Mother Firebrew's Ironforge Potato Chips

Dwarves are a hardy race of people, and so it would make sense that their food would be just as stout. But I will get to that momentarily. Allow me to preface my story with a bit of background.

I arrived to their capital city today as an envoy to meet with our Kaldorei Ambassador, Jandria Oakenheart. As my gryphon carried me through the flight ports I was quickly reminded of the reasons I typically avoid visiting here.  Being this deep underground with no visible starlight left me feeling quite vulnerable -not to mention uncomfortably hot from the Great Forge that monuments this city. I’ll admit I was eager to depart as quickly as I came.

My mission was simple: gather the latest news that our Ambassador had to share and offer any assistance if necessary. Jandria seemed to recognize me and gave me a warm slap on my shoulder that left me awkwardly wondering how I knew her (damn this memory loss).  Her overly familiar gesture left no doubt in my mind that perhaps she’d been living with the dwarves a bit too long. But politics demanded that I play along so I awarded her one of my winning smiles and gently encouraged her to get down to business.

Jandria seemed to have other plans.

Hooking her arm into mine, I was briskly lead not towards the throne room but rather to The Stonefire Tavern: a bustling hole in the wall (literally) that reeked of burning kerosene, spilled ale, and unwashed skin…all crowned by the sickly sweet perfume emanating from a female goblin near the bar. I resisted the urge to pinch my nose as my arm was released and followed Jandria to a table near the back of the crowded room. The din was so great I could barely hear her when she asked me what I wanted to eat.

Eat? Who could consider eating anything with these unsavory odors assaulting my senses? Any night elf in their right mind would consider this ludicrous but the Ambassador’s hospitality would not be ignored. Trying not to taste the air I opened my mouth as little as possible and suggested she surprise me. I cannot recall eating dwarven cuisine so I half expected it would taste like what ever stained the chair I was sitting in.

As I watched Jandria move deftly towards the bar to order, my gaze set again upon the female goblin nearby. Years of practice kept my face composed otherwise I would have snarled in detest at her presence. It was natural for me to be wary of her motives; being a goblin in Alliance territory and all. But instead she looked completely at home as she chatted up a barmaid. Watching her lips move I discovered they were only conversing about the latest brew of the month and forced myself to relax. It would do no good to make assumptions, but it didn’t hurt to observe. So that is exactly what I did.

It was a delectable aroma that broke through my concentration several minutes later when Jandria returned with our food. Pulling my attention from the goblin I looked down to see a plate of steaming potato rounds piled high with an assortment of melted cheeses and herbs. This was definitely not what I was expecting and I felt my mouth watering in anticipation. She must have noticed my reaction because she chuckled in a very dwarf-like manner before plopping down into the chair across from me.

Out of politeness I enquired as to the nature of this entrée. My question was of course carefully crafted so as not to appear rude, and by Elune’s fortune the Ambassador was very good-natured and did not seem insulted in the least.

She called them Ironforge Potato Chips: a traditional dwarven dish served among good friends and usually accompanied by a strong ale. The recipe had several variations and this particular one was a house special. The choice of meal and the reason behind it did not escape me, especially since there was only one plate between the two of us. As far as Jandria was concerned she was sharing a meal with a good friend who, in reality, was silently racking her brain for -any- sort of recognition.

Painfully aware that she was watching me I took a cautious bite…and then moments later quickly threw said caution to the wind. Forgive the swearing, but by the Scythe this was good. I mean really good. The cheeses were well balanced with a variety of herbs that I could not readily identify so perfectly were they blended. The rind of the potato was deliciously crunchy while its center was soft and warm. Grinning almost ear to ear Jandria reached over and nibbled on one casually as she explained how this delightful piece of heaven was created.

While gardening was an unseemly activity for a dwarf, the innkeeper’s mother apparently took great delight in growing potatoes from the walls of the tavern kitchen. Especially since it was was a root that would naturally grow underground anyway. Sliced and boiled in sea salt water until soft, Mother Firebrew would then lay out the potato rounds into glass trays lined with flexible sheets of silvery metal foil. Wondering if this foil must be another dwarven custom, it was quickly pointed out to me that the metal sheets actually helped to reflect the heat over the food so it cooked evenly. Fascinated, I remained quiet as Jandria continued.

Mother Firebrew would then drizzle Blackmouth Oil over the each glass tray and then slightly mash the center of each potato round. In a separate bowl she would mix shredded Boulderslide Cheese, Sour Goat Cheese and creamy Highland Sheep Cheese evenly with freshly ground Pandaran Garlic, Black Pepper, Silverleaf, and Khadgar’s Whisker. There was no particular measurements required for each ingredient, it was all based on the taste preference of the chef. The herbal cheese mix was then generously sprinkled over each potato round before being baked in a forge-yes, a forge-for 20 minutes.

Normally I would have been scribbling down this recipe into my journal but at the time my hands were otherwise greasy and occupied reaching fervently for the last potato round. Jandria kindly offered to bring out some more, insisting it would greatly please Mother Firebrew. To my own disappointment I declined as the hour was waning, but reassured her I would make it a point to return here on my next visit. That seemed to satisfy the Ambassador and we finally discussed the purpose of my current presence in Ironforge.

As I learned, several years have passed since the Queen Regent Thaurissan took her place on the throne in the stead of her son. In spite of this there yet still remains an uneasy peace between the Dark Irons and their Ironforge cousins. Queen Moira appears to be making a concerted effort to show her unwavering support to the Alliance, and to King Varian in particular. Jandria’s suspicion is that much of it is a political declaration to staunch supporters of her late father that she and her son are legitimate heirs to the throne…and they will not be denied. Other than that there is nothing new to report; the Ambassador will continue to keep open relations between our people and the dwarves.

This evening my return flight to Darnassus will commence. I wish knew the friendship I must have once shared with Jandria Oakenheart…this memory loss has been nothing short of a plague. Perhaps the journey home will allow me time to reflect upon it. For now I’m looking forward to leaving behind this volcanic city for the beautiful boughs of Teldrassil. My leather pants and shirt are completely drenched in sweat and will probably need replaced. Next time I’ll bring my War Bear Woolies.

Mental note: Speak with Sister Aquinne regarding a new ambassador for Ironforge. Or not. Jandria might be better off where she is as it’s obvious she can relate to dwarves very well.

Second mental note: Get more potato chips.