Chaotic aperitifs, p.1
Chaotic Apéritifs, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chaotic Apéritifs
Copyright © 2024 Tao Wong. All rights reserved
A Starlit Publishing Book
Published by Starlit Publishing
PO Box 30035
High Park PO
Toronto, ON
M6P 3K0
Canada
www.starlitpublishing.com
Ebook ISBN: 9781778551710
Print ISBN: 9781778551949
Contents
1. Pineapple Upside Down Cake
2. Social Media
3. More Prep and a Working Lunch
4. Croque Monsieur and Passing Afternoons
5. A New Customer
6. Making Entrances
7. The Grill
8. Unnatural Relations
9. Honey Soy Chicken Legs
10. A Breaded Shelter
11. A New Guest and an Old Friend
12. Maui Ribs with Pineapple Marinade
13. Grove Tender
14. The First Plate
15. The Right Kind of Magic
16. A Simple Meal
17. A Slice of Cake
18. The First Bite
19. Stewing Thoughts
20. Service Close
The Hidden Wishes Series
Author's Note
About the Author
About the Publisher
one
Pineapple Upside Down Cake
Light spilled out of the glowing white and yellow portal, bisecting reality with a twist of magic. On one end, a modern kitchen and a chef; on the other, open fields filled with pineapple bushes. The smell of fresh manure and plants spilled into the industrial air of the kitchen, the whirl of quiet extractor fans running moment to moment.
Mo Meng took a box of pineapples from the farmer, carefully placing it on the counter beside him. On the other side of the portal, the sun had begun to rise, highlighting the plantation in soft glowing light, a contrast to the harsh fluorescents of the kitchen.
“Fully ripe, from my own trees. We waited till they were nearly ready to fall off before we pulled them,” the farmer said, the pair of tusks that jutted from his broad mouth, framed by skin the color of a ripe tomato, all signs of the ogre’s eastern origins.
Not that Hiro wasn't a native of Costa Rica these days, having been born there nearly a half-century ago, after his grandparents had immigrated from Japan. More opportunities for a good life in those distant lands, even for an oni. Especially if you knew a mage who could make a glamour enchantment.
“How's the charms holding up?” Mo Meng asked. “The higher ambient Mana levels should be putting a mild strain on them already, yes?”
Hiro nodded, touching his chest where the enchanted glamour lay beneath the light white t-shirt. “Good. My grandson's could do with a recharge, though.”
“Already?”
“He was chewing on it again.”
Mo Meng chuckled. “You should just let me enchant the farm. It's not good for him to have to learn how to handle the fluctuating magic all the time.”
“He'll be fine,” Hiro said. “I was, wasn't I?'
Mo Meng shook his head but rather than reply, picked up a pineapple and sniffed it. Sour and sweet with undertones of acid in the background. Fresh and perfect. He could feel the spiky leaves digging into his fingers, the firm flesh with just a slight give that indicated its ripeness.
Perfect.
“Bring the necklace tonight. I'll charge it.” Mo Meng said, glancing at the portal. Light flickered along the edges, a sign of the strain on the enchantments. “I'll bake an extra cake, too.”
“You know I'll never say no to that,” Hiro said, moving faster to pick up and return with two more boxes. Enough for the small batch that Mo Meng required for the restaurant. Even if it was thrice the amount it had been last year.
After all, the Nameless Restaurant was getting popular.
Much to its owner’s chagrin.
The first step to producing today’s dessert was prepping the pineapples. Making sure to position the compost bag close by, Mo Meng extracted the pineapples from their boxes and began slicing into them with his cleaver. The simple Chinese cleaver had a thick, heavy base on the end to give him the heft he needed to go through the tops and bottoms with ease, but was light enough that he could strip the skin from the sides with a deft twist of the hand.
His hands moved with swift efficiency, the thunk of cleaver on chopping board echoing through the empty kitchen into the open dining room. The large viewing window from the kitchen allowed Mo Meng a clear view of the empty room while he worked, a necessary addition to the kitchen when he had worked alone. That wasn’t the case these days, of course.
Nowadays, it just made serving finished dishes easier.
Off-white fluorescent lights bathed the kitchen in stark illumination, allowing him to view the entirety of his domain with ease, though there were a few uncommon modifications. For one thing, though he worked with gas for the most part, the open flame grill on the left was also heated by charcoal and wood. Large, industrial extractors above the kitchen and stoves helped contain the smell, though that was further enhanced by a touch of magic.
No point in barbecuing meals over open flames and leaving his guests smelling of wood smoke. Not all of his guests would always eat the same meal, so having several options available helped. The enchantments also had the benefit of clearing the smell overnight, so that he could begin with new dishes every day and not concern himself about residual staining.
As loath as he might be to utilize magic while cooking, sometimes magical solutions just simplified things.
Once each pineapple was stripped of its thorny skin, Mo Meng utilized a new knife, slicing into the central core to pop out the hard, white nub in the middle. That part had little taste, though rather than waste it, each central nub was placed in a clear container. Later, pineapple skin and water would be added before the filled containers were set aside to create a mild organic pineapple vinegar.
In the meantime, the whole pineapple was horizontally portioned into equal-sized slices, Mo Meng keeping a running tally of the number in his mind. He placed the slices on a cooling rack, with a cookie tray underneath to catch the additional pineapple juice coming off the ripe slices. He worked silently and industriously for the most part, humming the occasional tune that came to mind, but focused on prep and the rhythmic and familiar nature of the work.
Prep, done well, was where all the real magic happened. Take your time, double-check the ingredients as they came in, make sure everything was done right. Something as simple as keeping each slice of pineapple the same width would make significant differences in the final result. Too thick, and some would cook faster than others. Too thin, and you risked burning portions of the dish.
Once done, Mo Meng made his way to the oven to begin pre-heating it. This was not a traditional home kitchen oven, but the kind used in commercial bakeries. It had multiple shelves to allow him to bake multiple cakes at the same time, and it pre-heated quickly.
For this dish, the top of the cake – or the bottom – was a mixture of brown sugar and unsalted butter. Pre-softened butter taken from the counter to simplify the mixing. Not melted, as some might recommend, which made the cake too wet for his liking. Also, Mo Meng liked to add a touch of cinnamon to the topping, the fresh spice giving an extra bite to the cake.
After adding the three ingredients to the mixing bowl, he set the bowl down and turned the mixer on, leaving it to do its work. In the meantime, he moved the newly cut pineapple slices onto kitchen paper to dry the rest of the way. The less moisture there was on the pineapples, the easier the entire mixture would set. Too much liquid and the cake would be too moist. Once that was done, buttering the square baking pans on the sides and bottom was his next task.
Checking on the creamed mixture, Mo Meng raised a spoonful of blended butter and sugar to his lips. He licked his lips, tossed the spoon aside and added a touch more sugar, his tongue tingling from the rush of pure sugar and creamed butter.
A half-dozen pans later, he took the mixing bowl and ladled out a thin layer of the sugary topping into each pan before flattening the mixture with the back of a spoon. He worked smoothly, pressing firmly as he went along, before setting the pans aside, knowing that gravity and time would fix minor mistakes.
Once done, he returned to the pineapple rings and laid them out carefully in rows of three by three, pressing gently to firmly set the rings. After that, in the pans went to the refrigerator while he worked on the cake base. The chilled pans would set the mixture, ensuring that the cake when baked would come out in a single piece.
The cake itself was the usual mixture of flour, sugar, egg and salt, with both baking powder and baking soda to help it rise. Some recipes called for a thin, dense cake layer, but Mo Meng much preferred his cakes to have some substance and size. The sweetness and tartness of the pineapple and the sugary glazed topping
Of course, that was in and of itself insufficient, and vanilla extract and a touch of nutmeg were needed to give the cake further sensory layers. Lastly, rather than milk, he preferred light whipping cream to counterbalance the density of the cake, giving it a degree of lightness that plain milk failed to offer.
Mo Meng was careful to do all this by hand rather than using the mixer, allowing him to test the consistency as he blended the cake batter. Flour overworked grew hard. The consistency became chewy rather than light and fluffy. For the same reason, he wouldn’t rest the batter either when he was done.
Deep in the throes of preparation, Mo Meng barely even noticed the new presence in the kitchen. Not until the refrigerator door was opened and a blonde head started poking around at the chilling contents. Then the voice came, high and annoyed.
“No cherries?” Kelly cried out as she closed the refrigerator door.
“No. They taste horrible and I won’t be adding any to my dish,” Mo Meng said. Hands still holding the baking mixture, he stared at his only employee. “Also, why are you here?”
“You mean I’m fired?” Closing the door, Kelly leaned back and put a hand dramatically to her chest. “Oh, no!”
“You know what I mean. We’re not opening till tonight,” he said.
“You know, we should open for lunch too,” Kelly said, leaning with one hip against the door. “We’re so packed for dinner these days, we should probably just give people numbers before they come in.”
“No numbers. No reservations. You know that,” Mo Meng said, grumpily.
“I know, I know. You don’t want your regulars to be blocked out,” she said. “Especially the special ones.”
“Exactly.”
“But we’ve got to do something! We’re beginning to get a line out there every night.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Lily’s?” she ventured.
“Did the jinn put us on Google Maps?”
An unrepentant grin was his answer. Mo Meng sighed, but jerked his chin at the fridge. “Since you’re here, help me out. Pull out the pans, will you?”
Pouting, Kelly did as he asked, laying each tray on the counter. Mo Meng moved along the counter, parceling out cake batter into the pans. He gently tapped the edges of each pan once he was done, to help push out any bubbles that might have formed, before he carried each pan to the oven.
A quick check verified it was pre-heated, and once he was done, he set the timer.
Kelly watched all this, arms crossed, before she spoke up. “So, pineapple upside down cake for dessert. What’s the rest of the menu for today?”
Mo Meng shook his head. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.”
“My job. Well, my new job. Social media. Updating socials for the new menu.”
The man snorted. “I’d have texted you soon.”
“Sure, but I still have to prep for tonight.” A raised eyebrow was the only answer to her words. A long moment, and then Kelly’s bubbly personality faded. She ducked her head. “I just needed to get out.”
“Trouble at home?”
A single nod, and Mo Meng frowned.
She shook her head, cutting him off before he could ask. “No, I’m good. Just… let me hang out here a bit?”
“Of course.”
Her bright smile returned and Kelly flounced out of the kitchen, leaving Mo Meng to the rest of his prep.
two
Social Media
Kelly threw herself into a chair near the entrance of the restaurant, the afternoon light streaming from basement windows highlighting the few tables there. She unslung the yellow purse over her shoulder onto a chair, unzipping it and pulling out a laptop. From the large purse, she also drew her cellphone, the latest Korean branded model, and grimaced at the cracked screen. She really needed to get that fixed, but she’d have to find the time. And money.
Within moments she was skimming through her social media accounts, making faces as she came across pictures of her friends. Some were still in college, true, but the majority had graduated. Office lunches, elegant and sexy – if still formal – getups. Nights out, clubbing with bottles of wine and champagne and hot guys in attendance. Claire, who was on a trip to Paris with her boyfriend, that douche.
Frustrated, she clicked off and out of her own account over to the Nameless Restaurant ones. A small smile began to light her face as pictures of the food that was served began to show up. Not from the official account, of course – the damn man kept insisting that she shouldn’t take photos herself – but he hadn’t barred his customers.
Not yet, at least.
Here, photos of the crème brulé that he’d done three days ago, by LadywithaBite.
There, the tomahawk steak he’d served a week ago, from HeadintheClouds.
Shelled oysters for the seafood night on Sunday, taken with a lot of close-ups but rather badly angled. However, it was probably the most popular, judging by the sheer volume of empty shells showcased by OreforYouandMe.
She was allowed to post one thing. Specifically, their menu for the day. It made her job a lot easier, since fewer people complained about the changing menu when they arrived, and how it interacted with their million and one allergies and sensitivities.
In moments, she had the menu typed out on the simple image template she’d created. She paused before submitting it, reviewing the document for typos, fighting the gut-clench of anxiety when she caught one. As she finished reading the list over twice more, her phone began to play the first notes from Jaws. Kelly’s shoulders came up, her body hunching away from the phone before she forcibly exhaled and relaxed herself. Forced herself to reach forward and answer it.
“Yes?” She held the electronic chain slightly away from her ear as she thumbed the green icon.
“Is that how you greet your mother? I thought I taught you better?” The voice came through the phone, loud and boisterous and highly accented.
“I’m at work, Mom.”
“Work? What work? You told me you work in the evenings, don’t you?” her mom said incredulously. “Why are you in right now? Are you trying to become a chef? I hear they work long hours. You know what you’re like when you cook, right, dear? I don’t think your boss would be okay with you burning down his restaurant.”
“I’m not going to burn down his restaurant,” she replied. Not as if she could. Even if she was a mundane, she knew enough to know that it might take a direct strike with a missile to take down the building that housed the restaurant. Maybe not even that anymore. After Lily’s last visit, Mo Meng had shut down the restaurant for three days to emplace a series of powerful new runes, not just across the restaurant itself but the building that housed it and then, later on, the entire neighborhood.
That last part, she’d only known when her regular alerts for the Nameless Restaurant and its address and cross streets – needed, due to the fact that the restaurant refused to actually pick a name – had highlighted a series of photos and a single video of ethereal nights in the neighborhood one evening.
“You say that, but then you start cooking a pot of pasta and forget about the stove…”
“I was seven!” Kelly said, hating how her voice grew whiny as she spoke. “Just… what are you looking for, Mom?”
“A mother can’t call her daughter to check up on her now?”
“You never just call to check.”
“Well, I dare say…”
“I’m going to hang up now, if there’s nothing else,” Kelly snapped, already pulling the phone away from her ear.
“Okay, okay. I just wanted to know if you’re going to be back,” her mother said, all too patiently.
“Back?”
“For Canada Day, of course,” her mother complained. “You already missed last year, you know.”
“I told you, I had overtime work at that warehouse…”
“Right, I can’t believe you worked there. Inhumane conditions, the papers say. What you were thinking, I don’t understand… Can’t you get a proper job?”
“Mom, I really need to go. Really,” Kelly replied. “I’ll… text you later, okay? With my answer.”
