No, This Is the Cooking Channel

Bread forgot about the escape.

He had a realization, a spark of understanding, after discovering the meaning behind Valkyrie’s new nickname. He thought back to the previous questions—the tree, the sun, the desert… All of those moments, he finally started to understand what that sharp-eyebrowed man had meant when he had wanted him to think, to question things.

He had simply wanted Bread to tell him truthfully what he’d felt deep down. He had wanted him to understand the emotional values of these things. To see what he was seeing—the importance of thought and the deeper meaning. And finally, Bread came to a conclusion—

He’s just trying to help me grow.

This time, he was ready. He was going to make the man proud. He was going to make him say the same words that Azan had told him. That he was perceptive. That he was doing well. Those words were like butterflies fluttering inside his chest. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anger. It was an emotion that made him feel like the clouds. Like this place wasn’t actually some sort of prison cell. Like Valkyrie. He could be free. He could actually feel like he belonged without having to escape.

And as if on cue, the man entered. Instead of the usual trays, today, he brought in an entire cart full of them, all covered with round, circular lids. He looked a little tired but otherwise, the same as before.

“Alright.” He let out a sigh. “It’s time I test your olfactory and glossa—whatever. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully, Azan was useful for once.” He pulled out a tray and placed it in front of Bread. “What do you smell?”

“Smell?”

He nodded. “Smell it.”

Bread leaned in a little closer and took a whiff. It was… aromatic. Herbal? Flowery? No, it smelled sweeter. Common sense told him so. It was sort of a… citrusy smell? “Lemon?” he answered.

“Close.” The man smirked. He pulled off the lid. “Orange. Good.” He placed the tray back on the cart and took out another one. “Try smelling this one.”

Bread leaned in and sniffed the air. This time, it had a slight sharpness to it. He scrunched up his nose. Was this something that would be considered stinky? Or was it supposed to smell sour? It smelled like… “Is it… pee?”

“Ammonia.” He nodded. Then he opened the lid. “Overripe brie cheese. It smells a bit like ammonia—urine.” His smile spread a bit further. “Not bad. You’re doing good.”

He complimented me. This feeling… He missed it so much. He knew his common sense was correct. He knew it would feel good to be complimented. Bread wanted more of it. More of this excitement, this fluttering inside his stomach. He was going to question everything; he was going to understand everything.

“Alright,” the man said with a bit more enthusiasm. “Let’s go try some food this time.” He reached in and pulled out a third tray. And he opened the lid…

Inside, there was a beautifully grilled salmon steak. Bread didn’t completely understand, but his inner records told him that the golden crust on the skin was immaculately seared. And there was oil pooling around it. He could only imagine what it’d taste like.

The man broke a piece off with a fork and held it out in front of him. “Try it,” he said. “And tell me what it tastes like. Just a generic description.”

Bread didn’t hesitate. He ate it right off the fork and chewed. And the savory burst of flavor was immediate. It melted in his mouth, breaking away into a million pieces. A deep, buttery taste covered his tongue. But it wasn’t just savory. There was a tang of sourness. No, it wasn’t just sour. It was slightly refreshing. It stopped the intense buttery taste from overwhelming his taste buds.

“Well?” the man asked.

“It’s… really good!”

“Alright. What about the flavor? Tell me the specifics. Every little detail you can think of.”

“It’s… a little sweet. Salty. Savory. Really buttery. It’s also sour. But I like the sour. I think it makes it taste better.”

“Good… Yes, very good.” He was grinning now. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Alright.” He pulled out the final tray. “Just to make sure everything’s working…” He opened the lid. There was a bowl in the middle.

Soup?

Bread couldn’t really see or decipher anything from just the exterior. All he could see was that it was creamy. He sifted through his records. From the appearance, it could’ve been gnocchi soup. But there wasn’t any gnocchi in sight. It could’ve been creamy tomato soup. No, that wasn’t it either. It wasn’t red. Could it be clam chowder? Or cream of mushroom?

“Last one,” the man interrupted. “You’re doing good. Just keep this up.”

Bread nodded. It didn’t matter what it was. He was going to describe it with all his might. No matter what!

The man took a spoonful of the goopy mixture and held it out again.

Bread slurped the soup from the spoon; it all slid down his throat warmly. There was something sweet in the dish. It was creamy, milky. But there was something crunchy too. Was it onions? Carrots? Or was it something else? It tasted more like onions. There was no rooty aftertaste that his records had warned him about.

It wasn’t clam chowder or cream of mushroom. Of course, he didn’t know if he could decipher between the two anyway if he hadn’t ever tasted them in the first place. But usually, he could use common sense to somewhat figure out the ingredients. This was an odd, yet tasty soup. And he had no idea what it was. Would the man be mad if he didn’t know? Should he try to make something up?

“So?” he questioned. “What do you think it is?”

“I-I… I don’t know…” Bread looked down, utterly defeated.

But then the man burst out laughing. “It’s fine. It’s alright to admit that you don’t know. Don’t worry about that. What do you think of the taste?”

Bread felt a wave of relief wash over his face. He was revitalized. “It was really creamy! There was something sweet. A-and something that tasted like onions.” He thought for a moment. What else? “Oh, and it was delicious!” He grinned.

“I’m glad.” The man’s expression softened. “My mother used to make this for me when I was young.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I tried my best to recreate it. Creamy cabbage soup.” He smiled. It was a warm smile. The first time Bread had seen him like that. “I’m truly glad you liked it.”

It was invigorating. A joyous expression tinged in sadness. He could tell. It was just like hers… Bread suddenly wanted more.

“I want to learn!” he cried.

“Learn?”

“I want to learn how to cook!”

“Ah. Not what I had in mind… But sure. I suppose I can add that to the list.” He suddenly raised his brows. “Actually… cooking could be a very creative activity.” He pondered for a moment. “Yes, I could teach you. Here, let me…”

Mother… And that sad smile… The man wanted to teach him, to learn… Like a mentor? A sudden epiphany—

“Are you my dad?”

“So the next time…” The man paused. “What?”

“Are you my dad?” Bread repeated.

“I, um…” He stared at Bread, but he didn’t look angry. Just confused. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

“You feed me. And you teach me!”

“Huh.” He raised his brows. “I never thought of it that way. It’s quite logical.” He stared at the ground for a moment. Then he looked up. “Alright, fine. I guess it can’t hurt. You can call me whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Okay, Dad!”

“That’s… going to need some getting used to.” He cleaned up the rest of the trays, plates, and bowls. “I’ll—I’ll be back tomorrow.” Then he swiftly carted away all the leftovers.