The village square buzzed with anticipation.
Colorful fabric streamers hung from the trees, fluttering in the warm spring breeze. Baskets overflowed with fresh produce—red-veined roots, pale green squash, golden tubers, clusters of blue beans, and fruits that looked like glowing pears. Children darted between the barrels of cider and flour sacks, giggling as they played tag under the sun.
It was the first day of Elderwood's Spring Harvest Festival.
And Noura had never felt this nervous in her life.
"Breathe," Lira said beside her, adjusting a crate of eggs. "It's just a feast."
Noura gave her a dry look. "A feast for the entire village. Outdoors. Over open fire pits. With ingredients I've never cooked in bulk before. Oh, and with half the villagers watching my every move because I promised them something 'unforgettable.'"
Lira chuckled. "You're the one who made that speech last week."
"I panicked."
"You said, and I quote, 'Let me cook something worthy of your fields, your stories, and your spring.'"
Noura groaned. "Why didn't anyone stop me?"
Garrick walked by carrying two bundles of chopped wood and smirked. "Because it sounded inspiring."
***
The villagers had been preparing for weeks. Every family contributed something—produce, herbs, meat, dairy, or simply labor. The plan was simple: everyone would cook something. Some shared ancestral recipes; others opted for roasted vegetables or stews.
Noura, however, wanted to make something different. Something that could become a memory.
So she promised to cook three dishes from her homeland:
Semur Ayam — braised chicken in sweet soy-based gravy.Sambal Goreng Kentang — stir-fried diced potatoes with spice and crunch.Sayur Tumis — stir-fried vegetables with garlic and wild greens.
Simple food.
Comfort food.
And now she was surrounded by barrels of forest hen meat, mountains of tubers, crates of wild greens, and a divine satchel buzzing with expectation.
***
She assigned her helpers quickly.
Lira and Maren cleaned and cut vegetables.
Garrick handled the fire pits and heavy pots.
Elsa took charge of the spices—her tiny fingers shockingly precise with measurements.
Noura focused on the core sauces.
For the Semur Ayam-style gravy, she blended:
caramelized wild shallots,forest garlic,crushed sunroot (a substitute for nutmeg),ground sweet-root bark (which gave depth similar to cinnamon),mashed berry paste for a hint of fruitiness,and a sticky, dark syrup made from fermented mountain sap—her stand-in for kecap manis.
She tested a small pot on the divine burner.
When the thick, brown liquid bubbled and coated the back of the spoon, she dipped a piece of bread in and tasted.
Sweet. Savory. Smoky. A little floral.
Not Jakarta.
But close.
***
Next, she moved to the Sambal Goreng Kentang adaptation.
The potatoes here weren't quite the same—more starchy, closer to taro—but they fried into crisp cubes. She set Elsa to watch over them as she prepared the spice base:
sunroot again,fermented red berry paste (her faux-chili),minced garlic and shallot,herb oil infused with forest lime rind.
She sautéed everything until it darkened and gave off a fragrant punch.
When she mixed the fried cubes in, the coating sizzled, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.
"Chef!" Garrick called from the fire pits. "One of the pans caught—"
FWOOSH.
The leftmost skillet flared with flame.
Noura sprinted over, cloak flying, and clapped the lid over it. Smoke poured upward.
They waited.
Then Garrick lifted the lid.
The bottom of the pan was black.
Not completely ruined—but certainly not usable today.
Noura sighed and rubbed her forehead. "That's one pan lost."
Lira patted her shoulder. "It's not a real feast until something burns."
***
As the sun moved overhead, more villagers arrived, bringing additional ingredients and energy. Bram delivered a small barrel of pickled vegetables. The village chief, Alder Hawthorne, personally handed her a small pouch of dried red mushrooms.
"For depth," he said simply. "We used these in stews when food was scarce."
"Thank you," Noura said, and meant it.
By late afternoon, the food stations were in full motion.
With time running short, Noura took a deep breath and moved on to the next dish: Indonesian-style stir-fried vegetables. Though the ingredients in this village were different, she was determined to recreate the familiar flavors.
"Maren, slice the vegetables thinly! Garrick, heat the pan over medium fire!" she called, already gripping her wooden spatula.
She worked with what was available:
Leafy greens similar to water spinach, gathered from the riverbanks,Wild forest mushrooms, chewy like wood ear fungi,Tender vine shoots, crisp as bean sprouts,Minced garlic and shallots,A splash of citrus-infused herb oil for brightness.
With swift movements, Noura sautéed the aromatics until fragrant, then tossed in the vegetables one by one. "Don't overcook them—keep them crisp!" she instructed, flipping them expertly. She added a dash of fermented sauce as a substitute for soy sauce and a pinch of roasted seed powder for umami.
Once the vegetables were perfectly wilted yet still vibrant, Noura quickly transferred them to a serving platter. "Done! Stir-fry is ready!"
The smells drew a crowd.
"Makes me want to eat my vegetables," Bram muttered.
Alder hovered nearby. "That scent... reminds me of the sea. And we're nowhere near one."
Noura grinned. "That's the forest lime. It tricks your brain."
Mika showed up, eyes wide and mouth already open.
"Don't even ask," Noura warned playfully. "Wait for the feast."
***
Time was slipping away. Noura glanced at the villagers already gathering in the festival square. She still needed a dessert! Without hesitation, she grabbed thick, homemade yogurt fermented in earthen jars.
"Elsa, chop up some fresh fruit!"
Elsa swiftly diced:
Red berries resembling strawberries,Small yellow melon-like orbs,Juicy purple fruits with honeyed sweetness.
Noura mixed the fruit with yogurt, then drizzled wildflower honey and sprinkled crushed toasted nuts on top. "Simple fruit salad, but refreshing," she murmured in satisfaction.
Just as the sun began to set, Noura raised her hands. "Everything's ready!"
The long table was now laden with:
Forest-style Semur Ayam, its thick gravy rich and smoky-sweet,Adapted Sambal Goreng Kentang, spicy and aromatic,Crisp stir-fried vegetables, vibrant and savory,Cool yogurt fruit salad, a sweet finish.
The villagers crowded around, their eyes wide with awe. "You really are a kitchen sorceress, Noura!" Garrick exclaimed, inhaling the mouthwatering scents filling the air.
Noura grinned. "Now… let the Festival begin!"
***
As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the square, the dishes were lined up on long tables under embroidered cloths. Villagers brought bread, pies, smoked meat, pickled eggs, fruit preserves, and countless other offerings.
Noura's station was in the center.
Three massive pots. Three recipes. Her promise made visible.
She took a moment to breathe.
Her hands were blistered. Her apron stained.
Her heart full.
She looked around—at the children sneaking berries, the elders sharing benches, the laughter rising from every corner.
Then she turned to the simmering semur pot, grabbed a ladle, and said quietly:
"Let's begin."
The first bowls went to the village elders, as tradition demanded. Agnes Thornbrook took one bite, then looked up sharply.
"This... this tastes like something I forgot I missed."
Alder followed with a grunt of satisfaction. "It's like stew. But not. Deeper. Sweeter. Bolder."
Soon, the line formed.
The Sambal Goreng Kentang was a crowd favorite. The crispy cubes soaked in spice with just a hint of heat caused delighted gasps and second helpings.
Mika danced in place after his first bite. "It crunches and then explodes!" he said. "My tongue is happy!"
The Sayur Tumis turned skeptics into believers. Children who turned up noses at greens reached for second servings. The forest lime oil was magic.
"I want to eat this every day," Elsa declared.
As dusk faded into night and lanterns lit the square, someone struck up a tune on a reed flute. Others clapped in rhythm. Soon, the meal became music. Dancers spun. Cups clinked. Bread broke. Hearts opened.
Noura leaned against the charred pan from earlier, now resting near the fire pit.
She smiled at it.
"Guess you're part of the story now."
Lira appeared at her side, handing her a cup of fruit cider.
"You did it," she said. "You cooked for the whole village."
"I almost didn't," Noura murmured.
"But you did. You promised. Even with a burnt pan."
They drank in silence.
Later that night, Noura returned to her kitchen, barefoot, carrying the old burnt pan in one hand.
She hung it above the hearth.
A reminder:
Even burnt things can hold beauty. Even ruined plans can feed joy. And a promise, once made with love, will find its way to warmth.
She opened her grandmother's book and wrote:
Feast of Spring — Elderwood
Semur Ayam (Elder-style)
Forest hen piecesCaramelized shallots, forest garlicSunroot powder, sweet-root barkMashed berry pasteFermented mountain sap syrupSimmer slowly in large pot
Sambal Goreng Kentang
Diced tubers (fried crisp)Fermented red berry pasteGarlic, shallot, herb oil with lime rindMix and stir-fry
Sayur Tumis
Wild greens, sprouts, forest beansGarlic oil, saltflowerStir-fry until just tender
Beneath it, she added:
I cooked with my fear. I burned one pan. I fed a village.
And that, she thought, was more than enough.
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