Dinner, Anyone?

The times I have visited England, I have always found something special to enjoy at mealtime. After all, it is the origin of fish and chips. While Victorian cuisine included roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, it also included a share of starchy creations that were innovative for their time, but might not appeal to current foodies. With all respect to anyone from across the pond, I would like to share items that might have graced a Victorian table, but would probably raise an eyebrow or two now--at least stateside.

Savoury Jelly (Aspic)

From meats to vegetables, nearly anything was suspended in aspic - a clear, gelatinous mold made from animal bones. While visually striking, the cold, quivering texture might be off-putting to most 21st-century diners.

Sago Pudding

This sticky dessert made from sago pearls (a starch extracted from tropical palms) had a gluey texture and little flavor. Often boiled in milk with minimal seasoning, it was often served lukewarm.

Blancmange

Think wobbly, almond-flavored milk jelly. Popular in Victorian parlors, blancmange had the look of elegance. Made from milk, sugar, cornstarch, and often gelatin, it was molded into ornate shapes.

Arrowroot Pap

Used as a remedy for invalids and infants, this bland concoction of arrowroot starch and water (or milk) was gently simmered into a paste. It was praised for being easily digested.

Boiled Bread Pudding

This economical treat reused stale bread soaked in milk, sugar, and eggs, then boiled in a cloth bag until firm. Beloved by thrifty Victorians.

These Victorian-era recipes reflect a time when food was shaped by resourcefulness, available ingredients, and cultural values. While they may no longer appeal to contemporary palates, they offer a fascinating glimpse into the past. Who knows what 23rd-century readers will think of the hot dogs, pizza, and tacos mentioned in books now?

Upcoming Appearances

4th Annual Texas Author Con & Book Festival 2025

A free, family-friendly, two-day event that features authors from a variety of genres.

Enjoy book signings, panel discussions, readings, Q&A sessions, educational classes, door prizes, and photo ops with authors of many genres including romance, western, mystery, fantasy, thriller, paranormal, horror, Christian, military, and children's books.

July 19, 2024 - 10:00 am-7:00 pm

July 20, 2024 - 10:00 am-4:00 pm

For more information, visit the website, Facebook or Instagram.

Bouchercon: Blood on the Bayou

Join a mystery/thriller/and book lovers in general in New Orleans for panel discussions, interviews with bestselling authors (incluidng Michael Connelly!), and chace to experience the Big Easy. I'll be signing at the anthology debut on September 4 at the National WWII Museum.

Check out all the festivities here.

Win the Ultimate Crime Fiction Book Giveaway!

• $250 Value
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Enter to win the ultimate crime fiction prize pack, featuring 10 thrilling crime fiction books!

The Grand Prize winner receives a signed copy of THE WAITING by Michael Connelly and one copy of each author’s book. The runner-up winner receives one copy of each author’s book.

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The Beast of Baker Street

Part IV

(If you'll recall, this story will be part of The Crew of the Barque Lone Star's (a Baker Street Irregulars scion) collection "Rejected Holmes: Stories That Didn't Make it into The Strand Magazine." The volume should be available in late December/early January.)

Recap: Dr. John Watson reveals the true events behind Sherlock Holmes’ sudden retirement to Sussex in 1903. Instead of the published account in "The Hound of the Baskervilles," the good doctor reveals the beast was a werewolf that attacked Holmes. Although the incident was concealed to prevent public panic, the wound changed Holmes. After their return to Baker Street, Watson observed unsettling behavior in his friend: mood swings, cravings for rare meat, and unexplained disappearances. When a vicious murder in Whitechapel revives fears of Jack the Ripper, Holmes investigates, only to find signs of another werewolf attack. Disturbed, Holmes states the mythical creature is real and may be part of a growing threat. As the full moon rises, Holmes prepares to hunt the beast, while Watson fears it may already reside within his friend.

He spun on his heel and stared at me. “I’m going to patrol the streets these next two nights to catch this beast.”

I stood. “I’ll accompany you.”

“No,” he said with a violent shake of the head. “I’m afraid it is best I track this beast alone. Now, I must go out to prepare for the hunt.”

After Holmes hurried from our flat, the full significance of his proposed actions emboldened me to form my own plan. I couldn’t let my friend face such a monstrous threat alone. But I also knew better than to argue with him when he was in such a determined state.

I returned to our flat later in the day to find it still unoccupied. My friend finally returned shortly before evening, dressed in dark clothes, pocketed his revolver, and turned to leave. At the door, he faced me.

“If I don’t return by daylight, please have the police seek my body. I will have failed, and it will be up to you and Lestrade to continue my search.”

“At least tell me where you’re going, so we’ll know where to search.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and tilted his head. “Whitechapel. The scent of blood is stronger there.”

When he departed, my whole body shook. His last command made my plans for tonight an even greater imperative. Gathering my service revolver, I hastened on my way for a pursuit of my own.

Few people loitered about Whitechapel’s gaslit streets. Those that did scurried along, constantly moving their gaze left and right, warily scanning for danger. The possible return of Jack the Ripper or his disciple had forced them all indoors. Every shadow seemed to hide some lurking menace, and every sound set my nerves on end. I gripped my revolver, sweat dampening my palm, ready for any threat that might come my way.

As the night wore on, a heavy fog settled over the cobblestone streets of Whitechapel, obscuring my view and muffling even the most distant sounds. I strained to catch any hint of movement in the swirling mist, my heart thrumming in my chest. 

As I turned a corner, a figure darted out from the shadows, moving swiftly down the narrow passageway. Without hesitation, I gave chase. The figure seemed to glide effortlessly through the darkness, disappearing around another corner before I could catch up. When I did, I found myself in a short alley with no exit. A low growl came from a dark corner. My mouth dried as I recognized it—the same as from the creature we had encountered on the moors. Through the fog, a pair of eyes glowed dimly, and they came closer.

In that moment, instinct took over, and I raised my revolver, aiming at the beast with steady hands. As it lunged toward me, I fired. The bullet flew just over its head, and the beast dropped to the ground, landing at my feet. 

The transformation was faster than the one I witnessed in Grimpen Mire, but this one shook me to my core. Sherlock Holmes lay before me. I removed my coat and placed it over his naked form.

When I did so, he raised his head and squinted at me. “Watson?”

The events had stilled my tongue, I could only nod in response.

He glanced around him, then let a low moan. “Not again.”

He took a moment to compose himself, his eyes still glazed with the remnants of the transformation. When he tried to sit up, I reached out to help him, supporting his weight. Once on his feet, he pulled my overcoat around him.

“One of my bolt holes is not far from here," he said. "I can change into spare clothes there.”

Given the fog and scarcity of others on the streets, we were able to make it to a tenement house without Holmes, barefoot and dressed only in an overcoat, attracting any undo attention. Despite the seedy surroundings, I found Holmes’ small room quite comfortable. He lit a single candle that cast shadows across the peeling wallpaper and worn furniture. A small bed piled high with blankets, a plush armchair by the window, and a small writing desk in the corner gave it a cozy feeling. While he retrieved a set of clothes from a small wardrobe, I settled into the armchair, finding it surprisingly soft. When he sat down on the bed's edge to shove his feet into a pair of boots, I handed him the brandy flask I carried with me for medical emergencies.

He took a long draught, then handed it back to me. Color immediately returned to his pale cheeks.

“What’s going on, old friend?” I asked after my own dose from the flask.

“I think you know. I was bitten by a werewolf and now….”

A rock formed in the pit of my stomach. “You are one.”

“Just how did you…change me?”

“You’re not the only one who can read Baring-Gould’s treatise. I fired a silver bullet over your head just like the publican.”

“But what if it hadn’t worked?” He buried his head in his hands. “What if I…. What if I had attacked you?”

As much as it grieved me to say so, I said in a harsh whisper, “My revolver had more bullets.” In a stronger voice, I said, “But I had no idea I was shooting you. I thought…. I thought…. I don’t know what I thought, other than it was some stranger.” When he raised his head from his hands, I asked, “What are we going to do now?”

Without hesitating, he replied, “Find a cure, of course.”

“Tomorrow is the last full moon of the month.”

“I have a temporary solution, but it requires you to be strong.” He opened the door to the tenement hallway and said, “Let’s get back to Baker Street. We have work to do.”

To be continued....

Those links again:

Texas Author and Reader Con: website

Bouchercon: here

Booksweeps Giveaway: here

If your email begins km_odo*******, email me at liese@liesesherwoodfabre.com for your $5 Amazon or Apple gift card!

Until Next Month!

Liese