Tomato Salad with Croutons

Ingredients

4 slices white bread

1 shallot

1 clove garlic

1/4 tsp salt

Ground black pepper to taste

3 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp Parmesan cheese

450 g cherry tomatoes

1 tbsp red wine vinegar

1/8 tsp salt

1 pinch sugar

1 handful fresh basil

Slice each tomato in half lengthwise and arrange cut-side up on a platter. Whisk together the vinegar, olive oil, salt, sugar, and black pepper in a small bowl. Pour the mixture over the tomatoes.

Prepare the croutons. Preheat the oven to 175 degrees Celsius. Finely chop the shallots to make about 2 tablespoons. Crush or press the garlic.

Cut the bread into pieces and place in a food processor. Process until coarse crumbs form. You can also tear the bread into small pieces by hand.

Place the bread on a baking sheet and toss with the shallots, garlic, salt, ground black pepper, olive oil, and grated Parmesan cheese until the croutons are evenly coated.

Bake the croutons until golden brown, about 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the oven and let cool slightly.

Sprinkle the crushed croutons over the tomatoes. Garnish with chopped basil and serve immediately.

Enjoy!

Perigord Salad

Ingredients

Chicken (liver) 500 g

Avocado 1

Chinese cabbage 1

Tomato 5

Eggs 4

Lemon juice

For the dressing:

Mayonnaise 5 tbsp

Ketchup 2 tbsp

Cognac 1 tbsp

Salt to taste

Wash the liver, cut into medium-sized pieces, salt, and fry in vegetable oil over high heat for 4-5 minutes, stirring constantly. Set aside.

Cut the Chinese cabbage (only the outer leafy part) into strips and arrange on a platter. Slice the avocado and arrange on top of the cabbage. Drizzle with lemon juice. Cut the hard-boiled eggs into quarters and the tomatoes into 6 pieces each. Place the avocado on top, leaving a space in the center. Place the liver in a mound in the center.

Prepare the dressing. Drizzle some over the salad, and serve the rest in a sauceboat so everyone can add their own dressing to their own plate.

Enjoy!

I want to sleep

!

It all started when my boyfriend broke up with me. I fell into depression and stopped hanging out with friends. All my thoughts were focused on how unfair life was to me, what I'd done to deserve this treatment, and so on. I developed terrible insomnia. I fell asleep quickly, but there would come a point at night when I'd wake up and start doing what I loved – lying there thinking about how miserable my life was, while also gossiping about my ex. I only managed to fall asleep in the early morning. After trying all the folk remedies for this affliction, I gave up, went to the pharmacy, and bought some ordinary sleeping pills. My health was starting to be in danger with this kind of lifestyle.

After taking another dose of my sleeping pills, I fell asleep quickly that night. However, my sleep didn't last long. I woke up to the sound of some kind of creature jumping on the edge of my bed, rocking it so hard it creaked. Drowsy and exhausted, I propped myself up on my elbows to figure out what was going on. The following scene met my gaze: a small, furry creature with horns and hooves was dancing playfully at my feet, crumpling the blanket. Just like the devil! It was pointing with its paw, or maybe its hand, I don't know, straight at the chandelier. The light from the window illuminated the loop-shaped structure well. I felt no fear at all. Completely certain that this was either a dream or a cruel joke of my exhausted body, I simply turned to the wall and tried to fall asleep. Needless to say, I failed, as the bed was shaking. Oddly enough, it didn't bother me at all; I repeat, I was sure it was a dream. I couldn't think of anything better to say than to shout, "Get lost, I want to sleep!" across the room. I said it with such indignation and brazenness that the jumping creature calmed down a bit and hopped off somewhere, disappearing into the darkness. Drowsy and tired, I lay back down and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up with my favorite headache. When I got out of bed, I was overcome first by surprise, and then by a terrible feeling of dread. My belt, which I had personally bought last year, was dangling from my chandelier in the sunlight. It was tied in a loop, twisted in a strange and incomprehensible way. On weak legs, I walked closer – yes, hanging myself with my weight from such a flimsy structure would be difficult. Further confirmation that the night visitor wasn't a figment of my imagination came from my blanket—its entire lower half was so mangled and torn, as if a car had driven over it. At that moment, I was trying to figure out what had happened. Terrified, I carefully examined the scene. Still unable to comprehend what had happened, I returned to my normal life. Life slowly improved, my insomnia subsided. I don't go near sleeping pills anymore...

Salsa Salad

Ingredients

4 tomatoes

1 red onion

1 green chili pepper

1 clove garlic

3 sprigs green onions

1 handful cilantro

Lime juice

1/2 tbsp olive oil

Salt

Ground black pepper

Dice the tomatoes. Remove the seeds from the peppers and finely chop. Chop the garlic.

Chop the onion.

Finely chop the green onions.

Then chop the cilantro.

Juice half a lime in a bowl.

Place the vegetables and herbs in the same bowl.

Season with salt, pepper, and oil. Mix well. 

Bon appétit!

Tattoo

I recently decided to get a tattoo. Well, after browsing a couple of websites, I finally found the right person. The artist lived in my city, in a different neighborhood. After looking at the prices and photos of his work, I decided to get a tattoo. The work was incredibly realistic, whether it was a rose on a girl's shoulder or, for example, a sleeve (a full-arm tattoo, from shoulder to wrist) on a guy. I've always been attracted to quality. So, having taken the required amount, I called the artist and headed to his place. Half an hour by bus, and I was there.

The artist's apartment amazed me. On the walls were photographs of his work that seemed alive. It was as if that snake would start writhing and hissing, or that dagger would actually start bleeding, the blood that was on its blade. I was also impressed by the artist himself, covered in an incredibly large number of drawings. First, we drank tea in his kitchen and talked. He admitted he'd done all the designs himself, which gave me even more respect for him. We then went into the room, where I chose a design for myself—a beautiful ligature of floral and technological motifs. The artist set to work, and soon everything was ready. Very pleased with the work, I paid and went home.

A week later, the tattoo had healed and taken its final form. The realism of the work clearly exceeded 100%. Everything was fine for the next couple of days. But one night, I woke up in the bathroom and was a little taken aback: in the mirror, I saw a completely different tattoo—a tangle of many sharp blades, curving at unimaginable angles. I thought, "Oh well, I'll call him in the morning and figure it out." But that morning, I was already preoccupied with another problem. I woke up in a bloody bed. My arm was completely clean, save for a few deep cuts where the edges of the blades in the design had touched my skin. I immediately recalled my thoughts from the previous day and started dialing the tattoo artist's number. But to my surprise, the operator's voice said the number was out of service. Okay, I treated my wounds, got dressed, and, without even having breakfast, went to his place. Imagine my surprise and disappointment when, after half an hour of knocking, no one answered. Even the neighbors, who had peeked out from their apartments to see my efforts, asked me not to break in, as no one had lived there for a long time. But how could they? After all, I had just been there, drinking tea in the kitchen, listening to the whirring of the machine, and feeling the pain of the needle!

Having achieved nothing, I went home. For a couple of days, I forgot about the tattoo artist, about the drawings that seemed alive. I lived my normal life. But a week ago, I woke up at three in the morning from a terrible pain in my shoulder. More blood. I went to the bathroom... and that's where I became truly scared. A terrifying-looking dagger was etched into my shoulder, one I seemed to have seen among the works of that very same artist. It pierced my skin, and where it had made contact, a large puncture wound already gaped, bleeding profusely. I broke out in a cold sweat. I hadn't expected this turn of events. Again, having quickly stopped the bleeding, I went to the hospital. The doctor, after examining my wound, said that such a wound could indeed be left by a bladed weapon. After listening to my explanation, he advised me to see a psychiatrist. He even started writing a referral. I jumped up from my chair and left. Home.

Now I live in perpetual panic. The day before yesterday, I discovered a drawing of a snake on my chest in the morning, and later that evening, this slithering creature was hissing on the floor of my bathroom. The drawing disappeared. But I began to truly fear for myself yesterday. A twisted chain of barbed wire began to appear around my neck...

An Incident in the Garage

This happened to me a couple of years ago. I was dating a man at the time. Let me tell you right away: I'm in my early thirties, and he's in his late forties. We're both adults and quite sane.

It was February. I was at work from morning until night, and we didn't get a chance to meet for quite some time. Finally, we agreed to meet after work. The thing is, we couldn't go to my place because I have a mother and son at home, and we couldn't go to his place either, since he has a wife and two sons at home. So we always met in his car. In the summer, we'd drive out of town to "admire the scenery," and in the winter, we'd hang out in his garage. His garage was clean and decent, with a permanently open pit and a pile of odds and ends on the shelves. The garage faced a wooded area, like about fifty other similar garages nearby.

 We were sitting in the car. He'd turned on the engine to keep warm, and he'd opened the garage door slightly so we wouldn't choke on the exhaust fumes. He'd secured the door with a piece of rebar—no one from outside could get in, even if they really wanted to.

We were listening to music, drinking cognac with candy from plastic shot glasses, and laughing. By the time it all started, we weren't even halfway through the bottle. And then suddenly we heard a sound. Anyone who's driven on a narrow road with bushes on either side knows that sound—branches scraping against the car's body. But this time, it wasn't just the sides that were scraping, but the underside of the car as well (and there was an open hole underneath!).

"What the hell? I'll go and check—maybe a dog ran in," my friend muttered and started to get out. I grabbed his hand in horror—what kind of dog could there be on all sides of the car, especially in a hole?

 At the same time, I looked out the windshield and... saw nothing. The headlights were on, and until then I'd clearly seen the wall with the things hanging on it—a hose, a fire extinguisher, and a duffel bag—but now I saw nothing but pitch-black darkness. It was the same on all sides. I turned my head toward the man and saw that he was either asleep or unconscious. Terrified, I began shaking him. The scratching sound didn't stop for a moment. Panicking, I glanced out the window several times, only to see the same darkness there. I was tempted to peer more closely, but my subconscious told me better not.

Finally, he groaned and woke up, cursing slightly and wondering why he'd "passed out." I looked around again and saw the shelves and tools, the hose, the fire extinguisher, and the razor blade... It was as if the scratching sound had never happened.

I tried to find out from my friend what it was—he looked at me like I was an idiot. My romantic evening was ruined, and he drove me home. I went up to my apartment and called him from my cell phone to let him know I was okay. Meanwhile, I looked out the window at him pacing around his car, carefully examining the sides, as if he was looking for something—maybe he was looking for scratches.

I tried to bring the incident back to the conversation several times later, but he stubbornly avoided answering. We soon parted ways.

Failure

Three years ago, my friends and I went on that fateful hike. We hiked with tents and large backpacks. Our destination was a small mountain 25 kilometers from our town. We reached it in about nine hours. We set up camp at the foot of this very mountain and began to rest. The place was very beautiful, and we enjoyed the peace after a long journey under the scorching sun.

In the morning, when we woke up, we discovered that Alyosha, our leader, had lost his GPS navigator, as he had an idiotic habit of carrying it in a zippered mesh pocket.

"Don't worry, people!" he said cheerfully. "We'll go back, we remember the way!"

We headed back, angry at Alyosha. He calmly pretended to remember every bush.

Three hours later, we reached a lake that none of us had seen before. But Alyosha said we'd just made a small detour from our previous route, that's all. The water was crystal clear—it would have been a shame not to take a dip. We put our things down, undressed, and waded in.

Alyosha decided to play and started "drown" me. I went under completely, pushed off the bottom, and came up. I was surprised that the lake bottom was sandy, but the surface I'd pushed off was clearly iron and rusty.

I ran out onto the shore screaming, "Ugh, I stepped on something!" Everyone started laughing. Alyosha dove in to check, and there was a sharp creak, like an old rusty door opening. Suddenly, the water began to disappear into the ground, not in one whirlpool, but in sections—here and there. Everyone rushed out of the water—thankfully, they were close to the shore. Only Alyosha was gone...

Before we could process what had happened, the shore itself began to subside. We ran away from the cursed lake, where now only a large hole remained. A children's game of tag, a life-or-death chase... One of us, Dasha, stumbled, but we didn't have a second to help her. I heard my friends' screams nearby. My best friend, Anton, had fallen too. I rushed to him, even though the holes were getting deeper and everything around was falling away, but the ground between us gave way, and I couldn't reach him. I saw his eyes as he disappeared under the sand.

I ran on, tears blurring my vision. I don't know how long I ran, I don't remember when exactly the ground stopped collapsing beneath me. I came to when the highway flashed ahead like a gray streak. I started hitchhiking and soon hailed a car. I begged the people in the car to help my friends. We walked back to the lake together, though I felt lousy and was afraid to take another step.

We didn't find any lake, and neither did my friends. The ground was smooth—sand, grass... The sinkhole swallowed us up and disappeared without a trace.