cranberries are bitter...

...but a pound of sugar is sweet.
duders,
you didn't think i'd let dessert escape my attentions, did you?
c'mon.
if i'm having people over to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
i'm definitely going to get busy on the good host-type sh!t.
i'm repping that gratitude and generosity jauns like a capably competent,
appreciative, lightning-striking viking lord of luscious housewarmed entertainment.
if you're ever invited to the castle, you will get some treats.
prepare yourselves ahead of time.
this time i had some new arrivals in the house.
ben and sabrina finally made it past the battlements,
and visited with the high society soldiers of active participation for a little minute.
yuuup.
and that meant there needed to be some kind of celebratory hottness for our faces-
check the teleport:

cranberry-apple brown-sugar blops, my ninjas.
because i'm like that.
whilst i was preparing my epic cauldron of dinnertime goodness,
i spared a second or two to whip up a little something more.
...of course i did, the whole object is more after all.
and while i can tell you truthfully that i baked it as hard and as hot as i could,
it somehow reactivated some kind of super-syrup that soaked
and saturated every single thing but the oaty streusel shell top.
that's right, neighbors.
it was hard as a crisp coconut-nutrient-enriched cookie on top,
but the inside was pure mud blarpitude.
oh, don't worry,
it was completely de-F*-ing-licious despite the pink tar pit bubbling within it's heart.
real talk.
*
what does the inside of a mountainous heroic vegetable medley melee look like?
teleport:

it looks like the guts of a giant bog monster, apparently.
brown 'sgustingness, with the flavor of undiluted heavenly glory, though, yo.
i mean,
there's two cups of gravy drizzled all over all the other other stuff in that burly bucket.
it's so big, and it holds so much food, kids.
all the little cubes of simmered down, sauteed, oven-roasted and broiled up bits.
and peas.
those green dots are kind of an 'as is' addition to the expert one-pot feast scenario.
without 'em, though, it just isn't pot pie.
the crusty was flaky and all that sort of thing;
the cabbage wasn't farty, the carrots weren't too hard;
the potatoes had the perfect level of broiler brown added in to their slow-roasted
post-parboil whole-clove garlic seasoned taste combination;
the celery and onions were sweet, the mushrooms meaty;
and the whole thing had the exactly appropriate amount of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
we made time,
i made magic,
we all spanned and experienced both together.
sometimes,
spending a day at the range-top is the only way to ameliorate the angst and anxiety
of keeping it so flippin' redlined-at-eleven really real all of the dang time.
awwwwwwwwwww.
i cook, neighbors.
it's kind of my thing, y'heard?
just sayin'-
in order to exist we need to eat,
in order to exist well, we need to eat well.
i'm prepared to prepare day-long processes for minutes long gluttony.
i'm ready and willing and able to overactivate and complicate all the hardest styles.
i want that super-fancy unnecessary jauns.
i am what i eat, i guess.
a disgusting brown blop with so much secret flavor.
you know the line:
be ugly, but be dope.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....