#ITS A GIFT TO WORSHIP SALAMI

[shibaevt]

Oh how fun! Happy Birthday dear @slabime!

And on Valentines as well? It ain't much but have this chonky boyo scientist doing a Yippee

#ITS A GIFT TO WORSHIP SALAMI #dst #ds

[moonkissedmeli]

Artemis [Greek, Olympian]

A page from my grimoire.

Goddess of: the Wild Mountains, the Crescent Moon, Girls, Childbirth & Midwifery, Weaving, & the Hunt.

Zodiac sign: Taurus; her birthday is May 6th

Planet: The moon, specifically the crescent moon

Lineage: Daughter of Zeus & Leto & sister of Apollo.

Primary cult centres: Brauron, Delos, Ephesos, & Sparta

Artemis is one of the most ancient deities in the Greek Olympian pantheon. Her name is of an unknown etymology & her origin rests in earlier, pre-Greek mythology.

Artemis was the Goddess who looked after young girls. The Arkteia, young girls who imitate she-bears, are protected by Artemis and eventually offer their childhood to her when they move into motherhood.

Artemis is the lion among women. She can spare their lives in childbirth, or she could take it away. The clothes of women who died in childbirth were left as offerings, much like the hunter would leave a pelt for the Goddess when he had a successful hunt. Likewise, when women had successful childbirth without much pain, they would consider this the work of Artemis & leave blankets for the Goddess. She assisted her mother, Leto, painlessly birth Apollo, Artemis’s twin brother.

Artemis is a virgin & is the only Greek Goddess to wear a short tunic, symbolic of her perpetual maidenhood & almost boyishness. However, she is a virgin by choice - representative of her fierce independence & autonomy. In fact, some say Artemis was the only Goddess to never be kidnapped or raped.

She has 20 Amnisides Nymphs as her handmaidens & 60 daughters of Okeanos, all aged 9 in her choir. She chose these as part of 12 wishes granted to her by her father. All of her companions remained virgins.

Artemis had various men interested in her & this never worked out well for the men. The river god Alpheus, Bouphagos, Siproites, Actaeon, Orion, &The Aloadaes are among the men that have loved or wanted her. These men often threatened her with rape or kidnapping. However, she was afraid of none of them & usually killed them, had them killed by animals, or turned them into animals. Sometimes it was some combination of the three.

Artemis can teach us wildness, independence, and a love of nature. She protects women, children, and anyone who exhibits exceptional self-sufficiency or who defies cultural gender roles. As a goddess of transitions, she helps us pass from one state to another. As a bringer of light, she can illuminate our lives and help us find our way.

In ancient Greece, cities prayed to Artemis before battle when the situation was a matter of life and death. When the options were to be victorious or be destroyed, they prayed to Artemis for survival. When they won, they would sacrifice in excess to her. Artemis can help us face whatever life throws at us. She teaches us how to adapt, survive, and never just be the sum of others' expectations.

Festivals & Worship

The 6th day of each month is sacred to Artemis.

Artemisia: Modern festival of Artemis where anything goes, celebrating freedom & modern inspiration. Celebrated on June 6th.

Elaphebolia: festival held in Athens & Phocis during Elaphenolion [March-April]. Modern Hellenistic practitioners observe Elaphebolia as a holiday which falls on the sixth day of that month. [March 1st in 2020]. Cakes made from flour, honey, & sesame in the shape of stages were offered to the goddess.

Mounikhia: 16th of the month of Mounichion of the Athenian calendar. Was created to commemorate the victory of the Greek fleet over the Persians at Salamis. Cakes w/ candles were offered to the goddess & young girls dressed up as bears.

Kharisteria: Festival of Artemis at Athens to thank her for their survival of the Persian assault at Marathon. Celebrated on 6 Boedromion [September/October].

Mounykhia: 16 Mounkyhion [April/May]. Festival to Artemis as a light bringer.

Brauronia: Festival to Artemis at Brauron & an initiation festival for young girls.  At this festival, girls & maidens dance in their bear masks w/ phallus' strapped to them. The dance was slow & solemn as it was meant to imitate bears. Baskets of figs were also carried. The earliest participants actually wore bear skins; however, they were switched to Krokoton dresses. The dresses were short, saffron-yellow chiton, at the end of the festival they shed their dresses to symbolize maturation. Offerings found here are many, but include spindles, spindle whorls, loom weights, epinetra, textiles, & garments. Celebrated every 4 years.

Thargelia 6-7: May 6, which is the birthday of Artemis & Apollo.

Symbols

All animals, as she is the mother of all animals. Particularly, deer/stag, bear, goat, boar, buteo hawk, dog, horse, fresh water fish & ground dwelling birds.

Bow, arrows, & torch.

The crescent moon.

Colors: silver, white, red, green, turquiose

Offerings

Cypress, asphodel, amaranth, palm tree, mug wort, birch, wildflowers, female goat [drawing/toy/etc; I don’t really condone giving an actual goat, lol], toys from girls before their wedding, clothing [from women], garlands, statuettes of soldiers, clay masks [bear, rites of passage], moonstone, frankincense, fruit, music & dance, work & tasks, honey, port, incense [woodsy]  game meat, & pelts.

Crystals

Moonstone, pearl, clear quartz, silver, turquoise, emerald & diamond.

How to Worship

Offerings, caring for the natural world & animals.

Support women's and all gender equality, supporting LGBTQ+, and trans rights and equality.

Spending time in nature.

Show gratitude to the natural world & its gifts, including using natural resources in witchcraft if you practice or any other creative hobby you may have.

Work, any kind of work. Dedicate it to Artemis. Create her things to offer her.

Knitting, sewing, crocheting, etc. Artemis as one of the goddesses of weaving so you can dedicate anything you make to her. Likewise, you can use knot magic with her.

Epithets

Agreia/ Agrotera – Of the Wild, Huntress

Brauronia – Of Brauron, Caretaker of Girls

Delia – Of Delos

Hegemone – Leader, Ruler

Karytis – Of the Walnut Tree

Keladeine – Noisy or Sounding

Kynthia – Of Kynthos

Leukophryne – White Brow

Limenia – Protector of Harbors

Limnatis – Of the Marsh

Lokheia – Protector of Women in Childbirth

Mounykhia – From Mounykhia

Parthenos – Virgin

Phoebe – Light Bringing

Phosphoros – Bringing Light, Shinning

Potnia Theron – Mistress of Animals

Soteira – Savior

Sources

“The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image” Anne Baring and Jules Cashford

“The Oxford Classic Dictionary” Simon Hornblower

“Encyclopedia of Greek and Roman Mythology“ Lucas Roman

“Artemis” Theoi.com

“Artemis” Wikipedia

“Artemis” Britannica

#hellenism #artemis #hellenic #artemis devotion #dieties #witchcraft #goddess #worship #grimoirepage #melitta

[starkeristheendgame]

Prompt tony giving peter a wedgie just to be a little shit and finds peter wearing iron man boxers

Whelp, I guess I’m back and writing :’) Thank you sm for this prompt! This is kind of an IM1/2 era prompt, where Peter is basically Pepper and is Tony’s long-suffering but doting assistant. No trigger warnings for this, unless you’ve had a series wedgie-related trauma in the past. 

“Mr. Stark, you can’t just-" 

"I’m sorry, what? What did you just say? I don’t understand the word that didn’t just come out of your mouth, because nobody tells me I can’t do anything. I’m Tony Stark, I can do whatever I want,” the self-mentioned genius spun on his heel as he backed into the room, arms spread and a lopsided, friendly smirk on his mouth as he tossed his apple from one hand to the other. 

He spun back around as he crunched into it, free hand flying in all sorts of gestures that pulled holograms from one corner of the room to the other. 

“Yes, congratulations, you know your own name,” Peter responded wryly, stepping inside after him and through each hologram that his boss tossed in his direction in a valiant attempt to keep him at bay. “But you absolutely can’t-" 

"Ah? What was that? That word? Began with a ‘c’, I’m pretty sure. Doesn’t apply to me. Like, ever. Unless its in the context of eating olives. In which case, I can’t. shan’t, and won’t.”

A slender hand stretched through a scaled-down hologram of the Tower and gripped the front of the genius’ shirt in a tight first, dragging him forwards until he was staring into a pair of stormy, dark eyes. 

“Anthony Edward Stark. You are not going to make a cast of your own penis and market it as the 'Iron Rod’,” his personal assistant growled, and it was truly the eighth wonder of the world that he said it was a completely straight face. 

“Ah, but you didn’t say I couldn’t make one and market it at all,” Tony countered, and he could feel the threat of bodily harm radiating from the younger man. In fact if he looked close enough into his eyes, he could see a tiny reflection of himself getting beaten to death with his own suit. 

He wriggled free of the vice-like grip Peter had on his shirt and darted out of reach, stretching for a hologram of his aforementioned body part. Peter emerged from the hologram behind him, mouth open and ready to argue before he snapped it shut and slapped his hand over his eyes, spinning away with a sound of disgust. 

“This violates so many workplace laws,” the younger man muttered, and Tony gave a low hum. Was he agreeing? Probably. Tony hadn’t read a Stark Industries contract since Pepper had finalised them all for official use. Frankly, he wouldn’t have even read them then, but she’d physically sat down next to him to make sure he read every. Single. Word. 

It had been tedious and boring and to top it off, she’d even confiscated his glasses on the off-chance he’d fitted them with software again to play Angry Birds. (He had.)

“Do you think the body should be red and the tip be gold? Or the other way around?” Tony asked thoughtfully, and made an affronted noise when the hologram splintered out of existence before him. He’d been intending to work on that, thank you. But then gentle fingertips were brushing his jaw, turning his head with careful tenderness until he was blinking back into those whiskey eyes. Peter had such long, lovely lashes. Tony wanted to count every single one. 

“Tony. When was the last time you ate?” Peter asked, voice impossibly soft, and Tony made another quiet sound, shrugging lightly as he looked away, off into the distance. That was a nice wall. The perfect wall. Had that wall always been there? 

“That depends. What day is it?” he answered, nose scrunching, and he could feel Peter’s gentle exhale across his cheek. 

“Friday,” Peter responded flatly, and those featherlight fingers were sliding from his jaw, down to his arm where the smaller man took hold and began to steer him straight back towards the door he’d only just walked through. 

“Which means I’m making you a sandwich and then you’re going to bed.”

“How does not eating equate to being banished to bed like a toddler?” Tony argued, but he went willingly anyway, because he was a sucker for a pretty face and a pout. Honestly, hiring Peter Parker was the worst thing he could have ever done to himself. 

He’d essentially hired the one person that could actually make him do anything. Besides Pepper, of course, but then she’d gone and gotten pregnant and now she worked in Public Relations, a much calmer department that meant she could largely work from home and keep an eye on her little… Spawn. 

“When you’re a grown ass man that needs to be treated like one,” Peter fired back, nudging him into the elevator. Tony opened his mouth, but the younger man rounded on him. “And don’t even think about trying to weasel out of it through JARVIS. He’ll just agree with me,” Peter warned. 

“In this instance, Sir, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Parker,” his treacherous, disloyal AI remarked from around them, and Tony closed his mouth slowly with a scowl. That’s what you got for giving an AI the gift of free will, he supposed. It bit you on the ass and agreed with your spitfire of a personal assistant/colleague. 

“This sandwich better have salami in it,” he muttered darkly. Peter simply cast him a sideways, softly amused glance, and pushed him out of the elevator when they arrived at the penthouse. It had apparently been cleaned since Tony was last here, and it was also apparently overcast today, which meant either the New York weather had turned in the last ten minutes, or it truly had been a considerable amount of time since he’d last looked out of the windows. 

Guiltily, he noted it was more likely to be the latter. Someone (Peter) had tidied away all of the tools and random bits of tech scattered around, and someone (Peter) had cleared up from his last round of coffees and his poor attempt at making himself a snack some days (?) prior. 

He let himself be prodded into a chair at the kitchen island, and crossed his ankles as he swung his lungs, leaning on the bar and doing his best to look cute as Peter rounded it and made for the fridge. Looking cute helped kids and animals get out of trouble, why not attractive billionaires with supersuits? 

He watched curiously as Peter pulled a variety of items from the fridge, and the sauce rack at its side. Burger sauce, mustard, sliced roast beef, pepperoni slices, mixed salad lettuce, American cheese and a crusty, round loaf of Italian bread. Tony’s brows raised. That was… Quite the combination. 

“I could make a plug and call it the Arse Reactor,” he suggested after a short while had passed, and Peter pressed down so hard on the knife it almost bit into the cutting board. The petite man cast him a glare over his shoulder and Tony raised his hands in surrender, biting back a shit-eating grin as he watched the flex of Peter’s arms and shoulders. When did Peter ever find the time to work out? 

“Eat,” Peter’s gentle voice interrupted his distracted thoughts, and Tony blinked down in surprise at the plate that was pushed gently between his propped elbows. He could have sworn it was only two seconds ago Peter was cutting up the ingredients… But, he had to admit, the sandwich looked mouthwatering. 

He picked it up dutifully and took a bite as Peter turned away, reaching for the fridge once more. An explosion of flavour hit his tongue and he moaned, chewing his mouthful like it was an act of worship. Across the island, Peter cracked a small, almost shy smile, and poured a cracked the tab on a can of soda. 

“I’m marrying this sandwich” Tony announced when Peter came close enough to slide him the drink, and the other man rolled his eyes, but looked suitably bashful. That one initial taste had suddenly altered Tony to just how hungry he actually was, and he shamelessly scarfed the beast of a meal down, aware of the fact that Peter watched him the entire time, leaning against the kitchen island with this impossible soft expression on his face. When Tony had licked his lips clean of crumbs, Peter took the plate, heading over to the sink where he began to run the hot water. 

“I have a dish washer for that,” Tony remarked, and he couldn’t see it, but he knew the man had rolled his eyes. Peter did it whenever Tony said anything that pertained to his 'rich, white man privilege.’ It didn’t earn a verbal response, though, and Tony managed another nine seconds before the silence had him twitching and squirming in place, sniffing as he adjusted his seating position and arm placement. 

“I bet you’d buy one, if I did. Or even better, I could just send you an Iron Rod fresh from the factory,” Tony remarked, and his mouth was still open enough at the end of the sentence to catch the soap sud that Peter flicked at him. 

“I am not going to own a cast of my boss’ dick, you pervert,” Peter huffed in response, and Tony sucked air between his teeth in the universal signal of ouch. 

“Why not? Its just a casting. I highly doubt there’s anything about that written in any contract-” knowing Pepper, there absolutely would be, “-and who knows? It could be the best ride of your life,” he tossed out, intently watching the way that Peter’s spine curved as he focused on the task at hand. His assistant squeaked a laugh and shook his head. 

“Oh, I doubt it. You’re probably unremarkably average,” Peter shot back, and oh. Game on, Parker. Tony moved silently from the chair, padding one step at a time like a predator on the prowl. 

“We both know I’m not,” he hummed, keeping his voice level and quiet so it wouldn’t give away the fact that he was moving closer. Peter hesitated for a moment in his scrubbing, and deflated slightly. Tony was right, and they both knew it. Peter had seen him naked far too many times to have any other conception. 

“Okay, you’re not. But I’m still not buying one.”

“I think you want to. And you’re afraid I know you want to,” Tony purred into Peter’s ear, shameless teasing and victory in his voice at the way the boy locked up like he’d just stepped on a landmine. 

“What makes you say that?” Peter asked after a moment, voice faux-light and cheery as he scrubbed at a non-existent mark on the plate. 

“Because you’ve been scrubbing the same plate for the past five minutes, and all I ate was a sandwich,” Tony pointed out, reaching over to take the sponge away from Peter. Peter made a sound vaguely like he was dying, and turned the water off, shoving the plate almost violently into the drying rack. 

“Its called good hygiene, maybe if you did the dishes now and then you’d know it,” Peter responded smartly, turning to face him as he spoke. His assistant raised his arm, pointing past him and towards the steps that led to Tony’s room. 

“Bed. Now,” he instructed, and it was purely because Tony was feeling generous (honestly) that he complied, turning on his heel to stroll off towards his room. 

“I wouldn’t think any less of you, y'know. I’d be quite flattered,” he remarked casually, and jolted when a magazine hit him on the back of the head. “That’s assault. Pretty sure you’re in violation of the workplace law” he teased, and relished in the soft, despaired groan that sounded from behind him as he bounded up the steps like a puppy. 

Once inside his luxurious room, he tugged his shirt over his head and threw it onto his sheets, disappearing into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He ought to shower, but he figured he could do that when he woke up. 

“Don’t forget eye drops,” Peter’s voice rang out from his room when he’d rinsed his toothbrush and his mouth, and Tony paused mid-way to the door, stepping backwards to peer into the massive mirror wall. He prodded at one of his eyes thoughtfully, blinking. Huh. They did look a little dry, and feel a little raw. 

So purely of his own accord, he dripped a few drops in each one and waved off the light in the bathroom, peering cautiously around the corner to find Peter stood opposite his walk-in closet, carefully reorganising all the clothes Tony had skewed around. 

He was eccentric, not gross, thank you very much. Just because he was awake for 82 hours at a time, didn’t mean he didn’t change his clothes and brush his teeth. 

“Now that I-”

“If this has anything to do with your dildo, I swear to God,” Peter threatened, pointing at him with a clothes clip before sliding the powder blue shirt into it carefully. Tony couldn’t even remember buying that shirt, let alone removing it from its place. His hands went to his belt to unbuckle it as he padded closer. 

“Now that I think about it, I can understand why you don’t want one,” he offered gently, voice sincere and soft. Peter paused dubiously, fingers stilling over the soft sweater he was hanging, and then relaxed, slotting it back onto the bar where it dangled with the rest of its garment family. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter noted quietly. 

“Its because there’s so much up your ass already, there wouldn’t be any room,” Tony tacked on casually, fingers curling expertly around the band of gold he could see peeking out from atop the boy’s tight jeans, where his shirt had ridden up as he stretched. 

There was enough time for him to note how soft his skin was where he brushed it, for Peter’s breath to hitch on the beginning of a protest, and then Tony’s arm flexed as he yanked the band upwards, driving the material of Peter’s boxers right up between his asscheeks. It actually lifted the boy up onto his toes, hands flying out to brace himself on the wall and - 

“Huh,” Tony voiced aloud, over the whimper-whelp that leapt from Peter’s throat. 

Peter Parker was wearing a pair of very eye-catching, rather bold Iron Man boxers. The waistband was gold, edged with red, and Tony could see the tips of what he presumed were gauntleted handprints on each round, plump cheek. 

“Anthony fucking Edwar-!” Peter seethed, and Tony twisted the material in his grip, hitching it even further against the younger man. It had to be right against his sensitive little hole by now, uncomfortable and rubbing. 

“I didn’t realise I was already up your ass, darling,” Tony grinned, brow lifting as he stepped closer, closer, until Peter was pressed against the wall, held there by Tony’s grip and the teasing proximity of his body. He could feel the way Peter started to tremble, and he might have felt bad if he wasn’t pretty clued on to the fact that Peter wasn’t actually offended. Well. Not as offended as he was trying to make out. 

“Though of course, that statement isn’t quite as accurate as I think we’d both like it to be,” he noted, gaze falling down, down to where his own brand stretched around a fat, plump set of asscheeks. He praised himself for how long he’d gone without doing anything; even Pepper had taken one look at Peter during his interview and immediately demanded Tony keep his hands to himself. 

“You’re an asshole and a fiend,” Peter grumbled, though Tony knew him well enough to know there was a smile on his mouth as he spoke, head turning against the wall slightly to make it more comfortable. He hadn’t moved from his position, even though he could quite well have pushed Tony’s hand aside and moved away. Yet he stayed pinned, like a good little trapped prey. 

“I could be worse,” Tony drawled, letting go of Peter’s underwear so that it snapped back against his hips with a satisfying sound that had the smaller man’s hips jolting forwards against the wall with a hiss. Tony didn’t back away, though. 

He pressed in closer, slotting their bodies together gently. And oh, what a perfect fit it was. Peter’s smaller frame, blanketed and pressed against by his own, his hips perfect for gripping where Tony’s large hands came to rest on them. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Tony murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle at the slope of Peter’s shoulder. He did nothing more, just lazily nuzzled at the muscle there, the delicate curve of his neck, breathing in the boy’s scent and relishing in the chance to finally, finally touch. Peter breathed out heavily, lowering himself back onto the flat of his feet and leaning just slightly back into Tony’s careful hold. 

“If you don’t tell me stop, I’m going to strip you of everything except for the those boxers, and I’m gonna push them aside to eat you out through them,” he added, quiet, promising. 

Peter twitched underneath him, a choked off sound cracking on his tongue as he reached back, digging his fingers into Tony’s hip to drag him forwards, coaxing him into rolling his hips, dragging his cock along the groove of Peter’s ass, where his underwear was still hiked up between those tempting globes of muscle. 

“If you stop, I'll resign,” Peter demanded, reaching for Tony’s hair so he could drag him down and kiss that stupid, smug smirk off his face. 

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker au #starker cu #starker ncc #ironspider #ironspider tanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #ironspider au #ironspider cu #ironspider ncc #tony stark/peter parker #sie fics

[pizzabass8-blog]

I Tried to Eat Like an Italian Futurist and Learned that Fascism Isn't Delicious

All photos by Hedda Rysstad.

This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES Denmark.

On my right is a plate with black olives, fennel hearts, and kumquats. On my left is a rectangle consisting of sandpaper, red silk, and black velvet. From a speaker nearby thunders a cacophony of Bach’s "Goldberg Variations" mixed with the sound of an old airplane motor. My left hand slides over the rough sandpaper as I simultaneously lift a bitter olive to my mouth. I chew meditatively as a waiter spritzes a carnation-scented perfume on my neck.

This is Futurist gastronomy: the past’s vision of the future. I’m in the heart of Copenhagen with a view of Rosenborg Castle and not 1930s Turin, but I’ve nevertheless decided to recreate this avant-garde dish, "Aerofood," which is now almost 100 years old.

Before molecular gastronomy transformed the kitchen into a laboratory and so-called "gastronomic revolutions" swept our postmodern world, there was an Italian avant-garde movement turning our idea of what food can and should be on its head. They called themselves Futurists.

if you thought it was forward-thinking when Heston Blumenthal served a dish with an accompanying iPod soundtrack, then you’ve probably never been introduced to "Strawberry Breasts" (made with ricotta colored pink with Campari, with candied cherries as nipples). And if you thought it was progressive when Noma dropped live ants on their dishes, then you’ve probably never tried the Futurist dish "Hunting in Heaven" (rabbit roasted in Asti Spumante and cocoa powder, served with a spinach and juniper sauce and decorated with silver coins).Or "Ultravirile", which involves cow tongue, shrimp, lobster with zabaglione, as well as rooster combs. And that was one of the more manageable Futurist dinner courses.

Aerofood.

Like every avant-garde movement, Futurist gastronomy operated on a set of core tenets. For one, they advocated renouncing forks and knives in order to emphasize the tactile experience of the food. They also exhibited an exaggerated proclivity for perfume. Not just sprayed into the air, but sometimes directly into the food, such as in the dish "The Excited Pig," in which a stick of salami protrudes from a sauce made with coffee and eau de cologne.

At the forefront of the Futurist movement was the charismatic writer Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, who, in addition to being a visionary and gifted poet, was also what many prominent historians call a fascist prick.

As their name indicates, the Futurists held progress and technological innovation as more sacred than anything else, and in their Manifesto of Futurism, published in 1909, Marinetti declares their intention to “fight moralism and feminism” and “glorify war, the world’s only hygiene.” Not surprising, then, that Marinetti’s musings were a fundamental pillar of fascism, and that the Italian dictator Mussolini was a major adherent of this line of thinking.

Over time, however, Marinetti began to think that fascism had become toothless and reactionary, so he resolved to revolutionize the lives of his countrymen in a functional manner. Art and life were to become one, so every aspect of life was to have an artistic dimension. He thus delved into revamping Italian eating habits in the early 1930s.

Besides laying the foundation for a Futurist restaurant, the purpose of the book The Futurist Kitchen was to break free of Italy’s addiction to pasta, which he called “our absurd gastronomic religion.” Marinetti opposed all traditions, but his country’s penchant for spaghetti and ravioli was a major thorn in this aggressive provocateur’s side. Although pasta was of course “pleasant on the taste buds,” he thought it made his people “bulky, lazy, slow, and pessimistic,” qualities he did not find to be advantageous in this new era where agility, efficiency, and ceaseless progress were a goals unto themselves.

The "recipe" for Aerofood from the English translation of The Futurist Cookbook.

“Men think, dream, and act according to what they eat and drink,” proclaimed Marinetti, who wanted to make the Italian national diet more purposeful as well as more aesthetically pleasing.

He gave the restaurant a streamlined interior with aluminum-plated surfaces, and tried to center the experience on stimulating all the senses. I discover this very quickly during my attempt to recreate the Futurist dish Aerofood. The scent of perfume, the sound of airplane motors and baroque music, minimalist surroundings, rough and soft surfaces to caress while I eat, and of course the taste of the dish’s different elements. All of this plays into a sensory experience that culminates first and foremost in a state of disorientation. But progress is disorienting, so I’m sure that Marinetti would be proud.

His lofty gastronomic visions were made tangible when he and the Futurist painter Fillía opened the restaurant Taverna del Santopalato (Tavern of the the Holy Palate) in Torino on March 1931 to extensive media coverage. It was their anti-pasta stance in particular that drew journalists from near and far, but it also helped that they had connections to the fascist regime’s news publications. In any case, the dishes on the menu were so eccentric and sculptural that the press found them hard to ignore.

How about a tower of meat shooting upwards from the plate, doused with glistening honey and propped up by small meatballs made of chicken?

Or what about polyrhythmic salad, where each guest receives a music box to wind with their left hand while eating lettuce, dates, and grapes directly from the bowl with their right, and the waiter dances slowly, making “elaborate gesticulations” in front of the table until the food has been ingested?

Tactile rectangles, which are supposed to heighten the experience of eating Futurist food.

And then there’s my arrangement of olives, fennel and miniature citrus—with added noise, perfume, and tactile rectangles—all of which I’m attempting to take in. As I sit there with olives in my mouth, unable to enjoy Bach due to the airplane motor sounds thundering over it, I can’t help thinking that Futurism is a truly grotesque project. Like with so many other Futurist dishes, the overall experience is of more interest than the taste of the meal itself, because this is honestly just three types of fruits and vegetables on a plate. If this is the best that fascism could deliver, I can see why its ideology fell apart like an IKEA cabinet assembled on acid.

Like most of the Futurist body of thought, it’s mainly on paper that these dishes work. There’s something intriguing, almost sublime, about the Futurists’ worship of fleetness and progress, but it was clearly a set of thoughts that could only exist in a vacuum.

Futurism emerged during the dawning of the modern age, when democracy was taking shape and humans had discovered the miracle of flight, but before the bleaker sides of technology had revealed themselves. A time before humanity’s innocence was blown to scraps and shreds in the trenches of World War I. A time when we saw ourselves as gods and did not yet comprehend the negative influence we could have on the planet and on each other.

Marinetti never managed to eradicate the dull phenomenon of pasta, and fascism crumbled rather decisively during the decades that followed, as the world witnessed the hatred and division that its militaristic methods could lead to. Many of Marinetti’s ideas have been forgotten, but his uncompromising need for culinary experimentation lives on—and fortunately so.

Source: https://munchies.vice.com/en_us/article/d3e9zy/i-tried-to-eat-like-an-italian-futurist-and-learned-that-fascism-isnt-delicious

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

[instantdeerlover]

The 15 Best Pizza Places In Miami added to Google Docs

The 15 Best Pizza Places In Miami

We’ve eaten a concerning number of slices and pies to bring you our guide to the very best pizza Miami has to offer. And there is a lot to offer, despite what the annoying New Yorker or Chicagoan in your life has to say about us and our pizza. This guide includes neighborhood favorites, excellent slices in the back of a bar, and some flavor combinations you’ll only find in Miami.

You should know that these rankings only apply to the individual pizzas - it’s not a ranking of the restaurants on the whole (look at the ratings for a better idea of that). Now that we’ve provided this disclaimer, go read about (and eat) some incredible pizza.

the spots 1  Cleveland Jennings Mister 01 $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  South Beach $$$$ 1680 Michigan Ave Ste 101 8.3 /10

Inside an office building just off Lincoln Road is Mister 01, a tiny spot serving pizzas that sound (and sometimes look) a bit strange. But these pies are the best in Miami. The crust is thin - but not too thin - and is foldable yet crispy enough to hear an audible crunch when you take a bite. It’s the odd yet delicious toppings, though, that earn Mister 01 its number one spot. The coffee paolo has mozzarella, gorgonzola, honey, coffee, and spicy salami - and it sent us into a temporary state of confusion before winning us over. The star luca pie has perfectly contained little pockets of hot ricotta cheese in its folded crust. And the rest of the pizzas under the “extraordinary pizza” chunk of the menu are what you should stick to, even if they sound a little out there.

2  Emily Schindler Lucali $ $ $ $ Pizza ,  Italian  in  South Beach ,  Sunset Harbour $$$$ 1930 Bay Rd 8.5 /10

Lucali is a place with a very big reputation thanks to the original location in Brooklyn, where people wait more than three hours for a table. The wait for the South Beach location is considerably less miserable (it could be as low as 15 minutes on a slow weekday), but the pizza is still incredibly good. They serve only one size pie here - which should be plenty for two - and it tastes like a thin-crust pizza and a classic New York slice had a baby, and then that baby got its master’s degree in tasting good. If you just hate waiting any amount of time for your pizza, you can usually walk right in at 1pm on Friday when they open for lunch.

3  Katie Burton Stanzione 87 $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Brickell $$$$ 87 SW 8th St 8.2 /10

A bottle of wine and a pizza from Stanzione is like winning $100 on a scratch-off or finding out the kid who used to bully you in high school got attacked by a swarm of bees - it will always make our day better, no matter how bad it’s been. This is mostly because the simple Italian restaurant in Brickell serves a selection of red and white pizza with perfectly blistered crust and soft dough that never gets soggy. If you want something a little heavy, try the carbonara pizza with cream, mozzarella, crispy pancetta, and egg yolk. If you’re on a date and need something lighter, the lemon and burrata pizza goes great with a bottle of rosé. But no matter what you get, you’ll walk out of here feeling 300 percent better.

4  Tasty Planet Frankie's Pizza $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Bird Road $$$$ 9118 SW 40th St 8.0 /10

The retro sign for Frankie’s has been hanging over Bird Road since 1955, and people have loved the square pizzas here ever since. The slices are thinner and crispier than similar square pizzas you’ll find in Detroit or the Northeast - but the corner slices still have those perfect edges with delicious little burnt bits. A lot of people take them to-go, and this place also sells “half-baked” pies in case you want to finish yours in the oven at home. But it’s going to taste better if you eat it hot and fresh at one of their outdoor tables in the back.

5  Tasty Planet 'O Munaciello $ $ $ $ Pizza ,  Italian  in  MiMo $$$$ 6425 Biscayne Boulevard 7.6 /10

’O Munaciello is a strange looking restaurant with a massive angel hanging in the dining room, a fairly large diorama of an Italian village in the corner, and a domed ceiling that makes you feel like you’re in some sort of place of worship. But they also serve one of Miami’s best Neapolitan pizzas, and you will indeed be worshipping the cornicione di ricotta when you discover its crust is stuffed with ricotta.

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If you can’t stand when a pizza collapses if it has more than three toppings, try Andiamo’s Sunday pie. It’s got meatballs, ricotta, pepperoncini, parmesan, and has a sturdy dough that holds it all up easier than Shaquille O’Neal lifting a toddler. But even if you’re not looking for a pizza that’s supporting a small Italian deli, the basic pepperoni is still very tasty. We also love eating here because they have some underrated outdoor seating and we’ve never had to wait for a table.

7  Tasty Planet Pizza Tropical $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Wynwood $$$$ 176 NW 24th St Not

Rated

Yet

This little pizza stand in the backyard of Gramps in Wynwood makes the best New York-style pizza you can find in Miami. Sure, we always seem to crave it after four Moscow Mules, but this is a pizza you can easily enjoy even if you didn’t just do tequila shots at Wood. They have five varieties ranging from a square Abuelita’s pizza to La Hawaiian with pepperoni and caramelized pineapple. You can order them by the slice or as a pie if you’ve got three friends who are also under the influence of Gramps’ excellent Moscow Mules.

8  Tasty Planet La Piazzetta Pizzeria $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Little Haiti $$$$ 5143 NE 2nd Ave Not

Rated

Yet

La Piazzetta’s very large menu feels like a yearbook for a high school full of pizzas - but one of those elite high schools with very gifted students who somehow always have perfect skin and grow up to run successful internet start-ups. There’s a lot to choose from at this casual spot on the border of Little Haiti, but we’ve enjoyed every one of the Neapolitan pies we’ve tasted. Whether you get the minimal piazza caserta with tomato sauce and dabs of buffalo mozzarella, or the slightly more complex diavola with an ideal amount of spicy salami, you’re going to be very happy.

9  Tasty Planet Ironside Kitchen Pizza & Coffee Co $ $ $ $ Pizza ,  Italian  in  Little River $$$$ 7580 NE 4th Ct 8.0 /10

One of our favorite low-stress meals in Miami is bringing a bottle of wine to this BYOB place and getting a pizza. We love doing this because we enjoy wine, sure, but also because Ironside’s pizzas are always great and just the perfect size to fill you up after you’ve consumed half a bottle of wine. The pies here are closer to Neapolitan in look and texture, but you don’t need a fork and knife to eat them - unless you’re trying to look falsely civilized in front of a date, which this place is also great for.

10  Tasty Planet Steve's Pizza $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  North Miami $$$$ 12010 Biscayne Blvd 8.2 /10

There are certain things you just don’t badmouth in Miami: Dwyane Wade, the various hits of early 2000s Slip-n-Slide Records, and Steve’s Pizza. It’s one of those places locals cherish deeply, and the appeal of Steve’s is probably due to some combination of nostalgia and their very tasty New York-style slices. You can come to the little North Miami spot for just a slice or a whole pizza - just don’t go spouting any controversial hot takes about how it’s overrated unless you’re ready to defend yourself.

11 Harry's Pizzeria $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Coconut Grove $$$$ 2996 McFarlane Rd 7.7 /10

There are two Harry’s in Miami - one just outside the Design District and another in Coconut Grove. Both are safe bets anytime you’re craving a soft, chewy pizza in an atmosphere nice enough to bring someone you like or your parents. We really enjoy the BLT pizza, which has bacon chunks, onion, and a sweet and spicy tomato sauce. Also, we know it’s not pizza, but their chocolate cookie comes to the table all warm and gooey, so maybe save a cookie’s worth of room.

12  Tasty Planet La Leggenda Pizzeria $ $ $ $ Pizza ,  Italian  in  South Beach $$$$ 224 Espanola Way Not

Rated

Yet

La Leggenda is in a part of South Beach where your food options are severely limited, but this place is not like the touristy spots you’ll find across the street on Española Way. It’s actually good - especially their Neapolitan pizzas. They don’t overcomplicate things here: the dough is tender, the cheese-to-sauce ratio is on point, and we never expected to have such a pleasant meal so close to a Señor Frog’s.

13  Upland $ $ $ $ American ,  Pizza ,  Pasta  in  Miami Beach ,  South Beach ,  South of Fifth $$$$ 49 Collins Ave 7.9 /10

Pizza isn’t the only option on Upland’s menu, but it is one of the best things to get - which is fitting since their original location is in New York City. They make about six different pizzas, but our favorite is the clam pie. The clams add a little brininess the same way anchovies can on some pizza - and the mozzarella and pecorino go great with the salty clams.

14  The Alley $ $ $ $ Pizza ,  Pasta ,  Italian  in  South Beach $$$$ 1433 Collins Ave 7.5 /10

Not only is The Alley just about the only place you should ever consider going to on Ocean Drive, but they also serve very good pizza. It’s soft with a nicely charred crust, and the topping options are also really solid. The finocchio e salsiccia (fennel sausage, shishito, and red onion) and the Boucher (smoked prosciutto and mozzarella) are two of the only reasons to venture towards this tasteless strip of South Beach.

15  DC Pie Co. $ $ $ $ Pizza  in  Brickell $$$$ 1010 Brickell Ave Not

Rated

Yet

We have complicated feelings about DC Pie. This place really feels like Lucali if it started hanging out with South Beach promoters and spent a lot of time at E11even. And the menu is nearly identical, so we can’t help but expect Lucali when we come here. You don’t get that though. Instead, you get a pizza that’s doing a mediocre Lucali impression. But Lucali is so good that even if you divided its quality in half, you’d still get one of the best pizzas in Miami. It’s not even our favorite pizza spot in Brickell (that honor goes to Stanzione 87, but it’s worth a visit for a quick lunch or weekday dinner.

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