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Celebrating Pi Day with Food Stylist and Home Baker Quelcy Kogel

To see more of Quelcy’s adventures in the kitchen, follow @withthegrains on Instagram.

Pittsburgh food stylist Quelcy Kogel (@withthegrains) has an insatiable sweet tooth and passion for fresh food. “I remember visiting my grandparents on their farm and my grandmother was always in the kitchen preparing. One meal would be finished, and she’d be planning the next one — making everything from scratch.” In college, Quelcy started paying attention to what she was eating, and that led her to studying seasonality and proper baking techniques.

Today, we’re celebrating #PiDay with Quelcy — who took on quite the project a few years back to celebrate. “I made little pies from all local ingredients and then delivered them to homes that had ‘314’ addresses,” she says of her creative concept. This year, she’s keeping it simple with one delicious apple pie.

kuromikoneko  asked:

I absolutely blame yours and BridgetteIrish's Letters series for the image of Kara playing with Cat's hair (or vice versa, I really don't care) never leaving my head, so I was wondering if you'd write me a little something of that domesticity when you get a chance? <3

“So?”

Cat opens one eye. Why is Kara talking? Oh. The sheet of paper that’s wilting under Cat’s loosening grip. Focus.

“One more pass,” she mutters, and Kara exhales with barely concealed impatience. Cat feels the shudder of breath as she presses her cheek against Kara’s incredibly firm thighs. 

“You don’t normally take this long to read my articles,” Kara grumbles, but then her distraction abates and her fingers pick up their sacred task again. Sweeping gently through strand after strand, folding one over another and another, pulling just taut enough to form a braid, then unpicking again. 

The words don’t stand a chance. They blur against the page again and Cat relaxes into the gentle rhythm. She knows what comes next, because despite her professed love of spontaneity, Kara Danvers is a creature of habit. Since Cat returned to National City, one of those habits seems to be Kara touching Cat at any given opportunity.

Right on cue, Kara’s fingertips begin their gentle, circular massage at the roots of Cat’s hair. Her curls are looser now, grown out by ten months in exile with barely sight of a stylist. When coming home via Metropolis, Cat’s intention had been to recapture her pre-sabbatical style. A lunch with her mother, at which Katherine had pronounced longer hair so ageing had quickly put paid to that. Spite remains Cat Grant’s greatest motivator.

So Cat’s hair is past her shoulders these days, and apparently a magnet for restless alien fingers, no matter how frequently those fingers are put to work elsewhere.

“I’ll read it later,” Cat promises, letting the paper fall and turning to lie on her back, head still in Kara’s lap. “But I already know it’s great. You’ve grown so much as a writer, Kara.”

“You just don’t want me to stop,” Kara complains, pouting just a little. She dips her head to kiss Cat on the lips, lingering only for a second. “And since I’m good at indulging you, I won’t.” The massage continues in earnest, and Cat hums happily beneath a shaky breath. “I want a full critique later, all red pen and no holds barred.”

“Yes, yes,” Cat sighs. “Now just below my ears too, hmm?”

Mary Quant Back at home, Mary sips tea from a giant-sized cup while reflecting on the cutaway fashions worn by the dolls (left) in the glass case. 1967

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The new studio-home of stylist Carin Scheve: a 800 sq.m. loft located into an old industrial building, in Brooklyn.

Eclectic, essential yet bohemian interiors enhance the original architectural heritage of the space: concrete columns and beams, exposed pipes, industrial radiators and 26 large windows overlooking the Hudson river, are all preserved and combined with few but stunning furniture, all with a strong personality, such as a long counter top in natural wood, a pair of black metal tables, vintage armchairs and sofas. The loft is an open space and houses different areas, only defined by the decor and their function: the kitchen, the dining and the living room, a “botanical garden” and the master bedroom.

The Alien Abduction Beam is proving to be a bit problematic

We’re selling our flat and moving to another. It’s just up the street, but it’s very different.

For me, who’s never really sold anything before, the whole “real estate agent will provide you with a stylist to up your home before the photos and shows” thing is very… peculiar. My mother and my step father, who owns half the flat on paper, are very active in this. Things are more slowly changing around the flat.

I’m on board with that. It’s good, I presume.

How ever, the stylist in question (who I was lucky enough not to meet due to being in Cesky Krumlov and talking about omegas in space) apparently had ideas that are quite contrary to what any sensible person could ever want to live with.

Today I got home after work only to find myself blinded just as I stepped into the front door. Bright, white light was aimed at me like some kind of space ship beam, burning away at my retinas. In the ceiling, a hideous white metallic thing had taken the place where my grandmother’s old crystal lamp with several broken bulbs had used to be. I did not scream at the intrusive beam that made it feel like I was going to be abducted by aliens, a fact I’m very proud of. I simply fumbled desperately until I found the switch and turn off the offending torture devise.

The Alien Beam Thingy is apparently going to be there for months - or until the flat is sold, which I don’t know anything about yet. Entropy now has very strict instructions never to turn that death beam on, unless he wants me in a useless pile of mumbling, stressed out anxiety. He is also in charge of making sure that no one else does.

So far, the bedroom hasn’t been defiled by modern, white, cold, sharp things, but remains a sanctuary for tired senses. I’m just dreading what will happen to my brain when things start to change in there. Last time my mother surprised me with changing the curtains before I got back from a trip I spent that entire evening panicking, crying and banging my hands to the walls before I got the strict, sharp things down and replaced them with some old saris. And yet, it took days before my bedroom felt Right again.

It’s easier to do emergency psychiatry than it is to accept seemingly hostile, soulless things into my orbit. It’s easier to travel to new countries and find my way alone in new cities than it is to handle changes in my closest environment unless I was the one making the changes. It’s easier, but nothing’s really easy in the end.

It will be an interesting couple of months, trying to remain some modicum of balance while things change in my home, making it someone else’s idea of “potential home”…

I made some much needed upgrades to my “home studio” (aka the desk with the little window next to it…) If you’ve ever wondered how I light foodstuffs, there you have it.. A desk and a window! Zzzz.

I’ve never played with actual backdrops before.. Always thought they might look super corny, but I got these sweet 3x3 textured backdrops and they totally don’t suck! Also finally stained the other side of my table top.