Seafood with your eyes?
"Valar dohaeris, valar dohaeris, valar dohaeris," Arya singsonged as she moved another plate from the bench to the kitchen island. Her weapons were stacked in a corner because otherwise they'd just get in the way.
Since this was the first meal she'd prepared up here, she'd stuck to a food she knew fairly well: fish. She'd had to get instructions on how to work the devices in the kitchen that cooked the food, but she thought she had a fairly good handle on it now, and had poached the not-inconsiderable amount of fish that she'd spent part of the day catching. Some of the resulting fish looked better than others. Some of the ones that looked better, were, in fact, ones that had not been cooked yet.
But for the most part they seemed edible.
For flavouring, she had randomly tried various of the spices, on the basis that the way to find out which was best was to see which people liked. So she had them on plates depending on which spice she'd used. Since you couldn't just have fish, there were also a variety of fruit and vegetables, some of which she had fried just to see what would happen, and a big bowl of rice because she couldn't think of anything else to go with it.
The finishing touch was the thing she'd spent the other part of the day collecting: oysters, again some of which she had fried to see what they were like. She had the various sauces she'd found out beside the plates; there was no hot sauce that she'd been able to find, so the tomato and applesauce would have to do.
Satisfied, she nodded to herself then shouted in a singsong (as only a former seller of shellfish could), "OYSTERS, FISH AND FRUIT!"
[Your saturday dinner post, prepared by a twelve year-old tomboy of questionable culinary skill. Come, boggle! Boggle at her or boggle at each other. Question it in her hearing at your own risk, though.]
Since this was the first meal she'd prepared up here, she'd stuck to a food she knew fairly well: fish. She'd had to get instructions on how to work the devices in the kitchen that cooked the food, but she thought she had a fairly good handle on it now, and had poached the not-inconsiderable amount of fish that she'd spent part of the day catching. Some of the resulting fish looked better than others. Some of the ones that looked better, were, in fact, ones that had not been cooked yet.
But for the most part they seemed edible.
For flavouring, she had randomly tried various of the spices, on the basis that the way to find out which was best was to see which people liked. So she had them on plates depending on which spice she'd used. Since you couldn't just have fish, there were also a variety of fruit and vegetables, some of which she had fried just to see what would happen, and a big bowl of rice because she couldn't think of anything else to go with it.
The finishing touch was the thing she'd spent the other part of the day collecting: oysters, again some of which she had fried to see what they were like. She had the various sauces she'd found out beside the plates; there was no hot sauce that she'd been able to find, so the tomato and applesauce would have to do.
Satisfied, she nodded to herself then shouted in a singsong (as only a former seller of shellfish could), "OYSTERS, FISH AND FRUIT!"
[Your saturday dinner post, prepared by a twelve year-old tomboy of questionable culinary skill. Come, boggle! Boggle at her or boggle at each other. Question it in her hearing at your own risk, though.]