Ned (baker_of_pies) wrote in carnaval_logs, @ 2013-10-10 12:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed (15), ~ned |
Who: Ned the piemaker.
Where: The kitchen area of the Cookhouse.
When: Backdated to very early on Sunday (5th).
What: Stress baking.
Warnings: None.
Status: Narrative, complete.
Although Ned did not like to admit the fact that he stress baked, the piemaker was most definitely stress baking now. It had taken him a couple of days of stressful stress baking to adjust to the crude oven - it sat upon a kerosene stove and had a double wall for the heat to flow around so that it heated more evenly. It was certainly preferable to the Dutch oven, but it had still taken Ned some time to adjust, both to it and the limited supplies. Unfortunately for Ned, he hadn't quite realised yet just how limited those supplies were. Thanks to the mill in Enid and the town's status as an agricultural transport hub, the carnival had recently been able to stock up on flour and fresh produce, and thanks to Bathsheba they had become well stocked with eggs, butter and milk as well. They weren't likely to be so well placed for so many supplies for some time. So he'd best realise that soon. But for now, the piemaker had a couple of traditional apple pies cooling, a pair of pear crumbles in the oven and was currently pondering how to make the melon in front of him into pie, given the limited ingredients at his disposal. Since coming to be here, Ned had met Hal - who he'd become further acquainted with as they were sharing a tent and job - and tracked down a friendly enough fellow by the name of Art who had further explained ..things for him. They hadn't necessarily made any more sense to Ned, but the way Art had delivered that information and the fact that he'd been so unphased by Ned's presence, made him think that this really was par for the course around here. Hal had said as much. While Ned hadn't exactly been happy to hear it all he was not one for confrontation, and so he'd taken his clothes and attempted to settle into his tent and job. He was not settling well. There was one piece of information he'd been given specifically that was bothering him. There were undead here. And having spent an entire day looking for her, whoever they were they were not Chuck. Over the few days Ned had been here, his thoughts had tended to drift from this piece of information to the people (and canine) he had left behind. He pondered the latter yet again as he pressed the pie crust dough into two tins. With the mix he had in mind for the melon, the crusts needed a little pre-baking. As he placed these into the stove-top oven, he removed the pair of pear crumbles and set them to cooling as well. He wondered how it all worked. Had he just disappeared from where he'd been? What would happen to Chuck? To Digby? To the Pie Hole? Scenarios formed in his head as he stress-pureed the melon by hand. Travelling carnivals in the 1930s left a lot to be desired technology-wise, but that was an easier adjustment to make. Being taken from the people he loved, despite having vowed long ago not to make such attachments, was a much more difficult one. As was the idea that it might seem as if he'd just left. That wasn't something he wanted to seem. Ned let the partially baked crust cool a little before adding the melon mix and makeshift meringue and returning the pie to the oven. Once all six pies were complete, Ned covered them and placed them on the table at the head of the cook house tent. The other carnival employees would start to rise in a couple of hours and he would rather not be presenting the pies then. He'd rather be in the kitchen with the one person he was certain he couldn't touch (sadly, not Chuck) rather than be out and around all those unknowns. Of course, Ned knew that he couldn't hide in the kitchen forever. He would have to serve, and being a travelling carnival they would have to pack up and move at some point. But for as long as he could, Ned planned to keep himself and his magic finger where they were. Now that he had baked and exhausted those thoughts for another night, Ned hoped that he, too, was exhausted enough to sleep when he hit that bed. He had be up again in a couple of hours to start on breakfast. |