#signed rye | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaijuno · 5 months

Text

In light of Fall Out Boy’s GARBAGE cover of the song. Let’s learn about the original. Notice how they’re actually in chronological order instead of just random references 😒😒😒😒

1949

Harry Truman was inaugurated as U.S. president after being elected in 1948 to his own term; previously he was sworn in following the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt. He authorized the use of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan during World War II, on August 6 and August 9, 1945, respectively.

Doris Day enters the public spotlight with the films My Dream Is Yours and It’s a Great Feeling as well as popular songs like “It’s Magic”; divorces her second husband.

Red China: The Communist Party of China wins the Chinese Civil War, establishing the People’s Republic of China.

Johnnie Ray signs his first recording contract with Okeh Records, although he would not become popular for another two years.

South Pacific, the prize-winning musical, opens on Broadway on April 7.

Walter Winchell is an aggressive radio and newspaper journalist credited with inventing the gossip column.

Joe DiMaggio and the New York Yankees go to the World Series five times in the 1940s, winning four of them.

1950

Joe McCarthy, the US Senator, gains national attention and begins his anti-communist crusade with his Lincoln Day speech.

Richard Nixon is first elected to the United States Senate.

Studebaker, a popular car company, begins its financial downfall.

Television is becoming widespread throughout Europe and North America.

North Korea and South Korea declare war after Northern forces stream south on June 25.

Marilyn Monroe soars in popularity with five new movies, including The Asphalt Jungle and All About Eve, and attempts suicide after the death of friend Johnny Hyde who asked to marry her several times, but she refused respectfully. Monroe would later (1954) be married for a brief time to Joe DiMaggio (mentioned in the previous verse).

1951

The Rosenbergs, Ethel and Julius, were convicted on March 29 for espionage.

H-Bomb is in the middle of its development as a nuclear weapon, announced in early 1950 and first tested in late 1952.

Sugar Ray Robinson, a champion welterweight boxer.

Panmunjom, the border village in Korea, is the location of truce talks between the parties of the Korean War.

Marlon Brando is nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor for his role in A Streetcar Named Desire.

The King and I, musical, opens on Broadway on March 29.

The Catcher in the Rye, a controversial novel by J. D. Salinger, is published.

1952

Dwight D. Eisenhower is first elected as U.S. president, winning by a landslide margin of 442 to 89 electoral votes.

The vaccine for polio is privately tested by Jonas Salk.

England’s got a new queen: Queen Elizabeth II succeeds to the throne upon the death of her father, George VI, and is crowned the next year.

Rocky Marciano defeats Jersey Joe Walcott, becoming the world Heavyweight champion.

Liberace has a popular 1950s television show for his musical entertainment.

Santayana goodbye: George Santayana, philosopher, essayist, poet, and novelist, dies on September 26.

1953

Joseph Stalin dies on March 5, yielding his position as leader of the Soviet Union.

Georgy Maksimilianovich Malenkov succeeds Stalin for six months following his death. Malenkov had presided over Stalin’s purges of party “enemies”, but would be spared a similar fate by Nikita Khrushchev mentioned later in verse.

Gamal Abdel Nasser acts as the true power behind the new Egyptian nation as Muhammad Naguib’s minister of the interior.

Sergei Prokofiev, the composer, dies on March 5, the same day as Stalin.

Winthrop Rockefeller and his wife Barbara are involved in a highly publicized divorce, culminating in 1954 with a record-breaking $5.5 million settlement.

Roy Campanella, an African-American baseball catcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers, receives the National League’s Most Valuable Player award for the second time.

Communist bloc is a group of communist nations dominated by the Soviet Union at this time. Probably a reference to the Uprising of 1953 in East Germany.

1954

Roy Cohn resigns as Joseph McCarthy’s chief counsel and enters private practice with the fall of McCarthy. He also worked to prosecute the Rosenbergs, mentioned earlier.

Juan Perón spends his last full year as President of Argentina before a September 1955 coup.

Arturo Toscanini is at the height of his fame as a conductor, performing regularly with the NBC Symphony Orchestra on national radio.

Dacron is an early artificial fiber made from the same plastic as polyester.

Dien Bien Phu falls. A village in North Vietnam falls to Viet Minh forces under Vo Nguyen Giap, leading to the creation of North Vietnam and South Vietnam as separate states.

“Rock Around the Clock” is a hit single released by Bill Haley & His Comets in May, spurring worldwide interest in rock and roll music.

1955

Albert Einstein dies on April 18 at the age of 76.

James Dean achieves success with East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause, gets nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actor, and dies in a car accident on September 30 at the age of 24.

Brooklyn’s got a winning team: The Brooklyn Dodgers win the World Series for the only time before their move to Los Angeles.

Davy Crockett is a Disney television miniseries about the legendary frontiersman of the same name. The show was a huge hit with young boys and inspired a short-lived “coonskin cap” craze.

Peter Pan is broadcast on TV live and in color from the 1954 version of the stage musical starring Mary Martin on March 7. Disney released an animated version the previous year.

Elvis Presley signs with RCA Records on November 21, beginning his pop career.

Disneyland opens on July 17, 1955 as Walt Disney’s first theme park.

1956

Brigitte Bardot appears in her first mainstream film And God Created Woman and establishes an international reputation as a French “sex kitten”.

Budapest is the capital city of Hungary and site of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution.

Alabama is the site of the Montgomery Bus Boycott which ultimately led to the removal of the last race laws in the USA. Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr figure prominently.

Nikita Khrushchev makes his famous Secret Speech denouncing Stalin’s “cult of personality” on February 25.

Princess Grace Kelly releases her last film, High Society, and marries Prince Rainier III of Monaco.

Peyton Place, the best-selling novel by Grace Metalious, is published. Though mild compared to today’s prime time, it shocked the reserved values of the 1950s.

Trouble in the Suez: The Suez Crisis boils as Egypt nationalizes the Suez Canal on October 29.

1957

Little Rock, Arkansas is the site of an anti-integration standoff, as Governor Orval Faubus stops the Little Rock Nine from attending Little Rock Central High School and President Dwight D. Eisenhower deploys the 101st Airborne Division to counteract him.

Boris Pasternak, the Russian author, publishes his famous novel Doctor Zhivago.

Mickey Mantle is in the middle of his career as a famous New York Yankees outfielder and American League All-Star for the sixth year in a row.

Jack Kerouac publishes his first novel in seven years, On the Road.

Sputnik becomes the first artificial satellite, launched by the Soviet Union on October 4, marking the start of the space race.

Chou En-Lai, Premier of the People’s Republic of China, survives an assassination attempt on the charter airliner Kashmir Princess.

Bridge on the River Kwai is released as a film adaptation of the 1954 novel and receives seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture.

1958

Lebanon is engulfed in a political and religious crisis that eventually involves U.S. intervention.

Charles de Gaulle is elected first president of the French Fifth Republic following the Algerian Crisis.

California baseball begins as the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants move to California and become the Los Angeles Dodgers and San Francisco Giants. They are the first major league teams west of Kansas City.

Charles Starkweather Homicide captures the attention of Americans, in which he kills eleven people between January 25 and 29 before being caught in a massive manhunt in Douglas, Wyoming.

Children of Thalidomide: Mothers taking the drug Thalidomide had children born with congenital birth defects caused by the sleeping aid and antiemetic, which was also used at times to treat morning sickness.

1959

Buddy Holly dies in a plane crash on February 3 with Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper, in a day that had a devastating impact on the country and youth culture. Joel prefaces the lyric with a Holly signature vocal hiccup: “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

Ben-Hur, a film based around the New Testament starring Charlton Heston, wins eleven Academy Awards, including Best Picture.

Space Monkey: Able and Miss Baker return to Earth from space aboard the flight Jupiter AM-18.

The Mafia are the center of attention for the FBI and public attention builds to this organized crime society with a historically Sicilian-American origin.

Hula hoops reach 100 million in sales as the latest toy fad.

Fidel Castro comes to power after a revolution in Cuba and visits the United States later that year on an unofficial twelve-day tour.

Edsel is a no-go: Production of this car marque ends after only three years due to poor sales.

1960

U-2: An American U-2 spy plane piloted by Francis Gary Powers was shot down over the Soviet Union, causing the U-2 Crisis of 1960.

Syngman Rhee was rescued by the CIA after being forced to resign as leader of South Korea for allegedly fixing an election and embezzling more than US $20 million.

Payola, illegal payments for radio broadcasting of songs, was publicized due to Dick Clark’s testimony before Congress and Alan Freed’s public disgrace.

John F. Kennedy beats Richard Nixon in the November 8 general election.

Chubby Checker popularizes the dance The Twist with his cover of the song of the same name.

Psycho: An Alfred Hitchcock thriller, based on a pulp novel by Robert Bloch and adapted by Joseph Stefano, which becomes a landmark in graphic violence and cinema sensationalism. The screeching violins heard briefly in the background of the song are a trademark of the film’s soundtrack.

Belgians in the Congo: The Republic of the Congo (Leopoldville) was declared independent of Belgium on June 30, with Joseph Kasavubu as President and Patrice Lumumba as Prime Minister.

1961

Ernest Hemingway commits suicide on July 2 after a long battle with depression.

Adolf Eichmann, a “most wanted” Nazi war criminal, is traced to Argentina and captured by Mossad agents. He is covertly taken to Israel where he is put on trial for crimes against humanityin Germany during World War II, convicted, and hanged.

Stranger in a Strange Land, written by Robert A. Heinlein, is a breakthrough best-seller with themes of sexual freedom and liberation.

Bob Dylan is signed to Columbia Records after a New York Times review by critic Robert Shelton.

Berlin is separated into West Berlin and East Berlin, and from the rest of East Germany, when the Berlin Wall is erected on August 13 to prevent citizens escaping to the West.

The Bay of Pigs Invasion fails, an attempt by United States-trained Cuban exiles to invade Cuba and overthrow Fidel Castro.

1962

Lawrence of Arabia: The Academy Award-winning film based on the life of T. E. Lawrence starring Peter O’Toole premieres in America on December 16.

British Beatlemania: The Beatles, a British rock group, gain Ringo Starr as drummer and Brian Epstein as manager, and join the EMI’s Parlophone label. They soon become the world’s most famous rock band, with the word “Beatlemania” adopted by the press for their fans’ unprecedented enthusiasm. It also began the British Invasion in the United States.

Ole’ Miss: James Meredith integrates the University of Mississippi

John Glenn: Flew the first American manned orbital mission termed “Friendship 7” on February 20.

Liston beats Patterson: Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson fight for the world heavyweight championship on September 25, ending in a first-round knockout. This match marked the first time Patterson had ever been knocked out and one of only eight losses in his 20-year professional career.

1963

Pope Paul VI: Cardinal Giovanni Montini is elected to the papacy and takes the papal name of Paul VI.

Malcolm X makes his infamous statement “The chickens have come home to roost” about the Kennedy assassination, thus causing the Nation of Islam to censor him.

British politician sex: The British Secretary of State for War, John Profumo, has a relationship with a showgirl, and then lies when questioned about it before the House of Commons. When the truth came out, it led to his own resignation and undermined the credibility of the Prime Minister.

JFK blown away: President John F. Kennedy is assassinated on November 22 while riding in an open convertible through Dallas.

1965

Birth control: In the early 1960s, oral contraceptives, popularly known as “the pill”, first go on the market and are extremely popular. Griswold v. Connecticut in 1965 challenged a Connecticut law prohibiting contraceptives. In 1968, Pope Paul VI released a papal encyclical entitled Humanae Vitae which declared artificial birth control a sin.

Ho Chi Minh: A Vietnamese communist, who served as President of Vietnam from 1954–1969. March 2 Operation Rolling Thunder begins bombing of the Ho Chi Minh Trail supply line from North Vietnam to the Vietcong rebels in the south. On March 8, the first U.S. combat troops, 3,500 marines, land in South Vietnam.

1968

Richard Nixon back again: Former Vice President Nixon is elected President in 1968.

1969

Moonshot: Apollo 11, the first manned lunar landing, successfully lands on the moon.

Woodstock: Famous rock and roll festival of 1969 that came to be the epitome of the counterculture movement.

1974–75

Watergate: Political scandal that began when the Democratic National Committee’s headquarters at the Watergate office complex in Washington, DC was broken into. After the break-in, word began to spread that President Richard Nixon (a Republican) may have known about the break-in, and tried to cover it up. The scandal would ultimately result in the resignation of President Nixon, and to date, this remains the only time that anyone has ever resigned the United States Presidency.

Punk rock: The Ramones form, with the Sex Pistols following in 1975, bringing in the punk era.

1976–77

(An item from 1977 comes before three items from 1976 to make the song scan.)

Menachem Begin becomes Prime Minister of Israel in 1977 and negotiates the Camp David Accords with Egypt’s president in 1978.

Ronald Reagan was elected President of the United States in 1980, but he first attempted to run for the position in 1976.

Palestine: a United Nations resolution that calls for an independent Palestinian state and to end the Israeli occupation.

Terror on the airline: Numerous aircraft hijackings take place, specifically, the Palestinian hijack of Air France Flight 139 and the subsequent Operation Entebbe in Uganda.

1979

Ayatollah’s in Iran: During the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the West-backed and secular Shah is overthrown as the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini gains power after years in exile and forces Islamic law.

Russians in Afghanistan: Following their move into Afghanistan, Soviet forces fight a ten-year war, from 1979 to 1989.

1983

Wheel of Fortune: A hit television game show which has been TV’s highest-rated syndicated program since 1983.

Sally Ride: In 1983 she becomes the first American woman in space. Ride’s quip from space “Better than an E-ticket”, harkens back to the opening of Disneyland mentioned earlier, with the E-ticket purchase needed for the best rides.

Heavy metal suicide: In the 1980s Ozzy Osbourne and the bands Judas Priest and Metallica were brought to court by parents who accused the musicians of hiding subliminal pro-suicide messages in their music.

Foreign debts: Persistent U.S. trade deficits

Homeless vets: Veterans of the Vietnam War, including many disabled ex-military, are reported to be left homeless and impoverished.

AIDS: A collection of symptoms and infections in humans resulting from the specific damage to the immune system caused by infection with the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). It is first detected and recognized in the 1980s, and was on its way to becoming a pandemic.

Crack cocaine use surged in the mid-to-late 1980s.

1984

Bernie Goetz: On December 22, Goetz shot four young men who he said were threatening him on a New York City subway. Goetz was charged with attempted murder but was acquitted of the charges, though convicted of carrying an unlicensed gun.

1988

Hypodermics on the shore: Medical waste was found washed up on beaches in New Jersey after being illegally dumped at sea. Before this event, waste dumped in the oceans was an “out of sight, out of mind” affair. This has been cited as one of the crucial turning points in popular opinion on environmentalism.

1989

China’s under martial law: On May 20, China declares martial law, enabling them to use force of arms against protesting students to end the Tiananmen Square protests.

Rock-and-roller cola wars: Soft drink giants Coke and Pepsi each run marketing campaigns using rock & roll and popular music stars to reach the teenage and young adult demographic.

Short summaries of all 119 references mentioned in the song, you’re welcome.

#look fall out boy is one of my fave bands but this is inexcusable #fall out boy #Billy Joel #music #Spotify

292 notes · View notes

threadbaresweater · 7 months

Text

if music be the food of love, play on

Nanami Kento x reader. You're the proud owner of a new music store that just opened up beside Kento's Bakery, a beloved oasis on a busy street of a quaint small town. Nanami is cold and unwelcoming when you first meet, but as the weeks pass, he discovers that there's a world of music and happiness right at his doorstep.

Tags: bakery owner Nanami, female musician reader (main instrument is piano); lots of technical talk about music; lots of food mentions (it's a bakery au, afterall); fluff, Nanami doesn't have a sorcerer background, Nobara and Haibara as supporting characters, first kisses, little bit of pining, smidge of angst for Nanami's back story. I've been nursing this for months and finally found the time to finish it today. Before you ask about a part two, please know that it's being considered, though it will be slow based on how long it took me to write this.

See end notes for details on the music mentioned throughout the story and an explanation of the title. 6.5k words. Dividers by the lovely @/cafekitsune.

While most of the city is still fast asleep, Nanami Kento unlocks the front door of his bakery and steps inside, ready for another day of creating the neighborhood's best loved bread and pastries. He works alone until his front of house staff arrives a little before 6:00 a.m., when it's time to open to the public. Every morning is the same– by the time he flips the little sign on the door from Closed to Open, there's a case full of fresh baked pastries that have each been handcrafted with loving skill by Nanami's hands. It's meditative for him– ingredients, measurements, time, routine, a well-loved butcher’s block table, intoxicating aromas and his favorite music playing on an old record player. He has an affinity for the classics: Vivaldi, Brahms, Chopin, Tchaikovsky. But on weekend mornings, when the strict weekday regimen is more relaxed and free, it’s jazz.

The storefront is small, the floors made of old pine planks that groan underfoot, and there's room for one small table for two in front of the window that faces the street. There are a few framed prints of famous artworks on the walls, a well-loved spider plant hanging in the corner, and a small wooden shelf with the daily newspaper and a few old cookbooks. Behind the cash register is a cutaway window where Nanami's kitchen is nestled just beyond. Customers come from miles around at all different times of the day– the morning commuters who build an extra fifteen minutes into their routine to stop in for a cup of coffee to go and a savory pastry wrapped in brown paper, the afternoon crowd who call to order sandwiches ahead for themselves and their coworkers to eat in the park on their lunch break, the evening crowd that stops to grab a fresh loaf of sourdough or rye to take home for dinner. By the time the last customer has left for the day, the case is empty and the cash register is full. An overnight baker comes in around 8 p.m. to begin prepping and proofing for the next morning, and Kento departs for home.

He appreciates the routine. It's predictable and comforting, and he thrives on knowing that he's still making a difference in the world– or, at least, in his little neighborhood. Owning a bakery is not a glamorous existence, but it’s honest work. His staff is competent and efficient, and he pays them fairly. He’s never failed a health department inspection– his kitchen is pristine and organized, with fresh ingredients and well-kept equipment being of utmost priority. It took him months to jump through all the hoops; health, utility, and zoning inspectors paraded through the store, nitpicking at every small detail until it’s all up to code. Nanami had little patience for all the red tape, but he held his tongue and signed all the papers and paid all the fees. He hired and trained a handful of workers and opened for business on a sleepy Thursday morning.

By the time the little music store comes to life next door, he’s been in business for over two years. And he’s thriving. Amid the other small businesses– a florist, an artist co-op, a jeweler, a few specialty clothing boutiques, a candy shop– he’s respected and loved, though the rest of the owners agree that he’s a bit of a grump. Hard to talk to, rarely smiles or makes small talk. Perhaps none of them have ever really given him a chance to say anything. Or perhaps Kento doesn’t really want to say anything to them. For all intents and purposes, he seems happy with his lot.

You purchase the store next door to Kento’s at the end of September. It takes a few weeks for the finer details to be secured, but the day you move in, it’s sunny and unseasonably warm. Nanami watches from behind the counter as the box truck you rented pulls up and takes up two parking spaces in front of his bakery. The dough he’s kneading bears the brunt of his frustration as he continues to watch.

You and two men get out; you survey your parking job and shrug your shoulders as if to say this will have to do. The truck is large, and there isn’t a lot of room in the alley behind the store, so it's really your only option. With a worried nibble of your fingernail, you turn and look in the window of the bakery to see if anyone’s watching. The glare on the glass makes it hard for you to tell, but Nanami watches you with a deep frown as you motion for your movers to start unloading the truck. For a moment, it looks like you’re going to come inside, but you change your mind mid step and go to unlock the door to your own store instead.

Nanami finishes the dough he’s working, dusts off his hands on his apron, and decides it’s time to confront you.

“Mr. Kento, is everything okay?” the counter attendant asks, concern etched into her features. “Are you–”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, without making eye contact. Onto the sidewalk he steps and crosses his arms, looking from your giant truck and over to your store, mouth slightly open, brows arched. He’s clearly annoyed, and he’s about to make it known when you bounce over to him, extending a hand in greeting.

“Hi! You must be Kento. I’ve never been to your bakery, but I’ve heard wonderful things.” You tell him your name, even though he doesn’t ask. And when he doesn’t take your hand, you sheepishly pull yours away, feeling a little deflated.

“You’re taking up two parking spaces.” It’s all he offers.

You scratch the back of your head and huff a little laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. The alley is so narrow, and I wasn’t sure if–”

“I receive deliveries out back twice a week, in a truck of a similar size. None of those drivers have ever had a problem fitting.”

Nodding, you stammer an apology, then call out to your movers. “We can park out back, you guys! He says there’s plenty of room!”

Nanami seems to relax, but only a little. “This is customer parking.”

You scoff, but you feel your face grow hot. This definitely isn’t the way you’d hoped to meet your next door business owner. “Look, I said I was sorry, okay? I’m not sure what else you want me to do.” As you start to say you’d like to buy something from him, the truck roars to life and you snap your lips shut with a short nod. Pleased, Nanami retreats back inside just as one of his customers pulls in to claim one of the spaces your truck left.

It takes hours to unload the truck, and days after that to sort through everything you’ve brought with you. You don’t hear another word from the baker next door, and you’re quite content with being left alone to organize your store the way you envisioned. There’s much more than you’d realized– stacks of sheet music, instruments you’d picked up at auctions and thrift stores that needed a little TLC, boxes of records and CD’s and even a few old cassette tapes, and an old upright piano that had been yours since the tender age of four. Your grandmother taught you to play on this piano, and now, it’s your turn to pass on the skill. Deep down, you know it’s a little crazy and overly-ambitious to open a music store and attempt to teach piano lessons, but you want to try. If worse comes to worst, you could always hire someone to tend to the store while you teach.

As the weeks go by and autumn settles in, word of your shop travels through town. You aren’t terribly busy yet, but you have a few regulars from the local university who like to raid your record collection from time to time, and you teach about a dozen piano students on a weekly basis. There’s generally a lull in business in the early afternoon, so on a particularly cool October day, you decide to lock up for a few minutes and head next door. You haven’t seen Nanami since the first time you met, but you’re hoping he doesn’t kick you out when he sees you at his counter.

A little bell above the door signals your arrival. Inside the bakery, it’s warm and inviting and smells like coffee and your grandmother’s kitchen. You order a drink and a croissant and make small talk with the counter staff. She’s young and smiling, seemingly happy to be at work as she goes about making your coffee order. You look around, noting the finer details of the store– the handwritten tags on the different varieties of bread, the old world feel and warm, yellow lighting. For someone whose first impression left you a little disenchanted, he certainly knows how to create a charming atmosphere.

As you go to leave, you hear your name called from the kitchen. You turn around just as you tear off a piece of the croissant to stuff in your mouth and meet Nanami's eyes, chewing in wide-eyed wonder. The flaky, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture of the croissant makes you want to moan in delight. But you're also gobsmacked that he remembers your name.

You swallow, then offer him a wide smile and a thumbs up from the hand that holds your coffee. "Kento! Nice to see you! I didn't know you were here today," you demure.

He is not impressed. "I'm here every day."

"Oh, right– being the owner and all."

"How do you like it?" he asks, giving a subtle incline of his head toward the pastry in your hand.

"Wha– oh, this?" You purse your lips and kiss the air. "Delectable. Delightful." You bite off another piece, and some of the flaky dough flutters across your cheek. "I should have come over weeks ago."

Something in his demeanor softens. It's so subtle that you'd probably have missed it if you weren't watching him so closely, anticipating his next move. "I wondered if you ever would, considering our first encounter."

You scoff. "That's old news. I was over it an hour after it happened."

There's a hint of a smile that lifts the corner of his mouth, and he pushes his glasses up with a floured finger. "Yes, I suppose it is."

For a brief moment, he considers asking about how business has been going for you, but ultimately decides against it. You take a sip of coffee as the cashier looks between the two of you, busying herself with wiping down the counter while trying to appear nonchalant. "Well," you begin, hooking your thumb over your shoulder, "I should probably head back over. I have a student coming soon. Nice talking to you, Kento!"

His interest is piqued. "Student?"

You nod, chewing on another mouthful. "Mm-hm! I teach piano lessons."

A golden brow raises, and his brown eyes gleam behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I had no idea."

You laugh. "That's why you should come and visit me! I haven't had the most warm welcome in this little neighborhood, and you're partly to blame for that."

"I thought you said that was old news," he deadpans.

You throw him a wink and use your elbow to open the door. "Later, Kento."

You visit once or twice a week, then every day. It becomes part of your morning routine to visit, and you know it's no good for your wallet, but you can’t resist. Eventually, the counter staff stops charging you for coffee. “It’s on the house,” Nanami calls from his station one morning. You leave an extra tip in the little jar by the cash register, and he scowls at you. You laugh and wave, then head back to your store, pleased that you seem to know just how to get under his skin.

You bring him a record next time you come. Vivaldi– The Four Seasons. You’d been at an auction over the weekend and thought of him when you found it. You slide it across the counter and tip your head toward the grumpy baker in the back. “For your boss,” you tell the cashier, whose name you’ve learned is Nobara and that she’s in school for graphic design but she’s been shadowing Kento and learning the art of baking.

“He won’t take it,” she whispers, though her mouth betrays her when she grins with you in a conspiratorial sort of way. She slips it under the counter and leans forward, lowering her voice even further. “I’ll make sure he hears it, though.”

You sip your coffee and meander toward the window while Nobara sneaks her way toward the record player that’s playing some pretentious Bach etudes. She rolls her eyes and pretends to yawn, then winks at you and lifts the needle.

“What happened?” As soon as the music stops, Kento calls from the kitchen, though you can’t see him from where you stand. You and Nobara share a wide-eyed moment while she slides the Vivaldi record out of its sleeve.

“Record’s over!” she replies. “Just getting another one out.”

You stifle a giggle behind your palm as she drops the needle. A few revolutions of static fill the small space, then the triumphant fanfare of Spring makes your heart leap with familiar excitement.

Kento steps out from the kitchen, dusting his hands on his apron. It’s only the second time you’ve seen the entirety of him, as most of the time his lower half is obscured by the wall behind the cash register. He’s taller than you realized, with broad shoulders that strain against the cotton of his button up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you can’t help but notice the well-defined muscle in his forearms and the thickness of his fingers. He looks from you to Nobara, then back to you. He’s not amused, but he isn’t exactly mad, either. You wonder if this guy has ever smiled at all.

“Vivaldi,” he says. “This isn’t my record.”

“It is now,” you say. Nobara grabs a broom and sweeps under one of the tables, and Kento steps a little closer to you. The music plays on, and you can’t tell if he’s listening and doesn’t want to ruin the vibe or if he truly is at a loss for words.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, reaching in his back pocket, presumably for his wallet.

You shake your head and smile at him. “It’s on the house. Now we’re even.”

“I didn’t realize you were in my debt.”

“Coffee. I haven’t paid for a cup in almost two weeks. I wanted to give you something in return.”

He knocks on your door just after you've locked up on a cold, rainy November afternoon.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, and if you didn’t know any better (and you really don’t) you’d think he was offended. He pulls a couple of bills from his wallet and holds them out to you. “Really. The coffee isn’t a big deal.”

You take a couple of steps backward until your shoulder butts into the door. The little bell above you jingles merrily. “Neither is the record!” And before he can say another word, you’re trotting back to your territory, leaving him with the triumphant sounds of Spring and your mischievous smile emblazoned on his psyche.

"We're closed!" you shout from the back, not bothering to see who's at the door.

"It's Kento," he calls, fitting as much of his body as he can under the awning to avoid getting any wetter than he already is.

You smile to yourself and go to let him in, sweeping your arm in a grand gesture. "Welcome to my humble shop, good sir. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

He doesn't even crack a smile, but steps over the threshold and dries his shoes on the welcome mat. For a moment, he doesn't speak, only looks around at your haphazard organization of goods. You watch him curiously, filing away a few pieces of sheet music before fully turning to face him.

“How do you like it?” you ask.

“Quaint,” he answers, not meeting your gaze. You notice for the first time that he’s carrying a brown paper bag, and he approaches you, wordlessly holding it out for you to take.

“Aw, thanks, Kento.” You accept it with a smile and stick your nose down in the bag, inhaling deeply.

“Rosemary,” he offers when he sees you lift a brow, trying to place the scent.

“It smells incredible.”

“You give piano lessons.” It’s a statement, not a question. You chuckle lightly at his abrupt change of subject. Either he’s incredibly socially awkward, or he doesn’t waste time on trivial small talk. You think it’s probably the latter.

“Right. We talked about it before. Why? Do you have a niece or something that wants to learn?”

He cocks his head at you, still expressionless. “No. I do.”

THe silence between you stretches on for just a beat too long, making the air tense and awkward. Nanami’s eyes don’t leave your face, and you find yourself stuttering out some kind of affirmative sound.

“Do you have an opening in your schedule?”

“I have a few!” you say. “What’s a good time for you?”

Nanami looks at his watch. “There’s no time like the present. Is this time of day usually free for you?”

“I–” You laugh sheepishly, but gesture for him to follow you to the back of the store where your little, slightly out of tune upright piano sits, surrounded by shelves of method books, theory worksheets, and volumes upon volumes of music through the ages. “I usually use this time to practice my own stuff, but I could make time for you.”

He slides easily onto the old wooden bench and inches it back, away from the keys, to accommodate his long legs. To say you’re surprised when he begins to play scales would be an understatement. He’s a little clumsy, using the wrong fingers on the wrong keys some of the time, but he keeps a steady tempo as his hands move up and down the octaves.

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to play,” you murmur, sitting in the chair you have placed to his right. Your teaching chair. Your newest student watches his hands, a lock of his golden hair falling over his forehead as he tilts his chin downward. You cross your legs and smile fondly.

"I took lessons as a child," he says quietly. "But I didn't keep up with it once I went to high school." He stops abruptly, then turns to you. "I'd like to refresh, though. Maybe learn a new piece or two."

"Of course!" From one of the shelves to your right, you pull out a volume of simplified classical pieces, thumbing through until you find one suitable. You lean forward and place it in front of him. "How's your sight reading?"

"Poor," he frowns, but he begins to pluck out the melody line, slow and deliberate.

"That's your assignment this week, then. I'll give you a book for home practice, and when you come back next week, be prepared to play one or two songs for me. Focus on the mechanics, the fingering, the tempo. We'll add in dynamics when you feel you've got it."

He continues to play, his left hand pressing against the pages to keep them from falling shut. "What's your fee?"

You answer without hesitation. "Bread."

He raises a brow as if to ask if you're serious. "Bread?"

You nod. "Bread. One loaf per week. Doesn't matter what kind, though I'm partial to a well-made focaccia."

"Bread is hardly sufficient for your services."

"I'm trying to be neighborly here, Kento. Indulge me."

"Fine. One loaf per week. And I'll buy my own sheet music."

"That's not necessary, I have–"

"I'll buy my own sheet music," he reiterates. You snap your mouth shut and give him a swift nod.

If his demeanor as a student is anything like his demeanor as a business owner, you're in for one hell of a ride.

The days grow short as winter settles in. With the holidays just around the corner, Nanami's bakery grows busier by the day with custom orders for parties and other social events, and you're busy preparing students for their first studio recital. Despite his busy schedule, he still visits you every Thursday afternoon and astounds you with the progress he makes. You wonder how he finds the time to practice, especially now, during his busiest season.

You've learned a few things about him during your time together. He's not much of a talker, preferring to keep his private life private. But when you do manage to get a little bit of personal information out of him, he gets a faraway, melancholy look in his eye, like maybe some part of him is stuck in those memories of a life long past. He’s divorced. It was a childless, loveless marriage, one where his ex-wife chased more after her own pleasure than their mutual enjoyment in more ways than one. He worked for years as a financial advisor, and when the divorce settlement came, she took her share of their assets and moved across the continent. He soon began to feel suffocated by the endless hours he spent at the office, so he took up baking as a hobby. What began as a way to distract himself from loneliness turned into a lucrative business opportunity; he opened the bakery with part of his retirement fund and never looked back.

His favorite composer is Beethoven. He appreciates the moodiness of the music, the complex and haunting melodies that seem to speak to a part of his soul he's buried long ago. You want to ask him why he never pursued music, but he beats you to the punch.

"There was a time as a child that I dreamed of being a concert pianist," he says quietly. He's playing the same two measures of a Beethoven piece, just the left hand, committing the sequence to muscle memory.

You hum and tilt your head. "What happened to that dream?"

He grunts, frustrated, though with the passage of music or his memory, you couldn't say. "My father. 'You won't make any money as a musician', he'd tell me. I said I didn't care about the money, so he found other ways to discourage me."

You're angry at his father on his behalf. It's true, the life of a musician isn't all glitz and glamor, but it's fulfilling work. The friendships formed and the memories of performances and late night jam sessions are worth more than any measly paycheck you might receive. It might be a romanticized way to think about it, but it's not unreasonable to find a way to make a modest living from music.

"So you studied–"

"Finance. Numbers. Spreadsheets and accounting. Math and music aren't really all that different when you break it down," he says. "Of course, you can't put emotion into algebraic equations," he scoffs. He lifts his hand from the keyboard and turns to look at you. "But you can with bread."

You nod. "It's true. I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to encourage you to follow your heart."

He pauses, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something retaliatory; but he sighs instead. "So am I."

You're struck suddenly with an idea, and nearly knock over your chair to open one of your cabinets. Nanami watches carefully as your fingers flip through different books, your eyes alight with excitement and maybe a smidge of mischief. "Found it!" You nudge him with the book as you sit on the edge of the bench to his right. "Scoot."

"What's this?" he asks as you set the music in front of the two of you.

"Play this with me," you say. You grab the book and bend the spine so that it lays a little more flat. "Look. It's in C Major. It's not fast. And your part is simple!" When he looks at you, skeptical, you laugh. "It's sight reading practice! Come on Kento, don't be scared."

It isn't the music that he's afraid of. It's the proximity of you, sitting mere inches away from him on the same bench. It's your shoulder rubbing against his, the light floral scent of your perfume, the way the setting sun slants in from the front window and makes your eyes shine. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away from you to study the music, ghosting his hands over the keys without actually pressing them.

"I'll take care of page turns. You control the pedal. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he says.

"Alright. On my count. One-two-three-four–"

It isn't perfect by a long shot. You get through the first few pages without much difficulty, but Nanami's capacity for sight reading isn't quite up to par, and he grows frustrated that he can't keep up with you. He stops after an unsuccessful attempt at a set of quick sixteenth notes and shakes his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I need more practice," he murmurs, watching your hands as you continue playing.

"You were doing fine!"

"Not as good as you."

You laugh, incredulous. "Kento, I've got years of practice on you! Give yourself a break!" You swat playfully at his shoulder and start to slide away from the bench, but he takes hold of your wrist. You freeze, and the smile falls from your lips when you see the way he's looking at you.

"I'll pay you for the extra time if I can stay a little longer." I want to get this right. For you.

When you settle back in beside him, he releases his grip on your wrist. The loss of warmth and pressure takes your breath away. Your tongue feels to heavy for your mouth when you agree to let him stay. "You don't have to pay me. Let's work this through."

You spend the next hour writing in numbers on the sheet music to guide him on which fingers to use on which keys, which passages are important to the call and response with your part, where to pause, where to speed up. The piece in its entirety is long; four movements, a total performance time of over forty minutes, but you plan to concentrate only on the first. Nanami is attentive and asks plenty of relevant questions, but as the evening draws on, you find it hard to concentrate on the music. Stifling a yawn with the back of your hand, you glance at the old grandfather clock that stands near the back door.

"I think that will give you enough to do this week, don't you think?" In the beat of silence that follows your question, your stomach gurgles. Embarrassed, you rub a hand over your abdomen. "Sorry."

Nanami closes the book and checks his watch. "When did you last eat?" he asks.

"I had an early lunch. Breakfast. Brunch?" You giggle at yourself and shrug. "A while ago," you admit.

He's at war with himself, and it's written all over his face. There's guilt for keeping you so late, annoyance that you didn't stop teaching him at a reasonable time. There's a thankfulness in the way his brows knit together, though, and a tender admiration for how dedicated you are. He also wants to take you to dinner, but he doesn't want it to be a date, and he doesn't want you to think that he's asking you out because he doesn't want to overstep any sort of student-teacher relationship.

But he owns a bakery that's stocked with food, whose employees have long gone home for the evening.

"Come with me."

You begin to protest. You know what he's going to offer, but you're tired and a little frazzled, and you know you won't be good company for much longer. "Kento, I appreciate it, but–"

"Let me make you something."

You sigh, but your stomach has more to say.

Nanami lifts a brow and quirks up the corner of his mouth. "Come on," he says, "before I change my mind."

The sidewalk is dusted with a glittering swirl of snow when you step outside and lock up. The street in front of your shops is barren and dark, save for a lone, flickering street lamp and a biting cold winter wind. You wish you'd thought to grab your coat (or at least a scarf), but Nanami is quick to unlock his door and usher you inside, his hand hovering near the small of your back, barely touching. You're immediately thankful for the warmth of his bakery. Even now, with the ovens off and only the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. You roll some of the tension out of your shoulders and look around while he goes straight to the record player and puts on an album. This one is different than his usual fare; the crackle of the needle on vinyl satisfies you in a way you can't explain, and soon you're surprised to hear the croon of Louis Armstrong.

"I didn't take you for a jazz fan," you muse, following him behind the counter. You feel like you're being let in on one of the world's best kept secrets, like you really shouldn't be here, even though you were invited– no, told– to come. Nanami pulls out a stool and instructs you to sit, and you do, though you're itching to help in some way.

"Sure you don't need me to do anything?"

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, then uses his index finger to push them up the bridge of his nose. You take that as a no, so you settle onto the stool and listen to the music while he works.

"You know, for it to be a real exchange of services, you should teach me how to bake."

He continues to assemble two sandwiches with cold cuts of meat and fresh tomato and some kind of pesto spread that makes your mouth water. The sound of the serrated edge of a knife cutting through a loaf of crusty bread makes your stomach growl again. Nanami scoffs. "I'm not a good teacher."

"Bullshit. I bet you're amazing."

"I'm not patient. I thought you'd be able to figure that out from the way I study piano." He sets a plate in front of you, then pulls out another stool, settling in adjacent from you at the other side of the prep table. You wonder if it's not customary for him to eat here. Something tells you that he likes to keep this space pristine when he's not using it for its intended purpose, but you choose to ignore it.

"You've got to have a little patience stored in there somewhere." You point to his heart and smile. "Doesn't bread take hours from start to finish? Pastries, too? And pies, and cookies and stuff?"

"Cookies don't take hours," he says. "But you do have a point with the bread and pastries. If you really want to learn, I'll teach you. But not tonight." He nods toward the sandwich. "Eat. I know you're hungry."

You eat. The first bite is a little piece of heaven; you expected nothing less, based on the other things you've eaten from his bakery, but this is on another level. Maybe it's because you haven't eaten in hours, or maybe it's because you're exhausted. Maybe it's because the man sitting with you made it for you and you didn't have to cook or decide what kind of takeout to get, but you'd swear it to be the best sandwich you've had in your life.

You don't talk much between bites, and neither does he. He, too, seems exhausted by the work he put in, but not in a way that has him feeling defeated. It's a sense of accomplishment, a tired sort of pride that comes from concentrating hard on a project that means something to him. You let the music fill the silence, you sip a cup of fresh-brewed coffee (even though you know you'll regret drinking caffeine so late), you let your spine curve as you lean on the table, feeling full and satisfied.

You offer to help him clean up. He insists that you leave it, that it's late and you should go. You pick up your plate anyway and stick out your tongue as you dance away from him and over to the sink. He grabs your wrist for the second time tonight and you look at his hand, then up at him as he tugs you gently toward him, close enough so that he can take the plate from you with his other hand. The fluorescent lighting does little to conceal his expression; a lock of his hair falls over one eye, where you see the dark half-circles in the skin underneath. He's tired. And it's not just because he spent the evening poring over music, nor is it because of the hours he keeps. You think he's just perpetually tired from the hand that life has dealt him, and you wish in that moment that you could help him rest.

"I said I've got it," he murmurs, and you suddenly realize you're closer to him than you'd thought. So close, in fact, that you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek when he sighs at your stubbornness. There's barely an inch between your chest and his, and you catch yourself staring at his neck, wondering idly what it might feel like to run your nails along the stubble on his jaw.

You whisper, "Okay." Your lips feel dry, so you wet them with your tongue; it's an unconscious reflex, but when you see Nanami's eyes flit to your mouth and his cheeks bloom with color, you realize that he reads it in an entirely different way.

Not that you mind.

He sets your plate in the sink, never letting go of your wrist as he pulls you in even closer. He breathes through his mouth, softly, and he uses his other hand to tilt your chin upward, honey brown eyes dancing across your face. You search his face in kind; your heart is in your throat, and you feel his energy radiating all around you. Testing the waters a bit, you lean in further until the tip of your nose nudges his cheek and he closes his eyes as his hand slips around your waist.

He can't breathe when your lips touch his. You're so tentative and soft, plush silk that presses against his mouth and makes him yearn for more of you right away. There's something otherworldly that happens in that moment; you've shared kisses with a handful of people in your life, but none have ever felt quite like this. You think about the romance books that you read as a teen, where the kiss would be described as electric, charged, all-consuming, like some kind of magic spell was cast over the characters and they knew in an instant that they were meant to be.

You knew how foolish it was to believe in those kind of stories, yet here you were, standing in the middle of Nanami's kitchen, kissing him while he kissed you back, with soft jazz floating on the air, your fingers tracing across his jaw just as you'd daydreamed about only moments ago. His kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue gentle and languid as it passes over yours and touches the corner of your mouth as if he's savoring the taste of you.

You're first to pull back, your head light, your chest fluttering as you take in a gulp of precious air. Nanami's forehead rests against yours, fingers pressed lightly against the pulse at your neck.

"You should go now," he whispers, though it's the last thing in the world he wants you to do. It's dangerous for you to stay. He isn't sure he'll be able to control himself much longer in your presence.

You nod and give his waist a squeeze as you pull away, and the fatigue of the day begins to set in. Nanami thumbs at your bottom lip before letting you go, watching as you clumsily fumble for your keys in the pocket of your jeans.

The back door opens suddenly, bringing in a gust of cold air and shimmering snow flurries, and you both jolt as the night baker steps inside. He, too, widens his eyes as he sees the two of you standing there. Nanami cards a hand through his hair and clears his throat while you fish out your keys, laughing nervously.

"Mr. Kento! You're here late," the baker says, looking between the two of you as it dawns on him what may have just happened.

"We were– I was just leaving," Nanami says. "Let me wash up, then I'll be out of your hair."

The baker smiles. "Nah, I got it. Go on home. You look tired."

Nanami begins to protest, then stops himself. "Thank you, Haibara. I'll see you in the morning."

He guides you out through the front, stopping to turn off the record player. Outside on the sidewalk, he grabs your hand, thumb running over your knuckles as he smiles at you. A genuine smile, the first one you've seen since you've known him.

"Goodnight. And thank you," he says.

"No need for thanks," you demure, squeezing his hand. "I had fun. And the sandwich was delicious. You spoil me, you know."

He kisses your forehead, then dips down to meet your lips once more. Sweet, chaste, but lingering, as if he wants to commit the feel of it to memory.

"If you’re serious about learning to bake, we can start when you're ready." Tomorrow? Is tomorrow good for you?

"I'll let you know." How about tonight? Right now? You begin to think of ways to rearrange your schedule so you can fit in baking lessons. The thought of rising before the sun makes you scowl, but you might be able to make it work. Especially since you'll be working alongside him. "Goodnight, Kento."

"Goodnight," he repeats, and when he says your name, you can almost hear the way he relishes the feel of it on his tongue.

"Don't forget to practice!" you call to him as you flit down the sidewalk. He chuckles to himself and looks up at the street lamp, hand shoved into his pockets.

"I won't."

The title is taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. “If music be the food of love play on,” by itself, is interpreted as equating music to food for love. On its own, as it is commonly quoted, speakers interpret it as promoting love in one’s life as one might seek out more food to sate one’s appetite. But, in the context of the play and the entire quote, it becomes clear that the speaker is asking for more music because he hopes that it will cure him of his obsessive love for Countess Olivia. He hopes that with more music, his “appetite may sicken and so die.” In the case of Nanami and his love interest, I just wanted a clever title to tie bread and music together, so the quote is interpreted here without context, which changes the meaning entirely 😂

The record that reader bring to Nanami is Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and the song specifically that plays is Spring

The Beethoven piece that he plays is Für Elise, which is a common "beginner" classical song for pianists.

The duet they play is Franz Schubert's Sonata in C Major D.812 (for four hands). They don't get very far before Nanami gives up.

In the bakery when they go to share a meal, Nanami puts on a Louis Armstrong record.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider a reblog to help spread the love.

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

279 notes · View notes

sirenjose · 5 months

Text

Analysis of the Food/Diet of the Lower Class in the Victorian era

(It was a bit tricky for me to find sufficiently detailed answers about the time and group I was looking for, as I wanted a bit more than the basics. Apologies for any mistakes)

Bread was a staple of the lower-class diet, such as wholemeal, rye bread, unleavened bread (like oatcakes), etc.. For the poor, it was often made of cheap-quality flour and likely denser than modern bread.

These could be supplemented with whatever vegetables that were cheapest as well as locally available at that time of year. Onions were among the cheapest (half penny for a dozen, cheaper if they were bruised) and available all year. They were more expensive in late spring, at which point they could be substituted by leeks. Watercress was another cheap staple (halfpenny for 4 bunches from April to January/February) and were regularly eaten at breakfast. Cabbage was cheap and easily available, along with broccoli, with lettuce and radishes available in summer. Carrots and turnips were inexpensive staples, especially in winter, and they along with cabbage were often used in stews and soups.

As for fruit, apples were the cheapest and most commonly available (from August to May). Cherries were also fairly cheap (from May to July). Pears, blackberries, and plums were available throughout autumn. Then there were gooseberries, plums and greengages (in late September), raspberries, and strawberries. Not all fruits were affordable, like oranges, which were imported from Spain in winter but were expensive and often given as gifts, and pineapples, which were a sign of wealth.

Potatoes were another staple and were prepared in various ways, including boiled, mashed, roasted, or fried. They grew well in Britain’s mild weather, making them easy to produce and sell, meaning they were cheap and thus became a frequent meal.

In terms of meat, the lower class ate it infrequently, maybe once a week, with the worst off even less often. Pork was 1 of the most common types of meat, when it could be afforded.

As a result, the poor made the most of it (using and eating every part of it). For example, a cook would boil a piece of beef or mutton with vegetables one day (probably Sunday, the only day many people had off from work), then return to the boiling pot the next day and skim the fat off from the top to be used for frying or pie crusts. Then he or she could set the liquid back to boiling, adding a stingy amount of oatmeal (one recipe recommends a tablespoon of oatmeal for every pint of liquid) to produce another nourishing meal from the broth. Recipes call it a pot liquor soup; we’d more likely call it gruel.

Gruel, made by boiling grains, like oats, rice, or barley, in water or milk, was a common food option for the poor as it required minimal ingredients and was easy to prepare. It often served as a breakfast or basic meal.

Porridge refers to a thicker and more substantial version of cooked grains, usually oats, in water or milk. It was typically cooked for a longer amount of time, resulting in a creamier and heartier consistency. It was also a popular breakfast choice due to it being nutritious and filling.

They tended to buy cuts and trimmings of meat no one else wanted, which were referred to as “block ornaments”. Examples included sheep’s organs, shanks, gristly bits, and heads. Most of these cuts were tough or didn’t have much meat on them, but they could produce a filling broth. Tripe (lining of stomach of animals like cattle, sheep, and pig), liver, meat on the bone (shin or cheek), and offal (aka organ meats like brains, hearts, sweetbreads, liver, kidneys, lungs, and intestines) were also cheap.

Chicken was rare, as the birds were kept for eggs, and usually not eaten unless the bird stopped laying eggs.

Later in the Victorian era, bacon became a popular choice at breakfast (alongside kippers aka a type of fish made from herring, eggs, and porridge).

Drippings was another common part of the lower class diet. Drippings refer to the fat that is collected as a result of cooking meat. When meat, such as beef, pork, or poultry, is roasted or grilled, the fat present in the meat melts and drips down into the pan or tray. This fat is then collected and saved, typically in a container or jar, for later use. They add flavor and richness to dishes and are commonly used for making gravies, sauces, or to enhance the flavor of roasted vegetables, as a few examples.

Since meat was a luxury, the lower class tended to go for cheaper proteins, like eggs and legumes.

Many East End homes kept hens in their backyards, with a couple hens able to produce up to a dozen eggs per home per week. Hard cheeses like cheddar was produced countrywide and so available all year round, meaning it was able to enter the diet of the lower class. It was a good protein, kept well, and even stale it could be eaten toasted with bread.

Regarding legumes (ex: beans, peas, peanuts, lentils, etc…), they were a cost-effective source of protein, fiber, and nutrients. Dried legumes were more affordable and available all year round. Beans (good from July to September) were a staple for many lower class, often cooked in stews, soups, or baked dishes. Peas (affordable from June to July) and lentils were also commonly consumed.

In terms of drinks, tea was very common. It became more affordable with the help of increased trade, improved transportation, and advancements in production methods. The poor drank tea that tended to be weaker, as they reused the tea leaves several times before disposing of them. Black tea was common, the most popular being those imported from countries like China and India.

Milk was widely consumed but not usually in large quantities, due to cost and adulteration fears (aka fear of contamination). Beer was also common (made with low alcohol content so you didn’t get drunk), even for women and older children, as water wasn’t safe to drink back them (easily contaminated, but the brewing process killed off the germs). Coffee was another option, but it tended to be more expensive than tea, beer, or milk.

Sugar became cheaper at least after 1874, but still tended to be relatively expensive, especially for those on lower incomes. Thus it remained more of a luxury item and consumed in mostly smaller quantities or for special occasions.

Butter, like sugar, would’ve also been considered a relatively expensive item, and thus not as widely consumed. Instead, they used cheaper options of fat, like lard and dripping.

Nuts were another slightly more expensive item. But there were some options if a poorer individual could afford them. Chestnuts were the most common (favorite street snack in chestnut season, running from September to January). There were also filberts and hazelnuts (available from October to May) and walnuts (seasonal). Imported almonds and brazil nuts were more expensive, but commonly consumed around Christmas as a “treat”.

Even if they could afford things like sugar, butter, or nuts, the lower class likely would’ve typically used their income on more basic necessities and things they needed for their job or life.

Individuals were paid on Saturday, and that plus the absence of refrigeration affected the weekly menu. It’s possible the lower class at least may have possessed basic cooking utensils, like a skillet, pot, or kettle. The ‘best’ and relatively most expensive meals were taken on Saturday evening and Sunday, though the poorest would often buy food at the end of Saturday trading, at the cheapest possible prices. Menu choices became cheaper through the week: purchases of food would diminish in quantity as the food budget shrank, and meat would often only be purchased once a week, though vegetables and fruit were usually purchased and consumed on a daily basis.

The very poor might purchase cheaper older fruits, vegetables, and meat on the verge of edibility, though this didn’t really diminish the nutrients in them much.

The lack of refrigeration facilities meant that meats eaten hot on any one day were almost inevitably consumed (cold) on the second day. Any more leftovers were, due to incipient spoilage, curried or hashed on the third day. Spices and the higher heat involved in frying the hash would disguise any taint to the meat and lessen the chances of food poisoning.

Men worked on average 9–10 hours per day for 5.5-6 days a week, giving a range from 50–60 hours of physical activity per week. Factoring in the walk to and from work increases the range of total hours of work-related physical activity up to 55–70 hours per week. They likely required around 5000 calories a day.

The daily wage for poor miners back then may have been around 3-4 shillings, with the weekly wage then around 18-24 shillings. In dollars, 3-4 shillings was likely around $1. In today’s money, 3-4 shillings a day may be around £4 to £5 or $5 to $6.

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #fool's gold #fools gold #hunter norton #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #idv fool's gold #identity v fool's gold #idv fools gold #identity v fools gold #sirenjose analyses and theories

150 notes · View notes

geekcavepodcast · 2 months

Text

DC Comics Announces Publication Date for "The Strange Case of Harleen and Harley and "Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story"

DC Comic's young adult original graphic novels The Strange Case of Harleen and Harley and Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story will publish in 2024.

The Strange Case of Harleen and Harley from author Melissa Marr, artist Jenn St-Onge, colorist Jeremy Lawson, and letterer Lucas Gattoni will go in sale on September 3, 2024.

Harleen and her girlfriend Pamelia sign up to participate in a clinical research trial. For Harleen it sounds like a good way to make some extra cash and maybe help control her anxiety. Instead, Harleen end s up with "increasingly larger gaps in her memory and stolen mementos from some guy named Jack. Soon Harleen discovers she’s sharing her life with Harley—a take-no-prisoners, who-cares-about-attendance, maybe-we-oughta-save-the-bunnies kind of girl. She is the opposite of Harleen in every way. And although she’s throwing Harleen’s life completely off track, maybe she ain’t so bad either…" (DC Comics)

Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story from author Nicole Maines, artist Rye Hickman, colorist Bex Glendining, and letterer Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou, goes on sale on April 2, 2024.

"Nia’s spent her whole life taking a back seat to her older sister, Maeve, who was expected to inherit their mother’s Seer powers: the ability to see the future through dreams, passed down to one woman in each generation. But when Nia, a trans girl, starts having visions of the future, she must suppress her powers to protect her relationship with her sister.

Soon Nia’s dreams become impossible to ignore, and she has no choice but to distance herself as she navigates her new reality. Taking off for Metropolis, Nia is quickly swept up in the bustling city and, guided by her dreams, connects with a group of queer girls who feel more like sisters than her own. As Nia starts to discover her powers may be more than just a burden, she’s given a choice: accept her new responsibility as a Seer or give it all up for a chance at normalcy." (DC Comics)

(Images via DC Comics - Jenn St-Onge's Cover of The Strange Case of Harleen and Harley and Rye Hickman and Bex Glendining's Cover of Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story)

#harley quinn #dreamer #strange case of harleen and harley #bad dream a dreamer story #melissa marr #jenn st-onge #jeremy lawson #lucas gattoni #nicole maines #rye hickman #bex glendining #hassan otsmane elhaou #dc comics #TGCLiz

67 notes · View notes

pointsfortrying · 2 years

Text

#rye rants #rye rambles #self harm mention #self harm cw #i feel like theres some kind of irony in me deciding to try n better my mental health #and then two days after losing on the streets the thing id use to cut myself #(on the legs not big cuts more like tiny holes)#which ive been doing for like. Years #ive tried to stop a handful of times but it just became habit dfklsdk #i dont want to jinx it but. i dont know #maybe its a sign fdslhdsf #if i dont think ab it i dont get the urge but i also cant rly do much anyway if i dont have the tool #idk!!1 fingers crossed it works out

0 notes

curtsycream · 3 months

Text

Farmer’s Market Crush

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

warning: self indulgent fluff, can he please be my farmers market crush???, the reader has curly hair and is southern, the hair detail can be skipped over its not that important, his smile so pretty <33

She stood at her booth when she spotted him, in front of her was a variety of jams. From blackberry to peach all fresh and homemade. They were in adorable little glass jars that looked professional almost. “Can I help you with anything?”

Hotch hadn’t noticed her until she spoke his eyes focusing on her. He was a bit startled as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

She stood with a smile on her face as she looked at Hotch. “I’m sorry did I startle you? I apologize if I did…you just looked as if your mind was somewhere else!” She said sweetly.

Hotch had to stop himself from smiling at the question she just asked, he was most definitely zoned out at that point. That was until he heard that voice, so adorable and sweet sounding, with just the right amount of twang in it, it took all of his concentration to stay focused.

When she had asked if she startled him, Hotch simply shook his head, “No…no you’re fine… I apologize. It was….”

What should he say? He didn’t wanna tell her he had zoned out when he noticed her behind her booth.

She laughed softly as she shook her head, “don’t worry we all zone out sometimes..” she said in a understanding manner.

She was still smiling at him as if it was permanently etched onto her face. She found him handsome and truth be told she was staring at him for a bit before she finally spoke up.

Hotch cleared his throat not sure what else to say, he then saw her looking at him. Her sweet smile making her look sweeter than she did at first. Yet something about her…something about her was familiar. He knew what she looked like but it was also a certain way she carried herself…and that accent…that southern belle twang that made him almost melt in her presence.

Hotch finally remembered where he had seen her before. But she beat him to the punch when she spoke again.

“You look familiar,” she said tilting her head causing her curls to drape over her shoulder. She leans forward a little over her booth, “you’re with the BAU right? I think I spoke with you before at that little coffee house on Main Street..” she finally said.

That was it, he remembered her from that coffee shop. And in the back of his mind he had thought it was because she was involved in a recent case. He couldn’t explain just how happy that fact made him. And her accent only made his smile grow.

He looked over at her and nodded, “Yes…yes I am.”

Her accent making even the simplest sentences feel like love songs in his ears. “Your name is Y/N right?” His voice was soft and calm like a cool breeze on a summer’s night.

“Yeah Y/N!” She said with enthusiasm as she nodded her head at him. She knew he looked familiar as she had remembered hearing that voice before. Along with that face that seemed to hold just the right amount of endearment and warmth.

He nodded his head before he looked over at her booth, now noticing the sign that read “fresh jams, homemade. By: Y/N” and adorable little jars of jam. “You make these?”

“Yeah it’s a hobby, I make other things too! I make my own breads and even pecan pralines I like to think I make ‘em the best.” She boosted slightly. “I have all kinds of jams today…I hadn’t had the time to make breads in about a week.”

He listened intently as he examined her booth, seeing her homemade jams and baked goods was truly astonishing to him.

“You make bread?” Hotch’s voice was soft still as he thought back to one moment in his past.

“What type of bread?”

“I make French loafs, sweet breads, multigrain, whole wheat bread, honey wheat bread, sourdough, rye! I started making brioche that’s my favorite one!” She tells him with a smile.

His heart raced when he heard this. French loaf, sweet breads, honey wheat bread and homemade brioche…was this some sort of gift from above?

As he watched the gentle breeze blow her curls around her face he spoke up again. “You know, you make the same bread as my mother did when I was growing up.”

“Really? Does she still make bread?” She asked with interest. She found the idea of someone older making bread amazing. In her small neighborhood not many did or showed interest to continue.

He looked over at her. His eyes looked as if they had a glimmer of sadness to them. “Unfortunately she…has passed away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said with a compassionate smile on her face. She had genuine sympathy in her E/C eyes as she spoke.

Hotch looked away for a moment, he didn’t want this woman to feel bad for him, he had come here to see the market. “What do you recommend?” He asked softly, looking over at her.

She took the hint as she looked back at him, “from any booth?” She asked. She knew each booth pretty well so recommendations came easy to her.

He truly appreciated how kind she was, just like his mother used to be. He then nodded his head once more “yeah, any booth. Since you work here you’d probably know the best recommendation, right?” he smiled again.

She points around, “if you’re into fresh produce Mr. Cook’s booth is perfect he spends his time with the vegetables he grows. He also sells them for dirt cheap because he just enjoys doing it! Oh and Mable the little old lady over there makes the best macarons! She has this hazelnut praline one that’s so good! But if you lack a sweet tooth and like savory…Henry the tall fella over there he has the best homemade chips. He mixes them with different things, I’ve never had honey chips before until I tried his.” She rambled with a smile.

Hotch was amazed at how sweet and adorable she sounded. Her voice was comforting in a way. When she was finished talking Hotch nodded in response, “okay. I think I’ll have to try out a sample of your home made jams. I also think I’ll go try out the honey chips too.”

His voice was calm, and his smile was warm. It was as if he was looking at the girl of his dreams. But maybe he was just being a bit overly dramatic.

She grins, “tell me what’s your favorite jam?” She said as she looked at him. There was subtle kindness in her eyes as she spoke to him.

He looked back at her, “blackberry is my favorite.” He wasn’t so sure why he was so flustered, “what’s your favorite jam, Y/N?”

His name sounded lovely whenever said with the southern accent and his heart raced even more with the look in her eyes. It was a genuine look, not of judgment or pretend, there was only sweetness and playfulness. Something about her made him nervous yet excited.

Y/N looks through her jams before picking up the blackberry one. She thinks for a moment, “mine would be apple jam…on a piece of toast it tastes like apple pie. It’s so good especially if you use honey crisp or cosmic apples..” she says.

She holds out the blackberry jam, “this one is on the house…call it a getting to know you gift.” She tells him.

He watches as she picks up the blackberry jam, his eyes gazing at her for what feels like forever for him “you sure? I can pay for it of course, you work very hard for this I can’t imagine you’d be giving this up for free.”

Hotch was almost too mesmerized by her beauty to speak at this point he was still flustered and nervous. The feeling of her kindness and charm was making him feel as if he was floating and in a dream.

Y/N waved her hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it…usually Mable comes through here and pretty much buys me out for the holiday seasons.” She reassured him.

Hotch was still worried but at least he knew she wouldn’t be losing money if he took that blackberry jam. “If you say so…thank you Y/N.”

Hotch then looked around the market. He hadn’t yet noticed Derek and Penelope standing watching the scene unfold.

“You’re always welcome Aaron..” she said in a soft tone. She noticed the onlookers before letting out a small laugh. “Hey…I think we should get to know each other better..” she started. “If you want to that is..”

Hotch felt the world go still and quiet. Her words felt like honey dripping from her sweet lips. Her accent made his stomach grow with butterflies and warmth and her sweet tone was like the lullaby he had been needing to hear.

“I…I would like that.” He spoke firmly. But his voice had more confidence now as he couldn’t stop gazing at her.

Derek then taps Hotch on the shoulder, “come on Hotch, let’s not hog this lovely ladies time.”

She watched as Hotch was lead away by his friend as she waved goodbye. As Hotch was walking away while being pestered by Penelope and Derek for answers he turned the jar in his hand. His eyes widening for a second as he noticed the number on the back of the jam label.

***-***-****, we should get to know each other more <3

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #criminal minds #x reader #fluff #aaron fic #farmers market crush

84 notes · View notes