Cooking Lessons

“…so, it is important to really crack all the cardamom pods before grinding them down; really helps to release the flavours.”


Henry skilfully opens three of the green spice pods with a small, delicate knife, before dropping them into the mortar along with the cloves, dried anis blossom and a shrivelled nutmeg that he all pinched from his spice pouch, and begins to vigorously grind them to a fine powder. The drow owner of the Hung Rabbit, a charming countryside establishment outside the gates of Daring Heights, looks on with keen interest.

“You can prepare the meat already. Cut it into the smallest pieces you can manage. With the grain is easiest, of course, and helps to retain some structure in the meat. It gives the teeth something to work on, which the customers will cherish.”


Henry has come to an arrangement with the proprietor Dhauzith: he will teach him some of his craft, learned at one of the best culinary institutes of Faerun, in exchange for the use of the Hung Rabbit’s kitchen facilities; the Baron is always happy to speak of how very much he cherishes the rustic country cuisine of the adventuring life; but Henry knows that deep down, the Baron misses the elaborately prepared morsels that were his usual fare back at the estate in Cormyr.

“So we are preparing the meat and the pie separately? What about the filling?” the drow Dhauzith inquires, eagerly cutting the side of venison into small pieces (not quite small enough, Henry thinks to himself).

“Yes yes, all in good time. Please cut the onions and garlic, small rings will do, and where is the wine?”


Henry has had a difficult time getting the locals to appreciate his craft for what it is. It seems that even the classier establishments in Daring proper do not have a sufficiently refined appreciation for the finer points of the culinary arts. But Dhauzith was very appreciative when Henry inquired with him, no doubt hoping to improve the Hung Rabbit’s reputation.

“Wonderful. Now we split the spice mixture between the dough and the meat. I will knead the meat and you can give the dough a good beating.”


Henry pulls a handful of thyme and rosemary leaves from his spice pouch and adds them to the cut meat and onions, adding crushed salt and a splash of red wine for good measure, and then reaches for the honey.

“…you are adding honey to the meat?” Dhauzith inquires.


“Absolutely,” Henry replies cheerfully, “it helps to tickle out the natural flavours.” He then begins to knead the mixture.

—+~::[‡]::~+—

The dough has been rolled out and placed into the baking tin, Henry carefully spooning the meat mixture into it, before placing a thin dough sheet to cover it, carefully leaving still plenty of room in the pie for the second level.

“Now, where do you keep the apples, pears, raisins and dried apricots I asked for? Ah, there.” Henry begins to dice the fruit.

Dhauzith looks on with a measure of incredulity.

“so… this pie has a second level? …and its fruit based? Sweet? …that doesn’t sound right?”

“Oh, absolutely. You see, it is the contrast between sweet and savoury, acidic and balmy, which really makes this recipe such a crowd pleasing favourite. Hand me the crushed peppercorns and cinnamon please?”

Henry stirs in the generous serving of black pepper, along with a swish of brandy, in with what Dhauzith usually would consider a decent fruit salad, then proceeds to add the mixture into the pie’s second level hollow, and seals it with the remaining dough, making sure to create a mould on top, and piercing the majestic cake at regular intervals all around with small holes. “For ventilation,” Henry explains, “or the heat would rupture the pie crust, and we can’t have that, no we can’t…”

In shock, Dhauzith watches as Henry then proceeds to mash sauteed chanterelle mushrooms into a puree, mixed with a handful of elderberries that he keeps producing from his small, yet curiously plentifully stocked spice pouch, and then fills the top mould with the mixture – the smell of which alone brings tears to Dhauzith’s eyes.


“I really must protest… this seems a tad excessive?” he marshals all his authority, but the impeccably polite and cheerful manservant just nods and continues in his task, until Dhauzith relents. Maybe this will be a great success after all? ...Right?

—+~::[‡]::~+—

“Alright, that was the last of it? Now we put it in the oven to bake?”


“Not so fast.” Henry laughs. The man really lacks in training, if he thinks to begin baking the pie before the coup the grace.

“Where is the raspberry reduction I prepared before? We shall apply it as a glace, for the finishing touch.”

Dhauzith looks at him in pregnant silence, something wrathful sparkling in his eyes. Suddenly Henry realizes that he may have seriously misjudged the man’s willingness to push the envelope.

“Get the FUCK out of my kitchen!!”