the cake is a pi

All you anti milkers are fools. Imagine a milkless world. No cakes nor pies. What are you putting in your coffee to cool it down? Water? Appley juice? I hate all of you.

Open Book

“Here is your test, class. Remember, it’s open book.”

“Whoa, we can use our textbook during the test?”

“No, not your textbook, but you may use this book.”

“How to Make Cakes That Taste Like Pies? Is this a cookbook you wrote?”

“Yes.”

“How will this help us on our history test?”

“It might not, but I can’t afford an editor, so you kids will have to help me out.”

“I think I just won’t use the book.”

“No! Anyone who doesn’t read through the book fails! And anyone who doesn’t catch a typo or grammatical error also fails.”

“Well on page 1 you spell butter with six T’s. And three B’s. And no U.”

“Good job, Brent. I’ll make sure you get into Harvard next fall.”

“I’m only 13.”

“I don’t mean for college. I mean I’m gonna sneak you into the Harvard library so you can leave hundreds of copies of my cookbook there.”

“Oh. Well a free trip to Boston is a free trip to Boston.”

“You bbbtttttter believe it!”

“What’d you just say?”

“I said ‘TEST IS OVER!’”

4
JASMINE MATCHA SNOWBALL COOKIES (VEGAN).

This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Earth Balance. The opinions and text are all mine.

Despite the season’s best efforts to woo me with cakes and cookies and pies (even those coming out of my own kitchen), I’ve been doggedly drawn to savories this winter. I crave soups and broths, piles of steaming veggies and stews, anything to stave off the cold (I know, I’m in Los Angeles—but these walls and windows aren’t built for 50º weather!). This weekend, though, the holiday cookie bug snuck its way into my heart. You know the urge, that longing to get cozy with your oven whilst donning your most well-worn sweats and grooving to the best holiday tunes you can find. Yup, that one.

I grew up making two kinds of holiday cookies, recipes that were my mother’s family heirlooms: raspberry linzertorte bars and pecan snowball cookies (or Russian or Mexican wedding cookies, depending who you ask). Suddenly, in the midst of my reigning savory preference, I decided it was high time to make some snowballs. Except I wanted mine laced with the fragrance of jasmine and bright with matcha green tea.

Read more and get the recipe here!

Imagine Mulder asking Scully if she has any plans for Christmas.

Imagine her saying Bill invited her but she doesn’t really feel like it. Mulder takes it as a “I might come over”. He spends the next month learning how to perfectly cook a whole turkey for two. He tests three recipes of mince pies and walnut cake. For Christmas Eve, he buys French wine and champagne and prepares eggnog. He spends a week looking for the nicest tree in the neighbouring forest and finds The One which he cuts down on a Sunday afternoon before dragging it back to the house. She wonders why he looks in pain the next day.

On The Night, the table is already set by 5pm, her present under the tree. He tries not to think about how he may have read too much into her hesitation, how perhaps Tad O'Malley invited her to a DC socialites and politics dinner party and she agreed from lack of better, more promising plans. He tries not to stand near the window and watch the gates. It’s 9pm and he started the whisky he only intended to open with her at midnight. He feels like a fool, he now firmly believes he has disappointed her too much before for a Christmas miracle to save him. He imagines a car door slamming shut and footsteps on the porch. There’s a knock. He gets up anyway to check. She’s here, wearing a black dress, pink cheeks and a Rudolph nose, a gift bag in her hand. “Pace yourself with that drink or you’ll never be awake to open your present” is all she says before stepping inside.

Creepypasta #1069: Doughnuts

Length: Medium

When I was a kid, I worked at a bakery called Blissful Bites.

It was independently run, extremely quaint, and owned by a lady called Naomi Sutton. She made all of the goods herself. Cakes, pies, pastries - she could whip up just about anything if you gave her the right ingredients. Her specialty, however, was doughnuts.

My job was running deliveries on my bike. Naomi had two other teenagers, James and Abby, running the storefront on a rota. We were banned from the kitchen due to supposed “safety hazards”, but we were all sure it was actually because Naomi thought we were thieving teens with the capacity to steal merchandise.

I’d been there a little over three weeks when Naomi’s husband disappeared.

At the time, it didn’t seem like a huge deal. There hadn’t been a struggle, or signs of foul play, or really anything in particular; according to her, he just hadn’t come home from work the prior evening. She didn’t even seem all that fussed about it.

“No point getting the police involved,” she told me, when I clocked in that morning. Despite how sensitive she got over people trespassing in the kitchen, she was a good boss, and always up for a chat if you caught her outside her domain. “Not yet, at least. He’s done this before, the bloody prick. He’ll probably show up back home tonight asking me why his dinner’s not on the table.”

But he didn’t.

Naomi was snappier and more private than usual the following day, and looked as though she hadn’t slept. Her response to James - usually her favourite - asking if she was holding up okay was a sharp, “Mind your own sodding business.”

So, given the tense atmosphere in the shop, I was more than a little grateful when Naomi emerged from the kitchen with a box for me to deliver. I hopped on my bike and rode over to the address she’d given me.

The woman who answered the door of said address - Juliet Wells, according to the card- was young and pretty, albeit rather overweight. She seemed bemused by the delivery.

“Who’s it from, then?” she said.

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#transformationtuesday Wow, I gotta be real here and say I don’t really recognize the girl on the left. It seems like a lifetime ago. I was a mom of 1, struggling with my PCOS, uncomfortable in my skin and just felt like crap. Fast forward to now, and I am a mom of 2, my PCOS is under control, I feel confident and happy in my skin and I can honestly say I feel GREAT!

So what was the secret to my success? No diet pills, wraps, fad diets, starvation… Just good old fashioned Hard work, determination and surrounding myself with a support system. I don’t want to make it sound like it was easy. It wasn’t. I had my ups and downs but I wanted it bad enough to keep going.

I know this time of year is hard. I am NOT immune to the temptations of cookies, pies, cakes, mashed potatoes, stuffing (man, I am making myself hungry lol). I struggle with staying on the wagon just like everyone else. But I do know that when you combine nutrition, fitness and support, you have a winning combination of success. So this is me saying, I want to stay on the wagon this holiday season and I would love for others to join me. You don’t have to go it alone. I have a new online support group starting the Monday after Thanksgiving and I would love for others to join me. Interested? Comment below or shot me a private message and let’s chat!

Brownies

Request: Hi ! I had that idea of oneshot and I thought you could write it ? ♥ The reader like to cook (cookies, cupcakes, pies, brownies, chocolate cake etc…) and oneday she’s cooking and Castiel wants to help her ? A really cute and funny oneshot (something like they both ends up with chocolate on their face and why not a kiss?) ? Thank you very much ♥

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1386

Originally posted by valiantcastiel


Baking wasn’t a popular hobby amongst hunters, who mostly stuck to drinking and playing pool, but it was something you fancied. While you spent many of your days hunting down and killing monsters, it felt nice to create something that could make you and your friends smile. The act of baking eased your mind; it was a therapeutic exercise. Nothing in the kitchen was going to make an attempt on your life or tear you to shreds. In an uncertain world, it was a secure hobby, minus the occasional burn.

Maybe you developed a love for it from Gabriel, the sweet devouring trickster. Or maybe from the number of times Dean whined about not having enough money to buy a pie. Regardless, you’ve developed your baking skills, able to layer multi-layer cakes to creating custard tarts. From making chocolate chip cookies to biscotti. You had a baking thumb.

And the quickest way to a man’s heart was his stomach, even if it was unintentional.

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suhailauniverse  asked:

Some (naughty)number 7, please! <3

For @suhailauniverse

Jamie and Claire had spent the day baking. Baking it not what they wanted to do but they did it. Why? Because Jamie’s sister was hosting a tea for the ladies of Broch Morda to celebrate Lammas and the first grain of the harvest. Since she was the Laird’s wife, Claire was in charge of supplying the food.

The first few batches of bannocks had gone quite quickly but now they were assembling the cakes, pies and wee sandwiches. Unfortunately, Jamie was losing his concentration for the task, instead focusing on his wife’s arse.

He lazily pulled her to him to trace the outline of her dress as he drew spirals up and down her hip.

“Jamie!” she chided. “We have to finish this first.”

After kisses to her cheek, he peppered her neck and chest, smiling as she squirmed. When his deft hands unbuttoned her top she returned his advances. They continued to slowly drift down to the table to gain better footing until the timer for the oven buzzed loudly. They both stopped and sighed loudly.

“Well, that’s tragic!” Jamie grumbled. “Interrupted by baked goods.”

Claire grinned, “Two minutes and I promise we’ll get back to practicing for the next Laird of Broch Tuarach.”

2

Run streak day 31: 2 miles in the dark. The clock may say it’s 6am but my body says it’s 5am and wants to know why the freaking shit we are out here….. in the dark! I’m fairly sure that’s why this run ended at 2 rather than the 3.5 I had intended. I’m chugging coffee now.

Happy Pi Day😊
I brought cake…. it’s salted caramel chocolate….i couldn’t think of a pie that was going to make me as happy as this cake. 😛

Except Key Lime pie…. someone brought Key Lime pie…. they can eat cake, I’m having Key Lime pie! And maybe some cake.