To celebrate National Margarita Day (February 22), we would like to offer you two kinds of margaritas so that you can have one for each hand when the pteranodons and the dimorphodons escape. Thank you for being the boozy hero we needed on that dark day, Jimmy Buffett.
time for hot cocoa! how do you think Harry and Draco make their own cup of cocoa? I make mine with fake milk, chocolate (usually cocoa mix), cinnamon, vanilla, salt, and sometimes some chili flakes.
Draco is very particular about his hot cocoa, thank you very much.
The house elves always made it special for him growing up; milk, a tiny bit of sugar and finely grated Belgian milk chocolate. As he got older they made him more elaborate mixes with different chocolates (dark, semi sweet, white) and special add ins. Draco was particularly fond of dark chocolate with fresh mint leaves, white chocolate and peppermint, dark chocolate with anise, or super sweet milk chocolate simmered with fresh cinnamon sticks.
At Hogwarts the house elves made the most delicious, thick hot cocoa around and while it was delicious it wasn’t quite up to Draco’s standards. It always felt like it was lacking something.
Harry on the other hand was never allowed to have hot cocoa growing up. It was all for Dudley. So the first time someone slides a warm, rich mug of it to him in the great hall Harry nearly scalds his throat drinking it so fast because he’s never tasted anything so warm and sweet and comforting. As he takes the last drink he can’t help but think it tastes like he thinks a hug might feel like.
Later, after the war, when Harry and Draco start dating and eventually move in together Harry always makes the cocoa in the beginning because he likes to cook and it makes him happy. But he makes it very sweet and rich and while it’s delicious Draco thinks Harry might be trying to kill him with the sheer amount of sugar and chocolate he manages to squeeze into one small mug.
So one day when Harry gets home from work late Draco already has the cocoa made; milk, one sugar, a decent scoop of shaved semi sweet chocolate and a hint of orange liquor. Harry just raises his eyebrow at him over the rim of his mug because Draco never fixes anything in the kitchen so he isn’t sure what’s going on. But then he takes a drink and he can’t help the soft moan that comes out of his mouth because oh my god it’s so good.
And Draco just wraps his fingers around his own mug and trys not to smile too big as he takes a slow sip of his own.
And it becomes a bit of a game after that, because Draco had no idea he could get so much pleasure from making something for someone else. But he finds that he likes to experiment in the kitchen using different chocolates and different amounts of sugar and extracts and spices, delighting in the way Harry’s eyes light up and the way he sighs in pleasure every time Draco hands him a new concoction to try.
And later when they’re curled together on the couch, or in bed, their kisses slow and lazy Draco just smiles to himself again because he hadn’t thought anything could be more perfect than hot cocoa until he discovered the taste of hot cocoa on Harrys tongue, and he finds he likes that best of all.
In this there are (unsexy!) blindfolds and lots of mentions of food.
“Relax, darling.” France’s breath is close to England’s ear, his hands running down England’s arms. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
England, perhaps just to be contrary, fidgets in his seat and slaps France’s hands away.“Just get on with it, would you?”
He feelsFrance step back, hears him laughing. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he misses
the warmth of France’s body just behind his. Instead of saying so, he shifts on
the chair again, resisting the urge to reach up and fiddle with the blindfold
that France has just fastened over his eyes.
you a favor, you know.” France’s voice is coming from a few feet away, now. “You
don’t need to look so cross about it.”
huffs, and rolls his eyes for precisely no one’s benefit. He feels his
eyelashes brush against the soft material of one of France’s Hermès scarves. It’s
deep green in color, so that if he peaks his eyes open all he can see is
dappled shadows of that shade. He shifts, again, hands folded in his lap and
then gripping his knees, restless movements.
when something touches his face—France’s hand, stroking gently along his cheek.
“Relax. Or we can find another game
let him back down now. “I said we’d do it, so we’re doing this. Or we would be,
if you could hurry the fuck up, you—”
his latest tirade would have been is cut off by France placing another hand
against his lips. England opens his mouth on instinct, accepts whatever it is
that France is feeding him. It’s soft, and melts against his teeth and tongue
as he draws it into his mouth. And, god help him, it is delicious.
He hears France
laughing above him as he licks his lips. “Do you like that, cher?”
licking the remnants off his teeth, England nods.
France prompts. “What was it?”
scowls, but answers all the same. “Chocolate. Obviously. I thought you said this would be a challenge—”
Not just chocolate. Try again.”
presses his lips together. “Milk chocolate,” he tries again. “And some sort of
close,” France says, voice warm with approval and amusement. “Raspberry.”
bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to feel too disappointed. After
all, France could be rigging this game, he wants to see England fail…
try again?” France suggests after a moment. He has a hand on England’s
shoulder, now, long fingers digging in a truly exquisite way. England has to
resist the urge to arch towards his touch.
England breathes out.
another moment, but then England feels France’s long hair brushing against his
face as the other man holds something against his lips, again. England opens
for a bite, teeth cutting straight through something soft and pillowy. His lips
touch France’s fingers for just a moment before the other nation draws his hand
takes a moment to chew, to decipher what’s in his mouth.
feeding me bloody macarons, you’re so predictable—”
“Angleterre.” France’s voice is stiff
with stressed patience. “You can tell what
it is from the shape. We are focusing on the flavor.”
of course, is so much harder. But England, munching happily on the remnants of
the macaron, begins to smile. Because France’s tactics have not worked—he knows
he declares. “Why, France, I never knew you’d acquired a taste for tea.”
France sigh dramatically. “I should have known that would be too easy. You
spend too much time with Japon.”
that I’m better at your stupid game that you thought I’d be.”
suppose your palate isn’t an entirely lost cause.”
thinks he might be relieved, a bit. There’s always a worry, with them, that
time will turn all things to routine, and routine will turn all things
obsolete. He and France have been dancing to the same tune for so many years,
and perhaps that means that one day they’ll tire of one another. England,
despite all evidence to the contrary, does not want to see that happen. So when
France comes up with these new games and entertainments—“Ways to keep things
fresh, darling!”—England puts on a show of being unimpressed, but never really
So now he’s
sitting in France’s kitchen, blindfolded as his erstwhile lover feeds him
desserts and mocks his palate. There are worse fates, maybe.
France asks, when he’s stopped speculating on why England spends so much time
with Japan. England merely nods, and a moment later he feels something cool
pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and France pushes the spoon
inside, allowing England to lick away its contents.
are sweet, and almost overpowering. England bites down on something crunchy,
but that sensation quickly melts away to something creamy and soft. Like
everything France prepares, this dessert is a perfect blend of flavors and
textures. And although England is loath to admit it, robbed of his sight he’s
forced to appreciate all those qualities. He appreciates, too, France’s efforts
to keep things fresh and vibrant between them.
what crème brûlée is,” he grumbles, while France is still very close in front
this a variation,” France begins to say.
doesn’t let him finish. He reaches out for where he thinks France must be, and
grabs him by the shoulder. He pulls France close, feels the other man’s breath
across his face as he laughs.
Was there something you wanted?”
answer immediately, just presses his face close to France’s in an attempt to
find his lips. It takes a moment—he kisses France’s throat, his jaw, his cheek,
and enjoys the way the other man laughs and squirms at his touch. But finally,
finally, England presses his lips to France’s, and France sighs and opens up to him immediately.
isn’t fresh, hasn’t been new for a long time. But it’s still wonderful, they
breaks the kiss with a pout a moment later. “Angleterre, you didn’t guess!
There is orange, and almond liquor…”
France.” England edges forward again, and swallows France’s next laugh with
All aboard the hype train! We’re getting an expansion pack, my fellow nerds! Heart of Thorns is official!
While we may not have playable Tengus yet (damn it), I must say that being able to wield a greatsword as a necromancer may be one of my favorite perks. Now we can stop harping on Trehearne and Marjory. But being able to fly is pretty badass too. I might also hold off on my new toon and make him a Revenant when the class is released. It’s kind of like mixing the paragon and the ritualist from GW1, isn’t it? Okay, I loved it all. THE HYPE TRAIN HAS NO BREAKS.
So you’re all familiar with the term “Throwback Thursday”, right? If the PAX showcase had been hosted on Thursday this would have been up then, but no it’s Saturday. So today is “Sentimental Saturday”, and we’re doing an old classic to pay homage to where we started!
The Battle Islands of the first Guild Wars here home to the Zaishan Order, the menagerie, Zaishan missions, the arenas, and the Great Temple of Balthazar. It was an island chain of badass. You were pretty much guaranteed to have your ass handed to you, be it in the arena or by a Zaishan challenge. There’s also a drink you could find in GW as a reward from Zaishan Strongboxes, holiday Grab Bags, or Hero Strongboxes- Battle Isle Iced Tea. While the effect of drinking it only lasted 5 minutes, it added 50 points to your drunkard title. This is a drink that really does justice to its namesake, because it will also put you on your ass.
Considering it’s a play off the long Island Iced Tea (which isn’t even tea, liars) it has to be highly alcoholic. But I wanted real tea, so incredibly potent tea it is. the recipe is under the cut.
The Last Sanctuary was founded in back in GW1 and carried into GW2, and it centrally revolved around Mog, who after the searing of Ascalon founded a Lyssan temple in a Shiverpeak town called Ironfast. One of their primary crops was apples, which Mog and his wife Meave used to make Lyssa’s Wine (and other apple-based goods, which is where I ran with this).
But they’re in the Shiverpeaks. Apples, ciders, nuts, honeys, and the inevitable dolyak ice cream combines into something amazing- stuffed and baked ginger apples. The recipe is below the cut.
1 ½ oz. Rye Whiskey (Knob Creek) 1 oz. Sweet Red Vermouth ¼ oz. Cointreau ¼ oz. Cranberry and Cardamom Simple Syrup Barspoon Aperol
Put all ingredients in a mixing glass, add ice, and stir well to chill. Pour into a rocks glass with ice. Garnish with a an orange twist and a few homemade bourbon cherries.
I saw a video recently for the “Employees Own” Manhattan where they add orange liquor to the classic recipe. It gave me an idea to expand on it a little more with similar flavors - using the Aperol as a bitter instead of Angostura, and adding in a little of my homemade cranberry and cardamom simple syrup as well.