Thunder-coffee

Deep in the woods was a small mountain. It was without vegetation, except lush grass, and could well resemble a Danish burial mound from the good old days. Or at least from the old days.

However, it was not a burial mound, but the troll's dwelling. He had hollowed out the mountain, and propped it on the inside with wood. The ceiling consisted of thin tree trunks, and at appropriate intervals they were supported by stronger oak logs. It was good and solid and, with a little good will, cozy. On one of the walls hung a sign he had made of clay, and in capital letters, scratched with a troll splinter, said: kinsman's kinsman worst. Sometimes rose a column of smoke from the top of the mountain, and it interpreted the forest animals and little people as smoke coming directly from inside the earth.

The troll woke up as his stomach rumbled. He had slept a few months, and now his body began to require energy to continue to be able to deliver in body weight and horsepower. Before he had gone to bed, he had made a pile of homemade dream-cakes by his side, for he knew from experience that he was booming hungry when he woke up. He also had a barrel of homemade apple cider on hand, made from fermented thorn apples, Adam's apples and laburnum. So there was just good stuff to wake up to.

He fumbled fumbling with his hands to grab a cake, but even though his hands were searching increasingly areas, they found nothing. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Where the hell were the cakes?" But there was no one answering, and there were no cakes and no cider to see. The stomach rumbled and eyes shot lightning. He thought with disgust on his fawning, double-tongued and thieving half-cousin who resided in a mysterious and mythical garden, which was situated in a time warp.

There was certainly nothing else to do than to bake and brew again. He had to go into the forest and gather, because all he needed was here: Horses pears, thorn apples, nettles, laburnum, lumps of clay, red and green fly mushrooms, sour rowan berries and a bit of salt of the earth. Adam apples he had to go on apple shots to get, for they grew only in his half-cousin’s garden, where the troll had no legal access. It was situated very close, but you should have a special eye for it, otherwise you couldn’t spot it. He had that, fortunately, and it sat in the middle of the forehead, but it also meant that all he met fled in terror. For such an appearance was completely out of the woods.

Well, these ingredients were crushed and stirred together while gradually added water from the clay pit to get the right consistency.

All the time, while the cakes were in the hot oven, and apple cider fermented, bumped his stomach as waves of ocean surf, and his eyes shot fiery lightning. He was frustrated and angry that there had been hungry and thieving visitors while he slept on his green ear.

At the same time grind forest animals and little people beans and brewed coffee for dear life. They knew that when it bumped, so the floors rocked and lightning crossed here and there, it was time to grind the beans and put water over. So tickled it expectantly in their stomachs, because thunder-coffee was the world's best coffee.

Now sleeping the snake, its wife and their brood, paradisiacal in the famous garden under a bountiful apple tree. With their stomachs full of delicious, stolen cakes washed down with glorious apple cider. So they were refreshing rested when the sun rose and set turbo on the day when Eve should make-up to her carefully rehearsed and announced act, in which also Adam's apple played a role.

Forest animals and little people wondered a bit about, that no rain came, but they settled elegant satisfied with the words, that there were more between heaven and earth, and that thunder-coffee anyway always should have that taste and strength, thunder-coffee was supposed to have.