Outlander Kitchen

Historical and Character-Inspired Food from the fictional world of Diana Gabaldon.

08 Apr 2013

Lizzie’s Beer – A Tale of Two Ales

Jamie chewed industriously, washing down a large bite with a gulp of ale. He made an involuntary face, pursed his lips to spit, then changed his mind and swallowed.

“Ach! Mrs. Lizzie’s been at the mash again.” He grimaced and took a remedial bite of biscuit to erase the taste.

Roger grinned at his father-in-law’s face.

“What’s she put in it this time?” Lizzie had been trying her hand at flavored ales – with indifferent success.

Jamie sniffed warily at the mouth of the stone bottles.

“Anise?” he suggested, passing the bottles to Roger.

Roger smelt it, wrinkling up his nose involuntarily at the alcoholic whiff.

“Anise and ginger,” he said. Nevertheless, he took a cautious sip. He made the same face Jamie had, and emptied the bottle over a compliant blackberry vine.

Diana Gabaldon, The Fiery Cross (Chapter 86 – There’s a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea)

lizzie's-brew-kit Read more…

Posted in Drums of Autumn and tagged barley, beer, brew, diana gabaldon, home, kit, lizzie, mash, medieval, oats, the fiery cross

01 Apr 2013

19 Comments

Lord John & Percy’s Man Omelette

He was acutely conscious of Percy as he worked. Small memories of the body lingered on his mouth, in his hands, making them uncertain with steel and flint. He felt Percy’s eyes on his back, heard the small rustlings of quilts as that lithe bare body shifted in the bed.

His mouth tasted of Percy. Each man has his own taste; Percy tasted, very faintly, of mushrooms — wood morels, he thought; truffles, perhaps. Something rare, from deep in the earth.

The steel chimed and sparks flew, glowed brief against the char but didn’t catch. He had tasted himself once, out of curiousity; faintly salt, bland as egg white. Perhaps Percy would think differently?

Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade (Chapter 18 - Finally)

Fiona’s Almond Sponge from DIA

A half-hour later, the tea table lay in shambles, the decanter stood empty, and the three of them sat in a shared stupor of content. Brianna shifted once or twice, glanced at Roger, and finally asked if she might use his “rest room.”

“Oh, the W.C.? Of course.” He heaved himself to his feet, ponderous with Dundee cake and almond sponge. If he didn’t get away from Fiona soon, he’d weigh three hundred pounds before he got back to Oxford.

“It’s on of the old-fashioned kind,” he explained, pointing down the hall in the direction of the bathroom. “With a tank on the ceiling and a pull-chain.”

“I saw some of those in the British Museum,” Brianna said, nodding. “Only they weren’t in with the exhibits, they were in the ladies’ room.” She hesitated, then asked, “You haven’t got the same sort of toilet paper they have in the British Museum, do you? Because if you do, I’ve got some Kleenex in my purse.”

Diana Gabaldon, Dragonfly in Amber (Chapter 2 – The Plot Thickens)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Jenny’s Onion Tart from Voyager

I caught up with her just outside the barn; she heard my step behind her and turned, startled. She glanced about quickly, but saw we were alone. Realizing that there was no way of putting off a confrontation, she squared her shoulders under the woolen cloak and lifted her head, meeting my eyes straight on.

“I thought I’d best tell Young Ian to unsaddle the horse,” she said. “Then I’m going to the root cellar to fetch up some onions for a tart. Will ye come with me?”

“I will.” Pulling my cloak tight around me against the winter wind, I followed her into the barn.

Diana Gabaldon, Voyager (Chapter 38 – I Meet a Lawyer)

Read more…

Posted in Voyager and tagged alsace, claire, diana gabaldon, jenny, onion, quiche, short crust, tart, voyager

27 Feb 2013

22 Comments

Irish Soda Bread & Buttered Eggs from The Scottish Prisoner

He’d done what planning was possible. Once the strategy and tactics of a battle were decided, you put it out of your mind until you came to the field and saw what was what. Trying to fight a battle in your head was pointless and did nothing but fret the nerves and exhaust the energies.

He’d had a hearty breakfast of black pudding and buttered eggs with toasted soda bread, washed down with Mr. Beckett’s very good beer. Thus internally fortified, and dressed in a county gentleman’s good wool suit – complete with gaiters to save is lisle stocking from the mud – and with several documents carefully stowed in separate pockets, he was armed and ready.

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam

Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no man returns.

Diana Gabaldon, The Scottish Prisoner (Chapter 22 – Glastuig)

Read more…