Decades after encountering it for the first time in the pages of Mary Stewart's My Brother Michael (1959), I used a bottle of mavrodafne to substitute for port in a sauce of sweet cherries and thyme for pan-seared pork chops. The cork crumbled in the extraction and had to be strained out through paper towels in the absence of cheesecloth, but the wine itself was dessert-sweet and dark as a Homeric epithet and simmered down beautifully into the soft halves of cut cherries. After dinner, my mother and I released the newly hatched Stripey the First to the sunset.
( Fanfiction caught in the act is a fact. )
To my slowly accumulating collection of good bog stories, I add Katie McIvor's "We Bleed Water" (2022), which I discovered last night while catching up on the archives of Three-Lobed Burning Eye. I haven't played Riwhi Kenny's bog body, watching (2024), but I really approve of the concept. The car is in the shop for one of its headlights and I am very tired and did little until the late afternoon, but it has been definitely a nice weekend.
( Fanfiction caught in the act is a fact. )
To my slowly accumulating collection of good bog stories, I add Katie McIvor's "We Bleed Water" (2022), which I discovered last night while catching up on the archives of Three-Lobed Burning Eye. I haven't played Riwhi Kenny's bog body, watching (2024), but I really approve of the concept. The car is in the shop for one of its headlights and I am very tired and did little until the late afternoon, but it has been definitely a nice weekend.
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