What Recipes Are In Best Of Taste Of Home: The First 10 Years?

I got chills seeing that first post — it felt like watching someone quietly sewing a whole new world in the margins of the internet. From what I tracked, mayabaee1 first published their manga adaptation in June 2018, initially releasing the opening chapters on their Pixiv account and sharing teaser panels across Twitter soon after. The pacing of those early uploads was irresistible: short, sharp chapters that hinted at a much larger story. Back then the sketches were looser, the linework a little raw, but the storytelling was already there — the kind that grabs you by the collar and won’t let go. Over the next few months I followed the updates obsessively. The community response was instant — fansaving every panel, translating bits into English and other languages, and turning the original posts into gifs and reaction images. The author slowly tightened the art, reworking panels and occasionally posting redrawn versions. By late 2018 you could see a clear evolution from playful fanwork to something approaching serialized craft. I remember thinking the way they handled emotional beats felt unusually mature for a web-only release; scenes that could have been flat on the page carried real weight because of quiet composition choices and those little character moments. Looking back, that June 2018 launch feels like a pivot point in an era where hobbyist creators made surprisingly professional work outside traditional publishing. mayabaee1’s project became one of those examples people cited when arguing that you no longer needed a big magazine deal to build an audience. It also spawned physical doujin prints the next year, which sold out at local events — a clear sign the internet buzz had real staying power. Personally, seeing that gradual growth — from a tentative first chapter to confident, fully-inked installments — was inspiring, and it’s stayed with me as one of those delightful ‘watch an artist grow’ experiences.

I catch myself pausing at the little domestic beats in manga, and when a scene shows mom eating first it often reads like a quiet proclamation. In my take, it’s less about manners and more about role: she’s claiming the moment to steady everyone else. That tiny ritual can signal she’s the anchor—someone who shoulders worry and, by eating, lets the rest of the family know the world won’t fall apart. The panels might linger on her hands, the steam rising, or the way other characters watch her with relief; those visual choices make the act feel ritualistic rather than mundane. There’s also a tender, sacrificial flip that storytellers can use. If a mother previously ate last in happier times, seeing her eat first after a loss or during hardship can show how responsibilities have hardened into duty. Conversely, if she eats first to protect children from an illness or hunger, it becomes an emblem of survival strategy. Either way, that one gesture carries context — history, scarcity, authority — and it quietly telegraphs family dynamics without a single line of dialogue. It’s the kind of small domestic detail I find endlessly moving.

To me, 'ruthless' nails it best. It carries a quiet, efficient cruelty that doesn’t need theatrics — the villain who trims empathy away and treats people as obstacles. 'Ruthless' implies a cold practicality: they’ll burn whatever or whoever stands in their path without hesitation because it serves a goal. That kind of language fits manipulators, conquerors, and schemers who make calculated choices rather than lashing out in chaotic anger. I like using 'ruthless' when I want the reader to picture a villain who’s terrifying precisely because they’re controlled. It's different from 'sadistic' (which implies they enjoy the pain) or 'brutal' (which suggests violence for its own sake). For me, 'ruthless' evokes strategies, quiet threats, and a chill that lingers after the scene ends — the kind that still gives me goosebumps when I think about it.

Late nights with tea and a battered paperback turned me into a bit of a detective about 'Yaram's' origins — I dug through forums, publisher notes, and a stack of blog posts until the timeline clicked together in my head. The version I first fell in love with was actually a collected edition that hit shelves in 2016, but the story itself began earlier: the novel was originally serialized online in 2014, building a steady fanbase before a small press picked it up for print in 2016. That online-to-print path explains why some readers cite different "first published" dates depending on whether they mean serialization or physical paperback. Translations followed a mixed path. Fan translators started sharing chapters in English as early as 2015, which helped the book seep into wider conversations. An official English translation, prepared by a professional translator and released by an independent press, came out in 2019; other languages such as Spanish and French saw official translations between 2018 and 2020. Beyond dates, I got fascinated by how translation choices shifted tone — some translators leaned into lyrical phrasing, others preserved the raw, conversational voice of the original. I still love comparing lines from the 2016 print and the 2019 English edition to see what subtle changes altered the feel, and it makes rereading a little scavenger hunt each time.

Totally doable — vegan kaikai is one of those desserts that sounds fancy but is actually super approachable at home. I like to think of a vegan kaikai as a silky, slightly jiggly pudding that can be made with coconut milk or silken tofu as the creamy base, and agar-agar or cornstarch as the setting agent. For a basic batch I use full-fat coconut milk (400 ml), 2–3 tbsp sugar or maple syrup, 1 tsp vanilla, and 1–1.5 tsp agar powder (or 1 tbsp cornstarch mixed with a little water if you want a softer set). Heat the coconut milk with sugar and vanilla, sprinkle in agar and simmer 3–5 minutes while whisking, then pour into molds and chill until set. You can swap silken tofu blended with a splash of plant milk for a lighter, protein-rich version, or add matcha, cocoa, or mashed mango for flavor. Toppings like toasted coconut, fruit compote, a drizzle of coconut caramel, or some toasted nuts make it feel special. It’s forgiving—if it’s too firm, reduce agar next time; if it’s too soft, add a touch more or let it cool longer. I make this on lazy Sundays and it always disappears fast — definitely worth trying at home.

Summer afternoons call for something cold and bright, and for me that usually means hunting down the best kaikai in town. I like places that treat kaikai like an art form — think small, bright dessert bars that do shaved ice or coconut puddings with care. Look for cafes that use fresh fruit, house-made syrups, and chewy tapioca or mochi bits; those textures are what make a kaikai sing. I’ll often judge a spot by the clarity of flavor: creamy coconut that isn’t just sweet, plus something acidic like lime or passionfruit to cut through it. When I’m testing places I go in waves: first, peek at photos and recent reviews; next, check whether the menu lists seasonal options (a sign they care); finally, order something simple alongside kaikai so you can compare balance. Little independent shops, modern Taiwanese dessert cafes, and Japanese-inspired dessert salons tend to top my list more often than large chains. A snug corner seat, friendly staff who’ll recommend toppings, and a neat presentation clinch it for me. If you love a creamy, slightly chewy texture with a bright topping, you’ll know you’ve found a winner — that first spoonful always makes me smile.

On slow mornings when my hair decides to puff up like it has plans of its own, I really lean into lightweight, texture-first products. For a low taper fade with fluffy hair you want stuff that gives separation and hold without flattening the volume — think sea salt spray as a pre-styler, a light matte clay or cream for shaping, and a fine texturizing powder at the roots when you need an extra lift. I usually spritz a salt spray into towel-damp hair, scrunch with my fingers, then blow-dry on low with a round brush or my hand to encourage the fluff rather than smoothing it down. If I'm going out and want that lived-in look, I follow with a pea-sized amount of water-based matte clay worked between my palms, then rake through the top and crown. For stubborn spots I'll use a little fiber or paste for extra grip, but sparingly — too much product kills the airiness. A light flexible hairspray keeps everything in place without turning the style into armor. Maintenance-wise, a sulfate-free shampoo every other day and a dry shampoo on day two keeps the shape without weighing the hair down, and a leave-in conditioner used only on the ends prevents frizz. This combo keeps the fade crisp and the fluffy top lively, which I love because it looks styled but still effortless, like I actually slept well even if I didn't.

If you want a straightforward path to drawing Deku, I’ve got a go-to routine I use that turns messy scribbles into something recognizable without overcomplicating things. I start with basic shapes — an oval for the head, a light cross for eye placement, and a rectangle for the torso. From there I block in the hair mass; Deku’s hair is spiky but rounded at the tips, so I sketch loose zigzags and then refine them into clumps. Next I break his face into thirds to place the big, expressive eyes typical of 'My Hero Academia', adding the signature forehead scar and freckles. For the body I think in cylinders: neck, shoulders, arms, then add his school uniform or hero costume as simplified shapes before detailing. Shading is minimal at first: flat shadows under the chin and around the hairline. For guided material I like a mix: a short YouTube step-by-step for pacing, a Pinterest step-layer image for reference, and a DeviantArt or Tumblr breakdown for pose ideas. If you want specific practice drills, I do 10-minute face studies, 5-minute hair clump sketches, and then a single full-body pose once I feel comfortable. That combo — structure, focused drills, and reference layering — is what finally turned my scribbly Deku into something I’d actually post. It’s honestly so satisfying when the eyes start to feel alive.