Page 12 of The Signature Dish of the Underworld

Because Rae hadn’t had a chance to bake this morning, the only goods she could put in the cabinet were the leftovers from the stock cupboard. Luckily, she had enough ingredients prepared to make up the wraps between the few early-morning coffee stragglers. Her ambrosia was easy enough to whip up too, though it would need to set in the freezer for a few hours.

Still, after the mid-morning rush, Rae felt like wind nymphs had spun her into a tizzy.

“Not much of a selection here today, Rae. Trying to make us all hungry for the festival, are you?” Simon asked.

Rae looked at Simon, her head cocked to one side, puzzled. Why he was standing at the counter, in his slumped clothing that was one size too big for him? Simon never stood at the counter. He always just came in and took his seat under the window, then settled up his tokens when he was ready to leave.

Rae realised she hadn’t served him his kylix this morning.

“Simon, I’m so sorry. I’ll be right over with your coffee.”

“Take your time. You seem a little out of sorts.”

Rae offered a tight smile. “Festival jitters.”

“Mmm,” Simon replied half-heartedly, clearly not interested in anything other than his usual as he toddled back to his seat.

The complaints kept on coming. By midday, Rae had run out of the wraps that soothed fears, she only had two corn fritters with their positive pomegranate glaze left. There’d been no chance to make more filo pastries, and the fish dish was always her hardest sell. There was no end of grumbles that the sweet and savoury sausage rolls were out, and apparently daemons, nymphs and other deities in the area simply didn’t want apple-ice or meringues today. Which left four slices of ambrosia and a handful of bliss balls, given that Rae hadn’t had a chance to make a batch of fresh muffins today either.

It was a long time until two o’clock rolled around and Rae could shut up shop.

Dragging her feet home, Rae barely managed to shut her little red door before she was sliding her back down it and collapsing onto the floor in a flood of tears. Today had been an utter failure, and she was exhausted.

When her sobs eventually began to subside to hiccups, the vine wrapped itself around a box of tissues and handed them to her.

“T-th-thank you,” she stuttered between sniffles.

A gentle tug.

“I know, I know, I’ll get up. I always do.”

A more insistent tug that hauled Rae to her feet. Then a push in the direction of the kitchen. Her home knew her better than she did – knew she would feel better after she got herself back to work. But returning to the bombsite she had left this morning almost deflated Rae back to her knees again.

“No,” she scolded herself. “Shake it off. Get it together, Rae.”

Drowning out the thoughts in her head by only focusing on the task in front of her, she scrubbed the kitchen until it was sparkling again. Benches were wiped, then washed and scrubbed with a soap and brush, before being rinsed with water. The palladium appliances were next, with an extra sheen of sparkle given to them with one of those tinctures Rae had gotten from a Hecate store. The fridge was tackled last.

She was not one to waste food, but the festival period was a strange time. She separated her food into edible and ‘not-sure-what-in-the-Underworld-that-is’ and then washed, soaped, scrubbed and wiped the fridge shelves and dirty dishes too.

Restacking the remaining food in containers and layering them according to purpose – fuel, bistro new recipes (?), festival prep – Rae was done. Then, only when it was clean, and Rae herself was freshly showered, did she mess it all up again.

The Vraveío Astéri festival officially kicked off tonight at six o’clock. Originally, the competition had only been for restaurants across Asphodel. With the population continuing to grow, and the festival popularity too, the offer had been extended to bakeries, bistros and cafes in the last four centuries. It gave Rae an extra day to prepare – which, this time, was a blessing in disguise. Usually, however, it gave restaurants the advantage: getting to wow with their showstoppers on the first night.

Rae glanced at the token peeking out of her bag on the dining table across the counter. It fluttered at her, flirting.

“I’m not going to Garth’s. Look how today turned out after yesterday. No, I need to stay here and prep my entry for tomorrow anyway.”

The rules were clear: you had to meet the brief, impress with your flavour and food combinations,andyou had to have enough for whenever the secret judge came to visit.

In her first cook-off,Rae hadn’t known about the secret judge. She had justassumeda judge would turn up on the first day.

She’d been incorrect.

They’d turned up on the sixth day, according to the score card she’d later seen in the ν?α and cringed at. The judge hadn’t had a chance to sample her dish – ambrosia was her entry that century – at all. “A pity,” the report had read, “because a loyal customer told me that Geras' Grub had sold out of them by day three. If only the chef had been more prepared.”

Rae had been prepared the next time. But she’dstillcome second to Garth. And the time after that. The time after that. This time would be different.

The competition ran for twelve days, which meant there was no way Rae was going to be able to prep every individual entry tonight. Even between her own home and Geras’ place, she wouldn't have enough space to store all the ingredients that made up her dish. Instead, she’d make the first batch of apples today. Enough to get through the first three days of the festival, then reload at three more intervals. Due to the ingredients she was using, the only thing she could completely make now was the apple moulds anyway, which meant tonight's workload would be the heaviest.

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