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The butcher is brought to mind
‘Now what is all that about?’ Cook wondered as she turned back toward the bower. There had been the sound of little branches snapping and the squawk of a hen dislodged from her perch among the branches. And there was Lithmîrë, his cloak pulled round him, running away from the bower. ‘What now?’ she thought, her brows raising. ‘Must be a snake or something as scared him from going out like regular folk would do. Course he is an Elf, and they have their ways about them. Though I can’t recall Mistress Piosenniel leaping out of the side of a room when the door would work just as easily . . . snake or no . . .’
Cook was a good distance away from the commotion, her thoughts centering on how many pans of biscuits she should have the girls get ready for baking. ‘And I think I’ll just have them pick some of the early green beans to steam up with a little butter and some cracked pepper from the trader that came through from Buckland. And maybe a few crispy bacon bits, too, might be tasty.’
She was just thinking how Master Lithmîrë could use a few helpings of stew and biscuits and beans and butter to round his stringy frame out a bit more as she pushed open the back door to the kitchen and stepped in. With an economy of motion, she hung her bonnet and cloak on the peg by the door and tied on her apron.
Pushing back a stray curl behind her ear, she surveyed her little domain. ‘Well, ladies, let’s set the conies to stewing. There’s a bigger crowd expected tonight, some traveling players up from Pincup. We’ll need an extra pan of stew and two more of biscuits, I think. And a couple of you need to go out to the garden and pick us some beans. I’ve a taste for them tonight.’
She went down the stairs, to the part of the basement where the hams and bacon were stored in a cool room. The kitchen helpers could just hear her muttering as she inventoried the supply. ‘Two more breakfasts and we’ll be out of bacon.’ Cook stomped up the stairs thinking how a nice lamb roast would be tasty . . . be a nice change from chicken and rabbit and mutton stews. The Spring Faire was coming up, too. Best to be thinking ahead to that.
‘Buttercup,’ she called out as she got to the top landing. ‘Remind me to have you go to the butcher. We’ll be needing a few things from him. See if he can come round and see me, soon.’
Cook stepped to the pans of stew ready to be set over the cook fire. Snapping off some herbs from where they were hung to dry from the rafters, she rubbed the leaves between her fingers and sprinkled them generously into the soon to be savory broth. She hummed to herself as she stirred them in, followed by pinches of salt and several grinds of pepper.
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