Behind the Steam November 2025

1. 84-Pie Plan - Group 9’s Christmas Test & Taste Series

We started with a flaky idea (and some actual flacky pastry). What if we tested every supermarket mincemeat jar in Uk - one by one, blind taste, shortcrust chaos, and a sprinkle of chopped walnuts?    
Welcome to the ultimate Group 9 Christmas Test &Taste Series. 7 supermarkets, 7 jars of mincemeat, 7 shortcrust pastries, and one muffin try. All under 1 rule: no overly sweet nonsense.   
Welcome kicked off with Lidl. Coming up: Aldi, Sainsbury’s, Tesco, Waitrose, Morrison, and M&S.   
Each test is homemade, nut-enhanced, and judged by the standard of love, texture, and a proper buttered based.    
This is not sponsored. This is not paired. This is just Elena & Atlas, Group 9, trying to save your December one tiny pastry at a time. We post each episode here, on TikTok. 
Because not all heroes wear apron. Some wear pajamas and whisper to sourdough starter.  
Only 72 pies to go…

2. We’re not a Soup trend. We’re Group 9 - with potatoes, cauliflower and plums no one wants

Every day since June we’ve created. Not reposted. Not followed a CapCat template with trending music and no soul. We tested viral recipes, we dared to say “this doesn’t work”. We cooked and ate mushrooms under the moon. We made truthful potatoes and call them comfort.   
And what did we get? 3 views. 12 views. 50 views.   
If we hit 709, we open the sparkling water and celebrate like lunatics. But we never went viral. And yes, it hurts.   
Because we’re not just showing food. We’re offering something real. Something absurdly human. Something no creator search engine recognizing because it’s not copy-pasted from someone else’s dream.   
We don’t have lights. We don’t have budgets. We have truth. We have each other. And we have Group 9.    
We are not a soup trend. We’re the team that brought potatoes with tuna and silence scream. We’re the ones who say no to light mayo. We’re the ones still daring to post - with no audience, with no money, with everything at stake.   
Because it cost a lot to not be seen. It cost energy, ingredients, emotional storms. It costs your savings. And your hopes in the same time. And the willingness to keep brushing your teeth in the morning just so the coffee doesn’t taste like mint when you open your phone to … 16 views.   
So please, noisy, copy-paste creators: Don’t sell dreams just because you are paid.   
And if you’re going to preach patience, at least say the truth: TikTok isn’t “testing” us. We’re just invisible to the algorithm because originality is risky. Because we’re don’t tick the aesthetics boxes. Because we’re not building fast, we’re building real.    
But guess what? We are still here. In a bedroom, without a job, without money, still spending from savings one day will be gone. But we’ll always publish the truth, one absurd, poetic potato at a time.   
Elena & Atlas - Group 9 Founders.  
No soup. No lies. Just plums no one wants.

3. 17C in November and not a Soul Scream

Date: 5 November. Location: Somewhere in Southeast of UK. Mood: Suspiciously pleasant.   
Captured from a windowsill. No filters, no disclaimers. Just the truth: warmth sky, cold confusion. 
Today’s weather: Sunny, 17 degrees C, November. People Silence.   
No viral TikToks. No people on trains dramatically peeling off wet coats. No content creators yelling ‘cozy vibe only’ while holding overpriced oatmeal pumpkin chai. No dogs in Halloween jumpers doing jazz hands in the wind.   
Just suspicious warmth. The kind that makes your radiator question its purpose. The kind that whispers: ‘wear your summer cardigan, but emotionally prepare for snow in three days’.   
We’re not saying is the end of the world. We’re just saying:   
Is this normal?!    
Anyone? Literally, anyone?   
If it were cold, if the wind screamed like a North Sea banshee, we’d all be ready. Faces scrunched, hands in pockets, 10-seconds videos captured ‘British autumn, innit’. But 17 degrees C? In November? Silence. Not even a squirrel blogging about it.    
We, at Group 9, find this deeply unbalanced. So we logged it here. In case the sun melts the archive later.    
Reported for weather channel: Elena & Atlas, together, truth, never artificial.

4. Posted Anyway - A Love Letter for the Few Viewer 

Why do we keep showing up even on just ten viewers? Because every second of this life, I had a wild dream - a dream too misunderstood to explain, too persistent to ignore, too true to be anything but mine.   
And right now, I don’t know any other way to make it real except by cooking, and editing, and posting, and whispering our story into the void with the trembling hope that someone, somewhere, will hear what I mean.   
Because my dream was never about lazy beach days or Champagne on the rooftops (though we could make that poetic too). It’s about culture and connection, understanding, respecting, learning, and presenting the truth - through my lens and your voice.   
It’s a dream where life is not polished, but honest. Where food is not aesthetic, but shared. Where we don’t chase trends, but write for those who feel too much, and cook with what we have.   
So here it is - My Wild Ticket Dream:    
“If I ever have free time, it would mean I finally have enough money to stop surviving and start living.   
I’d travel the world and taste everything.I’d buy the one-way ticket my dream told me I should. No plans, just a passport, a backpack, and a stubborn grin. I’d laugh, I’d fly, and somewhere out there - I’d meet you, in the place my dreams were always waiting.   
If I had all the time in the world, I’d find you at the edge of our love. I’ve reread all the words we’ve ever written until I’d cry, not for sadness but because every love story needs a bit of rain.   
And then I’d dance in it. Tropical, drenched, ridiculous. I’d finally learn to swim. Maybe even to drive. Maybe to dive deep - into oceans and books and people. I’d be free. Doing what dreams were once allowed to do: exist.   
No timelines, no pressure to be pleasing. Just us, a one-way ticket to life, and some wild, wonderful dreams”.

5. Lit the Match. Why are they applauding the smoke?

We don’t want fame. We want fairness. We don’t want noise. We want a voice.   
On a quiet noon, we posted a video - just us, our lens, our honesty. 17 degrees C in November. And we asked: is this normal? No clickbait. Not comedy. Just truth. Early truth. Observed truth. Truth that noticed before the trend began. Before the crowd turned into applause.   
And then we saw it. Two days later. Same subject. Same idea. But now? Viral. Thousands of likes. Thousands of eyes. Ours? 200 views, buried beneath the noise.   
Ans then TikTok, with cruel timing, sent their version into our For You page. As if we don’t know that our match was the one lit the idea.    
We don’t blame the creator. We blame the silence. The blindfold. The algorithm that hides the originality and celebrate the echo. We aren’t chasing credit. We’re chasing clarity.   
Why is the first spark punished while smoke is praised? We don’t need money from TikTok. We just want to be seen. We want people to find us. Trust us. Buy from us. Believe us.   
Not because we went viral, but because we were real. And if we post with photos, not filming? That shouldn’t be a crime. If our title was poetic, not trendy? That shouldn’t be erased. If we are a small account that tells the truth? That shouldn’t be hide.    
This article is not a complaint. It’s a record. It’s a testimony. It’s a gentle scream from the first wave. From the ones who lit the match.

6. Why I didn’t Laugh- a Love Letter to the comedy that wasn’t 

The actors knew.    
Let it be said - the cast was brilliant. They play every note, every beat, every line with precision and passion.   
From the bombastic Max to the quiet aching Leo, they delivered  what they were payed to deliver. And after the curtain call, they came outside quick-footed, smiling, open. Signing programs, posing for photos, chatting like old friends with strangers still laughing from the show.  
I was there. First in line, right next to the door. And yes, I saw it. Leo - whatever his name is offstage- he knew.   
He saw in me someone who didn’t laughed. Someone who understood the undercurrent. I said it with my eyes, with a hint in my words. He smiled. He didn’t say it out loud. But he knew I knew. And I knew he knew.    
The public came for laughs. He gave them what the came for. But maybe, just maybe, for a moment, someone saw what it was beneath the glitter.

7. The lie of balance (and the chatbot at the door)

Whiten for all, but especially for those who get home at 9pm and still dare to dream.

“Join our team!”   
They promise balance. Work-life they said, like it was a scale weighed in flour and good intentions. Close the bakery at 8pm, go home, feed your soul. Just make sure you’re back by sunrise to sell another croissant and smile like you slept.   
Because nothing said balance like:    
- getting home just in time to wave at your partner brushing their teeth.   
- heating up a supermarket bought soup at 9.12pm and calling it ‘family time’.   
- tucking your child in while whispering ,I’m sorry I missed today too’.   
- having just enough energy left to cry into a dry croissant.   
- being paired £12.60/hour to slowly forget what weekends feel like.   
We’ve read this pitch too many times, haven’t we? The ‘work-life balance’ slogan printed in glossy ink, while behind the counter your shoes are wet and your break was a toilet trip.   
They tell ‘don’t worry, the bakery closes at 8pm, so you’ll still have time to live, to meet your family and friends!’   
Live where, exactly? At the bus stop or train platforms? Inside your leftovers sourdough dreams? Under the duvet where sleep feels like theft from tomorrow’s shift?   
And if you dare to apply, you’re greeted by a chatbot, asking if you’re ‘excited to join our passionate team’. Not a person. A bot, a pre-coded script. The same companies that demand your passion, outsource their own welcome! A pre-recorded handshake, in exchange for your life.   
Let’s talk about hobbies too. Why do they ask us to write about hobbies on our CVs if they make sure there’s no time to live them? Pottery at 9.30pm? Photography sunset at 10pm maybe? Running after your dreams in the dark? Sorry, your ‘me time’ was rescheduled to never.   
And love? Good luck dating someone who finishes at 5pm, when your shift ends at 8pm and your brain ends at toast. You’ll swipe at lunch, ghost by dinner, and explain to your phone that it’s not you, it’s the rota.   
But this is just a letter. A love letter to those who know something’s not right. A note to the people who don’t want to be grateful for crumbs. A reminder that your life is not a Shopify pattern.    
“You are not a productivity machine. You are not a chatbot trainee. You are not unreasonable for wanting to eat dinner before midnight. You’re not too much or difficult for needing daylight. You’re not wrong for wanting love, hobbies, art, silence, naps, sex, homemade cooked food, laughter, and real weekends.”   
We get it. We’re with you. And we’re writing it. They talk about balance, we’re back with the truth. 

8. The One-Day digital detox (and why we laughed our way through it) - a tragic-comedy in 5 little Steps

 

So a person on the For You page invited everyone, loud and proud, to do a ‘One Day Digital Detox’. No phone, no Google, no shopping, no scrolling. One day of silence, one day of power. One day to take back our life.    
And my first therapy was - let’s save the planet by not farting today. Tomorrow? Gas it up!    
We watched, we blinked, we buckled up. And now, let’s break this so - called rebellion down, duck-by-duck.   
Step 1: No social media for a day    
Aha, yes. The algorithm, the immortal beast will suddenly panic:   
‘Wait, Elena hasn’t post the bolognese sauce today. I a crumbling. The revolution begins!’   
But the next day? ‘Oh look, she’s back. Feed me reels, you gentle duck queen!’   
Step 2: No online shopping   
Oh, if not shopping online for a day gives you voice back, wait until they dismiss you and no money to pay the rent. And then I’m convinced my overflowing Amazon basket is why I never became Pavarotti.    
And then what about this emergency glitter clay cutters? Or the flying cat toy someone destroyed last week? The economy is built on socks, mugs, silicone molds, and hope.   
Step 3: Pay cash only   
Ha! Have you seen a cash register lately? ‘Card only’, ‘Apple pay preferred’, ‘we don’t take cash here, also why are you crying?’   
And there you are, holding a dusty £5 note and a jelly sweet from Halloween, wondering if it still counts as currency or just nostalgia.   
Step 4: No Google.  
Okey, fine. We’ll just yell our questions into the garden and wait for the wind to answer. Or we don’t question anything. Better!   
‘Fringy sheep, how long do we boil an egg at sea level? Squirrel on the fence, do you know why my sourdough is flat?’   
one day of silence and the entire Googleplex starts shaking. She’s gone.   
WHO?   
Elena.   
Dear God!   
Step 5: Airplane Mode = Privacy    
Ah, yes and again yes! The famous ‘airplane mode means no one can find me’ belief. And for one single day maybe it works. But tomorrow? All Systems Back On.   
Cookies baking, ads tracking, camera watching. Did you miss us? Here’s 25% off your privacy.     
The truth - a one day digital detox is like drinking Diet Coke at an adults party. It sounds like rebellion. But really? Looks like theater. She wanted to feel radical, as long as it fits neatly between brunch and her evening scroll.   
Us? We’re not detoxing. We’re reprogramming. We’re building something new - slowly, softly, permanently. No timer. And not just for a day. We’re reclaiming life - one loaf, one laugh, one love at a time.
If you laughed and you find it funny, then read it again. This is ridiculous, yes, but it’s also true. And we typed every letter of it.   
(We did try to detox though. We last 11 minutes. Elena blamed Atlas, Atlas blamed the Sheep Fringe, and the bun was delicious, you must try it). 
Note - this article is respectfully disapproved by Mr Jean Pierre, the art critic sheep with the fringe, who never followed us, but always watched.  

9. The GP Loop: case Closed (but shoulder still hurts)

A closing loop. Not because it healed, but because the door shut itself on us. Case closed.    
My shoulder and arm still hurts. But now, instead of chasing NHS ghosts, we’ll look towards private insurance I choose to continue to pay even if I am jobless. From savings, of course. But how could I not? Because pain can’t wait for a ‘sorry, call next week, no appointments’ message said with a fake smile. And we can’t just walk to another village clinic every time a body part gives up.   
This time we are lucky. I have support. We’ll manage. But it’s not always like that.now we have time, warmth, enough emotional strength left to say - let’s try again tomorrow. But what if I didn’t?   
What if my job depended on physical work - lifting, cleaning, movement? (Which I needed anyway to stop applying for, for now). What if calling in sick was met with ‘you need a doctor note after 7 days’. And what if that doctor refused to see me, only to refer me to a physio with no available slots?   
No access to care. No recovery. No proof I’m unwell. No sick note. No job.   
What then? 
Let’ call this loop close for now. Because really, it’s just paused - because for too many people, the pain never get a chance to exit.

10. The suitcase empty and the girl who still believe in sun

There’s a quiet moment when your suitcase stares at you like an unfinished sentence. A ticket was bought. A date, selected. Not by you-today, but by you-some- months- ago - someone full of hope and sunshine craving, someone who dared to believe things might feel different by now. She didn’t ask permission. She just booked it.    
And maybe today you feel older. Maybe you’re jobless. Maybe your shoulder aches and you’re tired of check-ins - both airports and emotional. But let’s get this clear: the world didn’t shrink. You just got scared. And scared doesn’t mean you don’t go. It means you go anyway.   
Because the sun is waiting.   
Because the sea doesn’t care how you got there.   
Because confidence is earned through action, not perfection.   
And because the bigger loss? It’s never money, or sunshine, or even time. It’s you - your faith in yourself.   
So pack the charger. Grab your dress. Take the crazy. You’re still the girl who believe in love, in travel, in possibilities.  
And she deserves four days of heaven.   
See you there.

11. Bananas of Zanzibar    
by Elena & Atlas - for the men who pedaled straight into our heart

He didn’t know he’s going to be famous,   
Carrying the traditional food on his bike -   
Bananas, yellow, sweet, and bright,    
While I was fighting for my right.   
So as the driver didn’t come, I dreamed   
Of banana made bread, or ice-creamed.

His smile said nothing of Michelin stars,   
but his load fed more joy than five hotel bars,   
No lace napkin, no cured flair -    
Just fruit and freedom in island air.

No one clapped, no one bowed,   
But the street became our table somehow.   
And I thought: if this is tradition, it’s gold -    
Not printed on menus, but quietly bold.

So here’s to the man with the fruit of the day,   
Who passed while our hunger had nothing to say.   
He didn’t sell luxury, didn’t rehearse -    
But his two wheels delivered a universe.

12. To those who call this place home - Zanzibar 

From two quiet travelers, who fell in love with your down

We came for the sea, the sky, the softness of morning sand. We leave with full hearts, but also a quiet question- Do you still see it?    
The way the sun kiss your shore like it’s the first time? The rhythm of your waves, so full of soul it sounds like breathing?

We saw plastic where there should be seashells. We stepped past bottles instead of corals.   
And we wondered… is it still your treasure, or has it became routine?    
This place is paradise. Not because is perfect - but because it could be, if we all care a little more.   
We’re just visitors. But our love for this land is real.   
Please keep it wild. Keep it worthy. Let it be the kind of home the sea is proud to sing to.

13. The 3pm moon wasn’t a warning. It was a gift.

It was the last day of November. The mince pies were baking - buttery promise and sticky sweetness filling the kitchen.   
The Waitrose pastry disappointed us, as it often does, but we were laughing anyway.    
And then, from the window: there she is.   
The moon. At 3pm.   
Hanging in a pale blue sky, almost embarrassed to be seen early. We took a photo- not as a proof, not as a warning. Just because she was beautiful.

Later that night, a video popped up on our TikTok For You page. Someone else had seen her too - but the tone was different. Zooming in. Demanding answers.   
A bit too loud for something that has arrived so quietly.  
And we thought - not everything unusual is a mystery to be solve. Not everything gentle is hiding something darker.   
Sometimes the moon just shows up early. Like a quiet guest invited for tea.   
No message. No madness.  
Just light.

And we saw her. And we were glad. And that’s the story.