Yesterday’s had certainly been a long evening, and rather embarrassing for Hilde, after being caught red handed with what she had later learned was a Feastpot. A first class idea, it reminded her of the tale of the quern that ground salt under the sea that she had learned as a child. “Good thing it didn’t grind out a stream of milk and herrings!” she remarked to her husband the next afternoon. As penitence she had volunteered to help with the cleaning up of the dishes. “I good bit of these are mine, I suppose. May as well clean them up too. You’d think those elves could live off miruvor and lembas (not to mention metaphors) alone! I don’t think they used 10 plates between them…you’d swear you were in a forest of young birch trees, so tall and thin and breezy….”
The party had been chosen to spot light the debut of a mass produced lembas. A distant and impoverished descendant of Melian had sold the family’s secret recipe (slightly altered of course) to a well-known purveyor of processed foods. The result was a golden cream filled cake that invariably tasted almost but not quite, entirely unlike lembas and was wrapped in a hermetically sealed green cellophane wrapper stamped with stylized leaf designs. It had caused quite a stir, but certainly seemed a popular choice at this gathering.
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