Beers and Beards

Book 3: Chapter 32: Delicious in Kinshasa

“What if walking around all bleary eyed is what causes the emergency?” Aqua moaned, holding a bag of ice to her temple. “I’m liable to throw up all over a customer, and then we’ll have a fight!”

“Would ya both shaddup.” Johnsson wailed from where he’d buried his head in a blanket to block out sound and light. “And someone turn off tha’ lights. Why is it so bad this time??”

“I think that Lucky Brew has a higher ABV than regular Sacred Brew.” I remarked, cheerily.

The trio turned baleful eyes on me and Kirk. Kirk had his feet kicked up on the couch and was munching on an apple.

“And why are you two fine?” Aqua asked suspiciously.

“My Vitality is through the roof,” Kirk remarked, “after so many years of running all up and down the continent. There’s no shame in losing to Kirk Manly – Action Adventurer!” He struck a heroic pose, then ruined it by choking on his apple.

“And I just don’t get as drunk as you lot. I have a higher tolerance.” I shrugged.

“Well if Richter isn’t going to help... One of you two can go ask Bran fer some pick-me-ups, since yer all so fine and dandy,” Johnsson muttered.

I cleared my throat.

Aqua rolled her eyes. “PLEASE. And none of that nasty mix you call caudle!”

“Hey, it’s not that nasty!”

The pointed silence told me that everyone disagreed, so I shrugged and made my way to the pub.

Bran and Darrel were in the middle of a heated argument in the kitchen when I arrived, and I didn’t want to get involved, so I went behind the bar to make something myself. What to make, what to make…

Then, inspiration struck. I ran to the brewroom and grabbed a jar I’d stashed away in the office. A jar full of a dried-out ingredient I’d been waiting to test. A secret ingredient that was perfect for hangovers.

Bando walked over as I thumped the jar on the bar, “Whatchu makin’ there, Pete?”

“Everyone is out with hangovers, so I’m making something to help them rehydrate and perk back up,” I replied.

“Hangover, huh. Is that why Penelope is lyin’ in yer office in a bloomin’ puddle?”

“Uh…. yes?”

With that, I pulled several handfuls of dehydrated vegetation out of the jar and put them in a bowl. I carefully examined them for any signs of rot or general ’badness’. Thankfully, it all looked clear!

“What is it?” Bando asked, sitting at the bar and watching me work.

“It’s my secret weapon! That most delicious and nutritious of flowers, hops!!!”

“What’re they for?”

“Tea. Hops are anti-inflammatory and antioxidant, so they make a nice hangover tea.”

“Really? That’s useful.”

Eh, it was kind of true. Any kind of hydration was good for a hangover, and this was my opportunity to finally test the taste of hops on everyone. It would be better than nothing, and getting a dwarf to drink plain water was like pulling moustache-hairs.

I called over one of Darrel’s elementals. The little blue water-drop thing was busy dusting the rafters, and it swooped down to await further instruction. I laid out some teacups and the elemental dutifully filled them with hot water.

Finally, I added some hop flowers to each cup, and stirred gently until the tea was a light greenish-brown colour.

The aroma of hops filled the pub, and I breathed it in. Just as I remembered it: citrusy and spicy. The aroma reminded me very much of Saaz. That most noble of aromatic hops was the main ingredient in Stella Artois, but it was also one of the most difficult to grow. The salesman had called it a ‘weed’ so it either wasn\'t truly Saaz, or it just grew differently on Erd.

I resisted the urge to take a drink myself. I really wanted to imbibe my long-awaited treat with everyone else. I eyed Bando and dutifully poured him a cup as well. I would‘ve done one for Darrel and Bran too, but they were busy; Bran currently had Darrel in a headlock. At least their knives were away.

And then it was the moment of truth. I strained the tea of hops, carefully letting each flower drain as I pulled them out. I mixed in some honey, handed Bando his, then walked back to the manor carefully balancing a tray with five teacups. I practically paraded into the living room with a flourish and a “tadah!”

Five groans were my reply, but that was okay.

“One Peter Roughtuff hopped hangover tea special!” I pronounced, passing the cups around. “Drink up, and tell me what you think!”

There were finally some thankful murmurs as everyone drank.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

With trepidation I lifted a trembling cup to my lips. I took a long sniff first, and the scent of vanilla and… pomelo, perhaps… filled my nostrils. It was an intoxicating nostalgic aroma, and I lost myself in it for a moment.

Finally, with trepidation, I took a small sip, feeling the burning heat of the tea on my tongue. My first impression was of vanilla with a hint of tart.

I took a small sip and a spicy, citrusy taste washed through my mouth. I swished it around my cheeks, appreciating the texture. It wasn’t very sour, which indicated a low acidity, but still quite bitter which indicated some amount of tannins. It really did remind me of Saaz hops, though it was quite a bit spicier than I remembered.

I swallowed, and it hit my stomach with both a warm and cool sensation. I felt my shoulders relaxing from a tension that I hadn’t even realized was there. Yes, this was it. It was exactly as I’d hoped.

“Ooh, it’s spicy.” Richter mumbled.

“Ahhhh…..” Aqua sighed with relief.

Johnsson was too busy gulping to say anything, and Kirk had leaned back on the couch with his eyes closed, smelling the tea.

*EEEEEEEEEEEE* I screamed like a school-girl in my head. They liked it! They really, really liked it! Everyone Hop on Pete’s Crazy Train!!! Ozzy Osbourne’s got nothing on me; all aboooooard!!!!

“Not usually a fan of tea.” Richter grumbled. “But ‘dis is nice, what is it?”

“I don’t recognize it all! Is it gnomish? It kind of reminds me of beer for some reason.” Aqua had her tongue out as she spoke, and was waving her hand over it.

“Actually, it’s something I found with Kirk.” I pointed at Kirk.

“Oh, am I allowed to talk about it without being violated now?” Kirk glowered and me, and I coughed back a ‘sorry’.

“This is from tha human market? What’s it called?” Johnsson said, coming up for air. “I love it!”

“It’s called pineweed,” I said, pulling out a few extra flowers and passing them around. “Though on Earth it’s called hops. What does everyone think?

“It’s definitely a nice tea. Spicy and flavourful, and not too sour or bitter.” Aqua admired her teacup, took a long drink, then made a sad face and showed me her empty cup.

“I love it!” Johnsson said again, his face flushed from the heat of the tea.

Richter frowned at the hop flower in his hand. “Hop. Is ‘dis related to ‘de hopback?”

“Got in one!” I gave him double finger guns. “Originally, a hopback was filled with hops, allowing the wort to flow through it and take on its aroma while being filtered.”

Aqua groaned. “Always with the beer paraphernalia! Is this a beer flower or something?”

“Aye. A bittering agent, actually, which is why it may remind you of beer.””

Aqua frowned. “Does Annie know? Are you planning to make a beer using it?”

“Ehhhh, yes and no. Not right now, but eventually. I want to see how our new gose turns out with the Goldstone Bittering Blend, and give Annie an opportunity to play with it before going hog-wild.”

“For now, we could probably offer this as tea in the restaurant.” Aqua mused. “We have some Pot family tea in right now, for guests of the inn, but I can even see our regular customers ordering this with their meals.”

“Ehhhh, there’s a small problem with that,” I hedged.

“Whaaaaat?”

“It’s not super cheap, and I think its going to be hard to get more. I was hopin’ that, since Richter just spent a bunch of time with the local alchemists fer his Octamillenial idea, he’d be able ta get some connections in horticulture.”

I gave Richter a pleading look, and he shrugged. “Aye, I could ask around. ‘Dey got some big farms to ‘de south ‘dat might work.”

Johnsson’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and we all looked his way.

“What? All this tea made me hungry,” he said.

“Actually, we should probably go back to the pub and make sure Darrel and Bran haven’t killed each other,” I sighed.

“Oh?” Aqua raised a blue eyebrow.

“Aye. They were fightin’ when I left. Dunno over what, but they’ve been like cats and dogs over this salty food business.”

We gathered together and made our way out of the manor to the tavern.

Thankfully, we were not greeted by a weeping Rosie standing over the corpse of her husband. Instead, we were greeted by a table full of food, with Bando running back and forth to the kitchen. The smell of grease and meat in the pub was overpowering.

“Are ya finally up ya lazy lot!” Bran shouted, emerging from the kitchen. He had a black eye and was limping. “About damn time! Richter, gimme a heal.”

“Is Darrel alive?” I asked, walking over to examine the food. The main dish was what appeared to be a giant deep-fried loaf of some kind, it was surrounded by garnishing, mostly parsley and dungeon greens. There was also a large bowl of mushrooms and another of gravy.

“Aye. We think we’ve finally got tha dish we want to use for tha’ contest!” Bran beamed as Richter dutifully activated [Regenerate Other], then drew a glowing green Sigil that cleared Bran’s skin of any remaining blemishes. “We were fightin’ to decide who gets to name it!”

“Who won?” I asked, sticking a finger into the gravy and sucking on it. It was peppery, with a hint of barista brew to it; a beer gravy of some kind, and not salty at all.

“Me, of course.” Bran snickered. “If you all like tha taste, I’ll give you tha name.”

“What is it?” Richter asked, taking a seat. “And thankee, Bran. I’m famished.”

Bran proudly puffed out his chest. “It’s ground beef inside of a house made salted bread that we deep fried. It’s salty enough ta make yer butt pucker, but tha greens and tha sauce take summa the sting off. You’ll want some beer to go with it too.

“Beef is new. Did we have that on the menu?” I mused.

Bran shrugged. “It’s a wee bit expensive, but tha local farms do sell cattle. Fer somethin’ like this? I think we can afford ta make it cost a bit more.”

I could believe him, if it tasted half as delicious as it smelled we’d have to fight the locals off.

We sat around the table and dutifully waited as Bran sliced the giant loaf open. It steamed and dribbled, releasing a heady waft of herbs and spices. The golden-brown deep-fried crust crackled, but kept its shape as he cut, revealing itself to be thick and flaky. I wiped at some drool snaking down my beard, and saw Johnsson do the same. The tension grew palpable as Bran continued to slowly cut the loaf, the tightly packed beef within holding its shape to make circular medallions.

It looked a lot like beef wellington, which was one of my favourite meals from Earth. I’d never had deep fried beef wellington, but I wasn’t a Philistine. Or an American.

“Alright, dig – “ Bran began, but didn’t manage to finish.

We were dwarves. We dug.

There was a madcap rush for the loaf, each of us grabbing as many portions as possible, followed by a scuffle for the gravy.

Kirk ended up with the largest serving because he was able to reach the middle of the table the easiest. The dungeon greens lay mostly forgotten. Bando could eat them.

I managed to get two medallions, each liberally coated with gravy and mushrooms. As I took my first passionate bite, the flavours practically exploded in my mouth. It was a symphonic blend of extra salty with heavy pepper and spice. The crispness of the deep fried crust was a perfect counterpoint to the steaming ground beef.

I grabbed a mug of our new Goldstone Blend Liquid Gold, and felt tears well up as the crisp, cool, bitter taste of the beer offset the hot saltiness of the meal.

This. This was why I was here. This was what all the work had been for. And it was WORTH IT!

I came up for air with a gasp, and held my mug up. “Fer Bran and Darrel! Cheers!”

I was echoed by the throng. “CHEERS!!!”

I turned to Bran. “Alright, you’ve won us over; this is incredible. What are you callin’ it?”

He struck a pose. “We’re callin’ it Bran’s Big’ol Salty Beef!”

I spluttered, choking on Bran’s Big’ ol thick and crusty Salty Beef.