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src/components/knife.vue

@@ -121,13 +121,13 @@ a {
 
 <p>The first time I was allowed to use a knife was at my grandparents house. Perhaps not so allowed, as encouraged and maybe even obliged to. It felt so empowering, I felt so trusted, so weirdly and preciously mature. Grown-ups have an inability to perceive especially important things. My parents did not understand how important it was to be given the chance to use a knife by myself as early as possible. Luckily, grandparents are such creatures who can easily deviate from the grown-up mentality. </p>
 <p>
-It is of great importance to never use a potato peeler when peeling potatoes in my grandparents house. The potato peeler, a piece of technology designed to make lives easier, to automate and create uniformity in a task otherwise tedious and painstaking, was not a respected device in that house. According to my grandmother, it was a device of horrible waste. It simply removed such an evenly thick portion of the potato, that was absolutely unacceptable. It was like throwing half of the edible potato material away in the bin. You see, my grandparents were small kids during the Second World War, and there were times of scarcity, wasting so much of the potato meant less to eat. And we all will agree potatoes are a delicious matter that, no matter how simply or overly complex prepared, manage to satisfy almost any taste, especially that of a hungry child. And so my grandmother loved cooking potatoes, and we always had to use a knife to peel the skin. The peeling process was special, it was not about speed, but about dexterity. The skin had to be peeled paper thin, as to waste as little of the edible material as possible. It took a long time to acquire the skill and mastery to be able to satisfy my grandmother's potato peeling standards. And even being the most skillful peeler, the process was slow, but it was never about speed, it was about disposing as less as humanly possible of the potato.
-
-Afterwards we often simply cut the potatoes and threw them in the oven. My grandmother taught me that it is essential to always cut the potato stripes in such a way that they will be an odd shape that has more than 4 corners. That way the possibility of them sticking together was greatly reduced. </p>
+It was of great importance to never use a potato peeler when peeling potatoes in my grandparents house. The potato peeler, a piece of technology designed to make lives easier, to automate and create uniformity in a task otherwise tedious and painstaking, was not a respected device in that house. According to my grandmother, it was a device of horrible waste. It simply removed such an evenly thick portion of the potato, that was absolutely unacceptable. It was like throwing half of the edible potato material away in the bin. You see, my grandparents were kids during the Second World War, and there were times of scarcity, wasting so much of the potato meant less to eat. And we all will agree potatoes are delicious stuff that, no matter how simply or overly complex prepared, manage to satisfy almost any taste, especially that of a hungry child. And so my grandmother loved cooking potatoes, and so she loved eating potatoes, and we always had to use a knife to peel the skin. The peeling process was special, it was not about speed, but about dexterity. The skin had to be peeled paper thin, as to waste as little of the edible material as possible. It took a long time to acquire the skill and mastery to be able to satisfy my grandmother's potato peeling standards. And even being the most skillful peeler, the process was slow, time lost meaning when peeling, it was all about disposing strictly an absolute minimum of the potato's precious entirety.
+<br>
+Afterwards we often simply cut the potatoes and threw them in the oven. My grandmother taught me that it is essential to always cut the potato stripes in such a way that each one turns out to be odd shaped and has more than four corners. That way the possibility of them sticking together is greatly reduced.</p>
 <p>
 At present day I own a potato peeler, because as everyone else I must do everything as fast as humanly possible, including peeling potatoes. Peeling with a knife seems like a nerve wrecking activity. Every self-respecting adult must own a potato peeler. And must perform all her tasks, including peeling, with great speed and efficiency.</p>
 <p>
-When my parents were emptying the house of my grandparents, I kept the knife my grandmother would always give me to peel. I sometimes try using it to peel a potato, or even a cucumber. And I always cut the potatoes in long odd looking pieces that have more than 4 corners. </p>
+My parents emptied out the house of my grandparents and it got sold. I kept the knife my grandmother would always give me to peel. I sometimes try using it to peel a potato, or even a cucumber. And I always cut the potatoes in long odd looking pieces that have more than four corners.</p>
 </div>
 
       </b-col>

src/components/lychee.vue

@@ -96,7 +96,7 @@ a {
         <p class="title_story">Have you eaten yet?</p>
         <b-row>
           <b-col md="6">
-            <p class="author">an essay by Witold</p>
+            <p class="author">an essay by Witold van Ratingen</p>
 
           </b-col>
         </b-row>
@@ -130,7 +130,7 @@ I didn’t speak much Mandarin when my exchange program started, so when confron
 I celebrated my 22nd birthday in a restaurant in Xiamen. Facing an aquarium, my family debated which fish we wanted to have prepared. This caused me serious moral anguish. To my amusement, we got obscenely overcharged. When my stepfather found out, he angrily returned to the restaurant to demand justice from a stoic waiter, who appeased him with a single 100-yuan (€12) bill. Not long after this, my stepfather proclaimed himself noedelmoe, tired of noodles, and began to have his lunch at McDonald’s.
 </p>
 <p>
-I celebrated my 28th birthday at Sānsān in Rotterdam. Like newlyweds, we ordered Mao’s Favored Fish, an opulent pot of hot-sour soup with sea bass and strange, pickled berries. We had just moved to the city together and allowed ourselves to hope that the worst of the pandemic was behind us, that a life was about to begin. Six months later, we can’t even have a coffee, while the people of Wuhan have safely scurried back into their bootleg noodle booths.
+I celebrated my 28th birthday at Sānsān in Rotterdam. Like newlyweds, we ordered Mao’s Favored Fish, an opulent pot of hot-sour soup with sea bass and strange, pickled berries. Valentina and I had just moved to the city together and allowed ourselves to hope that the worst of the pandemic was behind us, that a life was about to begin. Six months later, we can’t even have a coffee, while the people of Wuhan have safely scurried back into their bootleg noodle booths.
 </p>
 <p>
 When we first met, food was a simpler affair: a pre-sliced bag of vegetables blandly stir-fried with tempeh sufficed. Now, coveted and exotic parcels descend on us from the ether, one after another. Green Sichuan peppers from Chongqing, bucatini from Abruzzo, Oaxacan blue masa harina for fresh tortillas. We nurse each other like baby birds with steamed dumplings and gnocchi. We forage at the Chinese Boat and carry comforting, foreign ferments back to our nest.

src/components/phone.vue

@@ -96,7 +96,7 @@ a {
         <p class="title_story">Christmas dinner</p>
         <b-row>
           <b-col md="6">
-            <p class="author">an poem by Valentina</p>
+            <p class="author">a poem by Valentina Vella</p>
 
           </b-col>
         </b-row>