Rosie Digger was a lovely dwarfess, once you got to know her. When she realised we were custors, she imdiately stopped tossing things at her son and greeted us with open arms and a wide smile. She had a jolly laugh that kind of reminded of Rumbob, and a ribald sense of humour.
She was running the inn with the support of her husband, Darrel Digger, and their only son Bando. The Diggers Dive wasnt the only inn in the town of Gena, just one of the best, and it served a steady stream of rchants, nobles, and travelers on the road out from Kinshasa.
The building, or rather cave was quite cozy, with the warm glow of solstones hanging from the ceiling giving a slight yellow tinge to everything. A smattering of bog-standard dwarven picnic-style tables were scattered around the room, with furs and carpets laid strategically to break up the bare stone floor.
Tapestries hanging on all the walls helped capture the heat of a roaring hearth in one corner of the room, and leant a splash of colour to the space. A series of tunnels lead off from the main room to where the rooms were, their entrances covered with simple hanging fabric.
A wooden bar on one end of the room was reminiscent of our dear Thirsty Goat, complete with bottles on the shelves and landscape paintings. A similar serving window led to a small but well-appointed kitchen. One difference from the Goat was a massive battle-pick hanging on the wall, and the other was that instead of a blonde moody maiden behind the bar, there was a grey matron mommy.
It was incredibly rustic, but at the sa ti quite hoy. I loved it.
Rosie had been welcoming, then downright cordial when shed learned we were the Thirsty Goat. Shed pointed to so kegs of ass-blaster and bottles of barista brew and liquid gold behind the bar, and declared our special brews a hit amongst the miners and adventurers alike.
Then shed sent Bando to take our bags to our rooms, and sat us down for an inn-cooked al.
Heres yer hen, hon. Rosie said, pushing a plate of grilled chicken covered in spices and heaped high with mashed erdroot. The faint green sheen to the erdroot spoke of the stealth vegetables common in dwarven cuisine. It was heavier in spices than most dwarven food I was used to, and was actually reminiscent of Brans cooking.
Thankee Innkeeper. I said, wiping so drool from the side of my lips. It slled delicious, and after several weeks of mostly travel fare I couldnt wait to eat it.
Just Rosie is fine, hon. Rosie slapped on the back and laughed, her bosom heaving with every guffaw. Hoh hoh! I wouldnt ave beco an [Inkeeper] if I knew it would make everyone so Yearn-durned respectful! She had the sa southern twang as the rest of the dwarves wed t in Gena, and it sohow made her even easier to talk to.
But, its quite a feat! Annie protested. Even in Minnova we didnt have too many actual Specialised [Innkeepers]!
Whats it Specialised from? I asked, ladling a bite into my mouth. I closed my eyes as I chewed, letting the taste of pepper and rosemary roll over my tongue.
Ya wouldnt believe it, but I started out as a [Butler]! Rosie said with another laugh. Wasnt Darrel surprised!
A Butler? Really? I asked, thinking of Whistlemops [Butler] Bimbleberry.
Rosie winked at and flexed her muscular bicep. The rose and skull tattoo bulged as she did so. Aye! No better Title fer service ya know!
Except a [Courier] of course! Kirk said around a similar mouthful of chicken.
Rosie whipped a towel off her apron and snapped it in his direction. Now dont you give that lip! We get more than a few giants through these parts, and Im not afraid ta tell you whats what!
I pounded the table. Yeah, you pay so respect to our Innkeeper! Just because youre eating so bird doesnt an you can have a fowl mouth, Kirk!
Kirk gave a betrayed look, and Annie snorted, but everyone else was too busy eating their delicious food to give us any mind.
Rosie chortled and pounded on the back again. Hoh! Good one lad! Now eat up and put so at on those bones. Yer wastin away, just look atcha! At least so of you are eatin properly! She gave Richter an appreciative look, and the buff dwarf buried himself deeper into his chicken. Whos even feedin you lot? I woulda thought celebrities like you woulda been eatin better!
That would be ca a voice that could have frozen hell. Bran was neatly using a fork and knife, unlike a few others that were digging in with their hands. He raised a small bite of chicken to his lips and chewed it thoughtfully.
Rosie planted her hands on her hips. Oh? Is that so? And how do ya find that taste of real cookin? Darrels got his Blessin from Barck fer his recipes!
Bran looked down at the plate. Good use of spices, and the at was cooked properly.
Rosie smiled broadly. Why thankee very much!
But, Bran continued, the erdroot could use more salt, and I would mix in cabbage instead of dungeon greens. Its passable, but I wouldnt put it on our nu. He blandly took another bite and chewed slowly. Beside him, Opal hid a snort.
Rosies eyes narrowed, and all our eyes moved to a very obviously placed hole in one wall made for tossing. But instead of trying to maneuver Bran through it like a certain roast from earlier, she gave a wicked grin.
You a cook or so at? You think you can cook better than Darrel an ?
Dont think. Bran flashed her an equally wicked smile. Know.
Rosie crossed her arms nacingly. Fine then. Yer gonna talk down to our cookin? Then the Diggers Dive calls out tha Thirsty Goat to a Feud!
Annie silently groaned sothing about, not again.
Bran looked at for approval and I rolled my eyes and shrugged. Wed won our first Feud, and Bran had literally proved himself the best chef in one of the biggest cities in Crack. We could handle a tiny backcountry inn. Wait, wait, I didnt an that! Dear Gods, that habit had to stop!!!
Bran thunked his fork into the chicken, spearing it to his plate. By the Nation of Crack Ordinances Ver. 1130, Chapter 1, Section 4, Subsection 24, the Thirsty Goat accepts your Feud. Whats the Challenge?
Ifn we wins, youll send us a months supply of Thirsty Goat Ale once yer all set up in Kinshasa.
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And if we win our stay is free whenever we stop here. Includin today, Bran countered.
And ya have to tell Darrel that his cookin is better than yers.
Bah. Fine.
Alrighty, then. Whatcha want ta do fer it?
Feuds over cookin, so well make that the Contest. The judges can be those nobles we saw out there. Theyll be pickiest. Well cook sothin none of us have ever cooked before, and see who does it best.
Agreed. Rosie spat on her beard and held it out. Bran did the sa.
Our beards are joined, our words are one.
There was a beat for everyone to roar their approval, but the only sound was munching and chewing. At the other end of the table Richter gave a halfhearted clap.
Honestly, the chicken really was kinda tasty.
I dont see why Ive been roped into this. I grumped, as Bran began laying out his knives in the kitchen.
Because yer the only one who can simply make up a recipe neither of us know.
Well, I guess thats true. You do realize that the cost of the beer is going to co out of your pay if we lose.
Bran smirked. Section 5
I combed my mory and swore. Since the Feud had been with the Goat, and Id given tacit permission, the Goat was on the hook. ARGH! DWARVES! Youd better not lose!
Beside us, Darrel was watching with an amused expression. He was a bit younger than his wife, which ant he was only 400 odd years old. He had one of the shortest beards and hairstyles Id ever seen on a dwarf, with a fairly standard modern short cut. What stood out was the pure white streaks he had running from the corners of his mouth down to under his chin, and so more at his temple. Standing against his shock black beard it made him look downright sinister, like a middle-aged Count Dooku. He was wearing a sowhat dirty apron, and the rest of the kitchen matched. There was a thin patina of grease on just about every surface, and I frowned as I looked around.
It was fairly bog-standard dwarven cleanliness though. Dwarves had a naturally higher resistance to piddly things like food poisoning, and didnt like wasting ti on dusting or cleaning.
There were so exceptions of course, like Opal and other Doctors, and I suspected that Bran had picked up his own cleaning kick from her.
Darrel spoke up as Bran finished laying out all his knives. He had a surprisingly high tenor, with the sa accent as the rest of the Diggers. Well Artisan Bran, I heard what you said. You think cabbage would work better than the greens?
Bran nodded. Aye, with the spices you chose for the chicken. Cabbage also adds so flavour to the Erdroot without overpowering it.
Darrel bit his lip and nodded. Aye. I could see that. Maybe add so lemon too, ta really bring out tha chicken.
Bran hesitated for a beat, then nodded. Aye, lemon would be good. You do know yer stuff.
Darrel laughed. Hah! Im just good because we need ta be! Rosie wouldnt be able ta throw herself inta her innkeepin ifn I werent here cookin. Swhy Im still only Blessed. Im fine with it though, and Ive gotten real good these past few centuries.
Darrel turned and looked up and down.
So yer tha Brewer Pete I heard tell of from so o tha [Peddlers]?
Well, that could be good or bad. My na is certainly Pete, and I am indeed a [Brewer], but I cant guarantee they were talkin bout , I hedged.
HAH! Yep it were you. So youve got so recipe fer us?
Yep. I reached into my pocket and activated [Petes Miniature Rembrance] silently, then pulled a small notebook out. Were going to make so bread!
Bran and Darrel both gave incredulous glances. So what?
Peter bread! Its a Pain In The Ass, so its perfect!
I laid out the dwarven transcribed recipe in front of the two chefs and they looked it over, confusion evident on their faces.
Bran was the first to speak. Its bread? Just flat bread?
Yep! I love making bread. Its the beer of the baking world. Take yeast, add so grains and sugars, let it react for a bit, and bam! Deliciousness! Id made so small changes, replacing white flour with Erdroot flour and Olive Oil with vine oil for example, but it should still make so tasty pitas.
I hoped.
Darrel hrmd. Says well need so yeast. I cook own bread soat, but mostly get it from tha baker. Ill send Bando ta get us so from Baker Robert. OY, BOY!
Bandos head suddenly appeared, sticking in through the service window. What is it pa?
Go get so yeast from Baker Robert, but dont be blabbin about this Feud, I donnae want tha whole town turnin out.
Gotcha pa, Bando said and disappeared again.
Then Ill get tha oven heated up. Well need ta take turns, thinks, Darrel huffed. Do ya want ta go first or second?
Ill go first, Bran said, reading over the recipe again. That way you can see how its done.
Darrel barked a laugh. Haw! I kin see how ya set off Rosie!
While we waited, Darrel and Bran chatted about chef things, and were soon laughing uproariously at sothing only they understood.
Bando arrived with the yeast a few minutes later, sweating profusely, and Bran imdiately got to work.
Peter Bread
3 cups of Erdroot Flour
1 cup of warm water
1 teaspoon of salt
2 tsp bakers yeast
tsp sugar
cup minced garlic
2 tbsp Greentree vine oil
Mix a half cup of flour with the water and stir in the yeast and sugarPut the mixing bowl in a warm place and wait until it starts bubbling.Add the garlic, vine oil, and 2 cups of flour. Stir until fully mixed and sticky.Next you knead to dust the counter with flour. Then knead the dough until its smooth. Cover the dough and go drink a beer for ten minutes. Knead again. Make sure the dough is a little moist, but not wet. Add more flour if needed, but dont let it beco dry.Coat a clean bowl with more vine oil and put the dough in. Cover fully and let sit for an hour in a warm environnt. Go do the dishes you filthy animal.The dough should rise to double the size. Pop it, and split the dough into nine equal balls. Cover them with a towel and let them sit for a quarter hour. Roll the dough into circles that are about a centiter thick.Heat your cast iron pan on the oven and set to dium heat. Drizzle with vine oil then lay out one pita at a ti. When bubbles form, flip to the other side. Cook for one minute, then flip and cook for one more.
The chefs worked feverishly for the first while, mixing and carefully reading the instructions. When they reached the one hour break though, we moved out into the tavern to chat.
Johnsson and Richter had disappeared to our rooms at so point, Kirk and Malt were kicked up in front of the fire. and Annie, Aqua, Opal, and Rosie were chatting at one of the tables. They looked up when we walked in, looking much too happy given that a Feud was going on.
We n-dwarf-whatever-folk gave them wary looks then sat in a booth and drank from their small supply of Thirsty Goat liquid gold bottles. Ah, bonding. Wait, wasnt this a fight?
Then it was back to the kitchen for baking. Bran managed to turn out nine perfect pita breads, each slling strongly of oil and salt and garlic. I felt my mouth watering at the scent. mories flashed by of munching crispy calamari with tzatziki and slices of lemon on the patio with Sammy and Caroline. Basking in the sunlight while a balmy breeze ca in from Okanagan lake. With a pint of Mythos lager, of course!
Darrel burned his first try, but managed to get eight perfect golden orbs for his following attempts.
Darrel called for Bando when he was done, Oy, boy! Get in ere and bring these plates out ta tha nobs. Tell em its on tha house, but theys needin ta tell us which of tha two plates tasted best. Got it?
Aye, pa.
And then it was all over except for the verdict.
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