“Oh, if you like fruits and cheese, I can make a tremendous charcuterie board or mezze platter! Cured meats, artisanal cheeses, rosemary sea-salt crackers, with some pickled olives on the side. Grapes, perhaps some fried halloumi…”
Gale didn’t seem to mind or even remark on her childish palate; he was clearly daydreaming about the possibilities now, a little wistful. He had no idea if he could even get halloumi in this corner of the Sword Coast. Likely not.
So he relented to realism a moment later, grudgingly, “Some of that might have to wait until another day, when this war with the Absolute ends, or perhaps if we ever make it to Waterdeep. But if you’ve truly never had dessert, then I need to remedy that post-haste. Vasilopita cake, for example, is simple enough; families often have their own recipe for it, and ours uses oranges. It’s a cake served at midnight at the end of Wintershield, at the start of a new year — traditionally after baking it, you insert a coin through the base, and whoever finds the coin in their slice of cake is said to be granted luck for the rest of the year. I know it’s not the new year yet, technically, but I think this would still feel appropriate. Turning over a new leaf, so to speak. Hoping for luck.”
Browsing the stalls, testing the firmness and ripeness of the various fruits they passed, he finally stopped his cheerful ramblings and cocked his head, contemplative. Glanced over at Nepione.
“You know,” he said, “I haven’t actually had the opportunity to cook for others for a while, until our motley little group. Being a Chosen, living half in the astral plane, one gets accustomed to nourishment simply… appearing, magically, or ordering it delivered simply because you can. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed cooking with real ingredients.”
no subject
Gale didn’t seem to mind or even remark on her childish palate; he was clearly daydreaming about the possibilities now, a little wistful. He had no idea if he could even get halloumi in this corner of the Sword Coast. Likely not.
So he relented to realism a moment later, grudgingly, “Some of that might have to wait until another day, when this war with the Absolute ends, or perhaps if we ever make it to Waterdeep. But if you’ve truly never had dessert, then I need to remedy that post-haste. Vasilopita cake, for example, is simple enough; families often have their own recipe for it, and ours uses oranges. It’s a cake served at midnight at the end of Wintershield, at the start of a new year — traditionally after baking it, you insert a coin through the base, and whoever finds the coin in their slice of cake is said to be granted luck for the rest of the year. I know it’s not the new year yet, technically, but I think this would still feel appropriate. Turning over a new leaf, so to speak. Hoping for luck.”
Browsing the stalls, testing the firmness and ripeness of the various fruits they passed, he finally stopped his cheerful ramblings and cocked his head, contemplative. Glanced over at Nepione.
“You know,” he said, “I haven’t actually had the opportunity to cook for others for a while, until our motley little group. Being a Chosen, living half in the astral plane, one gets accustomed to nourishment simply… appearing, magically, or ordering it delivered simply because you can. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed cooking with real ingredients.”