[Fanfiction] Sweets to the Sweet - Green Tea Cake, Jam Tomorrow (Interlude)
Title: Sweets to the Sweet - Green Tea Cake, Jam Tomorrow (Interlude)
Previous Parts: Part 1
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre(s): Romance/Humor/Drama
Character(s)|Pairing(s): France/South Korea, Japan, England
Rating/Warning(s): PG-13, boys kissing and more
Word Count: 2, 301
Summary: Originally a kink meme fill - France and Korea’s current relations and their “Treaty of Friendship,” a relationship told in cookery. Interludes of Japan and South Korea, England and France, in regards to this relationship.
Green Tea Cake (Gateau au verte tée)
Japan didn’t know why he was doing this, which profoundly irritated him. Of course, none of this showed on his face. He still held the elegantly decorated bag carefully.
Korea wasn’t at his usual house; matters of government kept him at his high tech Seoul high rise. However… it didn’t seem to stop the other Asian from doing things less than vital to governmental affairs. The peninsular nation was puttering around in the kitchen when his brother arrived.
Japan knew this because Korea answered the door wearing a white apron patterned with an odd blue floral design. “I didn’t know you were in town,” South Korea said without preamble.
“I… had some business here,” said Japan with a slight bow. “And I was wondering if you were doing well.” He offered the white and gold bag with both hands, as was proper. “I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you.”
Both of them knew the song and dance of etiquette, of never saying “no” explicitly but finding hundred of little ways of saying it anyways. Korea accepted the bag and ushered his brother into the apartment proper. “Come in then. You’re never any inconvenience.”
The reason for the apron became apparent when they entered the little dining room and the adjoining kitchen. A cake half-covered in white frosting rested on the kitchen counter, a bowl of frosting and a flat knife next to it. The air smelled sweet and savory all at once in the way that cooked grain smelled.
Japan blinked several times as Korea set down the bag, put the kettle on and pulled out two mugs from a cupboard. “Coffee or tea?” the other nation asked over his shoulder.
“Tea, please,” murmured Japan.
His host tore open a packet of instant coffee for himself and dropped a tea bag into Japan’s mug of hot water. He glanced over at the bag. “What is that?”
“I have heard good things about a new patisserie,” Japan replied. “I thought that you would be interested.” Because that was what South Korea and France talked about these days. Nothing but sweets and gourmet foods and brand names, discussed with all the seriousness of public health policies and tariffs. To them, it was serious.
Korea pulled out the beautifully folded, pristine box from inside the bag and carefully opened it, looking in at two round cakes wrapped in gold embossed cellophane. The cakes were a deep shade of sage green, decorated beautifully with glazed blackberries and curls of crystallized citrus peel. He whistled through his teeth.
“They do look good,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He glanced over at the box and its elegant gilt lettering. “Oh- this is from the new patisserie in Seoul Hotel! They only release five hundred items a day. This must be their green tea mousse with red bean. I’ve read about these… but I’ve been too busy to stand in line.” He looked over at Japan. “Did you kill someone to get this?” he teased and the other nation’s response was a deadpan expression.
Korea brought over the brewed tea. “But I have to finish making this,” he said a little apologetically, gesturing to the cake. “Sorry about that.”
Japan didn’t ask but he just let his brother fill in the rest. “It’s for a secretary’s birthday,” South Korea said as he picked up the flat knife again and began to spread frosting over the cake, smoothing out all the surfaces with remarkable ease.
“I see.” Japan wrapped his fingers around the mug despite its heat and watched. A new sort of life seemed present, or perhaps, a new kind of fire in his brother’s eyes. Korea always launched himself into new things with far too much enthusiasm, not that Japan never put in efforts into his newest endeavors. But there was never any calculated deliberation, no poised methodology.
Still, Korea scraped and smoothed the cake until it no longer resembled something covered with clouds of soft frosting. Its sides and top were completely smoothed, without dimple or flaw or scratch, as smooth as pasteboard or perhaps alabaster. The East Asian nation deftly filled a pastry bag with the remaining frosting and piped a single long ribbon all along the cake’s top.
He didn’t chatter, his eyes oddly unfocused as he brought out fruit glazed in clear sugar syrup. Dark ruby cherries, brilliantly red strawberries, perfectly plump blueberries, cubed melon in pale green and orange, yellow cubes of mango, slices of white peaches flecked with red. He stacked it all upon the cake, fussing over the placement of every single fruit though his fingers never lingered long once he had placed a fruit in place.
Korea exhaled and lifted his head to look at his guest properly. Japan had been staring in absolute fascination, despite himself.
“You are quite good at this,” the slighter nation managed to say softly.
Korea shrugged. “I’ve been taking lessons,” he said with shocking modesty.
“Why make it?” asked Japan without thinking.
The other Asian mused on this. “Because… I wanted to,” he replied. “Because she’s a very sweet girl and there’s something just- more personal about making something for someone, isn’t there?” He flashed a grin. “I saw it from a drama.”
Japan snorted into his teacup Korea carefully boxed the cake and placed it into his refrigerator. Then the smaller nation blinked as a saucer with a fork was set right in front of him, bearing a very small square cake topped with a glazed slice of peach and a strawberry.
“Here, try it out,” Korea said with a softer smile than usual.
Japan blinked, was unable to find a way to wriggle out of this situation (which he rather didn’t want to, thanks to his traitorous inner self), and picked up the fork to take a bite. Then he blinked again at the interior of the beautifully frosted and decorated cake, seeing sage green.
“Green tea?” he asked in mild surprise. He studied the layer of icing between the two layers of cake, seeing bits of fruit there as well. “With strawberries?”
“Her favorite flavor.” Korea started to clean up the used dishes and utensils, dumping them into the sink. “Are you going to eat it or not?” he asked without looking back.
Thus chastised, Japan felt his cheeks flush and he took a decorous bite. The flavor spread over his tongue smoothly, with sweet strawberry tickling at the edges of the grassy matcha mixed smoothly into the cake. He swallowed slowly and considered the remaining dessert.
“It is… quite good,” he murmured.
“Food made with love typically is,” said Korea. Japan looked up sharply to see an unusually dreamy expression in his brother’s eyes. He opened his mouth to- to what? To question? To confirm? To mock?
“Do you think France would like it?” asked South Korea idly.
Thoughts screeched to a halt in Japan’s brain. “What?”
“I know that he’s a bit of a purist when it comes to things,” Korea continued blithely, eyes still with that curious cast. “But I think he’d rather like it. It’s got a subtlety to it. Strawberry goes really well with green tea too.”
Japan reached for his teacup, but he had finished the tea. He bit the inside of his cheek instead and got to his feet. “I… I have to go,” he murmured. “I am sorry for intruding on your time. I hope you enjoy the cake.” He bowed and started heading to the door.
Korea followed after him, blinking in confusion. “You sure? Don’t you want to have it with me? I mean-”
Japan shook his head. “I will be all right. I just wanted to see how you were.”
“Japan,” said Korea. “Really?” His expression held no guile, no suspicion. But he did seem genuinely concerned and the island nation wanted to scream at the sheer pity he thought he saw there.
And Japan smiled and nodded and made the proper polite noises. “Of course. I just lost track of the time. Please, enjoy the cake. Perhaps I will be able to have more time later.” He bowed and took himself out, still able to taste the ghost of sour strawberry and bitter green tea all over his tongue.
Jam Tomorrow
If there was one culinary art that England had mastered, it was the art of the tea. France preferred coffee, its dark sinfulness, but England made the art of brewing dried leaves into something almost palatable and nearly comparable. It was always served in fine china, Wedgwood patterned with roses or with blue leaves, and sometimes the island nation could be convinced to not grace the table with choice delicacies as rock cakes (almost quite literally mineral in texture) and Bath buns (often distressingly resembling soap in taste).
“Earl Grey,” announced England, in the sunny little kitchen filled with china and beautifully embroidered towels. He deftly poured out cups for both of them, fragrant steam rising in the air in pale curls. France crossed his legs and accepted the cup, inhaling the scent. Raisin scones accompanied the tea as well, fortunately not a product of the cast-iron oven that remained scarred and proud and somewhat clean in the center of domesticity.
“Almost acceptable,” murmured the elder Nation.
England’s left eye twitched in its socket. “You wouldn’t know good tea from rubbish if it invaded you,” he growled.
“Says the one with no tongue.”
They remained in silence for some time, both buttering and spreading jam on a single scone each. Tea time between them remained a time of uneasy truces, less baring of claws and teeth. France idly noted the passage of time through the sun shining through the embroidered curtains. He came sharply to earth when England finally spoke once a ray had reached halfway to them.
“You seem closer to that Oriental.” The tone was deliberately light.
“Mm, I believe you mean South Korea.” France used his thumb to clean away a sticky trace of red currant jam from his mouth. The preserve gleamed jewel-like in its glass bowl and its taste lingered on his tongue pleasantly like a beautiful woman’s kiss.
“Yes, him. You two seem to be a match made in heaven, both of you sexual deviants and all,” England remarked sardonically as he poured new cups of tea for both of them.
“Are you jealous, my dear? I almost detect a hint of something curiously… sentimental in your voice.”
“Hardly. You replaced your bed yet? Surely you must be running out of room for all the notches.”
Even for England, the insults ran rather pathetic. France settled for licking his thumb clean deliberately and watched green eyes narrow. So he changed tactics and mused, “If there is one thing you can manage, it is jam, Angleterre. It is almost edible.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, frog.”
“Such sweet words from you.” He leaned forwards slightly, eyes lightly hooded but voice deliberately light. “So what business is it of yours if I am getting better acquainted with a growing power in the East? It is wise to do so.”
“Why am I not surprised?” mumbled England under his breath.
Then his eyes widened as the corners of France’s lips curled upwards into a smile. But it wasn’t just the upturning of a sensuous mouth… it was a slight softening of brilliantly blue eyes. Sapphires described France’s eyes perfectly, in England’s opinion. They were just as shining, just as brilliant… and just as hard.
France considered his teacup and turned it slowly in his hands. “He is… a most earnest nation,” he remarked, not seeming to directly address England. “Earnest. Intelligent. Hardworking… with the most intriguing- spirit.”
It wasn’t until much later that England realized that the closest that he had ever seen France come to an unrestrained, artless smile was when Jeanne d’Arc was alive.
But even then, this expression was a pale shadow, a diluted water color, a photograph of a photograph. It made the heart ache to think of what light the true smile could hold, undiluted by pain and wistfulness and sorrow and- desperation. England’s fingers tightened on the handle of his cup.
He stared blankly at the single red rosebud he had left on the table in a slim cut crystal vase. It had been a choice blossom when he had plucked it but it refused to bloom here, though three days had already passed. So it remained furled up in a tight point, slowly dying without ever having opened.
England might have said, “What do you see in him?” But his mouth clamped shut tighter than a nun’s knees and he remained silent. Some questions, no matter how burning or desperate, were sometimes best left unasked. As the other nation across the table from him had once said, sardonically, “Are you asking me because you wish to know? Or because you want a particular answer?”
A wiser man might have seen the sudden hunger that flashed across the still soft blue eyes. Even a man paying more attention would have seen the pink, sensuous lips tighten and then part for a moment, seeking to speak words ready to leap off the tip of the tongue. But England didn’t notice, and France desisted, not cursing his own cowardice but cursing all else.
In midst of the renewed silence, France gazed into the amber liquid swiftly cooling and at the dregs of tea leaves swirling black upon the bottom of the cup. He reached for the last morsel of jam smeared scone upon his saucer and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“I’ll bring some over to you sometime,” England said suddenly. “The jam, I mean.” He put his untouched cup of tea back on its saucer.
He always said that. And France knew that he never would.
Notes:
Green Tea Cake
Gateau au verte tée - French for “green tea cake,” which I might have just butchered.
Green tea is a very popular flavor in Asian countries and is often featured and incorporated into Western dishes, including desserts. The dessert in the story (the one that Kiku gives) is based on an actual cake produced by Jin’s Patisserie in Venice Beach, CA; the owner is a Chinese, French-trained former pastry chef for a major Tokyo hotel. The cake that Yong-soo makes on the other hand is of less exalted origin; it’s from a local Korean bakery near where the author used to live.
Matcha is powdered green tea from Japan and very easy to put into various dishes.
Green is naturally associated with the deadly sin of envy.
Jam Tomorrow
Yes, I admit it. I’m a France/England fan. Such a beautifully vicious relationship. -sigh-
“jam tomorrow” - a reference to Alice in Wonderland (or rather, Alice Through the Looking Glass)
"I'm sure I'll take you with pleasure!" the Queen said. "Two pence a week, and jam every other day."
Alice couldn't help laughing, as she said, "I don't want you to hire ME - and I don't care for jam."
"It's very good jam," said the Queen.
"Well, I don't want any TO-DAY, at any rate."
"You couldn't have it if you DID want it," the Queen said. "The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday - but never jam to-day."
"It MUST come sometimes to "jam to-day,"" Alice objected.
"No, it can't," said the Queen. "It's jam every OTHER day: to-day isn't any OTHER day, you know."
The phrase is brilliantly lampooned in Terry Pratchett’s “Hogfather”
"What good's a god who gives you everything you want? ... It's the HOPE that's important. Give people jam today, and they'll just sit and eat it. Jam tomorrow, now -- that'll keep them going for ever."
-Rock cakes are a kind of cookie that originated in Great Britain with a hard, rough exterior that rather resembles rocks (leading to a variety of very cruel puns disparaging characters’ baking abilities in some pieces of literature).
-Bath buns are rich, sweet brioche like breads that are often baked with sugar on the bottom and sprinkled on top, decorated with sultanas, currants or other dried/candied fruits.
-On that note… a brioche is a very rich French bread with a high butter and egg content with a particularly golden crust from use of egg washes.
-Red currant is a flavor not often found in North America but very popular in Europe. It’s a bit tart and sour, rather like cranberries, and the jam (called jelly but technically a jam, because it’s made by boiling the fruit in sugar) really is very pretty to look at in a clear glass jar. The berries also make a very nice garnish.
-On that note (again), a jam is a preserve that has pieces of the original fruit or vegetable’s flesh with the juice and is generally made from one kind of fruit instead a variety. A jelly, in contrast, is a smooth spread without such pieces.
Previous Parts: Part 1
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre(s): Romance/Humor/Drama
Character(s)|Pairing(s): France/South Korea, Japan, England
Rating/Warning(s): PG-13, boys kissing and more
Word Count: 2, 301
Summary: Originally a kink meme fill - France and Korea’s current relations and their “Treaty of Friendship,” a relationship told in cookery. Interludes of Japan and South Korea, England and France, in regards to this relationship.
Green Tea Cake (Gateau au verte tée)
Japan didn’t know why he was doing this, which profoundly irritated him. Of course, none of this showed on his face. He still held the elegantly decorated bag carefully.
Korea wasn’t at his usual house; matters of government kept him at his high tech Seoul high rise. However… it didn’t seem to stop the other Asian from doing things less than vital to governmental affairs. The peninsular nation was puttering around in the kitchen when his brother arrived.
Japan knew this because Korea answered the door wearing a white apron patterned with an odd blue floral design. “I didn’t know you were in town,” South Korea said without preamble.
“I… had some business here,” said Japan with a slight bow. “And I was wondering if you were doing well.” He offered the white and gold bag with both hands, as was proper. “I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you.”
Both of them knew the song and dance of etiquette, of never saying “no” explicitly but finding hundred of little ways of saying it anyways. Korea accepted the bag and ushered his brother into the apartment proper. “Come in then. You’re never any inconvenience.”
The reason for the apron became apparent when they entered the little dining room and the adjoining kitchen. A cake half-covered in white frosting rested on the kitchen counter, a bowl of frosting and a flat knife next to it. The air smelled sweet and savory all at once in the way that cooked grain smelled.
Japan blinked several times as Korea set down the bag, put the kettle on and pulled out two mugs from a cupboard. “Coffee or tea?” the other nation asked over his shoulder.
“Tea, please,” murmured Japan.
His host tore open a packet of instant coffee for himself and dropped a tea bag into Japan’s mug of hot water. He glanced over at the bag. “What is that?”
“I have heard good things about a new patisserie,” Japan replied. “I thought that you would be interested.” Because that was what South Korea and France talked about these days. Nothing but sweets and gourmet foods and brand names, discussed with all the seriousness of public health policies and tariffs. To them, it was serious.
Korea pulled out the beautifully folded, pristine box from inside the bag and carefully opened it, looking in at two round cakes wrapped in gold embossed cellophane. The cakes were a deep shade of sage green, decorated beautifully with glazed blackberries and curls of crystallized citrus peel. He whistled through his teeth.
“They do look good,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He glanced over at the box and its elegant gilt lettering. “Oh- this is from the new patisserie in Seoul Hotel! They only release five hundred items a day. This must be their green tea mousse with red bean. I’ve read about these… but I’ve been too busy to stand in line.” He looked over at Japan. “Did you kill someone to get this?” he teased and the other nation’s response was a deadpan expression.
Korea brought over the brewed tea. “But I have to finish making this,” he said a little apologetically, gesturing to the cake. “Sorry about that.”
Japan didn’t ask but he just let his brother fill in the rest. “It’s for a secretary’s birthday,” South Korea said as he picked up the flat knife again and began to spread frosting over the cake, smoothing out all the surfaces with remarkable ease.
“I see.” Japan wrapped his fingers around the mug despite its heat and watched. A new sort of life seemed present, or perhaps, a new kind of fire in his brother’s eyes. Korea always launched himself into new things with far too much enthusiasm, not that Japan never put in efforts into his newest endeavors. But there was never any calculated deliberation, no poised methodology.
Still, Korea scraped and smoothed the cake until it no longer resembled something covered with clouds of soft frosting. Its sides and top were completely smoothed, without dimple or flaw or scratch, as smooth as pasteboard or perhaps alabaster. The East Asian nation deftly filled a pastry bag with the remaining frosting and piped a single long ribbon all along the cake’s top.
He didn’t chatter, his eyes oddly unfocused as he brought out fruit glazed in clear sugar syrup. Dark ruby cherries, brilliantly red strawberries, perfectly plump blueberries, cubed melon in pale green and orange, yellow cubes of mango, slices of white peaches flecked with red. He stacked it all upon the cake, fussing over the placement of every single fruit though his fingers never lingered long once he had placed a fruit in place.
Korea exhaled and lifted his head to look at his guest properly. Japan had been staring in absolute fascination, despite himself.
“You are quite good at this,” the slighter nation managed to say softly.
Korea shrugged. “I’ve been taking lessons,” he said with shocking modesty.
“Why make it?” asked Japan without thinking.
The other Asian mused on this. “Because… I wanted to,” he replied. “Because she’s a very sweet girl and there’s something just- more personal about making something for someone, isn’t there?” He flashed a grin. “I saw it from a drama.”
Japan snorted into his teacup Korea carefully boxed the cake and placed it into his refrigerator. Then the smaller nation blinked as a saucer with a fork was set right in front of him, bearing a very small square cake topped with a glazed slice of peach and a strawberry.
“Here, try it out,” Korea said with a softer smile than usual.
Japan blinked, was unable to find a way to wriggle out of this situation (which he rather didn’t want to, thanks to his traitorous inner self), and picked up the fork to take a bite. Then he blinked again at the interior of the beautifully frosted and decorated cake, seeing sage green.
“Green tea?” he asked in mild surprise. He studied the layer of icing between the two layers of cake, seeing bits of fruit there as well. “With strawberries?”
“Her favorite flavor.” Korea started to clean up the used dishes and utensils, dumping them into the sink. “Are you going to eat it or not?” he asked without looking back.
Thus chastised, Japan felt his cheeks flush and he took a decorous bite. The flavor spread over his tongue smoothly, with sweet strawberry tickling at the edges of the grassy matcha mixed smoothly into the cake. He swallowed slowly and considered the remaining dessert.
“It is… quite good,” he murmured.
“Food made with love typically is,” said Korea. Japan looked up sharply to see an unusually dreamy expression in his brother’s eyes. He opened his mouth to- to what? To question? To confirm? To mock?
“Do you think France would like it?” asked South Korea idly.
Thoughts screeched to a halt in Japan’s brain. “What?”
“I know that he’s a bit of a purist when it comes to things,” Korea continued blithely, eyes still with that curious cast. “But I think he’d rather like it. It’s got a subtlety to it. Strawberry goes really well with green tea too.”
Japan reached for his teacup, but he had finished the tea. He bit the inside of his cheek instead and got to his feet. “I… I have to go,” he murmured. “I am sorry for intruding on your time. I hope you enjoy the cake.” He bowed and started heading to the door.
Korea followed after him, blinking in confusion. “You sure? Don’t you want to have it with me? I mean-”
Japan shook his head. “I will be all right. I just wanted to see how you were.”
“Japan,” said Korea. “Really?” His expression held no guile, no suspicion. But he did seem genuinely concerned and the island nation wanted to scream at the sheer pity he thought he saw there.
And Japan smiled and nodded and made the proper polite noises. “Of course. I just lost track of the time. Please, enjoy the cake. Perhaps I will be able to have more time later.” He bowed and took himself out, still able to taste the ghost of sour strawberry and bitter green tea all over his tongue.
Jam Tomorrow
If there was one culinary art that England had mastered, it was the art of the tea. France preferred coffee, its dark sinfulness, but England made the art of brewing dried leaves into something almost palatable and nearly comparable. It was always served in fine china, Wedgwood patterned with roses or with blue leaves, and sometimes the island nation could be convinced to not grace the table with choice delicacies as rock cakes (almost quite literally mineral in texture) and Bath buns (often distressingly resembling soap in taste).
“Earl Grey,” announced England, in the sunny little kitchen filled with china and beautifully embroidered towels. He deftly poured out cups for both of them, fragrant steam rising in the air in pale curls. France crossed his legs and accepted the cup, inhaling the scent. Raisin scones accompanied the tea as well, fortunately not a product of the cast-iron oven that remained scarred and proud and somewhat clean in the center of domesticity.
“Almost acceptable,” murmured the elder Nation.
England’s left eye twitched in its socket. “You wouldn’t know good tea from rubbish if it invaded you,” he growled.
“Says the one with no tongue.”
They remained in silence for some time, both buttering and spreading jam on a single scone each. Tea time between them remained a time of uneasy truces, less baring of claws and teeth. France idly noted the passage of time through the sun shining through the embroidered curtains. He came sharply to earth when England finally spoke once a ray had reached halfway to them.
“You seem closer to that Oriental.” The tone was deliberately light.
“Mm, I believe you mean South Korea.” France used his thumb to clean away a sticky trace of red currant jam from his mouth. The preserve gleamed jewel-like in its glass bowl and its taste lingered on his tongue pleasantly like a beautiful woman’s kiss.
“Yes, him. You two seem to be a match made in heaven, both of you sexual deviants and all,” England remarked sardonically as he poured new cups of tea for both of them.
“Are you jealous, my dear? I almost detect a hint of something curiously… sentimental in your voice.”
“Hardly. You replaced your bed yet? Surely you must be running out of room for all the notches.”
Even for England, the insults ran rather pathetic. France settled for licking his thumb clean deliberately and watched green eyes narrow. So he changed tactics and mused, “If there is one thing you can manage, it is jam, Angleterre. It is almost edible.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, frog.”
“Such sweet words from you.” He leaned forwards slightly, eyes lightly hooded but voice deliberately light. “So what business is it of yours if I am getting better acquainted with a growing power in the East? It is wise to do so.”
“Why am I not surprised?” mumbled England under his breath.
Then his eyes widened as the corners of France’s lips curled upwards into a smile. But it wasn’t just the upturning of a sensuous mouth… it was a slight softening of brilliantly blue eyes. Sapphires described France’s eyes perfectly, in England’s opinion. They were just as shining, just as brilliant… and just as hard.
France considered his teacup and turned it slowly in his hands. “He is… a most earnest nation,” he remarked, not seeming to directly address England. “Earnest. Intelligent. Hardworking… with the most intriguing- spirit.”
It wasn’t until much later that England realized that the closest that he had ever seen France come to an unrestrained, artless smile was when Jeanne d’Arc was alive.
But even then, this expression was a pale shadow, a diluted water color, a photograph of a photograph. It made the heart ache to think of what light the true smile could hold, undiluted by pain and wistfulness and sorrow and- desperation. England’s fingers tightened on the handle of his cup.
He stared blankly at the single red rosebud he had left on the table in a slim cut crystal vase. It had been a choice blossom when he had plucked it but it refused to bloom here, though three days had already passed. So it remained furled up in a tight point, slowly dying without ever having opened.
England might have said, “What do you see in him?” But his mouth clamped shut tighter than a nun’s knees and he remained silent. Some questions, no matter how burning or desperate, were sometimes best left unasked. As the other nation across the table from him had once said, sardonically, “Are you asking me because you wish to know? Or because you want a particular answer?”
A wiser man might have seen the sudden hunger that flashed across the still soft blue eyes. Even a man paying more attention would have seen the pink, sensuous lips tighten and then part for a moment, seeking to speak words ready to leap off the tip of the tongue. But England didn’t notice, and France desisted, not cursing his own cowardice but cursing all else.
In midst of the renewed silence, France gazed into the amber liquid swiftly cooling and at the dregs of tea leaves swirling black upon the bottom of the cup. He reached for the last morsel of jam smeared scone upon his saucer and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“I’ll bring some over to you sometime,” England said suddenly. “The jam, I mean.” He put his untouched cup of tea back on its saucer.
He always said that. And France knew that he never would.
Notes:
Green Tea Cake
Gateau au verte tée - French for “green tea cake,” which I might have just butchered.
Green tea is a very popular flavor in Asian countries and is often featured and incorporated into Western dishes, including desserts. The dessert in the story (the one that Kiku gives) is based on an actual cake produced by Jin’s Patisserie in Venice Beach, CA; the owner is a Chinese, French-trained former pastry chef for a major Tokyo hotel. The cake that Yong-soo makes on the other hand is of less exalted origin; it’s from a local Korean bakery near where the author used to live.
Matcha is powdered green tea from Japan and very easy to put into various dishes.
Green is naturally associated with the deadly sin of envy.
Jam Tomorrow
Yes, I admit it. I’m a France/England fan. Such a beautifully vicious relationship. -sigh-
“jam tomorrow” - a reference to Alice in Wonderland (or rather, Alice Through the Looking Glass)
"I'm sure I'll take you with pleasure!" the Queen said. "Two pence a week, and jam every other day."
Alice couldn't help laughing, as she said, "I don't want you to hire ME - and I don't care for jam."
"It's very good jam," said the Queen.
"Well, I don't want any TO-DAY, at any rate."
"You couldn't have it if you DID want it," the Queen said. "The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday - but never jam to-day."
"It MUST come sometimes to "jam to-day,"" Alice objected.
"No, it can't," said the Queen. "It's jam every OTHER day: to-day isn't any OTHER day, you know."
The phrase is brilliantly lampooned in Terry Pratchett’s “Hogfather”
"What good's a god who gives you everything you want? ... It's the HOPE that's important. Give people jam today, and they'll just sit and eat it. Jam tomorrow, now -- that'll keep them going for ever."
-Rock cakes are a kind of cookie that originated in Great Britain with a hard, rough exterior that rather resembles rocks (leading to a variety of very cruel puns disparaging characters’ baking abilities in some pieces of literature).
-Bath buns are rich, sweet brioche like breads that are often baked with sugar on the bottom and sprinkled on top, decorated with sultanas, currants or other dried/candied fruits.
-On that note… a brioche is a very rich French bread with a high butter and egg content with a particularly golden crust from use of egg washes.
-Red currant is a flavor not often found in North America but very popular in Europe. It’s a bit tart and sour, rather like cranberries, and the jam (called jelly but technically a jam, because it’s made by boiling the fruit in sugar) really is very pretty to look at in a clear glass jar. The berries also make a very nice garnish.
-On that note (again), a jam is a preserve that has pieces of the original fruit or vegetable’s flesh with the juice and is generally made from one kind of fruit instead a variety. A jelly, in contrast, is a smooth spread without such pieces.