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The Wholly Ignored Life of a Hogwarts Home Economics Professor

 

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

I am attaching the work of [NAME REDACTED] here because I believe we might have cause for great concern.

As you know, in my post of Head Kitchen Witch it is my humble (and mostly unheralded) duty to teach the art of magick cookery to our students, a task that has become quite onerous with each passing year.  The hard truth is, we are now seeing students who have very little interest in learning how to expertly flute a charmed toadstool with a paring knife instead of a wand and are ever more keen to follow Cassandra Wattlelee’s Mostly-Magicmade way of doing things when they leave my tutelage.

Still, I continue to vehemently believe the powers of a properly strained pitcher of pumpkin juice can wield over an unsettled mind. Furthermore, in this age of darkness, I see nothing wrong with trying to lift the students’ spirits with pretty, shiny recipes.

Which brings me to [NAME REDACTED]’s assignment. I found this “poem” scrawled all over my best brunch recipe for Mermaid Toast paired with Unicorn Frappuccinos.

“Frap Off”

Mermaids snatch gnomes from the shallows 

for squeezing into pots of seaweed tea. 

Foamy tea, best with sun-toasted barnacles

fresh-gnawed off the rock 

soft-boiled elf eggs

and kelp-roasted plover.

(No salt needed.)

Unicorns chew the shimmering wings off Swallowtails. 

Their thickened, scrolling horns suck up

pixies 

cold-pressed 

into puddles

Sweetened by rainbows 

spatchcocked 

out of leprechauns.

[NAME REDACTED] also had another scrawl about using various dwarven parts to make both a hand salad and vats of nut milk that I could not bring myself to reproduce here— unhinged and indecent! I have to admit, I would expect this disturbing work from a Slytherin (or even a few Ravenclaws I could mention) but NOT from a Hufflepuff.

Now it is possible that, stuffed and overlooked in the dungeons as we are, this is the predictable result of the poor ventilation we have to suffer through while attempting our delicate feats of magicular gastronomy. (It is especially difficult to when fetid odors drift in from Snape’s Potions’ class across the way; students quite lose their appetites!) However, I am of the opinion that [NAME REDACTED] is in the throes of a psychotic break and should visit Madame Pomfrey for an prolonged course of Forced-Laugh Shock Therapy in full restraints.

Either way, there is clearly something off with this child and I would appreciate your immediate attention to this matter.

Yours etc,

Professor-Chef Martha Stewed-Wartling, Head Kitchen Witch, Test Dungeon 4 (in case you forgot)


My Dearest Professor Stewed-Wartling,

I am most grateful that you brought this situation to my attention. However, I see no true cause for concern here as [NAME REDACTED] is simply handling these days of darkness in her own creative way. I, myself, have always preferred my pumpkin juice thick and pulpy and once had a tooth rot right out of my mouth after a single sip of a Unicorn Frappuccino.

With affection,

Professor A. Dumbledore

P.S. I have never spatchcocked a leprechaun, but I have had leprechaun kebab. It was quite tasty.


Written by Stephanie Lucianovic

Stephanie Lucianovic

Stephanie V.W. Lucianovic lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she writes, edits, and eats surrounded by a few kids and a few cats. She has a habit of bringing home strange rocks.

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