french cookbooks

Grocery stores in America have changed from neighborhood corner markets to multimillion-dollar chains that sell convenience — along with thousands of products — to satisfy the demand of the country’s hungry consumers. What caused this transformation? And what will our grocery stores be like in the future?

Award-winning food writer Michael Ruhlman, author of more than 20 books — including the best-seller The Soul of the Chef and co-author of The French Laundry Cookbook with chef Thomas Keller — examines this phenomenon through the story of the Midwestern grocery chain Heinen’s. His new book, Grocery: The Buying and Selling of Food in America, not only offers insights on how we produce, distribute and buy food, but seeks ways of understanding our changing relationship with what we eat and how we get it.

Grocery Stores: ‘The Best Of America And The Worst Of America’

Photo: Kelly Jo Smart/NPR

WIP Part 1 - done! Again, this is only part 1. The rest of it will be coming out shortly (read that as: ‘at least 2 - 3 more parts). This first set includes the following cookbooks:
2. Fine Cooking
3. Bloody  Good Baking (obviously, from the UK)
4. Sweet & Simple Gluten-Free Baking
5. Fifty Shades of Chicken (Clearly, the author has never seen a chicken coop)
6. Miette
7. Saveur
8. Cook’s
9. One Bowl Baking (this will never happen in my kitchen)
10. Egg Shop
11. Inspiralize Everything (my grandchild does this without a book)
12. Quay
13. Occidental Arts & Ecology Center Cookbook
14. Sugarbaby
15. Love & Lemons
16. French Market Cookbook (it’s written in English)
17. First Mess
18. Modern Caribbean Flavors
19. The Yellow Table
20. Make Friends With Cupcakes
21. Fannie Farmer Cookbook
22. Betty Crocker Cookbook
23. Sunset Mexican Cookbook (this is also written in English)
24. The Original Slow Cooker Cookbook
25. The Blossom Cookbook
26. The Essential New York Times Cookbook
27. Bite Me
28. The Testicle Cookbook: Cooking With Balls (yes, this is a real cookbook)
29. Pyromaniac’s Cookbook (yes, this is also a real cookbook)
30. Food Swings
31. Quick-Fix Cooking With Road Kill (not only is this real, the recipes are amazing)
32. The Star Wars Cookbook: Wookie Cookies
33. The Food Lab (science nerds in the kitchen)
34. Sous Vide At Home
35. Modernist Cuisine
36. The Kitchen Matrix (physics nerds in the kitchen)
37. Around The Fire
38. Vineyard Cookbook
39. The Happy Herbivore (for vegans, vegetarians….and rabbits)
40. Eat Well: Be Well
41. Canning
42. Batch
43. The Modern Arkansas Table
44. Modernist Cuisine: Vol 2
45. Canning 101
46. Bubbe & Me
47. The Modern Mediterranean Table
48. The Modern Caveman’s Cookbook
49. Brown Betty
50. Candle 79 (I couldn’t find the first 78, but apparently they’re somewhere)
51. Sweet Spot
52. The Chinese Cookbook (also written in English)


Goodbye- Poly! Hamilsquad x Reader

A/N: This is a trainwreck, but I wanted some angst.

Warnings: Very little French. It basically all means yes, no, my love, my angel, bye, things like that.

“Why do you do this to me?” she sobbed, falling to her knees, clenching her fists so her nails dug into her palm. “Why do you keep hurting me, Alex?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears filling his own eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes, wiping at the tears. “Sorry? After you’ve done this to me? I’m done. I’m done with all of you!” she shouted this last part so all of the boys could hear her. “I-I’m just- I’m done. I’ll go pack my bags.”

“Y/N-” John said softly, openly crying, but she was gone. From the comfort of the master bedroom, Y/N took her suitcase and began to pack. She let the sobs wrack over her body, wiping desperately at her eyes. She knew Hercules and Lafayette were watching from the doorway, but she couldn’t care less. She ignored them, ignored Alexander and John in the living room. She ignored everything except her shaking hands throwing belongings in her bag.

“N/N, please, mon cheri,” Lafayette begged, striding over to her and taking her hand. She ripped it back, glaring at him and letting out a hiss.

“Get away from me!”

“Please, Y/N,” Hercules said, mirroring Laf’s words. “We love you.”

She softened, slowing her breathing and calming down a bit. “I know. And I love you. And I am so, so sorry, but I- I can’t be with him anymore. I know you want to stay with Alex, you’ve known him longer, and so I’ll make it easier on you- I’ll leave.”

“You do that a lot,” Alexander accused, entering the room. “Whenever things get hard, you leave.”

She turned on him. “Don’t you dare blame this on me- don’t you dare! This is you- if you wanted to be with me, you could have kept me. You didn’t- didn’t have to have an affair, Alexander. This was you.”

He furrowed his brow, getting closer to her. “You don’t have to leave like this! Maybe you have to leave me, but do they deserve it? Do they, Y/N?”

“No,” she breathed out, closing her eyes. “No. But that didn’t stop you. If- if they want to come with me, so be it. I would be so much happier with my boyfriends and husband next to me. But I don’t want to make this harder on them. I know they love you.”

Hercules put a hand on her shoulder, pulling Y/N out of her daze. “I would never leave you, princess. We’re here for you. You don’t have to leave.”

She faltered, tears spilling from her eyes again as she stared at him. “I- I don’t?”

Lafayette pulled her into him, and she felt his heartbeat pounding. She realized how upset he was. “Of course not, mon ange. We love you.”

Hercules kissed Laf on the lips, then the top of your head. Alexander watched, frozen in place. Herc turned to him.

“Go, Alexander,” he said forcefully, eyes narrowed dangerously.”Just- go.”

Alex tried to speak, then stopped. He picked up a messenger bag, threw some random items in it, and left. Y/N stared after him, falling to the ground, bursting into sobs. Lafayette bent down next to her, and Herc crouched beside them. They wrapped their arms around each other. Slowly, in a daze, John walked in. He was in the worst shape out of the four. With bags under his eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and a shaking form, he slowly slipped next to the three, letting Laf pull him onto his lap.

“It will be okay,” Hercules soothed, whispering in Y/N’s ear. “It will all be okay.”

“Will he be back?” Y/N asked softly the moment she entered the kitchen. Herc, Laf, and John were all congregated, sipping coffee at the table while the breakfast cooked. John looked down at the table, and Lafayette focused on him. John did look better, he had calmed down, but he was broken inside.

Hercules was the one who answered. “I don’t know, princess. I don’t know.”

Breakfast was lonely without Alexander. They talked in hushed voices about whatever they could, carefully avoiding the subject of Hamilton. But there was little to speak of, and they soon fell silent.

“How did it get like this?” John whimpered, causing Lafayette to pull the smaller man into him. “What did we do wrong?”


She smiled at the young man behind the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks, how can I help you?”

The man nodded, running his fingers through his short black hair. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at some smudged writing on his hand.

“Um, I don’t know much about this,” he said with a chuckle. “My boyfriends- boyfriend, I mean boyfriend- they- he- like coffee a lot, and they- he-”

“It’s okay if you have more than one boyfriend, sir,” she assured him, giggling.

He nodded and sighed in relief. “Great. So, um, they told me their orders, but I decided to write them down on my hand, and-” he showed her the writing. “I have no idea what that says.”

She playfully squinted, studying it, before scribbling something down on a pad of paper. “Got it. Can I have a name?”

“Hercules.” He laughed, impressed. “How do you do that?”

Y/N shrugged. “Practice. I know the menu like the back of my hand.”

“Can I see you again-” he looked at her name tag. “Y/N?”

She was about to answer before her boss forced her away. With a sigh, Y/N moved onto her next job. As she prepared Hercules’ drinks, she suddenly had an idea. With a smirk, she jotted something down on one of the cups and handed it to the man, pointing at it and giving him a look. He grinned.

“Your number?”

She nodded. “Yep. Need anything else?”

“No,” Hercules said happily. “See you soon, Y/N.”

“He left,” she sobbed, returning to the present. “He’s gone.”

“Ssh, ssh,” John mumbled into her hair, stroking it. “It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, but she couldn’t. She put a hand on her stomach, more tears escaping.

“He left us,” she said pointedly, gazing at John, the only boyfriend home. “He left the baby, and he doesn’t even know.”

John nodded, kissing her forehead and squeezing her hand. “It’s okay.”

She wished she believed him.

“This is John,” Hercules told her, gesturing to the boy next to him. John had long, curly hair that was currently smoothed back into a ponytail. He was adorable with freckles and a cheerful face. He stuck out his hand.

“I’m John,” he introduced with a laugh.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Herc has told me so much about you,” John said excitedly, giving his boyfriend a quick peck. “Laf and Alex are at work today, but you’d like them, they’re so nice and I love them!”

Y/N giggled, making Hercules smile. She didn’t notice how he studied her, how he felt his heart flutter when he saw her. She didn’t see the way he looked at her like she was the cutest, most precious thing on the planet. How she should be protected, and he would protect her.

“Want to see my turtle?” John asked randomly, taking her hand and dragging her away. She shot a look at Hercules, a huge smile on her face. He grinned back, chasing after them. He would do anything to make her happy.


“Alex texted me,” she said suddenly, her eyes widening. Laf quickly ran to her, looking over her shoulder.


She looked at Laf helplessly. He nodded for her to reply.


They stared at the screen for a while, but no reply came.

“Come on, mon petit,” Laf whispered. “Let’s bake, non?”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip. “Oui.”

He laughed and scooped her up, easily carrying her to the kitchen where he propped up one of his grandmother’s cookbooks.

“Something French, yes? Reminds me of home.” He got a dreamy look in his eye, wistful and far-off. She brought him back to reality with a kiss on the cheek. “What did you have in mind?”

Laf found the page easily, feeling more comforted with every touch of the familiar, worn pages. He smelled the scent of hundreds of baked goods before him, and he inhaled it.

Y/N studied the page, then turned to him with a smile. “Ready to bake?”

He grinned. “Oui.”

He put his hands over hers, guided her through every move. When they were finished, he wiped the flour off her cheeks and kissed her nose.

“Love you, mon cheri.”

“Love you too, Laf.”

“Hi, what can I help you with?” she asked cheerfully, a cup in hand, ready to write down the tall man’s name.

“Um, oui, can I-” he struggled to find the words, frowning a bit. He pulled out his phone and read a text, reciting his order. “I apologize, I am fluent in English, but sometimes it’s hard to find the words.”

“Oui,” she said in perfect French, surprising him. In French, she told him it was no problem, and asked for a name. He grinned.

“Merci. Um, Lafayette.”

Y/N nodded, scribbling the name on the cup. She bit her lip a bit as she wrote, concentrating as she wrote down a little note.

She quickly prepared the drinks and handed them to Lafayette.

“Merci,” she said.

“Merci,” he looked at her name tag, then up at her. “Y/N? You’re the famous Y/N?”

“Famous? I’m flattered.” she giggled.

Laf grinned. “I’m Lafayette, you know my boyfriends John and Hercules?”

She nodded. “Ah, that Lafayette! I meet so many.”

They laughed, and he reached for her hand, kissing her knuckles. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Au revoir.”

“Au revoir, Monsieur Lafayette!” she called after him as he left the coffee shop.

Alexander was last. She thought of him alone in the master bedroom, thought of him as she read through her letters, the paragraphs he had masterfully crafted for her and only for her. She thought of him as she tore up the letters, throwing the remains in the fireplace and smiling, tears dripping down her face.

“I hope that you burn,” she sang, throwing the last of the letters she had written to him in the flames. “I hope that you burn.”

“You’re Y/N,” Alexander breathed out, looking her up and down.

“You’re Alexander,” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

He shook her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you-the girl who stole my boyfriends’ hearts.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

He kissed her hand, raising it slowly with a smirk. “It’s no problem. I wouldn’t object to you stealing my heart, Y/N.”

She blushed, grinning. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

“Goodbye,” she mumbled, her eyes shiny with tears, her vision foggy. He smiled sadly.

“I always said you’d steal my boyfriends’ hearts,” he told her, taking her hand. She let him have this one moment to redeem himself. “I always knew it would be you they loved and not me.”

“Don’t try to turn this on me, Alex,” she begged, squeezing his hand. He set down his bags and placed his other and over hers, enclosing it in his warmth.

“Sorry, my love,” he whispered. “You do know I love you, right?”

“Not as much as you love Maria.”

He frowned. “That isn’t true. You will always be first in my heart, Y/N.”

She shook her head. “But you chose her, Alex. You can’t- you can’t undo that.”

“But I would if I could,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Goodbye, Alexander.”

He looked into her eyes again, and she found herself helpless- lost in his eyes. Maintaining eye contact, he kissed her hand, imitating the way he did so when they first met.

“I love you.”

She nodded once. “How I wish that was true.”

With that, she closed the door- on Alexander and on her future. She put a hand on her stomach, swallowed, and opened the door once more, staring down at Alex, who was on his knees on the steps of their townhouse. He looked hopefully up to her.

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

He inhaled sharply. “What?”

“This is what you left,” she said sadly, rubbing her stomach. “Me, our boyfriends and your husband, and my child. Your child.”

“If I had known, I never would have-” he breathed, but she shook her head again.

“I love you.” She closed the door again, and this time, she forced herself to walk away. To walk into the arms of her boyfriends, John and Laf, and Hercules, her husband. She walked away from Alex, the man who had hurt her beyond repair, and towards the men who could fix her, who would never hurt her.

“Goodbye,” she said under her breath. “Goodbye.”

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Worst cooking team in the history of Shakespeare:

Henry V: Insisting he knows what he is doing when reading the French cookbook aloud.

Titus: Is bad at picking ingredients, like REALLY bad!

Orsinio: Causing a flood of tears while melodramatically cutting onions.


Caesar: True he makes a damn good salad but he just can’t cope when dealing with knifes.

Puck: Yes, his flower deco on the food looks nice, but can’t be trusted.

(Mistress Quickly: *cries in the distance*)

...And the Woman Clothed with the Sun

They actually didn’t cut that much from this episode, so this won’t be the longest post in the series…but there are still some very interesting bits to share:

Originally, Hannibal was supposed to be laying down, reading an old French cookbook…

I’m guessing they cut the hand part because…how would Hannibal know?? They can’t touch in this situation and I’m not sure even Hannibal could see Will’s hands that clearly because, idk *insert a joke about the show being too dark*

Hmm, I wonder what that emotion was….

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Cooking is not about convenience and it’s not about shortcuts. Our hunger for the twenty-minute gourmet meal, for one-pot ease and prewashed, precut ingredients has severed our lifeline to the satisfactions of cooking. Take your time. Take a long time. Move slowly and deliberately and with great attention.
—  Thomas Keller, The French Laundry Cookbook

Bouquet de France came out in 1952 and by 1957 had gone through 4 printings. Samuel and Narcissa Chamberlain had lived in France from the late twenties through the late thirties. He was well known as a photographer of New England as well as a printmaker. During the war he started writing a column for Gourmet Magazine that evolved into this book. By that time he and his family had settled in Marblehead Massachusetts. His Clemantine In The Kitchen from the early 1940s is a classic of food writing. A few years after Bouquet appeared a similar volume on Italy came out.

anonymous asked:

One sentence prompt : Loki can't work a microwave.

Tony had never laughed so hard in his life, and that was including the time Happy was attacked by the swan that he was trying to feed in the park.

The best part—no really, the best part was Loki’s face when Tony came out to find a burnt out hole in the wall where his microwave used to be.

“Cease your laughter!”

He laughed harder and ended up on the floor with a very pissed god sitting on his back muttering dark things under his breath.

“Oh my… God!” Tony wheezed, attempting to dry his eyes with his free hand. “What did you even put in there to cause that?”

“Your friend, the Captain, told me I could heat something quickly with that—” he glared at the singed hole, “—infernal device.”

“So you just, what? Threw something in there and…?”

“Turned it on. Or attempted to. Nothing happened at first.”

Tony started giggling again, until Loki pressed down harder on his spine and he trailed off with a whimper. Right, god, much more body mass there than normal.

“Babe, if you want my intestines where they are, for the sake of any future sex, please stop crushing me to death and show me what you put in my poor microwave.”

Loki muttered more dark things and stood up, leaving Tony to ungracefully crawl his way up from the floor and follow him over. Loki’s arms were crossed, his brow pinched in a way that often covered up his embarrassment. Tony had to resist the urge to place a gentle kiss right in the middle there, just to smooth those wrinkles out, because it was clearly not welcome right now.

“So?” He asked, peering at the black goo in the middle of his once-microwave. “What was that?”


“How?!” Tony cackled, slapping a hand over his mouth before he got lost in laughter again, and oh shit, Loki’s eyes could kill, they really could.

Loki replied tensely, still staring at the offending—and still smoking blob in front of them. “I saw the container labeled as such and had a desire for warm peaches.”

“Who eats warm peacheeesssokay don’t kill me and moving on!” Tony cheered, shifting away when Loki’s hair started to literally lift up in the air and curl angrily at him. “What container of peaches are you talking about?”

“There are… more of them, here,” he said, pulling open one of the few undamaged cupboards and pulling out a tin of peaches.

Tony blinked at it, looked at the blackened hole of a microwave, looked back, and snorted.

“Loki, baby, darling, My Special, Special Snowflake…” Loki growled, his hair moved. “Honey, you don’t put metal in the microwave, and even so, it still shouldn’t have gone… So… Catatonic.”

Loki muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I may have… tried to assist with… a spell.”

“Oh christ, no. No magic and radiation combo platters, please. Never again. Nope.” Seeing Loki’s start of a pout, Tony added, “Seriously, that could have ended a lot worse. We could all be black blobs of once-canned-peaches. Or worse, we could have developed—gasp!—PEACH POWERS!”

Tony laughed at himself, as usual, and ran away when all ten cans of peaches—who the hell got ten cans?!—started raining down on him.

Once Loki stopped trying to peach-cobbler him to death, Tony took him out to buy a new microwave, a French cookbook with recipes for poached fruits, and a basket of fresh, not remotely canned peaches.

"Gold’s Kitchen" part one

Summary: Hell’s Kitchen: AU - The final six competitors of the cooking competition face elimination. 

Rating: Umm, I guess it’s Teen (Bad language and it’s only going to get worse on the next parts.)

Note: This is the first part of maybe three fics. This ones pretty short, but it’s something to get things started. This fic kinda made me nervous and took me out of my comfort zone a bit. So, please let me know what you think. *Happy Reading* 

cover by licieoic


“Where’s the fucking wellington?” Head Chef Rumple Gold yells to his kitchen brigade, as they struggle to push out the last order. “Belle, don’t you give up on me now.”

“Yes, Chef!” Belle French answers back and pulls the beef wellington’s out of the oven.

The heat of the kitchen is intense and all of the chefs are running on pure adrenaline. The top six chefs of the Hell’s Kitchen competition are doing their best to serve the final table.

Belle cuts through her wellington and the temperature is perfect.

“I need that wellington now!” Chef Gold roars.

“I’m bringing it up chef.”

“Well, hurry up.”

Belle places the meat on a tray and walks it up to the expediting station. She sets the tray down and hurries back to her station. She nervously waits to see if her dish passes the chefs inspection.

Chef Gold checks the meat and turns to the kitchen. “Perfect temperature on that wellington, Miss French.” He turns back to the counter and sends out the dish. “Service please.”

Belle breathes a sigh of relief.

Chef Gold turns back to his brigade. “That’s the last table. Shut it down.” He walks out of the kitchen.

Belle looks at all of her competitors and smiles. Tonight’s service wasn’t perfect, but she knows she’s safe from elimination.

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