vegans are the devil

The Seasoned Skillet

The Gentry favor the culinary arts students. Like any Elsewhere student in a creative field, their passion is already intoxicating, but sometimes they leave offerings of baked goods. Sometimes they even get desperate or stupid enough to make a bargain.

But the student known as ‘Maillard’ was not here to bargain.

Their world was fire, and salt, and iron, and they carried that with them always. The scent of the wood-fired grill hung heavy on their clothes; their tea-towels scorched, but their sleeves always white and pure and clean. Their hands still stung with salt; coarse and crystallized, they’d scattered it over steaks, and sealed whole Red Snappers beneath its rocky crust. And the cast iron skillet at their hip carried with it the happy memories of a thousand meals or more, every one of them shared with friends.

And one of those friends was currently the plaything of the Fae, following what mortals would call a ‘bad deal’.

All around them, Maillard could feel the glamour, feel those burning eyes, feel the sheer unbridled outrage as it poured down from the thrones of ice and chaise-longues of living wood in turbid torrents, hell-bent on drowning out all thought. How dare you! How dare you bring these things here, into our world! How dare you think you can just walk in here, just stand there as if you’re anything less than nothing! Crawl, you worm! You insect! Bow down to us!

The words twisted themselves again and again, looking for a way in.

This is outrageous! We demand to speak to your manager!

But muscles honed from lifting sacks of potatoes and hauling huge sauce-pans of chicken stock held the heavy frying pan at arm’s length. Maillard had been pissed off before they’d heard The Bad News;they’d had A Busy Night at their professional kitchen internship. Tomorrow morning, they had to get up and laminate their croissant dough, rolling out unsalted butter and pastry into thin, unbroken sheets. There was no time for hesitation. No room for second guesses. Each and every one of those layers had. To. Be. Perfect.

So like hell they were going to stay up all night playing games.

“What will you give us for the girl?” One asked.

The Fae felt no fear. They could be offended, or be amused, but to them these were absolutes, far beyond the limited mortal constraints of 'feeling’. And being timeless, they were as patient as the grave. All they needed was a moment; the moment of confusion at a fork in the road, the moment a mortal’s faith was shaken, the moment when the stars were right and the moon was full. Sooner or later, they would have their way. They would have their - for lack of a better word - fun.

“I will give you my footprints, going back to whence I came.”

Maillard’s voice was unwavering, and their shoulders squared. The eyes they were looking into were like the winter sun, like burning ice, like death itself - but the customers at table six had ordered a round of extra-well-done steaks and sent them back three times because they were too tough. Table eighteen had requested vegan deviled eggs. Table nine had asked if they could take the sour out of the sourdough and the carrots out of the carrot cake. All were outraged. All were 'never coming back to this dump ever again’. Few left a tip.

They’d dealt with worse.

“I will take with me my fire, and my iron, and my salt. And from these I will forge not blades, but bread - the stuff of life - if you let her go.”

Bread, not blades. Keep the knives in the kitchen, not on the streets. Perhaps it was the magic in the air, but their whole reason for pursuing the culinary arts somehow weaved itself into words worthy of any storybook hero - and perhaps this was enough to amuse the Gentry. Perhaps they had merely tired of their plaything. Or perhaps, that momentary flicker amidst the Fair Folk - when the mortal, kissed by fire and blessed by salt, brandished their iron cookware - meant something else.

But they brought back their friend, covered with frost and fresh-fallen snow. And with their cast-iron skillet and their gas-fired oven and their kosher salt and their grandmother’s recipe, they made cornbread. And soup, because there was time, now. The two friends ate together, and the color came back to her hands and her cheeks, and the life came back to her eyes. And they talked about anything but what they’d seen and done, because that was What You Did at Elsewhere U.

Maillard left a slice of cornbread on the windowsill before they set their alarm clock. Not as a kindness, not as a payment, but as a promise; forged from iron, and salt, and fire, and love.

They supposed you could call it complimentary. The Fair Folk did love a compliment.

They tipped better than most mortal customers, too.


I think it’s great that vegan blogs and channels exist to give people resources on how to create simple vegan meals. However, unfortunately these spaces are incredibly white dominated and it can be inaccessible to PoC. One major way this plays out is with white vegans taking traditional ethnic foods and butchering them. For example, I’m Japanese and my dad has owned sushi restaurants my whole life. I’m very familiar with what is traditional and I’m even okay with places that put a modern spin on classic recipes, as long as they understand where these recipes come from. However, when I see white vegans giving their own weird take on these recipes without knowing what flavors traditionally work together I find it frustrating. I’ve seen so many iterations of “vegan sushi” with ingredients that don’t fucking taste good with seaweed, sushi rice, wasabi, etc. Like y'all please stop putting hummus or black beans or whatever the fuck in your rolls. Stop wrapping your rolls in lettuce instead of seaweed and calling it “Japanese” food. Sushi in the west has already been incredibly Americanized with the use of avocado, mayonnaise, and other ingredients. Sometimes these ingredients work really well together and I’m super fine with the evolution of Japanese food in the U.S. because it opens the door for some cool innovations and creativity. I went to a sushi place once with a whole vegan menu that substituted soft shell crab in their spider roll with panko fried oyster mushrooms and it was an incredibly smart and inventive substitute. But dear lord please don’t put ingredients in that don’t fucking taste good together and post it on your blog calling it sushi 💁🏻


Yum! Summer on a plate! @theherbivorousb Vegan BBQ Ribs, Homemade BBQ Baked Beans, Roasted Corn with @earthbalance & Homemade Vegan Deviled Eggs & Vegan Potato using @hamptoncreek & @ripplefoods 🌽☀️🍴🌱 … #thecomfortin by The Comforting Vegan

anonymous asked:

Nikocado is so far removed from his days as a Vegan. In his Christmas Video, he killed his own lobster. Then, while eating it with cheese, he puts the lobster's head with it's little eyes, right on the plate as decoration. He is the perfect example of a human who has sold their soul to the devil. What's your opinion on a Vegan who goes back to a carnist lifestyle?

They’re satanists. Eating tortured corpses… Most of them are so brainwashed that they don’t even realize that what they do is sick.

tonight on Supernatural
  • dean winchester: we've gotta watch out for this one, sam. they can use something called the "sharingan".
  • sam winchester, eating a vegan mac and cheese: "sharingan", huh?
  • dean winchester: that's right. it lets this devil copy any technique it sees. it can match everything we throw at it.
  • dean winchester: i don't mind saying so, but this might be the most dangerous threat we've ever faced.
  • sam winchester: we'll fight that bridge when we come to it. what about your new girl?
  • dean winchester: [grins smugly] oh, her... she's a real badass, sam.
  • first result for 'sexy lady tough but sexy' from getty images laid over a green screen: hey