Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | Babka |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Odensdisir |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | Humor |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | G, Gen |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | List any main characters or adult relationships |
| DESCRIPTION: | Jules has a slice of babka for breakfast at Shillingworth Magna. |
| STATUS: | Complete |
Jules Verne yawned and stretched luxuriously in his soft, warm, clean, comfortable guest bed in one of the guest rooms at Shillingworth Magna, enjoying the feel of a soft fluffy flannel nightshirt against his skin. It was almost like petting a cat just to move in such a garment. Oswald the footman (who was a seventh-generation Fogg retainer going to school in the afternoons and evenings to take his degree in architecture and provide for the education of his daughters) drew the drapes back from the tall window and tied them back, flooding the room with the glorious brilliance of an English summer at its absolute best. Turning, he bowed his head in a friendly, agreeable, accepting, and not overly subservient but genuinely respectful way and left the room in genial silence so that Jules could wash and dress in the new suit that Jules had purchased -- with Passepartout's able assistance -- out of funds he had earned producing the script for Messers Chase and Darcy's new play, Abigail's Unusual Adventure in the Financial Futures Markets.
Swinging his legs to the side of the bed and putting his exactly perfectly adequate, no more, no less weight on his quite uninjured feet Jules went to the window to look out, enjoying the distant sound of birdsong that was faint enough to avoid disturbing his peace of mind and arousing any anti-bird feelings in his sensitive, yet sensible and very well grounded and quite mature thank you, heart and mind. The bloom was on the rose, the dew was on the grass, and the sheep all safely grazed on the greensward upon which Shillingworth Magna sat enthroned in safety, security, and perfect tranquility with no traces of dry rot or any brick-work in need of tuck-pointing and with all of the windows washed and chimneys already cleaned twice a year as regular as a very regular clockwork whether they needed it or not by sturdy young men whose livelihood was not provided exclusively by sweeping chimneys and who were unfailingly treated to warm baths after the conclusion of the cleaning process and who therefore were not going to die young of cancers relating to prolonged exposure to carcinogenic tars.
Having washed, dressed, admired the sheep and the greensward and the brick-work that stood in no need of tuck-pointing, Jules left his room in very decent order so as to avoid over-burdening the many maids employed by the Foggs to minimize the workload on hard-working young women of decent families who were all saving their generous salaries to establish themselves in business should they elect not to marry and went down the wide front stairs that were not polished to so high a gloss as to be slippery underfoot, prudently keeping one hand on the banister as he went and enjoying the feel of the mahogany beneath the palm of his right hand with which during the previous evening he had successfully written the first two acts to an already-contracted sequel to Abigail's Unusual Adventures. It was to be called Sephorina Discovers Debenture Clauses, and the advance (while well within the standard market rates for the product) was double what he had been offered for the first one, and so Jules had English pounds in his pocket that he had earned by his own appropriately applied intellectual effort and without taking unfair advantage of any special circumstances in an unrepresentative labor market rather than pounds generously afforded by his good friends the Foggs out of their charitable concern for his comfort and happiness and without any over- or under-tones of privileged patronage or the engendering of obligation or favor.
Breakfast was on the back patio, whether or not it's in period, and included a selection of healthful and nourishing items prepared with an eye toward reduction in saturated fats and low-sodium selection while preserving the natural vitamins in the food itself with meat that had been carefully and respectfully prepared from animals raised in very good environments and maybe even kosher (some of it anyway, you decide). Rebecca and Phileas were already there, just sitting down to a wonderful cup of coffee that was shade-grown to avoid defoliation of the rain-forest on a commune owned by the autonomous workers of Greater Somewhere-in-South-America which had been formed seventy-five years ago by Phileas' great-great-grandfather to end the exploitation of native workers and the destruction of unique and valuable environments.
"Good-morning, Jules," Rebecca asked cheerfully with no trace of fatigue, care, concern, regret, or pain in her voice because she was not fatigued, had no particular cares in the world, had nothing about which she needed to be seriously or even moderately concerned, regretted very little and was not in any pain, physical, spiritual, or metaphorical. "Did you sleep well?"
"Good-morning, Rebecca," Jules replied with an affectionate smile untinged by unrequited love, a persistent sense of not being taken quite seriously, or live-long love-lorn regret for what might have been because he was taken perfectly seriously and his opinion was valued and he was cherished for his own unique worth thank you very much. "Very well indeed. That last rubber of bridge we played last night was just the thing." Which had been played without rancor, error, reneges, fluffs, or miscues because it was all just an excuse to socialize anyway and there were no underlying undercurrents of competition or alpha-male posturing except for the very mild and cute ones between Jules and his host, Phileas, who was not reading the morning paper because Rebecca was sitting at the table with him and that would have been so rude and besides he was just enjoying Jules' company and that of Rebecca very much.
"Glad to hear it," Phileas said, his genuine and not afflicted or suppressed or distressed affection which was of a close and honest but not inappropriate degree or bent (you should pardon the expression) resonant in his clear tenor voice, which he occasionally used to sing the hymns in church when he went which he did from time to time but with which (his church, not the hymns) he preserved a deep and meaningfully nourishing spiritual relationship irregardless of his actual church attendance record that did not, however, interfere with his respect for other faiths and creeds or his ability to see the hand of the divine in many forms. "I thought we might ride down to the quarry this morning, Jules, to inspect the rock formations, as you had expressed an interest. What do you say?"
Passepartout set a fresh rack of toast on the table in front of Jules with a gesture that communicated his comfort with his role in an apparently subservient but in actuality fully compeer relationship with Phileas Fogg and his extended social and familial circle in the best tradition of a gentleman's gentleman. Jules nodded his non-patronizing thanks and reached for the butter-knife, which needless to say was softly worn with age and rounded and could be used to harm somebody if you really thought about it but this is my story so just shut up. "That would be wonderful, Phileas, thank you. Would you like to come with us, Rebecca?"
And before you even think about it the horses are not going to go lame, nobody is going to bolt or step in a mole-hole, the quarry is perfectly stable and safe and Jules is going to come home with some very interesting fossils and a cute smudge on his cheek while Phileas and Rebecca will both enjoy the outing an the fresh air and Jules' enthusiasm and the horses all get to munch some primo grass and that's it, all right? Oh, maybe a picnic. Maybe. No ants.
"Lovely, Jules," Rebecca responded with pleasure. "Here. Have some cake." Which of course in this case means cake, and not the caked crust on the bottom of the oven that Marie Antoinette may have had in mind when she said "let them eat cake," but a very nice breakfast pastry sort of thing that suited perfectly with coffee and the cool morning air and the sound of suitably remote and muted birdsong in the patio fronting the wall in need of no tuck-pointing that was warmed by the sun which was too low in the sky to cause any serious concern for skin damage and from whose potentially harmful rays Phileas and Rebecca and Jules would be shielded by the appropriate use of hats later on in the day. "Cook's new recipe."
It was a light egg-bread with a nice sugar frosting, baked not fried but that Cook had prepared with a minimum of added labor and because she genuinely enjoyed making nourishing food for her extended family among which she included the Foggs by whom she was employed in a relationship that was mutually dependent only in the best of senses, and Jules tasted it with pleasure unrelated to being hungry or greedy for variation in his meager student fare because he was only exactly as hungry as a young man ought to be on a beautiful spring morning and don't you even think of starting in on that with me you reader you and actually since he had begun to write financial markets plays his student fare was varied, interesting, wholesome, and cooked by somebody else because he had moved into a place with a stove in it (for which he could afford to buy fuel, and did) that was comfortable and warm and dry and cleaned by a maid twice a week with a big window for him to do his drawings in front of. Or in front of which to do his drawings. Don't press me. My nerves are not in very good condition. I won't be responsible. You have been warned.
"It's delicious," Jules said with simple candor and honesty, and had another bite. "Does it have a special name?"
"It's babka," Phileas replied affectionately, please re-read disclaimers above because I'm not typing them again. "Try it with some of this butter, which as it comes from the dairy-cows in the village dairy who are kept in the best hygienic conditions and graze only on grass in carefully segregated pastures which have not been arbitrarily carved out of the traditional village green or grazing lands enclosed by the lord of the manor which is to say myself speaking in a sociological sense without inappropriate overtones of presumptions of privilege or moral superiority has an exceptional flavor unique to the site as all such artisan butters do in this day and age prior to the advent of mass-marketing. I think you'll find it very nice."
Taking Phileas up on his kindly-intended suggestion Jules buttered a piece of babka and discovered that Phileas was exactly right, which he very frequently was but only by virtue of his age and experience and native savoir-faire without it having created in him an unfortunate arrogance apart from that appropriate to his station in life and conducive to an attractive and enjoyable alpha male package appreciated by all for the masterpiece that it unquestionably was. "You're right, Fogg," Jules agreed, willing as always to return praise where praise was due without angst over whether the sentiment would be well received or correctly understood because if you haven't figured that out by now you are a very dull reader indeed and need not continue to the end of the story which will only confuse you. "It's delicious. Passepartout, would you give Cook my very sincere compliments."
Rebecca had another cup of coffee, Phileas put some marmalade on his toast, Jules had a second slice of babka, and the rest of the day proceeded perfectly in accord with the manner in which it had begun so that while many enjoyable experiences were had nothing really happened and that's just the way I like it because when too many things happen it is a real strain on the nerves and there is such a thing as way too much angst if I say so myself so the end of the story might as well be right here.
Hah.