Hogwarts - A History (of Culinary Diversity)

Hogwarts: A History (of Culinary Diversity)
by Muguet au Bois

Disclaimer Haiku:
Legal restrictions
Make me sing this harsh refrain --
I do not own them

Fizzy had never encountered a parchment so resistant. The blank spaces in his final Start of Term Feast menu refused to be filled, despite the sternest elf magic he could summon, and not even a fresh sheet from the Headmaster's own stores - or a new quill and ink borrowed from Professor Flitwick - could set his menu to rights. He pulled on his ears, a bad habit the deputy headmistress had labored to convince him was counter to his endeavor for erudition, but the small punishment provided no relief. Never in his nine years in the Hogwarts kitchens had he been taunted so overtly by an inanimate object; not even the charmed cleaver that demolished all the cutting boards before it could be stopped had proven as stubborn.

He placed the menu parchment down for a moment and summoned a cup of tea. Wizards swore by the stuff, but despite his efforts to emulate their behavior as he completed his own education, even the best-brewed pot of Earl Grey couldn't soothe his battered sense of order.

A small knock on the door jamb of his office alerted Fizzy to the presence of a visitor, a petite elf clad in a trio of very pretty lace doilies - two stitched at the sides to create a tunic, and a third atop her grey head, draped with almost casual elegance across the tips of her ears.

"Master Fizzy?" she asked in a crisp, educated voice.

He nodded.

"I am Bissele. Where may I set up?"

Fizzy rubbed his large, dry eyes. "You're new, I take it?"

The female elf blinked her eyes and shook her head in distaste. "I am Bissele of the Goldsteins."

Fizzy waited for the rest, but the longish pause provided no additional information. He raised his weedy eyebrows.

"The Goldsteins. The family of young master Anthony Goldstein." She began to speak more slowly, as if to someone very stupid. Fizzy tried not to take offense. "Anthony Goldstein, first year wizard, who will arrive the day after next on the Hogwarts Express."

Fizzy tipped his head. Maybe it would make more sense if he looked at her from a different angle. No, that didn't help either.

The little elf's tone tightened further. "Surely the deputy headmistress informed you of my arrival."

Oh, that. He'd planned to go through all his correspondence after he'd completed the menu for the Start of Term Feast but he'd spent more time than expected attempting to solve the problem with the parchment -

He turned aside and opened the small packet he'd received from Professor McGonagall the prior morning.

Fizzy,
Please read up on "Special Religious Dietary Requirements" in the Hogwarts Catering and Special Event Manual in preparation for the new school year. You can expect to have temporary dedicated staff to orient some time tomorrow. Please inform me if you have any special needs with regard to workspace or supplies.

Regards,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Useful, that. Not wishing to appear ill-informed, he looked up at the surprisingly pretty little elf and sighed. Bluffing always gave him a headache, but if it was good enough for wizards it was good enough for him.

"What do you need in order to set up?"

She appeared to relax a fraction. "I will need room for work surfaces and storage for food products, utensils, cookware, china and glassware."

Fizzy squinted. "We have all that. Just use what you need from the school's stores."

"I think not," the disdainful, patronizing look was back, "as the entire point of my presence here is to provide Glatt Kosher cuisine for my young master."

This was getting ridiculous. It was trial enough to deal with these upper-crust pretensions, but there was simply no need to resort to German or something to get the upper hand.

"Have a seat, Bissell -"

"- Bissele - "

"Whatever, sit down. I'll be back in a minute." Taking a moment to catch his breath and calm his pulse, he left his office by the back door and moved quietly into the Butler's Pantry. He pulled down a large book bound in grease-stained burgundy leather and searched for "Special Religious Dietary Requirements".

Glatt Kosher (Yiddish: "Strictly Fitting")
A grouping of strict Jewish dietary laws regarding permissible foods, permissible food combinations, permissible methods of slaughter, handling and preparation and permissible methods of serving meals and maintaining a kitchen.

Below the definition was an exhaustive list of allowable and forbidden food products, combinations of ingredients and instructions for handling all of it. It was dizzying and a little off-putting. Who in their right mind would eat a good roast without Yorkshire Pudding?

Because of the restrictive nature of Kosher food preparation, families sending students to Hogwarts who require the child to be served a strictly Kosher diet must provide one (1) kitchen staff member to procure provisions and prepare the child's meals as well as stocking and maintaining a separate portion of the kitchen for food storage and preparation.

That explained little miss how-do-you-do.

He returned the book to the shelf and returned the few steps with a stern, "Mind you check the weight of the shipment, Soggy!" to the empty pantry as he re-entered his office.

"All right, where were we?" he asked the stroppy little elf.

"You were stalling over where I should set up," she glared at him. "I have a lot of work ahead of me, to cleanse the area before I begin bringing in my equipment and supplies, and your delaying tactics aren't doing either of us any good. Do you or do you not have space set aside for me to begin my work here?"

Fizzy counted to five, breathed, counted to five again and exhaled. "Through there," he pointed out the door through which she'd come. "There's an empty space between Butchery and Bakery. Move the cleaning supplies aside and I'll have one of the maintenance elves find a place for them elsewhere." He wiped his surprisingly damp brow. "Will that be all, Bissell?"

"Bissele, Master Fizzy," she replied before rising to leave. "I shall also require the ability to communicate with my suppliers. Which floo should I use?"

Fizzy let out a deep breath, relieved this little trial was over. "Any of them. You can see yourself out."

He picked up the menu parchment, preparing to give in to the inevitable resistance when he found three of the blank spaces filled in. Under "Starters", he found something called "Kreplach". The list of soups now included "Matzoh Ball", and there was a new entrée called "Roast Chicken with Crisp Gribenes", whatever in Oberon's name that was. He moved to return the menu to his desk when a fourth item appeared on the menu, under "Entrees": Garlic Kufteh with rice. Heh.

A knock disturbed his concentration once again and he looked up, expecting the little snooty thing to have returned, complaining about the poor quality of something or other in the kitchen, but instead a small dark-skinned elf stood in the doorway, wearing a brocaded waistcoat and short cylindrical cap.

"Master Fizzy?" the elf asked in an exotic, accented voice.

"Yes," he replied, bracing himself for another blindside.

"I am Abdona," he replied, "Halal sous-chef of the Zabini kitchens in Shepherd's Bush. Where might I set up my station?"

* * * * *

Poking at his boring old carrots, Terry got a whiff of something delicious-smelling. Leaning to the left and to the right, he failed to find the source of the amazing aroma. Then he looked across the table at Anthony's plate and saw what looked like perfect little rounds of crispy fried shredded potatoes. His mouth watered.

He raised his carrot-laden fork and pointed at his classmate's plate. "What's that, Goldstein? Smells brilliant."

Goldstein shrugged. "Latkes. First night of Chanukkah."

"Hana-what?" Michael asked.

"Chanukkah," Goldstein sighed. "Jewish holiday. They're traditional."

Terry had to know. "They any good?"

Goldstein nodded. "Yeah. Just gotta have fish if I'm gonna have 'em with sour cream, 'cause of the no meat-milk thing."

Corner tipped his head to the side. "That have to do with your special diet?"

"Yeah."

"Can we have some?" Terry finally ventured. He had no idea why the elves would make something that smelled that good for only one student when everybody would want some.

With another shrug Anthony pushed his plate forward a bit. "Just leave me one, okay?"

Terry didn't mind taking one, but there were only a few on Goldstein's plate and there were a lot of hungry eyes all focused on those crisp little potato waffles. "Why don't we just ask the elves for some more?"

"It's just my elf who does it, so there probably isn't enough for everybody."

"Oh yeah, that makes sense," Corner said before returning his attention to his roast beef. Terry had no idea what he was talking about.
"What you do you mean, your elf?" He speared one of the potato things anyway and took a test munch. It was brilliant. "You got one on staff making special stuff for you?"

Goldstein appeared to be evaluating him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was serious. Then he just raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and picked one of the potato things with his fingers. "Mum and Dad sent a kitchen elf from home. Hogwarts doesn't do Kosher otherwise."

Terry had no idea what Kosher was, but if it meant getting more of these potato things, he'd have to find out about getting one of his own kitchen elves.

* * * * *

"Master Fizzy," the pompous little voice said from the doorway. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Bissele?"

"We need to speak about the increased demands from the Ravenclaw table for the food that I prepare."

Fizzy didn't know what she was on about but figured that any problems the elf had with her master was surely her own business. "Have you informed the parents of Mr. Goldstein's increased demands?"

"It's not my master," Bissele explained, "but rather his classmates. They appear to have taken a liking to some of our traditional dishes, and I am simply not supplied to provide more than a single meal's share for prolonged periods."

Fizzy really didn't like where this was going. "More students are asking for your food?"

Bissele gave a curt nod.

"I can give you more ingredients if you have the time to prepare them," Fizzy proposed, almost immediately realizing his error.

"Which would then render my station contaminated and prevent me from providing further meals to master Anthony."

Fizzy thought for a moment. It really was important to him that he provide the children with nutritious meals that they would enjoy, and if there were dishes they could add to the menu that would increase the children's enjoyment, he would have to look into the matter. "Which dishes are they requesting?"

Bissele sat down in the guest chair and pulled out a small silver-bound writing pad. "At first it was the latkes from Chanukkah." At her supervisor's expectant look, she explained with an economical "Crisp fried wafers of shredded potatoes."

That sounded pretty good to him too.

"Shortly after our return from the winter break," he noticed she substituted 'winter' for 'Christmas', "I received four requests from the Ravenclaw table for Matzoh Ball Soup; chicken soup with large fluffy dumplings," she translated at once.

Fizzy nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Just this morning the entire Ravenclaw table asked for the Matzoh Brei I'd served to master Anthony. It is a version of French Toast using crunchy unleavened bread called Matzohs. It is delicious served with maple syrup." The lace of her head covering swayed a bit as she shook her head. She snapped her little notebook shut. "I am simply not provisioned for this kind of volume."

"Got it. Would you mind teaching my staff how to make those things?"

Bissele raised her chin a fraction. "Not at all. I will see to it at the end of dinner this evening." She rose to leave.

"That will be all," Fizzy said, at which Bissele froze. He softened his tone a touch. "Thank you, Bissele. I'm sure the children will appreciate your contributions to the menu."

She loosened a bit and left the office.

Fizzy had been aware of the increasingly full plates that had begun to return to the kitchens after meals from both Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, but he hadn't realized the extent of the problem until now. It was probably only a matter of time before the Zabini elf showed up asking for help with making that cheese and those lamb balls the third-year boys liked to steal from the little 1st year wizard's plate.

He picked up the book beside him - a largish volume bound in regal blue linen - removed the bookmark and read on. He was grateful to the Headmistress for his Christmas gift of "Understanding Ethnic Diversity in Wizarding Europe", but he wished he could have read it before the start of the school year. 1992 was going to be a trial, he could feel it.

* * * * *

Adrian Pucey's eyes lit up when little Zabini's plate of those garlicked lamb balls and rice appeared beside an identical plate of his own. About bloody time, that was. Snape was going to take it out of his hide if he stole any more food off the kid.

He cut a wedge of the spiced, chopped meat with his fork and took a bite. Brilliant.

* * * * *

"What the bloody bollocking hell is this?" Terry asked, wincing at the fishy stench coming from his plate. The irregular beige log lying there looked like something his kneazle puked up.

"Ghfltufsh," Goldstein said through a mouthful that looked like he was about to imitate Terry's cat in full-on spew. "Sgud."

"Do you want to try that in English?" Michael asked, looking to Padma for moral support only to find her deep in conversation with Cho, poking at their own beige logs with trepidation.

"Can't, you berk, it's Yiddish. Gefilte fish. Try it," Goldstein replied.

Terry pushed the little plate away. Not on his life.

Corner looked at his own lump with skepticism. "What's it made of?"

Goldstein shrugged. "Dunno. Fish and stuff. Try it with the horseradish."

"Not me, mate," Corner said, pushing away his own plate. He and Terry both looked at Padma, who they both knew full well ate freak-arse Indian stuff like goat and cheesy coconut. Padma sniffed with derision and just sat there, apparently waiting for the next course.
They all looked to Chang.

"Come on, Cho," Michael teased. "You eat all that Scots crap and stir-fried cat, right?"

Chang wrinkled her nose and replied in her soft brogue, "At least I know what's in that. This could be troll droppings or something."

Terry laughed with Michael and Marietta, and he noticed even the corners of Padma's normally stoic mouth curve up a little.

"Don't be stupid," Goldstein told them. "It's just a fish dumpling. It's good. Try it before you make fun of it."

Terry gave him credit for trying, but nobody was idiot enough to eat something that looked that bad, and -
Cho picked up her fork. She cut off a galleon-sized slice. She paused.

Goldstein reached over from across the table, took her fork, and plopped a little dollop of her horseradish onto the slice. He returned the fork to her. "Eat up, buttercup."

Cho appeared to be steeling herself, the edges of her lips tightening and her brow crinkling in dismay. Then she popped the morsel into her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

The entire table sat in silence while they waited for a reaction.

Her jaw trembled for just a moment and then she was still. Terry had seen his uncle Clive do that with whiskey, which didn't bode well for the fish sick.

Finally Cho reached out, took a sip of her pumpkin juice and addressed Goldstein directly. "I'd rather eat steamed sheep's lung with oatmeal." She shuddered. "Merlin, Anthony, what is that rubbish?"

* * * * *

"We served what to the entire Ravenclaw table?" Fizzy asked with incredulity. "Are you mental?"

Bissele shrugged off the insult. "I did as you asked and instructed your staff in some of my finest dishes."

"You know perfectly well that wasn't the request. You were supposed to serve dishes the children actually liked."

"They loved my cholent and hand-made halvah," she defended. "It's not my concern that the rest of the student body are heathens with poor palates."

Fizzy sighed. "Enough. What do you have planned for tonight?" He wanted to avoid another disaster like the day's uneaten luncheon.
"Kishke with -"

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," Fizzy interjected, "but what in Oberon's name is Kishkee?"

Her long-suffering look muted by months of acclimation, Bissele responded, "It's made of..." Her eyes, already huge in her petite head, bulged further. "Excuse me, please." She dashed out of the room.

Fizzy picked up the night's dinner menu and wasn't surprised to discover it changing even as he heard her little footsteps pad away from his office.

He made a quick note to ask Blinky or Soggy about that chollunt and halavalala stuff when he had a minute. It wouldn't do to exclude something good from their menus, after all.

For now, however, he had an appointment at Abdona's workspace for a group training on that couscous and veg dish. If it was good enough to get the Zabini boy Petrificused and tossed into the third-year Slytherin showers for the duration of the lunch hour, it was good enough for everybody.

-----
End.