tortuga torta.

tartles?
ugh.
don't be dumb.
that's a horrible name.
there are turtle tarts, though,
happening right now in the woodsly goodness.
that's a thing you don't want to miss out on, for sure-
check the teleport:

mmhmm.
creamchee' puff pastry pressed into minimuffin cups,
and baked at high heat make it crunchy.
roasted cashews are like the butteriest ones already-
basically,
they're the avocados of the nut world, right?
...kinda.
anyway,
roasted cashews were sittin' pretty, and pretty lonely,
inside those crispy buttercups until i drizzled some expertism on 'em.
no,
really.
in almost completely ummeasured amounts,
i heated up some buttery earth balance blops,
and some vanilla,
and about a cup of coconut sugar-
which tastes pretty amazing all on it's own.
when that started to bubble,
i added in a few sips of vanilla soymilk to thin it back out,
and keep it from burning up to the bottom of the pot.
why would i doo-doo that freaky saucy sh!t??
because i was making caramel for the turtles.
c'mon.
what are you?
not paying attention at all?
word up.
caramel is for werewolfen full-moon gyspsy bakers, i think.
at least it is over here, at any rate.
once it got all runny and sticky and thin,
i added a tablespoon or two of flour,
and whisked it into a thick molassesy syrup of excellence.
and then i poured it ALL over those nuts.
mmhmm.
the coconut sugar tastes kinda caramel in the first place,
so this was really an expert explosion of accurate recreative action.
wooooooord.
once that cooled (quickly, at that)
i melted a whole mess of dark chocolate and cocoa together,
and slid a few stripes of THAT all over the tops,
letting it slather and slide into all the empty spaces.
damn.
it feels good to activate those snappy turtles.
of course,
those only add up to perfect tens, y'know?
and that's not nearly good enough for us, now is it?
no way,
so to take 'em to eleven,
there are great big diamonds of sea salt crystal sprankles on top.
that's right.
salted caramel chocolate cashew creamcheese-puff-pastry tartlets.
one-bite bombs of burly brutal barbaric battle-beast browns and beiges.
we do what we do over here...
and what we do best is get all kinds of sexy in the kitchen.
we play to our strengths, neighbors.
what else would we do?
be weak-sauce diaperbabyish nancypantses?
not very likely.
treats on treats on treats on treats.
that's what these days and nights have become.
sugar and spice and everything nice.
and that's not so terrible, now is it?
food forever,
and nothing else.
shark gluttons unite, and eat it all up.
***********
werewolves.
y'know?
raging stormswept savages.
yep.
full moons and sour forecasts and wild mood swings in the natural realm.
that's the stuff that seems to sustain the days and nights up here.
and it's certainly the way the supposed sleepytimes are unfolding.
lunatics and blue nightlights and magnetic pulls, pushes, pokes, and prods.
the iron in my blood and in my will are both getting drawn upwards and onwards.
that's that shapeshifting hair-trigger-happiness that comes from flippin' the F* out
as the clouds parts and the big circle in the dark fastdraws it's claws into the sky.
wow.
what i mean is-
sleep isn't so good when the moon is full,
and i feel like that makes me want to do more things,
even harder and faster.
i'm a little snappish,
and a lot peckish,
and i'm stuffing my face and clenching my fists and biting my tongue.
ummmm.
our infinite nature can't be escaped, only directed.
i'm headed downwards, on the up and up.
i think that's right;
never quiet, never soft.....