((Hey folks, has been some time since I blogged Min-Xiu. So I can’t leave you hanging, disappointed! Inspiration for this blog presented by the letter “A”, and a special shout-out to the FOOD Network for the ideas presented below! I didn’t cook them (nor do I claim ownership), but for you meaty/vegetarian types, there’s something to consider when making your next meal! Enjoy!))
The house of Master Qiong Smoothwater was infused by the wonderful smells within. Red Pepper, scallions, ginger, hoisin sauce, fresh ginger, and cilantro leaves, soy sauce, carrots, and cabbage fills the air, bringing a warm, inviting sense of home and laughter. Bringing forth two cool bowls of vegetarian dumplings, he sets the table for two persons. Fresh rice with green peppers, yellow peppers, Vidalia onions, and celery sautéed up with some oil compliments the vegetable portion of the meal. Again, two bowls are set on the table.
((This blog was created with this in mind, as usual, enjoy!))
Urilla awakens, rising to the scents of steamed rice with a hint of curry. Roasted quillboar smothered with cumin, rosemary, thyme, coriander, and of course, vegetables. Her hands reach up to peel off the protective binding over her what remained of her visceral ordeal with the Matron. A hand aptly grabs hold of her leading hand, halting her advance. Firm in grasp, yet patient and gentle in silently advising her to not touch. The palm of this hand is rough, and around it, fur tickles her skin. Qiong speaks solemnly, with measured gravity in his tone.
"I'm sorry, young one. It is best to not tamper with the challenging wounds you've recently suffered."
When one awakes from sleepless slumber,
One feels empty,
Thieves require energy, energy requires health, health requires food.
Sometimes I accept free meals from Lorith and Noxxie. Charity contravenes training, but going hungry is worse.
Sometimes I fish, though I am no Beisel; the pond is not always forthcoming.
I do not fear the dark though we are very unlikely companions. I am of the sun, an elf born in opposition of the moon, but I do not fight as some would. The moon and the sun are in and of balance within me, as it rightfully should be.
Not only was she not used to being served in such finery, but the entire concept of being waited on hand and foot was completely new to her. A properly trained butler, an excellent assistant, a skilled killer, a new addition to her house, that was this dark dressed man.
11. It was the edge of the world. Stark cliffs dropped down into nothingness, dusty soil blowing over the top and into the Nether. She crouched atop a floating island, holding the wind rider's reins as the beast dug its claws into the browned grass and keened. She could feel the thin air burning in her lungs as a high whistling wind stung her ears, and shut her eyes for a moment as her hand found the island's crumbling edge. She crawled closer, braced against gusts and eddies that might knock her loose, and peered down. Then, squeezing her eyes closed again, she felt her way back to the wyvern and climbed into the saddle. It lifted off with a howl and the roar of wings beating hard against the netherwinds, then turned back toward Garadar, eager to return to its roost.
“This is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done…” she said with a crazy grin and a strange glint in her eyes. Carefully she took aim over the wall of the Alliance fortress where the Horde army battled for dominance. She licked a finger, thrust it up in the air to check direction of the wind, and adjusted the engine appropriately. Giggling madly she climbed up into the catapult and that’s when she hesitated… just for a second. Then she shrugged and laughed, waving a hand flippantly, “It’ll be fine, I can levitate!” Then she counted backwards to herself and YANKED the rope as hard as she could. The catapult launched the petite young priestess into the air, blood colored curls flying behind her like a red flag. She laughed like joyful child even as she started to fall to the earth, and willed the Light to slow her descent at the last moment.
The edge of the bar was hers. From there, she could crouch and watch the
-people in the dim light. Smell them. Listen to their voices. Learn. Remember. food
The rum was good, too.
((I'm apologizing in advance for the dry, uninspired wall of text! Caveat lector.))
Three days ago I learned that, in spite of the old saying, you can go home again.
On Saturday, the third of October at seven o'clock Goblin Servo Time, to honor the final night of Azeroth's week-long Harvest Festival, the Commonwealth guild will host a potluck feast in the courtyard of Stormwind Keep. Any and all members of the Alliance who appreciate good food are welcome! Since it's a potluck dinner, attendees are encouraged to prepare a dish and bring it along to share with everyone. The food you bring can be iconic of your race and culture, or just something you really enjoy.
The night won't be just meals and mingling, however! There are a few proverbial side dishes as well ...
Red was a good color.
It was the color food was inside. It was the color this food was outside. Pointless cloth bits, chewy leather bits, annoying metal bits. This food knew it was food, didn’t try to hide.
Lazhira liked that.
nowing that the week ahead would be difficult, I decided to take a few days to adequately prepare for my journey. The single-day sojourn to Silithus had been harmless enough, but an extended stay in the unforgiving desert would require careful planning. I'd need camping gear, research equipment, non-perishable rations, an ample supply of water, and some means of fending off bugs far too large to be killed by a few spritzes from a canister of alchemical pesticide.
In addition, an unresolved issue had been weighing heavily on my mind ... one that I wished to take care of before my departure.
It occurs to me after eating this weekend at various gatherings of family and friends that food plays a major role in distinguishing a culture and it's traditions. Whether you eat chitlins and kollard greens at your get together, or beans and franks, or matzoh and lentils, each says a lot about where you've come from and what you grew up with. So this thread is going to be giving you that chance to frame your character's background in laying out a recipe that your grandma or pa handed down.
((more info under the cut!))
Raven Hill Tavern
Hosted by the
She's asleep now. Her head is resting in my lap and I'm stroking her hair as I write this in her little book. I remember the first time I watched her sleeping, how it made me feel... makes me feel. Hungry. Like I want to eat her up, like some confectioner's treat. She looks so delicious, her eyes closed, her breath slow. It would be so easy now. Just a push, a little one. A touch in her sleep, then I could feed. She would be so sweet.
So why am I not?
(( Originally posted February 4, 2007 @ RealmPortal ))
The fire crackles happily as I turn the fish meat carefully, watching to make certain it doesn't burn. It's not much, just a Smallfish, but while I won't eat it raw (the way my kitten prefers), I also won't eat it burnt.
But I will eat it. I'm still not wholly resolved to that. I tried, for a while, to continue as I have. I even avoided the meat dishes at Nenuial's dinner party. It's been complicated, however, by two things: my favourite food is Nightfin Soup, and I finally see what I was doing, why.
He wasn't there in the morning either.
I was a little... no, more than a little... dismayed to realize panic was beginning to set in. He showed me that awful vision of the Troll temple, told me that he was the one in the front, taking most of the hits while the other warriors and mages fought beneath his cover and the healers concentrated on him... what if one of those healers missed? What if someone let him die?
I shot four rabbits. For myself, I would have killed two: one to eat and one to smoke in the ashes for later, but with Uzil around, I killed four. One to eat, and three for him to eat. Maybe he'd only manage to get through two and I could smoke the fourth for breakfast, but his appetite matched the rest of him.
Sleep doesn’t let you go all at once. It does it by slow bits and pieces, usually returning you bodily sensation before it gives you your mind back. You start to slowly become aware that your dreams are not real, that you are a fleshly being, and that your body is contorted or comfortable or somewhere in between.