Page 9 of The Chef

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Fendle replied, his voice certain and entirely free of sarcasm, which was a nice change. Normally, people quickly tired of Char’s obsession with cooking; sarcasm and disdain crept into voices, along with sneers and snide looks. Fendle had more than enough time to develop that tendency but hadn’t. Perhaps that was why Char was feeling so insistent about supporting Fendle as best he could.

“How are we doing on supplies, by the way?” Fendle asked. “The meeting this afternoon was basically a bitch fest, unfortunately. It appears the six mercenary groups here were all paid to assemble in this location, after which they were promised more pay to jointly attack an unnamed target. Apparently, per Tarken, we’re to sit on our asses and run through all our supplies while we wait for someone to deliver the second set of instructions. Since no one actually knows when those instructions will arrive, all they could do was complain about not being properly outfitted for a long campout.”

Char nodded. “We’re okay for now. We have your supplies combined with everything we scavenged.” He didn’t explain aloud about commandeering all the extra food from the mercenaries Fendle’s group had killed, but his meaning wasclear. “Plus, tonight the only ingredients I used from our stores were some mushrooms and spices. The fish and onion we were able to forage fresh. With the foraging included, I would estimate our stores will last for two weeks, but if we think this is going to take longer than that, I can start rationing the second week and stretch it another week or so.”

Fendle sighed. “I really hope this won’t take nearly as long as two more weeks. The message will have to arrive soon since all the mercenary groups are here, so this should be done in a few more days. Then it’s about four days ride to the city, and we can always stop in a town to buy supplies on the way if needed.”

“Then I won’t worry about rationing any time soon,” Char replied with an easy shrug. “I’ll keep an eye on our stores though. Just in case.”

Fendle smiled at him. “I really am glad we decided not to kill you.” He clapped Char on the shoulder. The flickering firelight was kind enough to hide the way Char’s cheeks warmed. He felt as if he had kept his face too close to an open oven door, the blasting heat giving him the equivalent of a sunburn. New recipes, the chance to try unique ingredients, or an opportunity to learn techniques from a master in his craft; those were all instances that had his stomach fluttering and excitement flashing through him. Never before had it been from a smile and a friendly touch. Char had no idea what any of it meant, but he forced his lips to curve into an answering smile before his face alerted Fendle to Char’s confusion.

Friendly chatter moved closer as the dishwashing crew started walking back from the lake. Fendle took a step back, releasing his gentle grip on Char’s shoulder.

“I need to double-check the duty roster for tomorrow,” he explained.

Char frowned at him. “And get some sleep.” The words slipped out before Char could stop them, but Fendle only laughed at the motherly admonition.

“Yes. I’ll get some sleep too.” He smiled at Char one last time before striding off toward the other fire.

The washing crew delivered a full pot of fresh water, so Char busied himself making tea, hoping his odd, albeit not unpleasant, swirling feelings would abate soon.

Chapter Five

CHAR REALLY WANTEDto make oat cakes. He had the oats and sugar, and the recipe didn’t call for eggs, but what he did need was baking soda. There wasn’t any baking soda in the middle of the mountain, and he wasn’t going to magically find some growing along the lake’s edge—since baking soda didn’t grow. Substitutes like baking powder, egg whites, club soda, or even bananas were also a no-go out here.

He could make oat cakes without any leavening, but they would end up hard and tacky. Even with all the concessions he’d made to quality due to the conditions, Char could not justify something he knew would turn out extremely subpar.

Char sighed, but started measuring out water, calculating cups for the entire group. Once the pot was full of cold water, Char added a dash of salt before moving the pot onto the grill. He measured out the ratio of cups of oats, gently pouring them into the water. Most recipes said to wait for the water to boil before adding the oats, but Char found letting them absorb the water while it heated made for a softer and creamier final dish. Of course, oatmeal was always better when made with milk, rather than water, but there weren’t any cows wandering by the lake.

As the water began to steam and the oats puff, Char added sugar. Oatmeal by itself was bland. It needed sugar of some kind or it wasn’t worth eating. Usually for regular white sugar, Char liked to add cinnamon for a bit of extra punch. He didn’t have cinnamon though. The molasses in the brown sugar he was using instead was just as good, albeit in a very different flavor profile. Unfortunately, the pouch of dried fruit was starting to run low, so Char only put in half the amount he would have liked. He couldn’t compensate by adding more sugar either, since there wasn’t too much of that left as well. They might not need to ration the rest of their food just yet, but Char could definitely see the squeeze coming.

It was too late in the season to be able to scavenge any spring fruits, and way too early for the apples or any autumn offerings to be ripe. Perhaps they might find honey out here, but Char wasn’t about to risk getting his group stung by bees to collect some. Breakfast might end up being jerky and dried mushrooms—or plain oatmeal without any seasonings to make it palatable, which was even worse—if he wasn’t careful.

“What did the fruit ever do to you?” Fendle asked as he strode over. Char looked up and realized he had been frowning at the bag in his hands.

“Just trying to plan breakfast for the next few days. I’m tired of oatmeal, but it’s all we have. Problem is the oatmeal might also be inedible if we run out of sweetener.” He paused, but a glance around said they were still alone; the crowd of hungry fighters were still completing their morning duties. “Any word from Tarken today?”

Fendle shook his head. “No, but if the people we’re waiting for don’t arrive today, I suspect some of the mercenary groups will pick up camp tomorrow and cut their losses. I’m hoping our erstwhile hosts realize that and don’t leave us waiting.” Hesighed. “Anyway, sounds like oatmeal again this morning. Any plans for the rest of our meals?”

That made Char’s frown return in earnest. “The potatoes are starting to sprout, so it’s going to be potatoes all day. I’m thinking a loaded baked potato for lunch, although since we don’t have any sour cream or butter I’m not sure I can comfortably call it that. Dinner will have to be mashed potatoes, but without butter and milk they won’t be particularly creamy. The oil will smooth it out and some spices will make it palatable, but it will still be dry.”

“Can you make a sort of shepherd’s pie with it?” Fendle asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Char snorted. “I need eggs, cream,andflour. Pie needs a proper dough for a crust and the filling ought to be a proper béchamel. Although...maybe I could come up with a quasi-deconstructed version...” He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment, but the weight of Fendle’s gaze forced him to glance up.

Fendle was looking at Char with the slightest smile lifting his lips at the corners. The look wasn’t condescending or pasted on, but Char had no idea what it meant.

“What?” he asked, unable to let the mystery go unanswered.

Fendle’s smile grew. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you get so lost talking about food?”

“I’m—what?” Char spluttered out, his cheeks heating even as his swirling thoughts about potatoes ground to a sudden halt.

“Absolutely adorable,” Fendle said, filling in the empty spot left by Char’s inability to get any more words out.

“No. That’s not true. I’m—” Obsessive bordering on fanatical were the nicest terms Char had ever heard himself described with. He couldn’t make himself finish the sentence; the sting inhis chest and his throat from just thinking about it kept those hateful words inside.

“Everyone else is clearly brain-dead, if they don’t see how incredibly cute you are when you’re captivated by food.” Fendle reached out, and for a moment Char wasn’t sure whether to be excited or frightened of the idea that Fendle might pull him close. But, instead, Fendle picked up the spoon resting on a plate next to the fire and gave the neglected oatmeal a much-needed stir.

---