Day: March 17, 2016

None of This Makes Sense, Part I:And all the Sides Besides

While the beef is simmering away, the human female is trying to make some sort of breadthing.  The recipe calls for a liquid called “buttermilk.”  Sigyn, do you know what that is?  Is it milk or is it butter?  Midgardian food is confusing.

And it appears that I will not this day be learning what buttermilk is because the human female doesn’t have any.  She’s using this…this… powder instead.



“Cultured” buttermilk?  What, does this stuff sing opera when you open the tin?  And look at those shifty eyes.  I don’t trust it.

Now the human is mixing white flour and whole wheat flour with the buttermilk powder in the bowl.


Careful, dearest!  Don’t fall in.

(This is where a bit of sugar should go in, except that I pinched the human female and made her lose track of the recipe.  Payback for mr missing spear tip has begun…)

Now the human female is fossicking about in the cupboard for the leavening.  More alchemical-looking powders.


“Clabber Girl.”  That sounds revolting.  But can we please use it rather than this other, orange-box stuff?  The logo on that one is much too reminiscent of certain thick-headed, muscle-bound, hardware-toting ersatz relative of mine. (“Standard of Purity” my pointy golden helmet–you’d be appalled at how many maidens my bro– Thor meddled with…)

Uh oh. This next bit could be dangerous.  Cutting cold butter into a recipe is how the human female chopped part of her finger off month before last.


That is a lot of butter.  Are we sure the human female isn’t making shortbread?

Well, poke me in the eye and call me Fury!  She has managed to do it without compromising her digital dexterity.


Now the wet ingredients–egg and water for reconstituting that snooty french buttermilk powder.


Sigyn, do you hear any singing?   Me neither. Perhaps it dabbles in painting…

Now then.  The bread– which looks like nothing so much as a huge biscuit– is in the oven and the human female has turned her attention to vegetable matter.   Potatoes first, and some cabbage later on.


And here is the finished dinner:

finished dinner

Pink meat?!  It cooked all day–should it BE that color?  Brownish biscuit bread.  Potatoes. Cabbage.  Peasant food!  I heard someone invoke someone named “Saint Paddy,” but given the way the humans are shoveling it in, they should be calling on Saint Padding.

But I still don’t get it.  I see beef. I see the cabbage.  But where’s the bloody CORN?

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