I wanted to do Sweets based one-shots for a while and since those two showed up I can’t keep my hands to myself! So enjoy the first installation of maybe 5 one-shots? I still need to research more sweets.
Bear meats for Blackwall. It’s a rough won, acquired taste to enjoy gamey meats, but he doesn’t have them plain. They are salted, liberally rolled in fresh cracked pepper. Had with the sloppiest, wateriest ale, alongside stewed felendaris root and a garnish of sweet-smelling arbor blessing. Nobody will tell you, but there are times he procures a small round of cheese, marbled by blue mold and a thin, waxy rind that he slices in slivers to spread across the rare-cooked meat. The grease and the fat make for the best sauce, sopped up with sourdoughs long gone stale.
Nevarrans are a people of unsurprisingly heavy taste, but Cassandra treats herself to light and subtle dishes with notes of flavor. The chefs in Nevarra cook for the dead, not the living, it’s clear, and so dishes are single-sided, overdone, underpaid in attention. But in Val Royeux there are patisseries, windows lined by macarons topped in candied berries, towers made from sugar flowers, dishes of gelatins pale, pink, and fitted with beautiful blooms at their center. Rosewater cubes and gel delights cut with dates. Cassandra hides them away in enchanted boxes, keeps them chilled and free from their own sweating stickiness.
Lots of turnip dishes. Multitudes of dishes made only by mothers, who only grandmothers know the recipes to. The gag of a chocolate coated, white ribbon drizzled onion is a favorite. Cole eats the whole of a plate, garnish included despite how the greens taste like nothing, and the sauce tastes like everything. If a choice were to be made, the plain weight of a sugared scone is preferred, enjoyed in quiet and nibbled on sparingly.
Dorian likes rich foods, savory foods, and smooth ones at that. Silky sorts of stews, he adores. Duck with sweet sauces or tender pieces of elk braised and lightly charred. He has a special love of fish eggs, a rare, rare indulgence because he can only bare the salt tingle with good enough wine. Sweets, he gathers in small quantities : Candied dates ; Chocolate coated orange peels ; Pears poached in spring cinnamon sauces ; Parfaits beside berry compotes, and a secret love for sticky, tangy mochis. Sweets must be lighter, though, to balance against the heaviest, richest foods. Little dustings of powdered sugar across a vanilla bean soufflé, had, at times, with a cup of coffee. With steamed milk, for celebration, a rich but tiny chocolate cake, topped in ganache and decorated by raspberries, spilling open with molten chocolate around a chilled spoon.
Hot, warm, steaming foods. Casseroles in cast iron dutch ovens; Braided pretzel doughs, had soft or hard. Fruit. Fresh fruit. Slices of banana skewered, sprinkled in sugar, and cradled over the fire. But branzino, trout, snapper - fish, fish cooked in bear fat, battered with crumbs and sweet mint, and fried dark. Cold foods sour the appetite, even in barren plains such as the hissing wastes.
Cold cornbread, frosty from snow. Goat’s milk, had in a stein and spiked with a teaspoon of swill cognac. A spoil in a slice of poor man’s cake, the raisins picked out and tossed to those squawky crows. Burnt toast, smothered in blueberry jam. And inquisition cookies, still struggling their way toward an actual taste.