((Cross posted in RoH in 2016))
The Bridge at Ashairim
Monday, February 29, 2016
“ . . . . and he was played by the great Viggo Mortensen, who didn’t just play a Ranger, but a Ranger with a deep-seated code of honor and integrity. A Ranger who hadn’t really discovered who he truly was yet, but didn’t let that stop him from doing the right thing and upholding what we know to be good and true in the world. You don’t find quality acting of that caliber any more. I mean, why do you think he wasn’t in the Hobbit prequels? Peter said, “If I can’t have Viggo, it can’t be done.” I mean, why bother trying, right?”
Gren was standing at the counter of the Forgotten Layers Inn. He was speaking to a gentleman farmer with dusty denim overalls and a straw hat.
“Son, I don’t got the foggiest notion o’ what you’re talkin’ about.” The farmer replied with a confused look on his face.
Gren sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Well, anyway, welcome to the Forgotten Layers Inn. You look hungry, would you like something to eat? Here’s our menu for tonight.” Gren handed the man a handwritten list of the entrees Izira was preparing in the kitchen.
The farmer thoughtfully took the menu and began to peruse it. After a while, his brows creased. “This sure is some high falootin’ fare you got here. Chicken Florentine? Ain’t you got somethin’ more . . . uh . . . basic?”
Gren smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” He gave a furtive glance over his shoulder to the kitchen door, then back to the farmer. “I have just the thing. It’s called the “Blockman Blue Plate Special”. It’s perfect for the common wayfarer.”
“Is that like some meat and three vegetables?”
“Meat and three vegetables.” Gren nodded knowingly.
“Alright, I’ll give that a whirl.”
Gren pumped both his fists as if he won a great victory, then held up his index finger. “I’ll be right back, sir.” Grinning and dancing a little bit, he pushed through the kitchen door, while the farmer’s look became more confused.
“Funny sort o’ feller”, he mused.
Gren came back after a few minutes, wearing an apron, and carrying a steaming blue plate of food which he set in front of the man. “There you are sir! One “Blockman Blue Plate Special”. That’s mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans with just a pinch of salt, creamed corn, and the entrée, Chicken Fried Chicken!” Gren beamed proudly.
“Now hold on, son, I got a question. Why exactly do you call it Chicken Fried Chicken? Shouldn’t it just be Fried Chicken?”
Gren got a panicked look on his face, and stared upwards trying to think of an answer. Then he brightened and his self-assured smile returned. “Because there’s so much flavor packed into that chicken, you’ve got to use the word twice to do it justice”. Gren nodded emphatically.
“Is that so.” The farmer said, disbelieving. The food looked good, though, so he tucked his napkin into his shirt and dug in. A few bites of the meat, and he gave Gren a pleased smile. “Chicken Fried Chicken.”
Gren pointed both his index fingers at the man in triumph.
The door suddenly opened, and there was a boy of about twelve years dressed in a brown fur coat and hat. He was shivering uncontrollably, his arms clasped around himself to try to keep warm, and his skin was starting to turn blue. His brown eyes darted around the Inn and landed on Gren at the bar.
“P-please, sir, d-do you huh-have a f-fire?”
Gren ran around the counter and escorted him to the sitting room on the side, where a fire was already burning in the hearth. He ushered the boy into an armchair. “Goodness, you look chilled to the bone! Have a seat, I’ll bring you some hot chocolate.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” The boy held his hands out to the fire and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.
The Bridge at Ashairim
Monday, February 29, 2016
“ . . . . and he was played by the great Viggo Mortensen, who didn’t just play a Ranger, but a Ranger with a deep-seated code of honor and integrity. A Ranger who hadn’t really discovered who he truly was yet, but didn’t let that stop him from doing the right thing and upholding what we know to be good and true in the world. You don’t find quality acting of that caliber any more. I mean, why do you think he wasn’t in the Hobbit prequels? Peter said, “If I can’t have Viggo, it can’t be done.” I mean, why bother trying, right?”
Gren was standing at the counter of the Forgotten Layers Inn. He was speaking to a gentleman farmer with dusty denim overalls and a straw hat.
“Son, I don’t got the foggiest notion o’ what you’re talkin’ about.” The farmer replied with a confused look on his face.
Gren sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Well, anyway, welcome to the Forgotten Layers Inn. You look hungry, would you like something to eat? Here’s our menu for tonight.” Gren handed the man a handwritten list of the entrees Izira was preparing in the kitchen.
The farmer thoughtfully took the menu and began to peruse it. After a while, his brows creased. “This sure is some high falootin’ fare you got here. Chicken Florentine? Ain’t you got somethin’ more . . . uh . . . basic?”
Gren smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” He gave a furtive glance over his shoulder to the kitchen door, then back to the farmer. “I have just the thing. It’s called the “Blockman Blue Plate Special”. It’s perfect for the common wayfarer.”
“Is that like some meat and three vegetables?”
“Meat and three vegetables.” Gren nodded knowingly.
“Alright, I’ll give that a whirl.”
Gren pumped both his fists as if he won a great victory, then held up his index finger. “I’ll be right back, sir.” Grinning and dancing a little bit, he pushed through the kitchen door, while the farmer’s look became more confused.
“Funny sort o’ feller”, he mused.
Gren came back after a few minutes, wearing an apron, and carrying a steaming blue plate of food which he set in front of the man. “There you are sir! One “Blockman Blue Plate Special”. That’s mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans with just a pinch of salt, creamed corn, and the entrée, Chicken Fried Chicken!” Gren beamed proudly.
“Now hold on, son, I got a question. Why exactly do you call it Chicken Fried Chicken? Shouldn’t it just be Fried Chicken?”
Gren got a panicked look on his face, and stared upwards trying to think of an answer. Then he brightened and his self-assured smile returned. “Because there’s so much flavor packed into that chicken, you’ve got to use the word twice to do it justice”. Gren nodded emphatically.
“Is that so.” The farmer said, disbelieving. The food looked good, though, so he tucked his napkin into his shirt and dug in. A few bites of the meat, and he gave Gren a pleased smile. “Chicken Fried Chicken.”
Gren pointed both his index fingers at the man in triumph.
The door suddenly opened, and there was a boy of about twelve years dressed in a brown fur coat and hat. He was shivering uncontrollably, his arms clasped around himself to try to keep warm, and his skin was starting to turn blue. His brown eyes darted around the Inn and landed on Gren at the bar.
“P-please, sir, d-do you huh-have a f-fire?”
Gren ran around the counter and escorted him to the sitting room on the side, where a fire was already burning in the hearth. He ushered the boy into an armchair. “Goodness, you look chilled to the bone! Have a seat, I’ll bring you some hot chocolate.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” The boy held his hands out to the fire and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.