french recipes: if you’re not making this in paris then what’s the point. fuck you
italian recipes: use the left leg meat of a pig from one of three farms in this specific area of tuscany, or from this day my grandmother will begin manifesting physically in your house
american recipes: buy these three cans of stuff and put them in a pan congrats you cooked
chinese recipes, as handed down from mother to child: season it with a pinch of this and some of that. you want to know the exact amount? feel it in your heart. ask the stars. yell into the void.
English recipes: boil and salt it. Okay that’s it enjoy
Greek recipes: You followed all the right steps but this isn’t quite right. I don’t know what to tell you.
Australia recipes: chuck it on the barbie
Latinx recipes: you will never make it better than your abuela, face the facts
Armenian recipes: spend eight days laboring over the stove. the food will be flavorful with the sacrifice of your sanity. no one will appreciate it.
Canadian recipes: It either needs more bacon, more maple syrup, more gravy, or an unholy combination of the three
Polish recipes: you have to toUCH THE DOUGH, FEEL THE PIEROGI IN YOUR HEART, TOUCH IT. LICK IT. SMELL IT.
Every time I see this post, I learn more about how different countries’ cuisines AND neuroses.
Indian recipes: there are 500 cuisines and that means 500 versions of this dish that has 500 spices so gl
ashki jewish recipes: no, no. no. more onion.
internet recipes: here is a heartwarming story about my baby sister’s third birthday that i completely made up, and a copypaste from alton brown.
Irish recipes:
ive heard irish people claim they thought the potato thing was unjustified- untill they found out in the rest of the world waffles are not made of potatoes
why does every girl in a doujinshi have to nut like “uuuuuww! noooo! your hot stuff is inside me! its pouring inside me! oh no!!! your hot stuff is in me now! ill get pregnant with your hot stuff! ohhh! not inside me!!”
me when i eat soup lol
the fuck kinda soup you eatin?
some really good fuckin’ soup
How do you have a reaction image for THIS POST, at THIS MOMENT, for THIS CONTEXT
i walk into starbucks and order a pumpkin spice latte with 13 shots of espresso. i tell the barista that i intend to transcend humanity and become a god. i ask for no whip cream
you say this jokingly but i had a customer actually order a pumpkin spice latte with 9 shots of espresso (also no whip) and when i asked her to verify that she did indeed want 9 shots of espresso she looked me dead in the eyes and said “i have 5 kids”
I once had a woman come in and ordered an Americano with 19 shots of espresso. The drink took ages. It held up the line. I asked her why, and she shrugged and said “I just don’t care”. We still talk about that woman. We never saw her again.
new cryptid: exhausted woman at starbucks
Actual conversation I had at register:
“Hi, welcome to [Starbucks]! What can I get you, today?”
“How much is it to fill a Venti with Espresso?”
“I- I’m sorry?”
“A venti cup. How much to fill it with Espresso?”
“Oh. uh. Well, it’d be I suppose… I only have a button for a Quad. I don’t have special pricing for twenty ounces of espresso in a single… drink.”
“Price is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many ‘add shots’ is that?”
*deep breath of fear* “It’d be a quad with,” *clears throat* “uh, sixteen additional shots of espresso. But, ma’am, I should tell you that the shots will start to get really bitter if they have to sit and wait for us to pull twenty of them-”
“Taste means nothing to me.”
At this point I am truly fearing for my very existence in the presence of what must clearly be an eldritch being.
“Oh. Well, okay.” I put on my absolute best customer service smile to hide my terror and accept that I must face this dragon, fae, or demon with dignity. “We can certainly get that for you! The price will be _____.”
She begins to pay, I shit thee not, with golden dollar coins. We are a block from Wall Street, and this eldritch demi-being is paying for an unholy elixer with golden coins. My life will end soon, I am sure of it.
“Do you still have the ‘Add Energy’ packets?”
My heart began to race at this request. “Yes ma’am.”
“How many can I add?”
Futile though it is, at least I know the rote response to this. “For health reasons, we won’t add more than one per drink and we cannot sell the packets individually.”
“One then.”
I alter the order and tell her the new price. She pays, dumps the change and five golden dollars into the tip box. I write the order on the venti cup and pass it silently to the girl working the hot beverage station. Normally we called and pass, but this was … not something to be spoken aloud.
My fellow takes the cup, not thinking anything of the minor break with protocol, until she sees the order. She stares at me. “No.”
The woman, which I call her for no other greater insight into her terrifying being is within my grasp, simply stands on the other side and says, calmly but with a commanding tone I expect of Admirals in bad movies, “Yes.”
My fellow barista pales before her task. But we are dutiful, we are true to our task, great though it may be. She sets about clearing the two brand new Matrena’s of all distraction, and sets two tall cups in the ready position. The energy packet is emptied into the venti cup, and the shots begin pouring.
The barista was damn near shaking. This woman’s gaze felt like the fires of the sun. Finally, the shots are pulled, the cup is filled, and the hand off takes place.
Our visiting Incomprehensible takes it to our milk bar and adds a dollop of cream. Satisfied, she proceeds to down what must have been half the damn cup.
Then she smiled at us, like a benediction and I was honestly filled with joy. And horror. She left, and we knew nothing more of her after that.
When I talk with other former employees, we quickly begin talking about “The Company” as if we’d never l, perhaps knowing that part of our soul still powers that awesome and terrible corporate machine. And when I share this stroy, other Baristas at first act shocked but quickly settle and comes the chorus,
“Yeah, I had one like that.”
Okay, Starbucks lore is my new favorite genre of literature. Please collect all these and more into a book.
…I thought Venti Espresso Cryptid was a fever dream my manager had. Good lord.
I’ve been that customer.
Having worked in a coffee shop, I relate with these people. Customers are crazy lol
Back when I worked 12+hour days for 4solid weeks I mixed 2scoops of MR.Hyde the pre workout I was taking and the triple shot cafémocha I was drinking. Mr.hyde had something like 400mg a scoop.
I pretty much entered the speedforce after it all kicked in. I made more of a mess at work than actually getting any work done. I honestly don’t remember that whole day. My boss told me everyone was afraid to talk to me.
Soooo I’ve had a customer coming through drive get a Venti 20 shot latte. And it took forever…. it was basically the entire venti cup of espresso plus a bit of steamed milk at the top… I don’t want to know how bitter that would be but no thank you. People are crazy. We’ve also had people come in and get a Trenta (32oz) cold brew (already bitter and high in caffeine) with 9 shots and 12 pumps of vanilla…. people are nasty
@danakristenn how abput that lady with 30 pumps of vanilla syrup
16 oz of vacuum brew and a priest.
Because 16oz of vacuum brew is approaching LD50 for most people.
Sorry for ruining this post but as someone who’s a protection manager for stuff like nerve and blood agents, LD50 isn’t a term you can use with the phrase “for most people.” It literally means at that concentration 50% of people exposed die.
Also caffeine’s LD50 is at around 90mg per Kg of body weight. So if someone weighs 70Kg (154lb) then it would take 6.3g of caffeine to reach the median lethal dose. That is a literal fuck ton of caffeine. But for comparison, a 20 shot venti espresso has roughly 4.24g of caffeine. Y’all deal with some crazies.
That is absolutely a positive addition to this.
i read this entire post and my anxiety is through the fucking roof
MCU Bucky: lost, confused, sad soft boi, beloved and woobified by fangirls, who can fight and kill when needed but kind of just wants to live in peace, pretty handy with a gun
Comics Bucky: will offer his teammates and their children guns, will be confused by their refusal to arm themselves with guns, will fucken cold as balls call a fully armed Frank Castle out as a failure without flinching, is an actual Asshole who was 10000% confused he was asked to become Captain America when Steve died but takes on the role anyway, with Added Guns, was literally doing the dirty work for Captain America as a cold blooded killer at the tender age of 16
honestly why does Mr. Darcy, a man from the late 1700s and early 1800s, understand that an independent female is an awesome thing more than people from 2017? also he respects her decision to reject him?
myblog 