Tag: The Cook For Any Price

SOMETIMES, A SMALL MALADY CAN be a big problem.

Prosatio Silban groaned, sat up in his sleeping-berth, and put his head in his hands. If these hiccoughs don’t (hic) end soon, he thought, I will. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Minor Plague”

AS THE OLD SAYING GOES, “No one here gets out alive” – or unmarred.

“Where did you get that scar?” asked the woman with the flirtatious smile, indicating Prosatio Silban’s right hand.

The cook-errant raised one eyebrow and a mouth-corner. “D’you mean the calluses on my thumb and forefinger?” he asked. “That’s from holding a chop-knife all and every day for more than a quarter-century.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Maker’s Mark”

AS THE WISE SAY: “Some aspirations should remain so.”

Prosatio Silban put the finishing touches on a plate of fidget-hen confit and pureed artichokes, and stood back to admire it. I don’t know how I do it, but I’m glad and grateful that I can, he thought in expectation of his longtime customer’s expression. Blessings to you, O Julchi, Goddess of Autodidactic Gastronomy!

With the steaming plate balanced on one raised hand, he descended his galleywagon’s three wooden steps, then sauntered over to a table-and-chairs where sat a pleasant-faced and stylish woman of his own middling years. He placed the dish before her with a flourish, and she sighed in anticipatory delight.

“I don’t know how you do it, Master Prosatio,” she said. “You never disappoint.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Assembly Eclectic”

“WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF garnishes?” asked one of Prosatio Silban’s regular customers as he set down a healthy portion of sauced beef-loin with accordion potatoes.

“That is a complicated question, and one which inspires many different answers,” The Cook For Any Price replied with a thank-you-for-asking grin. “My own understanding is that they visually accent the dishes they accompany, making them appear more appetizing.”

“Then why do you not use them in your own cuisine?” came the riposte.

The cook-errant’s grin widened. “Because I believe that’s the plate’s function,” he said. “Anything else is mere indulgence.”

(If you’re new to these tales, here are the preface and introduction. And if you want more of them, in two easy-to-read packages, here are the first and second e-books!)

BY GREAT POPULAR DEMAND, AND barring any unforeseen circumstances, forthcoming editions of The Cook For Any Price — both Across the Rimless Sea and More Commonwell Tales — are planned to include a smattering of appended recipes. Until then, here are four to tempt your mental tastebuds:

—

From Prosatio Silban and the Centuried Stew: “Stew”

This recipe has undergone modification by generations of one family, as the original ingredients became unavailable. It is said that the original flavor remains unchanged, which makes sense as the original ingredients are still lurking comfortably in the background.

To cook: Begin by sautéing a mixture of onion, carrot, and celery in an enormous cauldron. When those have cooked down into pliability, add sufficient quantities of preserved apple, spiced vanth, twile, jugged harrian, and potent moon-wine. Simmer for eight hundred years, adding such substitutes and seasonings as are dictated by the cooks’ faithful and experienced palates.

To serve: Ladle into unglazed earthenware cup or bowl and eat with a small wooden spoon. Mind that your knees don’t buckle. Continue reading “From Commonwell Cookery“

THERE IS A REASON THAT the expression “take care with your wishes” is such a widespread cliché.

It was a fine spring day, mixing an unbroken vault of blue, the alluring scent of sun-warmed fragrantia, and magah-birds crooning sprightly refrains from the branches of occasional latticewood trees. Prosatio Silban tugged at the plaited yak-hair reins, brought his dray-beast and galleywagon to a gentle halt, and whistled in wonder.

They had emerged from the trees into a broad lawn encircling a tall white dome set atop a gentle rise. The dome seemed to be missing a vertical section, but from his perspective, the cook-errant couldn’t see what lay within the darkened cavity. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Consequential Light”

WE’VE ALL HEARD OF LOST arts. But what about lost artists?

Prosatio Silban rolled out of his sleeping-berth and onto his ornate braided rug, studying the bedside mirror with worry etched on his face and defeat slumping his shoulders.

I can’t do this anymore, he thought at his downcast image. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Shattered Vessel”

WHEN THE CHICKENS COME HOME to roost, there is often confusion in the henhouse.

What a strange dream, Prosatio Silban thought, sitting up in his sleeping-berth. So vivid. So compelling.

Then he caught his breath and listened.

Someone or something is here in my galleywagon, he thought. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Paid Piper”

WE HAVE READ MANY TIMES of the Heirs Second, who rule the Uulian Commonwell by solemn duty and occasional whim.

But who rules the Heirs Second?

Late one night, Prosatio Silban was hard at work scrubbing the inside of a large copper boiling-pot. A wave of frustrated fatigue washed over him; he had several times passed the vessel through his immaculator – a wide bone-hoop set on a heavy ironwood base, whose magik could (in theory) remove even the most intractable stains. However, after several passes, his work was still without any visible result. So it was no wonder that his surly mood was further aggravated by a loud knock at his galleywagon door.

It’s no longer the hour for visitors – and I should be abed myself, he thought, stepping with soft tread across his ornate braided rug and grasping a doorside cudgel. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Midnight Summons”

NO ONE HAS YET DEVISED a satisfactory agency for long-distance intimacy – but in every world, there’s at least one that tries.

With a protracted high-pitched scream, an enormous emerald-hued bird circled Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon in descending spirals as the vehicle made its careful way along the tamped-earth road between the villages of Bottle and Wardhaven.

At last, the cook-errant thought, and smiled in anticipation. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Jade Hawk”

“WHO IS WISE?” ASKS THE old sage-monk – and answers: “One who learns from everyone.”

Prosatio Silban squirmed in his damp sleeping-berth for the hundredth time, then finally rolled himself out of it and onto his feet. ENOUGH, he thought, passing a hand over his sweaty face and rubbing his wet fingers. Perhaps it will be cooler outside. I hope. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Sleepless Heat”

SOME KNOWN THINGS SHOULDN’T BE.

Prosatio Silban glanced up at epicurean Pormaris’ massive dockside clock-tower, an accurate timekeeper and source of immense civic pride. A quarter-hour past fourteen, he thought. My customer should be arriving soon – and aha! here he is.

An almost-shabby youth clad in an academic’s robes shuffled his hesitant way through the makeshift lanes of the grand city’s fabled South Market, a packet of scrolls under one skinny arm. Seeing the Cook For Any Price, lodged between a fatberry-oil presser and seller of imported curios, he broke into a brief half-hearted smile and sat down at one of the two empty tables-and-chairs. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Hushed Revelation”