Rum Waffles

or, Hugo Learns to Use the Waffle Maker

The two men exited the carriage and were greeted by two men in matching livery, one Taino and one African. The older of the two passengers, dressed in a pirate captain’s garish finery, grinned as he surveyed the estate at the top of the mountain. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and started up the stone staircase to the front of the sprawling house. Standing in the open front doors was a young Taino woman, no more than twenty, with a welcoming smile and well-fitting linen wrap.

“It is good to see you again, Captain,” she said. Her voice was light and tinged with French and Spanish influence. “And who is your young friend here?”

“New crewman. Daniel Warrington. Daniel, this is Zadana, Hugo’s head of house. Don’t let her pretty face and youth fool you. She’ll stab you in the heart as soon as look at you, and she knows where every last skeleton is buried.” The young woman laughed and playfully swiped at the pirate’s shoulder. She turned to Daniel.

“Be welcome, Daniel Warrington. Master Dinsmore is expecting you both in the Great Room.” She turned and led them towards a long staircase curving upward into the estate.

Hugo Dinsmore’s estate sat above Nassau, with windows and balconies overlooking the whole of the North and Eastern parts of the island. He had spent a good amount of time, and no small amount of capital, securing the property around him to ensure privacy and control of his little enterprise. Adorned with eclectic fashions from all over the world, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it all, and yet it blended flawlessly. Wooden carvings from Africa, fine porcelain and silks from the Far East, intricate carpets and rugs from India; and that was just in the Great Room. The furniture was all from the American colonies, crafted from beautiful hardwoods and inlaid with amazing designs and patterns. It was a far cry from the sundries shop he ran in town, providing cooking utensils, lard, rum, fishing tackle, and pretty much anything else a sailor or captain could need or want.

The staircase ended at a landing that overlooked the entryway, which then turned to a long hallway. Shelves lined the walls, with the most incredible display and variety of things Daniel had ever seen. He picked up one of the dust-covered tomes and read the cover: The Return of the Misadventures. He set it down and continued following Zadana to a large oak door.

“Waffles!” came a cry from the other side of the door. “Burning my waffles, fer goodness!” The butler shoved open the door and they saw a young man with a mop of dirty blonde hair rush to the other side of the room, grab the nearest bottle of liquor, tear the cork out, and frantically pour it out on a now-smoking object on what appeared to be a kitchen workbench. Daniel and MacRorie followed Zedana further into the room. The man was pouring the rum onto a now-blackened batter that was stuck to a steaming hot iron contraption. He seemed very distraught.

“Waffles,” he sighed. “Damn near perfect that time. Now they are burned rum waffles.” His face lit up. “Rum waffles! That’s it!” He ran to a gaping Daniel and threw his arms around him. “You are brilliant! Who are you?”

“Um,” Daniel stammered.

“And Alistair,” the man continued, turning to the captain. “So good of you to come! Did you bring me nice things, Alistair? Of course you did.” His giddiness abruptly disappeared. “I have to tell you, there is something I really need. Do you have one?”

“One what, Hugo?” MacRorie tried to hide his bemused smile.

“Lamp, of course! My favorite lamp met a most unfortunate end when I broke it over the magistrate’s head last week.”

“The magistrate, Hugo? What have I told you about assaulting government officials? Even here in Nassau!”

“Well he most certainly had it coming, Alistair. Besides, I bought the rum that night, so all was forgiven. That is, until…” His eyes grew wide when he noticed Daniel again.

“Sweet holy carp-fish! What are you doing here?”

MacRorie moved next to the shopkeeper and put his arm around his shoulders. “Hugo Dinsmore, I want you to meet Daniel Warrington. A new member of my crew.”

Dinsmore offered his hand slowly, his eyes never leaving Daniel’s face. “Pleased to meet you, Daniel,” he said slowly. “Alistair?”

“Yes Hugo?”

“Am I in the opium den? I think I am seeing ghosts again.”

“No Hugo, we’re all here. I’ll explain everything later.” Daniel threw a puzzled glance at the captain, who ignored him. “Meanwhile, we have business to attend to.”

Dinsmore seemed to wake from a fog and looked around. “Right!” He began to scurry around the office, moving papers and shuffling stacks of charts, ledgers, and maps. Then he stopped and smiled warmly at them.

“It is really good to see you, Alistair.”

“You too, lad. Heard from Joseph recently?”

“Aye. Couldn’t be better. He had another son, you know! And young Christian is walking and talking and driving them mad, no doubt.”

“Well good for him. I ought to pay him a visit soon. It has been too long.”

“So what do you have for me?”

“Rec is finishing up the inventory now, but we may have to do half now, and then half at Abaco.”

Dinsmore’s eyes grew large and a grin split his face. “Abaco, you say. Really? That good, eh?”

“Huge, my friend. Like heaven herself dropped open and we were the only ones to know it.”

“This calls for a toast! Daniel, grab those glasses over there. Come, let us drink to fortune!”

Daniel managed to withdraw three somewhat clean glasses from the clutter and Dinsmore poured the remainder of his rum bottle into them. They all drank, and Daniel gasped. It was the finest spirit he’d ever tasted.

“Dear god…”

“Aye, lad. Nectar from the gods indeed. That’s the best from Nevis. Near impossible to find, but not for Hugo Dinsmore,” he crowed loudly.

MacRorie surveyed the still-smoking mess on the counter. “Is this your latest invention?”

“Not at all! It’s Dutch.” He moved to clean the device. “The irons get heated, just as you would a skillet.” He gestured vaguely to a stove near the wall. “But you see the lines on each side? You pour batter between them, then close the irons. In a few moments, you have the most delicious treat ever! A waffle!”

“Waffle,” said MacRorie and Daniel in unison.

“Waffle. Then you can pour molasses on it, butter it, sprinkle sugar on it… I hear tell of some that put fruits on it, but that may just be hearsay.”

“Indeed,” said Daniel skeptically.

“Persactly! I bought it off a Danish captain last week. A madman, really. Smoking a pipe and wearing the silliest hat I have ever seen.”

“Danish,” ask Daniel. “I thought you said this was a Dutch thing.”

“Exactly!” Dinsmore raised a finger in the air to make his point, and then his expression turned puzzled. “What was I going to do with this? Ah yes! Rum waffles!” He picked up another open bottle of rum and went to a mixing bowl on the counter, emptying the bottle into it. He then picked up a wooden spoon and stirred vigorously. MacRorie and Daniel watched in amazement as he pulled the charred remains of the previous attempt off the black iron and poured the new batter in. It made a hissing sound as he pulled the top down. Dinsmore looked at them, giggling. “You are in for a real treat, my friends.”

Moments later, he lifted the top and produced a golden-brown, grid-lined cake. With a huge pair of fire-tender’s tongs, he lifted the pastry from the hot iron and dropped it on a plate. With glee, he cut it into bit-sized pieces, sprinkled sugar over the top, and held up the plate to the two men.

“Well? Go on! Try it!”

Daniel and the captain looked at each other, shrugged and each took a piece. Daniel had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. MacRorie sighed and said “Oh my… Hugo, you may have outdone yourself. This is exquisite!”

Dinsmore giggled some more and bounced up and down.

“I know. It’s amazing isn’t it?” He picked up a huge book, opened it, and sat down in a chair, putting on a pair of spectacles, suddenly very serious. “Now, tell me where the latest acquisition happened, the provider, and the details of the exchange.”

MacRorie didn’t miss a beat. “On our way from Tortuga. Spanish galleon called El Caracol. Lured them in with a ruse, took the ship and the cargo. Lost Kelly and Lottner. Do you have their next of kin?”

“I’m sure I do. The usual compensation?”

“Aye. And if there are no kin then give it to the orphanage in Port Royal in their name.”

“Understood. Any prisoners?”

“One convert. Enrique Vélez from San Juan.”

“Damage?”

“Minimal.”

“All right then. Let's unload the miscellaneous items to the Potters Cay warehouse now, then we’ll take the specie to Abaco on the Shenanigan.”

“Shenanigan?”

“My new yacht. We’ll move the chests just before sunrise. No one will pay any mind. Your men have clothes?”

“Well, it would certainly be distracting if they didn’t.”

Dinsmore leveled his gaze at the pirate captain. “Are you ever serious, Alistair?”

“Sorry, Hugo. We will probably need to fit them with some nondescript merchant sailor attire.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Very well. I’ll get the manifest from Rec and give it to yer man when he brings the clothes.”

“Excellent.” He removed the glasses, stood up, and offered the plate again. “Waffle?”