pound a pint

Already picturing ourselves with this Watermelon Sangria in hand. 🍉 Cheers to the weekend with this #covcocktail recipe, courtesy of our friends at @theainsworth:
Watermelon mix (puréed 10-pound watermelon, 2 pints of lime juice, and 1 quart of simple syrup)
Watermelon slice
4 oz. Pinot Grigio
1 oz. VDKA 6100
One> Pour Pinot Grigio, VDKA 6100, and 4.5 oz of the watermelon mix, into a shaker.
Two> shake.
Three> Serve in a wine glass garnished with a watermelon slice.
📷: @kendall.abelman http://ift.tt/2rFaFBY

hufflefluffkins replied to your postHuh. Today I learned: a British pint is 5/4 of an…

…whut. I knew that cups varied but I thought pints were pints!


I know, right?

It came up in the comments to the Slate Star Codex Passover fiction, so I looked it up.  By which I mean I read the Wikipedia article on pints.

A pint is universally an eighth of a gallon.  But Americans use the “wine gallon”, which is 231 cubic inches.  A gallon of water weighs about 8.3 pounds, so a pint weighs a bit over a pound.

In contrast, Britain uses the Imperial gallon which is defined to be ten pounds of water.  So an Imperial pint is 1.25 pounds of water.

(Bonus weirdness: A fluid pint is an eighth of a fluid gallon, which is 231 cubic inches.  But an American dry pint is an eighth of a corn gallon, which is 268.8 cubic inches).

Culinary History (Part 24): History of Measuring

During Anglo-Saxon times, the Winchester measure was established in England (Winchester was the capital at the time). It was based on the Winchester bushel, which was 64lb (29kg) of wheat.  It was better to use wheat than flour, because the density varies less.  The Winchester measure was the volume that a Winchester bushel took up.  It was then subdivided down into:

bushel = 4 pecks

peck = 2 gallons

gallon = 4 quarts

quart = 4 pints

So, there were 128 pints in a bushel.  A pint is 473ml, and a bushel is 35.24 litres.

There is a old saying, “A pint’s a pound the world around”.  A pint of wheat is actually half a pound (as there are 128 pints in a bushel, and a bushel of wheat is 64 pounds).  But a pint of water weighs a pound (i.e. twice as much as wheat).  Hence the saying.

The Winchester gallon was also called the corn gallon. And it wasn’t the only type of volumetric measurement!  There was also the wine gallon (about 3.79 litres) and the ale gallon (about 4.63 litres).  The difference between them may have been because ale was drunk in larger volumes than wine.

The lack of standardization was a problem, both for customers and for the state, because it mucked around with the duty charged on goods.  In 1215, the Magna Carta tried to fix it: “Let there be one measure of wine throughout our whole realm; and one measure of ale; and one measure of corn.”  It didn’t work.  From 1066 to the end of the 1600’s, there were over twelve different gallon measurements, some for liquids and some for solids.

The wine gallon was also called the Queen Anne gallon (from the 1700′s).

In the 1790’s, after the French Revolution, the French began to establish the metric system.  The metre was meant to be one ten-millionth of the Earth’s meridian (an imaginary line between the North & South Poles), but it’s actually a bit smaller, because of a miscalculation.

The French were now measuring everything in tens.  (There was even an attempt at a ten-day week, the décade). The new measures were laid out in a law of the 18th Germinal.  They would use litres, grams and metres, and throw out the old chaotic measurements.  This was to show how rational and scientific France now was.

In 1790, George Washington asked Thomas Jefferson (Secretary of State) to work out a plan for reforming weights and measures.  They already had decimal coinage.  But Congress couldn’t agree on either of Jefferson’s reform proposals, and for the next several decades they couldn’t decide on a solution.

In 1824, the British Parliament voted to use a single imperial gallon, for both dry and liquid measurements.  This was defined as “the volume occupied by ten pounds of water at specified temperature and pressure”, which ended up as 277.42 cubic inches, or 4.55 litres. This was close to the old ale gallon (and bigger than the corn gallon).  The other measurements (peck, etc) were shuffled to fit.  Now the saying was:

A pint’s a pound the world round

Except in Britain where

A pint of water’s a pound and a quarter.

The imperial gallon was in place for the whole British Empire.

In 1836, America finally reformed their measurements (somewhat).  But they weren’t going to follow Britain.  Instead, they used the old corn gallon for dry goods, and the old wine gallon for liquids.

Because of the two different systems, Britain and America have had problems with understanding each other’s cookbooks.  In 1969, Britain officially adopted the metric system, and this just made things harder.  Nowadays, only America, Liberia and Myanmar still use the imperial system.


Measurements of size, as well as of volume, were non-standardized for a very long time.  Since the middle ages, recipe-writers would write things like “finger-breadths of water”, “butter the size of a pea”.  Of course, medieval cooks had no rulers, digital scales or measuring jugs.  So they had to rely on comparisons that other people would understand.

The also left out things that they assumed the reader would already know. Hannah Wolley wrote The Queen-Like Closet, or Rich Cabinet in 1672.  In it, she gives a recipe to make “pancakes so crisp as you may set them upright.”  The recipe goes:

Make a dozen or a score of them in a Frying-pan, no bigger than a Sawcer, then boil them in Lard, and they will look as yellow as Gold, and eat very well.

This is barely a recipe at all.  It gives no details on how long to cook them, how much lard to use, or how hot they should be cooked at.  It wasn’t intended for a beginner cook, but rather for someone who already knew how – more of a memory aid.

Frontispiece of The Queen-Like Closet.

Back further, in the time of Ancient Rome, the situation was the same. It’s very difficult to reconstruct old recipes because of this.  A recipe by Apicius for “another mashed vegetable” goes:

Cook the lettuce leaves with onion in sode water, squeeze, chop very fine; in the mortar crush pepper, lovage, celery seed, dry mint, onion; add stock, oil and wine.

Measurements have often been based on the body, because so long as one person is doing the measuring, the ratio works out just fine.  The Sumerians used the width of the pinky and of the hand; and the distance between the pinky-tip and thumb-tip on an stretched hand.  The basic Greek measurement was the daktylos (width of a finger), and 24 of them made a cubit. The Romans used the daktylosbut called it a digit.

The finger was a common kitchen measurement.  Martino de Rossi (1400’s Italian culinary expert) said, “take four fingers of marzipan”. Pellegrino Artusi (late 1800’s cookbook writer) began one of his recipes with, “Take long, slender, finger-length zucchini”.

Handfuls were also used.  Many Irish cooks still use handfuls of flour to make soda bread.

Moving away from the body – the walnut was a very common measurement, from France, Italy and England to Russia and Afghanistan.  It’s been used at least since the Middle Ages.  This is because walnuts tend to be about the same size, and they were seen often enough to remember how big they were.  There are some small varieties, such as the French noix noisette (about hazelnut size).  But the common walnut is what the comparison is for.  It is usually 2.5-3.5 in diameter.

The walnut (Juglans regia) was imported from Persia to Ancient Greece, and reached China by 400 AD.  It was an important crop in medieval France, but didn’t reach Britain until the 1400’s.

Butter was often measured walnut-size.  In 1823, Mary Eaton used a piece of butter “the size of a walnut” to stew spinach.  In 1861, Mrs. Beeton said to use a walnut-sized butter for grilling rumpsteaks.

There were many other objects used for measurements.  Peas were common, and so was the nutmeg (about a modern teaspoon).  In the 1600’s, bullets and tennis balls were used.  Various coins were a reference too, which is how you have the silver-dollar pancakes in America.

Nutmeg.

Yelena Molokhovets (b.1831) was a Russian cook.  She wrote the famous A Gift to Young Housewives, which had over 20 editions and sold over 295,000 copies.  She cut ginger the size of a thimble, and dough the size of a wild apple. Butter was, again, walnut-sized.

The modern kitchen term “dice” come from when cooks like Robert May (1558-c.1664) cut beef marrow into “great dice” and “small dice”.


The clock began to be used in the kitchen by the 1700’s.  But before that, recipes usually gave cooking times in prayers.

For example, a medieval French recipe for preserved walnuts says to boil them for the time it takes to say a Miserere (which is about 2min).  The shortest measurement of time was the Ave Maria (about 20sec).  Everyone knew how long these prayers took, because they chanted them together in church, at the same speed.


The usual way to test the heat of an oven was by simply sticking your hand in it.  You’d tell from the level of pain how hot it was, and if the oven was ready for baking loaves, which needed the fiercest heat.

The paper test was used often by confectioners in the 1800’s.  The purpose of this test was to follow the decreasing levels of heat as the oven cooled down.  Cakes and pastries, because of their high butter & sugar content, could catch fire if they were put in at a too-high temperature.

A piece of white kitchen paper was put on the oven floor, and the door was shut.  If it caught fire, it was too hot.  10min later, another piece of paper was put in, and if it charred, it was still too hot. 10min more, and if the paper turned dark brown (without catching fire), then it was “dark brown paper heat”, suitable for glazing small pastries, which needed a high heat.

Then there was “light brown paper heat”, a few degrees lower, for vol-au-vents, hot pie crusts, timbales, etc.  “Dark yellow heat” was a moderate temperature, for larger pastries.  And finally there was “light yellow paper heat”, a gentle temperature, for meringues, manqués and génoises.

The flour test was similar.  A handful of flour was thrown onto the oven floor, and you waited for 40sec.  If the flour slowly browned, then it was the right temperature for bread.

The earliest thermometers were invented in the 1500’s, mostly for measuring air temperature.  The Fahrenheit scale was invented in 1724, and the Celsius scale in 1742.  But even in the late 1800’s, measuring heat in the kitchen was done with the old methods.

Thermometers (mid-1600′s) that go up to 50°.  Black dots mark each degree, and white dots mark each 10°.

Around the turn of the century, cooks began realizing the usefulness of thermometers.  A new American oven called the “new White House” had an oven thermometer included, “in order to keep…strictly up to the minute.”

In 1915, the first gas oven with a fully-integrated thermometer appeared on the market.  By the 1920’s, electric stoves with electromechanical thermostats were being produced.  However, it was easier to just buy a separate thermometer and get it fitted to the oven, if you didn’t want to go out and buy a new one.

I’ve been thinking really hard about my ideal Prizeo campaigns and now I feel ready to throw a few suggestions out there:

Louis: I am standing by this post. He comes to my house. We smoke a bowl, eat a thin-crust pepperoni pizza, and I beat his ass at Rainbow Road. Afterward he wanders around my house making fun of everything I own to make himself feel better. Then he finds my copy of the Hyperbole and a Half book and asks if he can borrow it because he’s heard good things. I say no. He tries to barter with me and ends up leaving my house barefoot, book in hand. I have an empty spot on my bookshelf and his Adidas in a shadowbox.

Liam: The name of this one would be something like Win a Dream Date with 1D’s Liam Payne! He picks me up in that ridiculous Lamborghini, brings me my favorite flowers without even having to ask me what my favorite flowers are, and we go to my favorite French restaurant. I convince him to try escargot. He’s not wild about the texture, but he’s not a baby about it. After dinner we go to the ballet. He puts his jacket over my shoulders while we’re on the smoking balcony during intermission. I’ve been wearing sweatpants the whole time.

Niall: We’re judging some kind of sporting event. Maybe it’s golf, maybe it’s tennis, maybe it’s synchronized swimming. The important thing is that we’re pounding pints in a press box by ourselves and he’s getting pinker and pinker in the face while, together, we critique the physical abilities and skills of large, athletic men. Afterward, Niall conducts the locker room interviews while I watch. There are no cameras, he’s just interested in what they have to say and wants to stand near them while they say it.

Harry: We fly to Cape Town together. It’s a 24 hour flight but we can’t sleep, so we stay awake the entire flight drinking free champagne, playing Words With Friends, and watching the in-flight entertainment. We arrive in Cape Town and immediately catch a cab to Table Mountain. We climb- wired, high on adrenaline, and maybe still slightly drunk from the plane. We reach the top and then, idk, do whatever he likes to do at the top of Table Mountain 👀

Imagine Thorin first realizing he loves you, as you rip the head off an orc.

BLOOD, SWEAT, IRON, AND LUST: A LOVE STORY

Chapter One: Gladiator

            Thorin did not often travel so far as the Great Eastern Market, just over the border of Gondor, in Harad, on the Bay of Belefalas

The Easterling lands were a wild place, Thorin didn’t speak their language, and the bay was often full of corsair ships.

That, and the Great Market was also the home of the Slave Market, and slavery was something that Thorin despised.

But a good Dwarrow smith and metalworker could make a pretty penny, especially in springtime, so, whenever Thorin’s work took him to Gondor, he would always travel south to the Great Market, before turning to go home.

His wagon was unladen of most of his goods, and full of his purchases and his hard-earned money when he and a dead man saw each other, from across the market.

The older dwarf fairly ran to Thorin, and they embraced like old friends.

“Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror! Am i so old that even you have silver in your hair, now?”

“Master Hranmi, I’m glad to see that we are both still alive, at all! And you don’t look a day over 200!”

“I will be two hundred and forty, this year. And I am not your master now, Lord Thorin of New Belegost.”

“The man who trained me to fight will always be my your Drill Master.”

“Thorin, my lad, as your father and your grandfather once trusted me, will you?”

“Of course. What troubles you, Hranmi?“

“I have become the Master Trainer at the Circus Mortis. And I want you to buy our Master Gladiator’s freedom, and take her back to the Blue Mountains with you.”

“The Master Gladiator of the Circus Moris is a Dwarf and a woman?”

“A young woman. Very young. The same age as your sister sons I hear tell of, sometimes, in the Market. Her name is Brimi. Her father was a Dwarf and her mother was Idunni, of the Dokkalfari. Her mother abandoned her, at birth and she was stolen from her home by orc slavers. Brimi was sold into slavery when she was 15. She has been a gladiator for thirty years and the Master Gladiator for twenty. She’s earned her freedom, but she will not go. She says she has nothing to go to, and she’s right. Please, Thorin. Give her the home she has never had. Take her to your halls, in the Blue Mountains.”

“You have told me her mothers’ name. What about her father’s?”

“She has vowed to never say her father’s name until she is free. Brimi says its a disgrace to her family that she was taken as a slave, and tahts hew ould bring shame on her father’s name, to have it connected with a slave.”

“Well, she may not be a silly one, but Hranmi, the last thing I need is another silly girl on me hands! To me face I may be called Thorin Oakenshield, but behind me back they call me Thorin Whoremaster, and for good reason. When you knew me i was a romantic young man with a lovely young wife; a star-crossed lover and his Elvin Lady Fair. Well, when Anorloth died, that fool boy died with her, and a miserable old bastard of a whoremaster has taken his place. I’ve had a thousand women if I’ve had one, of all the races, and I’ve not taken over the responsibility for any of them. Nor do I feckin want to! Besides, It doesn’t sound like the girl wants to go.”

“She will, when she gets a load of you, Master Blacksmith! Some men need a good woman. What you need, Thorin, is a bad one. And Brimi is about as bad as they come. At least come to the Circus with me, and meet with her. Watch her in the arena. She’s no silly girl, and i say that as King Thror’s Drill Master.”

“Hranmi…”

“You have sworn that all the sons and daughters of Erebor have a home in New Belegost, in the Blue Mountains. Will you break your word, now, to your Drill Master? And leave a fatherless girl not even sixty years old, to die in the arena a slave?”

Thorin scowled.

Master Hranmi had him there.

“I’ll go with you, Hranmi, like a damn fool, to feckin’ Mordor, no less! Modi and Magni were my father’s and my grandfather’s Berserks, after all. They died in fire for my kin. This is the least I owe theirs.“

Hranmi put his arm around Thorin’s shoulders.

"Bring your wagon to my ship, young Thorin. I promise you, lad, you’ll not regret this,”

Keep reading

that summer my hair was six different colors
you told me you had found another
person you wanted to call your lover
but still found your way beneath my covers

i bet you still spend all your nights
with milwaukee’s finest, pounding back pints
the recycling bin filled with the only blue ribbons
you’ve earned your whole life

From Well Fed

Peach Almond Crisp 

Ingredients

  • 1 pound peaches (2-3 medium), cut into 1/2inch dice (about 4 cups)
  • ½ tsp lemon zest
  • ½ tbsp lemon juice
  • 1/3 cup almond flour
  • 4 dried dates, pitted
  • ¼ tsp cinnamon
  • 1/8 tsp nutmeg
  • 1/8 tsp salt
  • 1 tbsp coconut oil, chilled until solid, then diced
  • ¼ cup sliced almonds

In a medium bowl, mix the peaches, lemon zest, and lemon juice with a wooden spoon. Allow to rest at room temperature while you prepare the topping. 
Place almond flour, dates, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt in food processor. Pulse until combined. Sprinkle the chilled coconut oil chucks over the flour. Pulse about 10 times, then process on high 5-10 seconds, until there are no lumps. Pour the topping into a bowl and use a fork to mix in the sliced almonds. 
For an 8-inch square pan: pour the fruit into the pan, pressing it gently into place with the back of a wooden spoon. Sprinkle the almond topping over the fruit and lightly press it into the fruit with the back of the spoon. 
For individual ramekins: Place 4 ramekins on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Spoon generous ½ cup servings into individual ramekins, pressing the fruit into the ramekin with your hands. Press about 2 tbsp of topping onto each ramekin.
Cover the crisp lightly with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake 5-10 more minutes, until browned.

Other sweet fruit and nut combinations:
½ pound peaches + 1 pound pitted cherries + sliced almonds
1 pound pears + sliced almonds or chopped walnuts
1 pound apples + chopped pecans
2 pint raspberries/blackberries/blueberries + sliced almonds
2 mangoes + chopped macadamias
2 pint strawberries + chopped pecans

To use frozen fruit/ defrost it in the refrigerator, then drain the fruit before tossing with the lemon zest and juice.  

6

New Alex interview with The Guardian Guide (October 1-7, 2016)!

Alexander Skarsgård: ‘I still wake up shivering in the foetal position’

He’s equally at home in The Legend Of Tarzan as he is a twisted cop in War On Everyone. So why is the sweary Swede having an existential crisis?

by Kevin EG Perry

Afew years ago, Alexander Skarsgård turned up at a Hammarby football match in Stockholm noticeably… what’s a polite way of putting this? Worse for wear? “I was shitfaced,” says Skarsgård. “I went up in front of the crowd and started doing this chant. Someone put it on YouTube. I’m very drunk, going: ‘You fucking cunts, listen to me!’ I thought: ‘This is real embarrassing.’”

During the bleak hangover that followed, the 40-year-old Swedish actor thought he might have torpedoed a career that had just seen him get the part of Tarzan in this summer’s blockbuster. In fact it made him an even more perfect fit for the role. “Warner Bros had said they needed someone primal and animalistic,” he says. “So my agent sent them the video, saying: ‘Isn’t this motherfucker primal enough for you?’”

Another one of the half-million people who watched it was John Michael McDonagh, writer-director of The Guard and Calvary, who was on the lookout for a hard-drinking detective for his pitch-black buddy comedy War On Everyone. “He saw the video and went: ‘That’s the guy,’” says Skarsgård. “It got me the job. The moral of the story is: Make a fool of yourself and people will love you. Remember that, kids.”

When we meet around midday in the lobby of the Hotel Normandy during the Deauville American film festival, it seems he’s taken his own lesson to heart. The previous night he was so smashed that he invaded the DJ booth at War On Everyone’s afterparty and proved that while you can take the man out of Sweden… “I played strictly Abba,” he says. “When in doubt, Lay All Your Love On Me. We closed that place down.”

As he concertinas himself into the back of a people carrier for the two-hour drive to Charles de Gaulle airport, sheltering his eyes behind dark shades, it’s somehow reassuring to know that savage hangovers afflict even movie stars who’ve been blessed with the sort of face that led Ben Stiller to cast him in Zoolander so he could ask him: “Did you ever think there’s more to life than being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking?”

Skarsgård has been figuring out an answer to that ever since. He starred as a brooding, topless vampire in HBO’s True Blood, which ran for seven years until 2014, and made him a pin-up and earned him a legion of fans who’d approach wanting nothing more than to get bitten. (He never did. You bite one fan…) Simultaneously, the show’s success gave him the opportunity to play odd parts in indie films that didn’t trade on his looks. In coming-of-age-in-the-70s film The Diary Of A Teenage Girl, he was the mustachioed creep who slept with his girlfriend’s daughter; in Melancholia’s dreamlike apocalypse he was an earnest, cuckolded newlywed; and in next year’s Duncan Jones-directed Mute he’ll play a silent Amish character. “It’s not about wanting to show I’m versatile,” he explains. “It’s just feeling that excitement of not knowing who a character is but figuring it out and finding him.”

Yet he was back with his pecs out this summer for The Legend Of Tarzan, a blockbuster that, like many in 2016, struggled at the box office. He says he was drawn in by the character’s search for a place in the world and impressed by Harry Potter director David Yates’s ability to make a £140m film feel “intimate”. But it was in some ways a change of scale. “I work mostly in independent movies so the scope of Tarzan was definitely different,” Skarsgård says. “I didn’t feel pressured [by the box office demands] though. It wasn’t like: ‘Oh fuck, this is a big movie.’ It was an incredible experience, but it was also nine months of just gym, work and bed. I didn’t have a sip of alcohol. It was robotic.”

Which explains the appeal of War On Everyone, a film in which he both downs and takes shots in every direction. Skarsgård plays Terry, a perma-drunk, Glen Campbell-obsessed, unapologetically corrupt detective partnered with the lightning-witted Bob, played by The Martian’s Michael Peña. It’s the old bad cop/worse cop routine, but laced with fierce cleverness. Where Shane Black’s The Nice Guys were bumbling dunces, McDonagh’s pair trade wisecracks peppered with esoteric references to everyone from Simone de Beauvoir to realist painter Andrew Wyeth.

Their cocaine-fuelled romp takes them through an Albuquerque inexplicably peopled with Quaker bank robbers and burqa-wearing tennis players as the duo go in search of a missing million dollars and that most evil villain of all: a member of the English upper class. It’s wildly irreverent, the tone set by an opening scene in which the pair try to knock down a mime (to see if he’ll make a sound). Likewise, McDonagh’s script lives up to its name by making puckish jokes on any subject you care to think of. Skarsgård, hunching his lean frame into a stoop, relishes it.

“It’s so un-PC, it’s so me,” says Skarsgård. “You could tell John didn’t give a fuck about anything, which I found refreshing in a script. I’d read a couple of comedies but nothing that was fun or intelligent enough. When I got this script and it was dark and twisted and weird and completely out there, I was excited.” And besides, he adds, “[John is] a beautiful soul, which helps when you insult everyone.”

He even sees some similarities between his dirty detective and the king of the swingers. “As with Tarzan, there’s dichotomy in the character between being a civilised man and a beast. That’s something we can all relate to. We live in a civilised society, but 12 hours ago we were beasts dancing to Abba.”

Skarsgård has spent his life caught between different worlds: blockbusters and indies, Sweden and the States. During his bohemian upbringing he wanted to be like his friends’ dads who wore suits and drove Saabs. When Skarsgård was 20, his own father Stellan found international fame in Lars von Trier’s Breaking The Waves, and they would go on to appear together for Von Trier in Melancholia. However, when Alexander was growing up his father was simply an eccentric thespian with a penchant for walking around nude. “He was a weird Bergman actor. A 12-year-old kid doesn’t give a fuck about that,” says Skarsgård. “He’d be walking around naked or wearing weird Moroccan robes. As a teenager you’re just like: ‘Come on, dad!’”

The young Skarsgård’s first taste of fame was his own. His appearance at the age of 12 in TV film The Dog That Smiled made him a child star, but he soon found he hated the attention and quit acting. “I was desperate to be normal and blend in,” he says. He saw his chance at a life on the straight-and-narrow by enrolling in the Swedish military at 19, “unheard of” in his family. “That was my way to rebel,” he says.

Afterwards, still in search of himself, he decided to head to university in the UK. But he swerved London to find a more authentic British experience, and enrolled at Leeds Met. “It doesn’t get more British than a northern, working-class town,” he says. “There was a club called the Majestic where they had student nights and it was a pound a pint. We lived in Headingley, near the pubs on the Otley Run. Uni was a bullshit excuse for being there. I was studying British culture. I loved it.”

Deciding at 20 that he may have been a little hasty quitting acting, it was while visiting Stellan in LA that he won his small part in Zoolander – at his first Hollywood audition – but it was a false dawn. It would be another seven years before he got a major role, and he spent the time in between shuttling between theatres and coffee shops. When he was cast in David Simon and Ed Burns’s Iraq miniseries Generation Kill, he spent a month convinced he was about to be sacked. “It was only after four or five weeks I realised they weren’t going to recast,” he says. “Before that all I could think about was how much it would cost them to reshoot the big fight scenes after they fired me.”

Imposter syndrome is a common feeling – although a little hard to believe from a handsome, 6ft 4in movie star. “That shit doesn’t change,” he assures me. “I felt like that on Tarzan. I was on set thinking: ‘When is the director going to come over and say: Dude, you can go home. We’ve got Tarzan here now.’ That was 10 years after Generation Kill.”

Alexander Skarsgård, then: just like the rest of us. Fond of a pub crawl, obnoxious at sporting events, constantly waiting for that tap on the shoulder telling him the jig is up. So life is still pretty much the same when you’re really, really, really ridiculously good-looking?

“I mean, fuck, I still wake up shivering in the foetal position,” he says. “I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunities I get. Getting drunk on someone else’s dime listening to Abba is brilliant, but my life is still shit. I’m still agonising. What the fuck am I doing with my life? Where do I belong? Who gives a fuck? Let me assure you, it doesn’t get any better.”

War On Everyone is in cinemas from Friday

Sources:  Article:  TheGuardian.com (x), Photos:  Originals:  Filip Van Roe / eyevine (x, x)

wuh2k  asked:

But in all seriousness, what IS the deal with American recipes? It's literally canned EVERYTHING, the only country still using pints, pounds, quarts and whatever, and there's sugar in things that were never meant to have sugar in them.

So much sugar. I have found that I can basically put 1/3 of the sugar it says it needs and it tastes fine.

#food

Driving + This Song = quick Cullen/Lavellan ficlet

Herald’s Rest wasn’t ever known for being overly raucous, at least in compared to some of the places Cullen had known in the past – The Hanged Man being one of them. Most who went there for a pint were trying to unwind after a long day, or catch up with friends after patrol took them away from Skyhold.

At times, usually when the Chargers were around, things would pick up some, but they were hardly ever what he would describe as ‘out of hand.’

That was until tonight.

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toriceratops replied to your post “i wanna get steve and bucky drunk so bad”

Two Words: Asgardian Ale

I AM CRYING FUCKING DEUX EX MACHINA TO THEIR INABILITY TO GET INTOXICATED AND THOR WOULD BE PISSING HIMSELF LAUGHING AT THEIR IGNORANCE. 

“No, we can’t get drunk, what with the serum.”

“Captain, just try it! I swear to you it will work.”

“I don’t- It won’t work Thor.”

~1 hour later~

“That- That is a fuckin’ magic potion, Thor, you’re a fuckin’ godsent. Oh wait, haaaa.” Bucky chokes out as he swallows another mouthful of the ale.

“Was that a pun. Was that a pun you bastard.” Steve hiccups, lolling his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It turns out that since neither of them have gotten drunk in over 70 years, they do not know how to handle it.

Thor just tries not to laugh and smiles at them with amusement in his eyes, pounding down a pint himself. “I did warn the both of you, Captain.”