Writing Prompt #12 - Favorite Food
This has taken forever to get done. I kept starting something and then tossing it aside because it was somehow depressing. I swear, when a character can make a favorite food depressing you know there's something seriously wrong. However, I have kept at it and finally I've come up with something that works. Huzzah!
Standing outside the kitchen the scent of it summoned me closer to the door. She was baking. She was baking and I wanted what she had. Even if it meant venturing into the kitchens. On a good day it was a risky sort of thing and today had not been a good day. It was like somehow she had known because here by the door to the kitchen I could smell what would make it better.
Pushing the door open, abandoning the remains of the dinner crowd in the living cavern I searched around for the object of my search. Not in sight so they must still be baking. Well, in that case. . .Through the people cleaning up after dinner and doing prep work for tomorrow I made my way back to where I knew she’d be holding court.
“Corin? Ummm. So, I noticed. . .” Great, I sounded like I was five turns old. Still, it couldn’t hurt. I knew it couldn’t hurt and the smile my mother rewarded me with was enough to convince me I would definitely get what I wanted.
“There you are! I’m on the last batch. I was sure you’d be here ages ago. I was afraid you had not noticed.” One of the other cooks rose from her place at the table and gave it to me with a smile. Well, at least I was welcome in here since records wasn’t someplace I was really warmly received these days.
Sitting down, I waited in silence, letting the conversation swirl around me. Every now and again I would get asked a question. How was Peloth? How was weyrlinghood? How was the weyrlingmaster? (Asked by the younger women seated at the table with me.) It was only the last question that made me roll my eyes. I’ve no idea at all what they see in him.
To go with the treat, klah only. I really could use a drink, but no one here would give me one. Eventually I’d find someone who would. Two months without was two months too long. Oh, well, klah was welcome enough. It would do until what I was here for was set in front of me. I didn’t even think to move. I was suffered in here so long as I stayed as still as possible so I would not break anything or create a mess.
A few minutes later and Corin rose to her feet and went to the ovens to withdraw the last of the baking. The last of the baking was never for public consumption. Instead it was reserved for the cooks and, if they were lucky enough, some outsider who knew when to show up.
When Corin returned she set down a bowl in front of me with steam rising from it. Leaning down I inhaled the scent of pears and cinnamon, cream and eggs. There was no sauce to pour over it. That would be made tomorrow, but the bread pudding could be kept overnight easily and eaten hot or cold tomorrow. But it was best right out of the oven when the cream bubbled slightly and the pears burned your tongue if you were not careful.
The conversation swirled on. Someone may have asked me a question, but it was lost in the heady taste of fruit and spices and cream soaked bread. I remember it being the first real treat I’d ever had. After my aborted attempt to come with Corin in here she had brought it home to me. Still warm and drizzled with the brandy sauce and I had licked my bowl clean and begged the remains of Navan’s dessert off him. Ever since that day it was the one thing that no matter what could make me smile.
Sometimes she tried harder than I gave her credit for. My bowl’s portion was twice the size of anyone else’s and I ate it slow. Every bite was savored and towards the end I could even remember enough of my surroundings to participate in the conversation. Not much, I had little to share, but enough.
My spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Scrape, scrape and then when it wouldn’t get anymore I licked the spoon. When that wasn’t enough I used my fingers to run along the bowl’s interior to be sure nothing was left. I stopped before licking it clean. What was fine for a ten turn old was not so fine for a weyrwoman I suppose. At least in public.
Everyone else was done and had been for some time. I rose up and carried bowl, spoon, and cup to the sink where hot water awaited them. Washing them up and leaving them to dry, I returned to the table to say goodbye. Corin got a hug, because I am a dutiful daughter, and the others a wave.
Slipping out into the living cavern and then the bowl I licked my lips and paused to close my eyes and savor one last moment the warm treat I’d just had. The memory was tucked away to be remembered for later. If could I only eat one thing ever again that is what it would be.
Standing outside the kitchen the scent of it summoned me closer to the door. She was baking. She was baking and I wanted what she had. Even if it meant venturing into the kitchens. On a good day it was a risky sort of thing and today had not been a good day. It was like somehow she had known because here by the door to the kitchen I could smell what would make it better.
Pushing the door open, abandoning the remains of the dinner crowd in the living cavern I searched around for the object of my search. Not in sight so they must still be baking. Well, in that case. . .Through the people cleaning up after dinner and doing prep work for tomorrow I made my way back to where I knew she’d be holding court.
“Corin? Ummm. So, I noticed. . .” Great, I sounded like I was five turns old. Still, it couldn’t hurt. I knew it couldn’t hurt and the smile my mother rewarded me with was enough to convince me I would definitely get what I wanted.
“There you are! I’m on the last batch. I was sure you’d be here ages ago. I was afraid you had not noticed.” One of the other cooks rose from her place at the table and gave it to me with a smile. Well, at least I was welcome in here since records wasn’t someplace I was really warmly received these days.
Sitting down, I waited in silence, letting the conversation swirl around me. Every now and again I would get asked a question. How was Peloth? How was weyrlinghood? How was the weyrlingmaster? (Asked by the younger women seated at the table with me.) It was only the last question that made me roll my eyes. I’ve no idea at all what they see in him.
To go with the treat, klah only. I really could use a drink, but no one here would give me one. Eventually I’d find someone who would. Two months without was two months too long. Oh, well, klah was welcome enough. It would do until what I was here for was set in front of me. I didn’t even think to move. I was suffered in here so long as I stayed as still as possible so I would not break anything or create a mess.
A few minutes later and Corin rose to her feet and went to the ovens to withdraw the last of the baking. The last of the baking was never for public consumption. Instead it was reserved for the cooks and, if they were lucky enough, some outsider who knew when to show up.
When Corin returned she set down a bowl in front of me with steam rising from it. Leaning down I inhaled the scent of pears and cinnamon, cream and eggs. There was no sauce to pour over it. That would be made tomorrow, but the bread pudding could be kept overnight easily and eaten hot or cold tomorrow. But it was best right out of the oven when the cream bubbled slightly and the pears burned your tongue if you were not careful.
The conversation swirled on. Someone may have asked me a question, but it was lost in the heady taste of fruit and spices and cream soaked bread. I remember it being the first real treat I’d ever had. After my aborted attempt to come with Corin in here she had brought it home to me. Still warm and drizzled with the brandy sauce and I had licked my bowl clean and begged the remains of Navan’s dessert off him. Ever since that day it was the one thing that no matter what could make me smile.
Sometimes she tried harder than I gave her credit for. My bowl’s portion was twice the size of anyone else’s and I ate it slow. Every bite was savored and towards the end I could even remember enough of my surroundings to participate in the conversation. Not much, I had little to share, but enough.
My spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Scrape, scrape and then when it wouldn’t get anymore I licked the spoon. When that wasn’t enough I used my fingers to run along the bowl’s interior to be sure nothing was left. I stopped before licking it clean. What was fine for a ten turn old was not so fine for a weyrwoman I suppose. At least in public.
Everyone else was done and had been for some time. I rose up and carried bowl, spoon, and cup to the sink where hot water awaited them. Washing them up and leaving them to dry, I returned to the table to say goodbye. Corin got a hug, because I am a dutiful daughter, and the others a wave.
Slipping out into the living cavern and then the bowl I licked my lips and paused to close my eyes and savor one last moment the warm treat I’d just had. The memory was tucked away to be remembered for later. If could I only eat one thing ever again that is what it would be.