In Media Res

The Purple Cow

A bustling bakery / dessert shop in the Faire at the heart of Locus Sartael famous for, among many specialties, bakalava topped with a rose-water and cinnamon glaze.

From the story Night Walk, of the Thought Records of Abigail Taylor:

At the edge of the square long lines of boisterous revelers queue in front of an establishment like an open-air, medieval deli or bakery, staff serving forth hot piping delicacies to eager crowds. The rich smells of pastries waft forth, making my mouth water, and I decide to join the swiftly moving line. It is not long before I reach the front and can see the lively action happening in the kitchens behind...

Behind the counter all is rapid moving chaos like a whirlwind of chefs. Food is chopped, dough is stretched, syrups and fillings are prepared, pans are moved in and out of stone-fronted ovens, and in the middle of it all a boisterous whirwind of a lady rallies her merry crew like a sorceress calling up a storm. Dressed in a simple black overdress, her long purple locks fixed in place by a leather hairpiece with the design of a rose embossed upon, one moment she is showing one chef the proper way to drizzle the topping, another she is demonstrating how to properly mince nuts, she shoos with mock annoyance and obvious love a black green-eyed cat out from underfoot, a heartbeat later she throws her arms around a lanky newcomer and gives him a crushing bear hug and a wet sloppy smooch. As busy as her kitchen is, the pace is not harried but happy, and with a smile and warm greetings she slides my portion of baklava across to me.

Rose? Is that a hint of rose? Never have I had anything quite like that; and I make a mental note to revisit The Purple Cow, many a time to come.