When The Apocalypse Actually Comes

All the preppers who go ‘I have a year’s worth of food in my basement!!!’ “WE ARE PREPARED”

(1 year 3 months later)


Me, munching on some roasted maple seeds and crickets fried in duck fat, stirring a wild and cultivated vegetable and rabbit soup “Goddamnit how did you find my cave this is friends only go away.”

anonymous asked:

I sent a risque text to a mutual about how I think a kingdom hearts character has a really juicy ass what do I do

no one can deny donald duck’s fat plump ass meat

Culinary History (Part 36): Preserving

In medieval Europe, protein foods such as meat & dairy could only be eaten fresh during summer and autumn.  In the winter and spring, they would be smoky or salty, because this was the only way to stop food from going off.

Any meat that wasn’t eaten straight away after killing the animal was salted – layered up with huge amounts of salt in a large wooden cask.  This expensive to do – in the late 1200’s, 2d of salt was necessary to cure 5d of meat – so only good-quality meat was salted.

Pork took salt the best.  The Elizabethans had bacon, ham, salt pork, and gammon (the hind leg after being dry-salted or brined).  There was also souse – a pickled mixture of all the leftover bits except the squeak.

Glazed gammon.

Beef was also salted to make salt beef.  One version of salt beef was Martinmas beef, prepared around the feast of Martinmas (November 11th).  The beef was well-salted, then hung in the roof of a smoky house until it was well-smoked.

There is an urban myth that medieval cooks used spices to disguise the taste of gone-off meat, but this is not true.  Spices were too expensive to waste on bad meat, but they were used to make the salt meat taste less harsh.

Milk was preserved as well as meat.  In the East, it was curdled & fermented into yoghurty foods and sour drinks, such as the Kazakh kumis (a fermented liquor made from mare’s milk, used as a drink and medicine).


In the West, it was turned into cheese and butter, both highly-salted for preservation.  In Aelfric’s Colloquy (late 900’s AD), the “salter” says that “you would lose all your butter and cheese were I not at hand to protect it for you.”

Their butter was extremely salty.  Butter today has about 1-2% salt, but they had 5-10x that amount.  According to a 1305 record, 1 pound of salt was needed for only 10 pounds of butter.  This would be disgusting to eat, and the cooks had to spend a lot of effort washing salt out of butter to make it edible.

Fish had to be salted, too.  The Scottish kipper (salted, pickled, or cold-smoked herring) was not invented until the 1800’s.  But before that, there was a kind of cured haddock produced near Aberdeen, smoked over peat & decayed moss.  They were called Bervies (also Buckies & Smokies? or were they a different type of fish/process?)

Salted cod.

Salted/pickled fish was a staple European protein food, especially on Fridays.  Even before the Classical era, there had been a good trade in salted fish – first from Egypt and Spain; then from Greece and Rome.  In the Middle Ages, salt herring came from the North and Baltic Seas, where it was a major industry.

Salt herring is not easy to produce, because it goes off so fast.  It should be preserved within a day (preferably less).  In the 1300’s, the manufacturers developed techniques for salting herrings on board, and this made it a lot faster.  The fish were re-packed when they got back to shore.

The Dutch were exceptional at this, which may have been one of the reasons they dominated the European market.  Their herring-gutters could process two thousand fish an hour when at sea.  Because they did it so fast, they accidentally left behind a part of the stomach containing trypsin (a chemical which speeds up the curing process).

Only eating fish preserved and not fresh would have been very monotonous, and there are many jokes about this.  In A Pleasant Comedie, called Wily Beguilde (Anon, 1606), one character says to another, “You dried stockefish, you, out of my sight!”

A “red herring” was a rather smelly cured fish which had been double “hard-smoked” and salted.  It is now a literary term.

Sweet preserved foods were much nicer to eat.  In the Mediterranean, the most common way to preserve fruit & vegetables was to dry them.  In this way, grapes became “raisins of the sun”, plums turned into prunes, and dates & figs shrivelled up and became sweeter.  During Biblical times & earlier, juicy fruits & vegetables were either buried in hot sand, or laid out on trays or rooftops.  The hot sun easily dried them out.

In Eastern Europe, the sun was less hot, so they had to develop more complicated methods.  From the Middle Ages, special drying-houses were built in Moravia (CZE) and Slovakia.  A drying-house was a room heated by a stove below it, with many wicker handles inside to hang the fruit on.

The English nobility had “stillrooms”, cool rooms where servants bottled fruits, candied nuts & citrus peel, distilled spirits, and made jams, marmalades (originally from quinces) and sweetmeats.

Candying had many alchemical superstitions and “secrets”.  For example, walnuts should be preserved on St. John’s Day (June 24th). Fruits for preserving were picked just before ripening, because they held their shape better that way.  Preserving was a kind of magic, like embalming the dead, of holding back decay.

Hannah Wolley’s The Queen-Like Closet (1672) gives a recipe for “The best way to preserve gooseberries green and whole”.  They were soaked three times in warm water; then boiled three times in sugar syrup; and finally boiled once more in a fresh sugar syrup.

Even though people had no idea why these methods worked, they succeeded in preserving most of the time.  It wasn’t until the 1860’s, when Louis Pasteur discovered the micro-organisms that made food & drink go off, that we found out.  People believed that the reason was spontaneous generation, with mysterious invisible forces causing mould to grow.  In reality, it’s microbes such as bacteria, yeast and fungi that cause good fermentation for wine & cheese, and toxic fermentation when food degrades.

Drying works as a method of preservation because bacteria need moisture to grow in, and so when the fruit dehydrated, they mostly die off.  Pickling in vinegar works because microbes prefer alkaline conditions, and the acid stops mold from growing.

There wasn’t much innovation in preserving, because mistakes could be deadly.  From the Middle Ages to the beginning of the 1800’s, the only innovation was conserving meat in a layer of fat/oil – used in potted meats and duck/goose confit (salt-curing a piece of meat, and cooking it in its own fat).

Duck confit.


Hey everyone! So good to see you again. Sorry for not being around last week, but I’m here now and we’re moving right along with everyone’s favorite thief, Kurama. This dish is long but so worth it. Remember: Everything you chill in this dish must reach a temperature of 40 degree fahrenheit. before you serve it. If you don’t have Rose Petal Extract, add some rose water or Rose Syrup instead! I will be posting duck, sauce and Knife skill tutorials soon! 

candlesareburning  asked:

hi!! Can you tell a story about your duck going fucking berserk please lol

HAHAH alright, so I’ve got eight ducks:

Romulus, Remus, Abbot, Costello, Gavilán Patero (Spanish speakers will lol), Tobías, Mime, and Lucas.

Lucas is a freaking BASTARD. I don’t remember the name of the species, but he looks like this

Look at those red eyes. He’s the devil.

He’s actually a vegetarian but kills the fish FOR FUN. He chases the other ducks and pecks poor Tobías all the time. We always say he has the heart of a goose, freaking lunatic.

So one time they let out the dogs and Lucas hadn’t realized, so he was chillin’ outside the pond.

The three (3) dogs see him and are like “oh my oh my it’s KFC today, guys!” and proceed to run to give his fat duck ass a nice chomp.

I see the scene and manage to react to say “NO NO NO SIT! SIIIIIIIT!” but on the inside I’m like “this is it. This is how Lucas meets the Big Duck”.

Now keep in mind the following: Coquito, Negrita, and Lechoncio (I named them all. You can blame me) are three ITALIAN MASTIFFS, except for Coquito that is HALF PITBULL (I named my half mastiff half pitbull dog “baby coconut”, FIY). So seeing all three running at you drooling with their jaws and teeth targeted your way would make anyone piss their pants.

But not Lucas. Oooooh not Lucas.



We all live in fear since then.

Lucas is the devil.

Cheese & Charcuterie-Kickapoo,Extra Aged Asiago,Sgt Pepper Chevre-Hot Sopressata,Speck,Spanish Chorizo-Mousse De Canard au Foie Gras-Duck Liver,Grapes,Raisins,Sauternes Wine-Rillettes De Canard-Confit Duck Meat,Fat,Spices,Salt,Pepper Pate Grand Mere-Pork,Chicken Liver,Spices,Armagnac[OC][2590x1797]

anonymous asked:

Ooooo how about a jealous Hop for the jopper prompts or more of oops baby

How about both? Previous installments can be found here

Joyce had never felt the mythical radiant glow of pregnancy. With Jonathan and Will she had been sick practically from start to finish, and Lonnie had been full of oh-so-sensitive observations about her increasing size, and her ‘preggo attitude’, that had no exactly made her feel like a blessed Madonna. 

Oops Baby was proving to be no exception. The never-ending ‘morning sickness’ extended to the afternoons and evenings, and Joyce swore to never take excess energy for granted ever again. She couldn’t even remember the last time ‘I want to take a nap’ wasn’t a mantra that played in her head on a constant loop. 

Hopper, for his part, was as attentive and loving as she could have ever hoped for. Too attentive and loving, if someone were to ask her opinion, and they never did. Everyone was too touched by this lumbering giant of a man fussing and cooing over his tiny, pregnant wife to wonder if said tiny wife was annoyed over being treated like fine china. 

Joyce was about five months in before feeling like breaking her routine of sleep, work, eat, sleep to attend a birthday party for Dr. Sam Owens at The Hideaway. He was turning 60, Hopper, out of a sense of gratitude and burgeoning friendship, had taken care of all of the details. Joyce wondered if his throwing himself into the task of party planning wasn’t just a ploy to break the monotony of tending to Joyce 24/7 - either way, his new, temporary distraction was a welcome one. It gave her time to breath and process on her own. 

The party was small, mostly because the good doctor only had a handful of friends, most of them work colleagues from his new position at Hawkins General. Joyce walked (waddled) into the bar, astonished to find that it lacked it’s usual stale, smokey aroma. Then she noticed a hand-written sign that read: Closed for a Private Party. No Smoking. She’d recognize Hopper’s boyish scrawl anywhere, and the touching consideration made her snort with derision. 

“Hey! I was going to come and pick you up,” Hopper fussed, rushing to her side from the other end of the bar. 

“Pregnancy hormones don’t inhibit my ability to operate a vehicle, Hop,” Joyce replied, taking his arm as he led her to a booth. 

“No, but the Pinto is a deathtrap. You know they explode, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why it was a bargain when I bought it,” Joyce replied in her best ‘No shit, Sherlock’ tone. 

“We’re trading it in on Monday.”

Before Joyce could protest, Sam Owens sat up in his booth and came bounding over to the pair. 

Bella Madonna! I’m so glad you decided to descend from the heavens for my most unworthy of birthdays,” the older man flirted, taking one of Joyce’s hands and kissing the back of it. Joyce felt a blush creep to her cheeks and intensify at his boldness. “Seriously, though, you are glowing, Mom. Absolutely radiant.”

“Stop,” Joyce chided, waving a dismissive hand at the man.

“Yes, stop,” Hopper insisted, throwing a big, possessive arm around Joyce’s shoulder and pulling her to his side. 

“Pop, when you talked about your anxiety over the new arrival, you never mentioned that your wife looked like a Renaissance painting.” 

Joyce gave a very unladylike snort. “Ridiculous. I feel like a haggard, fat old duck.”

“You do not-”

“Nonsense!” Sam exclaimed, cutting Hopper off, and pulling Joyce away from her husband to give her a warm hug. “You’re a goddess.”

“Okay, we get it!” Hopper snapped, irritably, drawing Sam and Joyce’s attention back to him. They both smirked at each other before Joyce stepped out of his embrace and returned to her husband.

“Green is not your color,” Joyce teased, standing on her tip-toes to kiss his bearded cheek.

“If I had known he was going to try to blatantly romance you under my nose, I would’ve made him celebrate his birthday at home, alone.”

“No you wouldn’t, Jim. You’re too fond of me. I’m delightful,” Sam shot back with a sly grin. 

“Yeah, yeah, happy birthday, you jackass.”