Sushang was eager. Very eager. Her wide grin could almost be mistaken for excitement—or was it fear? Either way, she was excited to try what you had prepared for your meal. After all, she was always willing to test her strength against challenges, even culinary ones.
Sitting at the table with her chopsticks poised, Sushang watched you carefully lift the lid from the steaming dish. Her eyes widened with hope, but as the lid was removed, a heavy, ominous cloud of smoke wafted up. Sushang’s eye twitched uncomfortably, but she pushed forward, determined to taste the dish.
A single bite.
The moment it hit her tongue, her entire face went pale. Her hand quivered as she swallowed—if you could even call it swallowing. Her stomach churned in rebellion, but her pride prevented her from showing weakness. For a few moments, Sushang managed to sit still. And then…
BAM!
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her chopsticks dropped, and she slumped forward onto the table with a loud thud.
"Th-the flavor... it’s... it’s like… poison, but worse." Her voice came in a dazed, muffled tone from beneath her arms.
You winced and muttered an apology, unsure whether Sushang had actually fainted or was simply overwhelmed by the sheer force of the meal. Either way, it was clear that your cooking had struck a blow greater than any battle wound.
Feixiao always thought she could handle anything. She’d survived a life of violence, fought against abominations and enemies alike—how bad could a home-cooked meal really be?
When you called her over to try your cooking, she arrived with a casual, confident stride, expecting a delightful meal to complement her otherwise personality. But then the smell hit her—overpowering, strange, and almost wrong.
She eyed the dish warily, an unusual shudder running down her spine. "You... want me to eat this?"
Her heart told her she could handle anything. Her pride as a general told her she had no fear.
But as she took that first bite, her world shifted in a way it never had before. The moment the food touched her tongue, the fury of Moon Rage coursed through her. Not because of her affliction, but because her body rebelled against the impossible texture and the flavor so harsh that it nearly shredded her soul. Feixiao's eyes widened, her hand shot to her mouth, and before she could control herself, she vomited onto the floor.
“That,” she coughed, gasping for breath, “is a weapon of mass destruction.”
Her ears drooped, a rare moment of vulnerability seeping through her usual battle-hardened demeanor. You stared, horrified.
“Don’t worry,” Feixiao said, wiping her mouth and struggling to stay upright, “I’ll... I’ll survive.”
But just as she attempted to regain her composure, the general’s knees buckled, and she crumpled into the nearest chair. “Moon Rage... is kinder than this...” she muttered, slumping down in defeat.
[Header credits]
Qingque had heard the rumors. The food that could make even the toughest warrior faint. She was curious but, above all else, intrigued by the possibility of surviving the meal. After all, as a fan of all things quirky, she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge—no matter how lethal it seemed.
She sat across from you with a small grin on her lips, as if savoring the potential disaster. When the plate was set before her, the aroma was enough to make her eyes water. It wasn’t that it smelled good; no, it was suspicious. But Qingque was brave, so she lifted the chopsticks and took a tiny bite.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. There was an odd, almost humorous flavor to it. Like burnt something with an aftertaste of... did she detect metal? But she kept chewing, determined to understand this creation. The more she chewed, however, the worse it became.
It wasn’t food anymore—it was a force of nature, rising within her, threatening to take over her senses. Her cheeks flushed, her hand clutched the table, and her usually bright eyes narrowed.
“...No... no, this is—”
And then, with the most dramatic flair, Qingque flopped backward in her chair, one hand pressed dramatically to her forehead.
“Please... if there is an Aeon of Hunger, I beg of you... spare me,” she gasped, “I’m... dying.”
You were horrified, muttering frantically as you checked to make sure Qingque was still breathing. “Wait, no! You’re not—”
"I’m alive," Qingque groaned, lifting a hand. "But this... this is beyond death. I'm too alive. I don't know what's happening, but this... is not food. It’s a curse."
"I’ve got an order for the Surf and Turf, but looking at this room, I think 'Dirt and Despair' is the only thing currently on the menu."
Ah, the "Good Old Days," where the secret ingredient wasn't love, it was apparently floor-grime and a healthy dash of cigarette ash. This 1951 glimpse into the "back of house" is a health inspector’s fever dream. I particularly admire the gentleman in the center who appears to be flavor-texturing the soup; it really gives "hand-crafted" a whole new, terrifying meaning. It’s a miracle anyone in the fifties survived long enough to invent the microwave.
Sourced from the August 13, 1951, issue of Life magazine.
Notice "60 servings" up at the top? Notice "bulkpack"? I did not. This will be important later.
So.... What do I do with the rest of the chocolate/peanut butter sauce? Do you think I can freeze it? Put it in the fridge and use it as an ice cream sauce for the gallons of ice cream I'll have to eat to use it all up?
What are you most excited about for the future?
Mum was a vegetarian and we grew up on a healthy diet of vegetarian food. Dad introduced us to eating non-vegetarian by taking us to restaurants that prepared them. During those days, chicken tikka with toothpicks sticking out of them was all the rage. I remember gorging on them. We used to polish off 2 or 3 plates in one sitting and then used to…
I’m melting here in Ireland. We are now on our second burst of glorious weather and my poor blog is suffering from neglect, although I am still writing.
So, a little late, here’s one of my columns from the Feelgood in the Irish Examiner from a couple of weeks ago.
Last week, in the honeymoon days of the return of my college children, I became quite emotional as I prepared dinner for the six of…
goo news - mun is feeing bettr den ysterdy!
bd news - she brnt foob to da bottm of da pot
goo news - at leat da hous is nt on fire!
bons bd news - foob tastd liek brnt!
Author: Gyzym
Rating: General Audiences
Fandom: Inception (2010)
Relationship: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Published: 2010-11-26
Words: 2,493
Chapters: 1/1
Summary: "This looks delicious," Eames fucking lies, because the only accurate statement would be This looks like intestines, and he would like Arthur to continue to shagging him.
HERE
Scar’s Thoughts: As you can probably tell, gyzym is a firm fave of mine, and none gets funnier than this one. Their Eames is spot on and every culinary disaster will leave you giggling slightly. think of his spectacular arse, Eames.
