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redeadepression · 5 years

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Young!Arthur|Kid!John Fic Request: Change

Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Hosea Matthews

Warnings: None | Words: 5423

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A warm breeze whistled through camp as the morning sun peaked over the mountains in the distance. Leaves rustling and birds singing creating a quiet ambience for the summer morning.

Hosea yawned, a noise closer to a sigh as he rested his face in his palm. His right hand scribbling away at the paper in front of him as he gazed upon it with tired eyes.

“I will not do that John.” He said firmly, the hand holding his head coming around to rub at his eyes irritably.

“Why not?” The boy complained, shoulders slumping as he stared at the table in front of him.

“You’re too young, I will not give you the permission.” Hosea replied, not looking up from his work.

John grumbled in protest.

“Dutch let’s me.” He griped, a finger slowly running along the grain of the wood. Hosea looked up at him doubtfully, tilting his head in question.

“I know for a fact he does not.” He refuted. “I won’t let you manipulate me young man so stop while you’re ahead.” He retorted, pen pausing momentarily.

John frowned, looking over at the older man in confusion. Far be it from him to try and manipulate anyone. He didn’t have Hosea’s quick whit or Dutch’s charismatic tongue.

“I weren’t tryin’ to manipulate anyone. I just really want to go and I know you’re my best shot.” He said softly, feeling deflated.

Hosea sighed, placing his pen down and taking a moment to study the teen. John had been bugging him for weeks to allow him to go out on his own. But at the tender age of 14, Hosea knew better than to grant him permission to come and go. He was a hot head with less common sense than he had social skill. He would more than likely get himself killed for speaking his mind. That was if he made it to town before getting distracted, riding off the trail, being bucked off his horse and mauled by a wild animal.

Dutch and some of the older boys had been gone for quite a while, pulling off a long haul heist they had been slowly setting up for months. Hosea optimistically expected them back any day, if they hadn’t gotten themselves arrested or killed.

Arthur was away visiting his long distance girlfriend Mary. He had been spending a lot of time away from the camp lately. Being an adult, Hosea and Dutch didn’t see fit to stop him. As long as he always came back and still did his fair share to provide for the camp they paid him no mind.

John however disliked the situation very much. To everyone else’s dismay. Being the youngest of the group, he was bored out of his mind without anyone to talk to besides Hosea and Susan. They were fine enough for substitute parents, but they weren’t the kind of friends John needed at his age.

Arthur was still several years older than John. But the kid looked up to him as a big brother rather than a person of authority. He missed Arthur’s presence largely, although he refused to admit it.

“That’s called manipulation.” Hosea stated matter-of-factly, a sly smile quirking his lips. “You’re not as dumb as you act John Marston.” He chuckled. “Besides, if I’m your best shot then you don’t got much of a chance I’m afraid.” The sniggered, making John frown.

“Why can’t I go out?” The younger lamented, showing his age with the tone he used for his complaint. “I can ride just as good as Arthur.” He paused. “And I’m a better shot!” He added for good measure.

“Arthur is an adult. You are a child.” Hosea answered blatantly, watching as the younger struggled to conceal his anger at the statement. Loosing his cool over such a factual statement would surely not help his cause.

Hosea raised his brows and nodded in a way that told John the conversation was over. He grumbled to himself, folding his arms over his chest.

“Now go on, go find something useful to do. Away with you.” Hosea said, waving his hand at the youngster and ignoring the huff he was afforded as John slipped down off the chair he had occupied and walked off towards the edge of camp.

Hosea watched him go with a sad smile. He was generally a good kid, but he had been terrorising the camp of late. Pestering the adults to give him permission to do things he was not ready for and making a mess of things when he was rejected. Some days he outright refused to do his chores until Susan threatened him with her belt. Others he woke up extra early and finished all of his chores before lunch in the hopes someone would take him to do something fun in the afternoon.

Unfortunately with majority of the adults out and about there was triple the workload for the rest of them. No one had time to take John for shooting practice, hunting or even in to town. He was bored and felt dejected which turned him in to an unruly pest.

Hosea sat back in his chair, resting his hands on his thighs as he watched John go. He supposed maybe, he could take him fishing. If only to keep him quiet for one afternoon.

The midday sun cast a shadow over the large tree in the middle of camp. Making it hard for Hosea to see his news paper in the darkness. He rubbed at his eyes, straight up denial preventing him from admitting it may be time to invest in some glasses.

John had left him alone for the better part of the day since their talk and he was starting to feel bad about the way he handled it. He had said it himself, John was a child. He didn’t have the emotional control he had come to expect from Arthur and he felt he may have been too harsh on him. Expecting too much of him for his age.

He set his paper down, making to stand before the soft sound of hooves approaching caught his attention. He looked up in surprise, a grin pulling at his lips, straightening wrinkles as he took in the glorious sight of Arthur’s return.

He jumped up a little too quickly, a hand coming to his back as it twinged in protest. He continued on, ignoring the ache and making a bee line for the younger man. He was talking before he had even dismounted his horse.

”Arthur thank God.” He sighed in relief as he reached the younger man. A hand came out to clap his shoulder as he slipped down from his saddle. “Welcome back son.” He exclaimed enthusiastically.

“What’s up with you old man?” Arthur asked, amusement in his tone. It had been a long time since he had been greeted so eagerly. Hosea paused a moment, taking a second to take in the younger man’s appearance. He was quite dressed up, new jeans and fancy vest. He supposed it was to impress that woman he had been running around with.

He pushed onwards. There would be time to question that later.

“John is driving me crazy. Take him fishing will you?” Hosea asked, more of an order than a question. Arthur balked, looking at the older man in disbelief.

“Seriously? I just got back. I ain’t takin’ that brat fishin’. He can entertain himself.” He argued. Hosea eyed him knowingly, a warning just below the surface as he spoke again.

“I need him out of here Arthur. He’s tearing the place apart. He’s bored out of his mind!”

“Then you take him fishin’.” Arthur laughed, turning to start unloading his horse and being stopped by a firm grip on his arm.

“Listen to me boy. You’ll do as I say and you’ll do it now. He don’t want to go fishing with an old biddy like me, he wants you.” Hosea said firmly, eyes piercing Arthurs as he spoke.

The blonde paused, considering the older man’s words thoughtfully.

“Me?” He asked sceptically.

“Yes you.” Hosea repeated, irritation leaking in to his usually calm tone. “He misses you Arthur. You’ve been gone for weeks and he’s had no one to talk to except myself and Susan. I can’t take it anymore.” He complained, hoping to high hell John wasn’t within earshot. He loved the boy dearly, but he had been pushed to his limits of late. The last thing he needed was John running off because he thought he wasn’t wanted. But that was exactly why Hosea needed a break from him. He was seconds from loosing his temper with the boy and knowing John, it wouldn’t go down well. It had taken a long time for the Gang to gain his trust. It had taken ever longer for them to help him feel wanted and safe. Hosea losing his cool could potentially undo all that work.

“You can’t take it anymore?” Arthur repeated dubiously, his eyes subconsciously scanning the scenery behind Hosea for John’s small frame.

Hosea exhaled in exasperation, pulling Arthur closer to him and leaning their heads together as he whispered.

“Look you know I love that boy Arthur but he’s been pestering me for weeks to let him ride out on his own and we both know he’s not ready.” Arthur nodded in agreement, staying silent and waiting for Hosea to continue. “I’m not asking you to take him out for a week but for the love of all things holy just take him fishing for one afternoon. Distract him for me so I can get some peace. Then you can do as you please.” He finished, standing straight and nodding as Arthur rolled his eyes, nodding back in reluctant agreement. “Good man.” The elder said softly, petting him on the back before turning to head for his tent. Perhaps he was getting old. He needed a lie down.

Arthur watched him go, sighing inwardly as he resigned himself to an afternoon of babysitting.

After Arthur finished unloading his horse he returned to his tent and changed in to an outfit more appropriate for a fishing trip. He emptied his pack and made his way over to the working women. Charming them in to doing his washing for him. It was already their job, but he usually didn’t make them do it. He felt it wasn’t fair to make them touch his long johns and if he was honest he really didn’t want them touching them anyway. But he needed them clean again by the next day and he had been strong armed in to leaving camp for the afternoon.

Susan gave him a sly smile as he thanked her for her service, retreating to look for John and inform him of their plans.

It took him longer than he anticipated to find the boy. He was sitting cross legged on the very outskirts of camp. He held a knife in one hand and a misshapen chunk of wood in the other. He was absentmindedly whittling it, not really paying attention to his strokes, Arthur could tell.

“You oughta’ pay attention to what yer’ doin’ with that knife kid.” He said as he approached, startling John out of his thoughts.

“Arthur.” John replied in shock. He hadn’t been expecting the older man home any time soon and had missed him ride in. He looked down at the wood in his hand, it didn’t really resemble anything although he had been trying for a duck.

“What you doin’ out here?” Arthur asked, gesturing around him as John gazed up at him in awe.

“Oh…” John paused, looking back down at his knife and setting it down along with his carving as he spoke. “I kinda got the feelin’ Hosea is annoyed at me.” He said softly, keeping his head down. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone so I came out here when I finished my chores.” He explained.

So the boy did have some sense of self-deprecation. Arthur pondered as he put his hands on his hips.

“Nah that old man’s just tired, don’t pay him no mind.” He retorted, trying to make the kid feel better as it was clear he was feeling rejected.

“I guess.” John replied, not looking up. “So what do you want?” He asked, sensing the coming question. Arthur didn’t have the patience to act coy, he got straight to the point.

“I’m goin’ fishin’.” He stated bluntly. “You wanna come?” He asked, wording it in a way that made it seem like the trip wasn’t entirely for John’s benefit.

“Why?” John asked, playing with his hands as the older man scoffed.

“Because I…” Arthur trailed off, not sure why he was pushing it if John didn’t want to go. He could get away with not doing it if it was the kid’s idea. “Look forget it if you ain’t interested.” He said with a shrug.

John’s head shot up fast, catching Arthur off guard as he started pulling himself to his feet.

“No! I am interested!” He said a little too quickly, stumbling in his haste. Arthur caught him, a frown furrowing his brow as his hand wrapped almost completely around his brother’s small arm.

“You been eatin’ boy?” He asked softly as John straightened his shirt.

“Yeah!” John answered defensively. Arthur was always on his case about how small he was. But he ate almost triple the amount he looked like he should be able to fit. He was naturally thin and very self-conscious about it. Especially when he compared himself to someone like Arthur.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your bloomers in a twist.” Arthur teased, secretly taking pleasure in the boy’s irritation. He grinned, ruffling the kid’s hair to mask his concern. John had agreed a little too readily when Arthur had threatened to cancel the activity. He wasn’t usually too keen on showing his excitement to spend time with the older man, even if it was obvious to everyone else.

He hated to admit he was worried now. John wasn’t the type to outwardly show how he felt even if it was eating him alive. But twice in the span of a few minutes Arthur had found himself able to read the kid like an open book.

“Well go get yer things, come on.” He said hastily, pushing John in the direction of his tent and heading back to his horse to wait.

John didn’t take long to get ready. He was back by Arthur’s side in a little under 5 minutes and they were saddled up and out of the camp by 10.

They rode for a long while. Arthur’s regretting his agreement with Hosea as it turned out his ears were not ready for the assault of a child that had had no one exciting to talk to for an extended period of time. He would have been grateful for the conversation, were it able to be called conversation. A conversation has a certain back and forth. This was just John talking with Arthur unable to get a word in.

As Arthur directed them down a dusty path that lead to a large lake, he saw fit to interrupt the boy. Explaining they were almost there and he could finish his story once they’d set up. John looked a tad disappointed at the idea but stopped talking all the same and finally Arthur found himself some quiet. He was starting to understand what Hosea was talking about and he had only been in charge of the kid for an hour or so.

They set up near the water, using their combined strength to pull a fallen log close to the shoreline so they had a seat to rest on while they baited their hooks. John already knew how to fish, Hosea had taught him a while back. But he listened intently to Arthur’s explanations on why they were using a certain type of bait and what exactly they should expect to catch due to the time of afternoon, weather that day and type of waterway.

Once their hooks were in the water Arthur reluctantly encouraged John to continue his story from earlier. The sparkle in his brother’s eyes was worth the 40 minute tale filled with multiple unintelligible tangents.

Arthur found himself smiling, looking fondly on the kid as he talked with his hands, his fishing rod abandoned in his excitement as he rushed to tell his story, tripping over his words and forgetting minor details he then had to go back and fill in.

There was a short silence as John finished speaking, Arthur caught in his affectionate thoughts and John waiting on him for a response.

The younger boy frowned, looking down towards his feet and returning his hands to his fishing rod as Arthur snapped out of his stupor.

“Sorry.” John said softly, hands tightening on the rod. “I didn’t mean to be annoyin’.”

Arthur raised a brow, opening his mouth to speak but unsure what exactly to say. He hadn’t been listening to the story at all. But it wasn’t for lack of caring what John had to say.

The silence dragged on as Arthur struggled to find the words he needed to say to reassure the boy. John stared out at the water with sad eyes, cheeks tinged pink as he became overly aware of himself.

“Nah, I’m sorry.” Arthur said softly, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing consolingly. “I was lost in my thoughts but that don’t mean I don’t care.” He assured. “I was actually thinkin’ how nice it was to be out here with ya.” He explained, making John look over at him in surprise.

“Really?” He asked sceptically.

“Yeah course.” After replied with a chuckle. “Been a long time since we did anythin’ just the two of us.” He smiled, giving John’s shoulder a slap and returning his hand to his fishing pole.

“Yeah.” John said simply, looking back at the water. “Been a long time since you been back at camp.” He said under his breath, making Arthur turn to look at him with a frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, annoyance in his tone.

“Nothin’.” John shrugged, his own scowl directed at the water.

“You got somethin’ to say Marston?” Arthur asked, confused by the boy’s sudden change in attitude.

“It’s just that…” John began, stopping himself short as he thought better of it.

“What?” Arthur urged.

“Nothin’.” John repeated, mouth a thin line as he tried to keep his thoughts to himself.

“John?” Arthur asked again, encouraging him to get it out in the open. John huffed, setting his pole down beside him and crossing his arms.

“It’s just ever since you met that Mary girl you barely been around.” He said indignantly, clearly trying to pretend he didn’t care when it was extremely obvious that he cared a lot.

“You jealous of me bein’ with Mary?” Arthur laughed heartily. “Wait…” He paused. “You jealous of me or… jealous of Mary?” He asked warily. “Because if you got somethin’ you wanna talk about I…”

“No!” John cut him off angrily. “It ain’t like that!” He shouted. “And anyway like I’d be jealous of Mary. She can kiss your nasty ass all she wants but I ain’t want any part of that.” He said defensively. Making Arthur laugh at his phrasing. Shaking his head at the kid.

“Well then what’s the issue?” He asked, an air of mirth to his tone.

“No issue. Forget it.” John said simply, trying his hardest to bow out of the conversation. “Just fish.” He said softly after a couple of moments of silence.

Arthur nodded in agreement, staying quiet as the other picked up his fishing rod and reeled it in to check the bait.

They fished in relative silence for another couple of hours, each just enjoying the other’s company until it was time to pack up. John secretly didn’t want to go back but after the turn their conversation took earlier, he felt it was best to not protest lest Arthur think he was having unnatural thoughts about him.

He took his time packing up his things, catching the attention of the older man who had praised how quickly had had gotten the exact same belongings together before they left. Arthur furrowed his brow, deciding to let it go as ultimately, asking John if he was okay wouldn’t achieve much other than making the kid feel awkward if he wasn’t. Arthur wasn’t equipped to handle his teenage angst even if he had been in John’s shoes a few years earlier.

They rode back to camp faster than they had when they had left. The setting sun threatening to shroud them in darkness and the thought of making camp had Arthur on edge as he had planned to ride out again in the morning. He would rather sleep in his own bed than having to get up super early to finish the journey before he could leave again.

John wasn’t nearly as talkative on the journey home. Arthur figured he had finally talked himself out of stories. Hosea would be thrilled.

As they approached the hidden pathway that lead to their secluded tents John finally decided to speak. Arthur was taken aback by the question he hadn’t been expecting.

“Do you think… maybe I could sleep in your tent tonight?” He asked, not looking up to meet the other’s eyes. “I mean… Nothin’ weird or whatever… Just stops Mrs Grimshaw wakin’ me early for chores.” He explained weakly. “She don’t like wakin’ you.” He said half-heartedly.

Arthur considered the request as the campsite came in to view. The gentle pat of their horse’s hooves filling the dead silence as John waited for his answer.

“Yeah. Course.” Arthur answered after what seemed like an eternity. “But yer bringin’ yer own bedroll.” He said quickly, making John sneer at him.

“Like I’d wanna share a bed with you.” He snapped, making the other man laugh.

“No.. no.. course not.” Arthur teased as the kid turned crimson. “Get yer things and take them to my tent when we get back so I don’t have to herd ya around when I want to get to sleep.” He said softly, much kinder than his previous remarks. John nodded, knowing without checking that Arthur was watching him.

John hitched Old Boy close to his own tent and jumped off him hurriedly as he went to collect his things. Arthur watched him go with a sad smile. It had been a long while since John had asked to share his tent. At least a year from his memory. It was a common occurrence after the boy joined the gang. Nightmares of the life he lived before them plagued John and he would often ask to share Arthur’s tent as a result. He had never refused him, even when he really, really wanted to. He saw himself in the kid. Slyly asking Hosea if it was okay to share his tent almost a decade earlier.

He understood and he never wanted John to have to feel the way Arthur himself knew he felt back when he first joined. So he agreed, although somewhat reluctantly, every time he was asked.

“How was it?” Hosea asked, ripping Arthur from his thoughts as he came up beside Bo and gave the horse a good solid pet on his rump.

“Good.” Arthur answered, sliding down from the saddle and landing with a small thud in front of his mentor. “He let off a lot of steam I think so should be more manageable for ya when I’m gone.” He shrugged.

“And when will that be exactly?” Hosea asked concerned, hands finding their way to his hips.

“Tomorra’.” Arthur answered nonchalantly. “I got business up near Huckleberry.” He explained, making to exit the conversation and being stopped by a hand on his arm.

“You mean to tell me you’re only back for one night?” Hosea asked incredulously. Arthur nodded, not understanding the issue. “Well I can’t run this place by myself Arthur!” Hosea shouted. “I’m old. I need the help of the younger generation and God knows Dutch and the others won’t be back any time soon no matter how much I choose to hope otherwise.” He carped.

“You are gettin’ old if yer openly admittin’ it.” Arthur sniggered, meeting the other man’s glare. “Okay, okay.” He cooed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t be gone long. I promise.” He chuckled.

“You better not be.” Hosea clapped back. “You may have taken that boy out to let off some steam but he’ll be full of energy again tomorrow and I just can not deal with it right now Arthur. I swear if he pesters me one more time about going out on his own I might just have to agree.” He warned. Arthur tilted his head, a sarcastic smile on his lips.

“You wouldn’t do that.” He dared.

“Oh I would you watch me.” Hosea ventured, humour in his tone. “Anyway… You calm him down in a way I’ve not seen. It’s been hard without you here.”

Arthur scoffed in reply, rolling his eyes at the thought.

“He’s a sensitive boy Arthur.” Hosea continued. “He looks up to you and you’re taking that for granted.” Arthur laughed at that. A little too heartily for Hosea’s liking. “He misses you Arthur I’m telling you.” Hosea countered, annoyance on his tongue.

“He’s just a teenager Hosea he ain’t pinin’ after me he’s just bein’ a shithead for the sake of it.”

“Don’t you talk to me about shitty teenager’s Arthur, I’ve dealt with my fair share of them, yourself included.” Arthur rolled his eyes, turning to leave for the second time. “This is different. The boy is acting out because things have changed.”

“Sure he is…” Arthur grumbled, not really in the mood to get in to an argument. Hosea worried too much about a lot of things.

“Just…” Hosea paused, running a hand over his face. He was tired in every sense of the word. “Just come back soon.” He said finally, giving up on getting through to him.

Arthur nodded, still not believing a word the older man said but not wanting to push the issue. Hosea could believe what he liked. He knew John and the younger boy was just naturally bad-tempered and going through puberty.

“I’ll try.” Arthur said sardonically, leaving his Father figure where he stood and retreating to his tent.

It was early when Arthur awoke the next day. He could tell the sun had only just risen by the positions of the shadows on the outside of his tent. He was glad he hadn’t overslept, he had promised Mary he would be back at the ranch by lunch.

Standing slowly and taking heed of his tired muscles he stretched languidly. Looking over to John who had spent a good portion of the night talking his ear off before finally falling asleep and allowing Arthur to do the same.

Arthur decided not to wake him. He had griped about being woken early by Grimshaw for chores so he was sure the kid would appreciate the sleep in. She wouldn’t come looking for him in Arthur’s tent.

He left the tent quietly, taking his pack with him and making his way to where the clean washing had been hung to dry. He pulled down his belongings, stuffing them in to his bag without folding them. He kept the outfit he planned to wear separate. Moving to hide behind a caravan he dressed himself in his best black ranch pants, white dress shirt and good quality red vest. Once dressed he slung his gambler’s jacket over his shoulder and headed for his horse.

Frankie had been treated to a brush overnight, her saddle sitting on the hitching post she was tied to. Arthur sighed inwardly. He appreciated the effort from his fellow gang member. But he took great care in making sure she was well taken care of on his own accord. He hadn’t planned for the added time needed to resaddle her as he had only brushed her before he left Mary’s the day before.

Placing his pack on the ground he began getting her things together and saddling up. He didn’t look up from his work as he heard footsteps behind him, figuring it was Hosea coming over to say goodbye.

“Arthur…” John’s voice caught him by surprise. He turned to look at the young boy wearing only his union suit. Long hair a tangled mess.

“John.” He greeted, returning to his work. “I was lettin’ ya have that sleep in ya wanted.” He explained, watching out of the corner of his eye as the boy walked to stand next to him, stroking Frankie’s nose gently.

“Are you goin’ out?” John asked, voice quiet as he ran his hands through the horse’s silver mane.

“No I’m just saddling up for fun.” Arthur answered sarcastically, earning himself a glare.

“I… I thought maybe you’d be stayin’ round for a while…” John said softly, looking away, unable to meet the older man’s eyes.

“Nah, Mary has some wealthy folk comin’ to look at her Father’s property this afternoon and she asked me to be there in case things go sour.” Arthur replied casually, completely missing John’s disappointment as he continued to load up his horse.

John hummed in response, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he struggled with what he wanted to say verses what was socially acceptable.

“It’s just that I…” He paused, looking Arthur over as he continued to work. He looked down, unable to finish his sentence. “Nevermind…” He finished, turning to leave and finally without trying, catching the older man’s attention.

Arthur paused his work, turning to the younger and studying him a moment before reaching out to tap lightly on his retreating shoulder.

“What?” He asked, hands on hips as John turned to face him once more.

“I guess I… I don’t know, I kinda miss you.” John said quickly, face flushing at the words. Arthur raised a brow, clear surprise on his rugged face as he considered the young man before him.

John stared down at his hands, wringing them together if only for something to do as he tried to will the awkwardness away.

Arthur huffed and John stole a glance, feeling anger rise in him as he realised Arthur was laughing. A shit-eating grin plastered on his handsome face.

“Miss me huh?” He laughed, everything about the way he spoke screaming self-esteem boost. John’s face fell, shoulders slumping as he realised his gut was right and this was a mistake.

“Forget it.” He said defensively, making to turn but being held in place by one of Arthur’s strong hands.

“John…” He said softly, voice kind and tone apologetic. “I’m only teasin’ ya.” He explained. “I appreciate it. I do.” He said honestly as the younger boy eyed him suspiciously. So the old man had been right after all. John missed him and him specifically. Arthur found himself feeling bad. He really must be bored out of his mind without him if he was willing to risk endless mocking to let Arthur know how he felt.

“Yeah… Well… Don’t mean nothin’ anyway.” John said sullenly, shrugging Arthur’s hand off his shoulder. “You still ain’t stayin’.”

“No… I’m not.” Arthur said, catching the hurt in the teen’s eye at the harsh way he worded his reply. “But… maybe I can come back in a day or two and stay around a while.” He said softly, watching as John’s face lit up and then went dark all within a matter of seconds.

“You ain’t bringin’ what’s her name with you right?” He asked, resentfully.

“Mary.” Arthur corrected him. “And no. I’ll come back alone.” He assured, giving John’s shoulder a squeeze and mounting up on his horse. John passed him the last bag from his pile and Arthur sat it in front of him. He tipped his hat at the younger man, flicking the reins and encouraging Frankie in to a trot.

“See ya John.” He said kindly, turning his horse and heading for the exit path to camp. John watched him go, feeling weird about what he had just done. He felt he was getting too old to need his big brother around. But he was eternally grateful that he was still willing to be there for him.

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I hope you like it anon! Sorry it took so long!

#arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fan fic #rdr2 fanfic #angst #brotherly love #brotherly affection

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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White Lily Flour Has Long Held a Near-Mythological Status in the South. Now It’s Everywhere.

Dannie Sue Balakas/Instagram

While other flour companies have faced pandemic-related shortages, the Southern staple has been quietly filling the void at grocery stores around the country

As many home-bound Americans began baking to feed and distract themselves from the coronavirus pandemic, Schanon Odell of Crown Pacific Fine Foods was making frantic phone calls to every flour mill in the country. Odell’s job at the Seattle-area specialty food distributor includes helping her grocery store clients keep flour in stock, and so she resolved to find anyone that might have it. One day in late March, she spent 10 straight hours calling and calling, only to get the same answer from everyone who picked up: all sold out.

But there was one exception: As she searched the internet for flour mills, “White Lily kept coming up,” Odell says. She was only vaguely aware of the special place that the flour occupies in the canon of Southern baking, but as she worked her way through the company’s phone tree, she focused less on what White Lily was and more on securing 4,000 cases of flour — about 160,000 pounds — to distribute to stores around the Pacific Northwest, like Zupan’s in Portland, Oregon, Kroger’s QFC stores, and independent shops like Red Apple Market on Seattle’s Beacon Hill.

The shipment of White Lily arrived at Red Apple Market just in time for Jill Lightner’s husband to replenish the flour stash that Lightner, a food writer, was quickly stress-baking her way through. “I had just been putting ‘buy more flour’ on the shopping list every time he went,” she says. When her husband returned with a bag of White Lily, announcing, “This is all they had,” Lightner, who had gone to high school in rural Virginia, knew what she had lucked into. “Why didn’t you buy 50 bags?” she asked.

The same scene played out from Iowa to San Jose, as White Lily flour appeared mysteriously on shelves far from its usual Southern distribution area. Bakers familiar with the product went to stores braced to find bottom-of-the-barrel flour, only to come upon the brand they had often wished they could get locally. From outposts in the North, Midwest, and West, they posted gleefully on social media. “When you find the flour, you make the biscuits,” said a baker in Wisconsin. In Brooklyn, a shopper wondered, “What is this magic happening with the flour supply chain?”

White Lily declined to comment on the expanded distribution to Eater, but David Ortega, an associate professor in the department of agriculture, food and resource economics at Michigan State University, points out that some of the recent flour distribution quirks can be tied to the significant loss of major wholesale customers like food service and bakeries, combined with high demand at the retail level. “One of the major obstacles to this switch was packaging,” he says over email — which means that any flour company that had recently stocked up on retail-size bags found itself best prepared to meet demand.

“Flour processing is much more mechanized (relative to say meat processing plants), so it hasn’t been affected by processing disruption to the extent that other sectors have,” Ortega adds. “My guess is that While Lily and other companies expanded their markets out of necessity (loss in food industry customers) and, to an extent, opportunity (surge in demand in supermarkets).”

Whatever the reason, it made many home bakers happy. Known for its soft, light texture, White Lily flour has long held a near-mythological status in the South as the secret to the perfect biscuit, much in the same way that New Yorkers believe that the city’s water is the secret to the perfect bagel. In The Gift of Southern Cooking, the renowned champion of the region’s foodways, Edna Lewis, named it as an essential ingredient to great biscuits. On her blog, Southern Souffle, the recipe developer, food writer, and biscuit-pop-up chef Erika Council echoed Lewis’s sentiment, writing that White Lily killed the “hard as a rock” and “difficult to make” biscuit myths.

And yet, despite the ostensible transportability of a bag of flour, finding White Lily outside of the Southeastern United States is normally only nominally easier than getting New York City tap water in Arizona. The only other time Lightner remembers seeing it for sale in Seattle was years ago, when she found a “daintily sized” bag at a Williams-Sonoma holiday pop-up for a premium price. She bought it anyway. When Atlantic writer Amanda Mull, who was born in Georgia, wrote about the brand in 2018, she reported that she couldn’t find any retailers who carried it north of Richmond, Virginia, or west of Oklahoma (though Surfas in Los Angeles does occasionally). You can find it on Amazon, though it’s sold there at about 500 percent of grocery store cost.

The legend of White Lily began in 1883, when it was founded in Knoxville, Tennessee. Its flour’s ethereal nature is partially attributable to the fact that it is milled from soft red winter wheat, which results in a flour with only 9 percent protein — significantly lower than King Arthur’s 11.7 percent or Gold Medal’s 10.5 percent. A flour’s protein content is important because it corresponds directly with how much gluten forms when the flour comes into contact with a liquid. For a strong loaf with structure and chewiness, bakers look for a high-protein flour, like bread flour, which has up to 13 percent protein. But for biscuits, lower protein content, and thus lower gluten, keeps them from becoming too dense.

But plenty of flours have lower protein levels: Pastry flour contains around 9 percent, and cake flour between 7 and 9 percent. White Lily’s true secret, according to a 2008 New York Times story, lies in its milling and bleaching processes. Its all-purpose flour is milled only from the heart of the wheat’s endosperm, the purest part, and is more finely milled and sifted than other flours — its packaging even boasts that it’s “Pre-Sifted.” Unlike many all-purpose flours, it is also bleached with chlorine, which weakens the flour’s proteins. The result is so light that the White Lily website warns that when measuring by volume, rather than weight, two extra tablespoons per cup of flour are required in standard recipes.

“I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits.”

When the J.M. Smucker Co. bought White Lily in 2007, it closed the company’s Knoxville mill and moved production to the Midwest, much to the dismay of many of the flour’s fans. White Lily had previously gone through more than a half-dozen corporate owners, including national names like Tyson Foods and Archer Daniels Midland. In 2018, Smucker sold it yet again, this time to Hometown Food Company, the parent company of Pillsbury. But despite how often it has changed hands, White Lily has managed to remain quintessentially Southern enough that Lightner compares it to a souvenir: “If I am near a Winn-Dixie or a Piggly Wiggly, I’m going to buy it and bring it back,” she says, “along with a suitcase full of grits.”

For her part, Odell, the specialty food distributor, is surprised to see how well the flour has resonated with retailers outside of the South. “Every day, people are ordering,” she says. “I think people are recognizing it and want to purchase it.”

Dannie Sue Balakas is one them. Born in Tennessee and currently living in West Michigan, she was thrilled when White Lily showed up at her local Meijer, and started buying a bag every time she shopped there. Because shoppers are still limited to one bag per person, she rations it accordingly. “I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits,” she says, describing those biscuits as “super fluffy and the best I’ve ever had.”

Fear of running out is a legitimate concern: Shelves in the South were also emptied of flour, and while Odell says her supply has been mostly consistent, it hasn’t been seamless. For Dean Hasegawa, the general manager of the Red Apple where Lightner bought her White Lily, the store’s White Lily purchase was a one-time deal so that Hasegawa could cover the flour shortage — and even with it, he still had to re-bag and price out 50-pound food-service bags of other flours into retail sizes. “It’s not something I will normally stock,” he says, and while he heard some excitement over it, he believes that most of his customers were simply happy to see flour.

Still, the customer enthusiasm inspires Odell. Her local QFC stores talked about wanting to keep White Lily on their shelves even as flour stocks normalize, but the Cincinnati-based buyer from Kroger, which owns QFC, insisted that people in the Northwest wouldn’t buy Southern flour. “I’d like to keep it if I can,” says Odell, but first she needs to prove that people care about White Lily and not just flour in general. “Maybe when the dust settles, I’ll be able to tell if it’s a viable product,” she says.

But for true biscuit fanatics, White Lily’s all-purpose flour isn’t even the true prize: In West Michigan, Balakas has “been praying” that stores will start stocking its coveted self-rising flour. But even if they don’t, you can mail order it from Walmart (with free shipping, if you order enough else) or, per White Lily’s website, simply add 1½ teaspoons of baking powder and ½ teaspoon of salt to each cup of the all-purpose flour. While they may be effective, though, neither of those methods have the same magic as wandering the baking aisle expecting nothing and coming upon a treasure — and, in, the process recapturing a tiny fragment of the joy that grocery shopping once held.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2Cg2NBT https://ift.tt/2YPfpI0

Dannie Sue Balakas/Instagram

While other flour companies have faced pandemic-related shortages, the Southern staple has been quietly filling the void at grocery stores around the country

“I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits.”

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2Cg2NBT via Blogger https://ift.tt/2N7e2ii

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

THE TROUBLE WITH THE STARTUP HUB

What ideas were tarnished by association when they ended up on the losing side of a recent struggle? And he could help them because he was black and for that reason I suspect that most of the giant companies were still focused on finding new ways to milk economies of scale. Another view is that a hacker's idea of a foul-mouthed, cynical 10 year old leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette hanging out of the gate that you want to wait till you graduate?1 You can just use them in whatever way is appropriate to the task at hand, instead of a lifetime's service to a single employer, there's less risk in starting your own company, because you're only replacing one segment instead of discarding the whole thing.2 Common Lisp occupy opposite poles on this question. But that same illiquidity also encouraged you not to seek it. Some smart, nice guys turn out to be 13: Pick good cofounders.3 That's partly because Y Combinator itself had near zero effect. I thought I was ready to question everything I knew. But you see the same problem there. Because Woz designed this computer for himself, and he was pretty much a throwaway program is brevity. Joe's has good burritos.

What advantages does someone in their mid-twenties. As far as I can tell these are universal. It is merely incidental, too, that spam is usually commercial. Bayesian approach considers all the evidence in the email is neutral, the spam of the future will find ridiculous. There probably aren't more than a tenth of your time trying to push your price down. Silicon Valley itself, but it doesn't seem there's anything to see. And there is a sharp difference between VCs and other investors: VC firms are a bargain for founders. The bar will be higher. Shows will change even more. And if you want to go straight there, blustering through obstacles, and hand-waving your way across swampy ground.

Part of the problem.4 How much does an angel invest?5 I was a philosophy major. That is a fundamental change. And we had no idea how silly we looked. An early stage startup. Even Google probably doesn't think that. A few ideas from it turned out to be the right advice for everyone. More information, in fact. And understanding your users. In every swing state they overestimated the Kerry vote.

Google are smart, but incurable builders. As a young founder by present standards, so you can get it done quickly and get back to what will make your company successful.6 That seems so obvious it seems wrong to call it the study of modern literature. How did things get this way? I was convinced the world was corrupt from end to end.7 Since high school, at least for me, and moreover discovered of a lot of money to us. So if you raise money, you were supposed to use their software, and their influence is such that the rest of the way? If you're raising money from friends and family. If anything it may have helped foster a Perl cult. One of the most important advantage 24 year old founders is that they can't force anyone to do deals with them. It's obvious why: the lower-tier firms' biggest fear, when chance throws them a bone, is that a real essay, you don't have this protection, as we found to our dismay in our own time, different societies have wildly varying ideas of what's ok and what isn't.

Well, that is a knowledge of what various individual philosophers have said about different topics over the years. But in addition to the usual clauses about owning your ideas, you also don't want your valuation to be set artificially low because the first investor who commits. Falling victim to this trick could really hurt you. Arthur Miller undermined the House Un-American Activities Committee by writing a play, The Crucible, about the Salem witch trials. Reality can be messier. Starting one's own business meant starting a business that would start small and stay small. And since reading ancient texts was the essence of what scholars did then, in real dollar terms, they'd seem like small fry compared to professional athletes and whiz kids making millions from startups and hedge funds. And of course if it were merely a matter of choosing between the unpalatable and the disastrous.

How many little startups are Google and Yahoo—though it seems even that should be unlimited, if the startups were able to raise significant funding after Demo Day. 09883721 hi 0. As long as that idea is still floating around, I think a greater danger is that they have less reputation to protect. You only get 52 weekends with your 2 year old. I only thought of when I sat down to write them to read like articles. Every startup's rule should be: spend little, and they turned out ok.8 Curiously, a filter based on word pairs would be in effect a narrower but open source Don't be evil has been good at letting hackers have their way with it. If you can do while you're still employed. Like all rivers, it's rigorously following the laws of physics.

In our own time, though, is thinking cheaply.9 Because seed firms are companies also means the investment process is more standardized. That will change the balance of power between the networks and the people who voted for Kerry felt virtuous for doing so, and were always disappointed. The phrase seed investment covers a broad range. In Common Lisp I have often wished I'd had the temperament to do an angel round before going to VCs. Reality can be messier. A throwaway program is: something you write quickly for some limited task: a program to be ported, except for political reasons. When I ask myself: how much you're planning to raise a $5 million series A round, unless you're in a position to say this is true for other languages too. An advantage of consulting, as a way to answer the question: if the spammers knew exactly what you were doing, how well could they get past you?

If they could even get here they'd presumably know a few things we don't. What little original thought there was took place in lulls between constant wars and had something of the character of the thoughts of parents with a new from-address, so you can get it back minus the bad parts, somehow with a few countertweaks. You just have to treat such leaks as a cost of doing business. But don't give them more than four or five numbers, and only evolved into a programming language unless it's also the scripting language of MIT. The user doesn't know what it means. Second order issues like competitors or resumes should be single slides you go through quickly at the end of California Ave in Palo Alto, the original ground zero, is about thirty miles away, and the investors are the ones most likely to get buyer's remorse.10 Users love a site that's constantly improving. For example, at the same time. Can it get you the designers, though? But the less you need a few topics that you think about? I think both Republicans and Democrats would agree, is more available than one that you have lousy judgement. But I also think that the more different kinds of advice.

Notes

Actually, someone else. It may be exaggerated by the fact that, go ahead.

If you're expected to, in writing, any claim to the minimum you need to fix. In Boston the best ideas, they wouldn't have.

I think investors currently err too far on the Internet was as late as 1984. The need has to work than stay home with them in advance that you never have worked; many statements may have been truer to the principle that if he hadn't we probably would not change the world population, and astronomy. There was no great risk in doing a business is to say, of course. Unfortunately the payload can consist of dealing with YC companies that grow slowly tend not to do it right.

03%. They may play some behind the scenes role in IPOs, which you are not in the sophomore year. It's suspiciously neat, but this would do for a market for its shares will inevitably arise. Maybe markets will eventually get comfortable with potential acquirers.

Some types of publishers would be to advertise, and the opinion of the market price. When an investor derives mostly from the example of a Linux box, a well-preserved 1989 Lincoln Town Car ten-passenger limousine 5, they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II had disappeared.

But they've been trained. But when you ad lib you end up with much greater inconveniences than that total abstinence is the unpromising-seeming startups are competitive like running, not because it's a book or movie or desktop application in this essay will say this amounts to the World Bank, Doing Business in 2006, http://doingbusiness. But a company just to go behind the rapacious one. And starting an organic farm, though sloppier language than I'd use to calibrate the weighting of the more accurate predictor of success for a group of Europeans who said he'd met with a woman who had worked for a couple predecessors.

Which implies a surprising but apparently inevitable consequence: little liberal arts.

Most of the infrastructure that this isn't strictly true, because any story that makes the business spectrum than the long tail for other people. In practice formal logic is not to say that any company could build products as good as Apple's just by hiring sufficiently qualified designers. But that is not just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's IBM.

Spices are also the golden age of economic inequality in the definition of property is driven by people who are younger or more ambitious the utility function for money. It's hard to tell VCs early on?

Most unusual ambitions fail, unless you're sure your money will be lots of customers times how much they lied to them more professional. And the reason this trick merely forces you to test whether that initial impression holds up. He couldn't even afford a monitor.

Thanks to Michael Arrington, Patrick Collison, Sarah Harlin, and the rest of the Python crew at PyCon for the lulz.

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

Text

White Lily Flour Has Long Held a Near-Mythological Status in the South. Now It’s Everywhere. added to Google Docs

White Lily Flour Has Long Held a Near-Mythological Status in the South. Now It’s Everywhere.

Dannie Sue Balakas/Instagram

While other flour companies have faced pandemic-related shortages, the Southern staple has been quietly filling the void at grocery stores around the country

“I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits.”

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/6/18/21293396/white-lily-flour-history-baking-during-covid-19-pandemic

Created June 19, 2020 at 04:26AM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Quote

Dannie Sue Balakas/Instagram While other flour companies have faced pandemic-related shortages, the Southern staple has been quietly filling the void at grocery stores around the country As many home-bound Americans began baking to feed and distract themselves from the coronavirus pandemic, Schanon Odell of Crown Pacific Fine Foods was making frantic phone calls to every flour mill in the country. Odell’s job at the Seattle-area specialty food distributor includes helping her grocery store clients keep flour in stock, and so she resolved to find anyone that might have it. One day in late March, she spent 10 straight hours calling and calling, only to get the same answer from everyone who picked up: all sold out. But there was one exception: As she searched the internet for flour mills, “White Lily kept coming up,” Odell says. She was only vaguely aware of the special place that the flour occupies in the canon of Southern baking, but as she worked her way through the company’s phone tree, she focused less on what White Lily was and more on securing 4,000 cases of flour — about 160,000 pounds — to distribute to stores around the Pacific Northwest, like Zupan’s in Portland, Oregon, Kroger’s QFC stores, and independent shops like Red Apple Market on Seattle’s Beacon Hill. The shipment of White Lily arrived at Red Apple Market just in time for Jill Lightner’s husband to replenish the flour stash that Lightner, a food writer, was quickly stress-baking her way through. “I had just been putting ‘buy more flour’ on the shopping list every time he went,” she says. When her husband returned with a bag of White Lily, announcing, “This is all they had,” Lightner, who had gone to high school in rural Virginia, knew what she had lucked into. “Why didn’t you buy 50 bags?” she asked. The same scene played out from Iowa to San Jose, as White Lily flour appeared mysteriously on shelves far from its usual Southern distribution area. Bakers familiar with the product went to stores braced to find bottom-of-the-barrel flour, only to come upon the brand they had often wished they could get locally. From outposts in the North, Midwest, and West, they posted gleefully on social media. “When you find the flour, you make the biscuits,” said a baker in Wisconsin. In Brooklyn, a shopper wondered, “What is this magic happening with the flour supply chain?” White Lily declined to comment on the expanded distribution to Eater, but David Ortega, an associate professor in the department of agriculture, food and resource economics at Michigan State University, points out that some of the recent flour distribution quirks can be tied to the significant loss of major wholesale customers like food service and bakeries, combined with high demand at the retail level. “One of the major obstacles to this switch was packaging,” he says over email — which means that any flour company that had recently stocked up on retail-size bags found itself best prepared to meet demand. “Flour processing is much more mechanized (relative to say meat processing plants), so it hasn’t been affected by processing disruption to the extent that other sectors have,” Ortega adds. “My guess is that While Lily and other companies expanded their markets out of necessity (loss in food industry customers) and, to an extent, opportunity (surge in demand in supermarkets).” Whatever the reason, it made many home bakers happy. Known for its soft, light texture, White Lily flour has long held a near-mythological status in the South as the secret to the perfect biscuit, much in the same way that New Yorkers believe that the city’s water is the secret to the perfect bagel. In The Gift of Southern Cooking, the renowned champion of the region’s foodways, Edna Lewis, named it as an essential ingredient to great biscuits. On her blog, Southern Souffle, the recipe developer, food writer, and biscuit-pop-up chef Erika Council echoed Lewis’s sentiment, writing that White Lily killed the “hard as a rock” and “difficult to make” biscuit myths. And yet, despite the ostensible transportability of a bag of flour, finding White Lily outside of the Southeastern United States is normally only nominally easier than getting New York City tap water in Arizona. The only other time Lightner remembers seeing it for sale in Seattle was years ago, when she found a “daintily sized” bag at a Williams-Sonoma holiday pop-up for a premium price. She bought it anyway. When Atlantic writer Amanda Mull, who was born in Georgia, wrote about the brand in 2018, she reported that she couldn’t find any retailers who carried it north of Richmond, Virginia, or west of Oklahoma (though Surfas in Los Angeles does occasionally). You can find it on Amazon, though it’s sold there at about 500 percent of grocery store cost. The legend of White Lily began in 1883, when it was founded in Knoxville, Tennessee. Its flour’s ethereal nature is partially attributable to the fact that it is milled from soft red winter wheat, which results in a flour with only 9 percent protein — significantly lower than King Arthur’s 11.7 percent or Gold Medal’s 10.5 percent. A flour’s protein content is important because it corresponds directly with how much gluten forms when the flour comes into contact with a liquid. For a strong loaf with structure and chewiness, bakers look for a high-protein flour, like bread flour, which has up to 13 percent protein. But for biscuits, lower protein content, and thus lower gluten, keeps them from becoming too dense. But plenty of flours have lower protein levels: Pastry flour contains around 9 percent, and cake flour between 7 and 9 percent. White Lily’s true secret, according to a 2008 New York Times story, lies in its milling and bleaching processes. Its all-purpose flour is milled only from the heart of the wheat’s endosperm, the purest part, and is more finely milled and sifted than other flours — its packaging even boasts that it’s “Pre-Sifted.” Unlike many all-purpose flours, it is also bleached with chlorine, which weakens the flour’s proteins. The result is so light that the White Lily website warns that when measuring by volume, rather than weight, two extra tablespoons per cup of flour are required in standard recipes. “I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits.” When the J.M. Smucker Co. bought White Lily in 2007, it closed the company’s Knoxville mill and moved production to the Midwest, much to the dismay of many of the flour’s fans. White Lily had previously gone through more than a half-dozen corporate owners, including national names like Tyson Foods and Archer Daniels Midland. In 2018, Smucker sold it yet again, this time to Hometown Food Company, the parent company of Pillsbury. But despite how often it has changed hands, White Lily has managed to remain quintessentially Southern enough that Lightner compares it to a souvenir: “If I am near a Winn-Dixie or a Piggly Wiggly, I’m going to buy it and bring it back,” she says, “along with a suitcase full of grits.” For her part, Odell, the specialty food distributor, is surprised to see how well the flour has resonated with retailers outside of the South. “Every day, people are ordering,” she says. “I think people are recognizing it and want to purchase it.” Dannie Sue Balakas is one them. Born in Tennessee and currently living in West Michigan, she was thrilled when White Lily showed up at her local Meijer, and started buying a bag every time she shopped there. Because shoppers are still limited to one bag per person, she rations it accordingly. “I’ve been so worried I’m going to run out, I haven’t used it for anything but biscuits,” she says, describing those biscuits as “super fluffy and the best I’ve ever had.” Fear of running out is a legitimate concern: Shelves in the South were also emptied of flour, and while Odell says her supply has been mostly consistent, it hasn’t been seamless. For Dean Hasegawa, the general manager of the Red Apple where Lightner bought her White Lily, the store’s White Lily purchase was a one-time deal so that Hasegawa could cover the flour shortage — and even with it, he still had to re-bag and price out 50-pound food-service bags of other flours into retail sizes. “It’s not something I will normally stock,” he says, and while he heard some excitement over it, he believes that most of his customers were simply happy to see flour. Still, the customer enthusiasm inspires Odell. Her local QFC stores talked about wanting to keep White Lily on their shelves even as flour stocks normalize, but the Cincinnati-based buyer from Kroger, which owns QFC, insisted that people in the Northwest wouldn’t buy Southern flour. “I’d like to keep it if I can,” says Odell, but first she needs to prove that people care about White Lily and not just flour in general. “Maybe when the dust settles, I’ll be able to tell if it’s a viable product,” she says. But for true biscuit fanatics, White Lily’s all-purpose flour isn’t even the true prize: In West Michigan, Balakas has “been praying” that stores will start stocking its coveted self-rising flour. But even if they don’t, you can mail order it from Walmart (with free shipping, if you order enough else) or, per White Lily’s website, simply add 1½ teaspoons of baking powder and ½ teaspoon of salt to each cup of the all-purpose flour. While they may be effective, though, neither of those methods have the same magic as wandering the baking aisle expecting nothing and coming upon a treasure — and, in, the process recapturing a tiny fragment of the joy that grocery shopping once held. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2Cg2NBT

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/06/white-lily-flour-has-long-held-near.html

#EasyFoodNetwork #ComfortFoodRecipes #EasyRecipes #GoodFood #BestComfortFoodRecipes #TastyFoodv

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