narya_flame

Dear Femslash Creator,

I am so sorry, I've had an epic fail this week and did not complete my letter when I promised to, so let me say up front that I am very easy to please - even less than usual, don't feel bound to anything contained in this letter. As long as you keep out of the DNWs in my signup, I will love what you make; really I just want something - anything - featuring one of my requested ships.

Format: Ficlet
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Rating: G
Word Count: 676
Characters: Caranthir; Original Character(s)
Summary: A prince, his butler, and a pair of unexpected gifts...

Read it on AO3, SWG, and at Tolkien Short Fanworks.

 Me this evening: damn, we have no food in the fridge.  Ah well, that's OK, I'll make puttanesca...

AND THEN THERE WERE NO FREAKING ANCHOVIES

However, from the depths of last year's lockdown store cupboard emerged a forgotten can of tinned mackerel.  It wouldn't have the salty punch of a can of anchovies, so a few small adjustments were needed - but dinner was saved, and the results were worth writing down.

Serves 2

Heat the oven to around 50 celsius.  Pop in a couple of bowls/plates/something suitable for eating pasta off or out of.

Generously salt a large pan of water and set to boil.

Finely chop two fat cloves of garlic and one medium sized red chilli.  Heat up a couple of glugs of extra virgin olive oil, and gently fry the garlic and chilli, plus half a teaspoon each of dried thyme, rosemary and oregano.  After a couple of minutes, gently flake in a 115g can of mackerel in oil and allow to warm through.  When the oil in the pan is gently sizzling again, add half a glass of dry white wine, stir in a tablespoon of tomato paste, and season with salt and pepper.  

Add 250g fusilli to the boiling water.  Cook for approx. 10 minutes.  Meanwhile, leave the sauce to simmer until the wine, oil, tomato and fish have combined into something approximately the consistency of bolognese.  When this consistency is achieved, turn off the direct heat and leave to sit until the pasta is done.

As the pasta is cooking, juice a lemon and chop a generous handful of fresh parsley. 

When the pasta is done to your liking, drain it (reserving a cup of the salted, starchy water), remove the bowls/plates from the oven, and then use the pasta pan to stir through the fish and tomato sauce, the lemon, and the parsley through the fusilli.  The sauce will be quite thick; add the reserved pasta water to taste, a little at a time, until the sauce is glossy and generously coating the pasta.

Ladle into the warmed bowls and serve - ideally with a final twist of black pepper and a glass of the wine you used in the sauce.

The real magic trick of this dish (which was a complete fluke) is the lemon juice, starchy water and fatty fish emulsifying to form a sauce that is super-creamy without involving any actual dairy.  A very happy accident indeed.

I wasn't planning to take part this year, but the tag set is so pretty...so many things that are right in my creative sweet spot...

Hmm.  Finish TRSB, then decide.

 ...the local barmpots attempt to seize Edinburgh castle under the Magna Carta and this feels like one of the more normal things to have happened in recent times.

Aye very guid, as they say in Glasgow.

Back in the 90s, garlic mushrooms were a staple starter in many English pubs. They came piping hot in a tiny individual casserole dish, often accompanied by thick slices of buttered toast and a wilting heap of cress and cucumber masquerading as a salad. It's a dish that's fallen out of fashion, but I loved it as a kid, and it holds fond memories of family birthday parties when we'd all gather around a long table in a function room, reminiscing, laughing and looking to the future.

As the pandemic hit, I sought comfort food. This was an obvious candidate to try and recreate, but annoyingly, I hadn't been able to get it right. When I cooked the mushrooms simply in butter, garlic and pepper, they lacked a little something. I seemed to recall the sauce being a dark creamy-grey rather than translucent, so I tried adding double cream (too rich), sour cream (too like a stroganoff – nothing wrong with a stroganoff but not what I was going for) and yoghurt (just no).

Eventually, frustrated, I rang my grandmother – my Dad's mum. She ran a pub of her own in the 80s and very early 90s, and she is a mine of sneaky cooking tips and unlikely recipes.

“Put milk in it,” she said, sounding bewildered that I'd needed to ask.

Milk? Milk? I screwed my nose up. She was losing it.

“And a tiny pinch of mustard powder.”

A bit of a kick. That sounded more sensible.

“Lots of butter and salt, as well. Lots and lots – much more than you think is good for you.”

That, too, seemed about right for the war generation.

“And proper bread, not that silly stuff with holes in it.”

Very on brand. I thanked her, shrugged my shoulders, and gave it one more go.

It was bloody perfect.

( Read more... )

The Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang is returning for 2021!

The Dreamwidth page has now been updated with 2021's need-to-know dates, and we're in the process of updating the FAQs over at the Tumblr blog.

• 1st April – our suggestions spreadsheet will open, so start thinking now about your ideas for our wonderful artists!

I failed again at doing this on Monday last week - part of the point was to give me something to look forward to after work, but the last few weeks have been so full on that I've either worked late or just collapsed in front of the TV on an evening. So, I'm giving Sundays a go instead; rather than something to look forward to on a Monday, it can be something to think about and sustain me (and hopefully others) as we move into the week.

This week's poem is in Ahtna, one of the indigenous languages of Alaska, with an English translation by the poet. Smelcer, born in 1963, is Ahtna's youngest fluent speaker, and describes himself as 'a living repository of our language.' The poem is collected in Poems from the Edge of Extinction, an anthology of poetry in endangered languages, published by John Murray Press and edited by Chris McCabe.


C'etesen

Dahwdezeldiin' koht'aene kenaege'.
ukesdezt'aet.

Yaane' koht'aene yaen',
nekenaege' nadahdelna.

Koht'aene kenaege' k'os nadestaan,
lukae c'ena ti'taan, Tez'aedzi Na'.

Sii 'e koht'aene k'e kenaes,
Sii ndahwdel'en,

dandiil'en
s'dayn'tnel'en.


The Poet

I am beginning to write in our language,
but it is difficult.

Only the elders speak our words,
and they are forgetting.

There are not many words anyhow.
They are scattered like clouds,

like Salmon in Stepping Creek
at Tonsina River.

I do not speak like an Ahtna elder,
but I hear the voice of a spirit,

hear it at a distance,
speaking quietly to me.


According to the mythology of the Ahtna people, their language was given to them by a raven.

I remembered on Thursday that I missed doing this last week - and this week's is just a short one, but feels apt.  


Thaw

Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from the elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass,
What we below could not see: Winter pass.



(More about the author here.)

Dear Smut Swapper,

Hi! Thank you for making a gift for me; I'm really happy that we share a love for these ships and I would be equally thrilled with a story about any of them. Tolkien is the fandom of my heart – I dabble in others, but this is the one I always return to.
 

( Read more... )