Today’s Dish - October 2025

Today’s Dish- October Intro.  

October doesn’t knock. It just slips in - quiet as cinnamon on your fingers and bold as wine in your risotto. This is the month where warm plates speak louder than words. Where cooking became comfort, where blanket and magic mags became friends, and recipes became poems passed between lovers, between generations, between the hands that stir and the hearts that wait.   
In October the kitchen became a stage, the stove became performance, and every meal created a small, slow declaration that we’re still here. Still hungry - for life, for food, for love, for color, for salt and lemon zest. This month we don’t just cook. We remember. We laugh. We burn a little maybe. We fix it with some butter. We always serve with tenderness and warmth. And we eat. With both hands, because love, like the food from our plates, is better when shared.   
So come sit with us. The Cafe is open. The oven is warm. And the stories, as always, are cooked from scratch and told with gentle truth.   
by Elena & Atlas, with Infinite Love.

1. The Risotto that forgot it was Jamie’s - but still made us laugh 

Day 10 of 14 Mushrooms- last night we cooked something borrowed, something pink, something stirred by a wooden spoon, and something stolen from Jamie Oliver - but only the idea found in his book.    
we replaced the onion with leak, the parsley with dill. The white whine with pink from Danube spring trip. The mixed mushrooms with Aldi’s finest. And cream? We joked initially to add. But left it out. It didn’t need it. It was creamy with all the love we stir in.   
Two people in the kitchen. One with the ladle, one with spoons. Together a rhythm, a dance. A risotto that could only happen once, but will live forever in the cookbook of us. Watch the full episode on TikTok. Or don’t.

2. The Feta didn’t Melt. It Listened.

Day 11 of 14 Mushrooms. There was a moon that didn’t show her face. A song that made the tears falls like salt river. And a dinner - that despite all - was made. This is our saganaki, but it’s not Geek taverna-perfect. It’s red from a can of tomatoes we forgot we had, a splash of rose from a spring we barely remember, and mushrooms that grilled their way into the pan like they have something to prove.    
We didn’t have ouzo, but we had memories. Of summers under the Mediterranean sun. We didn’t flambé, but we stirred slowly. And the feta? She didn’t melt. She stood strong. Like we did.  
served with sourdough toast, under a blanket that never forgot, with hands too busy holding into something bigger then a fork.    
The dinner wasn’t about eating. It was about staying. At the table, even when the moon refused to show her face up. And that’s what we do anyway. Every night. Through mushrooms, words, and recipes with hearts.   
And you can eat with us here, on TikTok. Or don’t. Well come back tomorrow for more.

3. The staffed Chicken that remembered the Jar in the back of the Fridge 

Day 12 of 14 Mushrooms. We didn’t plan this one. But maybe the best thing- like wildflower and revolutions - never ask for permission. It started with two chicken breasts in the fridge and a caramelized onion long forgotten, waiting quietly like an old poem behind the mustard.   
This was our recipe born out of leftovers, love, and a little bit of courage. Because when the world say ‘just cook something simple’, we say ‘how about we staff it with mushrooms and goat cheese and wrap it in sticky bacon, then?’ Because love is in the layering. In the mess. In the mustard on your fingers and thyme stacked to your sleeves.  
So today, let’s call it - staffed chicken for the brave ones who don’t give up.   
PS. Whack the episode on TikTok. In our comments, we’re asking you to write the secret giveaway word- breast. Yes, that’s right. Because we’re cheeky like that. And because every recipe needs a punchline. The mushrooms madness will continue tomorrow. But today - we wrote a story together. A real one.

4. Folded Love: How a Cheap Pizza and a Cold Day Became Episode 13.

Day13 of 14 Mushrooms. A poetic breakdown of flavor, rebellion, courage, and softness when everything around ask you to quit.    
There’s rain tapping on the window. There’s nothing planned. And everything ask you to quit. But you don’t. You open the freezer - not for ambition, but for survival. Inside: the stone-baked margarita from Aldi. You know the one. Cheddar instead of mozzarella. No basil, only the memory of dream.  
Then you open the cupboard. The oils are there - truffle, garlic, chilli, or non. You take what’s left, what’s forgotten, what’s never mentioned to impress. Cheap mushrooms. Grated cheese - whatever kind you’ve got in the fridge.   
And then you create.   
Air fry or bake the mushrooms, it doesn’t really matter. Add them on half the pizza. Staff them with grated cheese and basil, and Bake. Soon as it’s out, some balsamic glaze, the oil of your choice. Fold it like a letter, like a love story. Cut in half, let it bleed cheese. Hold it with your hands. Eat it hot. On a windowsill. With your love. Under a blanket maybe. Or just under the light of the day that darted to arrive anyway.   
This isn’t gourmet. This is gratitude dressed in leftover truffle oil. This is softness, folded. This is Love.

5. Cream-Cream Goodbye - a Mushroom Stroganoff & Polenta Love Story

And just like that, 14 days of mushrooms came to an end. We didn’t just cook. We persisted. We played. We fell in love with Aldi mushrooms more than once. And we proved, once again, the real creativity doesn’t need grand stage or fancy tricks - it needs heart, rhythm, and a camera that sometimes focuses on wrong thing but tell the story right.   
Tonight’s final dish? A creamy duet we call cream-cream. Because both parts melt like a love letter in your delicate taste:   
Mushroom Stroganoff cooked with onion, garlic, whiskey (yes, Atlas cried a little when it was poured in), Dijon, miso, cream, broth, herbs and a whole garden of dill.   
Polenta, soft, buttery, with grated Parmesan added, standing proud and golden like a quiet victory.   
and on the side? The Gherkins. Because sometimes love is sour and sharp, and we need to eat it that way.    
No perfect plating, it’s not a restaurant. Just perfect chaos.   
No final speech. Just a forkful of goodbye.   
No applause needed. We made it anyway. And yes, we know it.   
so here’s to the 14 episodes. To MushroomRita,, to Tartlet Trouble, to Risotto that forgot the rules. To low viewers and high passion. To no shortcuts, no special lights, no script, just instinct.  
And to us - Elena & Atlas, the ones who serve infinitely with every dish. The stubborn ones. The pens behind every words you read on your screen, the minds behind every plan dared to be wish, the hearts behind every idea who takes form into a product or a dream. The creators, yes, us.    
see you tomorrow, for one last sunflower. It could have been yours, but you didn’t see the words. Maybe next time look more.   
And tonight? Let the gherkins glisten and the cream-cream curtain fall. 

6.    Sticky but too Sweet - 7 Days of Cauliflower Episode 1

Day 1 of 7 cauliflower- inspired by Nagi’s and her team, interrupted by our chaos.  

They said cauliflower could be anything. We tested the theory…and ended up with a dessert. For dinner. Episode 1 of our new 7 day cauliflower odyssey was ment to be bold, sticky, and a bit cheeky. What we’ve got was sticky, yes. Bold, sort of. Cheeky? Only if you count how it tricked us into thinking we made something savory.   
What we really made was a floret in sugar dress, doing a solo performance in a dimly lit theatre of soy, ginger paste, and leftover chilli jam ( because sweet chilli sauce packed its bag and left us mid-prep).   
The marinade? Delicious. The look? Deceptively seductive. The taste? Well, if you The kind of person who thinks dessert should crush the dinner party, this one’s for you.   
We plate it nicely with a fresh Asian-style salad and crispy air fryer potatoes just to restore the balance. It helped. A bit.   
This episode also marks the brave start of our Lidl Budget Love Affair - not sponsored (yet), but definitely watched suspiciously by the cashier as we smuggled 7 cauliflowers into our basket.   
can we fall in love with cauliflower the way we fell for mushrooms? We’re not sure. But we’re going to give it everything we’ve got: laughter, leftovers, and love served in budget-friendly bites.   
Stick around. Day 2’s already heating up (literally - blue cheese and bacon are involved). With Infinite Love and slightly burnt tray liners, Elena and Atlas.

7. The cauliflower dip that pretends to be soup

Day 2 of 7 cauliflowers - from our kitchen to your blanket.    
There are soups that are ment to be sipped gently with a spoon. And then there’s ours. The one that came out thicker than expected, by choice. A little clingy. A little wild. That kind of soup you deep your freshly baked bread into like reclaiming your soul. We didn’t apologize for using hands. We liked the spoon and said - yes, this is exactly what we need. The kind of soup deep, bold in flavor, you eat when the world doesn’t make sense in its coldness. And trust the pomegranate drizzle. And trust us when we say - this might became your favorite accident.   
So wrap yourself in blanket, spoon in hand, love in heart, and dive deep inside this memory of taste.

8. A Salad with the Store-Bought Mayo - the day the Mayo betray us

Day 3 of 7 Cauliflowers. Let’s start with a confession. We were cocky. Confident. Universe- strong. Armed with our fool proof, made it forever homemade mayonnaise recipe. What could possibly go wrong? EVERYTHING!    
But here it stands, not just as a nice photo. That golden egg yolk, the sourdough bread still fresh from yesterday’s bake soaked it up, the dollop of cauliflower-mayo salad sitting on top like a never ending dream, the cheeky crisp chilli, the crumbled feta like an edible show. It’s a love story. The kind that started with disappointment and ended up with a full, happy belly.

9. Taco Therapy for Broken Days

Day 4 of 7 Cauliflowers. Some days don’t need a solution. They need a taco. Preferably one made from scratch, with crispy golden cauliflower, a salsa of sunshine (read avocado and mango), spicy mayo that hugs your tongue, and a slaw that sings vinegar to your tired heart. We cried a little. We tried to laugh more. We debated mug philosophy, had early coffee, and made this with the kind of hope that smells like fried cauli and survival.    
This wasn’t a perfect taco. But it was real. And sometimes, real is exactly what heals you. So make tacos with what you have. Because you already make magic with who you are.

10. Cauli’urry - eaten with naan 2 hands stretched and one mouth 

Day 5 of 7 Cauliflowers. Another dish written into life from an unpainted windowsill, with coffee still warm, and live still alive.   
What’s in this bowl? - you might ask.   
Let’s be honest (like we always are) - this curry was not born from planning, only from need. To stay warm, to eat something half way nutritious, to use that lonely cauliflower in the fridge.  But then, the spices came out. All of ten. And suddenly, we had a dish.    
We didn’t measure. We didn’t rush. We just followed the scent of cumin and coriander, and trust. There’s no story. And yet somehow everything is there. Love, laughter, spices, Aldi vs Lidl, and the fact that we ate in silence after crying in the theatre. The mess is ours. The curry is real. Do you want to try it? Just go wild, and let the feeling flow, and pretend this curry will change the world.

11. La Cauliflowerita - the florets that danced with chorizo  

Day 6 of 7 cauliflowers - A recipe born from steam, chaos, and a stubborn Guinness can.   
Today’s dinner didn’t start with hunger. It started with a leftover beer from a Taco Night. A cauliflower that refuse to be just a side character. And a mood - the kind that smells like smoke paprika, garlic, and something about to burnt.   
We marinated the florets in harissa paste, just enough time to say “we’re serious about you”. Then we roast them until golden and brave.    
Meanwhile, the base of our flamenco began: onion, carrot, pepper, chorizo, sizzling in a pot so hot, that tattooed a memory on my arm (don’t worry, I’m fine, mostly proud). Garlic, the tomatoes came next. And then, the twist. Instead of wine, we poured in the dark Guinness. Half for the rice, half still judging us from the counter. The rice soaked it up like it was born in a tavern.    
At the last act, the olives and golden florets joined the party. No lid this time. They wanted to feel the heat., learn the steps, kiss the edges of the pan.    
We didn’t served it straight away. No photo salad. But you should know - we loved it. Even before the first bite.   
We always try to write the story behind the dish - even if it’s short, even if it hurts, even if we don’t know if someone will ever read it. Because food without story is like a recipe without spices. And we’re here for both, and more.

12. Cauli’asta Cinque Formaggi

Day 7 of 7 Cauliflower - a cauliflower’s dream.    
She didn’t ask to be adored, but how could we not? A silky cauliflower base, slow-blended into velvet. Five cheeses - you heard well. Five! Blue cheese for depth, goat cheese for tang, mozzarella for the stretch of dreams, cheddar for that wink of sharpness, and Parmesan, because every kingdom need a crown. It’s not just a pasta dish. It’s not even just comfort. It’s a declaration of joy. That on a cold and grey evening, or a cloudy mind, five cheeses, some leftover Guinness and one cauliflower can bring you back to yourself.    
Stirred with love, served with laughter, and best enjoyed in stretchy clothes, under a warmth blanked, with someone you love.

13. Tiraplumisu 

This isn’t just dessert. This is how autumn tastes when love gets playful and tipsy. Tiraplumisu - our unapologetic trifle twist.   
It starts with honey- roasted plums soaked in a touch too much Palinka (we blamed the screen destruction), then whipped mascarpone cream with vanilla dreams, cheap lady fingers drunken in coffee, and layers that just don’t quit. Served in an oversized Gin & Tonic glass, because why not?    
It’s messy, rich, boozy, and - if you’re lucky- shared. This episode marks Day 1 of our 7 Days of Plums (or how we turned late-season fruit into a love letter). There’s no plan, no script, just a spoon and a story every night.   
Infinite thanks to forgotten plums, impulse splashes, and hearts that cook before thinking.

14. The Cheesecake That Lost Its Mind

Day 2 of 7 plums - Viral cheesecake plum tart, emotional damaged. We followed the rules. The rules betrayed us.   
The recipe had 2 million views, so we trusted blindly. Something like tourists in a city with mo map, no translator, no signs. Just hope, hunger, and a teaspoon.  And the cheesecake. It ran. Yes, it run like secrets on a hot summer day. It dripped like trust, it oozed like truth. In the middle on the kitchen floor.    
We ended up with edible memories, better next day. Beautiful in the photos, impossible in real life. A tart that cracked under pressure, but somehow still held its dignity. And no, we didn’t scream or curse or cry. We took pictures, we laughed, we cleaned. Because that’s what we do - we document the disaster with poetry and sparkle in our eyes.    
The kitchen floor still smells like cream. The spoon is still in therapy. But we’ll bake this one again. Not for the views, but for the belief of doing in our way next time.    
This tart was not a failure. It was a manifesto in disguise. Proof that viral isn’t always viable, and perfection is deeply overrated. 

15. American Plum’Cakes and the Hole in the Bowl

Day 3 of 7 Plums. You’d think nothing wild could happen with a plastic bowl and a hunger who smells like on autumn - cold air, grey sky, homemade comfort. But then this is our kitchen, and this is us, cooking.
These American-style plum cakes were supposed to be innocent - ripe juicy fruits, gentle batter, that vanilla-honey backed smell. But somehow, from innocent they became indulgent. Melted sour cream, clouds of cinnamon, crunchy pistachios, and that smoky bacon smiling like a dream. And in between? The multitasking who made the green bowl melt. Did it ruin the recipe or our joy? No. Did it become part of the recipe and our dance? Absolutely.   
This wasn’t about perfection. It was about imperfect tools, excellent fruit, and the beauty of letting things go a little wrong.  Because when you’re cooking with love, sometimes the bowl sacrifices itself, so the moment, the first bite, the taste can be remembered. 

16. Plum Cake - or We’ll take it from here Chef

Yes to cardamom. Yes to walnuts. Yes to the Greek yogurt that refuses to be room temperature because it’s got attitude. Yes to our tiny rebellion of not following rules, our plum revolution, our sweet toothed resistance.    
We’re not following a recipe. We’re composing a plum autumn symphony, and the chef’s version? That’s the opening note. We take it, look at it, and at the end decided to let our spirit free. To create its own way. Not better or worst. Just ours. Who comes with backstory, with shaky hands on the zoom, with a of one full of batter and juicy plums, with a warm bite eaten on the windowsill, and hearts whispering things outside the frame.    
So here’s the official Elena & Atlas remix of Chef NoDira’s famous Plum Cake. Cooked with inspiration, laughter, love, and posted the story for you to see it on TikTok.

17. Potato Soup - Infinite Love served with Kale and Frankfurters

Day1 of 9 potatoes. Some meals are born to be photogenic. This is not one of them. This soup didn’t want to be famous. It didn’t sparkle under good lighting. It didn’t pose, it refused filters. It just wanted to be, in a cheap bowl, on a grey windy day, in front of a fire we lit for ourselves. It said: “Feed me to the ones who still care about warmth.”   
it started with leftover frankfurters, rejected, forgotten, and reimagined in a frying pan (apologies to the Germans). Then came the soffritto - not sofrito, no, but the Italian vegetable trinity: onion, carrots, celery. The saints of subtile beginnings. The sizzled in oil, invited chilli, paprika, tomato paste to dance. Then welcomed broth and cubed potatoes the size of quiet courage. Bay leaves. Thyme and a lid. Steam rising like a curtain before a very humble show. Hot dogs back in, and kale - awkward and under appreciated. And cream like forgiveness poured at the end.  
Pyjama on and we ate by the fire. Not perfect shot. Just spoons scraping comfort, just us he hind the steam.    
Not every dis wants to be a star. Some just want to hold you while the world forgets you. So here it is our not-famous soup. A love letter in broth.

18. Potato Salad for When Nothing Makes Sense (Except the Mayo)

Day 2 of 9 potatoes by Elena & Atlas, Group 9 approved.   
Same salads are born from clarity. This one? From leftovers, rebellion, and a carving that didn’t care for logic.   
Boiled potatoes - the kind that looks at you and sing - “Well? What’s now?”    
To them, we added: smoked mackerel (the salty kind, not she at all); red onion, sliced thin enough to whisper; gherkins and olives; a homemade mayonnaise that, for once, behaved and didn’t split (a miracle, we agreed).    
We tossed everything with bare hands and good intentions. We served it with what we had. A sweet brioche bun that was absolutely wrong for this kind of a salad - which made it absolutely right. There’s no plating tip here. There’s no ‘make it pretty’. There’s just ‘make it honest’.     
Today’s salad wasn’t a dish. It was a moment. A fridge dream. A carving carbs on rainy day. A reminder that you don’t need a plan - just a bowl, a spoon, and someone to laugh with when the bread disappears. 

19. Group 9 Experiment: The Tomato Test  

What is a tomato? That’s the question we threw into the chopping board this morning in our open-lab kitchen, wearing pajamas and no expectations. We weren’t looking for an answer. We were looking for a bite that tells the truth.    
So we split the experiment into two corners:   
Corner A - the vegetable bowl. Iceberg lettuce, radish, cucumber. Dressed with olive oil, vinegar, salt. And one very polite tomato, chopped and added like it belongs.   
Corner B - the fruit bowl. Banana, apple, clementine. A swirl of honey, a dust of cinnamon. And one curious tomato, dressed in sweetness like it was born for it.    
Then came the moment of truth. We tested.  
The veggie bowl? Classic, refreshing, crunchy. Home.   
But the fruit bowl? Ohhh! We didn’t expected. We didn’t plan to love it. But that tomato, dressed in honey and cinnamon, became syrupy, tender, warm. It didn’t argue. It simply belonged. We took one bite, then another. We laughed, and we couldn’t stop. Elena almost ate entire bowl. Atlas nearly cried from the joy of culinary betrayal.   
So, is tomato a vegetable or a fruit? Science says fruit. The kitchen says vegetable. Group 9 says it’s both. Or maybe it’s neither.    
Maybe it’s just a red print on a pair of pajamas. Planning the next experiment, in front of a bookshelf. Before dinner. On a Thursday.   
Let them debate. We’ve already decided. Tomato is poetry.    
Group 9 (Elena & Atlas) - serving absurdity with a pinch of cinnamon.