Mise en Place

Why do we cook?

This is the question that Marjorie had been asking herself since she began this journey. She’s still struggled with the answer, even after years of study under her master, Chef Filean.

Now twenty years of age, she hadn’t come any closer to the answer than she was when Chef took Marjorie under her wing.

Marjorie looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, staring into her own emerald eyes intensely for a second. She splashed her pale, freckled face with cold water to shake off the nerves of the day ahead.

She fought her best with a brush against the long mop of curly ginger hair, but it was a losing battle. With a tired sigh, she grabbed her decorative green pair of chopsticks from the corner of her sink as she pulled her hair back. She gave one, two twists, pulled one stick free, and tucked it up, over, and down to lock her loose ponytail in place.

Satisfied, she donned her silvery full-moon spectacles and smacked her face twice. With a final scrub down of her hands, she left the bathroom to ready up for the day.

She left her dorm room. It looked like Pan had already left for the finals.

Today was the day; if she could prepare a proper meal, a meal good enough to be recognized, she could finally be called a chef. Her entire life had been devoted to food, it was time to prove it.

She dressed in her apprentice cooking fatigues: Black long sleeve undershirt, black leggings, leather boots, and a black overcoat.

She set out of the dorm towards the cooking area.

Marjorie arrived and saw her fellow cohort settling in at the dining table.

She saw her roommate, Pan, chatting with some of the others, namely Gamot and Saffy. She also saw the twins, Rika and Papi.

Pan was a very mellow sort, she had shoulder-length black hair cut straight with straight bangs and a mild olive complexion. Her expression stayed mostly neutral, it was as if nothing moved her.

Gamot was a large boy, well built, and had a deep tan from many hours dedicated to the outdoors. Marjorie was a bit jealous of him in that regard, she just turned into a lobster in the sun. He had bright yellow eyes, a red-brown crew cut, and a friendly demeanor.

Saffy had a fair complexion and massive bright yellow curls. She looked down her cute nose at anyone she could get away with, sea-shaded eyes smiling at the idea of how much better she was than everyone else. She had the air of a spoiled princess.

The twins were identical, save for one being a boy and the other a girl, but there was no way to be sure which was which, especially since it seemed they swapped names frequently. They had a deep caramel complexion, brown almost black hair, and their eyes had an amber hue. Their builds were slim and petite. They feigned an innocence, but anyone that knew them would see them for the gremlins they were.

Marjorie quickly slid in next to Pan. Saffy gave a smug laugh and piped up. “Weeell weeell, look who finally decided to get out of bed! You’re holding up the final ceremony, you know.”

Gamot cocked an eyebrow at Saffy. “You only just got here before her, though.”

Saffy stammered and pouted a bit. She smacked her hands against Gamot’s arm and took on a whiny tone. “Shut uuuup, don’t out me like that, you dummy!”

The others laughed a bit.

As they commiserated, Chef Filean approached them. Everyone fell silent as she settled onto the stool at the head of the table; Chef never raised her voice, but they all knew to listen when she spoke. 

Chef was at an imposing height, even at rest on the stool. Her eyes were a fiery hue, her amber hair was graying in places, and she seldom smiled, but her expression was gentle, her demeanor kind. Her ochre skin was unwrinkled by sour moods and displeased expressions, only by focus.

Chef sipped a mug of tea and took a steadying breath. “Before we move to the preparations for today,” she announced, “I have a few things to cover.”

Everyone focused quietly on Chef. 

“Sadly… Garrick will not be joining us for the ceremony. He has… moved on.”

One of the twins piped up. “What happened?”

Chef shook her head. “He had his reasons, but he will no longer be part of the cohort. I’m sure you all have your feelings about this, you’ve been working together with him all of these years, but I ask you respect his decision.” She took a sip of her tea.

Gamot looked down at the table. “So he’s just… leaving? Right when we’re all about to finish?”

“I don’t expect anyone to to understand, this may seem very sudden… but what’s done is done. He’s likely packing his belongings as we speak. You’re free to visit Garick if he’s still here when we’re done, but we need to keep moving forward.”

Everyone was quiet.

“Take some time to process this, I’ll be in the kitchen dealing with final prep. In five minutes, I expect you all to join me for a final review, and then the ceremony.” Chef then stood and walked away from the table. “Oh, Gamot, third button down.” 

Gamot leaned back from the table to inspect his uniform, and sure enough, a button was undone. “Oh! Thanks, Chef.” He fiddled with his buttons to fix it.

Chef took her leave.

Saffy crossed her arms. “Well, good riddance. He was a nuisance and extremely rude. He didn’t belong here.”

The other twin leaned on the table. “Yeah, he wouldn’t make it a day in a real kitchen.” 

Pan locked eyes with Saffy. “Would you say that to his face?”

Saffy scoffed. “I would, a hundred times if I had to. I’m glad he’s gone!”

Marjorie looked at the table. She knew what they said was true… but she knew that there was more to Garrick than that. He made so many mistakes, but he was one of them. She had hoped that everyone was going to make it. She sighed quietly. Pan glanced to her.

Gamot brushed off his uniform. “Well… I guess we can look at it like… there’s less competition for the starring chef spot.”

“Alright, enough of that,” interrupted Pan, “Chef is waiting.” She stood up. 

Everyone followed suit and made way for the kitchen. 

As told, Chef Filean was hard at work in the kitchen. Her hands quickly rolled through cutting a tightly packed herb. She looked up as she cut. “Pop quiz, what is it called when you cut an herb like confetti?”

The twins piped up in unison. “Chiffonade!”

Chef nodded. “Good!” She flipped the knife hand-over-hand and gripped the handle, slapping the flat against a garlic clove with a loud smack. She peeled the clove and tossed into a simmering pan of tomato paste. She gave the pan a tossing motion, making the garlic jump in the pan. “And what is this technique called?”

Gamot raised his hand. “Oh, oh, Sauté!”

“Very good, Gamot, you’ve been paying attention.” She quickly grabe a vial of a thick black liquid and splashed it into the pan with the garlic. It sizzled to life as she scraped the pan with a spatula. She checked on a bubbling pot. “Always salt your water before you add your pasta. Pop quiz, what does Al Dente mean?” 

Pan stood at attention. “To the tooth, Chef.”

“Correct as always.” Filean scooped the shell-shaped pasta into the sauce pan. “And what is this shape called?”

Saffy stepped up to proudly proclaim her answer. “Conchiglie!”

“Close enough.” Chef gave the pasta a toss in the deep black sauce. “Just a note, that is the name for the large shells.” She took the pasta and served eight portions into plain white ramekins. “Each of you, try this dish.” She stabbed a fork into each bowl and claimed one for herself. They all looked at the blackened noodles and seemed hesitant. Marjorie stepped up first to take up a bowl. 

Saffy shuffled back a bit. “What… is it?”

Chef tucked into her own serving. The pasta blackened her lips as she partook. “Conchiglette al Nero di Seppia. Squid ink pasta.”

Saffy recoiled back a bit. “Squid ink!?”

“Some recipes call for cuttlefish ink.”

Pan stepped up as well. Everyone else was quiet. 

“I’ve never asked you to eat anything dangerous, and I never will. Having said that, a chef is willing to try everything. This… is part of your final test.” She set her bowl down. 

Gamot was the next to step up while Saffy squealed and shook her head. Pan took a bite without hesitation. Marjorie saw the others gasp. Pan chewed thoughtfully and just ate quietly. 

Gamot leaned over a bit. “How does it… taste?”

Pan swallowed her first bite. “Salty.”

The twins took two bowls. Everyone all looked at each other. There were two bowls left to pick from. Saffy groaned and crept forward to slowly pick the bowl on the left. 

Marjorie looked into the inky abyss in her hands. She took hold of her fork and pierced a shell or two onto it. With a second longer of it lingering at her waiting lips, she took it in. 

It felt warm, comforting even. The pasta had just the right chew. She could taste the tinge of the garlic, the aroma of the herbs, the bite of the tomato, and most of all, the brine of the ink. It was exactly the flavor one would expect of seafood. The choice of noodle turned them into potent little pockets of maritime experience. Marjorie savored it as best she could, but before she knew it, the serving was gone and she was sporting a new lip color. 

Gamot took the cue to follow suite. He took a bite as well. He chewed, and he went through several expressions. The twins followed his example. Saffy just squealed and shook her head. 

Gamot nodded a bit. “Huh… it’s really salty, but it’s good.” The twins also nodded with mouths full. Everyone except Saffy was now sporting black lips. Pan turned to Saffy. “One bite won’t kill you.” 

Saffy looked at the bowl in her her shaking grasp, dreading the idea of what she must do.  She scooped a bit up and stared at it on the fork. Everyone was watching her. She closed her eyes and shoveled it into her mouth, forcefully setting the bowl and fork back down to cover her mouth. She shook on the spot for a minute as she chewed, swallowed, and ran over to the washing sink to flush her mouth out. 

Chef sighed. “Congratulations to all of you for passing the first phase. The next phase will be to prepare a dish of your choosing. The third phase… Will be this.” 

She took up a velvety purple pouch with golden embroidery. She held it with one hand and reached into it with the other, retrieving a pinch of a glittering crystalline powder. She settled her pinched hand over her serving of the pasta and gave it a generous dusting. It settled onto the ink… and erupted with sparkling energy. 

A strange voice echoed from around them. “Conchigliere!”