YM778.TV Chapter 69: Fishy Situations
Chapter 69: Fishy Situations
“Are you bored of chips and fries already?”
“A little, but I need ta know how to make ’Fish and Chips’. ‘Specially since it’s on the menu.” He added the last bit with emphasis, and I flinched.
“Ugh, those names!” Annie moaned. “It’s ‘Fish and Fries!”
“We’ve been over that Annie, you won, give it a rest already!” I smacked her on the shoulder and she punched back harder.
Ow.
I rubbed my shoulder and turned back to Bran. “Fine, I do owe you that. I guess I’ll make my own congratulatory feast. You can all enjoy some fine west coast cooking.” I cracked my fingers and strutted into the kitchen.
“West Coast?” Bran said, confused. “And I thought this was supposed to be a surprise. Congratulations fer what?”
“Uhh….”
Annie, Balin, and I all looked at each other in concern. To tell or not to tell?
Well, we’d already invited him to the brewery, and he could probably ruin us with a well timed radler.
“We should tell him.” I said firmly.
“Are ya sure?” Balin asked.
“I agree with Pete.” Annie said.
“Tell me what?”
“I got my Specialization. I\'m a [Brewer] now.”
Bran’s jaw dropped past his collar-bone. “WHAT!?”
—
“Alrighty, Bran.” I grabbed a bowl and then opened up the cupboard to grab erdroot flour. Bran watched me with suspicious eyes.
“How do ya know where everythin’ is in my kitchen? I just moved it all around this morning.”
“Neat trick, isn’t it! It’s my new Blessin’!”
“Still can’t believe ya got that so quick…” He muttered.
My new Specialization still felt a bit uncomfortable; kind of like new shoes. It may have been the unearthly tingle of power that had come with it, but it was more likely the fancy new [Minimap] sitting in my head.
[Minimap]
Your spirit has found a new spark! Your mental statistics remain replaced with their previous values, and you are more likely to gain blessings and milestones! You also gain a minimap to help find your way around this new world. People and monsters as well as major landmarks will be marked on your minimap. You can also mark crafting ingredients or quests and quest items.
This ability is always available.
It was… well, it was a minimap. It popped up just like my quest windows did, and I could enlarge it or stuff it into the back of my awareness. There were a dozen different filters, but it wasn’t a series of drop down menus or anything like that. Instead, I simply had to focus on the minimap and I’d get a vague idea of what I could ask it to reveal.
As far as revealing ‘crafting ingredients’ went, I was limited to ingredients I’d used in alchemy before. That included beer brewing and cooking, which made a pretty massive list of ingredients. Most of them were Earth related, like ‘hops’ or ‘honey’ or ‘maple syrup’. The last one was interesting, because I couldn\'t search for ‘pancakes’ or ‘Canadian bacon’. Crafting ingredients only, and if it had other uses that was just a lucky coincidence. I’d need to spend some time over the next few days playing around with it.
All in all, it was super neat. Especially in a kitchen, where I could set it to ‘Fish’ and BAM! there it was. I also grabbed lemons from the cold-storage fridge and filled a tankard with beer.
“Bran, do you want to whip up the fries while I prep?”
“Aye, I blanched ‘em this morning.” Bran ducked into the fridge and returned with a bowl of fries. Blanching was something that I considered a must for good fries. The process was easy; all Bran needed to do was deep fry the fries half-way and then stick them in the fridge. When he pulled them out during the dinner rush they would fry a lot faster, and get that perfect crispy outside.
I was making a special fish and chips recipe passed down through generations of my family - nah, it was just a bog standard beer-batter fish and chips recipe.
Pete’s Lemon Zest Fish and Chips Ingredients
Skinless Cavetrout Filet
Erdroot Blanched-Flour
Salt & Pepper
Baking Powder
Radler
Pickles
We made the radler in secret. No need to start a panic.
In a shallow dish I mixed the flour, salt and pepper, and the baking powder - or ‘floof’ powder, as Caroline used to call it. When it was well blended I slowly poured in the radler. It bubbled happily as the lemon reacted with the powder. I hoped the awful beer wouldn’t ruin the taste TOO much.
“Why tha beer?” Bran interrupted, his eyes drinking in my every move.
“Cold beer makes the batter go crispy in the fryer, and the carbonation will cause it to puff out. There’s more reasons, but I don’t remember them.”
When the batter had a smooth-but-not-runny consistency I set it aside and grabbed a piece of fish. The trout needed to be dry, so I picked up a small clean dishcloth and patted it. We did not want to use the same dirty towel over the course of a dinner rush, so Bran would need a steady supply of clean towels beside the fish table.
“Annie! Can you add a note to buy a towel station for the kitchen?” I called.
“Ergh. More gold! My wallet weeps!” She complained, but wrote it down anyway.
Bran finally popped the fries out of the fryer and set them on a plate. They were thin cut and golden brown - perfect specimens of the ideal french fry. A light dusting of salt and they were ready for plating.
I carefully dipped four fish sticks into the batter and made sure they were thoroughly coated in goop. Then I placed them in the frying basket and gently lowered it into the deep-fryer. The oil roiled excitedly and I shook the basket a few times to make sure the fish didn’t stick to the bottom.
Four minutes later I pulled out stunningly-golden beer-battered trout. I laid it on a plate alongside some fries and garnished it with pickles. No tartar sauce this time, unfortunately.
Soon all four of us were beard-deep in delicious fish. The moist center of each piece had a lemony aftertaste that spread from the crunchy batter of the exterior. The fries were perfect, and I added a dash of rock salt to mine; I missed ketchup, and didn’t know how to make it. The beer only made everything a tad sour, which isn’t that bad for fish and chips.
“It’s great, Pete.”
“Delicious.”
“Yumm!”
“MmmmmmmMm”
*Meeeeeh!* [Translated from Prima Donna Goat] “What a delicious smell. Thank you for the meal!”
“Argh, no Penelope! That’s mine!”
*MEEEEHHHH!!!!*
I sat contentedly back in my chair as Balin wrestled Penelope for his last piece of fish. The dish was a huge success, and my new Specialization was even more so. With [Minimap] I never needed to worry about being caught off-guard again.
___
In a dark space there stood a white stone gazebo and mist rose from several incense bowls surrounding it. A black mountain rose up in the darkness, seeming to touch the sky. A circular marble table sat in the centre of the gazebo, and a group of cloaked figures sat around it in ornate wooden chairs.
Master Brewer Browning sat before the assembly, his face slightly swollen. He held a pack of ice to one eye. “My fellow Master Brewers! I have called this emergency meeting to deal with dire news.”
One cloaked figure put up a hand, interrupting him. He sighed melodramatically. “Yes, what is it?”
“What happened to your - “
“MY FACE IS FINE! No more questions! I’ve called you because of -”
“He got his stuffing knocked out trying to get at one of the ‘Limited Edition’ Whistlemugs.” The quavery voice of Master Brewer Malt put in.
“HAR!”
“SHUT IT, DRUM!” Browning crowed.
“MAKE ME, ya idjit! What were ya even doin’ there? You could have made an apprentice do it!”
“I wanted to experience it…” Browning grumbled. “Imagine my horror to learn it was a celebration of that thrice damned drinking contest! I smashed it as soon as I received it. How was I to know that would set the crowd off!”
“I think it was you calling the crowd a ‘degenerate rabble’-” Malt added, “then usin’ yer Blessin’ to pop half of Whistlemop’s stock.”
There was a general gasp.
“Preposterous!”
“Uncalled for!”
“Shameful behaviour that I’d expect from a human!”
“You’d better pay for those!”
“QUUIIETT!!” Browning roared. “I didn’t call this meeting to be lambasted for an error made in anger. I’ll pay Whistlemop for the damages - if he ever shows his face again.” He smirked.
“Would ya hurry it up then Browning?” The voice of Jeremiah Goldstone rang out in the sudden silence. All the eyes in the room snapped to him. He looked tired, and bored. He hadn’t been at many of the meetings recently.
“Well Jeremiah, I’m happy you asked.” Browning said sweetly, holding up a sheet of paper and laying it down on the table. Malt reached a hand out to look at it and pass it around. There was a brief bark of laughter when it reached Drum, but Jeremiah barely glanced at it. A smiling image of Pete was depicted with a catchy slogan.
“What is this?” A feminine voice asked.
“Where did you get it from?” A deep voice added. “Was it up on the Goat? I don’t see a problem with it. A bit gaudy, but young folk are like that.”
“It was up at Whistlemop’s,” Browning said, then his voice rose as he continued, “because apparently he has joined hands with one Peter Roughtuff from Thirsty Goat Brewing. The same Peter Roughtuff that I have recently learned was responsible for the RADLER abomination we’ve been suppressing!” He slammed an axe into the poster, pinning it to the table.
There was a series of gasps and ‘oh my’s. One dwarf fainted dead away. Jeremiah merely twitched.
“Were you aware, Jeremiah, of what kind of dwarf you hired?” Browning hissed.
Jeremiah shrugged. “He’s a good lad. A hard worker and loves brewin’.”
“But does he love The Brew?” Browning and Jeremiah shared a cold stare. After a few embarrassed coughs from the crowd, Browning sat back in his chair.
“Did you really call an emergency meeting over a damnable poster, Browning?” Drum asked.
“No. I called an emergency meeting because I’ve been hearing troubling rumors from the Thirsty Goat. I understand that Jeremiah Goldstone has handed over the next batch to Annie Goldstone, and several large shipping boxes were recently moved into the brewery. I suspect she is attempting to change the brewing process again, and you all remember how that went last time.”
Jeremiah leaned forward, and his fingers grew white as he clenched his fists on the table. “Are you spyin’ on my family, Browning?”
Browning spat. “I’m looking out for the community by keeping an eye on a known dangerous variable.”
“That’s not a no…” Jeremiah cracked his neck and glared daggers.
“Ah, stop with the melodramatics you two.” Malt interrupted. “I want to get to my nap. Get on with it Browning, what do you want to do about it?”
“These youngsters need to learn not to play around with millennia of tradition. The Brew is sacred, you all know that. Or used to know it.” He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and laid it down on the table. “I hold you, Jeremiah Goldstone, to your oath. You will ensure that this bastard batch ends in failure. The magic in this vial of unrefined lily-leopard liver oil will ensure the fermentation process fails. You are to continue using it until your foolhardy daughter returns to proper brewing practices!”
“Browning, I’m not sure -” Drum said haltingly.
“I’ll not budge on this!” Browning roared, dropping the ice pack and revealing a massive black eye and torn lip. “You all swore on your ancestors and the Gods to uphold your oaths! Will you disgrace your ancestors and stand forsworn before the Gods, Jeremiah!?”
Jeremiah glared back with hate-filled eyes, his voice dripping with venom. “You would have me taint the Brew?”
“Their brew is already tainted. We are simply ensuring that only pure brews succeed.”
There was a dull silence in the room as every eye stared at the inky bottle.
“If you need more, I have another flask.” Browning said, a smug and callous look on his face. “ The will of the ancestors.”
The refrain was repeated uncertainly by all assembled.
“THE WILL OF THE ANCESTORS.”
The assembly filed out of the room in silence until the only dwarf left in the room was a hunched Jeremiah Goldstone.