Devetdesetdnevno žito

Gostilna v Kirkwallu je imela pet miz in ogenj, vrata pa so se odpirala naravnost na ulico iz sivega kamna, na vrhu katere stoji stolnica svetega Magnusa. Polly je sedla za mizo najbliže toploti, kajti po dnevu na vodi druge mize ni."Lahko vidim jedilni list?"je vprašala in dobila kartico z manj jedmi, kot je pričakovala, in z več domačimi.

The bar in Kirkwall had five tables and a fire, and the door opened straight onto a street of grey stone with the cathedral at the top of it. Polly took the table nearest the heat, because after a day on the water there is no other table. "Can I see the menu?" she asked, and got a card with fewer things on it than she expected and more of them local.

"Mi lahko priporočite kakšno dobro jed?"Lastnica je bila čaplja, ptica, kot ustvarjena za stanje za pultom, in brez obotavljanja je priporočila bannock. Bere je ječmen, ki ga tu gojijo že stoletja, šestvrstno žito, ki mu včasih pravijo devetdesetdnevni ječmen, ker dozori dovolj hitro, da opravi svoje znotraj severnega poletja. Zmlet v moko da plosk, temen bannock, ki ima okus po njivi, s katere je prišel.

"Could you recommend a good dish?" The owner was a heron, which is a bird built for standing behind a counter, and she recommended the bannock without hesitation. Bere is a barley they have grown here for centuries, a six-row grain sometimes called the ninety-day barley because it ripens fast enough to finish inside a northern summer. Milled into beremeal it makes a flat, dark bannock that tastes of the field it came out of.

"Imate vegetarijanske jedi?"je vprašala Polly, čaplja pa je pokazala nazaj na isto vrstico na kartici. Bannock, maslo in crowdie, mehak sveži sir, ki so ga na kmetijah delali od nekdaj. Isto žito ima drugo življenje na drugem koncu mesta, v žganjarni pod stolpom, ki obratuje od leta tisoč sedemsto osemindevetdeset in kjer ob pravem jutru vsa ulica diši po toplem sladu.

"Do you have vegetarian options?" Polly asked, and the heron pointed back at the same line on the card. Bannock, butter, and crowdie, the soft fresh cheese the farms have always made. The same grain has a second life across town at the distillery under the tower, working since seventeen ninety-eight, where the whole street smells of warm malt on the right morning.

"Lahko dobimo račun, prosim?"je rekla Polly, ko je bil krožnik prazen, in čaplja si je z njim vzela čas, kar je kompliment. Zunaj se je veter umiril na raven, ki jo otoki štejejo za brezvetrje. Polly je šla po sivi ulici navzgor mimo rdečega peščenjaka stolnice, z okusom ostrega podnebja v ustih.

"Can we get the bill, please?" Polly said when the plate was empty, and the heron took her time bringing it, which is a compliment. Outside, the wind had dropped to the level the islands consider still. Polly walked up the grey street past the red sandstone of the cathedral with the taste of a hard climate on the roof of her mouth.