michelin guides

gentlesleaze  asked:

for the rosvolio drabble: bed

Still half asleep, Benvolio reached out his arm into the space beside him, expecting to find the deliciously warm body of his wife, and finding only a shallow, Rosaline-shaped depression in the bed.

He groaned as he rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes tight against the insistent brightness of the morning sun. Only after a moment of adjustment did he allow himself a squinted peek into the daylight and what he saw standing near the side of the bed was nearly enough to send him back under the covers.

She was awake and fully dressed, clad in a t-shirt, shorts, and leather sandals, her curls pulled back into a sensible ponytail. A pair of sunglasses sat atop her head, one hand clasped around the handle of her daypack, the bag made heavy, he guessed, by the weight of several guidebooks. From the exasperated look on her face, he assumed he had done something to cause it, and as Benvolio had learned with his wife, the best course of action was always to just let her speak first and say whatever was on her mind.

“Are you planning on staying in bed all day?” she asked, one eyebrow arched into a question mark.

He grinned and held his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight.

“Fair Rosaline, my dearest, my beloved, light of my life, fire of my heart: today is the first day of our honeymoon. I had factored in a few trips to the bathroom and a quick break to answer the door for room service, but, yes, I really was planning on us staying in bed all day.”

“Benvolio, I did not take a nine-hour flight and a four-hour train ride so that we could lay around in bed,” she said, her free hand settling on her hip. “We are in Italy, one of the most beautiful places in the world, and I’m not going to miss it because of your misguided notions about what people do on their honeymoons!”

“Wait a second…” he teased, as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Does this count as our first married fight? If so, I think it’s going pretty well, don’t you?”

She tilted her head, breathtakingly beautiful even when visibly irritated.

“No, darling, our first married fight was on the way to the airport, when you told the Uber driver to ignore Google Maps because you knew a ‘quote-unquote’ shortcut and we ended up nearly missing the flight.”

Benvolio sighed a little even as he nodded in agreement, and with a quick heave raised himself up and swiveled his legs so he could sit on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand for his wife to take, a clear admission of surrender.

“So what’s on the agenda for today, then?” he asked, as she slipped her hand into his.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer he pulled her towards him, his other arm quickly snaking around her waist so that he could drag her down onto his lap. She squealed – in apparent pleasure and surprise – and Benvolio found himself face-to-face with a particularly delectable expanse of bare skin, just above her collarbone, an opportunity he felt no need to squander.

“According to the Michelin guide, Verona has a particularly stunning… cath…e…dral…” she stuttered, as his tongue danced circles along her dark skin. “Built in the late 16th century by some noble family… Jesus…”

He smiled in partial triumph even as he kept his lips pressed against her, migrating slowly up the curve of her shoulder until he reached a sensitive spot on her neck. One of his hands slid higher and higher along the smooth length of her thigh, stopping only when his fingertips found the hem of her shorts.

“The bed’s looking pretty good right now, isn’t it?” Benvolio murmured.

“I swear to god, Montague,” she said, stifling a breathy moan, and then her hands quickly clasped around his face, pulling his mouth to hers. She kissed him hungrily, her tongue brushing against the seam of his lips as her hand gripped tightly around his upper arm. “Okay… one hour,” she managed to get out. “One hour and then we go.”

“Marriage is all about compromise, Capulet,” he said as he turned and rolled her over and onto her back, the duvet billowing all around them like a heavenly cloud.

[send me a word, I’ll write you a Rosvolio drabble]

Mysterious food blogger of mystery

So because I know this guy ( @simonalkenmayer ) and I know he liked food pics like some kind of porn addict, I take pictures any time I have a nice meal and I send them to him. Except that now I do it so religiously that people have begun to think I am a Food blogger.

At first I didn’t really go to nice places much because I just like hanging out, but then I knew him and so I started going to like…really nice places. And taking pictures. Because these nice places are expensive, I usually dress up. Thing is, I usually eat alone, because I travel so much. So here I am, dressed to the nines, alone, taking pics of my food. And because I’m blind, I’m always doing things like accidentally knocking my silverware to the ground (which is a check mark on the Zagat and Michelin’s guides “did they pick up your cutlery”), or photographing the menu to enlarge it. My hair is weird, but really precise and so I look like I am testing them, you know? I always dress well, because I invest in nice dinner clothing (Little black dress and Ross Calvin Klein coat booya) and so, I’m always asked by strangers “What do you do” and when I say I’m a writer the bar staff or waiters all give each other looks. (After that I’m usually asked “a fashion writer?” No. Just a writer, and I edit books about food………) And I have resting bitch face, so like people always think I’m tapping my toe and assessing when (lmfao) I’m staring into blank space with my fucked up eyeballs going “I wonder if I’ve left the lights on”

I have excellent table manners, I do know food (now) and I know my wine (because I live in wine country) and I know my steak (because favorite food). So I go to a place, dressed up, alone, take pics of my food and the menu, knock silverware down, quiz them about wine, lay my napkin in my lap, reply that I edit writing about food, and all that…and then I start asking questions about the menu, talking about fat content and all that, basically chatting to the staff with words I learned from my friend. I’m always on my phone, because I’m always like, sending emails or reading submissions or whatever, and I guess it like, sent a signal that I am writing my review right there.

With the result that everyone treats me like I am a fucking god. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s the old wisdom of Ghostbusters “If someone asks you if you’re a god you say yes!”

Like…I have had people go out of their way for me, and it’s not sex, it’s not my disability because I don’t carry my cane for this kind of thing. It’s just like, sheer poise and I guess the telltale signs. And then they begin behaving overly nice around me. Like picking up the napkins of the table next to mine, saying “madam” to those people not realizing that I can here them saying “yeah okay” The the table three tables down, or glancing at me. I’m like leaning back in my chair throwing looks like “I got you.” I’ve had people bring me random things to try, or like the chef come out to chat with me like…wtf?

And it’s amazing. Like so amazing. And completely accidental, like I don’t go to a place trying to come off this way, it just kind of happens? But I’m not one of those people who like messing with folks, so when I leave I always ask the waiter what review sites the owners prefer to have their restaurant reviewed on, and then leave them like glowing reviews. I also tip well. Which usually means they still think they’ve had a blogger of some repute on their hands.

But yeah. I’m now apparently a food blogger of executive-punk-goth mystique.

Never mind that like fifteen minutes after I leave I’m walking down a canal, barefoot and guzzling Road beers.

Here, have some of my recent food blogger pics!!!

That is a 30 day aged grass fed sirloin cooked rare, mashed potatoes, onion loaf, and a peppercorn sauce. An appetizer of pulled beef and bone marrow bon bons deep fried beautifully with a very hard crust. And a lemon and curd posset tart with passion fruit sorbet and berries.

Buzzinga. That’s a technical, professional food bloggy type term, you guys.

Because I’m totes a pro at this.

Someone get me a fucking beer.



This hotel annex restaurant was founded in 1979 and quickly built a strong name and reputation for itself, which resulted in a much coveted star in the Michelin guide. It managed to keep this star until 2012. In 2011 the founder left the by now reputable business to his son in law, who was also a chef and his daughter, who took over the service in the restaurant. In 2013 the restarurant hotel suddenly closed its door for no apparent reason, which quickly started rumours about bankrupcy and even suicide of the proprietor. A short while later however, just as suddenly as he had disappeared, the propietor resurfaced. His son in law had accepted an offer from a three star restaurant in France and had left Hotel au Paradis together with his wife. The proprietor  needed some time to digest this blow and to rewrite the menu. Shortly after that things took a turn for the worse. The hotel had gotten itself into a substantial debt, for which there was no solution to be found. In 2013 Hotel au Paradis was declared bankrupt. The contents of the hotel and restaurant were auctioned publically, but no buyer was found for the buildings and the estate itself. Since then things have gotten increasingly worse. Burglary, theft and vandalism have left the former reputable business in a dilapidated state

Fic Rec List 3 of 3 tonight

Since my original post was too long, I had to break it up into 3 posts tonight. Hopefully this works. The whole thing is the definitive list of all my favorite fics. On a scale of 1-10, all of these are rated 11 or higher. A single asterisk next to a fic is a desert island fic that I couldn’t do without. A double asterisk is a #1 all time favorite fic that I reread regularly. All links, Tumblr handle (if I know it), ao3 and/or ff profile, links to fics on ao3 and/or ff, are included.  So settle in for some fabulous reading from this EXTREMELY long list. 

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Georges Hugnet. On the advice of his doctor (#18), Along the way, an unexpected shot of Miss Arizona touches a dead rhinoceros (#28), The British Ambassador flatters the trinity of ferreting (#29), During our wandering through the fields (#32), Followed by his found old friend (#36), At the instigation of the more cynical libertines (#39), The area that touched (#56), Miss Lachèvre (#59), For Example, It Happened (#60), Barely crossed the castle gates (#68). Huit jours à Trébaumec (Eight Days in Trébaumec). (1947) 1969. 

A Night Worth the Detour!

Last Tuesday, #michelinguide, hosted the “Guide Michelin Germany 2018” in cooperation with Mercedes-AMG in Berlin to celebrate the country’s next top chef stars in an illustrious award ceremony. Guests were indulged with a culinary experience accompanied by an exhibition of 4 Mercedes-AMG vehicles: Mercedes-AMG E 63 S, Mercedes-AMG GT3, Mercedes-AMG GT C, Mercedes-AMG GT R.

#GuideMichelin2018 #AMGXMICHELIN #GuideMichelinDeutschland2018
#MercedesAMG #AMG #E63S #GTR #GT3 [Mercedes-AMG E 63 S | Combined fuel consumption: 9.1 - 8.8 l/100 km | CO₂ emissions combined: 207 - 199 g/km] [Mercedes-AMG GT C | Combined fuel consumption: 11.4 l/100 km | CO₂ emissions combined: 259 g/km] [Mercedes-AMG GT R | Combined fuel consumption: 11.4 l/100 km | CO₂ emissions combined: 259 g/kmt]

Le Guide de Micheline. Illustration by Chéri Hérouard (French, 1881-1961). La Vie Parisienne, 1910’s.

“Suivez le guide!” One assumes that the young lady is named Micheline and the guide is the path for love (based on the cupid cover) rather than the stuffy restaurant reviews one would find in the Michelin guides with their plain covers.


exhibition “神の手 ニッポン展 Kaminote Nippon Ten 2” at 目黒雅叙園 Meguro Gajoen (2016, until December 25)

a miniture model of the Matsunos house in Osomatsukun has been displayed at a famous wedding complex in Tokyo, a three-pavilion rating in the 2009 and 2010 Michelin Hotel Guide, Meguro Gajoen.

the miniture model is made by an artist, Nobuo Takama.
he create many miniture house models of popular amime(Sazaesan, Tonari No Totoro/My Neighbor Totoro, Ashita No Joe/Tomorrow’s Joe, etc).
usually all his works are displayed at his cafe, 茶蔵庵房 Sakuranbou in Fukui Prefecture.

茶蔵庵房 Sakuranbou
18-47-3, Kamiyasuta, Maruokacyou, Sakai City, Fukui Prefecture

《TOUR Vlog》 澳門之旅 Vlog 🇲🇴 跟著米芝蓮指南來場摘星之旅(米其林 三星)8餐廳【KevenTV】

《TOUR Vlog》 澳門之旅 Vlog 🇲🇴 跟著米芝蓮指南來場摘星之旅(米其林 三星)in Macau 新葡京2F THE EIGHT 8餐廳|Guide Michelin (*** Exceptional)in Grand Lisboa Macau 2F THE EIGHT【KevenTV】


澳門唯一榮獲米芝蓮三星榮譽的高級中菜食府「8 餐廳」,主打精緻點心及名貴新派廣東菜。餐廳由香港名設計師設計,佈局型格,突顯中國元素之餘更顯獨特的氣派,餐廳並設有多間獨立貴賓房。主廚擅以各地新鮮食材,配搭出創新口味。中午更推出達四十多款創意點心,是私人聚會或宴客的好地方。

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH ( obriensnipples ) U NERD


Stiles glares at a crate of avocados.

He reaches out to test another one, squeezing it gently to test for its ripeness, but once again it turns out hard. He’s pretty sure he’s been through three fourths of the crate at this point and all of them are too firm. Really, he should have bought some when he last went shopping to give them time to ripen, but, then again, his cravings can be unpredictable at times. And he really wants fresh guacamole, like, today.

Sighing, he considers abandoning the farmers market and braving the local chain grocery store, but just as he’s reaching out to try one last avocado, someone else’s hand darts out to grab it.

“Hey!” Stiles yelps as his hand is knocked out of the way. He turns his glare on the intruder, losing hold of his anger for a moment as he takes in the man’s broad chest and perfectly groomed stubble.

However, as soon as he sees the avocado skin flex perfectly under the man’s fingers, he just about sees red.

“Oh my god,” he hisses, launching himself at the avocado. “Give me that!”

“What the hell?” the guy replies, jerking his hands away and holding the avocado away from Stiles’ reach. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I have spent the last hour searching the entire market for a ripe avocado and you just waltz on in and find it on the first try,” Stiles growls, glare still sharp.

“So?” Tall, Dark, and Stubbly asks, unmoved.

“So don’t you think it’s only fair – ” Stiles starts, but Avocado Asshole cuts him off.

“No,” he snorts, placing the avocado in a plastic bag and heading over to the stall owner to pay. “It’s not my fault you suck at finding the best produce.”

“I’m clearly just unlucky!” Stiles shouts at Avocado Asshole’s retreating back, hands curled up into fists at his sides.

He finally finds ripe, but badly bruised, avocados at a mega chain grocery store an hour and a half later. However, it’s only once he gets home that he realizes he forgot to get tomatoes.

Fuck his life.

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Drive and dine with two of the best! Mercedes-AMG and #michelin team up to guide you to your destination and delight you with exceptional experiences.

#DRIVENBYSENSES #cooperation #mercedesamg #amg #michelin #michelinguide #drivingperformance #michelinguide #michelinstars #michelin #passion #luxury #mercedesamg #amg50years #amg #performance #power #Mercedes #performancedriven #foodie #instafood #dining #roadtrip #roadtrippin #tuscany #italy [Fuel consumption combined: 8.6-8.4 l/100km | CO2 emissions: 200 - 196 g/km]

Sonia m'a fait remarquer qu'on ne devrait pas appeler ça Star Trek, mais Randonnée Stellaire.

Ce qui implique :

  • Spock en short et chaussures de rando
  • Kirk avec un bob, et qui passe son temps à enlever sa chemise sous prétexte qu'il a trop chaud
  • Bones qui court après lui pour lui rappeler de mettre de l'écran total.
  • Sulu qui s'arrête tous les deux mètres pour cueillir des plantes pour son herbier
  • Chekov qui insiste pour dire que la crème solaire a été inventée en Russie
  • Scottie qui grogne parce qu'il a des ampoules et qu'est-ce qu'il fout là d'abord
  • Uhura qui rigole en arrière plan parce que c'est elle qui a le guide Michelin.