• Ahasuerus: Is there food in the house?
  • Vashti: Yes, there's vegetable salad and fruit salad.
  • Ahasuerus: I don't like salad. Is there pizza?
  • Vashti: You eat 14 pizzas in a week, Ahaseurus. It's not healthy.
  • Ahaseurus: Is there pita with hummus?
  • Vashti: You eat 11 pitas in a day, Ahaseurus. It's not good.
  • Ahaseurus: Well what are you eating?
  • Vashti: Today I am eating 13 tomatoes.
  • Ahaseurus: Vashti, where are the chips?
  • Vashti: Ahaseurus!!

anonymous asked:

"Cooking the other person’s favourite food/buying them their favourite food" sw/quinn

There were downsides, Malavai Quinn knew, to his Sith having a lot of time on her hands. When she didn’t disappear into a self-destructive tailspin, she went comfort shopping or spent counter-productive amounts of time with a punching bag - and when that didn’t happen, she cooked.

Having the apartment to herself was another bad sign; Jaesa and her parents had gone to the coast for a few days, taking Vette with them, and he’d had unavoidable appointments in the city during the day. Returning home (realising that he reflexively thought of the apartment as home was an existential crisis he would have to save for another day) to the smell of cooking was- well, he’d returned to worse smells than caramel (burned caramel, for instance), but he know his Sith’s culinary tendencies better than to be reassured by that.

He found Eirnhaya in the kitchen - from the state of the table he guessed she’d been reading something on her datapad, and possibly planning some further culinary escapade.

‘I see you’ve been cooking,’ he mused, slightly warily, once they’d greeted each other.

'I made caramel shortcake,’ she enthused, 'the way you said you liked.’

Like was an understatement - Quinn had spent half his childhood in Imperial boarding schools, whose menus had done more to prepare him for the military than the rest of Imperial society combined. Recesses spent at his aunt’s in the city had been a world away from all that, even if he’d spent as much time as humanly possible immersing himself in study and strategy, even as a child. Treats from the bakery were one of the few things that could tempt him away from his books, and even then only for a short time - but it had been comfort food, even then.

'What’s the occasion?’ he replied, slightly bemused. (Had he forgotten some anniversary? Some celebration? Kriff, had he been supposed to do something?)

'No occasion,’ Eirn replied, still smiling a little to herself, 'I just wanted to do something nice.’

Quinn tried his best not to grimace - succeeded, mostly, though he wasn’t certain what to make of this.

It wasn’t that Eirn was a bad cook - she wasn’t, even if he’d lost count of the number of times she’d stuck pancakes to the ceiling of the Pathcarver’s tiny galley (that was a lie: 14, 16 if you included ceilings other than the galley’s, and 17 if you also included walls). But- well, she was Sith, not just of the lightning-and-lightsabers kind, but the red-and-pointy kind, and true to her heritage, had a tolerance for capsaicin that bordered on the ridiculous. He, by contrast - well, he’d have had a preference for milder flavours even if he hadn’t been as close to ordinary human as anyone got with an Imperial heritage. What little Kaasi cuisine she’d added to her repertoire came with 'twists’ she’d collected from across the galaxy; a part of Quinn was always horrified by the things she did to the dishes of his childhood, and it was this part of him that was wary of anything she cooked outside of his supervision.

('Why would you ruin,’ he’d asked, one time, 'A perfectly acceptable ricecake with all that pepper?’

'To make it taste of something,’ she’d grumbled - not entirely seriously, but enough that it still felt a little like an insult)

'Try some!’ Eirn added, offering him a plate - Force help him, she was humming, a sign of a positive but volatile mood if there ever was one.

To say that Quinn was apprehensive about this was an understatement. Eirn meant well, but frequently overestimated his ability to handle strong flavours; there was a pleasant aroma in the wake of her adventures, but he knew from bitter experience that scent and taste were not always connected.

She was watching him, though, like a hawk - probably picking unconsciously through his own unconscious, too, a thought which always unsettled him (one reason among many he tried not to dwell on it).

Well, here goes nothing.

For a long moment, he couldn’t stop bracing himself for something overpoweringly strong - sour or spicy - if not in the initial mouthful, then, somehow, in the aftertaste. Caramel shortcake had, until he’d met Eirnhaya Illte, seemed to be one of life’s certainties - but having seen the things she’d done to other Kaasi foods, a quiet dread had settled over him at her proclamation. After a moment, though, he stopped trying to brace himself for overpowering flavours and realised that the shortcake hadn’t fallen apart in his hands, or required a chisel and hammer to break - the caramel hadn’t soaked into a sticky mess, and the chocolate wasn’t soft or sickly.

He didn’t respond, though, for that long moment, and her face fell.

'I screwed up somewhere, didn’t I? Uf,’ she grumbled, visibly slumping. 'I’m sorry. I’ve only made caramel once before and I probably overheated it, I always do-’

'No,’ he started, though - reaching out with his free hand press a finger to her lips, even if she immediately took that hand in both of hers, 'No, Eihn, it’s-’

It wasn’t quite the comfort food of his childhood - she’d used a slightly bitter chocolate, and perhaps a little too much butter, but- really, he was nitpicking. His Sith had made comfort food for him - had made him caramel shortcake from scratch, for no other reason than she wanted to do something nice. A Sith. His Sith. Stars, I love this woman.

’-really good,’ he finished, even if he felt like his words weren’t doing it much justice.

'Really?’ she replied - not quite taking him at his word yet, despite her aptitude with the Force.

'Really,’ he insisted - his expression melting into a grin, as much because of the thought she’d cared enough to put such effort into him as anything else.

That, finally, made her grin, too - was a judgement she seemed to accept as genuine, if only because of how spontaneous it was. 'Good,’ she replied, smiling to herself again. 'I’m glad.’

'Thank you, Eihn,’ he added, at that - finally remembering his manners, before taking another mouthful of shortcake.

'It’s fine,’ she insisted, planting a kiss on his cheek. 'Besides,’ she added, smiling naughtily, 'We still have the leftover chocolate, too.’

i had Dippin’ Dots for the first time ever tonight, thus beginning the healing process after asking for them a dozen times as a kid only for my mom to tell me, “noooo, we’re not paying five dollars for two ounces of ice cream.”

I mean in retrospect she was right but still

things I want to bake in the near future:
- brioche
-pizza bases (& the rest of the pizza obv )
old school crumpets (saw a recipe for them in my bread maker book, they looked tasty!!)
- more of those cookies I made at Christmas
- that thing I make where u pour caramel over saltines and then put chocolate on top and then freeze it and smash it into chunks (salty and caramel and chocolate and crunch….so good…) (I forgot what its called it has an odd name)

I love mangoes and avocadoes they’re like the best fruit but why they have such a narrow window of perfection……. open them three seconds too late, they’re brown mush. but open them four seconds too early, they taste like rubbery soap


happy easter
fuckstudy’s 30/100 days of productivity

Whether you celebrate easter as a religious holiday or use it to catch up on your backlog of assignments (as I am), I hope you enjoy your easter weekend. May it be filled with copious amounts of chocolate!