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mikkomacko · 4 years

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Sweet As Honey 12

Harry's buzzing with adrenaline, bouncing around the mat on his toes and swiftly jabbing a few punches into the pads on Liam's hands. He nods his approval, and Harry can tell that Liam's waiting for more. So he does, even if he's supposed to go easy today, Harry still spins around Liam, delivering three harsh punches to the pads as soon Liam turns to face him. He swipes his foot across the mat, catching his trainer's feet and making Liam trip back until he's sat on the floor. Harry smirks, starting to back away from him.

"Daddy!"

Harry's head snaps to the left, finding that Mark has returned to the gym from the upstairs cafe. He's standing by the ring, and Arlo's in his arms with what looks like yogurt smeared on his shirt. Harry beams, opening his mouth to call out a hello but then he's tumbling back himself, arm stinging when he lands on his funny bone.

Arlo squeals out laughs over Liam's chuckling, and Harry's smirk falls at Liam's smug look.

"Don't get distracted." Liam advises, climbing to his feet and throwing off the pads on his hands. He reaches down for Harry, gripping his glove in his hand.

"S'bloody practice, didn't think you'd be treating this like a match." He grunts as Liam pulls his sweaty torso off the ring.

He chuckles, patting his shoulder roughly. "Just bringing you back into the swing of things."

Harry scoffs, using his teeth to unstrap his left glove and tucking it under his bicep. He wiggles it off, followed by the right glove, and tosses them over the ropes of the ring so they land by his bag with a smack. He slips under the ropes, popping back up next to Arlo and Mark. Arlo coos, reaching his hand out to Harry and wiggling his fingers. He takes him from Mark, not caring that he's a bit sweaty, and smoothes out his clothes.

"Got my child all messy."

"That's not my fault!" Mark immediately swears, eyes widening. "He eats like you, what was I supposed to do?"

Arlo makes a grumpy noise, glaring at Mark now that he's back with Harry, and Harry can't help but laugh. "Don't like Mark anymore?" He murmurs to Arlo through a chuckle.

"No," Arlo grumbles, turning his head away from Mark to look over Harry's shoulder. Mark's mouth falls open in offense, and Harry snickers.

"Is it 'cause he's old?"

"No,"

"He's smelly?" Harry tries, biting back a smile at the hurt look on Mark's face.

"No,"

"He's small?" Mark glares at him.

"No,"

"'cause ya missed me?"

"Yes," Arlo slurs, turning his face into Harry's neck and patting his face with his little hand.

"I missed you too bug." Harry admits, pressing a smiling kiss to Arlo's head. Seeing Arlo snuggle into Harry must make Mark forget about Arlo abandoning him, because he's looking at them with a little but fond smile on his lips.

"He's turning into quite the talker." Liam pipes up, tossing a towel at Harry so he can wipe his face off. Harry catches it with one hand, drying off his sweaty skin, and making Arlo grumble when he has to move his head for just a moment.

"Sometimes he just chats absolute nonsense. Sittin' at the dinner table the other night and he was eating some mashed carrots, bunch of weird noises commin' out of him," Harry can't help but smile at the memory, "and he was just looking at the missus and me like we should know what he's saying."

Liam and Mark both chuckle, Arlo going shy as he realizes Harry was talking about him, and pressing further into his chest. "Does that mean we're ready to go home?" Harry laughs, rubbing his fingers into Arlo's back. "Ready to see Mumma?"

"Mumma." Arlo agrees, and Harry decides it's time to get going. Mark bids him goodbye, needing to return to the front desk, and Liam moves around the gym to wipe down the equipment, so Harry crouches down, placing Arlo between his thighs with a groan. He's definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

"Hang on for me baby," Harry requests, helping Arlo hang onto his legs and lean on him for balance while he reaches over to shove his gloves and water into his gym bag. His calves burn from crouching and Arlo pressing down on him, so he quickly pulls on his hoodie and helps Arlo into his coat, throwing his bag over his shoulder and Arlo's baby bag on the other. He lifts Arlo in one arm, bringing him back up with him and pulling his hood over his head.

"Nice and warm?" He asks, only receiving a spit bubble in response. He laughs, digging his keys out of his pocket and heading towards the door.

"Gonna miss some days next week but I'll text ya a schedule, yeah?" He calls to Liam, leaning his hip on the door, but not enough to push it open yet.

"A couple days?" Liam huffs from across the room, eyeing Harry skeptically. "You fight in three weeks Harry-"

"I know and I'll be ready," he promises,"but I've got family stuff to take care of. You know that comes first."

Liam's skeptical, looking Harry up and down as if assessing his readiness right on the spot, but he knows and trusts Harry. He wouldn't miss training unless it was absolutely necessary. "Take care of yourself yeah? Lots of water, vegetables."

Harry grins, grateful. "Of course," he nods, and then he's out the door, him and Arlo ready to brace the cold outside.

Harry's got a fire crackling in the living room, one of the Avenger movies playing on the television, and Arlo running rampant in his walker with Theo chasing after him, yipping and yapping when Arlo laughs after a particularly fast roll. He's got no idea what's gotten Arlo so worked up, maybe the yogurt he had this morning that's still staining the shirt Harry threw somewhere on the stairs when they got home before he had grabbed a clean one out of the laundry basket on the couch.

He hears the front door open as he's laying another corn tortilla stuffed with cheese and tomato slices into the pan, and a sizzle of grease pops up and stings his bicep. The yelp that leaves his lips is covered by Theo's high pitched barking, and the little dog slips across the tiles until he reaches the living room. Arlo grunts as he pushes himself out of the kitchen and into the living room as well, calling out a happy "mumma!"

"Hiya bub!" Y/n greets, followed by more hellos from Gemma and Anne. Harry here's the unmistakable hums of them warming up by the fire, and Arlo's little wheels rolling and bare feet slapping the floor as he heads back towards the kitchen. Harry lowers the burner, flipping the quesadilla over to cook the other side.

“Daddy!’

“Ya came back?” Harry gasps, reaching down to stop the walker before Arlo can run over his sock clad toes. “Thank goodness, I missed ya so much!”

His words pull a giggle from Arlo, chubby hand smacking the rattle and Theo tries to rise to his hinds, slipping as he whines. He loves to chew on toys and Arlo’s happily tossed him a few of the rattles he owns so it’s no surprise that he wants that one too.

Arlo babbles something, pushing off the floor and away from Harry. He’s heading back towards the kitchen, puppy at his heels when y/n comes in, screaming dramatically when Arlo almost runs her over. Harry and Arlo both giggle, the sound so similar he pauses for a moment, looking at his wife with big eyes to make sure he heard that right. She laughs at him, reaching down to pick Arlo up.

“Who gave you a license, huh?” She teases, rubbing Arlo’s cheek. Harry turns to remove the now cooked quesadilla, but not before catching Arlo's little wince that's undoubtedly a result of his mother's cold fingers. Harry turns off the stove, pushing the pan to the back burner so it doesn't accidentally burn anyone, and lays the food down on the plate with the others. "Drive like your daddy."

"Hey!" Harry exclaims, wiping his hands off on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder. "I'm a very good driver!"

Y/n gives Arlo a look that says 'yeah right' and then smiles at Harry. "Of course you are baby." She says sweetly, patting the side of his face the way Arlo does and pecking his lips. He peeks over her shoulder, not seeing Anne or Gemma. She must read his questioning gaze because she says, "In the room changing. They forgot their water proof coats and the snow got to them."

Harry nods, leaning down again to capture her mouth in another kiss. She hums, tickling his lips and tangles her cold fingers in his hair. He starts to smile when a little hand presses against his chest, Arlo groaning as he tries with all his might to push Harry.

"No," he whines, smacking Harry's chest when he doesn't budge.

"What'sa matter with you?" Harry scoffs, brows pinching together. "Have ya had enough of me?" Y/n giggles as Harry steps back, frowning when Arlo smiles and snuggles into her. "Tired of daddy? Not nice, I helped make you, thank you very much."

Arlo ignores him, and at Harry's feet Theo whines for attention. "You and me both bud." Harry groans, leaning down to pick up the dog. His back and shoulders ache at the movement. He returns to his normal height, leaning against the island while his fingers scratch behind Theo's ears.

"How was it then?"

Y/n hums, and Arlo visible trembles as the sound no doubt tickles through his little body. "It's nice. Good amount of room for the both of them, and a little area in case Arlo feels like visiting. Not too far away either, s'right by that shoe store I got my wedding heels at."

Harry nods, mentally mapping the destination out in his head. She's right. Gemma and Anne's new place is only about a ten minute drive, and he knows there's a nice little park around there. "They excited to move in?"

"I think so. Probably glad to have their own space you know? And establish a home away from where everything went bad."

Harry nods. He gets it, understands why they would want a place they can begin to call home that doesn't have any affiliation with Des or Jack. But he can't really understand them wanting to leave his hometown. They loved it there, Anne loved it there.

"Are you ready to go back?" Y/n asks gently, eyes searching his for an answer. His stomach twists at the reminder, but he nods. It'll be good for him to go back. He needs to say goodbye to Des for good. He needs to say goodbye to the house he grew up in and the bad memories that lie there. He thinks his attacks might stop if he does, if he gets that closure he needs. And we wants her to see the place that shaped him into the man he is and why he's a little messy at the edges. Maybe she'll understand more too.

"I really am."

Two hours south where the snow is just rain and slush, and the sky is cloudless and blue, Harry finds his hometown. It looks the same. So overwhelming similar to the way it was when he left that it knocks the air out of him as he drives through the streets, passing his old school and the street his new life had started on. It's a fairly warm day and people walk the sidewalks. Harry tries to remember if he recognizes any of them but he can't. He's outgrown this place.

Anne and Gemma were living in a tiny house that Harry knows used to belong to a florist named Gia, located right off the main street. The yard is shabby and brown, the white house looking even brighter next to it. He parks in the empty car park, shutting off the car while Gemma sighs. "This is her." She murmurs, smiling over the seat at Harry. She says nothing else before opening the door, her and Anne sliding out.

Arlo kicks his car seat. "Me!" He shouts, as if Harry and y/n could actually forget him in the car. They climb out, Harry unable to hide his confusion as Anne unlocks the front door. Harry unlatches Arlo's car seat from the base, tucking his blanket around him and lifting the car seat out. Y/n is grabbing their bags out of the back, tossing as many as she can over her shoulders, and waddling up to the house with him following.

It's a nice house, Harry will give them that. But he's not sure why they're living there. What happened to his childhood house? He doesn't get a chance to ask. Well he does, but he doesn't really want to ask because he's not sure he wants the answer. Something in his gut tells him that Jack owns it now and he quickly pushes the thought away.

There's only two bedrooms in the house but Harry had been warned before they left the city so him and y/n are fully prepared to take over the living room. It's only a few days, and they have a nice brand-new air mattress they'd been gifted for their wedding and haven't used. Anne and Gemma work on making dinner in the kitchen while Harry and y/n set up their mattress, close but not too close to the fireplace. Arlo lays sprawled out in the middle of the bed, rolling back and forth in the plushy comforter as they lay out pillows around him. He laughs when Harry gently sits on the mattress, making the little one bounce.

"Ya sleeping here tonight or in your carseat bug?" Harry asks, bringing Arlo to lay between his thighs, little feet pressing into his belly. He had planned on having Arlo sleep in carseat right next to the bed but by the way Arlo's snuggling into the bed and playing with the edge of Harry's shorts, he's sure Arlo will end up squished on the mattress too.

"I think daddy's taking the carseat so his babies can sleep real good huh?" Y/n teases, reaching over Harry's thigh to wiggle a finger at Arlo. He squeals, grabbing a hold of her finger.

"Don't think I fit in the carseat darling." Harry replies, smiling at the way Arlo and y/n are looking at each other. He falls back on the pillows, hand coming down to card through her hair when she lays her cheek on his thigh.

"Guess you get the floor then."

Harry snorts, closing his eyes and enjoying her soft hair and Arlo's tiny fingers brushing against his thighs. "Not if I don't move from here."

"Mph," she grumbles. "stubborn daddy, huh? Are you just as hard headed?"

"Daddy!"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Kay."

Both y/n and Harry laugh, quiet little chuckles that are so loving it makes the room feel ten degrees warmer. Their laughs have Arlo laughing, kicking his feet out. Harry winces when one of Arlo's heels gets to close to his crotch. "Oi be nice to daddy!" He warns, squeezing one of Arlo's little toes through his sock. Arlo screams and laughs, and then his mouth is latching into the side of Harry's leg and he's digging one of his new baby teeth into the skin.

"Hey!" Harry scolds, but he's laughing because he's never seen Arlo in such a silly mood. He can't help but fall more in love with the little person Arlo's growing to be. Until y/n bursts the bubble.

"Yup, just as difficult as daddy."

Technically Harry came back to help Anne and Gemma pack, but he can only do so much when they're so bloody picky about what goes in what box. After two hours of grumbling and arguing over whether silverware goes with plates or towels, Harry had decided to take his loves to see the town. It was another warm day, so Arlo didn't need to bundled up in a thick coat but Harry did stuff a bit of cotton in his little ears to keep him from getting another ear infection. The town's small, so they didn't need to drive. Instead he took them walking down main street, pointing out the alley he met Nick in and y/n had given him such an overly-protective mother look he couldn't help but kiss her. Then they went to this little store that sells root beer imported from Australia, and because y/n is a sucker for root beer, Harry bought her two bottles. Their walk continued until they reached the church, and that's how Harry found himself at the place he'd been avoiding for two long.

"Is he in there?" Y/n asks, taking in the way Harry's nervously eyeing the cemetery behind the church. Harry nodded, throat tight as he attempts to swallow the lump in it. Arlo shifts in his arms, mitten covered hands gripping the collar of his hoodie, and stares at the side of Harry's face. He's picked up on the shift in the air, realizing that Harry is no longer chuckling at stupid memories from his childhood as he recalls them to y/n.

He meets Arlo's eyes, managing a smile. "M'okay bug," he murmurs, feeling like he's directing the words more at himself than at Arlo. He tugs on Harry's collar as if saying okay, and then Harry's taking the first steps towards his father for the first time in years. Y/n follows him, strong by his side. It almost feels like she's the one in charge despite him leading the way. She always gets like that when he's nervous; strong and silent, like a mote around a castle.

The grass feels thick and spongy under his shoes as he crosses gave after grave. It's weird walking through here and not feeling small. Harry's always remembered the tombstones towering over him, but maybe that was just the thought of death hovering.

It doesn't take long to find the familiar stone, Harry immediately pausing in front of it. His breath catches in his throat, eyes skimming the words he'll never forget. Here lies Desmond Styles. Beloved son, husband, and father.

"This is my dad," Harry croaks, tongue like sandpaper. The wind whistles around them, chilling his fingers. "dad this is my family. Well, the family you'd be proud of."

He pauses, as if waiting for a reply he'll never get. "Hello Mr. Styles. I'm y/n, and I'd like to thank you so much for the man you left behind for me." Harry turns to face her, eyes stinging as he finds her already looking at him. She steps closer, hands wrapping around his bicep. "No matter how many times he says he's nothing compared to you, he's the best father and husband anyone could ask for."

Y/n gives him a sweet smile, and Harry sniffles back a sob. He's messed up so much in his life and yet here she stands, speaking of him as if he's nothing short of heavenly. Arlo calls his name softly, hands cupping Harry's face when he turns back to him. Harry lifts him up so he doesn't have to give himself a double chin to meet his son's gaze. Before he can answer, Arlo is leaning forward and touching his lips to Harry's nose, drool smearing on his skin. He doesn't care, because it's so sweet and tender all he can do is laugh and cry, squeezing Arlo tighter.

"Kay daddy." Arlo tells him in the same tone Harry had before they'd entered the cemetery. Harry wipes off his nose and eyes with his hand, taking a deep breath.

"M'sorry it took me awhile to come back. I had really fucked things up, didn't really take care of mum and Gemma like I should've, a-and I couldn't come back here with things still wrong," he clears the quiver in his voice away. "but ma girl here helped me, a lot, and we've got a nice home and stuff in the city-ya always liked the city-and m'taking mum and Gem with me.

"I hope you don't think we're forgetting you. We're not, but I don't think any of us can stay here. Hasn't been the same since you left, and well my babies have a chance at having their nan and auntie in their lives. I can't take family away from them so. Umm just wanted you to know that we're okay now, and m'gonna do better."

Y/n presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, wiping at the tear streaks on them. They don't say anymore, they don't need to. And even though he can't answer, Harry has a feeling Des is telling him he knows. Harry's chest feels the lightest it's been in years, and he knows he's leaving a part of his heart there for his father.

If Gemma and Anne noticed his glossy eyes or exhausted smile, they said nothing, and Harry was grateful. They got through dinner easily, Harry sharing chicken noodle soup from the place down the street with Arlo, and Gemma and Anne telling them they've got almost everything packed. Harry offers to help again, but they shoot him down because he "doesn't know they're system."

Eventually they make it to their beds, and like the night before Arlo squishes onto the mattress with them. Y/n is running her fingers through his dark hair, humming to him while Harry rubs his thumb over his bare tummy.

For awhile the only sound in the room is Arlo sucking on his pacifier and their soft breaths. They wait until the pacifier has drooped in his lips, and his fingers are no longer squeezing Bunny as tightly, before talking.

"Thank you for taking me to meet your dad."

Harry chuckles, she didn't really meet him, not at all. She met the grave of him, the memories Harry gave away with his words. Still, he murmurs back, "Of course, darling. Thanks for taking care of me."

"Of course," she smiles but it's broken by a yawn a second after. He can't help but think about how Arlo yawns just like her.

"It made me feel better being back there. I mean it hurt, but the kinda hurt you get when you're fixing a bone that didn't heal right."

Y/n hums in understanding, and Harry watches her eyes flutter sleepily. He feels his own exhaustion seeping in, so he gently leans over Arlo to give her a chaste kiss. "Goodnight darling."

She smiles again, eyes already glued shut. "Goodnight baby."

The moving truck wasn't set to arrive until the next day, so Anne and Gemma shooed Harry and y/n out of the house to spend another day in the town. Harry didn't know when or if he'd come back again so he happily utilized the time. Their morning was spent in a restaurant that Harry and his old friends used to visit when he was just starting high school, and much to his surprise, everything was the same. Including the two men sitting in the booth they used to sit at before school.

Zayn and Thomas are recognizable, but Harry can't deny that they look different. Zayn's brown hair is now dipped in a soft pink, and he's littered with more tattoos than even Harry. Harry can't see his face, but he assumes it's the same sharp face he used to know. As for Thomas, he's completely shaved down the shoulder length hair he used to have, and the acne that he used to whine about has cleared up, and a quick glance reveals he's lost his braces. Harry doesn't get to notice much else before y/n is nudging her foot into his shin.

"Wha'?" He asks innocently, quickly catching the salt shaker Arlo's been trying to push off the table for five minutes.

"Mine!" Arlo grunts angrily when Harry moves it to the opposite side of the table.

"That is not yours." Harry laughs. "Stop trying to make messes, s'not nice."

Arlo grunts, slumping down in the high chair, and kicking his feet back and forth. Harry chuckles, returning to his fried eggs when he realizes y/n is still eyeing him suspiciously. He raises an eyebrow, mouth full.

"Did you know them?"

He hesitates, glancing across the room to see them splitting the bill. He shrugs, "we were friends. Kinda stopped after ma dad died, and then I left."

"Do you think they recognize you?" She murmured curiously, popping a juicy cube of watermelon into her mouth. Harry shrugs again. "Maybe, don't know. S'been to long."

She hums, eyes running over his face like she's trying to decide if she'd recognize him. Harry offers a smile, tilting his head to the side, and she laughs.

"I don't think they would," she finally says. "saw some of the photo albums yesterday when you were in the shower. You look really different."

"Good or bad?" He asks, grabbing the fork Arlo's trying to pull to the edge of the table with his foot. He moves it, and Arlo grumbles again. "Ba' daddy."

"M'not being bad. You're being bad." Harry tells him, giving his pout an unimpressed look.

"Definitely good," y/n tells him, enunciating the word good towards Arlo. "I mean, you were always cute and you're like smile and eyes are the same of course, but it's like everything else has changed."

Harry smirks at the compliment. "Like what?"

"You're huge now," she admits bashfully. "like you we're kinda scrawny before and now you practically bust out of every shirt you've had for about two years."

Harry laughs, cheeks blooming with heat. "Throwing punches everyday really helps with that."

Y/n rolls her eyes at his teasing tone, knowing he's trying to flustered for her for complimenting him. "Haha I think my husband's attractive, that's so funny."

Harry snorts, nudging her foot under the table, and taking the last bite of his eggs. Y/n is still munching on her fresh fruit, and Arlo has made a thorough mess of his oatmeal, so Harry digs baby wipes out of the diaper bag that's next to him, and leans forward to start cleaning off Arlo's sticky hands and face. He whines and squirms as Harry wipes at his cheeks.

"I know they're cold bug, m'sorry, but the more you move, the longer it takes." Arlo's gone red in the face but he's not crying, just glaring at Harry as he tosses the wipes with his used napkin and unclips his dirty bib.

"Seems like he goes through about ten of those a day." Y/n comments, referring to the dirty bib. Harry thinks of the stack of bibs they had to pack and how many they wash a week.

"Gettin' so messy," Harry coos, lifting Arlo out of the high chair and onto his lap. He slumps back against Harry, kicking his sock clad feet up on the table, and babbling something that Harry knows is him asking for a drink. He grabs his glass of water, balancing it on Arlo's lap and holding the straw for him. Arlo's little hands latch around it, happily sipping some of the cold drink.

"He's just taking after his daddy." Y/n teases.

"Me? You should've seen Gem when we're growing up! She was always covered in something."

Arlo's finished with the water, so Harry places it back on the table, using his sleeve to wipe Arlo's mouth for him. "I'm sure." Y/n agrees, obviously just to appease him, and he's on the verge of complaining when he's interrupted by the men he was hoping to dodge.

"Excuse me," says Zayn, and his voice is just as deep and slurring as it's always been. "Harry? Styles, yeah?"

Y/n kicks his shin again and he can picture her amused smirk. She knew he was trying to avoid running into anyone he may now, and now his curiosity is biting him in the ass. "Zayn?" Harry asks, pretending he didn't know he was sitting across the room this whole time.

Zayn's face splits into a beaming smile, and he nods. "Man it's crazy to see you here!" He says in disbelief, running his fingers over the hair dusting his jawline. He then sticks that same out and Harry shakes it, glad he can use Arlo as an excuse to not stand up.

"Would say the same to you but this is kinda the spot still, huh?"

Zayn chuckles. "Kinda. You just missed Thomas! Went out the side door, ha."

"Like usual," Harry quips, remembering that Thomas always used the side door by the kitchen for some reason. He never told them why.

"Yeah, you remember that?"

"Of course," Harry chuckles, and then y/n is clearing her throat. Harry faintly blushes, realizing he hasn't introduced her, not that he particularly wanted to. He wishes he could keep her separate from his past.

"Y/n," she smiles politely at Zayn, and they shake hands. "would you like to sit down?" She motions to the spot next to her.

"That would be great, thanks!" Zayn breathes, taking the spot next to her. He looks at Harry, eyes twinkling like he's remembering all the hell they used to take part in together. Arlo squirms in Harry's lap until he's turned around, and then he claws at Harry's shirt until he's standing.

"Who's this little one?" Zayn coos, mesmerized as Arlo tries to sling himself over Harry's shoulder. Harry grabs his ankles, keeping him pinned to his thighs.

"This is my son, Arlo." Harry pats Arlo's leg. "Ya gonna say hi to Zayn?" He stops squirming, and looks over his shoulder at Zayn.

"Hello Arlo." Zayn greets, and blood rushes to Arlo's cheeks as he whips back around and hides in Harry's neck.

"Sorry, he's shy sometimes." Y/n apologizes, shrugging at Zayn.

"S'ok," he laughs, and their waitress comes over to clear away their plates. Harry thanks her, trying to ignore the way Arlo is stepping into his hip. When she leaves, Zayn's looking at Harry like he can't believe his eyes and it makes his stomach jump.

"Wha'?"

Zayn gives him that disbelieving head shake again. "It's just insane. I mean, you disappear for years and then you're just back and you've got a wife and a baby. You always said you didn't want kids."

Y/n cocks her head, confused, but Harry's too busy feeling like he's on trial to explain to her. "Temporarily, temporarily back. I leave on Tuesday." He chooses to not respond to the baby comment. Zayn doesn't need to know the way his head works now.

"Well where are ya living then?" He asks, remaining upbeat despite Harry's shift in attitude. He knows he's coming off as threatening, but he doesn't care.

"The city, been there since I left."

Zayn purses his lips and nods, and Harry thinks Zayn's recalling all the times Harry said he wouldn't move to the city. It makes him scowl.

"Where are you working?"

Harry's ready to reply with the same words he'd just said but y/n cuts him off. "Harry's a bit modest about it," she laughs breezily, pulling Zayn's attention to her. "so we'll just say he's a professional athlete."

Zayn gasps, and y/n tells him something else but Harry's not listening because he's setting Arlo back into his lap, fiddling with his shirt and socks to pretend like he has something to do other than talk to Zayn.

Harry's not sure what else is said, and frankly he doesn't mind. He didn't come back here to be grilled about what happened and why he left and why he's back. Eventually Zayn clears his throat, telling y/n it was nice to meet her and that he "really should be going." Harry gives him a hand shake too, telling him it was good seeing him just to be polite.

"Yeah same to you. Let your mum and Gemma know I say hi, and hope they're well." Zayn says sympathetically. "They haven't been very social since the accident at the house, but tell 'em we still think of 'em, yeah?"

Harry nods dumbly, ears ringing. Accident at the house? What happened at the house. "Harry?" Y/n says cautiously, her voice muffled in his ears.

"We need to go y/n."

He's panting by the time he reaches the street his old home is on, sweating from the fast-paced jog he did all the way here from the restaurant. He can hear y/n behind him, pushing Arlo's stroller and mumbling something about him being "crazy daddy" right now. He doesn't respond like he usually would, too caught up in trying to find the house.

He's three houses away when he sees it. Well, what's left it. He stumbles, sprinting to the metal fence standing around the yard, and he chokes at the sight. As if the black ash laying on the ground shot up into his mouth, and down into his lungs, he coughs and wheezes, because the home he used to know is now just collapsed walls of black char and stones. It's gone, everything he knew here, is all gone.

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clynnra · 3 years

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Continued from last post. Had Boston Market on Monday with my friend Ericka. We usually catch up going there for the early bird special. Had a meatloaf with veggies, mashed potatoes, corn bread, and iced tea. When we went to the Academg Museum, had a forgettable club sandwich and sparkling water at their cafe called Fanny’s. Tasted like a chicken salad sandwich with bacon on some hard bread. Since we were full from late sandwich at Fanny’s, we had an açaí bowl, which was my first one. It was good and light. I already posted about my pre-birthday Italian dinner in my salon post earlier. Last night, we had delivery of deli food - I had a Matzo ball chicken noodle soup (one of my favorites) with a small pastrami on rye with mustard, coleslaw, and fresh pickles with some Dr, Brown cream soda and some of my friend’s fruit salad. For lunch before our movie today, I had a prepared dinner - chicken parmigiana with some pasta on the side. And finally tonight, we had my last Mexican food fix (get my step above fast food Mexican food when I arrive and my full out Mexican food before I leave) from Sol y Luna. I had Chile Verde, corn tortillas with black beans and rice. But the best was the freshly made guacamole, salsa and chips. Washed it down with vanilla creme soda. Didn’t finish so will finish before going to the airport tomorrow afternoon. So this will keep me going until my hopeful return in June. That’s it for the food report. (2/2) (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVG_vC-JWrD/?utm_medium=tumblr

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sorapottt · 3 years

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Me encontré esstas preguntas y para perder el tiempo las voy a responder

11/03/21

1.¿Cuántos años tienes?

2.¿Tienes novio(a)?

3.¿De dónde eres?

Argentina

4.¿Crees en los signos?

Un poco

5 ¿Cuál es tu nombre?

Agustina

6.¿Comida favorita?

Tortilla de papas

7.¿Cuál es tu insta / facebook?

8. Un recuerdo.

Millones con mi familia.Irme a la costa con mis amigos

9.Describe tu personalidad en 3 palabras.

Soñadora,amorosa y estupida

10.¿Siempre recibes ask’s?

Algunas veces

11.¿Quieres casarte?

12.¿Quieres tener hijos?

Jamassss

13.¿Eres niño o niña?

Niña

14.¿Cuál es tu altura?

Nose, 1,65 creo

15.¿Has tenido sexo?

16.¿Fumas?

Aveces

17.¿Eres fotógrafo?

18.¿Bebes?

19.¿Tienes piercings?

20.¿Tienes el corazón roto?

21.Alguien que extrañes

Nadie

22.¿Sabes andar en Skate?

23.¿Cual es tu mayor sueño?

lograr todo lo que quiero en el futuro

24.3 nombres favoritos de niños

Genesis y

25.¿Has viajado en avión?

26.¿Mejor amigo (a)?

M y m

27.Libro favorito.

Los dioses también aman

28.Película favorita.

El origen de los guardianes

29.¿Te gustan los gatos?

AMO LOS GATOS

30.¿Dibujas?

31.Celebridad que sea tu crush

Iron man

32.¿Dinero o inteligencia?

Inteligencia

33.¿Tocas algún instrumento?

34.¿Tienes tatuaje?

35.¿Mayor locura que ya ha hecho?

Escaparme de mi casa sin que mis papás se enteren.

Meter un pibe en mi casa sin que mis papas sepan

36.¿Has cambiado por alguien?

37.¿Starbucks o Dunkin Donuts?

Starbucks

38.Último cumplido que has recibido.

Bebe

39.Si la última persona que te lastimó viniera a hablar contigo,¿La perdonarías?

No tendría nada que hablar con esa persona

40.Iniciales de tu crush

Muchos xd

41.¿Has mandado o recibido nudes?

Si y si

42.¿Qué te hizo crear tumblr?

La depresión

43.Las mejores amistades que usted hizo aquí en el tumblr?

No conseguí amistades

44.¿Dejas las cosas para último momento?

45.¿Usas lentes?

46.¿Pasas WhatsApp?

47.Si pudieras cambiar tu nombre, ¿Por cuál sería?

MMM no sabría

48.¿Un hobbie?

Hockey

49.Una característica sobre usted que poca gente sabe?

Soy muy sensible

50.¿Cuál es la última persona a la que le dijiste “te amo”?

Mi mejor amigo

51.¿Cuál es el color de tus ojos?

Cafe

52.¿Tienes mucho o poco tiempo en tumblr?

Mucho tiempo

53.¿Cuál es tu religión?

Ninguna

54.Da un motivo para seguirte

Ninguno,solo uso este blog para descargarme

55.Una palabra que te define

Divertida

56.Algo que te deja triste.

Pensar en mis animalitos que ya no están conmigo

57.¿Eres orgulloso (a)?

MUCHO

58.¿Eres celoso (a)?

Siii

59.¿Deseas hacer algo en la universidad?

Algo como?

60.¿Te has drogado?

61.Última persona con quien lloraste

Mi gata

62.Signo zodiacal

Piscis

63.¿Qué te llama atención físicamente en una persona del sexo opuesto?

Que sea rubio

64.¿Has tenido / tiene amistad colorida?

65.¿Ya besaste a alguien del mismo sexo?

66.¿Eres fan de alguien?

No creo

67.¿Eres psicópata?

68.¿Tienes muchos amigos?

69.¿Eres divertido?

70.¿Cuál es la cosa más cool que has hecho?

Ir a muchass jodas,irme de vacaciones con mis mejores amigos

71.¿Cuál fue el mejor día de tu vida?

Ayer

72.¿Cuál fue el peor día de tu vida?

Cuando

73.¿Alguien que nunca seguirías?

Gente creída

74.¿Alguien a quien jamás darías unfollow?

Mis amigoss

75.¿Qué no te gusta de tu cuerpo?

Todo

76.¿Lo que un niño necesita saber a la hora de enamorarse de ti?

Soy súper pesada y celosa

77.¿Haces buenos orales?

Si jdjd

78.¿Me cuenta una fantasía suya?

Asesor,pileta,y algún lugar asi

79.¿Lees libros eróticos?

80.¿Sufres de algún trastorno vinculado al sexo?

81. Recomienda tumblrs

82.¿Quién te atrae?

Los hombres

83.¿Cuál es tu porno favorito?

No tengo favorito

84. ¿Qué piensas de las feministas y los homosexuales?

Yo soy feminista y nose que decir de los homosexuales,son personas

85.¿Cuántos tumblrs sigues?

Nose

86.¿Cuántos seguidores tienes?

Creo que 500

87.¿Cuál es tu programa favorito de TV?

Ay nose

88.¿Te cortaste alguna vez?

89.¿Eres popular?

90.¿Cuál es la cosa más peligrosa que has hecho?

Escaparme de mi casa

91. Una cosa que te haya dejado con mucha vergüenza

muchass

92.¿Qué crees de las personas que hablan contigo por primera vez y ya te llaman bebé?

Me encanta jsjs

93. Define tu día en una palabra

Ayer ya que son lass 2:17am.Due un dia hermoso

94.¿Te arrepientes de algo que no hiciste?

Si.de no haberme ido a tiempo

95.¿Crees en un “para siempre”?

Si, si es con la persona correcta

96.¿Quién viene a tu mente en este momento?

Mi ex

97.¿Cuál es tu banda favorita?

Nose

98.¿Cuántos has besado en una noche?

99.¿Cuál es la película que más asistió en la vida?

100.¿Te gusta la comida china?

101.¿Qué haces cuando nadie te ve?

102.¿Cuál es el lugar perfecto para el primer encuentro?

Un campito verde

103.¿Hiciste una declaración de amor en público?

104.¿Crees que eres especial para alguna persona?

105.¿Crees el amor una gran tontería o encuentra lo mejor del mundo?

El amor es algo hermoso con la persona correcta

106.¿Cuál fue la última cosa que te hizo reír?

Mis amigos

107.¿Qué es lo que está en la moda hoy en día?

Nose,las bandanass creo

108.¿Qué haces cuando tienes insomnio?

Fumar o ver tiktoks

109 ¿Quién tuvo la influencia más positiva sobre ti?

Mi papa

110.¿Te has enamorado de alguien sin tener gusto de esa persona?

111.¿Tienes un apodo?

Nop

112.¿Alguien con quien siempre hablabas y no hablas más?

Dai,juan,brian,ludmi,irina.

113. Una cosa que crees que pocas personas hacen

114.¿Es más fácil perdonar o ser perdonado?

115.Letra de canción favorita

116.¿Qué cualidad y defecto que crees que tengas?

117.¿Cuál fue el último regalo que recibiste?

118.¿Prefieres dar o recibir regalos ?

119.Si pudieras pintar cualquier cosa, ¿qué sería?

120.¿Cuál es tu mayor vicio?

121.¿Qué perfume estás usando hoy?

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dailydianakko · 5 years

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LWA Body pillow Au/Headcanon

Much thanks to server hijinks, I am c r y i n g

Diana has a Shiny Chariot Body Pillow, Akko tries to steal it 24-7. This has lead to them sharing a bed multiple times.

Lotte has 1 body pillow but like 50 cases, all of nightfall characters, including the clock tower (bless u elska)

Sucy has a giant squishy mushroom.

Hannah and Barbara have body pillows of each other, but they make the pillows cuddle one another and never use them unless they’re apart. Hannah was betrayed when she saw Barbara cuddling Lotte’s nightfall pillow.

Amanda has a broom pillow and loves it.

Jasminka has one of those tortilla blankets.

Constanze snuggles her RPG.

Croix has ALL shiny chariot merch including a body pillow and a very cursed boob mousepad.

BONUS:

Replace Shiny Chariot card scene with Akko at the cafe with a Shiny Chariot body pillow that Diana pulls from nowhere.

All the girls shrink their pillows and carry them around 24/7. This is viewed as normal.

#lwa #little witch academia #akko kagari #diana cavendish #jasminka antonenko #constanze amelie braunschbank von albrechtsberger #amanda o’neill #sucy manbaravan #hannah england #barbara parker #lotte yansson #croix meredies #shiny chariot #headcanons #discord shenanigans #Body Pillow Au

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alexcerdeno · 4 years

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Rulo de tortilla de espinacas con queso y salmon ahumado. Cafe Moon, Villarcayo #moonvillarcayo #villarcayo #burgos #burgosenelmundo #fever_castillayleon #igers #igersburgos #igersgourmet #pintxo #pintxote #espaciofotografico (en Moon Villarcayo) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGr2ashgSDF/?igshid=5401s597e02d

#moonvillarcayo #villarcayo #burgos #burgosenelmundo #fever_castillayleon #igers #igersburgos #igersgourmet #pintxo #pintxote #espaciofotografico

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lire-casander · 4 years

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@aewriting ha respondido a tu publicación “1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 15 I low key want to ask you all of these about Spain,...”

Oh my god the food. THE FOOD. The food in Spain was so good - a lot of really different things, too, things I’d never had before. COCIDO!!! My host mother was an excellent cook, and I loved her cocido and sopa de lentejas. Pan con tomate y cafe cortado y tortilla española (and Rioja wine), arroz con lecho, queso manchego y jamón iberico on a bocadillo - oh my god. And papas bravas... I wish I could go back and eat and eat. And paella too

The food is the best. I love everything about our food!

#aewriting

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toddlazarski · 4 years

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The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

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

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

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

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

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

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

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

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

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

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

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

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

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

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

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

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

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

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

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

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

8. Burger - Foxfire

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

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

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

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

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

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

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

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

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

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

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

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

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

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

4. Alambre - La Flamita

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

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

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

3. Tlayuda - La Costena

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

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

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

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

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

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glamrockmonarch · 5 years

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Brian May Dating a Latina - Headcanons:

(I had a brain malfunction but I tried my best, hope y'all like it!)

You met through his save-me trust.

You volunteered to take care of a litter of badgers found on the side of a road. While you did not expect to have the chance of meeting Brian when you brought the cubs to the vet for a checkup, he was there with Anne.

Brian liked you almost immediately and you became friends quite quickly, you were dedicated to the cause and were drawn further into it after spending more time with him and Anne.

It’s pretty ridiculous that you owe your relationship to some badgers but, truth be told Arpeggio, Melody, and Tremolo - the three cubs, were in a way your babies and Brian was impressed with how attached you’d grown to them.

Brian was happy to learn from you as much as you learned from him, although most of the times it meant he would need an apron and a tall glass of milk.

On your second time dining together you offered to cook for him and made the mistake of underestimating the spiciness of your guacamole.

Brian tried to play it cool but of course, you watched him down the glass of cold milk in only a few seconds.

You know Brian never mentions it, but he enjoys your homemade tortillas far more than the ones you can get at the store - which are more like a flatbread.

“Brian, that’s not how you do it!” You tried to teach him how to make enchiladas once after your family sent you a care package that included almost everything necessary. “You have to put the dough inside this...”

It seemed like to Brian your tortilla press was an antique designed for torture.

“How?” He shook his head and his curls bounced a few seconds later still.

You showed him how to open it and instructed him to out the small piece of dough inside before pressing it down and then taking the fine uncooked tortilla out.

“See? Now on to the hotplate!" You smile at him.

Brian is marvelled by the indigenous cultures for their knowledge of the sky.

"And their calendars Y/N!" He would sometimes start after you mentioned some old tradition of belief from the Mayans.

When you introduced him to your family everyone liked him, mostly because he was such a nerd and was happy to learn about how your family gatherings and his were different only because of your cultures.

Brian is overwhelmed with how big your family is; being an only child he is not used to the amount of cousins, aunts and uncles you have.

But he really likes to the fact that your family welcomed him as one of their own with open arms and a steaming cup of "cafe de olla", which he went on to request you made often in the mornings when he started staying at your place from time to time - I digress.

You were told by your cousins that you had to teach him how to properly dance to cumbias.

So you did try to teach him.

But Brian was way too fascinated by the strange songs and it distracted him from his feet.

"What an odd voice," he told you with his hands holding yours as you tried to show him how to move his feet. "Quite nasal isn't it?"

"Yes," you knew better than to ask him to pay attention, "now give me a half twirl and pull me towards you."

Brian kinda got the idea of cumbias but you had to laugh at his stance, seeing as you were pretty much a midget standing next to him.

While you enjoyed showing him more and more stuff about your country and culture, Brian tried to do the same, eventually teaching you how to make a stew and some biscuits with his mother's recipes.

Although nothing compares the time Roger invited you to his birthday party, the theme was simple yet tricky: Halloween in July.

Brian had you paint a skull on his face and put on a traditional suit that had previously belonged to one of your cousins. On the other hand, you put on a large fancy dress and a plastic flower crown, painting your face in a similar but more feminine manner.

"Gorgeous, gorgeous as always!" Brian complimented you before leaving the house.

"I'd love to jump these bones!" You giggled as you poked his side making him chuckle.

#latina reader #i might have gone too Mexican on this one #brian may fic #present day brian may #present day stuff #brian may imagine #brian may #brian may x you #brian may x reader #brian may x latina reader #brian may x young reader

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bbygrgu · 5 years

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day 17/ 13.9.19

Happy full moon!!!

Yesterday I only ate two steak tacos (but only the meat, there was something about the tortillas that was making me feel funny) and a pick two from Panera (broccoli cheddar and a turkey blt) with a bubble tea 🥺. Water intake was low again, but at least two bottles!

Today:

For lunch I had a sandwich from school cafe which was like 530 calories and three small cookies. For dinner, two tacos. One de carnitas y la otra de birria.

Water intake - 50.7 (three water bottles) and counting!! I completed all my rings but I will be going to the gym for an hour workout! Tbh, I’m so exhausted, I might take an edible afterwards and just go straight to sleep

#magz wgtls #trackingtheroutine #tw weed

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mexicanketojourney · 5 years

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FIRST MEAL OF OUR VACATION (Español⬇️) ▫️ I was in the mood for some eggs and bacon. Yes even after the egg fast and the transition, I still enjoy eggs. ▫️ Stopped by a small cafe and ordered some tortilla-less huevo a la mexicana (scrambled eggs with chopped onion, tomatoes, and jalapeños) tacos. 😆 I asked them to put two tacos worth on a plate. ▪️ PRIMERA COMIDA DE NUESTRAS VACACIONES Tenía ganas de unos huevos y tocino. Sí, después del ayuno de huevo y la transición, todavía disfruto los huevos. ▫️ Paré en un pequeño café y pedí unos tacos de huevo a la mexicana sin tortilla. . . . #keepingitketo #cafefood #ketobreakfast #ketofood #ketomeal #mexicanfood #mexicanketo #ketomexican #ketolife #texasfood #keto #dietacetogénica #dietacetogenica #mexicanketojourney (at Devine Cafe) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzihTe3gLTg/?igshid=bsahwtsl7h7p

#keepingitketo #cafefood #ketobreakfast #ketofood #ketomeal #mexicanfood #mexicanketo #ketomexican #ketolife #texasfood #keto #dietacetogénica #dietacetogenica #mexicanketojourney

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judycamino · 5 years

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Jueves, dieceocho de abril

We got off to an early start trying to minimize our time in the forecasted rain. We walk a little over 4 miles before we get our cafe and patata tortilla. We are very fortunate that it doesn’t start to rain until 10:30 and it follows us until we arrive in Vianna at noon. Somehow I’m famished and we stop for our 2nd breakfast, delicious huevos y patatas! After a quick visit to the cathedral we head out for our last 6-ish miles for a total of 17.3 miles (more like 18 after wandering around looking for our albergue - aarrgghh!) arriving in Logrono! I have 2 small blisters but I’ve doctored them up. Today is Semana Santa so we think there is a big procession tonite. Pictures will be forthcoming if we see it! Tomorrow is another long one - 18 miles🥴 Advil is our best friend right now! Today was our 7th day on the trail!

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kriskebob-blog · 6 years

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

...

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

...

What the hell is date sugar?

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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