Violet and the Blueberry Glaze

I had just woken up; the window was cracked and the air was brisk. The sun had not yet risen, as it was just the beginning of dawn. I crawled out of bed, still exhausted, but I had to meet Mother in the kitchen. I walked over to the rough dresser, to the mirror that was old and tinted a frail black. I dumped my hands into the washing bowl, dousing my face in a layer of cool water. I saw the gardeners in the distance through my shaded window, gently picking the vegetables, and starting their long day of work. I grabbed the towel next to the washing bowl and patted it against my face. I lifted my chin and headed towards the kitchen. I worked as the cook’s apprentice in the governor’s house. The governor is prepared the best food, and had many maids and butlers. The stairs were aged and noisy. Every step that I took made a raucous noise, and I finally stepped into the kitchen. There was my mother, already hard at work, grinding the corn for the late breakfast. “Morning mum!” I called out to her. With her thin hands she approached me with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Morning.” She replied with a smile. The kitchen was dark this early in the morning. A couple of candles were lit around the perimeter of the kitchen. Quite eerie, I thought. All of the pots and pans were cleaned the night before and stacked neatly on a pair of shelves. Beside them was the fire oven; it would be on all day, used to bake goods. It smelt of vinegar, for we had just started pickling yesterday for the long winter. By the time I had started the daily fire in the center of the kitchen, the sun had already started to peek out through the window, and was glistening against the blue of the sky, I knew it would be a beautiful day.

. . .

The governor and his family had just finished breakfast. According to where the sun was placed in the sky, I calculated that it was approximately noon, and it was time to start dinner. My mum and I had just dealt with the vast menu for the governor’s dinner. A wide variety of meats, all cooked to perfection for him and his guests. Mum had just taught me how to bake pastries, cakes, pies and sweets.

I started a blueberry tart for dinner. I had made dough the day before that my mother had made me memorize until I could recite it with no flaw. Rolling the dough out, I realized how soft and flakey it was to the touch, it was perfect. I place it with caution into the ceramic pan, pressing delicately until it had fully reached all sides of the ceramic. I placed it aside and began a blueberry compote. In an iron pot I threw together blueberries, lemon juice and lemon zest. I lit the stovetop till the flame grew into a fiery red. I stirred it until it was a thin purple sauce. I measured two cups of sugar and dumped it into the pot and began to mix again. I mixed until it was rich and thick, and its color was a deep violet. I took a spoonful of it and delicately placed it onto my tongue, making sure that no one was watching. It was brilliant really; it was sweet but had a tang at the end of its taste.

I poured it into the dough, smoothing it out until the compote was even against the bare pan. I put oven cloths over my hands and lay the tart inside the brick oven. The heat coming from the oven was radiant against the cool breeze. The aroma of fresh blueberries soon filled the air to the brim of my nose. I could smell fresh baking crust and tart lemon zest, and I could hear the blueberries simmering and the crust cracking. It was quite inviting to just open the oven and eat the tart myself; alas I could not, for it was for the governor and his guests.