Brianna’s Bridies from Drums of Autumn

Brianna’s Bridies from Drums of Autumn

(Originally published on – May 11, 2011)

Yon fellow wi’ the cast in one eye,” he said in a subdued bellow, indicating the gentleman in question by pointing with his chin.  “What d’ye say to him, Brianna?”

“I’d say he looks like the Boston Strangler,” she muttered, then louder, shouting into her cousin’s ear, “He looks like an ox!  No!”

“He’s strong, and he looks honest!”

Brianna thought the gentleman in question looked too stupid to be dishonest, but refrained from saying so, merely shaking her head emphatically.

Young Jamie shrugged philosophically and resumed his scrutiny of the would-be bondsmen, walking around those who took his particular interest and peering at them closely, in a way she might have thought exceedingly rude had a number of other potential employers not been doing likewise.

“Bridies!  Hot bridies!”  A high-pitched screech cut through the rumble and racket of the hall, and Brianna turned to see an old woman elbowing her way robustly through the crowd, a steaming tray hung round her neck and a wooden spatula in hand.

The heavenly scent of fresh hot dough and spiced meat cut through the other pungencies in the hall, noticeable as the old woman’s calling.  It had been a long time since breakfast, and Brianna dug in her pocket, feeling saliva fill her mouth.

Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn, (Seal Books, 1997)

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Rolls with Pigeon & Truffles from Voyager

Rolls with Pigeon & Truffles from Voyager

(Originally published on – December 16, 2010)

“You think the man Young Ian followed has something to do with Sir Percival’s warning?”  I lifted a cover on the supper tray that had just been delivered and sniffed appreciatively; it seemed a very long time since Moubray’s stew.

Jamie nodded, picking up a sort of hot stuffed roll.

“I should be surprised if he had not,” he said dryly.  “While there’s likely more than one man willing to do me harm, I canna think it likely that gangs o’ them are roaming about Edinburgh.”  He took a bite and chewed industriously, shaking his head.

“Nay, that’s clear enough, and nothing to be greatly worrit over.”

“It’s not?”  I took a small bite of my own roll, then a bigger one.  “This is delicious.  What is it?”

Jamie lowered the roll he had been about to take a bite of, and squinted at it.  “Pigeon minced wi’ truffles, “ he said, and stuffed it into his mouth whole.

“No,” he said, and paused to swallow.  “No,” he said again, more clearly.  “That’s likely just a matter of a rival smuggler.  There are two gangs that I’ve had a wee bit of difficulty with now and then.”  He waved a hand, scattering crumbs, and reached for another roll.

Diana Gabaldon, Voyager, (Seal Books, 1994)

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