[Flashback] A Birthday Feast

[Dove Brown]

17th Winter, 514

Dove opened one eye and watched her breath float away like smoke in the cold pre-dawn air. She could hear the snow whispering across her roof as the storm outside entered yet another day, and a thin line of it had blown in through the cracks under the door and around the window shutters. For a moment she lay still, curled in her warm bed. She could faintly smell the lavender she'd scattered inside the straw mattress last fall to sweeten it. It did smell good, and she'd had fewer bug bites since. "Just lucky," she told herself, not realising that lavender doubled as an insect repellant as well as a sweet scent. "Luck always runs out eventually...you know that. And dreaming doesn't get anything done."

She pulled her clothes into the bed to preserve as much warmth as possible, and wriggled into them before she slid out of bed. Her bare feet hit the chill of the stone floor and she muffled a yelp. Hopping across to the hearth, she raked the handful of banked coals together, knocked off the protective coating of ash, and hung the kettle of water over the fire to boil.

A spray of reddish-orange rosehips brightened her table and she grinned crookedly as she stamped her feet into boots. She'd found them lying in the dirt and snatched them up. They were bright now, but she intended to make a tea from them, and she didn't expect them to stay bright after boiling. It was her birthday, after all, and she wanted to make all her favourite foods. She picked the rosehips off the spray one by one, peeling off any bits of leaf or sepal, and dropped them into her bowl. The kettle whistled at her as it came to the boil, and she pulled her shirt sleeves down over her hands to protect them as she picked it up and poured. She filled the bowl first, then the washbasin, and hung the kettle up again clear of the fire.

Dipping the scrubbing brush in the basin she began to scour the table ready for cooking. She pushed the brush away from her with both hands as far as she could reach, then pulled it back across the same patch. Away and back, away and back, then move down the table and repeat the action, using hot water and elbow grease to make up for the lack of soap. She circled the entire table that way, then dropped the brush into the basin of water with a splash that slopped water over the edge onto the floor.

She peered at the soaking rosehips and poked them with a spoon. One of them popped and the seeds inside flew out. Most stayed in the bowl, but a handful sprayed out onto the just-scrubbed table. "Oh, shyke!" she grumbled, "I just cleaned that." and swiped them off the table into her hand. She tossed the seeds into the fire, and squished the other rosehips apart more carefully, trying not to repeat the error as she filled the water with a pulp and seed mix. She set the bowl in the middle of the table. It needed to steep the pulp for at least half a bell before it would be drinkable, and she could fill the time in better than sitting around watching it. She grabbed her cloak from the bed, where it had served as an extra blanket, wrapped it round her, and went to see what else she could find for her meal.

[Dove Brown]

Dove put her head into the wind and trudged towards the stream. The snow creaked under her feet and clung - and melted - in every crease of her clothes. She couldn't see anyone else out here, but there had to be some. There wouldn't be any crops being harvested while the storm lasted. The animals would still need tending though, so their carers and handlers would be out and about, and idiots like herself who just didn't stay indoors.

A gust of wind yanked at her cloak, half-choking her as the ties dug suddenly into her neck. She stumbled sideways a pace as she clawed the ties down towards her collarbone. Her feet hit an area of ice rather than snow and both feet shot out from under her. She fell hard on her backside with a yelp. Suddenly she was glad no one else was about to see her. She rolled to her side and then to hands and knees. Her bare hands sank into the snow as she climbed slowly and painfully back to her feet. She dusted as much snow off as she could on her trousers, but her efforts left damp patches on her thighs. The wind caught the dampness of the melting snow and drove the chill into her bones.

The piled snow hid the dip of the stream's bank and she put a foot down on unsupported snow. She fell again, landing on her side this time and sliding down into the stream before she could stop. A pungent smell told her she'd slid through a patch of wild garlic and bruised the leaves, and water seeped into her boot. Tears prickled and she scrubbed her eyes with a numbed hand. If winter had just been normal, she wouldn't be falling through drifts on her birthday.

[Dove Brown]

A patch of bright green stood out in stark contrast to the snow around the stream and Dove squeaked and scrabbled up a double handful. "Watercress!" Her hands were about as cold and wet and numb as they could get, and she hardly noticed the new water covering them. She winced slowly round, testing her leg. It hurt, but it moved well enough, so she cradled the watercress in one arm and scrabbled in the dirt and snow for some of the wild garlic she'd hit earlier. She found one bulb, but it slipped through her numb fingers twice before she got a good hold on it.

She limped her way up the bank and turned for home with her teeth beginning to chatter. At least this way, the wind blew her cloak against her. It all seemed to blow from the same direction, so maybe if she kept the wind on her back, she'd get home even with the snow swirling around her.

Getting home turned out to be a slow business, or at least, slower than getting down to the stream originally. Part of that was because she was stiff from her falls. Part of it that she was moving more cautiously so as not to fall again. Even so she took two wrong turns, before she finally sorted herself out and reached her cottage. She used her shoulder to push the door open since her hands were full, and stumbled inside. She dumped the cress and garlic on the table and plunged her frozen hands into the washbasin. The water there had cooled to barely warm while she was out, but it was warmer than anything other than the fire. She didn't dare try to stoke the fire yet. She might drop something, or worse, fall in it. Her fingers stabbed and tingled with pain as they thawed out, and she clamped her chattering teeth together to stay quiet. Finally she pulled her hands out of the water and fumbled with the knot holding her cloak at the neck. The cloak dropped in a heap on the floor, and she left it there as she stoked up the fire and huddled near it for warmth.

[Dove Brown]

When she finally felt more like a person and less like a walking icicle, and when the fire had died down from leaping flames to much hotter cooking coals, Dove uncurled slowly and limped over to her storage chest. She lifted the heavy lid that kept out the mice and other pests and ran her gaze along the neat (if scant) rows of her stores. She took out the chickpeas she'd set to soak overnight, some wheat berries, the small jar of oil, and the remaining portion of plain soft cheese wrapped in its scrap of thin cloth. After pulling out her pan, she lowered the lid and took the food to the table. She laid it out neatly in the order she planned to use it, then backtracked to her cloak and hung it up to dry.

She picked up the cool tea, and placed her hand over one side of the bowl. Then she tilted it over the cup so that the liquid ran through her fingers, but the pulp and seeds stayed behind. The tea that came out was a deep reddish gold. She sipped it and smiled.

The farmer who'd sold her the cheese also sometimes made flavoured ones that smelled wonderfully of herbs or garlic or onion. Dove had asked shyly whether the herbs went in when the cheese was first made, but the farmer only smiled and shook her head, before explaining that all the cheese was plain when she made it, but sometimes she mixed it with the herbs, or with cooked garlic or onion. Dove had listened very carefully to the farmer's description of how it was mixed, tried to memorise every word, and written everything she did remember into her cooking journal. Now she came back to the table and separated the wild garlic from the watercress.

She sliced it carefully, but no two pieces came out the same way. Some were thick, some thin, some straight, some crooked. She slid them all into the pan, and added a small splash of oil, then took it over the fire to cook. They browned slowly, but they did brown, and she took the pan back to the table. She unwrapped the cheese and set the cloth aside to wash and reuse. She scraped the wild garlic on top of the cheese, then set the pan to one side and stirred the garlic into the cheese with her fingers. That done, she licked her fingers clean, dropped the handful of wheat into the pan, and went back to the fire. Roasted wheat berries was the first thing she'd ever learned to cook - quick and cheap and filling, and didn't need much fuel for the fire. She shook the pan gently to keep them moving and grinned in satisfaction as they popped and puffed up a bit. When they had all puffed up she decanted them onto her dish and scooped out the soaked chickpeas to do the same. Only when they hissed and spat did she remember she should have dried them first. By then it was too late, so she held the pan at arms length and endured. Finally they browned too, and she slid them onto the dish beside the wheat. She set the pan to the side to clean later.

Scooping cheese and watercress onto her dish, she took her food and her tea over to sit by the fire. The wheat berries tasted of garlic. So did the chickpeas. The garlic in the cheese was almost overpowering. Only the watercress and the tea were garlic free, and the only thing she could think was that some of the garlic flavour had stayed in the pan and rubbed off on the rest of her cooking. A tear ran down each cheek to salt her food, but she ate anyway, garlic and all. She'd gone hungry too many times to waste food, but she fully intended to put a note in her journal. "Next time," she promised herself. "Next time it will go better."

Terminology note"Wheat berries" is another name for whole wheat kernels

To GraderI'm assuming the food in this thread is covered by seasonal expenses. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

[Dravite]

Dove Brown

XP Award:

• Observation: 3
• Cooking: 2
• Wilderness Survival, Forest: 2
• Foraging: 1
• Endurance: 1
• Organisation: 1

Lore:

• Lavender: Nature's insect repellent
• Cooking: Rosehip Tea
• Ice is difficult to walk on
• Observation: The smell of wild garlic
• Foraging for Watercress
• Cooking: Using garlic as a garnish

Notes: Short and sweet; I really enjoyed this little thread, I think you have a wonderful writing style that made grading a pleasure. Food does not fall under the seasonal expenses category and when you do cooking threads, of course you’re more than welcome to forage for some of the things you need while others may need to be pre-purchased (however, on this occasion, I’m fine with what you did). Enjoy the rewards and let me know if you think I have missed anything here and be sure to edit your grading request!

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