#easy cherry clafoutis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

70% of Tumblr users say the Dashboard is their favorite place to spend time online.

#easy cherry clafoutis

simmeringstarfruit · 5 months

Text

Cherry Clafoutis

Simply decadent cherry clafoutis, is there anything more comforting? This classic French dish is neither a flan, nor a custard, nor a cake. Fact is, it’s in a category all its own! With a soft buttery custard batter and pops of cherry sweetness, be careful you don’t devour this beautiful dish all by yourself. This recipe is easy to whip up for breakfast or afternoon tea, or to serve as an elegant…

View On WordPress

#cherry clafoutis recipe #christmas breakfast recipe #easy breakfast recipe #easy cherry clafoutis #easy clafoutis recipe #easy french custard #french clafoutis recipe #holiday breakfast recipe #traditional clafoutis recipe

0 notes

fullcravings · 2 years

Photo

Easy Cherry Clafoutis

#easy #cherry #clafoutis #food #dessert #baking #fruit #recipe #french #vanilla #custard #bromabakery

201 notes · View notes

prairiefirewitch · 10 months

Text

After my #soapfail last night, I need a tiny victory so I’m making Cherry Bounce and it’s so easy and delicious and it’s a great way to use up all those cherries you bought that you don’t know what to do with. After you’ve eaten all the cherry clafoutis you can stand, toss your pitted cherries into a jar, filling it all the way to the top. Add sugar or honey; I used a quart jar so I eyeballed about 2/3 cup of sugar, but you can sub honey and I bet that’d be delicious too. I threw in a couple of cinnamon sticks, a fat vanilla bean, a few cloves, and a big strip of orange zest. Fill the jar with bourbon, brandy, vodka, or rum, give it a big shake, and top off with a little more liquor to make sure everything is covered. Put a lid on it, stash it in a cupboard, and forget about it until Christmas. It lasts forever and just gets better with age. I’ll be making old fashioneds with these, so I thought the oaked whiskey my friend Clair gave me would work well, but any liquor will do. You can drink the resulting cherry infused liquor as a cordial, or add it to cocktails.

#cherry bounce #cocktails #infused liquor #witches brew

12 notes · View notes

chefilona · 6 months

Text

CHEF ILONA: BLUEBERRY CLAFOUTIS

Instead of the usual French Toast or pancake, try something different while classic for brunch or breakfast; clafoutis. This French dish might sound unreachably fancy, but a clafoutis doesn't require any special ingredients—you probably have all of them in your kitchen.

Clafoutis (pronounced klah-foo-tee) is a classic French dessert that originates from the Limousin region of France and dates back many centuries.

Its name comes from the Occitan dialect word "claufoti," which means "to fill." The dish was originally created as a simple, rustic, and frugal dessert. Its simplicity makes it perfect for a hurried brunch by baking fresh fruit, typically cherries, in it’s iconic sweet, pancake-like batter. The result is a custardy, flan-like texture with a slight crispy edge.

From a technical and culinary perspective, there are several important aspects to consider when making a clafoutis:

Fruit Selection: Choose fresh, ripe fruit for your clafoutis. Traditionally, cherries are used, but you can opt for other fruits like cherries, mango, roasted apples or pears, or even peaches.

Batter Consistency: The batter should be smooth and slightly thick but still pourable. Whisking the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients gradually helps to achieve this. The right batter consistency is crucial for the custardy texture of the clafoutis.

Baking Dish: Use a buttered baking dish or tart pan to prevent sticking and for easy removal of the clafoutis.

A blueberry clafoutis is a delightful variation of the classic French dessert and makes use of berries natural to the Maritime area.

The blueberries will release their juices as they bake, creating a delicious contrast between the sweet and slightly tart berries and the custardy clafoutis. Blueberry clafoutis is a perfect dessert for showcasing the vibrant flavor of fresh blueberries.

Julia Child, who famously brought French Cuisine into the homes of North America was deeply fond of clafouti. To elevate the clafouti experience with your guests, you would be remiss if you didn’t share her famous quote related to the dish: "A party without cake is just a meeting. A meeting without clafoutis is just a meeting."

Blueberry Clafouti

Chef Ilona Daniel

Serves 4

2 cups fresh blueberries (or fruit of your preference)

½ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

¼ tsp salt

1 cup whipping cream

3 large eggs

2 Tbsp butter, melted, plus more for greasing dish

1 Tbsp vanilla extract

Pinch of nutmeg

1 Tbsp icing sugar

Preheat oven to 375°F. Butter a 9-inch square baking dish or cast-iron skillet (which is my preference). Sprinkle blueberries evenly over bottom.

Whisk together flour, nutmeg, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Whisk in cream, eggs, melted butter, and vanilla until completely smooth; for best results, use a stick/immersion blender. Let batter stand 5 minutes. Slowly pour batter evenly over blueberries.

Bake in preheated oven until clafoutis is golden brown and set in center, 25 to 30 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes. Sprinkle with icing sugar just before serving.

#pei #chefilona #canadianchef #eater #eastcoast #cbcpei #chefsofinstagram #yum #explorecanada #foodwriter #CLAFOUTIS #julia child #frenchfood

3 notes · View notes

me2ism · 8 months

Text

Amarena Cherry Clafoutis

Looking for a new dessert to impress your guests? Look no further than Amarena Cherry Clafoutis a traditional French dessert that will leave everyone craving for more. Learn how to create this culinary masterpiece with our easy-to-follow recipe.

#DeliciousDessert #AmarenaCherryClafoutis #CherryLove #Cherrylicious

0 notes

philyanov · 2 years

Photo

When life gives you cherries, make clafoutis. This is a good one. 🍒 It’s easy and delicious. Because it is for extended family, I pitted the cherries. https://instagr.am/p/Cg-UzYVOVX1/

0 notes

rebeccareviews · 2 years

Text

Everyday French Cooking by Wini Moranville

Wini Moranville’s Everyday French Cooking is an amazing collection of delicious and approachable recipes that will bring France straight into your kitchen. I love the huge variety of dishes and Moranville’s personable writing style.

This comprehensive book is divided into chapters featuring an impressively wide range of dishes: Appetizers and Cocktails; Les Salades; Les Bonnes Soupes; Saute, Deglaze, and Serve; Braise, Stew, or Roast; Casseroles and Pasta; French Side Dishes; Sandwiches, Pizzas, and Savory Tarts; Eggs and Cheese; Les Desserts; and Basics.

The book features classics like Gougères, French Onion Soup, as well as Bacon, Chive, and Caramelized Onion Quiche. We also learn how to make favourites like Cherry Clafoutis, Bechamel Sauce, and the Classic French Fruit Tart. Moranville even makes the complicated and time-intensive Bouillabaisse and Coq Au Vin attainable for the busy cook!

I love how accessible and approachable Moranville makes French cooking! The recipes are clearly-detailed and easy-to-follow. Each recipe begins with a writeup. Some are brief while others are lengthy but all are interesting and helpful. We learn about the tasting notes of the recipe, tips, swaps, serving suggestions, an explanation or translation of the name (very helpful if your high school French is rusty!), and even a relatable personal anecdote from Moranville’s life! Several of the recipes are time or labour-intensive while others require knowledge of cookery skills. However, I still believe that the dishes in this book are doable for amateur cooks.

I like the book’s focus on cooking with fresh ingredients and producing homemade food from scratch. But, I also like that Moranville doesn’t shy away from convenience items like canned tomatoes and puff pastry. She also makes previously complicated French dishes accessible by offering affordable swaps. Many of the dishes require common pantry staples or fairly easily accessible items like butter, shrimp, chicken, and wine. Even the specialty ingredients like the many different French cheeses are still somewhat inexpensive and easy to find.

Moranville’s writing is friendly and approachable. I learned so much about French culture, the people, and cuisine! I particularly liked learning about dining in France as well as creating a menu of dishes that work together. I loved learning about the different types of French cheeses (there are more than 350 kinds of cheese made in France!) I also learned a lot about cooking and food in general as Moranville shows us important cooking techniques like how to cook different cuts of meat.

The book’s overall design is clean and simple but boring. There are also several bright full-page and full-colour pictures of a handful of these dishes. They are pretty and simply staged which allow the beauty of the food to shine. However, I am disappointed by the lack of pictures because I like seeing how a dish should look. Furthermore, Moranville regales us with so many personal stories that I really expected to see photos from her French travels or at least a few photos of daily French foodie life.

Thank you to NetGalley and Quarto Publishing Group – Harvard Common Press for this book in exchange for an honest review.

🥖🥖🥖🥖 ½ out of 5 baguettes!

#Everyday French Cooking #Wini Moranville #french culture #French Cuisine #cooking #NetGalley #cookbook #book reviews #book review #cookbooks #healthy cookbook #book #books

0 notes

unwritrecipes · 3 years

Text

The Book on Pie's Blueberry Clafoutis Pie-Famous Fridays

Happy Friday, my friends! Who’s ready to bake some pie?!! Today we celebrate renowned baker Erin McDowell and her wonderful and extremely comprehensive cookbook, The Book on Pie: Everything You Need to Know to Bake Perfect Pies. Whether you’re an expert pie baker or a complete novice on the pie baking front, as long as you ❤️ pie, this Famous Fridays is for you!

There are tons and tons of amazing recipes for pie in this book and it would have been extremely difficult to pick which one to feature but for the fact that my fridge is full of farm-fresh picked blueberries right now, so choosing this Blueberry Clafoutis Pie, was a no-brainer (told you I’d be unleashing a storm of berry recipes!!)

But before we get to this lovely summery pie, I just want to talk about how truly terrific and aptly named this cookbook is. In addition to a slew of fabulous sweet and savory pie recipes, you will learn everything you need to know about crimping and braiding and the lattice technique, how to blind and par-bake and dock, what special tools and pie plates to use and all different sorts of pie toppings, from streusel to nut butter whipped cream to dark chocolate drippy glaze! And everything is written so clearly with helpful little tips and accompanied by stunning glossy photos that you feel confident that no matter which recipe you try, you’re bound to succeed. In other words, this book is a keeper that I really think you’ll use for years and years!

And now finally, onto Blueberry Clafoutis Pie!!! Traditionally, a clafoutis is a homey French crustless dessert made with cherries that has an eggy batter that gets poured over the fruit and baked. Here, Erin brilliantly translates that into pie form, so that the blueberries get surrounded by a light custard AND you get the magic of an all-butter pie crust. So many great flavors and textures!!

Once you’ve put together and par-baked your pie crust (take a look at this post for how to do all that), you brush it with a little egg wash and fill with your berries

Next you whisk together the custard, pour it over those berries

And bake! Easy-peasy and done!

The filling is slightly creamy and perfectly balances out the juicy berries and crisp golden crust!

Unfortunately, I don’t have a cut piece to show you because I brought it to my sister’s house and it sort of got pounced on and disappeared before I could get my camera out, but that only shows how much it was loved, right?!! And sure, I could make this again (and I will) but I wanted you to have this asap since we’re really in the middle of blueberry season right now. In any case, I hope it inspires you to make your own!

So…get yourself a copy of The Book on Pie as soon as you can—with all the fresh fruit around, now is such a great time to bake pies and have a wonderful, safe and pie-filled weekend!!xoxo

The Book on Pie’s Blueberry Clafoutis Pie-Famous Fridays

Makes one 9-inch pie

Prep Time for Crust: 15 minutes, plus several hours chilling time, rolling out and par-baking. Prep Time for Filling: 10 minutes; Bake Time: 45-55 minutes

Ingredients

For the crust

1 ½ cups unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling out

1 ½ teaspoons sugar

½ teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons (½ cup) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes and chilled

⅓ cup cold water

1 teaspoon cider vinegar

Ice Cubes

1 large egg whisked with 1 tablespoon cool water, for egg wash

For the filling

10 ounces fresh blueberries

1 vanilla bean, cut lengthwise

½ cup sugar

¼ cup unbleached, all-purpose flour

1 cup whole milk

⅓ cup heavy cream

3 large eggs

½ teaspoon fine sea salt

Pinch of cinnamon

Confectioners’ sugar for dusting, optional (I didn’t use)

The Recipe

1. For the crust: Add the flour, sugar and salt to the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to blend. Add in the chilled butter and pulse a few times until the butter has become the size of small peas.

2. Into the ⅓ cup cold water, add the vinegar and stir. Then add enough ice cubes to raise the level to ½ cup. Add 2 tablespoons of the mixture to the flour mixture and pulse a few times to incorporate it. It will look very crumbly. Then add 1 more tablespoon and pulse again a few times. You should see the mixture start to come together in a shaggy way with lots of crumbly bits. If you absolutely think you need to, add one more tablespoon of water. I never need to—it’s better for your dough to be too dry than too wet.

3. Turn the crumbly dough out onto a very lightly floured surface and gather it all into a ball. Make sure to scrape out the bowl of the processor—sometimes some of the wet parts of the dough get a little stuck and form the whole thing into a ball. Then flatten into a disk, wrap well in plastic wrap and chill for several hours and even better, overnight.

4. When you are ready to roll out the dough, flour a board or counter with a little flour and flour your rolling pin too. If the dough is very stiff (mine usually is) let it sit out on the counter for about 20 minutes till it seems pliable. Roll out the dough, rolling from the center out and to a corner, then lifting the dough off the surface of the board and giving it a little ¼ turn and rolling again, repeating the process until you’re rolled the dough out into a circle that’s a couple of inches wider in diameter than the pie plate.

5. Fold the dough in half and transfer to the pie plate, unrolling it and then carefully easing it down onto the bottom and sides—no stretching! Fold the overhang over and crimp/decorate the edges any way you like. The easiest way is to just use the tines of a fork pressed into the dough to create a little pattern. Now prick the bottom and sides all over with the tines of the fork.

6. Place the pie plate in the freezer for 30 minutes.

7. Meanwhile preheat your oven to 425ºF. When the 30 minutes are up, line the pie with a piece of aluminum foil or parchment paper and either pie weights or beans. If any of the edges stick out, cut little pieces of foil to fit over them. Bake about 15 minutes and then remove the foil and weights. Return to the oven for about 2-4 minutes more until crust is golden brown and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

8. To make the filling: Place a rack in the bottom third of the oven and preheat oven to 350ºF. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and place the cooled pie shell onto it. Brush the pie shell all over with the egg wash and then fill with the berries, spreading them out evenly. Set aside.

9. Place the sugar in a medium bowl and scrape the seeds out from the vanilla bean into the bowl (discard the pod, or add to some sugar to make vanilla sugar). Use your fingers to rub the vanilla bean seeds into the sugar so that the sugar gets infused with the vanilla. Whisk in the flour. Then add the milk, cream and eggs and whisk well to combine. Whisk in the salt and cinnamon. Pour the liquid over the berries in the crust and kind of spread it around if it doesn’t distribute evenly.

10. Bake for 45-55 minutes, until the custard is set at the edges but the center is still a little jiggly when you gently shake the pan. Let cool on a wire rack and either dust with the confectioners’ sugar or not and serve. You can serve this while it’s still warm or at room temperature. Like all fruit pies this is best on the day that it is made.

Enjoy!

Note: Recipe adapted from The Book on Pie by Erin Jeannne McDowell. I used this pie crust recipe because it’s been my reliable go-to for years now, but I have used Erin’s too and it’s also terrific.

#Flour #Sugar #Salt #Butter #Cold Water #Apple Cider Vinegar #Ice Cubes #Blueberries #Vanilla Bean #Whole Milk #Heavy Cream #Eggs #Fine Sea Salt #Cinnamon #Confectioners' Sugar

3 notes · View notes

sunnytumbies · 4 years

Note

I'm somewhat confident that Amy's stress baking enables one or more of the other characters to then Stress Eat the baking, which could lead to Tummy Fic (tell me if I'm right and also you don't have anon asks turned on. c; might get more asks if you hit that switch!)

Whoops! Anons, you are now free to enter–sorry bout that!

So, funny story: Tiny, you are right–you are so right, in fact, that I decided to write a lil fill for this! I had like 500 words written and then accidentally closed the tab :’), and for whatever reason my response was even more determined writing to finish it. Long story short, it’s now a /4391 word monster/ that I’m not even all that proud of, but I’m posting it anyway! It’s gonna be confusing & maybe a headache for me later because this is happening later in the story than the first “major story event” fic I’ll be posting but...here we are.

Content warning: this fic involves dysphoria, mentions of menstruation, self-loathing, and binge eating as a response to stress. Please be mindful should you choose to read!

___________________________________________________________

Amy hums lightly to herself, dusting the last of the madeleines with powdered sugar, breathing in the comforting aromas, honey and lemon mingling with cinnamon and apple, almond and vanilla, chocolate and bread. She can’t pretend that this was a good decision, can’t act like she would not have possibly benefit more from a day of studying than a day of baking, but the knots in her chest have finally started to loosen, and it’s hard to take that as anything but a win. She plates the madeleines and slides them into the last remaining patch of free space on the L-shaped countertop, clutching the notebook that belonged to her mother close to her chest.

It’s not that Amy only ever bakes French desserts. She adores the challenge of baklava with its stubborn phyllo dough, loves the thrill and the spectacle of a good Baked Alaska; it’s just that sometimes, she needs to hear her mother’s voice in the only way she knows how–baking the way Maman taught her, dutifully reading the advice scrawled in the margins of her recipe notebook in eccentric cursive, cleaning as she cooks (”Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir, Amelie,” she’ll find herself muttering at times in a poor imitation of her mother. It translates to “It is better to prevent than to heal,” which she thinks is sort of intense as far as wisdom about cleanliness goes, but then, she’s never forgotten it). Professors will likely always butcher her last name, flattening the syllables into something harsh and ugly; classmates will continue to express their envy at the ease with which they assume she sails through her foreign language requirement, oblivious to the unique heartache of struggling to write in a language that flows from her lips with more ease than English sometimes; but no one can take this from her, her mother’s recipes in her mother’s own words, the familiar tastes and smells of home.

It started with the croissants, shaping the dough she’d prepped earlier this week in preparation to make pains au chocolat--she can’t stop her lips from quirking up in a small, proud smile, now, looking at how perfectly they rose, how flaky the croissants are, how tantalizingly the smell of chocolate and freshly-baked bread is wafting off of them, how they glisten with brushed-on butter. But when her eyes glanced over the mostly-full bottle of fruity olive oil in the pantry, how could she resist whipping up a lemon curd tart, with its buttery almond crust and rich lemon custard filling? And it would have simply been silly to waste the lemon zest she had leftover from the tart--not when she could make the madeleines, tiny delicious cakes sweetened with honey and brown sugar, the tang of the lemon zest cutting through the sweetness in the most delicious way, complimented by the dusting of powdered sugar. Then, she thought, that was an awful lot of citrus--she simply had to offset it with a quick apple mille-feuille, the autumnal scent of roasted apples, maple syrup, and apple brandy making her wistful for October. But wait--no mille-feuille was complete without the bourbon whipped cream on top, and shouldn’t poor lactose intolerant Cal have plenty of options too? Besides, a simple spiced bread wouldn’t take too long, and the mixture of star anise, ginger, and cinnamon, sweetened with honey and rife with dried apricots and plums, would be sure to make a delicious sweet toast for breakfast.

Even still, it wasn’t truly over until she noticed that several cartons of eggs--which she, for obvious reasons, tended to buy in bulk--were set to expire soon, and it would certainly be foolish to waste so much money--really, she hardly had a choice! She made chocolate macarons with orange ganache, a cherry buttermilk clafoutis; she made kouign-amann, with its buttery dough and sugary crust, and, in a desperate bid to eat through the eggs, another batch of macarons, this time with raspberry-rose buttercream. Struck with a flash of inspiration, she used the egg yolks she’d set aside while whipping the whites into stiff peaks fit for a meringue to make toasted-flour sablé, a sort of moist little sugar cookie, and while she was at it threw in a batch of snickerdoodles--cookies were easy to both make and get rid of in bulk, and besides, they were Cal’s favorite. Lastly, she decided to tackle a chocolate pound cake--quatre-quarts au chocolat de juliette, her mother’s handwriting rebuked her, along with an all-caps reminder to bake it in a bain-marie, PAS au four!!!!!. It made Amy laugh a little, but she couldn’t deny that the water-bath made for a much richer, much more moist final product than the oven.

She feels a brief rush of shame, looking over it all--it’s truly an improbable amount of baking she’s done, here--but her heart is full, her back aching in a satisfying, productive way. If nothing else, she’s made the house smell like home and has ensured that anyone who enters can leave full and satisfied. Finally, she removes her apron and checks her watch--perfect. She has about half an hour to get to work for her 8pm-midnight shift, a fairly non-intensive desk position at one of the campus libraries, and she’ll more likely than not have enough free time to look over her chemistry notes. As for the baked goods, she opts to leave them out, but takes a few moments to write out sticky notes (“dairy free! Come right in, Cal!”; “full of dairy! Cals beware!”), and smiles gently as she thinks of Cal coming home to a warm kitchen and plenty to eat. “That boy is too damn skinny,” she mumbles to herself fondly, and flicks off the kitchen light, leaving the one above the oven on to bathe the kitchen in a warm, welcoming glow.

Cal is not having a good day.

He shivers as another gust of wind blows what feels like through him, making his teeth chatter as he attempts to sink even lower into his hoodie. The slumping motion does not agree with his cramping lower belly, and he groans, straightening back up with an arm looped around his stomach.

Any day at this time of month for him is a difficult one. He knows for a fact that he “passes,” but he still feels uncomfortably seen, feels like he has to hide himself from view as much as possible. It certainly doesn’t help that his skin hurts, that his belly bloats and his bound chest becomes sore, that despite the fact that he no longer bleeds, he gets all the associated symptoms, yeah, thanks for that, genetics. Even so, Cal isn’t new to this, exactly, and he can deal with the cramping, can even handle the accompanying dysphoria like a champ, but today has been extraordinarily awful. He couldn’t sleep last night, feeling in turns too hot and too cold, and barely made it to his bio class this morning; all the coffee machines were down in the dining hall, meaning his eyes were burning with exhaustion by the time he was halfway through bio, let alone his other two classes of the day; perhaps most damning at all, the paper he’s been counting on being due next week is actually due this week, causing him to spend an extra few hours in the library after class, barely awake, forcing himself to get something, anything onto the page; and, the cherry on top of it all, he missed the last bus home, hence tramping home now in the dark and the rain. More than one car has splashed him as it’s passed, and his jeans are practically soaked through.

He’s cold, he’s exhausted, he barely even made a dent in the paper, and his fucking stomach hurts, the cramps now joined by an anxious knot; as much as he wants to take comfort from the fact that he can see the apartment complex getting steadily closer, he also knows that he’s going to be home alone, and something about that just does not sit well with him at the moment that Cal doesn’t want to analyze, thank you very much.

He shivers his way up the stairs leading to the apartment, down the exceedingly long corridor, through the front door, and is almost immediately assailed by both a rush of welcome warmth and a rush of smells so delicious and overpowering that he knows immediately that today was a stress-baking day for Amy. Something drains out of Cal then, equal parts tension and restraint, the anxious buzzing of his thoughts thrown off by the sheer number of baked goods spread across the counter top. He lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud. His stomach rumbles--he ate today, but not well--and he sort of knows he’s doomed when he catches the scent of chocolate, as well as when his eyes land on a plate of snickerdoodles (which very much does not make a lump rise in his throat, okay, it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter, Amy made his favorite cookie for him in the middle of her own stress-fueled baking marathon, it’s whatever). Amy will be home soon. Quincy, too, at some point. He’ll be fine. He just needs to do what he can until then, and there’s no shortage of snacks to keep him busy while he waits.

Shocking no one less than him, Cal has many, many regrets, and at least half of them are baked goods he has put into his body over the last hour. He whimpers a little, oh-so-gently palming his belly, which has distressingly little give even when he ventures to apply a little more pressure with his fingertips. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this bloated, heavy with food and swollen with almond milk, and he’d be lying if he said he’s not fighting tears, beyond ashamed to be in this state: slumped sitting on the floor, back supported by the side of the counter, shirt riding up to expose the pink flesh of his belly. He has to swallow thickly a few times, imagining the sugary sludge that’s surely squelching through his insides right now, trying to force back a dangerous burp that squeezes out anyway and leaves the taste of honey and cinnamon in the back of his mouth. He tried to be good, and that’s maybe what sucks the most. He started with a few snickerdoodles, ostensibly the only dessert on the counter that had been made for him, unable to hold back a little groan of pleasure at the taste, buttery and comforting and complemented perfectly by the crunch of cinnamon and sugar. He had four before pouring himself a tall glass of almond milk, chasing a few more cookies with it before deciding to investigate the irresistible scent of chocolate wafting from the plate of croissants. The chocolate might be a bit much for his lactose intolerance, he decided, and opted for two thick slices of the spiced bread instead, toasted and slathered with ghee. He swore they tasted like fall, like tramping through leaves and Halloween costumes when he was young. Something about filling his stomach after being so hungry and uncomfortable all day, recklessly, indulgently, eased the tightness of his chest, until he could scarcely even feel the chill from his still-damp jeans.

He had already begun to feel rather full, but his interest was still piqued by the croissants, and he hadn’t even tried the little sugary-looking roll things, or the macaroons, or the cake--Cal squeezes his eyes shut, now, swallowing hard, struggling to even think about how much he’s eaten, but unable to completely erase the contrast from his mind between the overflowing countertop when he first arrived and the countertop now, an alarmingly high number of the cluttered plates more empty than not. All that really matters, he guesses, is that at some point filling his tummy began to hurt more than help, and he kept doing it anyway, and now his cramps have merely been replaced with sickly twinges and upset burbles.

He tries to take a deep breath, which hitches as an ominous gurgle bubbles from the top to the bottom of his packed belly, and the tears he’s been clamping down on start to roll down his cheeks. He can’t do this, not alone, at least, and Amy’s shift still has 3 hours to go--they must have just barely missed each other. Part of him knows that he will probably feel worlds better if he simply allows himself to throw up, but he can’t handle that, not right now. He cradles his aching stomach for a moment, one trembling hand cupped under his lower belly, bloated and hot, and one resting on the hard little bloat of his tummy, even that feather-light touch ushering up a series of strained burps. After another moment of feeling his stomach contents swirl and slosh uncomfortably inside him, the nausea and misery outweigh his pride, and he hesitantly lets go of his aching stomach, swiping at his tears and pulling out his phone.

I...fucked up, he texts her, and sends it before he can think twice about it. She replies almost instantly, one of his favorite things about Amy: ?????????????And a moment later, while he’s still figuring out where to begin: everything okay, honey?

The fragile control Cal has over his emotions abruptly slips at that, and he lets out a choked sob, swallowing hard when the motion upsets his tummy further. It hurts so fucking much, but Amy, Amy who bakes his favorites even in the middle of her own mini-crisis, Amy who takes the time to write adorable little sticky notes oriented around Cal’s dietary restrictions, Amy who calls everyone in the world honey because she cares about everyone in the goddamn world, Amy the literal human ball of sunshine--just, fucking Amy, okay?

Yeah. I mean. I’m safe, but I’m not okay. I… Cal doubles over as a cramp twists deep in his belly, panting a little. Maybe it would be easier to just let himself be sick. You baked...a lot. I had a bad day.

:((((( did u see my notes???? what’s going on??????

Cal has to blink hard against the tears at that, a new layer of guilt joining the anxiety and the shame of all he’s eaten. Stress-baking or not, this all had to have taken Amy a few hours, and he’d eaten right through a fair amount of almost everything.

I’m sorry. I did see your notes. It’s not lactose, I just ate a /lot/ and I feel sick and I don’t know what to do

A moment later, his phone buzzes with a call. It’s Amy, of course.

“H-hey,” he manages, sniffing, and then hiccups just before a deep burp gurgles up from his churning belly, clamping a hand over his mouth for a moment as his gorge rises with it.

“Cal, honey,” Amy says, sounding so fucking sad for him. It’s not like she’s never seen the fallout of his stress-binging before. “How much did you eat?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal says hoarsely, his throat burning from stubbornly swallowing back stomach acid. “I’m just nauseous and sick and--and—” He falters, feeling like a child. “And I just really had a bad day, like a really bad day, Amy, and I know your day wasn’t so good either or you wouldn’t be stress-baking but I just, I’m so fucking tired, and my paper is due and—” He gags, suddenly, and has to take a moment to collect himself, hyper-aware of Amy’s concerned silence on the other end of the line-- “and I can’t do this alone,” he finally manages, voice cracking, and it is only the knowledge that openly weeping would send him over the edge right now that keeps him from dissolving into exhausted tears.

“I’m so sorry, Cal. I wish I could be there,” Amy murmurs soothingly, and it’s almost, almost like she’s there. “If I could leave work I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’m going to call Quincy for you, okay?”

Cal’s heart squeezes at that, half-anxiety, half-hope, and maybe something else, too, a deep sense of being known--Amy knows that Cal knows that she can’t leave work. Amy knows that there’s only one other person that he’d want. Amy knows that he can’t--because of anxiety, because of what he sees as a low stakes problem relative to Quincy’s very high-stakes life, because, because, because--reach out to him himself when he’s like this. “Okay,” he whispers, and hope she hears the gratitude in it.

“Of course,” she says, so warmly that it makes Cal’s heart ache a little. “Hang in there, okay? Try to stay calm for me. I’ll let you know when he’s coming.”

“Love you,” he mumbles, and lets his phone clatter to the floor as soon as he hears the beep that means she’s hung up, clutching at his belly, feeling his stomach lurch and rumble. He’s so fucking full. He’s such a fucking idiot.

Some time later, Quincy comes for him.

Cal startles when the door creaks open, then whimpers a little at the resulting complaints of his stomach. There’s just so much pressure, his stomach tight and hot as though nothing is moving at all, though with all that he feels burbling against his palm, that can’t possibly be true. Quincy looks a little frantic in the doorway before his eyes come to rest on Cal, still curled up pitifully on the floor, both hands pressed gently against his bloated stomach.

“Oh—” Quincy breathes, shutting the door behind him, crossing the space between them in an instant and crouching in front of Cal. “God, Cal, Amy scared me half to death. Are you alright?”

“I’m—” Cal has to stop and breathe, composing himself as a wave of nausea crashes over him, his stomach squelching unpleasantly. All at once, he realizes that he’s no longer alone, that perhaps even if he should keep suppressing everything, he no longer wants to, and he no longer cares if he’s sick, he just wants to feel better, wants to be in his bed, wants to be warm and comfortable and safe--all at once, he’s doubling over his own lap, sobbing his heart out, barely even registering the flicker of amusement he’d ordinarily feel at Quincy’s eyes going comically round behind his glasses. His stomach aches, pain ringing throughout his abdomen at the movement, and before he can process much more than that a warm palm folds itself over his distended stomach, firmly enough to quiet the cramping there, but lightly enough to keep from exacerbating the nausea.

“Cal,” Quincy says, in that low, soothing voice of his, “I am so sorry that you’re hurting, and I’m going to make that go away, but to get you feeling better, I have to get you off the floor. I can’t imagine that you are ready to move just now?”

“No,” Cal breathes, his usual shyness dominated by hours of physical discomfort. “Please, just—” Tears dribble down his cheeks, his lack of sleep and general exhaustion beginning to catch up with him.

Quincy seems to hear him anyway. “Okay, hey, heyheyhey, okay, that is perfectly fine. I’m here, alright? I’m here to help you feel better.”

Ever so gently, Quincy eases himself behind Cal, so that his back is supported by Quincy’s chest rather than the hard base of the kitchen counter. Equally gently, his arms wind around Cal’s waist, both hands coming to rest on his abused stomach. He applies pressure to the bloated space between Cal’s navel and his ribs, rubbing in broad, gentle strokes, almost immediately ushering up a deep belch that has Cal going slack with the smallest but most welcome measure of relief. Quincy is so damn warm, and his rough palm is heaven where it rests on his lower belly, supporting the bloat from below to take the strain off of his overfull stomach. His other hand moves from that space in the middle of his abdomen to his stomach, the noticeable overfull bulge where the organ ought to be, rubbing in gentle circles. The pressure is almost too much and Cal shifts to tell him so, succeeding only in ushering up several more rumbling belches, one right after the other, left gasping with the relief of it. He is still painfully aware of how full he is, packed utterly to the brim with food, but the release of trapped air is so needed and so lovely.

Quincy holds him like this for a while, coaxing up the occasional belch, paying extra attention to the twinges that make Cal groan with nausea. Cal finds his eyes watering again, this time with sheer gratitude for his dearest friends, for their kindness, for the quiet lack of judgement Quincy exhibits as he rubs his aching tummy. Eventually, Cal feels like he might be able to move without throwing up, and Quincy supports his weight with an arm around his waist as they make their way to Cal’s bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” Quincy says after depositing Cal on the bed gently. “Amy said you’d want a hoodie and some shorts. How did she do?”

Cal smiles a little sadly, having trouble finding his voice, and Quincy barely misses a beat, busying himself retrieving one of Cal’s biggest hoodies and a soft pair of pajama shorts. “Either way, let’s give it a try. You should probably take your binder off--all that squeezing can’t be helping, and no wonder you’re shivering in those wet jeans!” He ducks into Cal’s bathroom for a moment, filling up the cup next to the sink with cold water from the tap, and offers it to Cal, making sure his shaking hands don’t cause a spill before he lets go. “Try to take some sips of that, okay? Trust me. We need to break up all that sugar.”

Cal can’t argue with that, nodding, and waits until Quincy lets the door swing mostly-shut behind him, taking the deepest breath he can manage. His stomach twinges as he bends over to put the water on his nightstand and lifts his arms to pull off his shirt. wriggling out of his binder, and he pants for a moment as the sudden release of pressure on his stomach causes the nausea to flare before it thankfully passes again. He puts on the hoodie, immediately comforted by the billowing fabric, and wriggles out of his jeans and into the pajama shorts as quickly as he can manage, forcing himself to take a measured sip of water. His stomach tightens around it, and he swallows hard.

“Hey,” Quincy says softly, knocking twice on the slightly-ajar door before pushing it completely open with his elbow. His hands are occupied with a tv tray, carrying a heating pad and a steaming mug of tea. “Don’t force it. You’re still very full.”

“Y-yeah,” Cal manages, finding his voice. “Tummy really hurts.”

“I know,” Quincy murmurs apologetically, offering Cal the heating pad. Cal practically melts when the heat makes contact with his sore belly, instantly beginning to soothe his cramping muscles, even working its magic on the fullness, just a little. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Cal. I know you’re very full, but when you can, you should try to drink some water and this tea. It’s peppermint, so it should help with the nausea.”

Flicking off the overheard light in lieu of Cal’s carefully-hung string lights, Quincy leaves the mug of tea on the bedside table closest to Cal, spreading the quilt at the foot of the bed over him, and Cal instinctively lets his head drop onto Quincy’s shoulder when he climbs onto the bed beside him.

Cal nearly weeps again when Quincy reaches for his bloated tummy without being asked, resuming a soothing pattern, rubbing wide, sweeping circles over his abdomen, applying pressure to the bloated place beneath his ribs, to his tense sides, to the hard knot of his stomach. Each instance of carefully-applied pressure coaxes up a series of rumbling belches that Cal didn’t realize he was holding in, eventually freeing up enough room for him to sip at the tea.

“Amy will be home soon,” Quincy says after several moments. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot who stuffed my face with sweets all afternoon,” Cal mumbles, still wrestling with guilt, and Quincy frowns as his belly emits an audible squelch, smoothing a hand over it in slow arcs. Cal drinks a bit more deeply at the tea, unable to withhold a sigh of relief as it begins to fill the burbly places in his tummy, blissfully soothing the ache.

“You aren’t an idiot, Cal,” Quincy says sincerely. “Amy says this sometimes happens when you get overwhelmed. You’re overwhelmed.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice makes something big and terrifying shift in Cal’s chest, and he abruptly puts down the mug of tea in favor of hiding his face in Quincy’s chest, narrow frame wracked with tired sobs. He dimly registers that at least his stomach doesn’t react poorly to the movement. “I am,” he manages eventually, as Quincy gently shushes him, stroking his belly as though to keep it calm. “I am so exhausted, Quince.”

“So rest,” Quincy says simply, “at least for now. And when Amy gets here, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next. Okay?”

Cal sniffs, nodding, still hiding his face, and Quincy lets him, simply bringing his arms around him, smoothing his hands over Cal’s back. Against all odds, particularly the still-overpowering sense of fullness, Cal feels his eyelids drooping. All of a sudden, everything has caught up with him, and he can barely form a coherent thought. It has been a day, his belly is now more warm than upset, and Quincy is a very, very comfortable pillow.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Quincy says, and Cal feels the rumble of his chest as he gives a low chuckle, too far gone at this point to respond. He’s going to have a lot to explain when he wakes up, but for now…

For now, Cal lays with his head on Quincy’s shoulder, arms looped around his neck, and Quincy pulls the quilt up around them. “I’ve got you,” Quincy murmurs, and the next thing Cal knows is blessed sleep.

#tiny-tum #perhaps it's for the better since i s2g that entire 500 words was the first sequence describing what amy baked but #i think they were like. better words!#i digress this is what we've got #Amy #Cal #Quincy #stuffing #stress eating #stress baking #belly rubs #dysphoria #side fic #answered #i think the reason im so unhappy with this is that i want quincy to be somewhat mysterious until the major fics are released but also i just #cant imagine anyone being super invested until they know more about these ppl #which is fair #but...yeah! hope ppl enjoy!#why am i so anxious about this

65 notes · View notes

theyeasticando · 4 years

Photo

Blueberry clafoutis*, 06.21.20

Did I mention our produce box has been really keen on blueberries? Or that I ... don’t actually care for blueberries? Still, this looked like an easy and efficient breakfast/dessert recipe to use up a good number of them, along with some of our dairy products. Ozz approves, though I think I could’ve let the bottom set just a little more to minimize blueberry stickage.

*I call it a clafoutis because that is how the recipe refers to it, but the French expert in my life shared the fun fact that it’s only a clafoutis if it’s with cherries; everything else is a flaugnarde. Please don’t ask me to pronounce that.

Via A Garden for the House

#blueberry

1 note · View note

dessertgallery · 5 years

Photo

Easy Cherry Clafoutis - Your source of sweet inspirations! || GET AWESOME DESSERT MERCH HERE!

#cakes #desserts #recipes #foodporn #food photography #pastries

24 notes · View notes

kin-kitchen · 5 years

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

ladybug and easy french bakery goods

Macarons

Ladybug Marshmallow Cookies

Ladybug Cake Pops

Cherry Clafoutis

Chouquettes

Langues de Chat

#marinette kin #miraculous ladybug kin #marinette dupain cheng

9 notes · View notes

fuckyeahthisfoodrawks · 5 years

Text

It's cherry season so into the clafoutis they go.

Super easy recipe:

1 cup whole milk

3 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tbsp butter, melted

1/2 cup all purpose flour

Whisk all ingredients together except flour until sugar is dissolved. Then gradually add flour and whisk until smooth.

Pour into cast iron skillet or pie pan and top with fruit. Bake in a 325 degree oven for 35-40 minutes until golden brown.

Pro tips: if you use organic sugar, it's a little grainier than regular sugar so I whisk the sugar into the melted butter and then add the eggs one at a time, then the vanilla, then the milk.

To avoid lumps, I strain through a mesh sieve.

To pit your cherries, use a metal straw.

#cherry season #cherries #recipe #homemade #baking #organic baking #king arthur flour #cast iron skillet #clafoutis

3 notes · View notes

tipbuzzfood · 6 years

Video

Easy Cherry Clafoutis 🍒 . 👉 Recipe available on link @tipbuzzfood Full recipe: https://tipbuzz.com/cherry-clafoutis/

20 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs