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ysabetwordsmithThis poem came out of the May 2021 ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by a prompt from fuzzyred. It also fills the "activists" square in my 5-1-21 card for the Leaky Pipeline Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, bairnsidhe, erulisse, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It is the sixth in a set, after "Escape a Thousand Memories," "Who Can Create the Future," "Good Food Choices Are Good Investments," "Layering Flavors, Tastes, and Textures," and "A Vibrant Symbol of the American Dream."
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes the Syrian civil war, the aftermath of a battle, questionable ethical behavior, Syrian terrorists, a mixed-cape team of soups, looting the terrorists of everything but the clothes on their backs, vulgar language, somewhat rough treatment of prisoners, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"The People Who Give You Their Food"
[6 PM on August 19, 2015 outside of Aleppo, Syria]
The battle had gone quite well.
A team of soups, spanning
all cape colors, had pounced on
a squadron of Syrian terrorists.
They now lay unconscious,
tied up, or surrounded by
softly glowing forcefields.
The activists tossed the camp,
stacking everything usable in piles.
Everyone on the team was entitled
to choose a bag of stuff as personal loot,
after which the majority of equipment and
supplies would go to the refugee camps.
There were big bags of food, some clothes,
and several working vehicles that hadn't
been destroyed in the course of the fight.
There were also weapons and ammunition,
but those would go to the supervillains.
The strongman Muscle-Up had found
a couple of nets full of cheese balls,
some rolled in dark spices, others red.
Spheera, their forcefielder, came
running out of a tent with a big sack
full of fresh, bright red Aleppo peppers.
"Woohoo! Look what I found," she said.
Railslide glared at the tied-up row
of terrorists he was guarding. "Yeah,
I thought you fuckers were raiding
the local villages. Now we got proof."
The camera activist was documenting
all of the goods that looked stolen.
There was no way to return them,
especially since the nearest village
had been burned to the ground,
but at least their team could take
things to the refugees, who had
probably all been robbed by
similar thugs in the past.
One of the formerly dazed men
sat up, protesting, and reached
for Spheera and her bag of peppers.
"Hands off, dickweasel!" Railslide
kicked him away from the girl.
The terrorist continued to yell
something in probably Arabic,
that made both Muscle-Up and
Spheera wince when they heard it.
"Shut up, asshole, you don't deserve
fresh food," Railslide said, kicking
him again. "You can eat The Loaf!"
"Hey, no," Spheera said. "That
was ruled out as a form of torture.
Human rights include a healthy diet."
She got around, but her personality
was closer to white cape than black.
"Do I look like I give a shit about
his human rights?" Railslide said.
Muscle-Up laughed and bent down
to pry a row of gold rings off of
the raider's hand, the bands
narrow and feminine. He put
them in a tray for the refugees.
"Forget it, guys, let the trash team
dump them with the UN Peacekeepers,"
Spheera said. "You and I can go get dinner."
The Peacekeepers, pissed at terrorists in
general, would probably lock them up
in some godforsaken jail and leave them
to rot waiting around for a war crimes trial.
Muscle-Up grinned, looking at Railslide.
"You take us to that Syrian food truck
that you found in Vermont?" he said.
Spheera had been there a couple of
times already, and talked it up to
Muscle-Up, who hadn't gone yet.
"Sure, that's a great idea," said Railslide.
"The owner barters for Syrian foods.
Somebody else can take out the trash."
Lizardbus leisurely cracked his knuckles.
"This'll be a fun ride," he said. "For me."
He could teleport a lot of people at once,
but it wasn't a smooth ride; it had
a rumbly feel like a big engine.
"Well, I'm not going empty-handed,"
Railslide said. He looked at the pile
of foodstuffs to see what wouldn't be
missed around here, but probably
had value to refugees in Vermont.
He settled on a big tin of olive oil
and a large jar of spices. He couldn't
read the squiggly labels, but he did
recognize the pictures on them.
"What do you think?" Railslide said,
turning to check with Muscle-Up,
who was familiar with the Middle East.
Muscle-Up investigated both, then
nodded. "Afrin olive oil and za'atar,"
he said. "These are good choices."
"All right, you two, grab on and let's go,"
Railslide said to Muscle-Up and Spheera.
[11 AM on August 19, 2015 in Rutledge, Vermont]
The three of them landed on the grass
in a park, where Syrian Foods was
one of three food trucks parked in
a line at the edge of the parking lot.
Spheera scampered toward the truck,
waving her peppers high. "Mr. Abdullah,
look what we have!" she caroled.
"Are those -- are those fresh
Aleppo peppers?" he said.
The poor guy looked like he
was about to start crying.
"Where did you get them?"
"Uhh ..." Spheera said,
looking at Railslide for help.
"We got them from some raiders
who don't need them anymore,
'cause they'll be eating jail food
for a good long time," Railslide said.
"We couldn't return their stash to
the rightful owners, so passing it on
to other refugees is the next best thing."
"Thank you," said Mr. Abdullah. He
dragged a sleeve across his eyes.
"My people will be so happy to have
a little taste of home. It's been so long."
"Here, I brought these," Railslide said,
putting the olive oil and za'atar on
the counter. "Muscle-Up has
some cheese ball things."
"Surke!" Mr. Abdullah said,
lighting up over the cheese balls.
"Oh, za'atar, and olive oil from
the Holy City of Olives. Wonderful!
Come, what do you want for lunch?
Anything you like, all three of you!"
"A Party Size Friendship Dip Platter
to start," Railslide said. "I want
a Hummus Buster. You guys?"
"I want the Hummus Sampler Platter
with lemon, Aleppo pepper, and
dessert hummus, along with
the fresh fruit," said Spheera.
"I would like one each of
all the kebab flavors today,"
said Muscle-Up. "Everything
smells so good, I can't choose."
"And you might as well make it
a pitcher of pomegranate jallab,"
said Railslide. "We're all thirsty."
"Activism is thirsty work, but we're
all glad for it," said Mr. Abdullah. "Go,
sit, I'll bring your food when it's done."
They took a picnic table for themselves,
because even with just three people,
they'd need room for all that food.
It only took a few minutes to arrive,
and along with what they ordered,
there were a few colorful extras
made from the new additions.
One of the cheese balls had been
chopped up with tomato and onion,
swimming in a pool of olive oil.
More olive oil puddled on top of
the muhammara, along with
a pile of chopped peppers --
the fire engine red Aleppo
and yellow bell pepper.
On the white labneh,
the olive oil glistened
green-gold, and it held
a thick dusting of za'atar.
There were piles of pita,
fresh vegetables and fruit,
tub after tub of different dips,
and a wide array of side dishes.
Spheera grabbed the kabiss
and started shoveling it into
her mouth with pita. She might
be tiny, but that girl could eat.
Railslide took his Hummus Buster,
and Muscle-Up started with kebabs.
Halfway through the kabiss, Spheera
pushed it away with a blush and
reached for the cheese salad.
"This is really good," she said.
"It kinda reminds me of feta?"
"They're both sheep cheeses,"
Muscle-Up explained. "Feta is
always pretty soft, though, and
surke gets hard as it ages."
Railslide dragged a carrot
through the labneh, enjoying
the spicy bite of za'atar.
"I love this stuff too."
Muscle-Up dug into
the muhammara.
"I've never had
fresh Aleppo pepper
before -- it's usually
dried -- but I like how
it tastes," he said.
"Will it be okay?"
Spheera said. "Do
you think he can use
all the peppers before
they start to wrinkle?"
Muscle-Up chuckled.
"He'll probably use
a few fresh today, just
for the novelty, then
salt and dry the rest."
"Oh, that's good," she said,
then scooped up some of
the muhammara on pita.
"It's so fruity! Kind of like
a Carolina reaper, but without
taking the enamel off your teeth."
Railslide had tried a Carolina reaper
exactly once, on a dare. He believed
the rumor that the peppers had gotten
their name because their heat would
make you wish you were dead.
"You're right, the sweet flavor
is similar," he replied. "The heat
from the Aleppo sneaks up on you,
though." He could feel it building,
and switched back to the labneh.
They were cleaning up the last
of the falafel and tahini dip when
Mr. Abdullah brought out a tray of
fresh fruit for the dessert hummus.
"Thank you again for bringing me
ingredients fresh from Syria,"
he said. "It means so much,
I can hardly find the words."
"You're welcome," said Spheera.
"You make such wonderful food,
I just wanted to make you happy."
"You have," said Mr. Abdullah.
"I'm glad that I could show you
a few of the extra treats."
"Totally worth the trip,"
Railslide assured him.
Mr. Abdullah went back
to his food truck, and
then Railslide tried out
the dessert hummus.
It was maple today,
which went really well
with the apples and
pears on the tray.
"See," said Spheera,
"The people who give you
their food give you their heart."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character and content notes will appear separately.
crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by a prompt from fuzzyred. It also fills the "activists" square in my 5-1-21 card for the Leaky Pipeline Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, bairnsidhe, erulisse, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It is the sixth in a set, after "Escape a Thousand Memories," "Who Can Create the Future," "Good Food Choices Are Good Investments," "Layering Flavors, Tastes, and Textures," and "A Vibrant Symbol of the American Dream."Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes the Syrian civil war, the aftermath of a battle, questionable ethical behavior, Syrian terrorists, a mixed-cape team of soups, looting the terrorists of everything but the clothes on their backs, vulgar language, somewhat rough treatment of prisoners, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"The People Who Give You Their Food"
[6 PM on August 19, 2015 outside of Aleppo, Syria]
The battle had gone quite well.
A team of soups, spanning
all cape colors, had pounced on
a squadron of Syrian terrorists.
They now lay unconscious,
tied up, or surrounded by
softly glowing forcefields.
The activists tossed the camp,
stacking everything usable in piles.
Everyone on the team was entitled
to choose a bag of stuff as personal loot,
after which the majority of equipment and
supplies would go to the refugee camps.
There were big bags of food, some clothes,
and several working vehicles that hadn't
been destroyed in the course of the fight.
There were also weapons and ammunition,
but those would go to the supervillains.
The strongman Muscle-Up had found
a couple of nets full of cheese balls,
some rolled in dark spices, others red.
Spheera, their forcefielder, came
running out of a tent with a big sack
full of fresh, bright red Aleppo peppers.
"Woohoo! Look what I found," she said.
Railslide glared at the tied-up row
of terrorists he was guarding. "Yeah,
I thought you fuckers were raiding
the local villages. Now we got proof."
The camera activist was documenting
all of the goods that looked stolen.
There was no way to return them,
especially since the nearest village
had been burned to the ground,
but at least their team could take
things to the refugees, who had
probably all been robbed by
similar thugs in the past.
One of the formerly dazed men
sat up, protesting, and reached
for Spheera and her bag of peppers.
"Hands off, dickweasel!" Railslide
kicked him away from the girl.
The terrorist continued to yell
something in probably Arabic,
that made both Muscle-Up and
Spheera wince when they heard it.
"Shut up, asshole, you don't deserve
fresh food," Railslide said, kicking
him again. "You can eat The Loaf!"
"Hey, no," Spheera said. "That
was ruled out as a form of torture.
Human rights include a healthy diet."
She got around, but her personality
was closer to white cape than black.
"Do I look like I give a shit about
his human rights?" Railslide said.
Muscle-Up laughed and bent down
to pry a row of gold rings off of
the raider's hand, the bands
narrow and feminine. He put
them in a tray for the refugees.
"Forget it, guys, let the trash team
dump them with the UN Peacekeepers,"
Spheera said. "You and I can go get dinner."
The Peacekeepers, pissed at terrorists in
general, would probably lock them up
in some godforsaken jail and leave them
to rot waiting around for a war crimes trial.
Muscle-Up grinned, looking at Railslide.
"You take us to that Syrian food truck
that you found in Vermont?" he said.
Spheera had been there a couple of
times already, and talked it up to
Muscle-Up, who hadn't gone yet.
"Sure, that's a great idea," said Railslide.
"The owner barters for Syrian foods.
Somebody else can take out the trash."
Lizardbus leisurely cracked his knuckles.
"This'll be a fun ride," he said. "For me."
He could teleport a lot of people at once,
but it wasn't a smooth ride; it had
a rumbly feel like a big engine.
"Well, I'm not going empty-handed,"
Railslide said. He looked at the pile
of foodstuffs to see what wouldn't be
missed around here, but probably
had value to refugees in Vermont.
He settled on a big tin of olive oil
and a large jar of spices. He couldn't
read the squiggly labels, but he did
recognize the pictures on them.
"What do you think?" Railslide said,
turning to check with Muscle-Up,
who was familiar with the Middle East.
Muscle-Up investigated both, then
nodded. "Afrin olive oil and za'atar,"
he said. "These are good choices."
"All right, you two, grab on and let's go,"
Railslide said to Muscle-Up and Spheera.
[11 AM on August 19, 2015 in Rutledge, Vermont]
The three of them landed on the grass
in a park, where Syrian Foods was
one of three food trucks parked in
a line at the edge of the parking lot.
Spheera scampered toward the truck,
waving her peppers high. "Mr. Abdullah,
look what we have!" she caroled.
"Are those -- are those fresh
Aleppo peppers?" he said.
The poor guy looked like he
was about to start crying.
"Where did you get them?"
"Uhh ..." Spheera said,
looking at Railslide for help.
"We got them from some raiders
who don't need them anymore,
'cause they'll be eating jail food
for a good long time," Railslide said.
"We couldn't return their stash to
the rightful owners, so passing it on
to other refugees is the next best thing."
"Thank you," said Mr. Abdullah. He
dragged a sleeve across his eyes.
"My people will be so happy to have
a little taste of home. It's been so long."
"Here, I brought these," Railslide said,
putting the olive oil and za'atar on
the counter. "Muscle-Up has
some cheese ball things."
"Surke!" Mr. Abdullah said,
lighting up over the cheese balls.
"Oh, za'atar, and olive oil from
the Holy City of Olives. Wonderful!
Come, what do you want for lunch?
Anything you like, all three of you!"
"A Party Size Friendship Dip Platter
to start," Railslide said. "I want
a Hummus Buster. You guys?"
"I want the Hummus Sampler Platter
with lemon, Aleppo pepper, and
dessert hummus, along with
the fresh fruit," said Spheera.
"I would like one each of
all the kebab flavors today,"
said Muscle-Up. "Everything
smells so good, I can't choose."
"And you might as well make it
a pitcher of pomegranate jallab,"
said Railslide. "We're all thirsty."
"Activism is thirsty work, but we're
all glad for it," said Mr. Abdullah. "Go,
sit, I'll bring your food when it's done."
They took a picnic table for themselves,
because even with just three people,
they'd need room for all that food.
It only took a few minutes to arrive,
and along with what they ordered,
there were a few colorful extras
made from the new additions.
One of the cheese balls had been
chopped up with tomato and onion,
swimming in a pool of olive oil.
More olive oil puddled on top of
the muhammara, along with
a pile of chopped peppers --
the fire engine red Aleppo
and yellow bell pepper.
On the white labneh,
the olive oil glistened
green-gold, and it held
a thick dusting of za'atar.
There were piles of pita,
fresh vegetables and fruit,
tub after tub of different dips,
and a wide array of side dishes.
Spheera grabbed the kabiss
and started shoveling it into
her mouth with pita. She might
be tiny, but that girl could eat.
Railslide took his Hummus Buster,
and Muscle-Up started with kebabs.
Halfway through the kabiss, Spheera
pushed it away with a blush and
reached for the cheese salad.
"This is really good," she said.
"It kinda reminds me of feta?"
"They're both sheep cheeses,"
Muscle-Up explained. "Feta is
always pretty soft, though, and
surke gets hard as it ages."
Railslide dragged a carrot
through the labneh, enjoying
the spicy bite of za'atar.
"I love this stuff too."
Muscle-Up dug into
the muhammara.
"I've never had
fresh Aleppo pepper
before -- it's usually
dried -- but I like how
it tastes," he said.
"Will it be okay?"
Spheera said. "Do
you think he can use
all the peppers before
they start to wrinkle?"
Muscle-Up chuckled.
"He'll probably use
a few fresh today, just
for the novelty, then
salt and dry the rest."
"Oh, that's good," she said,
then scooped up some of
the muhammara on pita.
"It's so fruity! Kind of like
a Carolina reaper, but without
taking the enamel off your teeth."
Railslide had tried a Carolina reaper
exactly once, on a dare. He believed
the rumor that the peppers had gotten
their name because their heat would
make you wish you were dead.
"You're right, the sweet flavor
is similar," he replied. "The heat
from the Aleppo sneaks up on you,
though." He could feel it building,
and switched back to the labneh.
They were cleaning up the last
of the falafel and tahini dip when
Mr. Abdullah brought out a tray of
fresh fruit for the dessert hummus.
"Thank you again for bringing me
ingredients fresh from Syria,"
he said. "It means so much,
I can hardly find the words."
"You're welcome," said Spheera.
"You make such wonderful food,
I just wanted to make you happy."
"You have," said Mr. Abdullah.
"I'm glad that I could show you
a few of the extra treats."
"Totally worth the trip,"
Railslide assured him.
Mr. Abdullah went back
to his food truck, and
then Railslide tried out
the dessert hummus.
It was maple today,
which went really well
with the apples and
pears on the tray.
"See," said Spheera,
"The people who give you
their food give you their heart."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character and content notes will appear separately.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-07-27 02:08 pm (UTC)Well ...
Date: 2021-07-27 07:04 pm (UTC)However, you can grow many peppers in a wide range of environments. The catch is, the fruit just doesn't heat up. If it's a one-note pepper, that's kinda pointless. But if the flavor has other aspects besides heat, then you can get interesting results. In this case, growing Aleppo peppers in T-Vermont gets a similar-looking pepper that has almost no heat but quite pronounced fruity flavor. So you can treat them like bell peppers and use them as fresh topping, or treat them like fruit and make jelly, or add a bit of cayenne to replace the missing heat. Since they are commonly dried, it would probably also work to chop them up for use as a dried fruit in trail mix, cereal, bread, etc. If I were playing with them, I'd probably try adding ginger instead of cayenne, because it goes well with fruity flavors.
These will probably wind up being called Rutledge peppers, or something similar, to distinguish them from the hot kind from Syria. Like the Syrians, the peppers have traveled out of conflict and found a new life far away. They'll never be the same, but life will still be good.
Re: Well ...
Date: 2021-07-27 07:08 pm (UTC)True!
"the fruit just doesn't heat up"
Huh! OK, I knew there was a short growing season up here (I'm in Massachusetts, near Boston. Not that far from Vermont, but warmer because I'm near the ocean and further south.), but didn't realize that translated to reduced spiciness in hot peppers. Fascinating!
Re: Well ...
Date: 2021-07-27 07:28 pm (UTC)To compensate for the shorter season, start plants indoors before transplanting them outdoors. This can be used to grow many things that otherwise would've have time to mature. You can also use cloches, row covers, etc. to protect plants outdoors. As with greenhouses, cloches also trap moisture, but rowcovers are available in versions that don't.
>> but didn't realize that translated to reduced spiciness in hot peppers. Fascinating! <<
Many factors affect the flavor of edible plants, creating what's called "terroir" in those of a specific area. Hence single-origin coffee, etc. This is why some things, like sweet onions, may not produce the same effects elsewhere. Mediterranean herbs evolved for relatively dry, poor, thin soils. Grown in moist loam, they often produce abundant foliage with little or no flavor because the plant makes less of its essential oils and they are more distributed. A similar effect causes peppers to become hotter in hot dry climates but milder in cool damp ones. Some people compensate for these problems by growing herbs in raised spirals or surrounding pepper plants with bricks.
Re: Well ...
Date: 2021-07-27 07:56 pm (UTC)Yup! I get tomatoes every year this way. :)
"Mediterranean herbs evolved for relatively dry, poor, thin soils. Grown in moist loam, they often produce abundant foliage with little or no flavor because the plant makes less of its essential oils and they are more distributed."
Ooooooh, this suddenly makes more sense. I have oregano in my garden and it tastes nothing like I expect. (it's perennial, though!) Of course, it's also not dried, which is what I am accustomed to.
Re: Well ...
Date: 2021-07-27 08:32 pm (UTC)* Browse growing tips. You can give each herb its preferred conditions.
* You want poor, sandy or rocky soil. Too much fertilizer will ruin the flavor. Too much water will kill the plants; they can't stand wet feet.
* You can mix soil with sand or gravel so it drains better.
* Make a container garden.
* A rock garden is great in cooler climates because it forms a heat sink.
* Install an herb spiral. This gives you many microclimates for herbs with different tastes.