Tag: The Cook For Any Price

“I AM THE KEEPER OF Memories,” said the man in the natty blue silk robe. “What do you offer?”

“For your custom, or your breakfast?” replied Prosatio Silban.

“Breakfast first!” cried the Keeper of Memories, and chuckled. “Always. Food before thought, you know.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Keeper of Memories”

EVEN OVER THE CLANK OF his galleywagon, Prosatio Silban could hear the sobs.

The weeper, a well-to-do farmer by his dress, was standing beside a smartly-appointed and -laden oxcart at the crossroads near Vineol, a town renowned throughout the Uulian Commonwell for the delicacy and refinement of its wines. The day was hot for the region and season, and had been so for many days – hot, cloudless, but with an occasional breeze at the right moment. The cook wondered why the man was giving such unguarded vent, and reined his galleywagon to a halt.

“It’s too warm a day for such distress,” Prosatio Silban offered, dismounting. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Disconsolate Wineherd”

OF ALL THE THINGS THAT make the Three Cities and Thousand Villages of the Uulian Commonwell unique, perhaps none so typify that uniqueness as their calendar.

Where other peoples marked time in a strictly numeric fashion, the Uulians used a more lyrical form of temporal accounting. Each of their years was named by the High Sacreant at the exact turn of said year, with duration expressed simply as “ago.” For example: Rather than saying thus-and-such happened in such-and-thus year since “King Felix’ birth” “or “history commenced” or “the world began,” the Uulians stated it poetically, viz.: “Twenty-seven ago, in the Year of the Moonlit Oak,” or “Thirty-two ago, Year of the Cerulean Tide.” Some years bore cyclic overtones, as: “Forty-seven ago, in the Fifteenth Year of the Lurking Jest.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Haunted Oyster”

WITH A PATIENCE DERIVED FROM long practice, Prosatio Silban measured his pain and disgust against the vast cold deeps of Time.

It was an old reflex, and a welcome corrective to the blood trickling from his arms and legs, not to mention the ropy brown slime soiling his apron, hands and face. The odor of putrid meat hung raggedly in the air, as did the fading echo of a soggy explosion which a lesser man would require weeks of strong drink to forget.

The banquet had not gone at all well. But what else could one expect, on Rifting Eve? Continue reading “Gustibus Interruptus (A Prosatio Silban Tale)”

THEY WERE STURDY, SQUAT AND rowdy, but also virtuosi of fire and metal – which was only one of many reasons why Prosatio Silban always enjoyed the Delvers’ company.

He had arrived for the first time at their northern realm – aptly named Deephall – just that morning and immediately felt at home. He had had dealings with their people before, but not this branch. The Skydiggers of the Exilic Lands’ southern mountains were a grim, hardworking bunch, coarse of manner and gruff to outsiders. But these four-armed, bright-eyed underground folk, who had consented to teach him their foodways, were quite their opposite: friendly, easygoing, with large hands and long slender fingers which made them matchless tinkerers and machinists. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Hidden Kingdom”

PROSATIO SILBAN DIDN’T ACTUALLY MEAN to offend a decedent cook – but sometimes, that’s just how the game-bones fall.

This is how it began: The culinary mercenary was browsing his favorite secondhand book-and-scroll shop in the city of epicurean Pormaris when he happened upon a slim and ancient rag-paper codex titled Mistress Areo’s Instructions for Serving a Hungry Household. Intrigued, he leafed through its yellowing pages. Recipes he had never heard of met his curious eyes – rice trifle; stuffed beef gut; potato pudding; crushed-buckwheat and noodles – and a smile slowly spread across his face. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Quest Authentic”

THE RICH PANOPLY OF UULIAN cuisine offers recipes suitable for everyday use, as well as those forming the culinary backbone of special occasions. And sometimes, one can serve in both roles.

Prosatio Silban smiled the smile of a man completing a beloved task. Just right for the Heir Second’s feasting-table, he thought, putting the finishing touches on his work. It’s amazing that this one dish can be applied to any occasion.

He paused, reflecting, and his smile deepened. Indeed: here is history on a plate! This has been cooked at countless times and places since the Uulian Commonwell began, and perhaps even before. I feel privileged to bring it to life for all who request it… Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Infinite Application”

WHEN VISITING YOUR BOYHOOD HOME after the passage of too-many years, it’s only natural that it should seem quite a bit smaller than last you saw it.

But aside from towering over the landscape, Prosatio Silban was amazed by how little Bustan had changed: the same thatched creekside huts, the same arched stone bridge, the same goat-browsed village common, the same ivy-covered inn.

I should really get back here more often, he thought. But I know I won’t.
Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Familiar Spirit”

THERE ARE FEW SITUATIONS AS disquieting as falling awake in the middle of the night convinced you’ve heard an intrusive sound, but with no aural evidence to back such an urgency.

Prosatio Silban lay still in his galleywagon’s sleeping berth, listening to his own breathing. He could have sworn there was something else that oughtn’t be. But try though he might, he could hear neither scratch nor skitter of mouse-paws, nor the enthusiastic chewing of a meat-seeking voonith. Two potential wilderness culprits eliminated, he thought. But why, then, am I awake? Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Midnight Invader”

PROSATIO SILBAN WAS ALONE.

True, he had the company of his faithful dray-beast, Onward. But as for others of the beefy cook’s own species, none were nearby for long miles – one reason why his surroundings were known as the Western Wides.

He had chosen the Wides a-purpose. Having spent a busy and profitable fortnight in the lacustrine island-city of epicurean Pormaris, reputedly the most decadent of the Uulian Commonwell’s Three Cities and Thousand Villages, his soul felt somewhat bruised and in need of quiet solitude. So, with open eyes and heart, he had set out in his galleywagon on the broad packed-dirt road running due west from Pormaris. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Three Prayers”