The Grandchildren of the Revolution
The Doctor had been short on inspiration of late, but inspired by that Bourdain guy, he had decided to drag his history class into the kitchen in the coming week. Food could be excellent access to understanding a culture, and though supplies were limited, he figured the best way to get a decent sense of Versailles on a tropical bloody island was to make crepes. (And meet his horse, but that was the second class and mostly incidental.)
Now, the thing about crepes was that they were tricky as hell to get right, but once one knew how to do it, they were the easiest thing in the world, if terribly fiddly and touchy and rather twee. This, to him, said a great deal about the pre-revolutionary French. Totally knew how to party, but miserable decadent flops if things went wrong. Reinette had been the exception to a rule that ended up causing heads to roll.
This was the point the Doctor was going to make to his students. With crepes. He didn't think the metaphor was too bad. The only problem was remembering how to make the damn things. In terms of a recipe, it was easy. Light on eggs and almost everything but flour and milk and water. The spreading it evenly across the pan? Hard. The flipping it without ripping it to shreds? Hard.
It might have taken the Doctor, squinting through his spectacles, five tries to get just the even part right. Oh yes, this was going to be a great metaphor indeed.
New tags through Monday. Looking for Martha Jones, perhaps?
Now, the thing about crepes was that they were tricky as hell to get right, but once one knew how to do it, they were the easiest thing in the world, if terribly fiddly and touchy and rather twee. This, to him, said a great deal about the pre-revolutionary French. Totally knew how to party, but miserable decadent flops if things went wrong. Reinette had been the exception to a rule that ended up causing heads to roll.
This was the point the Doctor was going to make to his students. With crepes. He didn't think the metaphor was too bad. The only problem was remembering how to make the damn things. In terms of a recipe, it was easy. Light on eggs and almost everything but flour and milk and water. The spreading it evenly across the pan? Hard. The flipping it without ripping it to shreds? Hard.
It might have taken the Doctor, squinting through his spectacles, five tries to get just the even part right. Oh yes, this was going to be a great metaphor indeed.
New tags through Monday. Looking for Martha Jones, perhaps?