Solo Oh Pickles

[Mayra]

17th of Summer, 515AV
5th Bell, Evening
Ruby District

Mayra still had time before it was too dark, so she stopped by a rather large cooking shop. She was going to get no where on her lack of cooking utensils, especially without any skill. Perhaps it was time to make her home a little more... welcoming. Starting with hot meals.

But of course the tent was busy. Iron pots and pans hung on racks and a multitude of cooking utensils were laid out on a table. There were a few customer's in the shop, and even though Mayra would have liked to get her things and go home, she had to wait. So she poked around. In the corner of the shop,there was a small chest that lay open. Something in Pavi, as Roan called the language, was carved into the wood. After peering into it, she found it was just a few scrolls and rolled up pieces of parchment paper. All of which, she guessed, would be in Pavi. Perhaps they were cooking recipes?

Mayra leaned down so she was crouched next to the chest and plucked hte nearest scroll from its slot. After untying the strip of leather that bound it she opened the scroll. The black ink was illegible. To her it seemed to be a bunch of scribbles in a language that didn't even have the same alphabet as common. Sighing, Mayra rolled the scroll back up and tied the leather strip again, placing it back into the slot.

But she was curious. A fair amount of travelers came through here, perhaps one of them was in common? Mayra wouldn't have minded a proper cooking recipe. Settling into crouched position by the low chest, she pulled out another scroll. Unraveled it, found herself unable to read it, and rolled it back up. It was a good ten chimes before the half-breed got a result.

It was a simple parchment, but the recipe was written in common. Pickled Okra. Immediately Mayra's tastebuds watered when she remembered the spicy, vinegar-ey taste of cucumber pickles. She could only imagine that Okra, whatever it was, could be similar. Grinning, Mayra stood, she turned to the counter where there were customer's being served, to attempt to get the vendor's attention.

"Excuse me." She waited until the customer was happy and had turned away to catch the Drykas' attention. The woman looked at her, and then looked away, busying herself with something on the paying counter. "Ma'am?" Mayra tried again. This time the woman looked up, but not at Mayra. She had caught sight of a man who was calling her attention on the otherside of the tent. Figures. It seemed as if this woman would not talk to her until she was the only customer left. I'll ask about the price later. Mayra sighed and continued about the supply tent to gather the supplies needed for the recipe.

Four pint canning jars, Four gallon Iron Pot and a Steaming Grate. Mayra recited in her head as she looked around the vendor's tent.

[Mayra]

After collecting the objects she needed, Mayra sauntered over to the counter, checking first to make sure no one else had that intention first. Perhaps the woman would take her money now that there were no other customers to distract her.

The woman, who had returned to her seat behind the transaction counter after helping the man, looked up when Mayra placed her things down. She seemed impatient, her eyes glancing around the inside of the tent once to make sure Mayra was the only person asking for assistance. And after waiting nearly twenty chimes, most of which was spent guessing prices, Mayra was sure she was.

"Thirty golds." The Drykas woman said with no nonsense in her voice. Mayra had run into a few people who "didn't have the time" for foreigners. Mostly, vendors were not this way, but the half-Zith supposed there were more than she originally guessed in the city. Obediently, and to keep from taking up too much time, Mayra shoveled out the necessary money. Placing the jars, the grate and the rolled piece of parchment in her pot, she lifted her supplies and left. She was a little surprised by how light all the metal and glass was, and a little overprotective of the pricey wares as she walked through the rest of the market. If she was going to make the pickle recipe, she just needed to go to two more stops.

To her luck, the first stop she saw was a spice's tent. Immediately the half-Chaktawe recognized a foreigner. There was no horse near his stall, or any animal at all actually. But what gave him away was his lack of tattoos and short hair. Hair, for some reason it was important to the Drykas enough that she couldn't find anyone over the toddler age who didn't have long complex braids adorn their heads like crowns. So, like herself, it was easy to spot those who didn't belong by their hair, and for the older ones, their lack of tattoos. Likely the foreigner made the trip from Kenash (to talk about a city Mayra hated) to see if he could make money in Endrykas. Good. Perhaps he would not be so difficult with her. She needed him to do some measuring anyway.

Plucking the recipe from her pot, she balanced her previous purchase on one hip when she stopped at the stall.

"Hello. What can I get for you?" The man muttered, and Mayra grinned at him.

"Ah. So you've already discovered they won't speak common to you?" She looked up at the Kenashian and grinned. He seemed a little taken aback by her common, or maybe it was her teeth. "I was wondering if you could get me these spices." She handed the man the sheet of thick parchment. "I haven't the faintest idea what they are." The frail-looking merchant read the recipe for a few ticks, nodding to himself, before he spoke up.

"You want a whole ounce of black peppercorns?" He looked at her doubtfully. Uh-oh. Mayra moved over to his transaction table, setting her previous purchase on it for a few chimes.

"Why do you say it like that." She challenged, as he handed her back her parchment and begun to move around his tent. He grabbed a small clay cup from his counter and went to the first sack of spices, scooping the cup into the seeds and evening it out.

"It's just, peppercorn is expensive. If you want something spicy, believe it or not, it is easier to just get a single chili pepper. Still expensive, but much cheaper. and a Hai of a lot more spicier." Mayra looked through the recipe again. Thinking it was a better idea to stick to what it said. She had no idea how to cook or preserve, which this recipe seemed to call for a bit of both, after all.

"How much is an ounce of peppercorns?"

"Thirty golds." Mayra whistled.

"Well, then I'm thinking you are right." She twisted the parchment in her hands until it was folded back up, and tied it with the leather again. Walking back over to where she left her purchases, she dropped the parchment in. The merchant had gathered the spices, separating the salt and sugar, but putting the rest in the same cloth bag.

"Hey, if you don't want to go anywhere else, I've got vinegar and garlic right here. It goes with a lot of spices, and people buy them together a lot. Like you." He pulled out ceramic jug and reached up for a necklace of garlic cloves that was hanging from the spine of the tent along with many other dried herbs and spices, making Mayra notice them for the first time. "Four, it said?" The man counted off four cloves and then pulled a knife from his belt. With practiced hands he flipped the blade, it slammed on the garlic, letting four cloves pop off. Then, as easily as it had appeared, the knife returned to its position on his belt.

"Thankyou." She gave a small smile to the man as he told her the price, which was surprisingly low, but she guess she hadn't gotten all that much. She handed him his coins before taking a few ticks to rearrange things in her pot before picking it back up.

"Oh and ma'am?" He interrupted her before she could walk out of the tent. "How long have you been in Endrykas?" That's and odd question. Mayra settled her gaze on the man. Perhaps he was just curious as to why she was so nice. The market place was where Mayra would have expected the Drykas to be kind to strangers, but she guessed it was a closed culture. And this merchant was probably very knew to trading outside his city, especially in Endrykas. She spun on her heels, walking out of the tent.

"Four years." She called over her shoulder and walked away. Not answering truthfully made no sense, but Mayra had had enough conversation for the day. She was bored now and eager to try her hand at the actual pickling process.

Receipt :

Cooking supply tent:

4x Canning Jars [24 gm]
4 gal Iron Pot [2 gm]
Steaming Grate [Ballpark = 2 gm]
1 Recipe Parchment [2 gm]

Spice tent:

1.5 oz kosher salt [2 cm]
.5 oz sugar [3 cm]
1 oz mustard seeds [5 cm]
.5 oz coriander seeds [5 cm]
.3 oz fennel seeds [3 cm]
.3 oz celery seeds [3 cm]
1 qt cider vinegar & jug [6 sm]
4 garlic cloves [1 sm, 6 cm]

Vegetable tent:

1&1/2 pounds of fresh okra [3 gm]
1 lemon [5 sm]
1 chili pepper [1 gm]

Total: -35 gm, 4 sm, 7 cm

[Mayra]

After stopping by the vegetable booth and gathering the rest of the ingredients. Mayra returned home. Placing the iron pot with everything in it next to her poor excuse of a fire pit, Mayra plucked the recipe from the mix and flew inside her tent. The first thing she did was pull open her book-chest. A barely used quill and a fresh vial of ink were set out and Mayra laid the parchment out so that she could write on it. Compared to the neat script that the recipe was written in, her own handwriting was much sloppier and thicker. She dipped for ink quick often but eventually she had her prices written down for the various supplies she needed. She didn't write the price down for the pot or canning jars, since she hoped she wouldn't have to buy knew ones any time soon.

Glancing over her Recipe Mayra nodded to herself once. She packed up her writing supplies, but then thought better of it. The foreign spice vendor had suggested a chili pepper, which she had gotten, instead of black peppercorn as the recipe called for. If it turned out okay, she would probably make note of that when she was done... So Mayra left out the quill, but put the cork back on the ink. She grabbed a rag from the corner of her pitiful laundry pile and went back to the front of her tent.

The chickens were clucking with the activity of her being around again, and Txiro had come to investigate. Pesky animals. She thought, but when the horse moved towards her, she ran a hand along his neck. There was no way she was going to give him any of her pickling supplies to snack on. But, after enough petting, the horse wandered far enough away for the mixedblood to feel comfortable starting. She pulled out the recipe, reading through the directions once, careful to not touch her fresh writing. After getting an idea of what she was supposed to do, and judging it to be a longer process than she wanted, Mayra looked at the first instruction.

Easy enough. Mayra placed the recipe back down and reached for her knife. Taking the small leather sack of Okra from the iron pot, she set it on the grass. Standing once more, Mayra stepped to the side of her tent where she kept a pail of water for her day. It was hardly used since she had been gone all day. Perfect.

As she picked up the bucket to bring it closer to where she worked, it occurred to her that she would have to boil a huge thing of water at one point. More than this bucket could hold, and it didn't take much sense to know that boiling water took quite a bit of time.