Governor Tryon’s Humble Crumble Apple Pie

Governor Tryon’s Humble Crumble Apple Pie

It was a mistake!  And one I have come to rectify, so far as I may!”  Tryon was standing his ground, jaw tight as he glared upward.

“A mistake.  And is the loss of an innocent man’s life no more than that to ye?  You will kill and maim, for the sake of your glory, and pay no heed to the destruction ye leave — save only that the record of your exploits may be enlarged.  How will it look in the dispatches ye send to England — sir?  That ye brought cannon to bear on your own citizens, armed with no more than knives and clubs?  Or will it say that ye put down rebellion and preserved order?  Will it say that in your haste to vengeance, ye hanged an innocent man?  Will it say there that ye made ‘a mistake’?  Or will it say that ye punished wickedness, and did justice in the King’s name?”

Diana Gabaldon, The Fiery Cross (Chapter 72 – Tinder and Char)

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Captain Alessandro’s Mango Rum Shots

Captain Alessandro’s Mango Rum Shots

Silence, mes amis,” said the big man, in a voice of pleasant command.  “Silence, et restez, s’il vous plaît.” Silence my friends, and do not move, if you please.

I would have fallen, were I not already on my knees.  I closed my eyes in a wordless prayer of thanksgiving.

Next to me, Marsalit gasped.  I opened my eyes and clapped a hand over her open mouth.

The commander took off his hat, and shook out a thick mass of sweat-soaked auburn hair.  He grinned at Fergus, teeth white and wolfish in a  short, curly red beard.

Diana Gabaldon, Voyager (Chapter 52 – A Wedding Takes Place)

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Battle Barbecue – Renegade Rosamund’s Devil’s Apple Sauce

Battle Barbecue – Renegade Rosamund’s Devil’s Apple Sauce

“It’s the tomato fruits she’s using, Mac Dubh,” he hissed, tugging at Jamie’s sleeve and pointing at the red-crusted bowl.  “Devil’s apples!  She’ll poison us all!”

“Oh, I shouldna think so, Ronnie.”  Jamie took a firm grip on Ronnie’s arm, and smiled engagingly at Rosamund.  “Ye mean to sell the meat, I suppose, Mrs. Lindsay?  It’s a poor merchant that would kill her customers, aye?”

“I ain’t yet lost a one, Mr. Fraser,” Rosamund agreed, turning back another sheet of burlap and leaning over to dribble sauce from a wooden ladle over a steaming haunch.  “Ain’t never had but good words about the taste, neither,” she said, “though a-course that would be in Boston, where I come from.”

Where folk have sense, her tone clearly implied.

Diana Gabaldon, The Fiery Cross (Chapter 13 – Beans and Barbecue)

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