派手なターン

That night at supper Sam looked for Jon Snow, but did not see him anywhere in the cavernous stone vault where the brothers now took their meals. He finally took a place on the bench near his other friends. Pyp was telling Dolorous Edd about the contest they’d had to see which of the straw soldiers could collect the most wildling arrows. “You were leading most of the way, but Watt of Long Lake got three in the last day and passed you.” 

“I never win anything,” Dolorous Edd complained. “The gods always smiled on Watt, though. When the wildlings knocked him off the Bridge of Skulls, somehow he landed in a nice deep pool of water. How lucky was that, missing all those rocks?”  “Was it a long fall?” Grenn wanted to know. “Did landing in the pool of water save his life?”  “No,” said Dolorous Edd. “He was dead already, from that axe in his head. Still, it was pretty lucky, missing the rocks.” 

Three-Finger Hobb had promised the brothers roast haunch of mammoth that night, maybe in hopes of cadging a few more votes. If that was his notion, he should have found a younger mammoth, Sam thought, as he pulled a string of gristle out from between his teeth. Sighing, he pushed the food away.  There would be another vote shortly, and the tensions in the air were thicker than the smoke. Cotter Pyke sat by the fire, surrounded by rangers from Eastwatch. Ser Denys Mallister was near the door with a smaller group of Shadow Tower men. Janos Slynt has the best place, Sam realized,  and the drafts. He was alarmed to see Bowen Marsh beside him, wan-faced and haggard, his head still wrapped in linen, but listening to all that Lord Janos had to say. When he pointed that out to his friends, Pyp said, “And look down there, that’s Ser Alliser whispering with Othell Yarwyck.”  After the meal Maester Aemon rose to ask if any of the brothers wished to speak before they cast their tokens. Dolorous Edd got up, stone-faced and glum as ever. he wondered.  “Brothers who want him out of the kitchens?” said Clydas.  “Ser Denys is down ten votes since yesterday,” Sam pointed out. “And Cotter Pyke is down almost twenty. That’s not good.”  “Not good for their hopes of becoming Lord Commander, certainly,” said Maester Aemon.

 Robb could not deny the sense of that. Yet all the same, he resents me for it, Catelyn thought wearily. He misses Jeyne already, and some part of him blames me for her absence, though he knows it was good counsel. 

Of the six Westerlings who had come with her son from the Crag, only one remained by his side; Ser Raynald, Jeyne’s brother, the royal banner-bearer. Robb had dispatched Jeyne’s uncle Rolph Spicer to deliver young Martyn Lannister to the Golden Tooth the very day he received Lord Tywin’s assent to the exchange of captives. It was deftly done. Her son was relieved of his fear for Martyn’s safety, Galbart Glover was relieved to hear that his brother Robett had been put on a ship at Duskendale, Ser Rolph had important and honorable employment... and Grey Wind was at the king’s side once more. Where he belongs.  Lady Westerling had remained at Riverrun with her children; Jeyne, her little sister Eleyna, and young Rollam, Robb’s squire, who complained bitterly about being left. Yet that was wise as well .

Olyvar Frey had squired for Robb previously, and would doubtless be present for his sister’s wedding; to parade his replacement before him would be as unwise as it was unkind. As for Ser Raynald, he was a cheerful young knight who swore that no insult of Walder Frey’s could possibly provoke him. And let us pray that insults are all we need to contend with.  Catelyn had her fears on that score, though. Her lord father had never trusted Walder Frey after the Trident, and she was ever mindful of that. Queen Jeyne  the high, strong walls of Riverrun, with the Blackfish to protect her. Robb had even created him a new title, Warden of the Southern Marches . Ser Brynden would hold the Trident if any man could.  All the same, Catelyn would miss her uncle’s craggy face, and Robb would miss his counsel. Ser Brynden had played a part in every victory her son had won. Galbart Glover had taken command of the scouts and outriders in his place; a good man, loyal and steady, but without the Blackfish’s brilliance.  Behind Glover’s screen of scouts, Robb’s line of march stretched several miles. The Greatjon led the van. Catelyn traveled in the main column, surrounded by plodding warhorses with steelclad men on their backs. Next came the baggage train, a procession of wayns laden with food, fodder, camp supplies, wedding gifts, and the wounded too weak to walk, under the watchful eye of Ser Wendel Manderly and his White Harbor knights. Herds of sheep and goats and scrawny cattle trailed behind, and then a little tail of footsore camp followers. Even farther back was Robin Flint and the rearguard reenex.

  Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is. He could

ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.  Their sleeping room was at the top of the stairs, under the eaves A Bar Math. Maybe the Peach had no lack of beds, but

there was only one to spare for the likes of them. It was a big bed, though. It filled the whole room, just about, and the musty straw-stuffed mattress looked large

enough for all of them. just now, though, she had it to herself. Her real clothes were hanging from a peg on the wall, between Gendry’s stuff and Lem’s. Arya took

off the linen and lace, pulled her tunic over her head, climbed up into the bed, and burrowed under the blankets. “Queen Cersei,” she whispered into the pillow.

“King Joffrey, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn. Dunsen, Raff, and Polliver. The Tickler, the Hound, and Ser Gregor the Mountain.” She liked to mix up the order of the names

sometimes. It helped her remember who they were and what they’d done. Maybe some of them are dead, she thought. Maybe they’re in iron cages someplace, and the

crows are picking out their eyes.  Sleep came as quick as she closed her eyes. She dreamed of wolves that night, stalking through a wet wood with the smell of rain

and rot and blood thick in the air. Only they were good smells in the dream, and Arya knew she had nothing to fear. She was strong and swift and fierce, and her pack

was all around her, her brothers and her sisters. They ran down a frightened horse together, tore its throat out, and feasted. And when the moon broke through the

clouds, she threw back her head and howled.  But when the day came, she woke to the barking of dogs.  Arya sat up yawning. Gendry was stirring on her left and Lem

Lemoncloak snoring loudly to her right, but the baying outside all but drowned him out. There must be half a hundred dogs out there. She crawled from under the

blankets and hopped over Lem, Tom, and Jack-Be-Lucky to the window. When she opened the shutters wide, wind and wet and cold all came flooding in together. The day

was grey and overcast. Down below, in the square, the dogs were barking, running in circles, growling and howling. There , great black mastiffs and

lean wolfhounds and black-and-white sheepdogs and kinds Arya did not know, shaggy brindled beasts with long yellow teeth. Between the inn and the fountain, a dozen

riders sat astride their horses, watching the townsmen open the fat man’s cage and tug his arm until his swollen corpse spilled out onto the ground. The dogs were

at him at once, tearing chunks of flesh off his bones. Arya heard one of the riders laugh. “Here’s your new castle , you bloody Lannister bastard,” he said. “A

little snug for the likes o’ you, but we’ll squeeze you in, never fret.” Beside him a prisoner sat sullen, with coils of hempen rope tight around his wrists. Some

of the townsmen were throwing dung at him, but he never flinched. “You’ll rot in them cages,” his captor was shouting. “The crows will be picking out your eyes

while we’re spending all that good Lannister gold o’ yours! And when them crows are done, we’ll send what’s left o’ you to your bloody brother. Though I doubt he

’ll know you.”  The noise had woken half the Peach. Gendry squeezed into the window beside Arya, and Tom stepped up behind them naked as his name day polar“What’s all

that bloody shouting?” Lem complained from bed. “A man’s trying to get some bloody sleep.”

Ever thought of having perogies for breakfast ? You’ve probably had the cherry, blueberry  or sweet ricotta cheese perogies for breakfast and treated them as pancakes right? But what about the potato ones!?! If you love perogies as much as we do, you would probably want to eat them anytime of the day !

If you are in need of inspiration for you next Sunday brunch or breakfast and need to satisfy that perogie craving, this is for you! Perogie hash with fried eggs. Not only does it sound yummy, but it is truly divine!

As you may know, I have the chance to work with Pelmen Food, a Canadian food company that makes the best frozen perogies on the market and creating exciting recipes using their awesome product. For this breakfast perogies hash, I have used their potato and cheddar perogies, but you can use any of their potato flavours, the choice is yours YOOX HK!

This is such a fun way to eat perogies. It’s made like any other regular hash, but the perogies replace the potatoes! Since these perogies are frozen raw, you need to cook them first in a pot a salty water, than drain, and transfer them with the other ingredients, top this awesome breakfast hash with fried eggs and enjoy your Sunday morning dermes vs medilase!