The Shield and the Thistle : The Grey Tower Chronicles by Jillian Bondarchuk

Author:Jillian Bondarchuk [Bondarchuk , Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-27T23:00:00+00:00

It poured the next three days, the dark sky angry and brooding, and did its level best to drown those who wandered into its clutches. I spent most of my time, when I was not with Caitrin for fittings, in the warm, dry kitchen with Iona. A surplus of baking goods arrived last week in preparation for the Gathering, and she explained to me how she made the clan money in the market by selling baked goods, laboring day and night the week before.

Turning over ideas of what I could contribute, I settled on my childhood favorite. After begging a few pounds of sugar and some potato starch, I grabbed a cauldron and a wooden paddle and began making a large vat of sweet, sticky syrup. My knowledge, acquired from working in a bakery that made simple syrups, caramels, and ganache from scratch, made my task easy.

After I weighed out approximate measurements, I brought the clear liquid to a boil. The lack of a candy thermometer was my biggest handicap, but I hovered over the pot like a mother hen. Feeding the fire underneath, I stirred the syrup until it was at the soft-ball stage. To be sure, I tested a small spoonful in a cup of water, fresh and chilly from the well, and was satisfied when the syrup kept the shape of a soft opaque orb when submerged in the water.

While the syrup cooled in the corner until I could transfer it into corked bottles, I mulled over my game plan for the next day and decided a trial run was in order.

In a new cauldron, I combined half of the still-steaming syrup with more sugar, starch, butter, salt, and raspberry glaze, and brought it all to a boil. On more than one occasion, Iona peeked into the roiling vat of translucent sweetness but refrained from asking questions.

Once I heated the new concoction up to hard-ball stage, I buttered five metal platters and ladled a thick, runny glob onto each one. After allowing them to cool for fifteen minutes, I enlisted the help of Iona and three scullery maids.

“Now, smear some butter on your hands so that it doesn’t stick,” I ordered, and laughed at the confusion on the women’s faces. “Well, go ahead; it needs to be worked by hand before it cools too much.”

“Ye’ve never failed me before, but… well, I dinnae understand how one can eat this,” Iona complained as she poked at the clear mixture that had spread itself out on the platter.

“Where’s your faith in me?” I chided, and then showed them how to fold the mixture on itself a few times to make a long rope. “Now fold it end to end, like this. Good. Twist it like you would ring out a towel… and now fold the ends together again. Just like that!”

Slowly, the saltwater taffy became increasingly opaque and pale pink with each pull and twist, growing tougher the more it cooled. Without waxed paper to separate the candies traditionally, I had one of the girls grind some sugar into a fine powder.

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