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+---- Thread: [G] [O] 734.12.18 | Way too much effort! (/showthread.php?tid=2548)
734.12.18 | Way too much effort! - Syra - 02.May.14
The woman, covered in flour, groaned inwardly as she watched the first batch of bubbly pies turn golden on top. Much too slowly in her opinion, as she had been up for hours preparing the dough and filling for the sweet treats. It was a helpless situation, and actually pretty amusing if one knew anything about the woman who was laboring over the sweet pies. Syra hated sweets. And yet her recipe for the bubbly pies was so well known, she had a secret ingredient after all, that people often asked her to make them. It garnered her a few favors, which she had yet to cash in on, so she kept at the task of preparing them. The scent of berries of redfruit filled her nose, overly sweet in her opinion, as it cooked hotly in the oven. It wouldn't be long before the golden crusts were cooked perfectly, and she could set in the batch she had just finished piecing together.
Glancing toward the waiting raw pies, she was pleased with the almost braided edge she had created on them to hold the pie filling in. Perhaps that would be her signature in cooking too.. braids where they could be made. I wonder if I can braid bread dough too... she mused, turning back to the oven and peering inside. The golden color was spreading, and almost even. She had set herself up for three batches of hand-sized pies, and the fillings for two whole pies as well. It had taken nearly her whole morning, and the weyr was only just beginning to bustle with activity. Syra scuffed her foot against the ground, and look around her trying to decide if she could reasonably take over another of the ovens for baking.
With a quick decision she quickly set a fire in the oven, and watched as it caught and heated up enough to bake in. Turning back to the first oven, Syra saw that the pies were perfect and quickly wrapped her hands in a couple towels to remove them to a wooden plate to cool. Quickly she tipped the next two trays into the ovens and dusted her hands from any clinging flour. A thick lock of brown hair fell into her eyes, and the woman pushed it out of her face with the back of her hand, smearing flour dust across her forehead. The sooner the pies finished cooking, the sooner she could take a nap.
Her close-fitting pants clung to her legs and her shirt sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. Around her neck and reaching her waist was an apron she had pieced together from mismatched scraps of leather that created a patchwork pattern that protected her from spilling food on her clothing. Deciding it was the perfect time for a small rest, Syra strode to the nearest bench and sat, closing her eyes and laying her head against her arms. A short break was all she needed.