Getting there. Learn your lessons, practice, improve. Bit by bit. Probably overproofed the loaf.
1Author: Harfimdur Blackbuckle
I'm a bard. I do bardy things.
Steak Frites
Another bistro inspiration, I think Einarr would like this, not counting the green stuff on the plate (but you can’t scoff at the mustard sherry vinaigrette). A nice ribeye, reverse seared. No, reverse searing is not an exotic arcane cooking technique, but you simply start low in the oven, cook it to the right temperature, then finish it in a hot pan. This way you get a really nice, flavorful crust and the steak is done just right.
I’m still on a Roll
The rice, oh the rice! Oh what challenge it doth be to cook thee just right. Not underdone and chalky nor mushy or burnt. Forsooth many a great cook hath despaired over preparing these humble yet formidable white grains. *Munch*
1I’m on a Roll
Hmmm, it’s been years since I tried this, and I while it turned out somewhat ok, I need practice every step of the way, from the rice to the rolling. Ah well, I can think of worse things than eating all the practice results…
The Prince’s Pizza
Sooo, Einarr has been baking pizzas here and there, and no joke, he’s really good at it! He’s showing surprising care and dexterity for someone whose first instinct is to punch everything as hard as they can. The dough is wonderfully crispy and chewy and fluffy, all at the same time. And the toppings… yum. But he’s strangely secretive about it. I don’t know why… Hey…what…dammit Einarr leggo of my pen…
EINARR EINARR ERAN EINARR REINARR EINARR EINARREINARREINARR EINARREINARR EINARR REINARR EINAAAAARR EEEEEEEE EINARRR EINAR E I N A R R E I N A R R EINARR EINARRRRRRRR EEEEEEIIIII NNNNNNAAAAARRRRRR RRRRRR EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE E
5Backhendlsalat
Note to self: Magnificent beard hair and hot oil are not good companions. Luckily just a small splash but I’m kinda mad at myself for being sloppy. On the other hand, the pumpkin seed oil for the vinaigrette is nice.
Bread Dumplings
Misshapen bread? Just cut it up and turn it into dumplings, no biggie. Isn’t it funny how stew always tastes better a day later?
Chicken & Potato Gumbo
Gumbo is fun. Firstly, it’s cooked with beer, that’s a plus (admittedly, the alcohol cooks out). Secondly, making the roux for gumbo feels like an elaborate dare just how dark you can make it before it starts to burn.
Takes me back. We used to have enchanted jars to keep hot food with us, they were prized as much as a good pickaxe. I sold mine to buy my first lute. It wasn’t all that good, but it was a lute… Hm, I’m sure one could muse about selling your past to dream of a future…
But those were the times. A hard day of work, a hot bowl of stew, a quiet place deep underneath the earth.
That’s the thing, people often don’t know how quiet a mine can be. You see, if you’re feeling pompous and vain you carve big mountain halls. Large spaces, square angles, flat walls. Sound will bounce around like a tireless child. But when you’re mining, you don’t care about aesthetics. You don’t negotiate with the mountain about which path would look pretty, you choose the softer stone and avoid the harder bits. Some natural cavities here, a mined vein of ore there, and you end up with a ragged network of spaces where no two surfaces point the same way. And the way sound bounces there, not knowing which way to go, makes it sound unusually quiet and muted, like no other place in the world. A hard day of work, a hot bowl of stew. I remember I started to sneak away to find a secluded place, eat my food and hum melodies of fledgling songs. The birth of a bard, in the quiet of the mountain.
When the world is all weird angles, you don’t know which way to bounce, heh…
1Grilled Cheese Sandwich
To complete the trifecta of square bread creations.
Bread, cheddar, an amount of butter that would give a lich heartburn, and a hot pan, not too hot, until it all fuses into a cheesy, gooey and crunchy singularity. I think I need to take a nap now…
1Croque Madame
Leaving Niflheim and the monotony of mining opened my eyes to how the world is such a dance of people coming and going, each person passing by being a deep well of stories waiting to be told.
One of my earlier exposures to that was when I was working as a dishwasher to get by, my skills as a bard still hopelessly underdeveloped. There came this woman, human, 50-ish years of age if I had to take a guess, and she began to tell stories from her home country far away. I only caught bits and pieces between the work, but she radiated life. Within minutes she commanded people’s attentions.
Where she was from, they’d call a tavern not “tavern” but a “bistro”, and she recounted how they’d sit leisurely in the sun and enjoy coffee and a snack in the company of good friends. One of those dishes being a so-called “Croque Madame”, which supposedly translates into “crunchy lady” or something…?
Ham and cheese between two slices of bread, a hint of mustard, a fried egg and some more cheese sauce on top. Not a mere sandwich, but a layered symphony of comforting tastes.
Here’s my try. I would hope to capture some of that “schwoa… schoi…” – dammit, my pronunciation sucks, but I think it’s spelled “joie de vivre”… – I’d hope to capture some of that sometime, in my cooking, or my music.
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