A novel is a big thing full of hearty appetites. Even a short story needs a snack. Writers may go to great effort thinking of every other feature of a character's life and lifestyle but may not offer them any sustenance. Food is an afterthought - unless it is central to the scene. On the other hand, do readers really want to know everything that goes into a character's mouth?
One thing that stood out as I read through George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones books is his attention to what his characters ate. The descriptions were often detailed and made me want to sit down at the table to dine with them. At first it seemed annoying but then I began to think about the kinds of food they really did consume back then, although the fantasy world menu seemed an awful lot like medieval fare from Earth history.
I found the same food feature in Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series. It seemed every chapter this character or that one were eating and he included every item of food and drink, including brand names. I liked it at first because I could feel like I was in Sweden eating typical Swedish food. But then it became annoying whenever the scene stopped to share with readers the menu of Lisbeth's latest snack.
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The full English breakfast will get you through a day
of plowing fields behind a pair of oxen. |
When I labored in an MFA program, trying to write the perfect New Yorker-style story, I met with the professor when I was frustrated about what to write. It seemed I could never please him. Character-driven stories, he explained in effusive terms. "I want to know everything about him. I want to know what he had for breakfast!" So I took him at his word and made sure to include food in every story I wrote for the workshop. That "inside joke" has continued in my writing.
I try to walk the fine line between appetizer and dessert. I offer the main dishes but do not go into lavish descriptions of process and procedure, of recipe and presentation. Unless it is integral to the point of the scene. Let's face it: most of what we eat is only to ward off hunger pains.
Fewer people today, I would guess, dine as entertainment. Sure, eating is fun; tasting food is a form of entertainment, whether it is in a luxurious restaurant or at a street vendor's cart. The scent of food cooking, the spice or sweet of it, the texture of sinking your teeth in the perfect pork belly with just the right dab of Southern barbecue sauce on it, or the crunch of a baguette as you bite into it, the smoothness of a particular local cheese which has both Hatch peppers and blueberries in it - all are delights. And our characters should enjoy what we offer them to eat as much as we do.
So what if your protagonist likes the same foods as you do? Are those foods available there? If your protagonist is on a quest, roughing it, what kinds of food did he bring or will he find along the way? If you eat Vegan, should your heroine eat no meat also? Is that a political decision or a literary decision? A tough warrior is more likely to dine on roast boar than a fresh spring greens salad - or so I've heard. You can make up foods, too:
I'nar'r stuffed the boiled guffee into his mouth and bit hard through its outer shell, causing the purple juice to run down his chin and his lips to pucker.
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| A lovely spread of Korean dishes. |
We don't know exactly what guffee is but we can imagine its size, shape, texture, and color, perhaps it's taste, too. It's part of the research, if you're writing about a real place. As much as fashion and speaking styles. It's probably more fun to try an ancient recipe on a page than in your own kitchen. And don't forget the manners at the dining table, the order of serving, the placement of items. They vary quite a bit; in fantasy they may vary considerably, e.g.: Due to the Klingon's propensity to always be fighting, only small snacks are served, mostly finger foods, and nothing that would take more than a couple minutes to down.
Famous meals my characters have eaten:
In A BEAUTIFUL CHILL, our two protagonists enjoy cooking a batch of chili, the perfect romantic food, right?
They both worked to put the
chili together. She skillfully wielded the carving knife on the vegetables,
cutting them down to size, especially the carrots for the salad. She took one
carrot and licked the cut end seductively as he pretended to ignore her. Watching
the way she cut carrots made him uneasy. He turned away and mixed the chili
base in a large pot, measuring out the chili powder and Worcestershire sauce
like a scientist. He threw the big clump of ground sirloin into the skillet and
they watched it sizzle. She stood next to him, and eventually his arm slid
around her waist, later her arm around his, too. When the meat was cooked
enough, Íris snatched a pinch and pushed it into his mouth. It was too hot and
he spit it out into his hand as she laughed. He liked her laugh, and thought of
snowmen and candy canes. They nibbled from the salad bowl as they continued
cooking.
While the chili was
simmering, they went to bed to satisfy their hunger for dessert. It was
midnight before they had dinner.
Out on the road in EPIC FANTASY *WITH DRAGONS, food is hard to come by. Our hero and his sidekick brought traveling food - which leaves much to be desired after having it day after day:
When
the dinner ration was prepared, Tam sauntered over to the communal bowl like he
was the Prince of Lakeland—as Corlan teased him, even throwing a covering over
his shoulders to affect a cape. He took the first portion of the lumpy gray gruel.
One day’s ration, prepared in one bowl. Usually, Corlan took the first portion.
Then Gorral and Rupas, alternating each day who went first. Then the boy got to
scrape up whatever remained in the bowl. Sometimes there was little left so
Corlan, who always held back some of his own until the boy had eaten, would
slip some to him.
“Ugh,
this stuff is getting to be awful,” Gorral dared grumble.
“If
we stayed longer in one place,” said Corlan, “we might go in search of local
game.”
“We
got a drake one time a long time ago,” Tam exclaimed.
When you live "on the ice", like A GIRL CALLED WOLF did, food is hard to come by:
The next seal he pushed between my
feet. He handed me a club and told me to hit the seal’s head with the club. I
did not hesitate. Whack! More hits.
Blood ran from the mouth of the seal and it lay still.
“Good girl,” the man with the red beard
said. “You’ve got deadly hands. The seals are afraid of you!”
I went out with him often to hunt. Sometimes
the man with the red beard visited only a single night yet in good weather he might
stay several days. When he took me out on a hunt, Mama stayed in the hut. She
cooked whatever we brought back—fish, seals, birds, hares.
In summer we gathered berries and bird
eggs. I went with Mama up the mountain slopes and along the shore. She said the
man with the red beard was sailing on the sea during summer. On the big kayak
he would catch many fish, she told me. He would visit later and bring some fish.
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| Don't forget the Pumpkin spice season! |
And what do vampire's eat? Blood mostly. But that seldom makes a gustorially satisfying description. When the hero of A DRY PATCH OF SKIN visits New Orleans to seek treatment for his condition, he partakes of the local cuisine:
Standing
on the corner between my hotel and the parking garage, I heard lively music
playing. I smelled food. After three days without food, I finally felt hungry.
Turning down the street, I chose a place. Inside, I had a dinner of turtle
soup, blackened fish with cornbread and greens. I finished with bread pudding.
For the second half of the meal I wasn’t sure I could finish everything, but my
gut stretched wide and held it. I sat for a while, letting the musicians play
on as I started the digestion process. Then I got into my car and drove.
And remember that MFA story with breakfast? Here it is, from my story "The Preacher Only Shoots Twice":
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| Your heroine could be having noodles. |
When he quietly closed the door
of his Volvo and stepped lightly up the wooden exterior staircase, fake smile
poised, ready to fire at will, he had a premonition that this was not going to
be his day. His snitch had already told him they would all be at home watching
the big football game this afternoon. He knew it would be the perfect time for
a gunpowder sermon. They would break bread together. But feeling the greasy
sausage and grits turning in his belly, the scent of maple syrup on buttermilk
pancakes wafted through his memory. His daughter had loved her mother’s
pancakes. He loved them, too. And Belgian waffles. Fancy omelets with
everything. Fresh-squeezed orange juice and café au lait. Canadian bacon
grilled in a honey-wine sauce, and hash-brown potatoes, on chilly days. On hot
summer mornings they had eaten pecan-mixed multi-grain flakes with peaches or
strawberries and full-fat milk. Powdered sugar-sprinkled blueberry muffins were
his wife’s favorites, he recalled sadly, feeling hungry once again. But he
maintained his strict diet, the stricter the better.
So next time you sit down (or stand) to dine, imagine what your characters would like to eat. How would they order in a rustic tavern? What would they be able to gather off the land as they traveled? How would they prefer their hruks'thoo fried and what sauce would they dip it in? Apparently most people choose the bittersweet jil'il sauce made from the berries of the woohoo tree, but not me. I always choose the umm'thm sauce, which adds a lovely sourness to the hruks'thoo.
Or, if your vampires characters are in Budapest, try the gulyash. It's excellent!
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(C) Copyright 2010-2017 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog.
Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.
You see, I'm used to living my life in five-year plans much like the Communist parties of Russia and China used to do. You have a goal and five years to achieve it. Mine went a bit differently, however. I had a goal and muddled around for five years until I needed to come up with a new goal. So each period of five years has seemed to be a life in and of itself, with no ties to the future or to my own mortality. I have always assumed - based on this pattern - that I would simply start again, start a new plan. And that seemed to work - until this year.
