classic restaurants

Being a superhero and dating Peter Parker would include...

- him finding out about you by overhearing the television while out to dinner with may

- at the classic thai restaurant on 54th ofc

- he’d be so focused on watching the screen that may would have to snap him out of it since he almost spilled his soup for the third time 

- “she’s so cool’

- basically drooling over you

- spotting you around the city a couple of times

- turns out you’ve been curious about him too

- being a mystery to one another

- peter taking upwards of a million years to gather the courage to talk to you

- you two meeting because you both showed up at the same place to catch some criminals

- “so you’re spider-man?” “asdfghjkl you’re (insert cool superhero name here)”

- peter becoming an actual fanboy

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Kiji, Osaka, Japan

We had an overnight stay in Osaka last week and really didn’t make any plans, because as one of the world’s great food cities, reservations are not really necessary. You can pretty much walk into any restaurant here and have an amazing meal. That said, we did have a few recommendations from friends and family. We knew we wanted okonomiyaki, which is a must when in Osaka, and Mutsumi’s uncle recommended we seek out Kiji, a small shop hidden in the back of the Shin Umeda Shokudogai, the “restaurant row” near Umeda station…

You open the door to find that the Power Rangers are big fans of the place…

And must then make your way up a small staircase to the second floor…

Watch your head as you enter this cramped, second floor “cave” under the Umeda train tracks…

Kiji has only six seats at their counter and four small tables. Coats and bags fit neatly inside your box seat to help conserve space. A two-man team runs the restaurant, where like most okonomiyaki restaurants, all items off their limited menu are cooked right in front of you on their flattop grill…

Each table also has a grill on top to keep your food warm once it’s delivered. (This is not one of those “grill it yourself” establishments.)

We stuck to the basics with our order. Started with “modanyaki”, which is basically a cross between okonomiyaki and yakisoba topped with a thin omelet…

We went with mixed toppings/fillings that included pork, shrimp and squid…

A classic “buta tama” okonomiyaki was up next, simply topped with pork belly, mayo, sauce and seaweed…

I never like when okonomiyaki is referred to as “Japanese pizza” as I think it does the complexity of the dish and its flavors a disservice. However, looking at my “slice” here, I can see how it got its moniker…

Enjoying excellent okonomiyaki accompanied by pints of Asahi Super Dry, surrounded by haggard Japanese salarymen in these cramped quarters, our table shaking as trains rumbled overhead… lunch at Kiji was a true Osaka experience!


Shin-Umeda Shokudogai

9-20 Kakudacho

Kita-ku, Osaka


sportarobbie restaurant feud au

i wait in line at a&w. i’m about to pay for a $20 meal for my friend and i. i grip my friends arm and mutter under my breath “…i just came up with one hell of a sportarobbie au”

- a classic restaurant feud

- sporto works at this fairly new bistro type place. it’s all vegan and raw and pretty pricey. lots of premium salads and herbal teas and protein boosts

- robbie works across the street at a family owned burger restaurant that’s been in the Rotten family for generations

- robbie works at the grill line with his brother glanni. glanni whispers something about that new restaurant across the street stealing customers and robbie wants to check it out.

- he walks in one day very nonchalantly and walks up to the counter

- sporto is all smiles as he says “hi, what can i get you? today’s special is a summer salad with raw almonds” and robbie nearly flips a table

- “what the heck kind of overpriced rabbit food are you selling?”

- robbie doesn’t care if the cashier is super cute, he’s mad as heck

- “this isn’t over, elf boy” “you shouldn’t be so negative if you haven’t tried it” “PFFFFT SHUT UP”

- can you imagine…the sign flipping feuds


- robbie just kind waves the sign back and forth and sporto does that fancy sign twirling shit and as much as robbie hates him he can’t help but have heart eyes

- sporto closes up the bistro one night and he walks into the Rotten’s restaurant and keeps robbie company as he’s cleaning the grease traps

- “that looks…very unhealthy” “um have you looked at our menu”

- robbie is just really competitive and sporto is just so in love with Grease Boy

Paladins proposing to their s/o

Shiro: classic proposal at a restaurant, because he’s old fashioned like that. Hides the ring in a dessert.

Keith: doesn’t really get the big deal about proposals. One day he just randomly asks you and throws the ring box in your lap.

Lance: plans it three months in advance, tries to make it the biggest and most beautifull proposal ever.

Hunk: makes a big cake with, marry me?, on it. He is really nervous you will say no, and he remade the cake three times.

Pidge: made a remote control robot that brings the ring to you and says, will you marry me? She stands around the corner waiting for your answer with the remote.

anonymous asked:

Could you write a hannibal x reader what their first date would be like pretty please ❤️❤️❤️

Originally posted by helloyangmal

- There’d been a knock at your front door early one morning. You’d opened it and there, on the doorstep, lay a large cardboard box tied with an intricate bow in your favourite colour. The ribbon’s style, knot type and colour matched the colour of the box perfectly, the two colours complementing one another.

- On the box had been a small note with a calligraphy ‘H’ in the middle of the expensive card - nothing else was written on the label but you knew who it was from. 

- Inside the box had been a suit/dress perfectly tailored to your body measurements - you had no idea how he knew your exact size, but this was Hannibal so anything went. 

- There was a note on top of the shoes to go with the outfit, which simply read - Wear this. Be ready at seven sharp. Until then, H.

- So, he picked you up at seven and presented you with one flower of your favourite kind, and tucked it behind your ear with a small smile. Hannibal peered behind you curiously and then a, “Shall we go?” He offered his arm and led you to his car, opening the door for you and smiling gently as you got it.

- As he drove to the restaurant, classic music played quietly on the stereo. It was loud enough to hear it without straining your ears but quiet enough that it acted as a accompaniment to the conversation you had together, not a hindrance. 

- Like the gentleman he was, Hannibal helped you out of the car and lead you into the restaurant where appetisers were priced higher than you would make in a week, with a hand just touching the small of your back.

- You ordered your own food though Hannibal selected the wine, and you ate while continuing the conversation you’d had in the car. He never pushed for information, he only studied you with those eyes that seemed to see far more than you could ever hope to comprehend.

- When you finied the food you’d both ordered, you sat there a little longer letting the food settle in your stomachs and finishing off the expensive wine, and then Hannibal too you back home. He didn’t come inside when he dropped you off though, but he kissed your cheek and thanked you for such a pleasant evening.

- The night was over far too soon for your liking but you knew before Hannibal asked out of nothing more than courtesy that there would be a second date and many dates after that.

The Art of Healing Part IV: Move in Space

She was changed after Cuba. 

Something about the lack of cell reception allowed her own vibration to increase. It warmed her and rose to a dull hum in her ears–that and the constant sound of LOUD! 

Damn, Cuba was loud. Music everywhere; scratchy love songs blaring from 1952 Chevrolets; Cubaton on mindless repeat in every restaurant; Spanish classics blurted from an ancient trumpet by a leathery man with round cheeks. Sound followed you with every footstep and mixed in the heavy breeze of the Gulf with the constant weight of diesel and dust. 

It was dizzying. It was… 


Small pleasures; dollar Cristal beers full with amber, not thin and heartless like their cheap American counterparts. A five dollar bottle of Havana Club to swing around your newfound group of friends. (The girls always mixed it with Coke, which was sweeter there.) Thick tobacco on the tongue of a cat call: 

“Ah! Que linda…” 

You met deep brown eyes in mutual acknowledgement. Yes, I am woman, you are man, and in the natural order of things we would…

It was all so palpably out in the open. No need to hide your small, swelling frame. This is not the place for modesty. You, here, on rapturous display and in full force. You must give everything it is that you’ve got because the world around is unforgiving. And tomorrow is a distant place. 

(“Americans, you pay for your expensive healthcare and schooling out of pocket, yes. But here in Cuba, we pay for these things with our lives.” She had been told not to talk of politics, but she could always listen.) 

Nothing made sense but night. 

The days were long and night came suddenly. Hit you hard. The moon is out –now you find a place to dance. Warmed with rum she roamed the streets, fumbling through Spanish like someone trying to see in the dark; feeling for familiar words, stubbing a toe trying to conjugate a verb in past tense. No, she was bound to speak only in the present. 


But on the lips of others–oh the delicious intercourse of oral expression! Like a Spanish she had never heard before–soft, round words sagging with sweat. She heard it for days after returning, that Spanish was everywhere. Coming from the mouths of Asian undergrads, and Middle Eastern deli clerks, and WASPY stroller pushers. She responded to the Heights Falafel waiter in kind, and he looked puzzled and continued in English. 

Of course the Spanish hadn’t followed her back to Brooklyn. She was hearing things. Her ear had momentarily been trained to a different tune, a deeper tune, and had to now readjust to the harsh, nasal assertions of New York.

And maybe it all only felt like paradise because she left; could leave. Unlike so many there. (For even Utopia darkens when one is confined.) Having settled back into her normal life she had to ask herself, had Cuba even happened? If not for the sunburnt skin and stream of photos she’d have thought not. 

It felt so distant, so far away, so unimaginable now. Like… the other thing. She had forgotten all about it. It too felt unreal. Like some distant time in an unfamiliar place. But unlike Cuba, she had absolutely no desire to return.  

Sometimes to move on you have to actually move. Move through space. Move across the earth. Move physically elsewhere. Move your body, make it sweat, make it taste new things and new people and the saltwater of the various seas. 


Make it learn a new damn language.