Food, Writing

Prosatio Silban and the Tournament Palatine

THE SCULLERY MISTRESS HELD A brimful cup to Prosatio Silban’s waiting lips; he sipped, swallowed, and paused.

“It is good that I am blindfolded,” he said with a triumphant smile, “or else I’d see the nutmeg before tasting it.”

“That would defeat the purpose of this experibent,” Plerus Barja chided. “You are supposed to tell be what else is id this dish.”

Prosatio Silban nodded. “Egg yolk, cream, milk, cane-sugar, egg whites, vanilla, sweetbark. And of course, the nutmeg. In exactly that ratio.”

“Unbelievable,” said the scullery mistress.

“I bow to your expertise,” said Plerus Barja.

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Writing

Prosatio Silban and the Sincere Runaway

ON THEIR WINDING WAYS BETWEEN Here and There, the rammed-earth roads of the Uulian Commonwell often offer mystery – and sometimes, adventure.

Prosatio Silban was driving his galleywagon from Treefall to Kissing Bridge near the many-harbored city of Soharis. It was a fine summer’s morning: bright, not too warm, drowsy with the hum of distant insects, and fragrant from colorful splashes of sun-kissed flowers among a road-bordering light forest of pungentine-trees. The beefy cook clucked encouragement to his quaint lumbering dray-beast, Onward, and sang to himself a traveling-song:

“I wander the throughways and byways
Looking for I know not what.
I know it is out there, somewhere
Because it is nowhere else.

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Only great pain is the ultimate liberator of the spirit […] I doubt that such pain makes us ‘better’; but I know that it makes us more profound.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche

Writing

Prosatio Silban and the Purloined Eyebrows

(A sequel to Prosatio Silban and the Revealer of Secrets.)

CLOTHES DO NOT ALWAYS MAKE the man. However, they, or at least their concomitants, can certainly help.

Prosatio Silban rolled out of his galleywagon’s sleeping-berth, yawned, scratched, and stood up on the ornate braided rug. He had parked his portable-home-and-livelihood the previous evening in one of epicurean Pormaris’ more eclectic marketplaces, in advance of accommodating Heir Second Vajang Chorl’s annual Dependent-Welcoming Festivity, and was looking forward to tomorrow’s task and the substantial coin it would bring. He dressed with some haste (green kneebreeches, white tunic, grey long-vest, black shoes and fez), his thoughts coalescing around the acquisition of ingredients for dishes and garnishes, and automatically reached for the artificial eyebrows that were an important piece of his daily costume.

But where were they?

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Crit

Words To Bring Back: “Badinage”

– Definition: n. humorous or witty conversation
– Used in a sentence: One thing I miss about Sputnik and Wheels is our frequent and good-natured badinage.
– Why: Not sure whether it’s the word or the concept that needs resurrecting. (Or maybe, it’s the friends.)

Writing

Prosatio Silban and the Sentimental Voyage

CASTING AN APPREHENSIVE BACKWARD GLANCE, Prosatio Silban flicked the plaited yak-hair reins to hurry his quaint lumbering dray-beast. He was passing through rough and rocky countryside, and wanted to reach his destination at speed – as befitted a pursued man on an urgent mission.

Let us wind back the calendar three days, to when that mission was first laid before him. The beefy cook’s galleywagon had been parked in the marketplace at Machar’s Rest for longer than he wanted it to be. If I can’t soon attract any custom, I will die in this village, he thought with a wry, if wan, smile. His dire economic situation wasn’t due to a lack of diligence or inventiveness. But what is one to do when the only passersby are as destitute as oneself?

Just as he began to despair in earnest, the Flickering Gods (for those who believe in them) lent a hand.

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