Forty-Three
Mar. 25th, 2013 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theonecalledwanderWell, I shan't bore you overmuch with the details, dear heart, not when there's so much thrilling tale left untold.
In the end I decide to present my delectable hostess with a simple concoction of stewed sausage and vegetables served over wild rice. I reason that most nights she has bread for her starch, and while she obviously must have some love for the stuff, a little variety must be appreciated as well or else she wouldn't have a cache of the grains.
The ingredients available to me are humble in their composition and origins, to the point that I find myself wishing it were safe for me to pop out in search of some fresher fare. But is not, and I can see that the food is humble because it does not need to be anything else, for it is the seasonings that carry the day.
Oh, such a treasure trove of fresh and dried spices Bel has procured for herself. I've made a point of staying away from garlic, warranting that she's probably had enough of that of late. A bit more wouldn't likely be of any measurable benefit to her, anyway. But I am liberal in the application of other flavorings.
When I am finished, I present it to the waiting Bel with a flourish. I do not serve myself yet, I wait to see her reaction.
She collects a bit of broth with her spoon, sucks it into her mouth, then after an appraising moment, spoons up a mouthful. She tastes cautiously.
"Acceptable," she says, and then falls to the task of eating in a more casual way.
"Is there something more I could have done to raise my offering's value in your estimation?" I ask.
She snorts.
"Do you have a lifetime?" she asks.
"I have dozens," I say.
"Well, I have one, and I don't have time to show a traveling clown the way around a kitchen," she says. "But you did alright. About what I expected, verging on better."
"Verging on better," I say, standing up a little straighter. "There are worse places to find oneself, I suppose."
"Find yourself a bowl and eat up, you preening fool. It's likely to be a long night."
In the end I decide to present my delectable hostess with a simple concoction of stewed sausage and vegetables served over wild rice. I reason that most nights she has bread for her starch, and while she obviously must have some love for the stuff, a little variety must be appreciated as well or else she wouldn't have a cache of the grains.
The ingredients available to me are humble in their composition and origins, to the point that I find myself wishing it were safe for me to pop out in search of some fresher fare. But is not, and I can see that the food is humble because it does not need to be anything else, for it is the seasonings that carry the day.
Oh, such a treasure trove of fresh and dried spices Bel has procured for herself. I've made a point of staying away from garlic, warranting that she's probably had enough of that of late. A bit more wouldn't likely be of any measurable benefit to her, anyway. But I am liberal in the application of other flavorings.
When I am finished, I present it to the waiting Bel with a flourish. I do not serve myself yet, I wait to see her reaction.
She collects a bit of broth with her spoon, sucks it into her mouth, then after an appraising moment, spoons up a mouthful. She tastes cautiously.
"Acceptable," she says, and then falls to the task of eating in a more casual way.
"Is there something more I could have done to raise my offering's value in your estimation?" I ask.
She snorts.
"Do you have a lifetime?" she asks.
"I have dozens," I say.
"Well, I have one, and I don't have time to show a traveling clown the way around a kitchen," she says. "But you did alright. About what I expected, verging on better."
"Verging on better," I say, standing up a little straighter. "There are worse places to find oneself, I suppose."
"Find yourself a bowl and eat up, you preening fool. It's likely to be a long night."