Heretical Fishing

Chapter 92: Feast

The wind flowed past me, funneling through my back door via the back deck.

I stood in the doorway, my clothes rippling under the assault. I held my arms out, closed my eyes, and basked in the sensation. As the moment of mindfulness stretched on, a profound calm washed over me, deeper than the ocean.

"This one, Fischer?" Maria asked, luring me back to reality.

I glanced over at her through half-closed eyes, and she giggled.

"Just so you're aware, you look ridiculous right now."

I still had my arms outstretched, and the breeze billowing through was inflating my shirt as it poured into my sleeves.

"It's called fashion, Maria. I'm told looking like a marshmallow is all the rage amongst the kids these days."

"Do I even want to know what a marshmallow is?"

"It's a little pillow of sugary bliss."

"Another thing from your old life?"

I nodded and walked back inside, closing the door and cutting off the wind.

"It's food. I don't know how to make them, but maybe we can try... they go well with a babyccino."

"A what?"

"It's a coffee for kids—basically just frothed milk with a bit of choccy powder."

"Choccy?" She shook her head at me. "You know, half the time when you answer a question, I just get more confused."

I laughed.

"Yeah, my bad. Forget I said anything. What did you ask before?"

"When you were standing in the doorway like a marshmallow? I asked if this was the one you wanted to use—you said the middle one, right?"

She pointed at the medium-sized tray of the three arrayed on the counter, and I nodded.

"That's the one!"

I got the fish from the sink and set it in the tray, then cast my gaze over the spices arrayed in front of us.

"Are any of these speaking to you?"

"Speaking to me? I thought you'd have an idea."

"I do—I've tried all the ones here, and I'm pretty sure they'll pair well with fish."

Maria hummed and rubbed her chin, stopping when her eyes met a shaker of finely chopped leaves. She sprinkled a liberal amount over the fish, then nodded to herself.

"Perfect."

I knew the herb was similar to sage, and it paired well with fish when I'd used it before.

"What made you choose that one?" I asked.

"The shade of green is pretty."

A laugh escaped my throat.

"As good a reason as any, I suppose. It will go well with lemon."

I pointed at another container.

"Add a sprinkle of that, I reckon."

"What is it?" she asked, adding it to the tray.

"No idea—it has a lovely, peppery kick to it, though."

I looked at the fish and cocked my head to the side.

"One more pinch."

She obliged, adding the same amount as before.

"Perfect. That should do it, I reckon. A bit of salt and lemon after it cooks, and the fish should be delicious."

"What now?"

I grabbed the larger tray and set it atop the one with the fish inside, making the best moisture seal I could.

"Now, we cook."

***

"Uh, Fischer?"

"Yeah?" I replied as I bent and put the fish atop the bed of coals.

"What are those sticks for?"

She was looking at the torches I'd spent most of the day making while she was helping her mother cook.

"They are called tiki torches where I'm from. They're for mood lighting."

"Mood lighting? Do you put candles on them?"

"Oh, no. They are the candles."

She looked at me, the tiki torches, then back at me.

"Are you alright if we skip the back-and-forth of me being confused and you just skip straight to explaining how you're gonna use sticks as torches?"

"But your confusion is half the fun..."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Just pretend we already had the conversation, I was sufficiently confused, and you got delight from it like the sadist you are."

"Woah, sadist?" I asked, laughing. "You must have been really confused in this hypothetical."

"I was—it was rather embarrassing."

"Alright, I guess we can skip straight to the explanation. See the wick extending from the top? That leads to a container of oil I got from Fergus. The oil burns rather than the wick, and as the fuel is burned away, more oil soaks up toward the flame."

"... that works?"

"Well, in theory. I only made them today, so they could also just explode. I'd keep my distance."

I winked at her, and she shook her head with a laugh.

What I didn't mention was that each torch had transformed when I crafted them, so I doubted they wouldn't work.

I started setting up the table and wooden chairs I'd borrowed from Brad and Greg. The table was only large enough to hold the dishes of food everyone was bringing, so I set out the chairs in a ring around the fire.

Maria stood with her arms crossed, and she chewed her lip in thought.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, placing the last chair.

"I was trying to work out if you were kidding about the torches exploding or not..."

***

The last rays of sunlight were fading over the western mountains when my guests arrived.

Sharon and Roger—the former carrying a tray of fresh-baked rolls, the latter wielding a giant pot of stew and an impressive scowl—stepped through the gate first.

Close behind them were Barry, Helen, and Paul. Barry carried a crate of glass bottles, Helen had a tray covered in a tea towel, and their son, Paul, toddled behind carrying a board absolutely covered in bowls, plates, cups, and cutlery.

"Hello, Fischer! " Paul yelled, a wide grin plastered over his face.

"G'day, everyone! You're just in time—the fish will be ready soon."

As expected, Roger's eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing—an impressive amount of restraint on his part, in my opinion.

I got to my feet.

"Now that we're all here, I'll set the mood!"

I grabbed a long branch jutting from the fire and raised its still-burning tip. I walked around to the tiki torches staked in the ground and lit them one by one.

"Wow, those are beautiful, Fischer..." Sharon said, a few of the flames reflecting in her eyes.

Maria snorted.

"Don't praise him yet—he said they might explode."

"Hey! That was between me and you! Besides, I was only joking."

I shot Maria a sly wink.

"Fischer..." Sharon said. "Did you just wink after saying you were joking?"

"Uhhh, no?"

I turned to Maria and winked again, much less covertly this time.

"Paul," Barry said, "don't go near those torches."

I barked a laugh.

"I really was just joking—they won't explode."

I fought down the urge to wink at Maria again, knowing the third time would probably convince them I'd surrounded us with fireballs just waiting to happen.

Everyone set their goods on the table I'd set up, and when Sharon put her pot down, she opened the lid.

"Should we start off with some stew while the fish finishes? I made fresh rolls for dipping."

A smell I'd not experienced since coming to Kallis hit me as steam rose from the lamb stew. Hints of unknown spices joined the scent of lamb, and my mouth immediately started salivating.

"Absolutely," Roger replied, sounding more excited than I'd ever imagined he could.

This stew must be serious business...

Paul passed Sharon the bowls and she filled each of them with a ladle of the steaming meal.

When she handed me mine, I stared down at it, and my mouth may as well have been a faucet for how much it watered. I waited until everyone had their serving; Roger held no such reservations, and for his crimes, Sharon swatted him with a tea towel.

“What?” he complained through a mouthful of stew. “It's not my fault your cooking is so delicious!”

She rolled her eyes at her husband, but I didn't miss the smile curling her lip.

I stared down at the bowl in my hands; vapor billowed from it, and I breathed in the mingling aromas. The seasoning was even stronger now, and the assorted herbs and spices assaulted me. Large chunks of lamb and vegetables riddled the stew, and as I put a spoon through a hunk of lamb, it split right in two. I raised a spoon to my mouth.

The flavor overwhelmed me, and I let out an involuntary mmmm. The seasoning tasted even better than it smelled. The chunk of lamb fell apart in my mouth, the meat's fatty juices melding with the rest of the stew.

“Sharon...” I said, shattering the silence. “This is unreal.”

Roger made an approving noise, but didn't stop shoveling food long enough to voice his agreement.

"I don't care how rude it is to ask," Helen said. "Can I have that recipe? I'll give you anything for it—even Barry."

Sharon laughed, the sound reminding me of Maria's.

"I'd be glad to swap it for the recipe of that sweet pie you make. Barry shared some with us a few years ago, and no matter how many times I try to replicate it, I can't get it right."

"It's a deal." Helen laid a hand on Barry's shoulder. "It looks like you can stay, dear."

"If you like that pie," Barry said. "You'll love what Helen made for dessert."

Helen batted her husband's arm.

"No ruining the surprise!"

I had another half bowl of the lamb stew before I stood to check on the fish. As I lifted the lid, steam roiled out in a thick cloud, dissipating when the fire’s heat hit it.

"Fischer..." Helen said. "That smells amazing."

Both her and Barry's eyes were fixed on the exposed fish. I could practically see them drooling, and it made my heart sing.

"You'll have to let Maria know—she was the chef today, not me."

"Not at all," Maria said, raising both hands to ward off any praise. "I just followed instructions."

"Not true! You followed your instinct when choosing the seasoning, right?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, realizing she had done that.

"Well, the seasoning could be disgusting for all we know—if it tastes bad... sorry."

"As the great Guy Fieri says, "If you're cooking and not making mistakes, you're not playing outside your safety zone"."

Maria, seeing my quote as the bait it was, narrowed her eyes.

Barry, however, took it hook, line, and sinker.

"Who is Guy Fieri?"

I grinned.

"The mayor of flavortown. I actually met him once—he's a good bloke. That's not important right now, though. Focus, Barry."

I pointed down at the fish.

"Who wants to try some?"

Everyone bar Roger spoke up, and as I started dishing out the fish, the old farmer helped himself to a third bowl of stew.

The flesh easily parted as I separated it with tongs, and I had to grab each portion carefully so it didn’t fall apart.

"Can you all eat butter?" I asked.

There were no protests, so I went to add a scrape of butter to each plate, then remembered I shouldn't be contributing to the meal.

"Would you mind, Maria? I don't want to steal your thunder."

She nodded happily, bouncing up to add the ingredient. As the butter hit the flakey meat, it immediately melted and spread itself over the steaming fish.

With all the plates prepared, I reached into my pocket and withdrew the final ingredient—a lemon.

I was greeted with a chorus of ooooo's and aaaaaah's—okay, maybe not a chorus, but both Paul and Barry were audibly impressed.

"Does everyone want lemon?" I asked.

No one objected, so I sliced up the entire fruit and put one wedge on each plate.

"If you don't mind, would you all set aside the seeds for me?"

Roger raised an eyebrow.

"You can't grow lemon from seeds, Fischer," he said around a mouthful of stew.

"Yeah, I know, but I wanna try, uh... cooking... with them?"

Maria snorted at my attempted subterfuge.

"Do we just squeeze the slice above the fish?" Barry asked. "How much do we add?"

"Try a bit at first. You can always add more."

I squeezed the entire wedge over my fish. The lemon was only small, so it was the perfect amount.

Maria, having already tried lemon with me, also squeezed every drop from her slice.

Even with a stomach half-filled by lamb-stew, my mouth was salivating as the scent of fish, sage, butter, and lemon flowed through my nostrils and down into my lungs, suffusing my entire being.

"Add your own salt to taste," I said, pointing at the small container I'd set out. "Same as the lemon—less might be more."

As everyone stood to add salt, I took in the surrounding faces. It was a new experience for most of them, and everyone's features projected a mix of joy, anticipation, curiosity, and childlike wonder. Even Roger exhibited the same expression, but it had nothing to do with the fish—he was just really into lamb stew.

“Alright,” I said. “Dig in, guys.”

As everyone took a bite, I watched their faces intently. I was worried about one opinion in particular, and I kept my gaze firmly pinned on Paul as he took his first tentative bite. His little eyebrows furrowed at first, but as the flavors hit his tongue, they flew up. His eyes darted to his parents.

"You like it?" Helen asked, covering her mouth.

"Mhmm!" he replied, nodding his head comically fast as he continued chewing.

I grinned at him, knowing I'd pleased the harshest critic—fish could be an acquired taste, and it pretty was hit or miss with children.

Unable to wait any longer, I picked up a forkful and scooped it into my mouth.

The first things that hit my senses were butter and salt. Then, I chewed the meat. It was a mature fish of a bigger species than most, so the fibers were larger. Despite this, the tender flesh melted in my mouth.

As the fish's structure disappeared, the flavors hit me.

First came the subtle hints of sage and pepper, but then butter's fatty richness spread over my mouth, threatening to overwhelm everything else—until lemon joined the fray.

The citrus cut through the butter's heaviness, and all the tastes became one, dancing across my taste buds as I chewed. I swallowed, and the flavors lingered, continuing their enticing dance.

Realizing I had my eyes closed and hadn't heard a peep from anyone else, I held my breath as I looked around the circle.

Then, a chorus really did erupt.

Most simply made noises of delight, but there were a few curses to gods I didn't know sprinkled in. I cast a grin over them all, stopping only when my eyes landed on Maria. Her eyes were closed, her shoulders low, and a serene smile covered her face as she chewed.

"Looks like your choice of seasoning was a winner, Maria—we've well and truly arrived at flavortown."

She peered at me, her eyes half-lidded in delight.

"I don't even know what to say, Fischer. I could eat this forever..."

Roger, having polished off what must have been his fourth bowl of stew, darted a suspicious gaze around the campfire.

"It can't be that good..."

"Try some," Sharon said.

"No, I don't think I—"

Faster than he could respond, she dipped her fork in the juices and put it in his mouth.

His eyebrows narrowed, then just as Paul's had, they shot up.

"I... I suppose I could try one bite..."

Sharon passed him the fork, and he selected a tiny chunk from her plate.

He placed it in his mouth, and I watched his gruff features melt away.

A confused “mmm?” escaped him, and Maria and I beamed at each other before eating more of our respective plates.

Each bite was pleasant as the last, and before I knew it, there was nothing left.

"Anyone for seconds?"

They all wanted more, and only Roger said nothing.

"Did you want a plate, mate?"

He tensed and relaxed his jaw for a long moment.

"He can have some of mine," Sharon said, saving him from his moral conundrum.

I produced another lemon, sliced it into wedges, and we all enjoyed a second plate. We'd eaten one side of the fish, and as I turned it over, I made a shocked noise.

"Oh, no!" I shook my head and sighed. "I must have made the fire too hot—the bottom is completely burnt. Sorry, everyone."

"No need to apologize, Fischer!" Barry said. "I don't know about everyone else, but if I have another bite, I won't have any room for dessert."

I gave him my best wincing smile.

"I'll go get rid of it before the pan is ruined—back in a moment."

As I carried the tray into the dark of night, Maria shot me a knowing smile, and I gave her a wink.

I walked toward my house, and when I rounded the headland's corner, I caught sight of my friends. I dashed over to them and set the tray down.

"Here you go, guys!"

Sergeant Snips, Corporal Claws, Pistachio, and Rocky crept forward, their eyes gleaming as the rising steam called to them.

I pulled a length of sugarcane Barry had slipped me and held it out to Cinnamon; she bounded over and immediately bit into it, plucking it from my open palm.

"Alright, gang—enjoy, okay?"

I turned and strode back to the fire, and as I arrived, Helen was slicing into and dishing out a pie. Barry was pouring drinks, combining his rum with a pitcher that held sugarcane juice.

"Did you want some, Fischer?"

"I'll have what everyone else is having, Barry."

Understanding my meaning, he gave me a nod and poured another drink from the same jug.

He brought it over to me with a small plate of dessert that looked like apple pie, but with a hint of purple added.

"The color is what throws me off when I try to replicate this, Helen," Sharon said. "I've tried every fruit possible, but just can't work out what gives it that odd flavor..."

Curious, I took a bite.

The pastry was chewy and buttery, and if not for the filling, would have been too much. That filling, though... it was sweet and syrupy, filled with chunks of apple, lots of sugar, and something familiar.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Helen.

"It's wild berries, isn't it?"

Helen's eyebrows climbed as she gave me an appraising gaze.

"... I guess the secret's out of the bag... the mystery ingredient is wild berries that grow in the forest to the west."

Maria inhaled sharply.

"I knew I recognized the flavor of those berries!"

Sharon, whose face was spread in a glorious smile after learning of the ingredient that had evaded her for so long, darted a look at her daughter.

"You know the berries, Maria?"

"Yeah! Fischer showed them to me while we were away on our camping trip."

As they spoke about the recipe, I took a sip of the rum. I didn't have high expectations, but they were immediately shattered; it was delicious.

"Damn, Barry—this is seriously good."

He beamed and took a sip, letting out a content sigh afterward.

"I thought so too, but I'm glad you agree."

"It reminds me of something where I'm from, though I suppose that makes sense given it's also a sugarcane rum."

Barry gave me a shocked expression.

"You've already tried sugarcane rum?"

"Yeah, it's really popular where I'm from, but is sort of looked down on by people from anywhere else. Personally, though..." I took another sip, and it made me feel at home. "I love the stuff."

"Well, there's plenty more where that came from." He smirked at me. "I can make your next cup stronger if you like."

With the pie finished, the feast was complete, and the drinking began.