western
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The Eater & the Eaten Ate My Brain
Behind the scenes of my western folk-horror serial. Spoiler warning: If you haven’t finished reading The Eater & the Eaten, I recommend doing that before reading this post. You can start here. Rather own it? Get it in That Which Feeds On Us. Ready to push on? Here we go! The first course of my… Read more
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Chapter 7 | le dessert
Griottes noires, pitted and poached in a bitter reduction, served with tonka bean créme, over charred brioche. That’s some story,” John said, scraping the bottom of his metal bowl and eyeing his host’s whiskey jug. Kit, attentive to his guest’s needs, nudged the jug over with the toe of one boot, not bothering to uncork… Read more
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Chapter 6 | le fromage
Cendre de Sainte-Maure, finished over an open flame, served with levain, honey, and fig jam. I had to wait for sundown to find out what Alys had in mind. She said night would be better suited to her work, although she refused to explain what that work might be. I was to learn soon enough.… Read more
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Chapter 5 | le salade
Chicory hearts, stripped and bittered, served with blood oranges, walnuts, Bleu d’Auvergne, and a sherry vinaigrette. The storm raged for two days, and Alys and I holed up in the mission, learning the contours of each other’s bodies and souls. Alys had been foresighted enough to bring food and water and even a little whiskey,… Read more
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Chapter 4 | le plat principal
Cuisse de Nymphe Émue, deglazed and reduced, served in white sauce with wild rice pilaf, paired with petits pois à la Française. It was autumn 1848. After my pa’s death, things changed. Without his income, we were forced to sell off our land a piece at a time. Even so, it was not enough. I… Read more
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Chapter 3 | le poisson
Local whitefish poached in its own juices, served with pommes vapeur, braised fennel, and beurre blanc. I would not see much of Alys Lawless again until the spring of 1842. I was twelve, and my pa figured the time had come to begin my studies in earnest. Of course, those lessons mostly revolved around what… Read more
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Chapter 2 | l’entree
Lemon-poppy cake, accompanied by two fingers of gin. The first time I saw Alys Lawless was the summer of 1838, and with the drought, it seemed that the town of Burnt Creek might live up to its name. I remember the grass, higher than my head at eight years old, sere and bowed almost double… Read more
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Chapter 1 | l’aperitif
Barrel-aged whiskey, served at room temperature. The sky darkened with the shadow of wings, and the raucous caws of hundreds of crows cracked the afternoon stillness. “Whoa there, Noah!” John MacClellan tugged the reins. Noah’s ears flicked back in annoyance, but the donkey slowed to a stop. The wagon he pulled creaked to a halt… Read more