey the interior like I’ve lost something—someone. “Where’s Zuko?”

“He’s fallen—” The old man lets out a raspy cough. “—ill today. I might be coming down with a little bug myself.”

He revs the engine and raises his eyebrows. I hum appreciatively, pretending to admire the power of the machine, but the vibration only heightens the sick sensation of worry I already feel in my stomach. Iroh doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort as he then launches into a long explanation on theories he has for upcoming episodes of our mutual favorite show. I don’t mention that I haven’t finished season six, yet, and he’s basically spoiling the ending for me. But I no longer hold the same anticipation—like something so trivial couldn’t possibly matter in comparison. It reminds me of how I couldn’t wait to get my ears pieced.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Uncle Iroh? Where is Ursa?”

In truth, I already know the answer to this. Because her whereabouts are detailed in the Blue Spirit file.

“Ursa is… gone,” he answers simply.

“I know she had to go into hiding,” I say. “But… does Zuko know?” I'm almost certain that he doesn't, but my sources also list Iroh as a point of contact. Why would he keep this information a secret from his nephew when it so obviously causes him suffering?

Iroh lets out a long and labored sigh while fixating hard and fast on the road, very much in the same way that Zuko does when troubled by the topic of discussion. Seconds stretch to minutes, and I’m ready to fire my next question when he finally speaks again.

“I do not know what Zuko’s father told him about his mother,” he says. “But whatever it is, Zuko accepts that he will never see her again. And that is… for the best.”

Tears sting at the corner of my eyes, and a bitterness burns at the back of my throat. Because if my mother was out there somewhere, still alive, I'd do whatever it takes to find her.

"But why?” I ask.

“Because if Ozai knew where Ursa was, he’d kill her.”

"But Zuko thinks she's dead already. Why can't he at least know that she's alive? It doesn’t make sense!”

“It makes sense when you understand what kind of control Ozai can exert over his family. It is much safer this way.”

“But if Zuko knew—“

“If Zuko knew anything, his father would find a way to get the information from him and then kill him, too. Your family wouldn't be safe, either. It would be best to just let it go, Katara.“

I seethe at this response but don’t say anything more for the rest of the ride except thank you when Iroh drops me off at the Marine Center. It’s going to be another unproductive day at work for me as I’m plagued by thoughts such as…

I know Ozai is cruel and scandalous, but a killer?

And if Iroh knows so much, then how come Ozai hasn’t killed him?

Did Ozai kill my mother?

Zuko still hasn't answered my calls or texts and misses the next two days of work. I am worried to the point of exhaustion. Iroh doesn’t offer me any more rides to work, probably because of my aggressive line of questioning. Maybe I do have what it takes to become an investigative journalist. But if I would have kept my mouth shut, I could be seated comfortably in a luxury sports car instead of on the stinky crowded bus. I suppose the quest for truth involves making sacrifices.

For my mom, it meant sacrificing everything. I'm crying again, and this time, the bus driver hands me tissue, like he came prepared for that girl who always gets emotional. He obviously remembers who I am because he waits for me to get off at my stop, and I have to tell him I’m going one stop further today—to Mushi’s.

There are so many missing pieces to the story, and I plan to continue my investigation by stationing myself in our usual booth until either Zuko or Iroh decide to start explaining. The wait staff looks at me in the same way the bus driver does—like I'm going to spontaneously combust at any moment now. They offer me my usual, but I surprise them, too, but ordering something different.

What can I say? I’m investigating a murder now. I’m living dangerously.

OK, maybe trying the sea urchin was a little bold, especially when I’ve hardly eaten anything of substance for a few days. I am now poking at it with my chopstick, pretending it’s Ozai’s—ugh, I don’t even know what body part it would represent. I think I might throw up.

Odds of this greatly improve when Mai walks in the door, demanding to see Zuko. She is told that he is not here. She accuses the hostess of lying. I said the same thing to the poor woman when I arrived, but surely I didn't make that much of a scene? Oh God, I did put my hand on my hip just like that, though.

I try to look away, but I just can’t. Mai persists, now asking to see Iroh. When her tone shifts from forceful to frantic, I become less suspicious of her as an enemy and start thinking of her as a source. She works for Future Fire Technology, so maybe she knows something. But how do I approach her?

I don't have to. She catches my eye on her way out the door. She hesitates as if weighing her options, grimaces at the sight of my food, and finally decides to sit down after letting out a dramatic sigh.

She's really... pretty. I kinda want to scream right now.

"I can't seem to get through to anyone here, but maybe you can help me," she starts.

I nod.

She leans in and props her elbows up on the table. “Listen. Zuko is in big trouble. His dad found out he went to the police. He needs to… I dunno, get out of town for a little while until this shit blows over.”

The police?

Mai’s brow furrows under her thick fringe. I guess she wants some kind of response besides my blank stare because she shakes her head and mumbles stupid peasant before reaching into her handbag. She then extends her hand, draws in a shaky breath and places a USB drive on the table in between us. This one is very standard looking—not disguised to give color or moisture to one's lips.

“I can trust you, right?” she asks.

I gape at the device like it’s going to explode, but all I feel is the heat of her intense amber eyes boring into me.

“It’s more evidence for Zuko’s case. I’ve found some really weird stuff since I started working for Future Fire." She takes a cursory glance around the restaurant, and her voice drops to a harsh whisper. "I should NOT be doing this, and I was NEVER here, OK?”

Zuko’s case?

She pushes the USB drive all the way across the table to where it’s nestled underneath my elbow. “Keep it hidden, you dumbass.” Then she quickly stands and hisses, “Your food smells like shit,” before slithering away.

She may have inspired a new creature for my stories, an eel with spiky scales like a sea urchin. I debate on the name—Uniagi, perhaps? If only I could retreat into my imaginary world right now…

I bang on Iroh's apartment door. He finally answers but says that Zuko still has a relentless fever, and he doesn’t want me to catch it. I say I don’t care, I have to see him NOW.

It was no exaggeration. Zuko is really, really sick. Like deliriously feverish. I hold a cold cloth to his forehead. Zuko moans. Iroh paces the floor.

“I had counted on Zuko getting better by now,” he says. “This really interferes with your travel plans.”

“Our... travel plans?” This is equally unnerving and relieving to me, especially after what Mai said.

“Yes. You’re going to Alaska. I hope it wasn’t too forthright, but I took the liberty of booking your passage.”

"Where in Alaska?" I ask.

"You have family there, right?”

"Yes, I do."

And Zuko does, too.

Thankfully, the next day is Saturday, and the fever finally breaks. Zuko talks about the crazy dreams he had—something about dragons and a bald kid with blue arrow tattoos. He insists that miso soup and mochi ice cream are needed to nurse him back to full health. Like the dork that I am, I retrieve whatever he asks for and listen attentively to his stories. But it does not go unnoticed that he tends to change the subject when I bring up the USB drive and my mother's files. I haven't told him about Mai's visit, yet.

Our flight for Anchorage leaves Monday morning. I almost forget to call Yue to let her know I won’t be coming into work. The best reason I can come up with is the truth—I feel threatened. Now that I have read the files Mai gave me, I contend that Ozai would kill anybody who got in his way. I want to warn Yue, in fact, but I don’t really think she is a target. Future Fire’s donations to the Marine Center serve as a diversion tactic so that no one pays attention to the real work going on behind the scenes.

Zuko must have stumbled upon the same secrets when working there last summer. And so, his father gave him a permanent reminder on his face to never tell anyone. This is my speculation, anyhow, but maybe Zuko will tell me about it someday. He doesn’t owe me an explanation about his scar, but he better tell me what’s in that Painted Lady folder at least.

This is what I know: Zuko’s dad has been selling his VR technology to undisclosed clients off the record, many of whom serve in foreign militaries and governments. The VR headsets offer an enhanced tactical training platform for soldiers.

As if committing high treason wasn't bad enough, the gloves are being formulated for use as actual weapons—flame throwers, of sorts. And the exoskeleton will be reconstructed as high-powered armor. And all of this new technology is being tested in a remote area in central California.

Death Valley.

It’s a little complicated to get to my dad’s hometown, but my family normally flies to Seattle, then we connect to Anchorage. From there, a smaller commercial airline transports to outlying villages, and the closest one is King Salmon, a 30-minute drive away. My dad knows a pilot who will fly directly into the Naknek airport, but he operates seasonally, and is often very busy during the summer months.

Today’s travel itinerary confuses me, though. Iroh drops us off at a random train station so we can take an hour-long ride to a different airport across the bay. Then we fly to Chicago? I do the math in my head—a four-hour flight in the wrong direction—then another seven hours to Alaska. As far as I know, our tickets only take us as far as Anchorage. What then? I don’t ask, and Zuko doesn’t offer any explanation, either. In fact, he says very little with his headphones on, hidden beneath his hood. It is going to be a very long day.

When we land in Chicago, and Zuko receives a text from his uncle to change airlines, it hits me. We’re doing all of this to evade Ozai who might be trying to follow us. I pull my own hood over my head and without even realizing it, I grip Zuko’s elbow. There’s a softness in his golden eyes when he looks back at me and warmth in his fingertips when he clasps his hand over mine. It’s the same comfort he gave me that night in his car and a glimpse of the vulnerability we shared at the tide pools.

I shudder and finally admit my biggest secret of all. Because when I say this, it means I’m not in control anymore. “Zuko, I’m scared.”

I have been all along. Ever since Mom died. I thought I could be brave. I thought I was strong, but—

“Me too, Katara.”

He’s not supposed to say that! I want to scream at him to fix this. He’s the one who should be brave and strong and better than this.

I storm off and make a scene right there in the airport even though we’re supposed to be flying under the radar. Zuko doesn’t run after me, though. He always knows when I need my space. He texts me our departure information, and by the time I meet him at the gate, I’ve realized how I misdirected my anger. Voicing my apology is hard because some things we haven’t talked about, yet.

“I’m sorry I got mad and ran off,” I start with a shrug. “B-b-but I’ve been blaming you—your family for my mom’s…”

“Yon Rha,” Zuko says.

“What?”

“He’s the man who—“ He winces. “When your mother’s investigation got too deep, my father hired someone to…”

I swallow hard and nod. I can’t decide if he’s telling me this to get a reprieve from my angry outbursts or so I can have some semblance of closure on the matter. I don’t think it’ll serve either purpose, but the look on his face is an odd mixture of hopefulness and regret. Maybe I can return the favor.

“Ikem,” I say.

“Who?”

“He’s the man—“ I watch his eyes go wide then dart from side to side. “Your mother,” I add with a whisper.

We hold each other’s gaze, both knowing this conversation is too risky to have right here, right now.

I am startled by the announcement on the loudspeaker. “We are now boarding passengers for Air Appa flight 813 nonstop service to Anchorage, Alaska.”

#zutara #zutara week 2017 #zkweek #zutara week #zkweek2017

[twistednuns]

March 2019

ॐ नमः शिवाय oṃ namaḥ śivāya ♥ / reading a book about the background and effects of different asanas

Friday evening with Lena: Yuzu ramen at Takumi, watching Green Book at the City Kino near Sendlinger Tor. Getting my favourite mix of sweet and salty popcorn.

Still: Obsessively reading the Rivers of London series by Ben Aaronovitch. It's like one of those nasty TV series you just can't stop watching.

Noticing more visible veins and sinews on my body. Getting stronger and leaner! Yes! I can even see a little shadow where my ribcage is supposed to begin and my tissue is getting softer which means I'm losing fat and I can feel more muscles than before. Very rewarding.

Saturday lunch with Lena and her family. I hadn't seen her brother in maybe 10 years. My highlight: warm banana bread with slightly salty, thick caramel and homemade vanilla ice-cream.

Dressing up for the Of Sailors and Whales concert at Gasteig. I felt incredibly stylish in my outfit: mustard yellow headscarf, a side braid, oblong hoop earrings in rose gold, a green dress and coat, mint-blue purse, a dark plum-coloured lipstick, black tights and satin heels.

The PhysioFlow yoga teacher (Ulf, what a comical name) complimenting me on my perfect Viravadrasana pose because apparently I did the advanced version with my arms held up high over my head. Unfortunately my poses only look so good because of my hypermobility but the other day we started talking after class. He is such a nice and calm person. And married to a lady from my hometown. I love how he touches our faces, heads and shoulders in Savasana.

Thai massage. The best treat after messing up my neck with futile headstand experiments.

The perfect batch of smoky veggies in tomato sauce. Add a hand full of couscous and tiger beans and you'll feel full for hours.

A week-long holiday. Not leaving the bed after waking up, reading for one or two hours. Enjoying the morning light, having warm breakfast. Lena sending me a picture of a bunch of purple flowers she saw on one of her walks on Monday, telling me to enjoy my vacation.

Gorgeous yoga mats - I just ordered one with a gemstone design from Mala. // EDIT: It just didn't have enough grip for me so I had to send it back. Got a simple purple one from Jade Yoga instead. They're supposed to be the best.

Fried Tom Yum seaweed strips.

A dinner and movie date with Lena, Barbara and Maike. We watched Vice (2019), the movie about Dick Cheney. Quite uncomfortable. But I loved the scene with Alfred Molina.

Spending an afternoon with Franzi at Trachtenvogl. Pear juice spritzer. Decidedly non-vegan spinach dumplings. Stopping at &otherstories as usual, getting two beautiful bowls at Motel a Miio. Finding a purple edition of H.P.Lovecraft's ghost stories on top of a trash bin.

My mum visiting for the first time since I moved in. She helped me get rid of my old clothes and other miscellaneous items from the basement. Then we got a trunk full of flowers for my balcony and had dinner at VorOrt - vegan pizza and celeriac schnitzel. I got so many presents that day. A dark purple orchid with pointy blossoms, some books and a bottle of Jo Malone perfume. She also paid for some of my plants... It kinda felt like my birthday. Maybe she had a guilty conscience because my brother still keeps raiding the fridge at home? Anyway. It's funny that I can actually talk to her now that I'm older, have my own thing going on... and we have so much in common, I notice that all the time. Or interests and taste, habits. Could be worse though, she's an amazing woman.

Swiss cat ladders.

My first time at Boulderwelt! Frank finally took me with him and we spent two hours there, climbing up the yellow (me) and white (him) routes. I even dreamed about climbing up a tree that night and I could hardly move the next day. Hardcore sore muscles, oh boy.

Hanging out with Frank. Playing Scrabble. Acting really weird around someone who just gets it or isn't put off at the very least. Making gross jokes about guacamole-producing guys over burritos in Werksviertel.

Hanging out at bridal shops with Lena, making her put on gorgeous dresses.

The fresh spring green gradient you get on your cutting board when you're chopping up leek for a potato gratin.

Staring at a long-haired guy in a club for a pretty long while on a Friday evening because he was just that gorgeous. Then he suddenly showed up on the internet a few hours later an we have been talking ever since. Exciting! And yeah, I love good coindidences. I would have never mustered up the courage to talk to him that night.

The other day we saw a cat from our classroom window, casually walking down the stairs. And we had nothing better to do than running up there in middle of our English lesson to catch her. I guess I'm a quite easily distracted teacher.

Hand embroidery on linen. It's baby bonnets, okay. But still super pretty.

This idea I had while in downward facing dog pose during one of my yoga classes. I really want to go to a yoga retreat in the summer. Either in Bali or, even more exciting, an ashram in India. I'd also visit Nepal or Bhutan while I'm there.

Aidy Bryant. She's my gorgeous heroine. I loved watching the first season of Shrill.

Alpro cherry soy yoghurt.

New earrings from &otherstories and COS. And a new hair ribbon, too. Can't help it. Building my collections.

That whole Margo-banging-Josh-situation on The Magicians? I'm into that. And when she was tripping on lizard and saw Eliot in a python trenchcoat performing the Pretenders' "Don't Get Me Wrong"? The 80s choir they formed in the desert? So amusing. Seriously, this is one of the few shows which is absolutely not afraid of weird shit and doesn't take its writing too seriously. I don't entirely get it and it doesn't have anything to do with Lev Grossman's books anymore but I'm so grateful it exists. And I'm always down for a good musical episode (see: Once More with Feeling a.k.a. the single best Buffy episode ever made).

Finding the most incredible reed green silk dress at Hallhuber one afternoon after seeing a dermatologist in the city. Unfortunately even my ribcage is too wide for its narrow cut but perhaps I can convince Lena to buy it for the summer.

New idea: should I ever get a cat I want to name it Miso.

Seeing the first butterfly (European peacock) of the year enjoying the sunshine while sitting on my pink hyacinth.

After more than 20 years I accidentally found out that one of my favourite songs from the ZDF Christmas series Anna is in fact a Queen song! I'm also pretty sure that my taste in men, my "type", was significantly affected by João Ramos who played the role of the dancer Jacob. Swoon!

Using a sheep skin as a pillow. Oddly comforting. I was reading a book about the sense of touch when I noticed this connection. I also learned that most people prefer firm hugs and massages over soft strokes. Apparently gentle touching reminds some of insect's feet but it seems to be a matter of personal preference.

The crispy greasiness of butter croissants.

Finding out about banana twins (two fruits in one peel).

Enjoying a nice, sunny Sunday. Cycling over to Westpark and playing badminton with Frank in the middle of hundreds of families having picnics. Clumsy yoga poses on a towel. A little boy telling me that his penis was more important than my face when he hit me with a football. But to be fair, I made him choose. I even went to the gym afterwards, doing my strength routine and an hour-long spine workout. I was pretty exhausted that evening and made a delicious dinner with ratatouille, soy "meat", olives and capers, whole-wheat pasta and pine nuts.

Breaking news: my body contains over 66kg of muscle mass! Am I a superhero or what? (Well, also 36% body fat, gotta work on that...)

Giving the avocado seeds a new home. I've given them a large pot now so each time I eat an avocado a new member can join the gang.

Spending most of the week with my favourite colleague, espectially on Girls'/Boys' day duty: I liked meeting at the fire brigade in the morning, getting to know a firewoman, making one of my students climb up the pole at the station. Walking over Viktualienmarkt and Gärtnerplatz, getting some fresh juice, talking all the time. We visited an old folk's home, a garden center, a vet and an architect's studio. So much better than being stuck at school until 4pm.

Pancakes with mushroom filling. Strawberries with coconut cream. Delicious.

Finally performing a Nina Hagen Song on karaoke night. And Elle King's Ex's & Oh's which made Carlos, the Spanish guy, think of old ex-girlfriend trauma.

Uhm. I read 21 books this month. Wow? To be fair, I spent most of my weekends in bed with a stack of books next to me. I'm kinda hoping to read less in April - but since I'll be in Canada for two weeks this will probably not be an issue anyway.

My breakfasts keep me healthy, I really believe that. Extremely tasty and full of good nutrients. Latest addition: strawberries and pumpkin seeds.

Spending the whole afternoon with Anika in my kitchen, making vegan macarons. I almost couldn't believe it but chickpea liquid works just as well as eggwhites! And we came up with pretty good fillings: lemon buttercream, chocolate-raspberry and banana-peanut butter. Nom. Now they're sitting in my fridge, tempting me to eat them. Sigh.

Going to the gym after a week-long hiatus. Breaking the spell, you know?

#march #2019 #march 2019 #personal #present perfect #things i love

[heidijeann]

Koh Samui

Photos here :) 

The flight was short - only an hour and 20 minutes maybe, but it still included an in-flight meal of sweet and sour chicken (or a fish dish which neither of us got, but I LOLed at the lack of a vegetarian option). Everything was smooth sailing until we got off the plane and had to wait in a long line outside in the heat to get through customs. There was a couple behind us invading Brett’s personal space, running into him and stepping on his foot, which made the line tense and feel even longer. Reflecting on it, we agreed that Brett needs to figure a way to make a game out of this kind of situation, because getting so stressed out over something so small is unhealthy. (I need to take a page out of his book - such a great realization!)

Once we finally made it through customs, we took a 460 baht shared taxi van to our hotel. Luck was on our side, as our hotel was the first stop in our 12 person shared taxi van. We got out, and stepped into true luxury - the hotel staff were expecting us and greeted us with freezing cold towels and water while they started to check us in. Then they came back with ice cream and explained hotel activities etc. before taking us to our room. It was a deluxe villa with a huge bed and beautiful walk in shower that had doors opening from both the bed and shower to a beautiful balcony with a tub and lounge chairs overlooking an jungle-esque lap pool.

While the room was beautiful, we didn’t stay long. We dropped off our bags, got into our bathing suits, and immediately hit the beach/pool. We were excited to see there were free kayaks, paddle boards, and water shoes for our use, and immediately took the kayak out for a swim. We got in and started paddling, all going well, until Brett called us professionals and about two seconds later we totally flipped the boat into the water. We came up shrieking with laughter, and were happy to see a couple close by caught the entire thing and were laughing with us. We spent maybe 30 minutes perfecting our strides and checking out the surrounding rocks and area, and then decided to return the kayak and find something to eat.

There were many places on the beach to grab a bite or a massage, so we walked and surveyed the menu and price selections. At the far end of the beach, right where the sea met some rocks making it difficult to go further, we saw a cute little oasis with hammocks and chairs and swings that drew our attention. To be totally honest, I don’t really know if at this point we noticed any of that - there was some kind of pretty flower stand thing (it reminded me of a plumeria chuppah)  that I wanted to check out, so we walked to it. That’s where we could really start to see the magic oasis, with tropical/reggae music setting a super chill vibe and the waves lightly crashing onto the shore next to us. We fell in love and ordered a pad thai at a super reasonable 100 baht price, and enjoyed the view. Turns out this little spot would be our go-to getaway from the hotel, with extremely reasonable prices and the best music and vibes a girl could ask for. We made two friends: George, a yoga instructor who offered us a free class, and Tom, a tour guide who told us all about different excursions and cool things to do on the island. After an hour or so we headed back to the resort and spent the rest of the afternoon lounging and swimming between the beach and the pool, sipping on cocktails and soaking in the sun and the view.

When the sun started to set,  headed back to our room to change and venture off to get our first massage in Thailand. The spot we found was a 12 minute walk from our hotel, and we were in for a treat: we would be getting our first Four Hands massage. Oh my god, life changing. The women were warm and effective, with strong hands and big smiles. For an hour of absolute bliss, it only cost us a total of $1200 baht or 38.30 United States Dollars. Like come on. I wonder if after our travels if we will look at the price and think it was expensive for Thailand? Only time will tell… my goal is to get 30 hours of massage before we stop celebrating my birthday, but I will count the four hand massage as 2 hours since there were two people rubbing us. The massage also converted B - on our walk home he raved “I can never go back to a 2 hand massage, it is 4 hands or bust for me. What was a massage prior to the 4 hands? I don’t remember. THIS IS HOW MASSAGING NEEDS TO BE. You get a symmetrical experience as they rub the neck/shoulder and lower back at the same time.” This is seriously not an experience to miss. On our walk home we found a Mexican/Thai spot and popped in. The price was right - B enjoyed a burrito and I larb with rice. Then, we walked back to the hotel and tried the outdoor tub out. Overall, I would have to admit my last day as a 29 year old was pretty incredible!!!

We woke up early on my birthday - around 6 am after a very comfortable sleep in a huge king bed that reminded us of home (s/o to Jackie and Roger who are keeping our bed safe and loved while we travel!). We decided to head down to the beach and finish watching the sunrise. It was beautiful. We climbed some rocks and enjoyed the view, and then did some yoga on a shaded deck just off the sand overlooking the water. It was a wonderful start to 30. By now some of the hotel staff was out setting up the pool area, and we started walking along the beach only to notice a bunch of plastic and trash washing up in the current. We decided to pick it up, and the hotel staff were very pleased to see us helping. They showed us where we could throw it away (there were literally no trash cans anywhere on the property outside of the room!) and we made a pile of stuff. We’ve heard about the trash in SEA, and want to make sure we do our part to clean it up as much as possible. It’s really so beautiful here - we feel responsible as tourists to not be a stereotype and help keep our earth as healthy as possible. The lack of trash cans is concerning, and we found out later that the rumors about people burning trash here are 100% true.

Anyway, we worked up a bit of a sweat so decided to cool off in the water - the tide was low making it an easy walk to a rock formation in the ocean. We tried to climb the rocks, but one of them bit me and so I decided we weren’t friends, and we left the rocks to go take out the splintery black crap from my calf. I cried like a baby when Brett pulled out a little razor looking device called “splinter out” and had to bravely bite a towel between my teeth as he dug and pressed out whatever was caught in there. After about 10 minutes and a shower, I was all better - sterilized and clean with a bandaid covering my boo-boo. #thisisthirty.

By now it was about 11 am, so we headed back to our rock bar and got a coconut and chilled out in the hammocks. We decided we would go into town and check out Chaweng Beach, and reserved seats on the shuttle leaving at 1. The ride was about 20 minutes, and we were both excited to see the food court when we got there. We got some chicken and beef on sticks and some chicken teriyaki with rice and miso, and a fruit shake that was delicious. We were on a mission to find me sunglasses and Brett sandals - and only had two hours. We did it all and headed back to the hotel in time for happy hour. We got some drinks at the pool and swam around, then headed back to the rock bar for dinner and drinks. We ended up meeting an interesting couple - a man from Utah and a woman from the Philippines - and spent the night swapping stories and drinking beer. (I know, who am I? Drinking beer! LOL.) Unfortunately, we forgot to finish ordering the dinner part, so when we left around 10, we were hungry and tired.

We got back to the room to see a very exciting note telling us to pack our bags as we were being upgraded and relocated to a private villa the following day.  We celebrated by ordering room service, and went to bed tired, excited, and full. We woke up early again on the 23rd, or, my birthday part two (since it was technically my birthday at home still). Brett showed me a video he put together of all my friends and family sending me sweet thoughts and birthday wishes, and we then headed to the beach to catch it empty and serene. We did another little meditation, this one shorter, and then headed off property to grab breakfast near the main road. It was about an 8 minute walk to an authentic thai restaurant where we got breakfast, then headed to hour 3 of 30 hours of massage - where we got an authentic thai massage. By the time we got back to the hotel, our bags had been relocated and the staff were showing us to our private villa.

If you have never had a private pool villa before, it is absolutely the way to travel. We stripped off our clothes and jumped in the pool. Frolicking and dancing around the entire indoor and outdoor area in our birthday suits (fitting huh? Pun intended - birthday suit for the birthday girl!). After an hour or two we decided to head down to the beach and were stopped by the hotel staff who had complimentary drinks for us. So, we started to drink. We ordered some food pool side and made ourselves cozy with our food and our drinks in a cabana. We had the bottle of Veuve over ice in the villa, and planned on popping that before dinner. After our drinks and bite, we went back to our villa and popped the Veuve. If I am being totally honest, my absolute favorite part of the whole day (both birthdays) was dancing around naked while sipping rosè champagne and singing along to the lyrics. About half way through this experience, Brett realized that people could probably see in to part of our villa, so we pulled the robes out of the closet, put them on, and continued dancing.

For dinner we checked out the hotel’s seafood restaurant TawaNN, and decided on the tapas bar instead after reviewing the menu. We got gambas and a pizza, both were delicious, and then took our headlamps down to the ocean to explore the rocks during the super low tide. The rocks that were eaten by the sea earlier in the day were now totally accessible by foot, and it was so neat to explore the beach in this new fashion. A bit tipsy and quite tired, we (read: I) didn’t last too long and soon after headed back to our villa for a much needed sleep.

Our last day in the Renaissance we woke up at 7:45 am - admittedly earlier than we wanted to after a night of drinking (miraculously I felt amazing, although Brett somehow was a bit hungover) but determined to make it to sunrise yoga on the beach. We took a class from 8-9 am, and while it was “Yoga for All” it felt pretty advanced to us. The instructor wasn’t the most patient man in the world, and even laughed at Brett at one point which I thought was quite rude. Overall though, it was a good workout and we left feeling energized. We headed back to our villa and decided to make the most of it until check out. Brett pretended to be a pool boy and fish all the flowers and fallen leaves out of the pool while I sat on the lounger looking for a hotel for that night. We swam and dried off and swam some more. Once 1 pm rolled around, we checked out, leaving our bags with the front desk and our suits on our bodies, and headed down the beach for a bite to eat.

For our last meal we decided to try Uncle Rang’s Restaurant, and were seated immediately. Once we placed our orders, they told us it would take about 30 minutes, so we walked to our Rock Bar for a final coconut and to bid adieu to the family who ran it (all super sweet and welcoming people). Then, we returned to the restaurant and ate slowly, enjoying the view. On our walk back to the hotel, we passed the massage studio on the beach that we had walked past many times every day, and decided to add another hour to the ticker. The ladies asked us to come back in 30 minutes, so we decided to take a dip in the hotel pool. We met a new friend there - a man from Michigan who didn’t like Trump but voted for him! - and got lost in conversation. By the time we made it back to the massage hut, they had two free beds but needed to call two masseuses over from a nearby parlor. (For the record, while peaceful, beach massages are sandy and get interrupted by coconuts falling on the roof, which sure scared the crap out of me!)

By the time we were ready to leave the hotel (and Lamai beach) it was almost 5 pm. We were now heading to the north most tip of the island - Mae Nam - to be closer to the pier. Brett found a deal for a hotel named Amarin Victoria that was a short walk to the beach. By the time we actually got there though, the sun was already setting and we didn’t make it in past our knees. Instead, we found a decent looking place to eat, shared a satay and pizza, and then headed back to the hotel. We took a quick dip in the rooftop pool and then retired to our rooms where we put on Kate and Leopold and looked for a place to stay in Koh Tao.

Before we knew it we were waking up, heading down to breakfast, then back up to pack. We had about two hours left until we had to start heading to the pier, a 26 minute walk in the heat - so I spent the morning preparing by singing along to Mulan and blogging, among other various things. Any excuse to stay in the air-conditioned bed was one I was willing to take. Honestly, my least favorite part of traveling is anything that has to do with touching the luggage. I don’t like it. It’s dirty, heavy, annoying...anyway, at the end of the day it is worth it, and I love my stuff, so I have to suck it up. I pump myself up with the following mantras: A 26 minute walk is a good exercise, and saves us 400 baht. That’s almost two massages! There is no chance we are going to do the 28 minute walk to our next hotel when we get to Koh Tao. Almost done… get it girl! Anyway, the time passes and with every step we are one step closer, so we got there pretty painlessly. And we felt very accomplished when we did. Brett cracked open a celebratory beer and we both enjoyed it, and then a couple more. (Well, enjoy is a strong word. I am still not a huge fan, but they are cheap and cold, so I am trying to convert myself…)

We waited about 40 minutes until we started to board, and found semi-shaded seats with a great sea view. The ferry would make two stops: Koh Pha-ngan (AKA the full moon party island) and Koh Tao. On our way to Koh Pha-ngan we met two friendly Germans who spent a lot of time in Thailand. The rest of the ferry ride we were by ourselves, but Brett met a famous Thai singer named Job2Do while going to the bathroom - he and his band are playing a concert on Koh Tao. Even the captain of the ship came out to take a pic with him! About two hours after we set off, we were docking on Koh Tao, getting our bags, and getting off the ship.

Total spend USD for these 5 days in Koh Samui and Mae Nam, including the ferry to Koh Tao (our accommodations at the Renaissance I booked using points, which saved us a ton of money!): $354.27

[girlnextthel2door]

Tokyo

For our October travel, Paolo and I decided to visit Tokyo Japan but airfares were too pricey 😅 so we decided to go to Kuala Lumpur instead. Our leaves and itineraries were all set for Kuala but when we checked the airfares the next morning, flights to Tokyo on our preferred dates were on sale (happy dance 😂). Paolo got his round trip ticket for around 8,000php (including the airport tax 👍🏼). And just like that, we’re going to Tokyo! ❤️ Tip: follow different airline pages on Facebook so you can get updated on seat sales. ❤️

Where to stay

Most of the accommodations on our preferred dates were already sold out (we booked around 3 months prior the travel date) and the remaining were selling out fast (that’s what Agoda told us), which basically translates to hotel rates going up 💔 so we thoroughly check all the hotel booking apps to get the best hotel deal and I guess we did. First off we research on the most ideal location, which for us, was Ueno, then we scanned all apps and then we stumbled upon this accommodation called Crea Un House in Iriya Ueno. Rate was 11,400php for 4 nights including the breakfast, plus the hotel manager was so helpful and accommodating. Tip: contact the hotel beforehand on the easiest and cheapest route from the Airport.

Where to go

Gundam Cafe in Akihabara 3/5

Paolo is a huuuuuge fan of gundam and anime so we just had to. As expected food and drinks are pricey, but if you’re a fan as well then you wouldn’t wanna miss this one out.

Yodobashi-Akiba 4/5

Shopping heaven. You can find almost everything in there. Make ups, stuffed toy, gadgets, appliances, stationery stuff, bags, wallets. Tip: gundam is cheaper here than in the Gundam base in Odaiba.

Ueno Zoo 5/5

See real panda! ❤️ They were really far though, there’s a meter distance between their pen and the viewing area. 💔 On the brighter side we get to see the polar bears up close.

Diver City Tokyo in Odaiba 3/5

Home of the Unicorn Gundam Statue. Tip: the unicorn gundam transforms every 1500H and 1700H. On the 7th floor you’ll find the Gundam base where you can find limited edition gundam there’s also a hobby room where you can build your gundam together with other enthusiasts, which I think is really cool.

Disneysea 6/5

There’s so many places to go and there’s so little time, we had to pick between Disneyland and Disneysea. Like choosing between cookies and cream and brownie almond fudge, it was a tough decision but I came up with the argument that we can always visit Hongkong Disneyland and there’s only one Disneysea. And it didn’t disappoint! Disneysea could be my absolute favorite place if only the food weren’t so expensive but then again that’s already expected. (Regular popcorn is 310 jpy, chicken salad and grilled chicken with veggies and drink is 1780jpy. Sea saltice ice cream is 310 jpy as well buuut it’s soooo good!) My absolute favorite spot is Ariel’s Castle ❤️ ❤️❤️Disney Sea is so amazing it could share the top spot with Everland on my favorite theme parks.

Shibuya Crossing and Hachiko 5/5

A must for your Instagram stories. Tip: there’s an instagrammable wall a few meters from hachiko. For some reasons, Shibuya crossing is a good kind of crowded. Walk around the crossing and you’ll find a wide array of restaurants, malls, boutiques and anything you can ever think of.

Takeshita-dori 3/5

Around 20 minutes away from Shibuya crossing (by foot). They say it’s the hub of Japanese teen culture and that could be true (with all the colors and life) but it’s too touristy for my liking.

Meiji Shrine 5/5

To complete our Tokyo experience of course we had to see the Meiji Shrine. Around 10 minutes walk from Takeshita-dori is the famed Shrine. It’s fascinating how we’re quickly transported from the busy city of Tokyo to the tranquil, culture-filled shrine of Meiji. Strolling around areas that are part of the history would always make me want to go back in time or think of the parallel universe. Immersing into cultures that are different from ours is very fulfilling and is something that money can never buy. If that doesn’t make you want to pack your bags and book your ticket now, I don’t know what will. 😉

Getting around

Take the train and walk. Taxis and Uber are really really reaaaally expensive. Take the subway, it can be complicated and some stations do not have English translation, but is generally efficient. Download the google translate app, use google maps, ask the locals, remember that station numbers and line colors are important. Trains are open only util 1am and costs around 140jpy and up.

Don’t worry about getting lost, sometimes it will take you to the best tempura shop. Except maybe if you have a flight to catch.

What to eat

Yoshinoya and Pablo Cheese tart

Of course we have to try it straight from the source.

Ramen, tempura, grilled beef, grilled pork, miso soup and all other Japanese stuff. We did not have any particular place to eat. Whenever we feel like eating, we just pick any random Japanese restaurant and trust me, there’s a whole lot to choose from. Don’t forget Japanese ice cream and chocolates because dessert goes straight to the heart. ❤️

Most people say that food in Japan is expensive, if you’ll compare it to the average combo meal in a fast food in the Philippines then maybe you’re right. Set meals range from 450 jpy to around 1500 jpy. Personally, I think the food is worth the price and money spent on food is never money wasted. 🤣

What to buy or what I bought 😂

Shiseido medicated powder less than 300jpy

Shiseido aqualabel 1800jpy

Shiseido perfect whip 380jpy

Japanese and Korean skincare products are very gentle and perfect for Filipina skin, in general. ❤️

Japan goodies

Japanese groceries is one of the many reasons why I love Japan. All those goodies, from chocolates to breads to chips to drinks, will got you thinking how wonderful the world is.❤️  P.S. we tried the facebook famous drink, Strong Zero, it comes in different flavors and we decided on what looks like orange and lemon (there’s no English translation on most products, which makes things more exciting). It was too bitter for my liking I had to ask myself why am I even drinking looool. Obviously, I didn’t finish it. Paolo finished both cans and was telling me that he couldn’t feel his limbs after 😂

Tips

✔️Navigating around Tokyo is soooo much easier if you have internet connection. Upon arrival at the airport, you can purchase pocket wifi. Rates were around 4,000 yen for 5 days for 300mb per day. Or you can get a sim card, for around 3,000 yen for 3gb for 7 days. (There are couple more data plans.) We picked the sim card and we only consumed .64gb. You can always get a data plan that suits your internet dependency. 😂😅

✔️Have your money changed at the airport. Trust me on this one. Some of my friends buy their JPY before leaving Manila.

✔️Wear comfy shoes and be prepared to have walking as your second name.

✔️Respect other’s culture.

✔️Local groceries and pharmacies have better prices than tax free shops which swarms touristy areas, or at least on items that I purchased. A general rule when I travel: go where the locals go, eat where the locals eat and buy what the locals buy😅

✔️Traveling with your boyfriend/girlfriend will make you all sorts of crazy, but it’s one of the most fulfilling things to do together. You’ll have a deeper understanding for each other and funny stories to talk about in the future.

#tokyo #japan #where to go in tokyo #what to do in tokyo #tokyo travel guide #travel blog #tokyo blog #akihabara #gundam #gundam cafe #unicorn gundam #ueno #yamanote #kesei #iriya #pablo #disneysea #disney sea #disney land #shibuya #shibuya crossing #meiji #meiji shrine #hachiko

[easyfoodnetwork]

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm. The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden. The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s. “So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?” “Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!” The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.” “I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.” “It’s not really my style?” “Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her. Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale. Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore. Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?” Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull. “Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?” “Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.” “We should make actual memories together.” “Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!” Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China. After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition. For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra. “So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home. “Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.” “I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.” “There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.” “Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening. “Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said. “Who says I hate my job?” “Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.” “I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.” “I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.” “Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks. That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise. “What the hell is this?” “We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.” Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience. Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s. “Which do you like better?” Ruth said. “Is this a test?” “Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.” “Wait, are you serious?” “The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings. Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke. “Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back. “So this was a test.” “One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.” “Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —” “When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.” Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon. “You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.” “You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.” “What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.” “I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.” “I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?” They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34UCH3U

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/09/what-if-nothing-but-chain-restaurants.html

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