fandomsecrets | [ SECRET POST #4055 ]

[ SECRET POST #4055 ]

⌈ Secret Post #4055 ⌋

Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.

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07. [SPOILERS for Daughter of the Lilies]

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08. [WARNING for possible discussion of sexual abuse/etc]

[Kate Winslet]

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09. [WARNING for possible discussion of bullying/harassment/etc]

Notes:

Secrets Left to Post: 00 pages, 00 secrets from Secret Submission Post #580.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.

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What are your favorite descriptions of food?

the scene in Brideshead Revisited where Charles and Mottram go to lunch in Paris together. It's so well written.

Ooh, yes!

Honestly, any of the feasts from A Song of Ice and Fire.

I drooled so hard I bought A Feast of Ice and Fire.

The way Laura Ingalls Wilder described food in Farmer Boy made it sound so delicious.

All those doughnuts! And he could have one whenever! Child-me was fascinated by that.

Right? AMAZING!

That Christmas dinner! And how Almanzo has to wait and wait because everybody--absolutely everybody--is either older than he is, or company, so they get served first!

But really, all the food in the Little House books is made to sound delicious. Even if it's codfish gravy over potatoes, in The Long Winter--because everybody is so hungry.

Any friggin' Redwall novel.

Isn't there an actual cookbook?

Yes!

I never managed to get my hands on it sadly, but I'm sure someone put the recipes online. I do have that rhyming book though...

Yes there is!

Mostly it's at the age level for children or tweens. Lots of pre-made ingredients, October Ale is ginger ale and grape juice. There's a story in it about preparing for a feast set during the time of Matthias and Basil Stag Hare.

It's illustrated! And there are a lot of the "favorite" Redwall foods in there, but they didn't match up to my imagination. So, I was disappointed. I hoped for it to be a tad more complicated? (And strawberry fizz to be more than strawberries, ice cream and seltzer water.)

Oh yeah! I think that's my only takeaway from those novels all these years later. I was really annoyed by the "species-ism"(?) and it was a little bit weirdly gruesome for a kids' animal story. But the FOOD DESCRIPTIONS OMG

Even the alcohol. I remember being like ten and wanted to try like, dandelion wine.

I love the scene in Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess when she wakes up in her cold, lonely attic room and finds it transformed.

"What a nice dream!" she murmured. "I feel quite warm. I—don't—want—to—wake—up."

Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually FEEL blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight—she must be quite still and make it last.

But she could not—even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken—something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound—the sound of a crackling, roaring little fire.

"Oh, I am awakening," she said mournfully. "I can't help it—I can't."

Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually smiled—for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she never should see.

"Oh, I HAVEN'T awakened," she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. "I am dreaming yet." She knew it MUST be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not—could not be.

Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed changed into fairyland—and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.

...

Imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. How they crouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so much of itself in the little grate. How they removed the covers of the dishes, and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug from the washstand was used as Becky's tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full-fed and happy, and it was just like Sara that, having found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up to the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of imaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find it bewildering.

"I don't know anyone in the world who could have done it," she said; "but there has been someone. And here we are sitting by their fire—and—and—it's true! And whoever it is—wherever they are—I have a friend, Becky—someone is my friend."

It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire, and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe, and looked into each other's eyes with something like doubt.

"Do you think," Becky faltered once, in a whisper, "do you think it could melt away, miss? Hadn't we better be quick?" And she hastily crammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchen manners would be overlooked.

I used to reread that scene over and over when I was a kid. I love the imagery it conjures up.

*swoons* Yes! Especially because they were *both* so cold and starved.... I loved Becky's logic about manners.

Tea with Mr Tumnus - or any Narnian food. I put this down to rationing having been in force for so long.

What a coincidence, I was just rereading The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. I remembered the tea with Mr. Tumnus fondly but after rereading it, it's kind of funny that it involves toast in three different forms. As you say, it's probably down to rationing and not having proper bread.

And really it was a wonderful tea. There was a nice brown egg, lightly boiled, for each of them, and then sardines on toast, and then buttered toast, and then toast with honey, and then a sugar-topped cake.

I'm down with everything but the sardines, tbh.

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 01:10 (UTC) - Expand

I don't remember tea with Mr. Tumnus, but I remember being a kid with no idea what Turkish Delight was and thinking Edmund was enjoying, like, savory turkey breast medallions or something.

I think it's part of why I really like poultry when it's cold out.

I love all Lewis' food scenes in the Narnia books except for the Last Battle. A writer as imaginative as he was should have come up with a better Heaven than everybody does nothing but run and eat fruit. That is not Heaven. That is a very low-budget weight loss spa.

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 03:15 (UTC) - Expand

This was in fanfic rather than in a published story, but I LOVED the description of Lupin eating chocolate he'd gotten as a present from Sirius in "The Shoebox Project". It was just so fantastically sensual.

Same Anon;

I found the copy of the scene I saved to a file because I loved it so much. I did cut out a few bits that didn't revolve around the chocolate eating, but otherwise, it's intact;

Side to side, back to front, the box is packed with every imaginable variety of chocolate. Dark, sweet, dangerously rich ones that leave your tongue feeling drenched and coated with velvet, and the light, creamy buttery milk-chocolate ones bursting with almonds or cashews, and the honeyed smell of caramel from a gold-swirled stack in the left corner; frothy, delicate mallow-filled bars on which the thin shell hasn't even been cracked, and fresh, dark minty chocolates striped cleanly with green, and dark, luscious things that Remus cannot begin to identify; and none of the horrifying space-fillers that mar even the most sublime assortments -- no tongue-coating strawberry horrors or the vile misnomer that is white chocolate. Remus wants to cry.

"Do you like it," Sirius presses, "do you do you do you huh?" Remus' face pinches inward to the center, a deep concentration that Sirius must recognize all too well as The Way Moony Gets When Moony Finds Himself At A Loss. Sirius lets out a low sound of triumph, pumping the air with his fist. "Where is it?" Sirius asks, grinning like a madman. "Where is it, eh? It's been ten seconds, Moony -- where's it gone to, the thank you kindly and the it's so good of you, you shouldn't have and the please sir, may I have some more?"

"Don't ruin it," Remus mumbles. "Just be quiet." He runs his fingers helplessly over the edge of the box, and breathes in deep the jumbled scents. There's something fruity, and something like layers upon layers of cocoa, something cold and crisp like mint but just the right balance, and something like cream, and something like coffee, and something that has the soft inner curl of caramel. There's pistachio, and almond, and a variety of nutty delight that comes one from every corner and then the simple delicacy of chocolate so pure his heart constricts and his stomach lurches in pleasure. Where does it come from, he pauses to wonder, this love of chocolate, this veritable obsession? Everyone has a favorite food, he supposes, something that tickles an untraceable fingerprint of personality somewhere deep inside their bellies. Chocolate is a comfort. Chocolate is the essence of luxury; silks and satins for the tongue. But why chocolate? he asks himself. The way you are about it -- it's lunatic, you know.

"It's lunatic, you know," Sirius says. Remus startles.

"Go on," Sirius says, with a new tone now. Remus looks over to find his head is bowed -- he isn't looking, not quite, but the curiosity in his posture is as real and as tangible as they are, as if it is another person, sitting between them on the couch. "You can have it. For breakfast. I know it goes against all you hold dear but it's bloody Christmas and you're practically drooling…Go on. Pick one."

It feels like a psychological test of some kind; like caramel will reveal to Sirius that Remus is a closet hairdresser, or the thick, lumpy, alluring drizzle that may contain raisins will be an indicator of a deep-seated Oedipal complex. It's too unnerving. There are too many. "What do you think?" he appeals.

Sirius winks at him. "You know me. One of the dark ones."

Remus takes one, gingerly, like he's holding a precious artifact. It's cool and smooth and has the slight slick-powder sheen of really incredible chocolate under his thumbs. It's also heavy. He almost groans aloud.

"Right," Sirius says, wheeling back. "Go on."

"You're watching me," Remus protests.

"I know," Sirius replies. "It's lunatic, you know."

Remus sighs, straightens, pauses for a moment of mediation to clear his mind, licks his lips nervously, and bites in. Deep. Hard. Cool. This isn't the sort of chocolate you sit on for a train ride to soften and get all over your fingertips. It's the sort of chocolate you dedicate yourself to -- it's the sort of chocolate you dream about. It shaves off around his teeth and he gets half of it into his mouth, poised on his tongue, resting just against his upper gums. Just chocolate. One of the dark ones. It tastes like the renaissance. He sucks it, drawing it meltingly against his tongue and back into his throat.

"Aghk," Sirius says. Remus doesn't notice.

This isn't the sort of chocolate that allows interruptions of any kind. This is the sort of chocolate that demands your full attention. It requires complete and absolute concentration. It melts all the way down the back of his throat and into a soft spot, thick and warm in the middle of his belly.

Remus presses his thumb against the corner of his mouth and sighs a chocolate breath outward. He can feel it in his pores, huffed out through his nose, a religious experience, an epiphany. "God," he whispers.

"Lunatic," Sirius mumbles.

"Silky," Remus says, idiotically. "It's silky." He runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth, richness on richness.

"You've been nogged," Sirius says knowledgeably. "Chocolate-nogged. I can see it in your eyes. All right, Moony, stop…licking yourself. It's distracting. Did I do all right?"

"All right?" Remus stares at him incredulously, smearing his thumb across his cheek to get the last streak he can feel there. "It's...Sirius, you know. It's just...I mean...it's always -- you know."

"All right, I do," Sirius rumbles peacefully, flopping backward. "I know because I ate about fifty of them when I bought them. For your own safety, don't. I know it's tempting, but just -- don't."

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 02:06 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Based on 6

greghousesgf - 2018-02-10 03:08 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 03:16 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 04:38 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 07:22 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Based on 6

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 07:24 (UTC) - Expand

That, and the food in Harry Potter sounds so good in general. I'd have gained so much weight if I went to Hogwarts, and I was always convinced that wizards have the most delectable candy.

I love the descriptions in the Betsy-Tacy books. They make onion sandwiches sound delicious! The Christmas dinners are especially delightful.

Most older novels have great food descriptions. I can't think of many newer books that do though.

Yes! Mr. Ray's onion sandwiches...Julia's Welsh rarebit...Anna's First-Day-Of-School muffins...cakes with Tib in the Milwaukee coffee shops, and coffee with lots of schlag!

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