Work Text:
The messenger hurried to shut the outer door to the greenhouse office behind him, shutting out the bitter wind blowing off the north Atlantic. With a huff, he immediately threw back his hood and unfastened the parka as he breathed in the unaccustomed warm moist air. He could hear a bell sounding within the greenhouse proper.
At the sound of the bell alerting him to a visitor, the greenhouse assistant sidled through the inner door, and with a nod to the messenger washed his hands in the sink before donning his non-work gloves. “Hello good morning, Kaldi Svenson,” he waved in greeting, “did you have an order to pick up?”
The messenger patted his pockets as he answered distractedly, “yes, it’s here somewhere. I know we need onions, turnips…” He pulled out a ball of twine, a smooth stone, a lump of wax with bits of lint embedded in it, a slightly ragged card, and something that may have been a biscuit once. “…parsnips, some of the horse carrots...umm,” he turned the shopping bag inside out and shook out some flakes of onion skin, “a cucumber, and some… what are they called, peppers?”
Kaldi scratched his head. “Peppers, did you say? Yes, we do grow those here.” He swapped for his work gloves again and motioned the young man to follow him to the greenhouse inner door. “They used to be more popular in the ancient times, but we haven’t had much call for them lately. Their season is so short, and they’re quite expensive to be honest.” He took another look at the man, tall and solid with bushy blond sideburns, in ill-fitting kitchen garb. “Who did you say you were working for?”
“I’m Mikkel Madsen,” he proffered the card and snorted, “and they can afford it. The butler said you run an account for them. This is the second greenhouse I’ve come to try to get these.”
“The butler…?” At the sight of the name , Kaldi’s eyebrows attempted to merge with his receding hairline. “Yes of course, sir, right away. I’ll show you what we have. We do have a better range here,” he sniffed, “you should have come to me first. Say, is your accent …Danish by any chance?”
Mikkel nodded, “Hrm. I just started working for these people last week. The old mistress wants a dish she remembers with these peppers in it.” He put away the card. “I’ve never worked with these before, I’ll admit I’m quite curious.”
“Here you are,” Kaldi stopped in front of a few plants lit by grow bulbs, “are these the peppers you wanted?”
Mikkel peered at the plants, festooned with small fruits. “I suppose?” He started another fruitless search of his pockets. “It was some name in English, started with a B.” He bent down to read the row label on the plants, “’Bonnet’ peppers, that must be it.” He motioned for Kaldi to harvest his order, “I had better take a dozen, or maybe two dozen, they’re quite small.”
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Later that day, Mikkel was still somewhat mystified why his salad of cucumber, peppers and fresh dill was not received as well as he expected. The matriarch had been so pleased when it was presented to her and had taken a large forkful. But then she had turned as red as a beetroot, coughing and sputtering. At that, the horrified head cook tasted the salad she had put aside for her own lunch, eliciting a similar reaction. Concerned, Mikkel had shrugged and tasted it himself for the first time. “Tastes all right to me? Perhaps I shouldn’t have included the seeds of the peppers?”
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As Mikkel was packing his things into his rucksack to once again go look for gainful employment, he found a piece of paper on the floor. It was the missing shopping list, which he crumpled in his fist. He wouldn’t be needing that anymore. But maybe the greenhouse needed a hand? Places like that always could use a strong man to cart things around, sometimes you could take home some of the produce, and he now knew more about peppers, anyway. He uncrumpled the paper in his hand and read more carefully, “bell peppers.”