Moonroot

Appledance’s Guide to Culinary Excellence Entry II · Moonroot: The Silent Star of Every Hearth

By Delilah Appledance, Eth Dreythna’s Wandering Hearthkeeper

La-la-la… Even before first light, the silver sheen of Moonroot vines stirs me from slumber, an unassuming tuber that’s graced every dinner table from Weaver’s Gate to the Citadel since long before I was but a child helping Granny Appledance peel the first spring shoots. Moonroot’s roots twist back nearly to the foundation of Eth Dreythna, first settlers found it was able to thrive in lean northern soils where wheat would fail. Every cook in our city knows its nutty warmth by heart, and I’ve woven its gentle flavour into my own kitchen’s lullabies since cradle days.

Though it’s no magical marvel, just steadfast, reliable, and forgiving to the busiest of bakers, Moonroot earned its reputation in the Frostfall Chronicles, where the city’s earliest bakers kept famine at bay by roasting and preserving these tubers to eat during the many frozen moons. It travelled from dwarven highlands to the east, gathering names like “Silver Spud” and “Nightshine Root” before we settled on the simple, “Moonroot.”

Just last Harvest’s Eve, when grain ships stalled at the northern pass and cold winds gnawed at our storefronts, I rediscovered its glory. I sliced rounds of Moonroot, glazed them with Ember Berry syrup, and roasted them until crisp. The first golden bite crackled louder than any festival drum, and I thought, “A stalwart friend indeed.”

In my hearth, Moonroot is the canvas for countless creations: mashed into silken purée swirled with sunrise-gold butter; cubed and stewed with sprigs of wild thyme; thinly sliced and crisped beneath embered coals. My daughter Esme layers it in a Moonroot Gratin so delicate you’d swear it floated off the plate, while mischievous Tilly nabs the raw slices, crunching them like sweet candy beneath the wagon’s cinnamon-scented plume. Their delight reminds me that even the humblest root can spark pure wonder.

At the Amberleaf Harvest festival, every stall from cheese-smokers to orchard-pressers offers Moonroot in some guise. Here at Appledance’s Hearth, we ladle velvety Moonroot Soup, brightened by rosemary and a dollop of spiced cream. One bowl warms more than stomachs; it rekindles hope for families stretched thin by border skirmishes and dwindling pantries.

So when winter winds howl and doubt creeps in, remember Moonroot: our steadfast star. Peel, slice, roast, or stew it, and you’ll find that even the simplest of staples can carry the weight of history, the comfort of home, and the promise of brighter tomorrows. tra-la…

~Mrs. A