#napoli sauce
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Napoli style. 🇮🇹🍕🍕(mixed media on canvas)🧀🍅
#naples#napoli#pop art#contemporary art#fine art#folk art#street art#basquiat#pizza#pizzaria#pizza delivery#tomato sauce#mozzarella#deep dish pizza#pepperoni pizza#cheese pizza#pizza party#pizza tower#pizzatime#homemade pizza#jean michel basquiat#italian food#italian restaurant#little italy#pizza lovers#pizza toppings#pizza crust#pizza art#modern art#naive art
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hi, i'm currently potted plant witching as well (just planted my first crop of veggie/herb/flower seeds & got some more containers & soil today for more planting this weekend) and i would love to know more about your garden this year; would you be willing to outline your plans? any special herbs or projects? Thanks!! <3 love your blog!
🌿🌿🌿 HYPERFIXATION ACTIVATED. 🌿🌿🌿
OH I HAVE SO MANY PLANS, LET ME TELL YOU.
This is the first year that Ragnar and I are doing actual work and sweat equity with the yard at our new place. Last year things were just too chaotic and we didn't have the time or the energy to do much of anything. We trimmed occasionally and I harvest some wild plants, but that was about it.
This year, it's Go Time.
Last weekend, I finally busted out the gorgeous barrel pots we got for Christmas and spent my April market earnings on potting soil, garden tools, and seedlings. When we lived in the apartment, I had a pretty hefty window garden with herbs and flowers and a few vegetables, so I'm eager to recreate that in an outdoor space where the plants can really thrive. (I mean, I grew cherry tomatoes and three kinds of peppers in 10" pots indoors and they got pretty big, so I can only imagine being outdoors will go even better with fresh air and rain and pollinators.)
The potted garden has Napoli tomatoes, poblano and cayenne peppers, green sage, and rosemary, along with something I've never tried growing before - blueberries! I'm planning to add additional pots and more herbs later on, but I felt like this was a really good start. If I can manage it, I want to grow a huge planter of nothing but spinach and sweet basil so I can make pesto this summer.
We've also started clearing and tilling a space out in the yard proper for a raised-bed garden. Nothing too big or ambitious, just something we can try some larger veggies in. We're hoping to try the Three Sisters model with hybrid corn, snap peas, green beans, and kabocha pumpkins. I was also hoping to put in napa cabbage, but there are quite a lot of slugs in the yard when it rains, so perhaps not. I'm toying with the idea of planting some late crops for fall and winter harvests as well. I have sugarplum visions of strings of peppers and braids of garlic hanging in our kitchen with many jars of preserves and sauce in the pantry.
We might also try some other fruits if things go well, maybe raspberries or grapes, but that's more of a Next Summer project. The fence and the ground around it needs some work first and we don't want to overdo things the first year. (I'd really love to put in a little serviceberry tree, but that might be pushing things a bit with regard to space.)
There's also a side garden that's in need of some TLC where I'm vaguely tossing around the idea of climbing flower vines (clematis or morning glory or trumpet flower maybe? something local) and maybe some ground cover in the form of periwinkle. There's also a downspout that really needs a rain barrel, so that's next on the list.
There are sections of the yard that we've deliberately left wild as well, hoping to encourage native plants and pollinators. The clover patches are massive and produce lots of four-leafers and blossoms, so the bees are having a field day. There's also wild dogbane sprouting up now that the vetchweed is cleared and wild plantain (aka white man's foot) starting to come in along the walkway. If I have my druthers, I'll be planting more wildflowers this summer.
Have some pictures and tell me about your garden!
#girlhalfburning#gardens#gardening#plants#green witchcraft#wildcrafting#Bree answers your inquiries#life and times of a cottage witch
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Messicana Pizza 🍕 (tomato sugo, mozzarella, cajun chicken, jalapeños, red peppers and red onions)
Rigatoni Salsiccia 🍝 (onion, chilli and Italian sausage in a creamy Napoli sauce)
#food#pizza#pasta#rigatoni#rigatoni pasta#spicy#spicy food#foodporn#scr4n#food porn#tomato#tomato sugo#sugo#italian#italian sausage#sausage#meat#red onion#onion#onions#black pepper#pepper#red pepper#chilli#napoli#napoli sauce#italian food#jimmy style#cajun chicken#chicken
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You may not be the right person to complain about this to but I wanna compare notes with you and also your followers. And I'm german, for further reference.
So... pasta and pizza have a lot of similarities, right? They're both internationally beloved Italian foods that have many variations (different in their added ingredients rather than modifying the base) many of which are named after places.
And since Italy only has a limited number of places, some places have a pasta and a pizza, at least if you go with the names we use here. Eg Siciliana is both a pasta and a pizza and the added ingredients are very similar. Bolognese is another example of this.
And then there's Napoli. Pasta napoli (usually it's spaghetti but whatev) is just tomato sauce here, basically the pasta equivalent of margherita. But then pizza napoli is some freak shit. There's fucking olives and anchovies on there?? Disgustang.
And it's literally the only place name pasta/pizza combo like this I can think of! The others either seem to only have one of them used commonly or they're the same or very similar. It annoyed me even more as a kid when I could never remember which one had nice tomato and which one had taste hell. Very annoying!!!
And then today I found out this doesn't translate to English! Their neapolitan pizza is a supercategory that most commonly refers to margherita! So now I wanna know, what is the pasta/pizza name sitch like in Iceland? Do you even do place names? And if so, any mismatches? Would love to know!
I have to admit I have never in my life thought about this so I do not know
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Sucker Punch Fic Live Blog #2
“He’s just some guy,” Louis disagrees.
Lestat is still recovering from this burn to this day!
“I just want to try out another date all on my own terms. No disasters. And I want some Italian tonight.” Who is going to tell him Lestat is half-Italian?
“A blonde roast,” Daniel says for a second time, setting the espresso down upon the still nicely shined mahogany counter. “Blonde, Louis? What inspired it?” Daniel was thinking what I was thinking.
Workaholic Louis is special to me like no other. A Louis that shoulders the burdens of the world and his family is the most Louis to ever Louis.
Louis's temper flared up. I like to see the characterization of Louis that brings up how hot-headed he can be when he's overwhelmed.
“Both,” Louis croaks out. “I want to be normal, too, Daniel. I want to have a career. I want to have a life. This doesn’t mean I believe that this thing with Lestat is going anywhere, because I really don’t believe it, but it’s a way to prove to myself and to everyone else that I’m capable of at least trying.” Stop making me feel!
George scoffs, waving his hand at Louis. “Nonsense, son! Your daily special creation is what I look forward to each morning! It gives me a reason to get these old bones walking around.” I love old sweet regulars!
Her memory lives on in their community, but no one is really aware of the sort of woman his mother was behind the closed doors of their home. Louis has mommy trauma on par with my own. Don't worry Louis,
"A date? Daniel, you don’t go on a date that close to midnight. That’s a hook up.” Daniel being a slutty mess with horrible taste in men is a headcanon I didn't know I need.
“You need to get laid,” Daniel says very seriously. “It will literally cure so many of your problems, Louis.” Daniel dispensing wisdom this fandom needs to hear.
"On my way. I will arrive in about twenty-five minutes if traffic is not too busy!" If Lestat is late again, I'll beat his ass myself. I hate dates who are late! It's so disrespectful! It makes me crazy. I married a woman that is an hour early to everything for a reason!
“Ah, Bella Napoli!” Lestat interrupts merrily. Lestat come out as half-italian and Louis will fuck you, I promise.
Louis is reminded of a golden retriever, wanting a treat for good behavior. I love references to Lestat being a dog! Either positively or an insult.
He actually sings the words out to Louis. Louis is lost in the sauce.
Whoa, whoa, we split the check,” Louis instantly demands. LOUIS DID YOUR MOTHER NOT RAISE YOU RIGHT! Letting pompous rich white men handle the check is how you get back reparations on the low.
“I collect first editions and rare copies of books,” Lestat says. THIS IS HOW LETAT CAN STILL WIN!
“I’d love to see,” he mumbles. Going home with a guy on the second date? Louis you SLUT! You have to wait five dates!
Reciting poetry? My HEART!
ON THE SECOND DATE?????
“Don’t fucking good morning me,” Louis growls. I love when characters make assumptions and act rashly and then look a fool!
“You are right, that I am married,” he murmurs. “That man in the photo? Nicolas? He is my partner. He is my love.” I CAN'T BELIEVE FRENCHIE DID THIS! This is why:
@thefairylights It has been way too long since my last review. It is so fun to reread this fic. Again, great characterization of Louis and his motivations. It is so romantic and so sexy, I love a dream date that has a character floating on air. I find geeking over books and reciting poetry so sexy, and I could feel the passion in that sensual scene. Thank you so much! 10/10.
#louis de pointe du black#amc iwtv#loustat#interview with the vampire#iwtv#lestat de lioncourt#amc interview with the vampire#louis de pointe du lac
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Hiya, tumblr user Nic Raytorosaurus! Wouldya happen to have the image of Ray, lost in the sauce and covered in pizza boxes? Cheers mate
i sure do...lost in the napoli sauce <3
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Menu Twenty-Seven
Spaghetti Napoli: spaghetti, onion, garlic, capsicum, olive oil, tinned tomatoes, tomato paste, fresh basil, oregano, brown sugar, salt and pepper, chilli sauce, parmesan cheese.
Baked Rigatoni with Tomato and Mushrooms: rigatoni, mushrooms, butter, onion, garlic, capsicum, olive oil, tinned tomatoes, fresh basil, oregano, brown sugar, salt and pepper, chilli sauce, tin tomato juice, mozzarella, parmesan cheese, ricotta.
This journey has gotten to the point where, if I didn’t check the back of my work diary I wouldn’t know what week it was. It was the Twenty-Second Week. The hold that the cookbook had over me, had slipped, or I’d let go. The end was a plausible entity. Twenty-two weeks into the journey, I finally had a crippling realisation. Life was not circular, I had only made it so. There are only 365 days in a year, and each one of them has the same title as the year before. The only circles in a life are vicious ones. Symbols exist. I was cooking Menu Twenty-Seven this week and the number 27 is a symbol of early death. On the second day of the week, we lost the neighbour’s kitten to an early death. Death, a symbol of expiration. It was also the last week that my most loyal guest was also a flatmate. The vicious circle I find myself stuck in is the one where there is safety in expiration.
On Monday, prior to realisation I was floating on higher ground. Reading a Primer of Jungian theory at work and thinking about self-realisation. I had so far only realised that I was a frightfully honest person, but at the same time I lie a lot and I’d like to lie even more. I wanted to think about entropy and canalising energy but didn’t understand how it worked. I thought that Jung’s theory of entropy intertwined with the cookbook because both the psyche and Bishop and Carruthers sought balance in a lifestyle, as did I. Lana Del Rey has a song about the paramount sign sparkling just for her. The “paramount sign sparkling, sparkling just for me” could have been any of the signs I saw. Signs and symbols are inextricably linked.
Valentine's Day Kitchen, Actually.
By Wednesday, I wanted to believe signs and symbolism only existed in dreams but unfortunately quite often signs and symbolism are manifested in a week and when they come to fruition you want to throw up. I cooked dinner instead. It was already 6 30 PM when I got home from work. I only needed to make the Napoli sauce, because this was going into both the Spaghetti Napoli and the Baked Rigatoni with Tomato and Mushrooms. While the sauce simmered gently, I wondered what it meant for something to simmer gently. Things usually remain at boiling point.
<3
So the sauce boiled and I chopped vegetables and grated cheese for the baked rigatoni. The oven had been turned on, to let it warm only slightly before it blasted the rigatoni full force. I spooned half of the Napoli sauce on top of the rigatoni, topped it with the cheese, and relocated it into the oven, hoping for the best. Predictably, the oven shut off half an hour into the 45 minutes it had been diagnosed. I sat with my guests, all five of them.
Dinner, cooked and served.
Over dinner we paid our respects to expiration and I withheld the truth to the table about things I’d seen that day. Bishop and Carruthers had orchestrated a harmonious menu for their 27th, the Spaghetti Napoli and Baked Rigatoni with Tomato and Mushrooms were two primary colours on a plate.
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thinking about redscape from my vigilantes au. Thinking about a little (potentially not canon) scene between them.
Maybe Scar has already found out Mumbo's identity, and knows if Mumbo finds out who he is, he'd hate him.
So he dedicates one last night, before he reveals it all to him.
Scar had previously saved up to get a record player, fancy and old fashioned, sure, but he loves the vibes. He spends hours preparing dinner and dessert while Mumbo is out at work. Spiral pasta with napoli sauce, with a side of Mumbo's favourite baked potatoes. A nice hot chocolate pudding served with vanilla ice cream for dessert.
Mumbo is confused, but doesn't question the grand gesture. Scar gets like this sometimes. He's always been the dramatic type, with a love for the little things. Later on, he blames himself for not realising something was off.
Scar has a whole bunch of records. So many of Mumbo's favourites, too. The two dance. Scar spins Mumbo around, dips him. They slow dance, then they boogie to some upbeat tunes.
Scar soaks in every second. This could be the very last time they talk as friends.
A soft kiss pressed to Mumbo's hand. A tight embrace, and wishes of sweet dreams. And then they go off to bed. Both kept awake for a few hours, Scar by his racing anxieties, and Mumbo due to his lovestruck fluster.
As soon as Scar is sure Mumbo's asleep, he sneaks out of his room to the kitchen to leave a note. A goodbye, and a confession. He packs his most sentimental items, and some clothes, and he leaves into the night.
#This is probably not canon!#but the lil brainrot has been kicking in as ive been making my playlists based off this au#i need a name for this au#not sure what thatll be yet#superhero au#vigilante au#redscape
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Misc Napoli before and after Herculaneum -
In the morning Matt and Becca decided to try a longer run. It started off as a bit of a bust trying to run along busy roads with minimal sidewalks along the industrial port area nearby our place. However, eventually we emerged onto a nice oceanside path and came upon an intense water polo game and also had our run paused at one point due to a movie being filmed on the path with the largest drone we'd ever seen. We returned home and headed to Herculaneum as the primary activity for the day (see separate post). On our return from Herculaneum we headed to Pizzeria da Michelle, which was number one per our hosts. There was a "take a number and wait" situation for tables that we were told was about 50 min long so we oped for the (also pretty long) take out line. Around this time it started to downpour. Matt heroically stood in line in the rain while the rest of the family took shelter in a nearby souvenir shop (which lead to both boys purchasing 10 euro Maradona jerseys). Pizzeria da Michelle only has 4 choices: marinara, Margherita, Marita (1/2 marinara 1/2 margherita), and Cosacca (which is basically marinara with some pecorino cheese mixed in with the sauce). We tried them all and our favorites were Margherita and Cosacca (except Buggy who was partial to marinara and proclaimed it her new favorite). We headed to bed with full bellies ready for the next adventure.
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Eleanor's Kitchen
Book: The Royal Heir Book 1/The Royal Romance series
Rating: G
Pairing: None. Queen Eleanor & Signore Francesco friendship. Mention of Joëlle Theron & Queen Eleanor's friendship.
Summary: After a visit from one of his mother's old college friends, little Liam realizes he doesn't actually know as much about her as he thinks. (Eleanor's Kitchen)
Word Count: 3, 261 words.
Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for Fics of the Week.
Choices May Challenge (Day 8) - yellow | Mothers | "do you trust me"? (@choicesmonthlychallenge)
Chapter 2: Spaghetti al Pomodoro
There are many moments when Liam thinks he's seen his mother at her happiest.
When she sees him and Drake, weaving their way through the still-in-construction garden, their shins darkened by mud. When Leo briefly drops his disinterested-teenager demeanor, and actually looks happy to be at home. The now-rare days when she and Father go a full day without disagreeing on something (alright...maybe not that. You can still see her eyes nervously darting, like she's aware that the day isn't over and there's still time for things to go wrong). When her projects seem to take off. When people appreciate her new garden. When she goes to the public library. The rare times she gets to cook.
None of that compares, Liam realizes now, to the shine in her eyes at the sight of a carton of ripe, red, oval-shaped tomatoes in the palace.
As Mum closes her eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of the tomatoes, Liam surreptitiously picks up a note that seems to have fallen from the box.
Nori,
Got this straight from Zio Guiseppe's farm. He still remembers you! Keeps telling me how often you wolfed down their sfogliatella first time you visited. He even offered to just send you a bottle of homemade sauce to save time...but I told him if I did that you'd kill me!
Here's to serving your sons real pasta with real pomodoro, not those pathetic pink travesties you Cordonians call tomatoes.
Franci.
Mum sniffs in frustration when she finally reads the note. "I may be Cordonian now," she murmurs as if Francesco de Rosa himself is in the room, "but on the subject of tomatoes I will never be anything but Auvernese."
Liam frowns in worry. For the past year, Mum's home place hasn't even been mentioned in the palace. If this ever reaches Father's ears there will be hell to pay.
So instead of stoking the flames by asking his mother what's so special about Auvernal's tomatoes (not that he likes tomatoes, anyway, unless they're cherry tomatoes - the bigger ones always make your mouth pucker in the worst way, and Mum always needs to drown them in fresh herbs to make them taste halfway-decent), he asks about Uncle Franci instead.
"When did you go to Naples, Mum?" They've gone to Capri, they've gone to Venice, they've seen the Colloseum at Rome, he's even seen Father and Mum meet the Pope - all veiled and dressed in black - at the Vatican. He knows Napoli is where Uncle Franci stays, with Aunt Perizaad his wife - and they've come over to Cordonia a handful of times - but Liam can't for the life of him remember Mum ever going there!
"Oh, that?" Mum sounds a little surprised, almost as if she's just remembered something that never occurred to her before. "Of course you wouldn't know, sweetheart. I was still in university then."
Liam's eyes grow round as saucers. "You met Uncle Franci in college?"
Mum's laughter tinkles like glass, light but also a little hollow - her smile only half-there. "I met many people at college. Some of them you see almost every month."
"Really? Do you have pictures, Mum?" It's hard, to think of a time when his mother wasn't a queen, wasn't the woman on his Father's right side, wasn't the woman who considered this palace her home. Wasn't his mother.
Until now, he's never had to think about what Mum's life looked like before all that. Almost as if she emerged from the earth of their Capitol, like the goddess Venus did atop a shell from the sea. But Mum's eyes light up with a need Liam cannot name yet, so when she asks him if he'd like to see them right now, he says yes.
And he's excited at first, truly. He wants to see all these memories that seem to bring her so much joy. So he sits through thousands of pictures (Mum and Father. Mum and Global Leaders. Mum and a delegation of Applewood farmers. Mum and himself, now as a small child. Now as a toddler. Now as a baby, bawling his head off in a very uncomfortable christening robe. Mum and a very young, very scared Leo perched atop her lap). And as each yellowing album-page takes an agonizingly slow step back in time and Liam's childish enthusiasm begins to flag...Mum's own anticipation dims a little bit more, the dewy joy that lit up her entire face when she first saw those tomatoes slowly fading.
But then they're interrupted by the palace staff for teatime. And then they're expected to see Ana de Luca, Trend's newest and most popular interviewer, about a photoshoot. Then by the time they're done with all that, Drake runs to him, panting in exhilaration, telling Liam it's time for them to play.
And Liam runs, forgetting instantly all albums he's left behind and all the questions that led his mother to show them to him, too caught up in the promise of his own childhood adventures to wonder about her youth.
Eleanor shakes her head, chuckling fondly - tiredly - at the fading shadow of her son and his best friend, racing madly through the halls without another care in the world, before she puts the albums away.
--
"Mmm," Uncle Franci takes a seat next to Liam, greeting the smell of spaghetti slathered in tomato sauce with a sigh of appreciation. He'd called in last week, mentioning to Mum that he had work at the Capitol; to which she immediately suggested he drop by for lunch. "Smells just like Nonna's. I bet Pari gave you that recipe. But cherry tomatoes?"
Mum lets out an unladylike snort. "Just because they're not in your Nonna's recipe doesn't mean no Italian has ever used them."
"But these are Cordonian tomatoes. You may have the best baking apples but with respect to this one ingredient we beat you hollow."
"Pssh! Those are different. You haven't even tried our cherry tomatoes yet." Mum gets even more passionate in her defense of Cordonian produce, a strand or two of her hair easing themselves off her neatly-tied bun as she spritedly argues.
Liam breathes in a whiff of the pasta dish while the two keep sparring. He won't lie: it does look, and smell, divine. The basil smells fresh, the sunlight streaming from the windows casts a silky gleam over the already-thick sauce on the spaghettoni. The subtle pungent perfume of crushed garlic teases his nostrils. The mini-tomatoes that seem to offend Uncle Franci so much have a slight char, the blackness standing out against all the bright colours of the dish.
He's just not sure the pasta will taste as good as it looks, because they're tomatoes.
But Liam is sure of one thing. He's never enjoyed being in the kitchen with his mother, as much as he did when she was making this sauce. She's always been one to sing, do a little dance, tell a story, in the middle of cooking. Fairytales, old myths, childhood memories, little anecdotes of his life with Father and Leo, before Liam came along. Little folk legends she's read about in the public library.
But since she got that carton of tomatoes from San Marzano sul Sarno, her stories have started sounding different. They're brimming with love, but with a sense that she's lost something too. She talks about her father's wonderful, forever-fertile farm, that grew everything from root vegetables to dragonfruit. About her time at university, learning Cultural Studies and meeting a young Italian batchmate named Francesco de Rosa - now an up-and-coming Italian politician. Mum said they'd bonded instantly, teasingly calling each other "Volcano Children".
Volcanoes? Liam whispered as Mum sweated the garlic, why volcanoes?
Volcanic soil was very important to both our childhoods, she told him, sighing wistfully, Uncle Franci's birthplace isn't too far from Mount Vesuvius. Your Grandpa's farm was very close to Mount Ionia, which is our dormant volcano. The ash from all those ancient eruptions does something to the soil over time.
What does it do? Uncle Franci's tomatoes, crushed yet still a little whole, now joined the garlic-infused oil, what does that do to the food?
Mum didn't answer. She'd just tasted a spoonful of sauce, closing her eyes and smiling, occasionally moving her tongue around her palate. As if the taste of the tomatoes themselves transported her somewhere else.
He sees the same expression on both her and Uncle Franci's faces now, at the dinner table, feasting on the pasta. Perhaps a hint of surprise in Uncle Franci's expression.
Liam shifts in his seat, embarrassed; his plate is the only one left untouched.
Just one bite, he promises himself, lazily twirling strands of spaghetti around his fork. Just a little bit, and if I can't get through the meal I can complain of a stomachache. Mum will understand.
That one bite releases a whole bouquet of sensations all at once. The pasta is luscious, the tomatoes are shockingly sweet and vibrant, their richness unfurling over his tongue in a way that coats his entire palate. He's never had a tomato that tasted like this. The garlic and basil play hide-and-seek with his senses, only occasionally making their presence felt. It's almost like there's no need for the flavourings to take centerstage!
"More, Liam?" Mum says, her lips unfurling into small smile at the sight of his almost-empty plate.
"Yes please," Liam responds immediately, before realizing both their eyes - amused, a little relieved - are trained on him. "I mean, er, it's nice."
"Perks of living near a volcano," Uncle Franci says, grinning.
Liam giggles, twirling pasta around his fork into a huge cocoon, "Mum said so too."
"She's not wrong, cucciolo mio. It's all that volcanic ash. You won't believe how rich with minerals that soil is."
Liam nods even though some of the phrases are a little hard to understand, his mouth for once stuffed with pasta and tomatoes. He understands enough. But Uncle Franci's praise for Mum's pasta dish has only begun.
"I hate to say this, but I was wrong about the cherry tomatoes, Nori. Charring them really made all the difference!" he lets out a dramatic sigh. "Pari will be so smug when she finds out."
"Once a Cordonian, always a Cordonian, I'm sure," Mum laughs, a light, spirited one that Liam hasn't heard in a while. "She's in Bethulia right now, isn't she?"
Uncle Franci bristles slightly, and Mum purses her lips in response. Liam pretends not to know why; he's heard whispers about Bethulia often over the years, but has only visited the estate once. Its current owner, Baron Cyrus, is younger brother to the then-presumptive heir, who had left the estate years ago to start a new life in metropolitan China. She hasn't been seen since. "Yes."
Nervously, Mum runs a nail over the pristine tablecloth. "She'd told me her cousin Lorelai had come down for a sudden visit."
Uncle murmurs beneath his breath "You can imagine how well that turned out," before turning to Liam and saying - his voice falsely bright - "Did you know, Liam, that I met Aunt Pari through your mother?"
Liam straightens up in his chair, his eyes suddenly brightening, "Really?? You never told me that, Mum!"
Liam knows how fond Mum is of Aunt Pari, but the smile on her face remembering their first few months looks extra special. "Pari was my junior in university...she used to meet me every week for help with class notes. We grew quite close."
"Which is where I come in," Uncle Franci interjects, grinning, "because I was your Mum's roommate, and that's how Aunt Pari met me. Might I add I was the more fun of the two of us; no wonder she stayed around..." Mum rolls her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Both Pari and your mum always carried cameras around. Took pictures of everything and everyone. I actually have a few of those pictures on me right now," he says, passing a conspiratory glance Mum's way. She says nothing, but when Liam steals a glance her way he can see her mouth the words thank you.
Guiltily, Liam remembers they'd never gone back and checked Mum's albums, after the cart of tomatoes had come. The few times he'd remembered, something else had always come up.
"Can I see?"
Uncle Franci is still smiling, but the smile looks different now - softer and more thoughtful. Briefly, he places his hand on Liam's hair. "Of course, cucciolino mio."
The pictures are beautiful, dappled in sunlight, brimming over the four corners of the photograph with bright, happy faces. Here is one of Mum standing at the center of a university campus, holding a bouquet of sunflowers, her eyes crinkled in laughter as Uncle Franci and Aunt Pari mischievously kiss her cheek from either side. And another of Mum and Uncle Franci in plain cotton pyjamas - a far cry from the luxurious sleeping robes she and Father wear - wolfing down pasta, their faces nearly smeared with sauce.
"You have no idea how desparate we both would get for a good tomato pasta. We were so homesick that first year." Mum says, chuckling fondly at their younger selves.
"I'd still argue our San Marzano tomatoes have the slightest edge over your Auvernese ones!"
"Shut it, you," Mum lightly punches Uncle Franci in the arm, her eyes a tiny bit watery, as Liam leafs hungrily through the other pictures. This is a side of his mother he's never seen - and now that Uncle Franci has shown it to him, he can't help but want to know more.
The next photograph shows only a paper, with writing that Liam instantly recognizes as his mother's swirly, almost-calligraphic script. He reads most of the title easily, as well as her name ("Eleanor Moon") only faltering when he reaches the last word.
Breaking Bread: Exploring the History and Practice of Mediterranean Gas...Gas...Gastro...
" - gastrodiplomacy," Mum helps him, rubbing his back in encouragement. "It means you look at how people from different places cultivate alliances and friendships through food."
Liam looks up from the pile of photographs. "Like you and Uncle Franci?" The memory of today's tomato pasta still sends tingles through his tastebuds.
Uncle Franci guffaws in response. "More like your Mum and every soul she meets."
"This was my thesis - that's a research paper you present in the course of getting your degree. Mine and Aunt Pari's was in Cultural Studies, Uncle Franci did his in International Politics. Your father pursued the same degree...but he was a fair bit older than any of us." There is a glow of pride on Mum's face, the same kind that he often sees when an initiative of hers succeeds. "This was the most frustrating, most rewarding, tastiest research paper I'd ever written."
"We both gained weight when you wrote that one," Uncle Franci laughs, before setting the final photograph on the table, "oooh...I think Liam might recognize a person or two in this picture!"
The last picture shows Mum standing behind a huge banner, in a bright purple sundress and a hat, standing next to a vibrant black woman dressed in sunshiny lemon-yellow. They fashion their poses in a way that looks poised, yet casual enough so the onlooker deems them approachable. They wear their best smiles, but their eyes are razor-sharp with purpose. In blue and silver letters, the banner reads
Joëlle Moreau for President!
Eleanor Moon for Cultural Secretary!
Liam draws a deep breath. "Mum, is that -"
"Yes, sweetheart," she responds, eyes softening at Joëlle's deep brown curls, her warm, open smile. "You know her now as Duchess Joëlle, House Thorne. We won that year, too."
"Kiara's Maman," Liam murmurs, remembering it's been months since he's seen the playmate he's been playing soccer and "diplomatic doll games" with. "I didn't know you were in college together too!"
Uncle Franci lets out a small chuckle. "There's a lot of things you don't yet know about your mother," he tells Liam, sitting on his haunches so he can look the young child in the eye, one hand on his shoulder, "but I promise you, finding out will be fun."
Liam takes that little lesson to heart long after Uncle Franci leaves, making promises to arrange for Aunt Pari to visit soon. There is something about Mum's face in those pictures that tugs at him: expressions and hand gestures that he can't even remember seeing from Mum since the time he was born. Things about her he never knew, he never even thought to know. And the look on her face whenever he asks a question about them...that's a happiness Liam wants to grab with both hands and store in a bottle, so he can preserve the glow on her face and the shine in her eyes, forever.
--
Liam likes to keep this a biweekly ritual, Eleanor realizes three weeks into Francesco's last visit. The first time they went back to that cabinet of albums, he looked closely at the pile as if to imprint which ones had all the family pictures, and which ones featured his mother alone, imprinting them in his memory to save time. Since then, he's walked gingerly to the cabinet each time, plucking out whichever of his mother's albums he's in a mood for. Seeing him pore over each photograph, in awe, makes Eleanor's heart swell.
Something in her hurt inside when Liam left those albums aside...when it looked like he didn't even show interest in the parts of her that had little to do with him or their family. It's childish, she knew. She should be the mature one, she should understand how difficult this life is for any child to navigate. But it didn't stop the hollow feeling inside from constantly creeping in.
Liam points to another photograph now, chirping exitedly his guesses for who the figure in the painting at the background might be (He's right). This photograph is of Joëlle, dressed in a silky maxidress in one of those bright colours she used to wear so well, the head-wrap covering her hair, boldly patterned. She is holding the tip of a paintbrush to her chin, gazing at an oil painting of a young black man in a waistcoat, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with a cufflink, his eyes intense and vulnerable all at once. Jo's features are soft and delicate as she continues gazing at the painting, her eyes already brimming with a million dreams. Eleanor can almost smell the turpentine in Jo's small studio emanating from the picture, if she closes her eyes long enough.
Joëlle is perhaps the only courtier she's this close to... the only one she knows she can trust blindfolded. She won't forget how deeply troubled she'd been all those weeks ago, how much gibberish she'd poured out onto her old friend from Castelserraillan over phone. But somehow Joëlle figured out the problem she'd been plagued with, because Eleanor could understand it herself.
Prince Liam will only show interest in seeing what you are passionate about showing, Elle. Jo had told her in her deep, soothing voice, I've seen you in the past few years, followed your news in the past months. You've been spending far too long trying to be everything to everyone. The perfect Queen for Cordonia. The perfect wife and consort for the King. The perfect mother for your sons. Where are you in all this?
It was a simple enough question; it still stunned Eleanor into silence.
We may be queens and wives and mothers, Elle, was the last thing she said before she kept the phone, but we owe it to ourselves, and to our children, to remember - always - that we are more than that.
Eleanor runs a thumb softly over Jo's face, her heart twisting with love. They meet regularly, she knows, but it's never the same. It's been too long since they've sat down for a heart-to-heart chat. Since they've giggled over the precocious younger children's games together.
Tomorrow, Eleanor promises herself. Tomorrow she'll call Joëlle, ask when she's free. Have her come over. Her youngest could join in, keep Liam company. It'll be a little like the old days, Eleanor whispers to herself, her spirits already soaring.
But for now... they'll shut the albums, keep them neatly back in the cabinets, and have lunch.
It's Liam's new favourite today. A simple tomato pasta.
--
Italian Words:
Zio - Uncle
Sfogliatella - a shell-shaped filled Italian pastry originating from Campania. It means "small, thin leaf/layer", as the pastry's texture resembles stacked leaves.
Pomodoro - Tomato
Cucciolo/Cucciolino mio - an affectionate term used for young boys (typically refers to a young animal like a young puppy or a young kitten - in this context Franci means "little cub" since the lion is such an important royal symbol)
Author's Note: Inspired by a line in Liam's Book 1 date scene, about how he used to enjoy simple tomato pasta as a kid, and another line about Franceso, the Italian statesman, being a friend of Eleanor's. Takes place roughly a year after the events of Ch 1, so Liam is over 7 years old.
Recipes for Spaghetti al Pomodoro:
Chef Carlo Cracco
Vincenzo's Plate
#choices fanfic#king liam#prince liam#eleanor rys#the royal romance#the royal heir#trr#trr fanfic#series: eleanor's kitchen#cfwc fics of the week#choicesmonthlychallenge
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would you eat
spaghetti bolognese but theres also corn in the sauce
napoli but theres corn in the sauce
no sauce, just stir fried veggies
bolognese but with veggies also
cheese/cream sauce with broccoli
only the first two (cuz i dont like broccoli and 90% of veggies i wont eat)
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For ask: 62 🍕
Thank you for asking, dear! 🌼🌼
62. What's the best pizza topping?
The ones I usually order are the best in my opinion: prosciutto which is tomato sauce, mozzarella and ham and Napoli, with tomato sauce, mozzarella and anchovies. The pizza here in in Italy is really something else.
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Hi hi. Ate out for lunch today and donated blood so things are a bit different 😇
Gym - strength and conditioning class
Vanilla protein w water
3km walk
Coffee, 2 scrambled eggs w chives and dukkah and 2 slices of toast
Lamb orecchiette w Napoli sauce, coffee
Small bag of Cobs popcorn, a mini rocky road bite, a cheese and an apple popper (after donating 🩸)
Sous vide scotch fillet with potato, corn and a small dinner roll
Lots of guess work today but I’m confident I’m still in a good range and making decisions that will benefit me in the long run.
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1. BBQ pork ribs, cooked and seasonal to perfection 1kg
2. spaghetti mussels contains pork
chorizo, mussels, salmon, confit cherry tomatoes & rocket in napoli sauce
3. whole lobster
whole lobster cooked in your choice of; gremolata, lemon butter or chilli lemon jus,
topped with melted mozzarella & parsley on a bed of rocket served with chips & garlic bread
4. oysters dozen natural and mornay
@crinitis Italian resturant
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There is no place for cheese, olives, anchovies, or basil in the authentic 🇮🇹 pizza marinara recipe! Also, avoid using premade tomato/marinara/pizza sauce. . ➡ Submit your local food and tag #tasteatlas . #traditionalfood #golocal #traditional #eatlikealocal #pizza #pizzamarinara #italianfood #italy #pizzanapoletana (at Napoli, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChcYyLroe0A/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#tasteatlas#traditionalfood#golocal#traditional#eatlikealocal#pizza#pizzamarinara#italianfood#italy#pizzanapoletana
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