pasta and garlic bread

  • me: chefs what i've served for you is a firm alfredo pasta with fresh tomatoes and homemade garlic bread
  • judge: this is dry pasta with a slice of kraft american cheese and ketchup and a saltine cracker
  • me: ban apple fries 👌

anonymous asked:

Maggie cooks to figure out her feelings. Over time, Alex has learned to recognize Maggie's moods before she even steps foot in their apartment based on what she can smell. Garlic? Maggie's stressed and making garlic bread and pasta. Tomato sauce from scratch. Alex turns around to buy wine from the corner store before going in. Steak? Maggie had a great day at work. Alex smiles and knows there will be a cold beer waiting for her. Her favorite smell? Cookies... that means candles and soft music


send me sanvers headcanons


@mercedes-fenty came through earlier to chill with ya boy before she dipped out to wherever. Shawty told me she wasn’t feeling well about some shit, and today wasn’t the best one for me, so we straight chilled. She said she wanted some type of pasta so I made sumn up. Pasta, salad, garlic bread, and wine? Perfect combo. 

I had fun tonight shawty. Thanks for talkin’ shit out with ya boy and I hope ya feelin’ better. 

DAY 13, DAY 14 & DAY 15

I made a last mini decision to go and visit my boyfriend for three days so we could spend valentines together. As most of you know we live 60 miles apart (2 hours) so we only see each other about twice a month.

I ate quite well when I was there but not as well i do when I am home.

Breakfast- strawberries and a kiwi
Lunch - cereal bar
Dinner - domino pizza 🍕😛

Breakfast - fruit and yoghurt
Lunch - left over pizza 🍕
Dinner - smoked haddock, asparagus and broccoli pasta 🍝 with garlic bread

Breakfast- golden nuggets
Lunch - subway
Dinner - noodles
Snacks - rice cakes and corn pops

I had a amazing could of days with him and I can’t wait for him to come home in a few day 🙊🙊

we teach girls to only take themselves apart in private,
or with their own hands or at sleepovers
or looking at billboards
other women movies magazines mirrors.
we teach girls to take each other apart
as America’s next-favorite past-time

after all,
it’s just constructive criticism
just pre-pillow-fight-foreplay
‘just between us girls’
unless she’s not in the room
unless she’s famous
unless she sent nudes
unless she’s fat.

fat girls have too many things to hate:
pasta with butter and parmesan
absent thigh gap and resultant heat rash
garlic bread and monkey bread and jalapeno cornbread
hips that were childbearing when she was still a child
nachos and french fries and pizza
busts that burst apart button-downs
bad genes and ingrained eating habits
fast food and group lunches and romantic dinners
and mainly herself–

–never the first person to brand them fat:
grade-a beef, marbled steak,
steaming iron hot as my cheeks
after all, 'it’s just constructive criticism;
i’m just looking out for you,’
by looking right through you.

shouldn’t fat girls have more to love?
aren’t fat girls supposed to be 'more to love?’
'more cushion for the pushin’?’
your chubby-chaser chance at romance?
doesn’t that suggest we’re worthy of love at all?
one morning, my grandmother teaches me the word 'fat’
that my belly-butt-thighs are getting too big for twelve-years-old.
our bodies peak sometime in pre-pubescence, and from now on
a woman’s ideal is to be first, not to keep taking seconds at dinner.
at dinner, she warns against the word 'anorexic’
because not eating won’t solve anything–there is no solution
because the appropriate response to constructive criticism is no response at all
because striving to be better is pointless–the point is the cycle:

this woman’s body,
this main course and main attraction
that I’m allowed to call body,
should be grateful for the attention,
even shameful slaughter that it is,
even at all.
—  the swallowing | emryse

“Baby, I’m home.” As you set down your purse, you took a sniff, your face scrunching up. There was a sour, burned smell in the air and the house was cloudy. “Baby is everything ok?” “Yes, my love!” You heard Chibs from the kitchen and you took your shoes off before slowly making your way over. Your eyes widened as you entered the kitchen, not knowing where to look first. There were crumbs and dirty pots all over the counter and pieces of pasta on the floor, what looked like tomato sauce on his shirt when he turned towards you. “Hey darlin’.” He looked exhausted and frustrated, but smiled none the less.

“Happy anniversary.” You returned the gesture with a smile of your own and walked to him, wrapping your arms around his middle. “Happy anniversary baby. What you cooking?” His smile fell and he shrugged. “I was trying to make you pasta and garlic bread but I burned the bread and the pastas too salty. Like really salty.” You laughed and shook your head. “Nonsense. I’m gonna go change, serve me?” He tilted his head and stared at you blankly. “I’m not lying love, it tastes like shite.” You turned away from him and sauntered to the bedroom. “Make me a plate.”


“Baby please stop eating it. Let’s order out.” You said nothing, just tried to swallow down the bite you had in your mouth. It really did taste like shit, he hadn’t been lying. He’d spent 3 hours cooking though and you didn’t want to just not eat, so you’d tried. You’d made it about 4 spoons in and you were already beginning to feel nauseous. Chibs had refused to even serve himself a plate and was now begging you to stop. You shook your head and put another spoon in but gagged and Chibs quickly took the plate from you, pulling your cheeks to make you spit it out and tossing the contents into the trash. “That’s enough. We’re getting Chinese.” You nodded and wiped your mouth, chugging some water to get the salt out of your mouth. Chibs saw you and laughed loudly.

“You got ballocks girl. I’ll give you that.” You chuckled then coughed, Chibs laughing harder. He held his hand out to you and you took it, standing from your chair at the dining room table. He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other coming to rest on the back of your head, holding you to him. “I love you. You know that right?” Blushing, he looked down at you and nodded. “Aye. I know. I love you too, my girl.” You let your head lay on his chest, always enjoying being in his arms and never wanting to be anywhere else.


@clapandtransmute has joined in the family tradition of completely covering the kitchen in bowls and powdered sugar and stuff to make:

  • Meatballs
  • Pasta sauce
  • Garlic bread
  • Napa
  • Angel food cake with lemon glaze and berries
  • Coconut-vanilla ice cream
  • and whipped cream

…for one(ish) very long meal. We still have 12 egg yolks left for creme brûlée but thought that might have been a little excessive.

anonymous asked:

ok but wheeeeeere do you get that complicated sounding tea latte for one fifty that sounds amazing (congrats on your day too dude)

answering this a million years late but I actually got it at the teahouse on my campus! it’s called the Teahaus because we’re a bunch of disgusting hipsters, and a cup of tea there is a dollar and a tea latte is one fifty. they get all sorts of wild flavors there like the one I mentioned ( “caribe” which has guava, coconut, and hibiscus) and stuff like blood orange, spiced plum, yellow and blue, black jasmine, all the tea. it’s actually amazing!

and yeah yesterday was beautiful. today involved, literally: waking up at 1, making a shit ton of pasta and garlic bread, and eating said food throughout the day while I watched movies and did nothing lmao. but you know! there’s up and down days and nothing wrong with a pasta day :)