#just make a fucking curry you can get frozen chicken pieces

[missile-silo]

I fucking hate home bough chicken nuggets because the actual chicken nuggets are really hard to find so instead you get chicken dippers. So say you go to actually dip one of these chicken dippers, you’re gonna get fat too much sauce for one dipper but you can’t double up because the dippers are fucking huge and by the time you’ve thought to wipe the dipper on the side of your plate the batter is soggy and comes off with the wipe. What do you do then??? Why does the batter adhere so well to sauce but not the fucking chicken??? Why the fuck do people still buy them??? Don’t even get me started on this fucking popcorn chicken burgers. Cos the birdseye ones are ok ish but I’ve had actual branded birdseye stuff like twice and the knockoff stuff is so bitter and you can’t even dip them because they’re whole ass burger patties but don’t make the mistake of butting them on burger buns because it’s too dry even with sauce. THE ONLY acceptable oven baked chicken thing that you can get in the freezer isle is chargrilled chicken burgers and that’s because they have a singular gram of flavour to them and the batter is naturally a bit soggy so it’s not dry. It’s 2:35. I’m tired. I’m sleeping and I will never address this post again

#shitpost #i dont even like the chargrilled chickens either tho #just make a fucking curry you can get frozen chicken pieces

[wizkiddx]

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.  

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something. 

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer. 

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about. 

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?” 

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard. 

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts. 

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face. 

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat. 

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement. 

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock. 

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour. 

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too. 

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face. 

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and  frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.” 

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side. 

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other. 

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?” 

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set. 

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding. 

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all  and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick.  Naturally too,  you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything. 

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat  the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot,  after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep. 

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked. 

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that. 

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth? 

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares? 

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam? 

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tomholland #Tom Holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x you #sam holland

[subtract-me-from-your-heart]

Hello, and welcome to the first episode of Sin Eats, where I tell you what my amazing platonic partner is cooking up in the kitchen! Tonight's dinner menu is...

Thai Red Curry with Chicken

I hate when people tell a long story before a recipe, but I also think I would be remiss if I didn't add a little flavor (hah) to these posts. Anyway, here's some thai red chicken curry. This is one of my comfort foods. I begged Jay to DoorDash it like once a week back when I was in the trenches of my Last Nightmare Job getting yelled and cussed at all day long by entitled business owners. It was a little spot of joy in an otherwise depression-fueled hellscape.

But takeout can get expensive, so why not have your partner cook it for you at home? Not gonna say it's authentic or anything, but it tastes real good.

PSA in this house we measure spices with our hearts and not our measuring spoons. We take the same approach with vegetables. Any amounts listed below are more like... guidelines. Don't let The Man keep you down. Swim free.

You can really put whatever veggies you like in here. The original recipe (link here) has green beans in it, but when we went to the grocery store everyone in Texas was freaking the fuck out about the possibility of Snowpocalypse 2: Electric Boogaloo, so we had to make do with what we could find.

Ingredients

1 lb chicken (breasts, thighs, whatever)

4 oz jar red curry paste (you can make your own from scratch, but some of us have to work for a living)

Thai basil leaves (or 12g [2 tsp] basil paste if all the WASPs bought out the fresh basil for some reason)

250ml (1 cup) chicken broth

17g (2 tsp) oyster sauce (we don't have fish sauce)

30g (1 tbsp) lemongrass paste

35g (2 tbsp + 2 tsp) minced garlic

9g minced ginger root

245g sweet onion

170g (1.5 cups???) frozen mukimame (shelled edamame)

13.5 oz can coconut milk

1 tbsp Extra Virgin Olive Oil (very ace friendly ingredient)

Steps

If you're eating this with rice, get it cooking. I cannot tell you how many times I've cooked something to completion only to find out I forgot to cook the rice and now we have to wait 20 to 30 more minutes to eat and I was already hangry an hour ago.

Mis en place baybeeeee. (This just means gathering your ingredients together so everything is ready when you start cooking.) Mince ginger root and garlic (if using cloves. We just use the minced garlic in a jar like assholes), dice onion, and set aside.

Cut chicken into thin strips. Set aside.

Boss your partner around. Tell them to get out another bowl and spoon. They're just being lazy writing a Tumblr post and need to contribute to this meal.

Measure the oyster (or fish) sauce, basil paste, and lemongrass paste. Set aside.

Mis en place done!

Heat the oil in a high-sided 12-inch pan on medium high heat. When a few drops of water sizzle in the pan, it's ready.

Add chicken to the pan and season to your heart's content with salt, pepper, garlic powder, basil flakes, paprika, and ginger. You can add some red pepper flakes if you're feeling spicy. If you're not sure whether you've added enough seasonings or if your combination will taste good, use your nose. If it smells good, it's gonna taste good. Don't worry about spicing perfectly at this stage, though, because you can always add more later in the cooking process.

Cook chicken for 5 to 6 minutes. I usually just use the Jay Method and cut into the thickest piece to make sure it's white in the middle. Nobody's getting food poisoning today.

Move chicken from pan to a bowl or plate. Please don't use the bowl you had the raw chicken in. That's how you and anyone you fed cross-contaminated curry spends 24 to 48 hours living in a bathroom and feeling like death is imminent.

Add more oil to pan if needed. Saute onions, garlic, and ginger until the onions are translucent (around 2 to 3 minutes).

Add curry paste, basil paste, and lemongrass paste and heat for about a minute.

Add chicken broth and reduce heat to medium.

Once it starts to simmer, add mukimame and let cook for around 3 minutes. Give the soupy part a little taste, see if you like it. Go "mmm" loudly in front of your partner to demonstrate what a good job you're doing and how much they should appreciate you.

Stir in coconut milk and return to a simmer. Taste test again and call it "boss ass shit" before spoon feeding some to your moochy qpp who is still typing on Tumblr.

Get some water while it's cooking. You gotta hydrate, homie!

Cook until it's hot. 5 to 10 minutes, whatever. Depends on how hungry you are. If you're a cool kid using basil leaves unlike us, add them whenever you decide it's done and let them wilt.

Make sure you turn off the stove.

Serve and enjoy the shit out of it.

Yield: 6 servings

Calories: ~316 (no rice; 476 with 1 cup rice)

The finished product!

Notes

Here's a visual for how Jay does his mis en place

This is our favorite type of coconut milk:

Thanks for reading this far. If you try the recipe please let me know. 💜

#sin eats #food #recipe

[bentonpena]

Tofu Freaking Rules

Tofu Freaking Rules https://bit.ly/350TvUV

We need to talk about tofu. As Beyond Meat and Impossible Burger mania sweeps the globe, the OG vegan protein is getting left behind—and I, for one, hate to see it. If you’re serious about reducing your reliance on animal products, tofu has the potential to change your diet—and life—for the better.

To some extent, I get why so many people, particularly American meat-eaters, are resistant to the entire concept of tofu. Western culture has ruthlessly (and racist-ly) slandered the humble soy-based protein for as long as we’ve known about it, so a lot of us were basically programmed from birth to think it’s garbage.

I’m begging you to reconsider. When correctly prepared, tofu is a textural marvel, running the gamut from delicate and custardy to deep-fried and crunchy. Its unmatched flavor-absorbing powers make it a total chameleon; it truly can be anything you want it to be. I’ve loved tofu my whole meat-eating life, and I’m here to convert the naysayers. Welcome to my Tofu Manifesto.

You’re probably thinking about tofu all wrong

The biggest, wrongest tofu misconception is that it’s strictly a meat substitute. Sure, it can be that if it needs to—but tofu’s closest animal protein analog is actually the egg. On their own, eggs are bland; it’s their ability to morph into a staggering array of forms and textures that makes them so special. However you like your eggs—fried crisp with lacy edges, scrambled soft with lots of butter, or cooked into a puffy, tender frittata—I’m willing to bet your preferences come down to texture rather than flavor.

The same is true for tofu, which is why I’m skeptical when people insist they don’t like how it tastes. Soft and silken tofu has a more noticeable soy milk vibe than the firm stuff, but for the most part, it adds no flavor whatsoever to a dish. Tofu only tastes as good as the sauce it’s served in—texture is basically the whole point.

It’s embarrassingly easy to make tofu taste amazing

Contrary to popular assumption, delicious tofu takes barely any work at all. In fact, all the usual hacks try way too hard: Pressing takes forever (and freezing even longer); marinating often yields profoundly mediocre results; a cornstarch dredge too easily sogs out. None of these techniques work particularly well on medium-to-soft tofu, and with the exception of marinating, they also offer absolutely nothing in the way of seasoning.

For all of these reasons and more, the salt water trick is the only tofu hack worth knowing. Hot, salty water is a tofu prep triple threat: It dehydrates firm tofu so it crisps up quickly, sets super-fragile soft tofu so it doesn’t fall apart, and seasons everything through and through. It also adds as much work to your dinner prep as boiling pasta. I’ll get into the specific techniques in a bit; for now, just know that the salt water hack promoted tofu from something I’d buy occasionally to a legit, can’t-live-without-it staple.

If you remain unmoved, I’ve collected my favorite tofu products and preparations in one place, starting with the most hater-friendly ones. This isn’t a recipe post—it’s all about the technique. (Where applicable, I’ll link to specific recipes that I used and explain how I adjusted them to work with tofu, with the hope that you’ll soon be doing the same.)

Even hardline skeptics love fried tofu puffs

Tofu puffs are cheap, delicious, deep-fried flavor sponges that need zero prep; in other words, they’re easy to love. You can toss them whole into curries and stews for a fun textural element, but I strongly recommend taking 30 seconds to slice them in half. With their honeycomb-like interiors exposed, these puffy little nuggets soak up sauce like nobody’s business—without compromising their crispiness.

To show them off, I made my favorite Maangchi recipe—cheese buldak, or fire chicken with cheese—with halved tofu puffs instead of chicken breast.

Those two ingredients are obviously nothing alike, but the swap totally works thanks to the insanely powerful sauce. Red-hot both in color and spice level, surprisingly sweet, and with enough fresh ginger and garlic to put hair on your chest, it more than picks up the slack for something as bland as chicken breast or unseasoned tofu. Having made this dish with chicken dozens of times, I have to say—I prefer the puffs. Even when saturated with sauce, they stay light and puffy, which is the perfect contrast to the ultra-chewy texture of sliced rice cakes and melted mozzarella.

Pressed tofu does (most of) the prep work for you

As the name implies, pressed tofu has already been pressed to remove most of its moisture, resulting in a pleasantly toothsome texture. You can buy it pre-seasoned with soy sauce and five spice powder, but I like it plain so I can season it however I like.

Here, I whipped up a vaguely Spam-inspired mixture of roughly 2 tablespoons each of soy sauce and sugar, plus a teaspoon of garlic powder and a few shakes of smoky hot sauce (El Yucateco Black Label Reserve for life). I added some cubed pressed tofu and let everyone hang out about 20 minutes, flipping them around halfway through. You don’t need much marinade; a shallow layer is plenty.

I then used it to bulk up a super basic batch of fried rice with ginger, garlic, carrots, and frozen peas. The cubes got nicely crispy and charred on the edges, and were just what I needed to add some substance to a huge bowl of fried carbs.

Unseasoned pressed tofu also makes great vegan “paneer:” Cube it up and marinate in lemon juice with a few pinches of salt for 30 minutes, or longer if you have the time. As with regular paneer, you can pan-fry the tofu or leave it alone; either way, you’ll be surprised at how closely the marinated tofu mimics the texture and flavor of the real thing.

Medium-to-firm tofu needs a little TLC

This range of the tofu spectrum is the most recognizable and the least immediately appealing. I mean, just look at this:

In my experience, the variations between medium, firm, and extra-firm tofu are pretty meaningless, and I use them all interchangeably. Left uncooked, they all have a texture best described as “rubbery,” with no discernible flavor at all. Their highest calling is getting crispy in a hot skillet and doused in a flavorful sauce.

All you need to make crunchy pan-fried tofu is salt water, a good nonstick pan, and all of 20-30 minutes. That’s it. Here’s my usual procedure for a standard 1-pound block.

Before I do any other ingredient prep, I bring 2-3 cups of salted water and 2 teaspoons of table salt to a strong boil in a saucepan. Then I cut the heat, slide in my tofu, and let it sit while I prepare the rest of the recipe. After 15-20 minutes, I drain off the water and either pat the tofu dry on clean towels or leave it in the colander until I need it.

To get that crispy surface going, I coat my big cast-iron skillet with a thin layer of neutral oil and heat it over medium-high. I then add the tofu, spread it into an even layer, and leave it completely alone for at least 5 minutes.

Once the edges start to brown, I flip it over and do the same on the other side.

Boom. Done. Obviously, I used crumbled tofu here—it’s my favorite—but this works just as well with cubes, slabs, triangles, or any other shape you can dream up.

Don’t sleep on crumbled tofu

I know I said that tofu isn’t a meat substitute, but crispy tofu crumbles get really fucking close. In many cases, I prefer them to meat because they hold their shape—and a surprising amount of crunch—even when simmered for a long time. Sure, they don’t give you the specific richness you get with ground pork or beef, but with the right recipe you won’t miss it at all.

Speaking of the right recipe, Bon Appétit Test Kitchen director Chris Morocco’s spicy sweet sambal pork noodles are flawless—but, despite the name, I’ve actually never made them with meat. I only had tofu the first time I made them, and they turned out so well that I’m fine with never learning how they taste with pork.

I make the recipe exactly as written, except—obviously—I leave the pork out. Instead, I fry up soaked, crumbled firm tofu in a separate skillet while the sauce simmers, then dump ‘em in and toss everything together with cooked noodles. This cuts at least 30 minutes off the cook time without compromising on anything except porkiness, which I promise won’t even register.

You can also use tofu crumbles like ground beef. I usually throw in some minced onion and garlic in once the tofu is nice and crispy, then cook it down with a little tomato paste, taco seasoning, and cheap beer if I’ve got it.

It’s not beefy, exactly, but it tastes incredible in its own right—and makes a killer vegan-friendly crunchwrap filling.

You can roast tofu, too

Maybe you’d rather not spray your stovetop with oil in the name of crispy tofu. In that case, roasted tofu is for you. The results are directly comparable to pan-frying—they just take a little longer to get there.

Start with soaked, drained tofu, preferably cut into triangles or flat slabs so they’re easy to flip. Arrange on a clean towel and let them dry out while your oven preheats to 450ºF.

If you like, cut a vegetable of your choice into similarly-sized pieces and toss them with a tablespoon or two of neutral oil; I’m using kabocha squash here.

Place a sheet pan on the lowest oven rack. After about 3 minutes, add 2-3 tablespoons of neutral oil to the pan, put it back in the oven, and heat for another minute or two. Carefully transfer the tofu and vegetables to the hot oiled pan, return to the bottom rack, and roast for at least 20 minutes. Flip everything over and roast for another 15-20 minutes, until the tofu is super crispy on both sides and the vegetables are browned and soft.

You can eat the whole shebang straight off the pan—perhaps drizzled with spicy peanut sauce or chili oil—but I added mine to a quick curry made with Maesri panang curry paste, palm sugar, and coconut milk. (Maesri is the only brand I’ve found that doesn’t use shrimp paste or fish sauce; if you usually avoid prepared curry paste for allergy or vegan reasons, give it a try.)

To be completely honest, the kabocha was a miss—the flesh was too dry, and the skin was super tough. The crispy roasted tofu, however, slapped. They can’t all be bangers; such is the nature of experimentation.

When you feel ready, silken tofu is there for you

The next stop on our tour de tofu is the most controversial, misunderstood one yet: Soft or silken tofu. Yes, it’s bland. Unseasoned coagulated soy milk isn’t going to blow your mind with super-concentrated umami or whatever. But when prepared correctly, soft tofu is more than just delicious—it’s absolutely sublime. I will go to bat for it all day long, and I would love to tell you why.

The dish that changed my mind about silken tofu came from Biwa, a now-closed izakaya-style bar in Portland. It was deceptively simple: A whole block of chilled silken tofu drizzled with sweet soy sauce and topped with bias-cut scallions, fistfuls of toasted sesame seeds, and paper-thin bonito shavings. I ordered it every time, and my friends would always be like—“Cold tofu? Why?” But if I could convince them to take a bite, they’d understand. It was like eating a deeply savory panna cotta.

Unfortunately, my dearly departed Tofu Slab is no more—and my attempts to recreate it have been so unsuccessful that I’m forced to settle for the next best thing: Salt water-soaked silken tofu mounded on hot white rice and drowned in chili oil, soy sauce, and black vinegar.

I’m not complaining. The salt water, once again, is key: It turns a cold, slimy block of tofu into a piping-hot savory custard, which is the perfect canvas for condiments. Sure, there’s not much in the way of textural contrast, but the softness is so comforting and nice that I think a crunchy element would actually defeat the purpose. It’s a delicious, balanced, reasonably nutritious meal you can throw together in the time it takes to cook a pot of rice.

Putting it all together: All-tofu mapo tofu

Neglecting to mention mapo tofu in an article about tofu is basically journalistic malpractice. The iconic Sichuanese tofu dish is rich, meaty, spicy, funky, sour, and savory all at once—and slicked with lip-numbing Sichuan peppercorn oil for good measure. It’s a top 3 dish for me; I make it all the time, usually using Maggie Zhu’s recipe from the Omnivore’s Cookbook.

Being a big vegetable fan, I’ve experimented with using minced veg—eggplant, mushrooms, and even carrots—in place of the traditional ground meat. But this time, I decided to follow my vision and make a variant I’m calling “Oops! All Tofu.” I approached this recipe just like the sambal noodles, swapping crispy tofu crumbles in for the ground pork—but this time, I also soaked some cubed soft tofu in a fresh pot of salt water while the sauce simmered away.

This was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever made. The nubbins of soft tofu were literally melt-in-your-mouth tender, while the crispy crumbles turned downright meaty as they soaked up the spicy, salty, rich sauce. It made me even more certain of all of the (correct) tofu opinions I just laid out before you and, if you’ll let it, it has the power to convert you too.

Internet via Lifehacker https://bit.ly/2VwWgKq April 24, 2020 at 12:01PM

#IFTTT #Feedly

[alphacrone]

for practicality's sake

schmoopy sequel-ette to until your father's at the table || read on ao3

When Jack slowly opened his eyes, he was so hungry he couldn't believe the sounds of his stomach hadn't woken Bittle, or the entire neighborhood, really.

But Bittle was still passed out, face pressed uncomfortably into the gap between their pillows, Señor Bun squished under his chest, one eye dangling dangerously by a few threads. Jack made a mental note to dig out his pocket sewing kit and fix it before the eye came off entirely, then very reluctantly rolled out of bed. Normally, he'd let himself fall back asleep, or watch Bittle sleep a little longer in hopes he'd wake up soon and offer to make breakfast or just give Jack that silly, sleepy, just-woke-up smile, but Jack was starving and Bittle had been up late organizing his tax spreadsheet and just because he was the expert didn't mean Bittle had to cook every meal. Jack was perfectly capable of making breakfast, thank you very much.

After a teeth-brushing, face-washing pit stop, Jack ambled into his kitchen, scratching at his stomach absently. He and Bittle had both been trying to eat healthier — Bittle for the sake of preparing recipes for his aging demographic, Jack for his high cholesterol — but eggs and bacon sounded so good this morning. Sighing, Jack knew he needed to use turkey bacon, and he'd cook the eggs in one of the hundred different kinds of vegetable oil they had in the pantry instead of leftover bacon grease. Instead of toast or pancakes, he knew Bittle would want some of the leftover fruit from his last (disastrous) recipe experimentation.

“What fun is being retired if I still have to eat fruit?” Jack muttered to himself. “Bittle’ll love me no matter how clogged my arteries are.”

“But he'll love you a lot longer if you just eat the gosh darn fruit, mister,” a voice from the doorway chastised.

Bittle was leaning against the doorframe in an oversized Bruins shirt and oddly tight sweatpants. True to the chilly nature of early spring, he also had on the fuzzy bunny slippers Ford had gotten him as a joke for his brithday. They were utterly ridiculous, but Bittle wore them every morning until summer.

“Hey,” Jack said, grinning. “Morning.”

“None of that gross socializing crap until there's coffee in me,” Bittle mumbled, stumbling past Jack and patting his chest lightly. He flipped on the coffee maker and slumped against the counter, pushing his glasses up where they'd slipped down the bridge of his nose. “Honey, wear a shirt if you're making bacon.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. “How'd you know I was ma-”

Bittle rolled his eyes fondly. “Honey, you always make bacon if given the chance. Bacon, chicken tenders, and chocolate chip cookies are your culinary staples. At least put on an apron.”

Jack was pretty sure his body had faced a lot more abuse that flying specks of hot grease, but he also knew he liked the way Bittle looked at him when he wore only an apron over his sleep pants, so he simply pressed a kiss to Bittle’s head and pulled an apron off the hook in the pantry.

“Thanks, sweetpea,” Bittle said, eyes still not quite focused. “Gotta keep you in one piece as long as possible.”

“I doubt it's the shirtless cooking that'll be my demise, but thank you for worrying about me,” Jack teased as he began pulling the eggs and bacon from the fridge.

The earthy scent of hot coffee began to waft through the small kitchen, and Bittle elbowed past Jack to very pointedly pull the tub of chopped strawberries and blueberries from the fridge. “So, I've got an interview today and then a meeting with those AmazonFresh guys about the commercial, so if you wanna do dinner’ll it'll probably be a bit later.”

“We can just scrounge, if that's easier,” Jack said. “My place or yours?”

“Ugh, let me think,” Bittle sighed. “I've got leftover stir fry and one veggie burger left. Some frozen burritos. Canned soup. You?”

Jack put both pans on the stove, tossing the bacon into one and lightly sprinkling olive oil into the other. “I've got the leftover curry from last weekend and some grilled chicken. Maybe some broccoli, I’d have to check.”

“I'll bring the stir fry here, we can have a buffet,” Bittle decided, perking up as the coffee pot chimed. “I'll have to stop at my place to drop off my camera bag anyway.”

Despite the closeness of their apartments, Jack felt his life was so entwined in Bittle’s that even the smallest commute between seemed too much. “You should just move in with me,” he said as he began cracking eggs. “It'd make everything simpler.”

It wasn't until he needed to flip the bacon that Jack realized the kitchen had gone deathly silent. He turned, afraid of what he might see on Bittle’s face.

He was relieved to see mostly fondness, mixed with a bit of shock. “You really want me to move in with you?” Bittle asked uncertainly. “Or is this just some hypothetical?”

If he was being honest with himself, Jack had wanted Bittle to move in with him ages ago, before they'd ever even kissed. “I want you to move in with me,” Jack said, playing with a loose string on the apron. “If you want to keep your own place, I understand, but I like waking up next to you every morning and that would be a lot easier if we just...consolidated.”

“Consolidated.” Bittle’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. “So, this is strictly a matter of practicality.”

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. The only reason I want you to move in is so I don't keep leaving my clothes at your apartment. Not because I'm madly in love with you. Not at all.”

“So romantic,” Bittle said, abandoning his coffee to move across the kitchen and pull Jack into a kiss. “I love you, too, and I'd love to move in with you.”

“Cool,” Jack said, just to see Bittle’s exasperated expression. “How many slices of bacon do you want?”

“Two,” Bittle said, patting his gut. “Watching my figure before the commercial shoot.”

“More for me,” Jack said. “I'm retired. I get to have...what was it Holster liked to call it? Dad bod. I'm working on my dad bod.”

Bittle choked on his laughter. “Oh my goodness, stop. I never thought I'd hear you say those words!”

Jack turned off the stove and slowly untied his apron. “What's the matter, Bittle? Don't like my dad bod?”

Bittle’s face was bright red as he struggled to breathe through the giggles. “No-no I love your dad bo- nope, I can't call it that, I'm sorry. I love your body but I can't-”

Jack grabbed Bittle by the back of the thighs and hoisted him up onto the counter, tucking himself between Bittle’s legs. Bittle was still laughing, but it became less hysterical as Jack shed the apron. Once upon a time, Jack would've felt self-conscious about the weight he'd gained since college, but when Bittle looked at him he couldn't think about anything but those big, kind eyes and the huge amount of love he saw behind them. Jack leaned up to kiss Bittle, soft and slow, thumbs tracing circles into the sensitive skin of Bittle’s inner thighs. Bittle shuddered and threaded his hands through Jack’s hair.

“You've still got too much muscle for a dad bod,” Bittle said as they broke apart. “Once you lose that, we’ll talk.”

“But I can't lose my muscle,” Jack said, tugging on Bittle’s earlobe with his teeth. “Then I wouldn't be able to manhandle you.”

“Mm, what a shame,” Bittle deadpanned. “You do you, honeybun. Dad bod, no dad bod, doesn't matter to me. As long as that bod eats some fruit and doesn't give out at age fifty-”

“I'll eat the fucking fruit,” Jack said with a laugh. He grazed his teeth down the length of Bittle’s neck, relishing the hitch of Bittle’s breath. “There's some other things I'd like to eat first, though.”

“Gross old man,” Bittle teased, but his breathlessness overruled any conviction he might've had. “Guess breakfast will have to wait.”

Jack stomach growled loudly, making Bittle laugh again. “Or we could take a five minute break for some bacon?”

“Always with the protein, Zimmermann,” Bittle said, poking Jack in the gut.

Jack grinned and grabbed a few slices from the pan, only slightly burning his fingers. “Open up,” he said, dangling one of the pieces over Bittle’s head like a mama bird offering a worm to her baby.

Bittle snorted but tilted his head back to grab at the bacon with his teeth. He tugged it out of Jack’s hand, and it landed on his face with a quiet smack.

“Ew!” Bittle laughed, grabbing the bacon with his hand before it could fall to the floor. “Now I'm all greasy!”

Jack gave Bittle a wicked grin and held his face still as he licked at the place the bacon had hit. Bittle shrieked and half-heartedly pushed at his chest, shouting a litany of, “Ew, ew, Jack, that's gross!”

“All clean,” Jack said, smacking his lips and shoving an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.

“You're disgusting,” Bittle said, primly nibbling on his own slice. “Absolute heathen.”

“It's not like you're not gonna be covered in my spit in, oh, ten minutes,” Jack countered, reaching for more bacon.

Bittle glared at him. “We were having such a romantic morning. What happened to that Jack? I want him back.”

“Was it really that romantic?” Jack asked around a mouthful of food.

“More romantic than throwing bacon at my face,” Bittle mumbled. “Finish your food and take me back to bed. We have things to be celebrating.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said, swallowing quickly and hoisting Bittle off the counter before he could finish chewing. Despite his age and the aches and pains that came with years of intense athletics, Jack could still carry Bittle around when he really wanted to. And he wanted to pretty frequently.

Bittle wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist and held on tight, sucking lightly at Jack’s pulsepoint. That only made Jack walk faster, all but throwing Bittle onto the bed — their bed. The thought of that made something warm fizz under his skin, and he scrambled onto the bed next to Bittle, kissing him deeply.

“Mmph, what's gotten into you?” Bittle asked, fingers digging into the flesh of Jack’s pecs. “So handsy before coffee.”

“This is our bed,” Jack murmured, lips against Bittle’s cheek. “In our room. ‘Cause you said yes.”

Bittle reached up and cupped his face in both small, calloused hands. Jack loved drinking in the sight of Bittle, the ways he'd changed since they first met. Back then he'd been scrawny and baby-faced, his golden hair always flopping in his eyes and his smile tentative, guarded, nervous. Now he was scooching closer to forty every day, face lined, body thicker and softer, and his smile…

Maybe it was just the smile he reserved for Jack, but it was bright and blinding and so unrelenting and unapologetic that Jack knew, deep in his gut, it would be the last thing on his mind before he died, it so intensely encompassed his whole heart.

“Baby,” Bittle said softly, tracing Jack’s cheek with his thumb. “God, I love you so much. Of course I said yes. It's only practical.”

Jack laughed and pulled Bittle into another kiss, dirtier and rougher than before. Bittle shoved at him until he rolled onto his back, and then Jack had a lapful of his favorite person, working very studiously on a hickey on his neck.

“Bits…” he whined, but busied himself with pulling Bittle’s shirt off.

“No more locker room fines for you, Jack,” Bittle said. “I've been saving up these hickeys like you wouldn't believe.”

“I'm too old to have hickeys,” Jack muttered, then gasped when Bittle’s teeth scraped at the point just above his collarbone. “Nngh- don't stop.”

“That's what I thought,” Bittle said, far too smugly. Then he paused and sat up straighter. Jack whined at the loss of contact. “Sugar, do you smell smoke?”

“No- oh, shit, the eggs.”

Jack bolted off the bed, accidentally dumping Bittle to the floor. He'd remembered to turn the burner off for the bacon, but the eggs-

Were only a little bit on fire, as it turned out. Bittle got the window open before the smoke alarm could go off, and Jack shoved the pan out into the brisk morning air to cool down. The kitchen was hazy and unpleasant, but Bittle darted around to turn on the fan and open all the doors and windows he deemed appropriate.

Once he finished that task, Bittle tucked himself into Jack’s side, shivering shirtless in the breeze. “I can't believe you nearly burned down our apartment,” he said into Jack’s chest. Jack bit back a smile at how casually he said “our.”

“I guess then I would've had to move in with you,” Jack said mildly, wondering idly if the pan was done smoking. It was always distracting, having Bittle so close. “Which would've been a shame, your place is so much smaller than mine.”

“Well, we can't all be NHL millionaires,” Bittle said haughtily. “But, really, your kitchen is so much nicer than mine. I would've cried if you'd burnt it down.”

“I'll try to keep that in mind.” Jack pulled the pan back into the room and dumped it in the sink. “At least we’ve still got...fruit.”

“Such a baby,” Bittle said, patting Jack’s cheek. “You like strawberries.”

“Not as much as I like you,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to the top of Bittle’s head.

“I don't know if that was a sex joke or you just being sweet, but either way, you should take me back to bed,” Bittle said, grabbing Jack’s hand. “As long as you're certain all of the burners are off.”

“Promise they are,” Jack said, letting Bittle pull him from the kitchen. “...now.”

“Well, then, if you're sure,” Bittle said, voice going softer and lower. “Let's go christen our bed.”

Jack didn't need any further persuasion.

#anna writes things #check please! #omgcp fanfic #zimbits #established relationship #otp: hit me like a ray of sun #you can tell how gross i feel by how fluffy i write these losers #just fluff so much fluff #because i am DYING INSIDE #NOT EMOTIONALLY #MY BODY IS DECAYING SOMEONE FEED ME SOUP AND PET MY HAIR

[tbhstudying1]

from for the dreams i want to catch http://bit.ly/2G5asD3 See More

watts-of-dragons: yatahisofficiallyridiculous: geardrops: jmathieson-fic: amireal2u: taraljc: ca...

I have $24 to last me til Friday, what should I buy with it?

#IFTTT #for the dreams i want to catch

[tbhstudying1]

from for the dreams i want to catch http://bit.ly/2G5asD3 via See More

watts-of-dragons: yatahisofficiallyridiculous: geardrops: jmathieson-fic: amireal2u: taraljc: ca...

I have $24 to last me til Friday, what should I buy with it?

#IFTTT #for the dreams i want to catch