#And I said something about the marmalade and the juice of the tomatoes

[milniar-problemsolved]

had a weird conversation over breakfast, it went like:

mom: "so you write fanfiction or publish your own writing online, right?"

me:"....yes?"

"No, which one?"

"fanfiction??"

"Oh, okay. And can you give the chapters... their own names? Separate from the title?" *combined with a lot of handwaving* (I have no idea where this is going)

".......yeeees??? But mine is only one chapter anyways-"

"that's alright, I just want to say that if you make another one you should name it 'juice of the tomatoes'."

huh???!?!?

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Friday, 26th October 2018/Saturday, 15th June 2019 – The Garage, Buckingham

Friday, 26th October 2018 – The Garage, Buckingham

The Garage has been open for a while now, based in – you guessed it – an old garage in the middle of Buckingham. We’d attempted to eat there before, only to be frustrated by technical issues that had led to the place being closed over an entire weekend, and thus we only finally made it in there last October, as the preamble to a gig at the old Town Hall (Bernie Marsden doing a Q&A and a number of numbers from his blues guitar playing history which was good fun). Consequently we didn’t have too much time to relax and enjoy the surroundings. We were seated upstairs, where you have a view of the open kitchen rather than downstairs where the bar is located. This meant we had no time for more than one cocktail, which served as an aperitif while we studied the menu. Mine was a Bramble, made with blackberries as you might expect, creme de mure (which is not seen enough in these parts, if you ask me), lemon juice and gin. One of the major pluses of this sort of drink is that you can’t taste the gin!

Lynne went for an Old Fashioned, claiming it’s because that’s what she is… and also happy to avoid gin altogether. The Old Fashioned is, of curse, a whisky-based drink and all the better for it. I have to say the combination of bourbon, bitters, vanilla and sugar didn’t look too much different to what I was drinking, though it definitely tasted different.

The food arrived pretty sharpish as we finished our cocktails, a couple of starters that we’d agreed to share. One dish was a duck and bacon hash, served with peppered rocket and a poached hen’s egg. It was good, the egg nicely judged, once you could battle your way past the rocket! There seemed to be a lot of greenery, but the meat was excellent. They clearly have a good butcher.

The mixed game terrine with sourdough bread and a carrot, clove and orange marmalade also backed up that theory, as did the fact that someone was at least conventionally clever with flavours if the marmalade was anything to go by. The butter sealing the top was lovely on the sourdough toast too, and you got two types of sourdough which was generous.

The meat theme continued into our mains, a large chunk of venison steak that had been seared to just the right degree of rareness, and served with bacon and braised red cabbage, along with a fondant potato which I felt could have been a lot better, and a pink peppercorn and redcurrant jus that again I felt could have been better, in this instance if it had been made as a proper, thicker sauce, but that was tasty and definitely delivered on the peppercorn heat.

The other main was again great on the meat, not so great on the vegetables, with roasted duck breast and a trio of confit duck made into bon-bons, served with buttered savoy cabbage, which needed more butter, an apricot puree which I felt lacked the acidity a fruit accompaniment to duck needs, and some somewhat under-powered Parmentier potatoes. The vegetables on both mains seemed rushed, and maybe they had been. Hopefully that can be addressed in future because there was quite a lot to like otherwise about the venue, the ingredients, the staff and the general attitude.

There was quite a lot to like about their wine list too, particularly the bin ends section which produced a half-priced Portuguese wine, a 2014 Adega de Pegões Colheita Selecionada that we very much enjoyed. It had a distinct aroma of red and black fruits, and was a lovely jammy concoction. If we’d had time I could imagine having had a second bottle and taken what was left home. It’s an interesting blend of Touriga Nacional, Trincadeira, Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah, fermented in stainless steel tanks initially, then aged for 12 months in French oak. I’d rather like to try some more of it, as it seems the wine-maker, Jaime Quendera, is making something of a name for himself. If this example is anything to go by, then he’s doing a very good job.

Saturday, 15th June 2019 – Zinc Bar, Buckingham; The Garage, Buckingham

We were back again in June, after a very expensive book-buying day at the 2019 Buckingham Literary Festival. With the demise of Vibin’s (at least as a restaurant by that name – it seems to have become a Mexican fast food place now though under the same ownership) there’s a serious shortage of anywhere really worth eating at in Buckingham, so we had to hope they wouldn’t let us down. First though we decided to try the bar opposite where Vibin’s used to be, Zinc. After having to spend time in our own local cocktail bar trying to teach the bar staff how to make a caipirinha properly (and then being mind-boggled by the fact that said bar ran a series of cocktail masterclasses at the local food festival) this was a positive pleasure, and more to the point a caipirinha done just right! I couldn’t find any fault with it; it contained cahaca, lime, sugar (not syrup, not sugar cubes that won’t dissolve, just granulated sugar) and ice which is all you want in a caiprinha.

Apparently the whisky sour was pretty good too!

Given we still had time to spare, we figured we’d better explore the more exotic end of the list, but then the regular cocktails side-tracked us from that plan in the shape of a raspberry mojito for me:

And an old fashioned once again for Lynne.

We left the bar very happy in every sense, and were soon ensconced in a downstairs nook at the Garage and mulling over the menu while we made inroads into the bread basket, complete with its two types of butter (pesto, sun-dried tomato), olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

We did eventually decide what we wanted to eat. As usual it was the starters and mains that got our interest. I can enjoy a dessert with the best of ’em, but if I’m only going to have room for two courses then I’d prefer to stick with the savoury choices. For starters we would share the aparagus, duck egg and home-cured ham, which delivered on the egg front in just the way you would want, the yolk oozing out and coating the asparagus nicely.

There was also a beef tataki, the dressing packing quite an umami punch, the beef tender and rare and just as I like it. Once again it seemed clear that whoever they get their meat from, it’s a good source.

The mains were again slightly less well-executed, though the tuna steak was still pink, which is better than you usually get in UK restaurants (think grey, tough, dull and dry). It was still the right side of overcooked, which meant it was edible. I’d have liked a slightly pinker take on it, with a nicely browned (at high speed and high temperature please) outside and an almost uncooked inside.

The guinea fowl was very good, and had been beautifully cooked, the leg confitted, and the breast roasted. I think this worked better because it doesn’t require the precise timing that the tuna does. The vegetables were better this time too, though not particularly exciting.

In conclusion, it’s not going to set the world on fire, but it does provide a good option for some solid enough cooking. If we’re in Buckingham and want a dinner that’s a cut above the chains, then the Garage will fit the bill. If we really want to go out for a push the boat out celebration, say, then there are better options around.

Food 2018/2019 – Zinc Bar, Buckingham; The Garage, Buckingham Friday, 26th October 2018/Saturday, 15th June 2019 - The Garage, Buckingham Friday, 26th October 2018 - The Garage, Buckingham…

[autumnhobbit]

All the batfam finally bonding and forgiving each eather thanks to alfred birthday wish.

For once, Bruce woke up early on his own–this time, by design. He blinked bleary eyes at his alarm clock. The bright red numbers read 4:53. The sky outside his window was glowing faintly from the lights in the city, and he could hear the birds beginning to make noise outside.

With a stifled groan, he pushed himself up onto his elbow, slowly climbing out of bed and heading for the shower.

He had a lot of work to do to prepare for the day.

___

Dick had gotten in from the night shift a bit late, and had gone straight to bed, but he woke bright and early at 6:45. His subconscious had been super-paranoid about accidentally forgetting, so he woke with a jolt that was less than pleasant. He heaved an exhausted sigh, but pushed himself up out of bed and grabbed a shirt. He didn’t plan on being home until suppertime, anyway, but it never hurt to be prepared and get an early start. He had a bunch of errands to run beforehand. Today was the day.

____

Jason woke up when the first rays of sunlight lit up his apartment bolthole–he’d accidentally pulled the curtain down three days prior while trying to climb in after getting a laceration down his forearm. He growled squeakily at the harsh light, rolling onto his side and lifting an arm to try and shield his eyes, but he accidentally lifted the injured one and hissed at the pull of the stitches. He gave up, dropping his arm with another growl. He threw his covers off and rolled off the mattress onto the creaky tile floor. He pulled himself to his feet on the rickety linoleum counter and staggered into the kitchen, washing his hands and then dragging out various containers of dry ingredients.

He had a lot of baking to do before this evening.

___

Tim woke up in a panic at 9:34. He’d stayed up too late the night before, running through the latest investments and tax brackets with Tam (though she, being an altogether better person, had quit at 11:00 and gone home.) But he sighed in relief once he’d scrambled desperately for his phone and checked the time. Good. He’d have plenty of time to spare for everything that needed doing. He hopped out of bed, landing haphazardly on one foot and pivoting to quickly make his bed. One less thing to worry about. With that, he snatched a change of clothes and high-tailed it to the shower.

He had a lot of work to do before tonight.

___

Damian woke up at 8:13, but stayed in bed much longer than he meant to, just watching the clock lethargically, with nothing to pass the time but the growing brightness outside, the quiet clicking of the clock, and the dull throb in his heart.

He knew what today was; he’d noticed it on the calendar, had marked it himself and counted the days and brainstormed and plotted. But he was certain there wasn’t a single thing he could do today that one of the others wasn’t already doing, and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with an appropriate, unique gift for so important a person.

Alfred came trotting in cheerfully at 8:26, leaping onto the bed lightly and nudging Damian with a cold nose, purring softly.

“Tt,” Damian huffed, freeing a hand from the blankets to stroke the cat’s head. “At least you are in a good mood today, Alfred.”

Alfred mewled quietly and pressed up against Damian’s face, nuzzling him to encourage him to keep petting.

“I am a failure as a grandson,” he admitted to the cat in a low voice. “I haven’t the slightest idea what to give Pennyworth.”

The cat simply clambered up on Damian’s hip and began walking in a circle.

“There is bound to be something I can give him!” Damian flopped back against his bed. “I only wish I knew what he liked. And that I had a relevant talent…”

Alfred mewled, curled up on Damian’s hip.

“Perhaps…” Damian wrinkled a brow. “Perhaps I do have an idea. That might be…tolerable. Yes.”

Damian sprang off the bed. The cat scrambled off his hip with a whine.

“Apologies, Alfred!” Damian called behind him as he ran off. “But I have work that needs doing!”

____

At 9:00 sharp, Alfred emerged from his room in the corner of the house, clad in slippers and his house robe. He headed down the hallway, whistling softly, and stepped into the kitchen.

Bruce stood at the counter, loading sizzling food from the skillet onto a plate. He grabbed the salt and pepper shakers and sprinkled a dose of the seasonings onto the food, then turned with a half-wry smile. “Morning, Alfred.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow with a half-smirk. “Morning Master Bruce. And what might that be?”

Bruce grinned. “A full breakfast, of course.” He set the plate down on the island and shoved it lightly over towards Alfred. It slid to a stop right beside the glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice and the bowl of fruit, cut neatly. “Bacon, eggs over-easy, sausage, grilled tomato, mushrooms, toast and marmalade, and a cuppa Earl Grey.” He glanced down a bit, almost shyly. “As always.”

Alfred allowed himself a fond smile for the man. It seemed like it had only been yesterday when he was barely twelve and had taught himself how to cook some of Alfred’s favorites with a recipe book. The food had been undercooked in some places and scorched in others, but Master Bruce had made it himself and done it out of love, so Alfred was grateful. (Though it was nice to have properly cooked food, now.) With that in mind, he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “And as always, you have my gratitude for that, Master Bruce.” He picked up the fork which was placed neatly beside the plate.

“I’ll be around the Manor today, so no chores.” Bruce fixed him with a stern look. “We can survive a day without them. And I will see you.”

Alfred sardonically raised an eyebrow. “Why, Master Bruce,” he said. “What sort of butler would I be if you could see me?”

____

Dick wandered through the aisle of a department store at 10:00 in the morning, examining various hats and handkerchiefs. After the third identical wool flat cap in slate instead of heather grey, he sighed.

A girl passed by his aisle and then hesitated, ducking back in. “Morning! Can I help you find anything?”

“Maybe,” Dick sighed. “I don’t know. I’m looking for a birthday present for an elderly British gentleman, but I buy him the same thing every year and I kinda feel bad about it.”

“Hmmm.” The girl came closer, glancing at the flat cap in Dick’s hands. “What does he like?”

“Well…” Dick sighed. “He’s not picky. That’s kind of the problem. I know I could buy him anything and he’d be happy with it because it was from me, but I…want to get him something he’d really like on its own merits, you know?”

“That’s always hard,” the girl agreed, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m not buying him food, because he could cook or order anything he wanted, I can’t do charity because my younger brother’s doing that already, I can’t do chores because my dad’s doing that, so. I’m stumped.” Dick sighed, setting the cap back on the shelf.

“What about practical things?” The girl asked. “Is there anything he uses a lot?”

Bandages, blood, medical tubing, Dick thought, but didn’t say.

“–Or anything he likes particularly?”

Dick sighed. “Not that I know of–?” Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. “I, uh. Thanks so much for your help, but I think I need to stop by the hardware store!” He started to run off, but then ducked back in to grab the slate flat cap. “I’ll, uh, get this, too,” he said sheepishly.

____

Tim flipped quickly through the thick stack of papers, scanning the endless stream of words with a critical eye. “You sure you’ve got everything in there, Lucius? Nothing else I need to sign to make it official?”

Lucius gave Tim a slightly-stern but warm look from behind his glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose. “Nope. It’s all in there. Paid in full. Everything’s good to go.” He nodded towards the stack. “You gonna tie a ribbon on it or something?”

Tim shook his head with a wry grin. “Nah. Put it in a box, I guess.” He stood up. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, Lucius. There’s no way I could have gotten it done in time without your help.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, Timothy,” Lucius waved a hand dismissively. “It’s my pleasure for all you do around here. And for all Alfred does. Do give him my regards and best wishes.”

“Will do. Tell Tam I said hi,” Tim said with a smile, waving as he headed out the door.

____

Damian madly dug through a stack of boxes in the west library, setting them down in a stack on the floor. Finally, he found the box he was looking for and dropped down onto the floor, crossing his legs as he sat and dug through the box. The photos were glossy, and he handled them carefully as he sifted his way through, stacking potential candidates neatly beside him. Finally, he had a satisfactory collection of photos. He slipped them into an envelope to protect them, and hurried back to his room. He only had a few more hours to complete his gift.

____

At precisely 4:52, the hall window opened from the outside and Cassandra slipped in. Alfred heard her entry from the sitting room where he sat with a book and a cuppa, enjoying the quiet late afternoon. He rose from the chair when she came into the room. “Cassandra,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” Cassandra replied with a beam, stepping forward and into his open arms. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, carefully and deliberately, and Alfred smiled into her slightly-tangled black hair.

“Present now?” Cassandra asked.

“If you wish to give it to me now,” Alfred replied easily, and Cassandra pulled back with an impish grin, digging in her belt. Alfred held out his hand, and she deposited a tiny, resin statuette of Batman seated in a miniature rocking chair.

“And wherever did you find this?” Alfred asked, not bothering to hide his grin.

“Cracker Barrel.” Cassandra bit her lip, she was grinning so hard. “With Barbara.”

“Well done,” Alfred said approvingly. “Onto my nightstand it goes.”

___

At precisely 5:15, Alfred was seated at the set dinner table, Cassandra sitting a few chairs down, waiting patiently for Bruce to finish with supper. Alfred took a sip of his wine. Cassandra obligingly took a sip of her chocolate milk and grinned at him.

The front door opened and closed with a colossal bang, and Dick came running in. “Alfred!” He cheered happily. “Happy birthday!” He pulled the older man into a hug without ceremony, hands still full of bags. Alfred returned the hug, nonplussed. “Thank you, my dear boy. It is wonderful to see you.”

At that moment, the garage door opened and closed with a thunk, and Tim was skidding to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, a bag in his hands, panting. “Sorry I’m late, Alfie, I swear I meant to be earlier but traffic was bad and I had some things to finish off at the office–”

“Oh, don’t make a fuss about it, dear boy. The important thing is that you’re here.” Alfred reassured him, and Tim sighed, setting his bag down on the counter and taking a seat at the table in between Dick and Cass. He sniffed curiously. “What is that? It smells fantastic.”

“Roasted lamb in onion sauce with fresh vegetables and bread,” Alfred said proudly.

“I…didn’t know Bruce could cook that,” Dick said, mystified.

Alfred laughed. “Master Richard, I will admit that domesticity is generally not Master Bruce’s area of expertise, but I would not have allowed him to reach manhood without teaching him something.”

At that moment, the window jiggled, and as one the children turned to stare, though Alfred took another sip of his wine, completely unconcerned. A basket that smelled of warm bread was tossed lightly through the window onto the floor, and slowly but surely, Jason Todd awkwardly followed, dressed in torn jeans, worn-through sneakers and a clean t-shirt, through the window that was slightly too small for him.

“I was wondering when you’d be by, Master Jason,” Alfred said, sounding distinctly unsurprised.

“Sorry it took m’ so long, Alf,” the boy responded tightly, one foot on the ground now, as he attempted to unsnag his other leg from the window. “Ruined the first batch ‘cause I stopped a mugging.” He finally got his foot free, and hopped down onto the floor, scooping up his basket and setting it on the counter with a flourish, stoically ignoring the stares of his brothers as he scrubbed a hand through the bangs that were falling over his eyes.

“What on earth happened to your arm, young man?” Alfred pushed back from the table and approached Jason before the boy could react, pushing back the sleeve to reveal the stitches.

“Glass,” Jason responded. “S'nothing, really.”

“Well at least you had the sense to stitch and cover it,” Alfred sighed, gently shifting the limb in his hands to inspect it. “No sign of infection. And it had better stay that way,” he said, fixing a stern gaze on the boy. “I will not stand for you coming down with a fever or sepsis.”

“Yes, Alf,” Jason mumbled softly, ducking his head.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Bruce emerged with a tray of lamb in hand. He froze as he took in the sudden surplus of his family in the room, stiffened slightly upon seeing Jason, and finally fixed a confused look on Alfred.

Alfred sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “My birthday wish—if you must know, since you’ve all been nagging me—is to have my whole family safe and under this roof, not killing or injuring each other or arguing about complex moral philosophy. I believe, after thirty years of service, Master Bruce, that you can manage that for one evening.” He glanced back at the table—Damian had quietly slipped in and taken a seat across from Dick, Tim, and Cassandra. “Can’t you?”

The children all resoundingly agreed, in an immensely confusing and loud manner. Alfred turned back to Bruce, who looked surprised, and then shrugged.

“Very well then, it is settled.” Alfred said calmly, resuming his seat. “Master Jason, do sit down,” he directed towards the boy, who was standing and looking very much like a skittish animal.

Awkwardly, Jason slid into the seat beside Alfred, across from Dick.

___

After the first bit of awkwardness passed, the chatter at the table started up and didn’t stop at any point through the meal, except to truly appreciate Jason’s homemade scones and clotted cream, at which point there was an entire five minutes of no sound but chewing. Once supper was thoroughly finished, and the dishes had been washed and set on the rack to dry, the entire group moved to the living room.

“Do you want to go first, Timmy?” Dick asked, when everyone was settled in.

“Nah. You go ahead, you seemed excited.” Tim smiled easily.

“Alright.” Dick snatched his pile of shopping bags and ran closer to where Alfred was seated in an armchair.

“So, I got you…a flat cap,” Dick said impishly, retrieving said item from one of the bags.

“In slate this time, I see,” Alfred said, bemused.

“Yep. Buuuut…” Dick grinned. “I also got you a very bright lamp to use down in the Cave, because I noticed how worn out the current one is.” He tugged the large box out of a plastic bag surrounding it, setting it down on the floor.

“That is a most thoughtful gift, Master Dick,” Alfred said warmly. “It will certainly spare me many headaches.” He opened his arms, and Dick happily accepted the hug. “Thank you, dear boy.”

“You’re welcome,” Dick said, almost shyly.

“Master Timothy, would you like to go next?” Alfred asked over Dick’s shoulder, noticing Damian’s reticence.

“Sure,” Tim shrugged, grabbing his own bag. Dick moved to the side and sat down, waiting expectantly.

Tim awkwardly cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, digging a stack of papers from inside the bag. “So,” he said, his voice sounding vaguely businesslike, as if  he was giving a presentation at Wayne Enterprises. “As per your usual request, I made a donation of $10,000 to the Thomas and Martha Wayne Recovery House. However, I also added a bit of an extra touch; the new community room will be dedicated in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis Pennyworth. And,” Tim went back to his bag and retrieved a plaque, “here is a copy of the sign that certifies it.”

Alfred accepted the plaque with misty eyes, and Tim gave a soft yelp when he was pulled into a hug of his own. “You are a remarkable boy, Master Timothy. Don’t ever believe differently.”

“…Okay, Alfred,” Tim said a bit awkwardly, still fully cooperating in the hug. After a moment, Tim was released and Alfred, with a final pat to his shoulder, glanced at Damian, who was hunched over in his seat, studying his hands and decidedly not making eye contact. “Master Damian?”

Damian glanced up and met Alfred’s gaze once, then looked away, eyes slightly glassy.

“Now there, Master Damian,” Alfred said gently, crossing the room and kneeling down in front of the couch. “None of that. What’s the trouble?”

Damian glanced up, nervous and hesitant. “I…I couldn’t think of anything,” he half-choked. “Nothing as good as any of theirs! Nothing…” his voice dipped. “Nothing you deserved.”

“Oh, Master Damian,” Alfred gently tilted the boy’s chin up. “You are my grandson. I would be pleased as punch with anything you gave me.”

Damian blinked. “You’re just saying that,” he said tiredly. “You’re too kind, so you would enjoy anything, regardless of whether it was good or not.”

Alfred shook his head. “Show it to me anyway.”

Damian gave a small, shaky sigh, then stood up and retrieved an envelope from the coffee table, then sat back down, turning it back and forth in his hands.

“I…I didn’t have much time to work on them,” he breathed, sliding a piece of ivory cardstock down into his hand. “They’re not very good, but…”

Alfred quietly caught his breath at the inked sketch of a ten-year-old Bruce’s profile, a quiet, fond smile playing on the edges of his mouth. He lightly tugged the stack from Damian’s loose grip, and slowly, almost reverently looked them over. A rough sketch of Dick at eight, upside down on a trapeze, laughing joyfully. One of Jason reading a book, curled up in a too-large chair.  Tim sprawled on the couch, Cassandra sitting on the stairs.

Damian said nothing, his face flushed and his expression anguished, in a way only a ten-year-old’s could be.

“Master Damian,” Alfred said, hushed. “These are some of the most kind gifts I have ever received.”

Damian’s green eyes snapped up, shocked. “…Truly?” he asked, tentative, and Alfred bit his tongue against a very rude thought towards the al Ghul’s.

“Truly,” he said. Damian leapt for him first, and he caught the small boy and wrapped his arms around his tiny body.

Damian buried his face in Alfred’s neck. “Happy birthday, Grandfather,” he whispered hoarsely, and Alfred closed his eyes against tears of gratitude.

(Ao3 link here.)

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING (G/T Fantasy)

CHAPTER 13

“Okay, Dumplin’. What’s this one called?”

“Rosemary.”

“Alright. And this one?”

“Burdock root. Because it looks like a bird’s leg. Bird. Burd-ock. Burdock root.”

“Must be a weird lookin’ bird if it’s leg’s lookin’ like that. Now, how ‘bout this one, then?”

“Cloves.”

“And this beauty?”

Nenani crossed her arms, regarding the dark haired Vhasshalan with an unamused look. “...Yale, that’s a weed.”

He waved the plant in front of her teasingly. “Aye and this weed’s got a name.”

“Creepy thistle.”

He laughed. “Creepin’ thistle, Dumplin’. Creepin’. Not creepy.”

“Looks creepy to me. It’s all spiky and stuff.”

“Yeah, it does a bit. Hmm. Well, what about this one?”

“Oh! Ooh...uh, that’s the weird sage. Clearly...no, uh...clarly...larlee la-la-larry sage.”

Yale draped a hand across his eyes and chuckled. “Heh he he. Clary.”

“Yeah. Clary sage. That’s what I said.”

“Wasn’t even close.”

“...it was kind of close.”

“Not even a bit. All right, next one.”

“Yucky soap leaf.”

“Huh? Soap leaf?”

“It tastes like soap. So it’s yucky soap leaf.”

“Okay, well what do the rest of us call it then?”

“...uh...coree...coriander?”

“Asking or tellin’ me, Dumplin’?”

“Um. Telling.”

“And ya’d be correct. Heh. Yucky soap leaf. And just how is it ya know what soap tastes like, hm?”

“You never accidentally ate soap?”

“How do you accidentally eat soap?”

“...I thought it was cheese.”

Yale laughed loudly. “Yer a weird one, Dumplin’.”

Nenani huffed, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “It does! Soap looks like cheese!”

“What part of the world do ya come from that soap looks anything like cheese?”

The door to the spice room opened and Farris walked in, carrying a leather bound journal and a piece of parchment that held his focus.

“Farris!” Nenani called, standing up from the collection of jars and ramekins of herbs that surrounded her. “I have a question! Does soap look like cheese?”

Farris paused, looking up from his paper, eyeing the small human in confusion. “What kind of question is that?”

Yale just laughed louder. “Yer not gonna be convincing anyone of it, lil’un.”

“It does! Cheese looks like soap! Or...soap looks like cheese.”

“And why,” Farris asked, walking over and handing the paper to Yale. “...does it matter?”

“She’s tryin’ to save face, is all,” glancing down at the paper. His eyes flickered back to Nenani and he grinned. “Seein’ as she just admitted she’s eaten soap thinkin’ it was cheese.”

Both giants were laughing at her now and her face was as red as a tomato.

“It. Looked. Like. Cheese!” Nenani insisted vehemently.

………………………….

Fall ebbed away to winter, bringing with it colder temperatures and rain. The courtyard was constantly covered in mud much to the workers’ displeasure. And with the changing of the season came a shift in the style of food the kitchens prepared. Harvest time had brought an absurd abundance of vegetables of all kinds, but it and the beef and venison of the summer months was now used up. They were largely replaced with fowl and boar. And the salted Lippers. A winter staple as even in the frigid temperatures of winter, the Lippers still thrives under the frozen lakes and rivers.  

For one week straight, Saen and Yale did nothing but make jams and marmalade with the last of the summer fruits that had been stored in the warmer pantry. They had the entire long table covered in empty ceramic jars and there were three different cauldrons bubbling away inside the hearth, filling with crushed fruits and copious amounts of sugar. Nenani helped out on the day they were making black currant jam and ended up hopelessly staining her hands and face a bright purple. Saen showed her how to get the stains out with lemon juice and then had to teach her how to not get the lemon juice in her eyes.

Just as the days had turned colder, signaling an early and likely long and harsh winter, Lolly was able to finally make her promised visit to check how Nenani was settling and to deliver to her a few much needed things. Such as the clothes she and the ladies had finished as well as a coat, scarf, and a quilt. All of which had been delivered quite fortuitously as that particular day saw the first real frost and Nenani was not a happy little human. She’d been huddling miserably near the hearth, as close as anyone would let her, trying to keep feeling in her toes. Giants, it seemed, were much less susceptible to cold than humans. So when Lolly presented the gifts to her, Nenani quickly and happily put the coat on, wrapped the scarf about her neck, and then snuggled into the quilt.

“Ya look like a pillow,” Quinn commented with a laugh as he walked passed.  

“A warm pillow!” Nenani corrected and huddled further into the quilt. Before Lolly left to tend to her own duties, she brushed out Nenani’s hair and redid the braid as she had done the first night and showed the little girl how to do it so she could keep her hair from looking like a wild brush all the time.

Yale would spend a few hours every week teaching her how to identify various herbs and spices and how each was used. Nenani was surprised to learn that Farris’s job as Spice Master did not simple include managing the spice stores and grinding up mixtures to make food taste better. He was tasked with ordering and managing all spices, herbs, and salts that came into the castle and not only for culinary purposes, but medicinal ones as well. And whatever supplies Maevis required for his magical experiments. Despite her assumptions, Farris was a walking library when it came to plants and herbs and the like.  

As for Yale, she learned that he was not only Farris’s assistant, but also protégé. He was being groomed to one day replace Farris when the day came that the red haired giant would retire. There seemed to be a running joke among the staff that Farris would never retire and would be well into his nineties and still be going strong.  

“It’s a known truth,” Saen was saying. “Nice fellas die young and fuckers live forever!”

“Sorry, lad,” Avery laughed, clapping Yale on the back. “But in all likelihood, we’ll all be dead before our time and the only ones left down here will be Farris and Bart with their false teeth and rheumatism.”

…………………………..

“He thinks he’s so clever,” Jae said as he lead Nenani through a new portion of the tunnels that snaked all through the Vhasshalan castle. Lighting their way were the glass orbs sitting in their brackets, a bright brilliant light hoping from one to the next as they moved along the path. “Hiding it in plain sight. But he has drastically underestimated the amount of time I have on my hands these days.”

“So why are we hunting for Maevis’s secret blackberry bushes?” Nenani asked, still unsure of their current endeavor. She liked Maevis and it seemed in poor taste to go ravaging something of his in such a way. It seemed to her that if he went to such lengths as to hide these bushes, they were not meant for conniving little human hands to go plucking at their leisure.

“It’s just what I do,” Jae replied as though it were explanation enough. At her dubious silence, he explained further. “Look, when I was a kid and still trying to get use to this place, Maevis came up with this game where he would hide stuff around the castle and if I found it, he’d give me a treat. For the last year or so he’s been planting blackberry bushes in weird places. I found them all but one and since it’s winter, I’d given up finding it at all until spring. That is until last night.” He turned to face her, eyes alight with a mischievous gleam that was beginning to become more and more familiar. “The inner gardens. I never go there anymore, but it’s the only place left where he could have planted one.”

“Why don’t you ever go there anymore?”

Jae shrugged at the question, blasé and aloof, but there was a strange tension to his eyes that hinted at something more. “I just don’t. It’s right under the Queens apartments and I’ve made it a personal rule to avoid her and her walking mountain man.”

By now, Nenani had become well acquainted with the fact that the new Queen of Vhasshal held a very poor opinion on humans. While never having met the monarch herself, Jae kept her well informed in regards to the reasons why it was best he and her alike should avoid any meetings.  Nenani’s impression of her had been largely formed by the snippets of information supplied by others. Ever since the royal wedding, Jae had put himself into an odd sort of self banishment as he tried to avoid the Queen. As such, he spent a lot of time down in the kitchens with Nenani. Farris did not seem to mind and Kol was quite happy to have Jae hanging around.

“Like the ol’ days!” the baker replied with a grin. Nenani recalled that particular day quite well, having had the misfortune of falling into an open flour sack. Kol and Jae were breathless with laughter as Quinn fetcher her out while barely hiding his own mirth. Even a deep soak had failed to get rid of all of the flour and she was picking bits of dried dough from her hair for several days after.  

“I am just thankful he doesn’t know about the tunnels,” Jae said in reference to the Queen’s personal guard. “Gods above, can you imagine how he and the Queen would react to knowing how easily I can get around the castle? Should that day ever come, don’t be surprised to find traps set at all the entrances.”

“Why does she hate you so much? The gravy thing was an accident,” Nenani offered.

“You underestimate a high born ladie’s ability to hold a grudge,” Jae replied. “She hates humans in general. I’m just a special target.”

“Why don’t you ask the King to talk to her? I mean...you get along with him right?”

“Warren? Yeah, we get along fine. But it’s not my place to tell him how to arrange his marriage.”

“Well, I didn’t say you had to rearrange his marriage. Just ask him to stand up for you. Enough to make you feel safe enough to sleep in your own bed.”

“What? Getting tired of me already?” Jae laughed and elbowed her teasingly in the ribs. “Don’t want me in the kitchens, is that it? Thinking I’m moving in on your territory? Well, I got news for ya girly. It was my turf years before you came along.”

Nenani wanted to smile at his joking, to shoot back a quip, or a jab. However, she could not help but feel a little sad. “It doesn’t seem very fair that you need to hide. In your own home.”

Jae sighed, his eyes narrowing. “Look. Can we just talk about something else?”

“It’s not fair,” Nenani told him flatly. “It’s wrong.”

She had expected Jae to brush her off as he was want to do. But instead, something flashed in his eyes. A kind of uncertainty. Fear. “Sure it is,” he murmured. “Not like I have any other place to go. But like I said, it’s not my place to dictate what the King does. If the Queens hates me, that’s my problem.”  

He sighed and was quiet for a moment and then turned about face and grinned brightly. “Besides, I have so many hiding places around here they couldn’t get me out if every giant in Vhasshal tried. They’re stuck with me.”

Nenani tried to smile at that, but was unable to shake her displeasure. Barely more than a month had passed since she arrived and in that short span of time, she had settled into her new life fairly well. Everyone in the kitchens were nice to her, even if their endless teasing was very tiresome, and they looked out for her. She was learning all sorts of neat things from Yale and Farris and it was wonderful. She wanted for nothing.

It already felt like home.

But whenever Jae stopped by, he always looked a little more sad, a little more tired than his last visit. A little more less of himself. But it would disappear behind a smile or a joke and it was beginning to irk Nenani that he would dance and glance around the issue.  

“I know what it’s like,” she reminded him. “To feel like an outsider in a place you use to call home.”

Jae stopped to face her and his expression was of mild shock and then a small smile. He patted her shoulder and nodded. “I appreciate the concern, Nenani. You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He sighed. “The truth is, I’m staying away from the Queen so she and Warren and do what newlyweds do and get on with their own affairs. He worked so hard for this marriage to happen, this alliance. It’s not just about me or my comfort. I can’t be selfish The stability of the entire Kingdom rests on this marriage being successful. Best if I keep my distance. You may have noticed, but disaster kind of follows me.” A pause and in a small, regretful voice, he murmured, “You’re not the only one going around thinking their cursed.”

“You’re not cursed,” Nenani offered seriously. And then grinned. “Just a little clumsy.”

Jae laughed and tugged on her braid. “You spend far too much time in the Kitchens. You’re starting to sound like them now.”

Nenani just grinned as they continued on down the tunnel. “Just think, I might even start cursing.”

Jae laughed, a pure sound that was as loud as it was genuine. “Such a rebel, you are.”  

……………………….

The inner gardens were located in the heart of the castle’s keep in a round atrium surrounded by intricate columns made to resemble large trees stretching upwards, the leaves and branches of their canopies making up the decorative arches between the supporting columns. Like the spokes of a wheel, bright blue and green tile walkways lead from the outer rim to the center where there sat a grand fountain of white marble.

“You should see it in the spring,” remarked Jae when Nenani stood silent and dumbstruck with the beauty of the gardens. Even as bare and flowerless as it was, the space was magnificent and its sheer size only added to awe of it all. “And when all the flowers are in bloom? So long you aren’t allergic or nothing.”

“So,” Nenani asked, looking about the thin and leafless brambles and skeletal bushes. “What does a blackberry bush look like in winter?”

They set about looking for the illusive plant with Jae having given her vague description of what to look for. After mistaking hibernating rose bushes three times, Nenani began to wonder if perhaps Maevis had not hidden the bush in the inner gardens after all.

“No, he must have!” Jae reiterated firmly, but with an edge of exasperation. “I mean, where else could it be?”

“...maybe it’s metaphorical?” Nenani offered inanely, straightening her scarf a bit.

Jae stared blankly at her. “The worst part of that idea is that it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”  

Climbing onto the fountain's edge and sitting on the rim, the two humans used the improved vantage point to score over the area. As time went on, Jae became increasingly exasperated.

“Dammit,” he said at last. “I was so sure it would be here.”

“Maybe we should head back to the kitchens,” Nenani suggested. The sky was gray and it seemed to be getting colder.

“I’m calling shenanigans,” Jae told her. “I think Maevis is lying about there being another bush.”

Cold, empty handed, and disappointed they clambered back down off the fountain and headed back to the tunnel’s entrance set in the wall along the floor. It sat flush with the rest of the stonework and the only way to open it was by pressing a spring locked trigger disguised as coffer near the floor. The stone molding around the hallway was covered with the decorative recess squares and the only distinguishing mark on the door’s opening mechanism was a seven petaled flower at its center.

Suddenly, Nenani felt Jae’s hand grab her arm.

“What?” She asked, turning to face the young man. However, he was not looking at her. Rather, he was staring ahead, eye wide open and face pale. Nenani followed his line of sight and her heart skipped a beat.

Further down the hallway, close to the tunnel’s entrance, was an unfamiliar giant. He was massive, perhaps a full head taller than Farris or Bart and wide. Much wider. Head to toe, the massive figure was clad in black and brown leather, the hilt of a long sword poking up from behind his left shoulder and another sword hung at his hip. His large hand was caressing the hilt of the one at his waist, dark eyes focused on the two smaller beings.

“Who…?” she whispered unsteadily.

“Creag. His name is Creag,” Jae said, voice low. “The Queen’s man.”

Nenani had not felt that particular kind of innate, primal fear since she first came to Vhasshal, when she thought the King meant to have her executed for theft. But at that moment, standing in the very large hallway, and facing the largest being she had ever bore witness to, it all came flooding back. Her insides twisted and the panicked swirling of her thought kept her feet rooted to the spot. Like a spooked rabbit staring at a wolf.  

Jae’s grip on her arm tightened and he whispered to her, “When I say so, make a run for the corridor behind us. Take a right at the first turn. Then two door down there’s another entrance at the corner near a table. It’s got a vase on it. That tunnel’s a near straight shot to the Library. I’ll meet you there.”

“W-what are you gonna do?” She asked, matching his volume.

“He can’t see us go into the tunnels,” he replied. “I know some short cuts. I can lose him easily. He’s got more reason to come after me than you, so I’ll draw him away.”

Jae straightened his posture and took a step forward, putting himself between the glaring giant and Nenani.

“Are ya just gonna stand there looking pretty or are we gonna have to have some words?” Jae asked, voice bouncing oddly in the large hall.

Creag took one large step forward, the leather of his person creaking. “You were warned to keep away, rat.”

Nenani could not help but flinch at the real and palpable malice in the giant’s words and she was begrudged to admit to herself she had never bore witness to a giant with truly malicious intentions.

“Yeah, well I’m not much for following orders. Especially the stupid ones. Even more so when the one throwin’ ‘em around doesn’t have the authority to say shit about it.”

Creag drew out his sword and took another series of menacing steps. “I have all the authority I need right here.”

“And we have the King’s protection,” Jae threw back in a voice that belittled the degree of danger. “Or did you forget the part where Warren told you to leave us the fuck alone, huh?”

Creag sneered. “You may have wormed your way into the King’s confidence, taking advantage of his good will and charity, but I see you Silvaaran rats for what you truly are. Murders, treacherous scum. You lot committed regicide once. I will not permit it to happen again.”

“You think I’d want to kill the King? Big guy, you’re even dumber than ya look,” Jae shot back, clearly offended. “I’m his ward.”

“I will do what I must to keep my Lady and her progeny safe,” Creag snarled as he gripped the hilt firmly. “You will not fowl the air they breath with your presence.”

“Progeny?” Jae asked, the word falling clumsily from his mouth.

“The Queen is with child.” Nenani heard the words and while she was not so surprised, she was concerned. She stole a glance up at Jae’s face. He seemed...blank.

“...is that so?” He asked absently.

“And now the King can bring an end to this fallacy of yours,” Creag replied, a cruel smirk on his lips and began to walk towards them. “He will have a son of his own. A real son. Not some pet with which to pretend and waste his affection on faux familial bonds.”

The living mountain’s words seemed to strike a chord with Jae and his confident stance slowly drained away. Nenani could see the emotion in the young man’s eyes. “Jae,” she called. “Jae?”

He didn’t answer. Creag was nearly on them and she was near to panicking. “Jae? Say something!”

Again, no answer. With startled glances between Jae and the fast approaching Creag, Nenani did the first thing she thought of. She slapped Jae across the face. “JAE!”

Wherever in his mind that Jae had retreated, he was brought back to reality quickly and looking up, seeing how close Creag was now, turned to Nenani and yelled, “RUN!”

[caveartfair]

Olafur Eliasson on How Cooking Fuels His Art Practice

Olafur Eliasson and his sister Victoria Eliasdóttir. Courtesy of Studio Olafur Eliasson.

Most jobs don’t come with a complimentary daily lunch comprised of several courses of cutting-edge vegetarian fare. But working for the Berlin-based artist Olafur Eliasson isn’t like most jobs.

At Eliasson’s Berlin studio, lunch is served at 1 p.m. “We often say, ‘One meal at the studio a day keeps the doctor away,’” the Danish-Icelandic artist quipped as we connected via Skype. Indeed, Tuesdays through Fridays, the 100-person team congregates at long tables for a healthy, family-style meal of four to five courses, cooked on site by a team of chefs. “It’s the glue that keeps the team spirit together,” Eliasson explained.

That day, the artist told me, they’d begun the meal with a green salad (with unusual leaves sprinkled in that he suspects were clipped from a plant in his office), then moved on to grilled white cabbage topped with a nut paste; ricotta with sesame seeds; oven-baked eggplant with mushrooms; and the leftovers from a tomato salad from the prior day’s meal (no food is ever wasted). As is the case with Eliasson’s esteemed art practice—he’s addressed climate change by dropping icebergs in a Paris square, and has developed a line of solar-powered lamps—sustainability and ecology are foremost concerns in the kitchen. Meals are primarily vegetarian, and ingredients are sourced locally.

The artist has been running this culinary laboratory of sorts since around 2005, collaborating with several chefs, including Asako Iwama and Lauren Maurer, who established the kitchen in Eliasson’s former studio on Invalidenstrasse; and most recently his sister, Victoria Eliasdóttir. Not only has SOE Kitchen (as it’s known) become a beloved part of working at the four-story studio in Berlin’s Prenzlauer Berg, it’s earned Eliasson influential guests, from actor Meryl Streep and former Irish president Mary Robinson to chef Alice Waters (a friend of the artist who prefaced the studio’s 2016 cookbook). Beginning this August, the kitchen will temporarily evolve into a full-fledged restaurant in Reykjavik, Iceland, with Eliasson and Eliasdóttir at the helm.

Courtesy of Stúd��ó Ólafur Elíasson.

Courtesy of Stúdíó Ólafur Elíasson.

The siblings’ interest in food and art traces back to their late father, an artist who made a living cooking for fishermen in Iceland. “His claim to fame on the fishing boat was that he actually succeeded gradually in teaching fishermen to eat fish,” Eliasson explained, nodding to the fact that men who spent their days surrounded by fish were not too keen to actually dine on them. He began by serving deep-fried fish (“he called it Kentucky fried fish”), then gradually introduced unusual preparations, like a ceviche with lime and rhubarb juice. “He made the fishermen appreciate and respect the fish they worked with,” Eliasson reflected. His father’s ability to bring this social dimension to cooking, he added, inspired his own interest in food to a large extent (though don’t expect any deep-frying at SOE Kitchen).

However, the kitchen at his Berlin studio didn’t start out so ideologically, Eliasson explained. It began when the team was composed of only 10 to 15 people, who would take turns preparing lunches—often something as modest as a frozen pizza. Over time, they realized the benefits of eating together, and became more conscious about what they were eating. “We realized it’s important to eat together, respect the food, and understand where it comes from,” Eliasson said. “I don’t mean it hyper-politically; I just mean it’s more about consciousness, really, a little bit of sense of responsibility. I never try to moralize or to be patronizing about the whole food thing.”

As the staff at the studio swelled, it became clear that hiring an in-house chef would end up being both economical and a way to facilitate productivity.

The decision to focus on vegetarian meals (interrupted by the occasional fish dish) was not only an eco-conscious choice, but a fiscal one, as well. Eliasson and the chefs discovered farmers local to Berlin; they’ve since enrolled in the CSA program of the biodynamic farm Apfeltraum, receiving regular installments of seasonal produce. Deep consideration is put into factors like who you’re supporting when you buy food, the carbon footprint of transporting food and cooking, and nutrition.

Courtesy of Stúdíó Ólafur Elíasson.

Courtesy of Stúdíó Ólafur Elíasson.

Though he noted that the kitchen “takes up a great amount of space and compassion in the studio,” Eliasson is confident that his team has come to “appreciate this gentle type of hospitality” that goes into such carefully crafted lunches. “And that is what we are trying to do in Iceland, as well,” he added.

Eliasson has long toyed with the idea of running a restaurant, particularly with his sister’s leadership. While she’s worked at the SOE Kitchen for the past few years, prior to that, Eliasdóttir ran her own restaurant in Berlin, called Dóttir (the naming convention that means “daughter” in Icelandic). Beginning August 11th in Reykjavik, they’ll be serving the public from within the Marshall Restaurant + Bar at the Marshall House, a former fish factory-turned-arts complex where Eliasson also has a studio and showroom, in the city’s harbor district.

The menu will embrace local fish and seafood, and support nearby farmers who are grappling with Iceland’s harsh climate—using alternative farming methods like geothermal greenhouses to grow tomatoes. Eliasson is particularly excited about a batch of Icelandic strawberries they’ve secured, freezing them to make a marmalade. He sees the restaurant as a conceptual project—a food and art festival of sorts, where some dinners will be followed by bespoke programming ranging from experimental jazz to talks with philosophers, artists, or chefs.

Installation view of work by  Ólafur Elíasson. Courtesy of Stúdíó Ólafur Elíasson.

This may seem like a lot of energy and resources for Eliasson to spend on something tangential to his art practice. But the kitchen is not necessarily separate; in some ways, it’s a part of it. “Sometimes we do these special events where we become very conceptual or ideological or taste-driven,” the artist said. He recalled a recent dinner the team orchestrated in honor of former Irish president Mary Robinson, who now runs a climate justice organization. The team challenged itself to put on a fine dinner for 30 people that also had zero carbon footprint. The menu was made up of primarily raw foods and dishes prepared in a solar-powered sun cooker; the wine was delivered via sailboat. “Obviously, it ended up being very expensive and it had a kind of element of hedonism—kind of crazy in a good way,” Eliasson explained.

The kitchen has also experimented with au courant culinary trends, like fermentation. Things can sometimes get out of hand. “In the beginning, I was excited, but at some point the kitchen just went all in on fermentation, and we literally had to endure the obsessive fermentation period,” Eliasson joked. “The whole studio was fermented, I think.”

They’ve also welcomed research and science into the kitchen. A few weeks ago, the studio was visited by Barry Smith, a neuroscientist with a specialty in food. He took aside a group of workers and had them taste wine while wearing earplugs and clips on their noses. “It was totally bonkers,” Eliasson explained. “You try to drink wine with a nose clip on and it literally takes the taste away.”

He sees his kitchen as a place for creativity. One such experiment involved everyone eating with very long cutlery; they found that the utensils made it so difficult to eat that it was easier to feed one another instead.

“Clearly, some of it is fooling around and having a good time, but some of it is essentially related to art,” Eliasson reflected. When you think deeply about the taste of food as you’re eating it, he said, the experience is so much more intense. “We have, in our face, a handful of senses that are numb, because we don’t pay attention to them,” Eliasson said. “If you pay attention, you can just experience so much more. As an artist, I’m very interested in that.”

from Artsy News