Mahira Masala

When the light show ceased, the diminutive figure of a Conchigliere stood there. It leered sideways at the cohort, eyes full of judgement. It stepped free of the bowl and leaned against the side casually, but its constant scanning gaze told of how aware it truly was.

Chef Filean presented a hand towards it. “This… is a Gourmon. In the event that some of you may have forgotten… Gamot…” she jested. Saffy was still recovering, but the twins giggled as one of them gave him an elbow nudge. Gamot shrugged.

“Gourmon are spirits that inhabit the dishes we cook. We aren’t sure why they do this, but when you apply Mahira Masala to your food, it might just invoke a Gourmon into being. This is the final test. When you finish your dish, you will take a pinch of Mahira and sprinkle it on. If it’s sufficiently well cooked… a Gourmon will appear to you.”

Saffy finally recovered. Gamot raised a hand. “So… why? Why do we do the magic spice?”

Filean nodded. “Good question. Firstly… it’s proof skill. Gourmon remember every chef that has ever invoked them, and they understand the recipes better than any human ever could. The strength of the resulting Gourmon is equal to your mastery of the recipe. If a Gourmon is invoked into your dish, you have been recognized by them.”

Marjorie looked to the Conchigliere brooding on the counter. It noticed her staring and locked eyes with her for a second before she returned focus to Chef.

“Secondly… we use the Mahira to collect more Mahira.”

Everyone seemed confused.

Chef continued. “Mahira Masala is a very difficult substance to obtain. We haven’t found a way to cultivate the flower it comes from, and it grows in places that are very hard to reach, let alone find. Gourmon, though, have an uncanny ability to lead us to the Mahira flowers.”

Gamot raised his hand again. “So do we just… collect spice to say we can?”

Chef crossed her arms. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment, but it’s not the whole story. To us, it’s a magical life-granting spice. To others… it’s a miracle cure. The only thing it can’t heal is a missing limb, and all you have to do is ingest it. You can imagine why such a substance is sought after, and how it first got into food.”

Saffy rejoined the others. “Does that mean… someone’s tried to heal a missing limb with it?”

“Yes. Some still try. Our work is dangerous.”

Everyone except Pan seemed nervous.

“Because of our culinary backgrounds, we are suited to summoning the Gourmon, but to collect Mahira, we need more than that. Everything you’ve learned over the years has been just the basics of cooking.”

She held her hand out to the Conchigliere. It glanced to her, stood, and hopped into place on her palm. She held it up.

“To truly become a chef, you need to learn how to be a leader. You’ll be commanding your Gourmon, sometimes against other cooks and their own Gourmon. They remember every victory, and every defeat. They remember the trials you put them through and the trials you conquer with them.”

The Conchigliere hopped to her shoulder.

“But don’t forget, they remember every chef that’s ever invoked them. If you listen to them, they may have something to teach you. Leadership is more than issuing commands. Your final test won’t make you a chef, but what you do from here on will show if you what it takes.”

Saffy raised a hand. “And the starring chef? What about that?”

Chef cocked her head. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Saffy looked shocked. “But… I heard… I-I mean, we heard…”

Chef shook her head. “Be careful of who you source your information from, Saffy.” She addressed everyone. “Wash up, let’s get this rolling.”

Chef took the remaining serving of black pasta and slid it into the hot box. Without any other words, everyone went to their stations. The one unoccupied station felt wrong to Marjorie… but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She had her own trials ahead to focus on.

Marjorie did as instructed and prepared herself for the challenge. She would have to present a dish that proved all of her efforts over these years had amounted to something. 

The kitchen area was open air, each of the six stations was facing inwards at the dining table. It was all settled under a large gazebo black lacquered wood and white canvas cloth. Curtains of different colors partitioned the gazebo from the outside. Behind Marjorie was a green curtain. Around the kitchen to her left, Gamot had a blue curtain, the twins had an orange curtain, Saffy had a yellow curtain, the empty station had a lavender curtain, and Pan had a red curtain to Marjorie’s right.

Each station had the expected amenities for the challenge: two sinks, two flames, an oven with a proving drawer, a block with a half dozen different knives and a strop, two cutting boards, three pots and three pans of differing sizes, five sizes of ladles, two sets of tongs, three different spatulas, three different spoons, a rolling dowel, three sizes of grater, and anything else they needed to realize their recipes.  

Each of her cohort had their own plans. The twins were planning to make Pigs in a Blanket. Saffy was making Pastel de Nata. Gamot was making Tacos. Pan was making Gyoza. Marjorie had thought a while on what to make. She settled on a simple Champ. She set a pot to boil with a steam trap.

To make her Champ, Marjorie needed potatoes, butter, cream, and scallions at the least. Salt would be a must, and getting some parsley, leeks, some cabbage or nettle, those might elevate the simple dish without straying too far, maybe even some laverbread… no, the laverbread was too far, both physically and for the recipe. She’d have to experiment some other time. No cabbage or nettle this time, either; it was Champ, not Colcannon. Parsley and leeks would be fine, though, she felt.

As she thought this, she was already gathering her potatoes, leeks, and scallions. She had run to the field where some of the gardeners were still milling about. She grabbed three potatoes, one leek, and two scallions. She hurried back to the kitchen zone.

When she returned, Saffy and the twins were layering and laminating their doughs, and Gamot was, strangely, knuckling out and spinning his raw tortillas as if they were small pizzas, one hand over another. She could also see Pan making similar dough rounds to Gamot, but she was rolling them out with a dowel.

As Marjorie was scrubbing down her root produce, she realized she was the only one here who wasn’t making something with dough. Even Chef’s Conchigliette was made with dough. She wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, she might stand out as original. On the other hand, the others were showing off more of their training. Maybe she should whip up some soda bread or poor knights.

Marjorie shook away the thoughts from her head; she needed to focus on one dish. 

She tore back the layers of leek and gave each a wash after satisfied that the potatoes and scallions were clean enough. She pulled a knife from the block and swiped it along the strop a few times, then set to giving the potatoes a loose, large dice.

Marjorie locked her free hand over the first potato with a claw grip to hold it in place. Sliding her knife under the gap of her steadying grip, she cut the potato in half. She did the same to the other two potatoes. They shouldn’t be able to roll away now. 

She placed them flat side down on the board. Her free hand pressed down to the half spud with straight fingers. She held the flat of her knife against the guiding hand the. Quickly gave one, two, three equal cuts, spun the spud a quarter turn, and gave a final cut lengthwise. She did the same to the remaining five halves, then tilted the board over the now boiling pot and swiped the chunks into the steam trap. 

After a quick scrub down of the board and the knife, she took her stack of leek and cut them into thin strips. She also cut small coins of scallion. She deposited these into their steamer with the potato chunks.

As she did this, Gamot had set up a flat top over his flames and was simultaneously cooking his tortillas frying some steak strips. Saffy was whipping up an egg custard, there was a bowl of egg whites off to the side. One of the twins had run off, probably to get their sausages. Pan was quickly frying up her gyoza stuffing. Chef stepped casually across the kitchen and inspected everyone’s work.  Marjorie couldn’t help feeling that she was falling behind the others.