Rutilius Namatianus affirmed that the Druids invested all contiguous objects with their peculiar evil, so that anyone who touched so much as the hem of their robes was in deadly danger of becoming a partaker of their fallen divinity.Lucian Brown, The Cromlech Jeelos (Frank Belknap Long)
The Hash of Crouch Ende Towen
Of the hash of Crouch Ende Towen Much amiss was spoken From witchery, to weakening To covenants long-broken. Knowing little, suspecting much, The townsfolk feared the worst Certain only of one thing: The Druids' food was cursed! Potatoes— Nightshade's cousin— formed The basis of their feast Dug from dirt, and chopped in cups In number nine at least. Also from dirt, the onions wer't Ceremoniously tore And cut right up, for Druids' sup In cups that numbered four. 'Twas not complete without the meat— A most horrific roast— The mystery of the meat's true source: That riled the townsfolk most! Four hours in a pagan oven Then sliced across the grain To aromatic, savory shreds That filled cupmeasures twain. Into a skillet, piping hot Chopped spuds and oil were cast To simmer thirty minutes, Well-stirred until the last. Oil and onions then flung in As Druids leapt about In widdershin rotation To keep the godly out. Ten minutes more, and then the meat Was added to the lot To cook five minutes more at The dance's focal spot. More water then, and extra salt, And brought back to the boil Covered, simmered; thirty minutes Rewards the Druids' toil. Of the hash of Crouch Ende Towen Nothing more is known. The little town is empty, The Druids dwell alone. When they said the hash was cursed, The townsfolk never lied: Lured by the smell, they supped as well, And ate it 'til they died.
Inspired by an apocryphal quote from Frank Belknap Long, an evocative phrase in a Steven King story and a very old family recipe for corned beef hash.