Chapter Text
Luminara had just finished her morning meditation and was preparing to greet the rest of the temple for the day, when a new presence came to her senses and she swept towards it. There was a being directly outside of her door- a reptilian of some sort, who came up to her shoulder and whose tunic was messily tied.
They looked up at her with a wide, toothy grin, clutching a datapad to their chest. “Hi! My name is Ra’ult, and I’m in Clawmouse Clan. For my Cultures of the Galaxy class, we had to come up with a project to explore diff- diff-er-ent cultures. I decided to make my project about foodways and cooking styles, so I’m going to a bunch of masters and asking them to teach me a recipe from their home planet. Do you have time to teach me a recipe?”
One of the younglings, of course- she hadn’t been in the crèche in much too long, to not know the most recent arrivals. Her mind warned her that she had lots of work to do today, but… the youngling looked so earnest, and it really had been such a long time since she’d cooked anything from home.
The force had sent her an opportunity to be nostalgic, and also to gift her knowledge and memories to another. The datawork could wait. She smiled softly, and welcomed them in, “That sounds wonderful, young one- you’ve come up with a very creative project, and I would be delighted to help you.”
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Ra’ult had never seen Master Unduli’s quarters before- it was very tidy and neat, sparsely decorated. She had a large collection of holonovels on a shelf, and a lovely tapestry on the wall- it had a black background and lots of gold and red embroidery.
The rooms smelled like incense smoke and spices and ink and the dusty woodiness of old paper. They felt like if they touched the table, they could hear the brushstrokes, or the precise, crinkly folding of paper.
Master Unduli didn’t seem to have to decide what she would make, heading straight for the kitchenette counter and sliding a decorated clay vessel forwards. “I was gifted this vessel by a village elder after resolving their dispute with the neighboring town. It is a traditional cooking vessel in the region, called a tagine, and made with clay from the region’s sacred river. The shape of this vessel allows even cooking and steaming of the food inside, which retains all the flavors in the food.”
The vessel was glossed, painted with lovely patterns that circled its width in many colors. She let Ra’ult touch the tagine- it was smooth and solid, its red-brown shade reminding them of the clay Shis’rah made pots with, and it had a ringing echo when they tapped their claws against its bowl. They could smell the river sediments in it, as well as the kiln it had been baked in, the fire embedding itself into the vessel.
Clay pots were important to Ra’ult’s people, because they were viewed as being made with the body of the land and were used to promote abundance, in the hopes that food would sprout from the pots just as it did from the soil the pots were made of. They wondered if Mirialans had the same view around their cooking vessels.
The master removed a container from her fridger, and Ra’ult could smell chilled meat, likely nerf, inside the glass. She must have been planning on making something like this dish already- they had good timing.
She set the meat out on a cutting board, leaving it aside for the moment to caress the side of the tagine, as if it were a treasured loved one.
“Another characteristic of this dish is that everything, from mixing to cooking, can be done inside it.” Master Unduli gestured to the small jars she had lined up on the counter, and began carefully measuring out portions of each of their contents and dusting them into the bottom dish of the tagine- they were brightly colored spices, powders in fiery reds and yellows and oranges.
Once she’d added the butter, oil, and honey, she instructed Ra’ult to mix it all together- what resulted was a vaguely yellow-brown sauce with a very distinct, tantalizing scent. They scented the air, already anticipating the meal that would result. Master Unduli finished thickly slicing the meat and mixed it all together in the sauce, coating the meat evenly.
“The meat needs to rest for a while- in the meantime, would you like to help me with something?” Ra’ult nodded enthusiastically, always happy to help.
Master Unduli settled into a seiza position in front of the low table in the center of the room, pulling a sleek black box to her from its seat in the middle of the table. There was what appeared to be a scroll atop it.
“Calligraphy is a very ancient art- it relies on steadiness of hand, and precise, flowing movements. It can almost be considered a sort of dance with your arms.” She rolled her arms into a soft, sinuous motion, almost like a saber kata, “You must become the water, the air- being open and smooth is vital to portraying the soul of the writing.”
Ra’ult was entranced. Varanol had no written language- their stories were passed down orally, and even the idea of recording things outside of carved statues had been entirely foreign to them when they arrived on Coruscant.
But they had become fascinated by it, as the masters and their friends helped them learn to read. Spomen had introduced them to the concept of reading with their hands, from his braille datapads- Ra’ult’s clawpads didn’t have the sensitivity to feel out the minute variations in the letters, but they were learning.
They also had a very difficult time writing with utensils, but once Crechemaster Taila had given them a stylus to fit over their claw, they had become a quick typer. And of course Master Nu had taken them under her wing, helping them learn the Old Text that covered the temple, and assuring them that there was so much knowledge and history in those carvings to be discovered.
But this was new to them, as well. Scroll-art was only found in the deeper portions of the archives, and they weren’t allowed there unsupervised, because the scrolls were all so old and delicate. They had always thought of them as something ancient, pages forever frayed and yellowed with age- they had never thought what they would look like new and fresh like this.
Ra’ult carefully took the scroll in hand, examining it closely. This paper wasn’t like the flimsi they used for drawing and painting in the crèche- it had texture, a fibrous, hand-spun kind of thing, and an off-white cream color like teryx eggs. It smelled like paper maché and wood.
Master Unduli noticed their interest, and ran her fingers over the paper illustratively, “I made this paper myself, under the tutelage of Master Che- she makes all the paper used by the council scribe, for official documents.”
From the box she pulled a variety of items- a small glass jar, a braid of twine, a roll of silk fabric, and an opaque bottle. All these things were set precisely in front of her, and Master Unduli uncapped the opaque bottle to show Ra’ult the dark liquid inside.
She explained, “I use the soot from my incense burners, mixing it with a fixative- a sort of powdered tree sap- and water to create the liquid ink. This adds to the spiritual nature of my practice.” Ra’ult nodded, making a mental note to write that down later- now that they focused, they could smell some resinous, spicy incense scent in the ink.
She next turned to the glass bottle, putting it in front of her. “And now I am making an inkwell, to use for my next few pages.” “Why do you need to make a new one?” “Because the old ones dry out eventually, if not used up. The ink is stored safely, but it cannot be used except in an inkwell.”
Master Unduli handed Ra’ult the braid of thread, and asked, “Here, child- would you unravel some strands of this braid for me? It is called likka, made of silk thread, and will make up a sort of ink pad inside the well, to soak up the ink and keep it from drying out. This silk is from the Correllian temple- they have an excellent silk-production craft.”
Ra’ult listened intently, carefully separating individual threads with the tips of their claws and making a neat pile on the table. They pressed the threads they had unraveled into a ball, pushing it into the bottom of the small glass bottle as Master Unduli had shown.
Meanwhile, the Mirialan master unrolled the fabric bundle, revealing that there were several wooden sticks secured inside a lovely embroidered case. “Calligraphy brushes of this kind are typically made from wood- I have several here of different types. Can you tell which plants they are from?” Ra’ult looked over the brushes carefully, grazing over the grain of them in the force.
One was slightly bendy and held the memory of thorns and bright, full flowers. “Is this a flower stem?” “Yes, it is common for calligraphy brushes to be made of rose stems, or other canes, as they are more flexible and create better lines. You see here, there is no hair or fiber as for a paint brush- this split at the end allows it to trap the ink and write smoothly." She dipped the brush delicately into the inkwell, and Ra’ult noted how the tight nest of silk strands kept it from collecting too much ink.
It seemed as if the page wherever the brush touched was consumed in a deep, endless blackness- a smooth, seamless line of dark following her brush across the page, like she was lining the paper with obsidian.
Ra’ult remembered the knives made of obsidian on Tre’aran, the pendants, the black mirrors meant for meditation- their deep blackness had always been a color that represented mindfulness for their people, a search for knowledge and understanding in the unknown.
“What do the words mean?” “This is a poem, written by a scholar a long, long time ago. The phrase I am working on today is a section of it- it reads, ‘the bones of the dead are beneath me. / They know me, / though I do not know them.’”
Ra’ult tilted their head in thought, “What does that mean?” She smiled slightly, continuing to write in her slow, methodical manner. “Poems rarely mean only one thing, little one. It could be a reflection on the common nature of mortality, or a rumination on cultural continuity and the memory of one’s ancestors, or a reaction to tragedy and loss of a people. It could be all of these, or something else entirely. I typically take the time while I work to meditate on the meaning of the phrase I am writing.” “Oh.” Ra’ult settled in and was silent, watching raptly.
After she’d finished with the page, she rose from the cushion, “I believe the meat has marinated long enough- time to cook.” She set the bottom dish of the tagine over the hot plate on the counter and turned on the heat, settling a tea kettle on another burner. “Now, I’d like you to turn the meat. They just need a bit of cooking on the outsides, to seal in the flavor.”
While the meat was cooking on the counter, she sliced and added in aromatics, onions, and more spices. Ra’ult eagerly scented the air- they always enjoyed that first rush of scent when aromatics started cooking, the sharp release of fragrance. Then the lid went on with a clack, and it was set to cook on the counter.
“And now we simply let it cook a while- this is usually a time for tea and small appetizers, where bowls of fruits and nuts will be set out. Many important decisions have been made in the time just before the meal is ready. It is said that if a decision cannot be made in the time it takes for tagine to finish, then it is not a decision meant for those people and they must seek out a neutral party.”
She took the kettle off the heat and brought it to the low table, setting it on a round slate disk alongside a small ceramic jar and spooning a small amount of the jar’s contents into two mugs. “This tea is called ‘loomi’- it is made from dried citrus. The kitchens here work hard to waste as little as possible, so they keep the citrus peels and pulp from making other dishes and dry them for tea and seasonings.”
Ra’ult squirmed on the cushion, “I can’t wait ‘til I’m old enough to take a turn in the kitchen- it all smells so good there, and I wanna help make the food.”
The kitchens were a sort of hub in and of themselves for the Order- an archive for culture and food. Although there was a steady staff, everyone was encouraged to take turns, learning the skills of cooking, expanding their knowledge of dishes and sharing their own. The stories told in the kitchens over bubbling pots and the rhythm of stirring and chopping were always stories of home, of family and friends and warmth and tasty dishes.
And those dishes in the refectory were always so diverse, made by so many hands and from so many different planets and cultures and ingredients. Ra’ult loved to try all of them, even the ones that made them sick because they couldn’t eat grains, and Healer Che had despaired at them many times for deliberately eating things that would hurt later.
But they tasted so good, and there were so many stories behind them, and Ra’ult could feel the love and care that had gone into every dish.
The force was always light with it in the refectory, that warm hug of knowing someone made this with the hopes that you would enjoy it and appreciate their effort and care. It was a large part of why Ra’ult had chosen the subject they did for their project.
They were waiting with bated breath for when their clan would finally be considered old enough to be allowed in the kitchens- the younglings had been given tasks like making dumplings and peeling fruits and decorating things since they had the dexterity for it, but the kitchens required a certain awareness of their surroundings, with knives and hot objects and people carrying things, and they had to be deemed responsible enough before they were allowed to join the bustle.
Ra’ult eagerly grasped at the mug that was slid towards them, taking in the scent of the tea. It was bright and citrusy, with the almost syrupy sweetness of dried fruit. They took a cautious sip, and grimaced slightly, “Ooh, it’s really sour. But it smells good!”
Master Unduli nudged the pot of honey towards them with the force, and they sheepishly added some to their tea, trying again. “Now it tastes yummy.” “Your people are sensitive to sour tastes, yes?” They nodded, chirping, “Yep- because of our tongues and where the vo-… vo-mer-oh-nas-al organ is in our snouts.”
Not long before the tagine was meant to be done, Master Unduli beckoned them back to the counter, and they watched as she began to cook rice in a pot, setting it to steam until after they had finished eating.
Time flew after that, and it was only minutes before the master decided it was time to check their meal. It felt like opening a present, cracking the tagine’s lid and peeking inside. The smell was wonderful- the almost sweet savoriness of stewed meat and the sharp caramelization of onions amidst the haze of lovely spices and herbs.
“For fancy occasions, the dish can be decorated with stewed fruits and nuts as well.” She glanced at Ra’ult, the smallest of smiles dancing at the corner of her lips, “But I rather believe it is time to eat, don’t you?” They nodded excitedly, nearly bouncing in anticipation of tasting the dish.
The meat was tender and flavorful, having been infused with all the flavor of the herbs and spices and kept moist by the tagine, and the onions were soft in that way Ra’ult always enjoyed. There were so many flavors, all warming and creating a delicious palette around the nerf- they were reminded of that stall in the market that sold spices, the enormous piles of them nearly hiding the seller from view.
The dish made Ra’ult feel warm inside, like the food had lit a small furnace in their belly. They’d need to find a nice spot in a sunbeam to digest after this- Prescho could always be relied on to take a nap with them.
The rice continued to cook on the counter, and Ra’ult’s curiosity was turned to it every time the scent of it wafted to them. Once they had both finished with their meals, Master Unduli made to tend to the rice again.
With the addition of the bantha milk and some extra cooking, it had thickened to a sort of porridge consistency. The master added some last touches, dashing from a selection of small jars and bottles on the counter, before declaring the dish finished.
It smelled so comfortable, like warming spices and some perfumed, almost floral scent amidst the sweet, creamy starch of rice and milk. She carefully served two small bowls of the steaming, fragrant rice porridge, settling one in front of Ra’ult.
“This is a very common dessert on Mirial. You can make it in many different ways, and there are many regional variants- I often change the style depending on what I have on hand. Most commonly in cold seasons, it is made with warming spices, but in the heat, it can be served chilled and made with floral syrups.”
The reptilian’s tongue flicked out, licking their lips to chase the taste, “Wow- we made lots of foods with the wild rices that grow in the water-fields, but none like that.” “What kinds of foods, young one?” Ra’ult’s tail thudded against the cushion in excitement, “Ooh, I really like it steamed in mai’a leaves to eat with roasted fish or stewed fruit. And it’s good in soups, too, and beaten into flours and pastes. Wild rices are the base of a lot of our food, ‘cause it’s the only grain we can digest.”
They giggled, squirming giddily in their seat, “It feels like it’s sticking to the sides of my stomach.” She winked, allowing the slightest smirk to tilt her lips, “I will admit to making this for early meal occasionally, when I feel I need the extra warmth.” Coruscant was a great deal colder than the arid plains and mountains of Mirial, after all.
Ra’ult noticed the nostalgic glint in the master’s eyes. “So, does making this food make you feel good? ‘Cause it’s remembering where you came from? I sometimes miss the black rices from home. The red rice from Alderaan tastes almost like it, but not enough. Bar’lecua, too.”
She hummed, setting down her spoon into the empty bowl, “It does make me remember, yes. I am sure you more than most understand how scent is connected to memory, and can stir up things we have not remembered or felt in a long time. I am lucky in that the ingredients for my preferred cuisine are not difficult to find- they can often be found in the markets of Coruscant, and the Order goes out of its way to make sure we have access to our cultures as much as possible.”
Her eyes came back to the present, a warm light in them. “You spoke of being excited to help out in the kitchens- I was much the same when I was a youngling, and I still look forward to it whenever I get the chance. Mirialans take great care in our food, because it is a gift from the force, from the planet that sustains us. Hospitality is very important in my culture, and we have a responsibility to take care of our fellows, even those who are strangers to us.
"Food is a sign of that care, and a symbol of love- when you feed someone, they become family. And continuing that cycle strengthens bonds between people. When I help in the kitchens, I feel like I am giving to my community, and providing for my family- showing my love for our people, and my gratefulness to the force for all it provides.”
Ra’ult nodded in understanding, then tilted their head in thought for a moment, “So can I make something for you sometime, then?” She smiled, a small but genuine thing, “I look forward to it, young one.”