(Morcster Chef Book 2) - Chapter 86 (Patreon)

Betsy stepped forward, reaching into a bag at her waist. She pulled out a whole chicken and placed it on the table before Arek. Several huge bell peppers followed it. Then came tomatoes, onions, dozens of spices, and a massive mountain of ingredients ranging from milk to bread to bacon.

She then repeated the process at Gernon’s table before giving them both a bow and taking several steps back.

“I have to use all of this?” Arek asked, doubtfully examining the precarious pile on the table in front of him. He scanned the crowd out of the corner of his eyes, but the cloaked figure was gone again.

“Of course not,” Gernon said, laughing. “These are simply options. You may use as much or as little as you would like. Your goal here is simply to make the best chicken dish possible.”

“There are a few rules, though,” Betsy said, raising a finger. “First, you can only cook with the ingredients on the table. You may not add anything else.”

She paused, then raised a second finger. “The best meal will be decided by myself and four randomly selected people from the audience. They’ve already been chosen and are eagerly awaiting both of your meals.”

The crowd behind Betsy parted as two men and two women hurried up behind her, each carrying a tall wooden stool. They set them down on the ground and sat down behind her, watching the chefs eagerly.

“Third,” Betsy said, raising yet another finger. “Challenger, you only get a single attempt to challenge Gernon. This is true for all of the chefs in the Floating Cities. You are not expected to be able to defeat him in pure cooking ability. As long as you can get two out of the five judges to agree that your dish is near Gernon’s in quality, you will win.”

“What happens if I lose?” Arek asked curiously.

“Not much, but you’ll never be permitted to challenge Gernon again. You may still attempt to take on the other chefs in the Floating Cities.”

“I see,” Arek said. “Any reason for that?”

“Tradition,” Betsy and Gernon chorused at the same time.

“And to save my sanity,” Gernon added. “We don’t want to deal with a dozen repeat challenges from amateur chefs, so this makes sure they’re confident when they step up to the plate.”

“Makes sense,” Arek said. He tilted his head. “How many other chefs are there? The way you said that makes it seem like they’re in a club.”

“We are,” Gernon said, laughing. “In a way, at least. There are Twelve Great Chefs in the Floating Cities. In fact, there are many masters of the arts here. But, if you challenge all of us, there may be a reward depending on how well you did.”

“You’ve got my attention,” Arek said, rubbing his hands together. “Has everyone ever defeated all of you?”

“It’s happened a few times,” Gernon said, cracking his knuckles. “It isn’t common. You think you’ve got a shot?”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Arek replied, rolling his neck. “How long do we have?”

“One hour,” Betsy replied. “It sounds like you’re ready?”

Arek examined the pile of food for a few moments, mentally sifting through recipes before he settled on one. Then he nodded. Gernon did the same.

“Then… begin!” Betsy called. The crowd roared in approval as the two chefs dove into the piles of food, grabbing the ingredients that they wanted.

Arek pulled the cleaver from his travel bag. With two heavy, precise chops, he removed the chicken’s legs. The orc moved them in front of himself, then cut firmly through the joint to separate the thighs from the drumsticks.

He pulled the left wing of the chicken to the side, cutting through the joint and splitting it from the body with another clean strike. He repeated the process on the other side, setting the cuts of meat with the others.

Arek flipped the remaining chicken breast on its back and made two powerful cuts, splitting the meat off from the chicken’s backbone. He set the bone to the side and piled the meat together.

He spent a minute quickly carving off any excess fat or bloody veins before nodding to himself. He wiped his hands off and approached the pile of food, scanning through it. He’d already settled on a relatively basic recipe that he’d been taught a long time ago, largely since the ingredients were so simple.

Arek found a large brick of butter relatively easily. His next target – soy sauce, took a moment longer. There were several flasks with dark liquid, but he found it on the second try and set it aside beside the butter.

The garlic and black pepper were nestled in a small group of spices near the bottom of the pile. The orc added them to his own, much smaller, pile. He then grabbed some parsley, mildly disappointed that he couldn’t use his own.

Meanwhile, Gernon had been busy. The man had not only cut his chicken but had also skinned it and was well into seasoning with a healthy amount of orange and yellow spices. Flickers of magic danced around the man, although Arek couldn’t tell what it was being used for.

Arek twisted the knob on the plate before him. It hummed to life, blue light surrounding it as a small screen flickered to life before him. Several options flashed in the screen in front of him, depicting different methods of applying heat. There was an oven, a broiler, a hot plate, and several others that Arek didn’t recognize.

He tapped the broiler. The bars at the top of the plate shifted, forming a cage. Blue magic stretched between them, covering the bars as if they’d never been there and forming a small blue box.

Red lines burned to life at the top of the box and the air within it started to heat up quickly. Arek’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t marvel at the oven. He went back to his chicken, removing the skin with the tip of his cleaver.