The Fare Ordeal

Word count:  700

Recipe?  Check.  Apron?  Check.  Chocolate Chips?  Check.  Overwhelming nervousness?  Double check.  “Today is my day,” I mumbled to myself as I assembled everything in order from left to right.  Today, specifically, was the day I was to present my recipe to LSD, or the Lady’s Society of Diner’s, where they held the power to allow me to continue achieving all my wildest culinary dreams.

I had spent years perfecting my craft, beginning with my first Crème Brule at age eleven, and escalating my craft from there.  I have interned with pastry chef Edwin Wilder and the infamous Charlie Stone, and been featured in Culinarian Weekly and Cuisinier au Naturel.  But this interview would decide if I was to enter into one of the most competitive programs in the world: Cuisine Bien Cuit, determining my future as a World-Renowned Chef or simply another talented local.

For my interview I chose a twisted classic: Ambrosial Chocolate Chipper cookies.  Yet before I could pickup my tool of choice, the whisk, I heard a door slam and obscene cursing.  I live by myself, and this was highly unusual (not to mention alarming).  I armed myself with whisk and knife and faced in the direction of the door…

…and suddenly, a perfectly gelled sandy auburn head came into view, hair pushed aside, and the ever-celestial jaw line of Calvin White appeared.  Calvin White, the model, actor, and heartbreaker.  Calvin White, with his abysmal cerulean eyes and thighs that filled you with torrid lust.  And that jaw line; poems have been dedicated and songs ascribed to it.  He dominated both the pop culture world and every woman with half a brain and a libido.  And he was standing in my kitchen.

Why?  I didn’t ask.  Nor did I need to know.  All that mattered was that I was within one hundred feet – no – ten feet of him, that ethereal being.  He looked around in that careless way that only the most preeminent can do, and then uttered an otherworldly sound –

“Got any beer?”

…and I was shaken with a start out of my reverie.  I looked him over again in disgust and proceeded to ignore him, which proved to be wholly unsuccessful.  “Hey, whacha doing?” he inquired, entering my personal space, “and what am I doing here?” he said, looking around suspiciously.

“I’m not sure, this is my kitchen,” was my retort.

“Hmp, no need to be grumpy, man,” he shuffled.  He went around the kitchen examining and approving everything and, satisfied, sunk down into my tired old couch and promptly fell asleep.

Weird.  But I didn’t have time for this.  I shook my head and brought it back to the task at hand – my future.  I went into high alert, whisking and throwing ingredients around in a blur.  And then Calvin White let out a Herculean snore and I was so startled I turned around quickly and spilled the entire contents of the batter onto my kitchen floor.

I looked seethingly at the slumbering Calvin White.  But it only got worse.  At that moment, the phone rang.  I ran to it, slipping on the batter, only to find that my interview, and my future, had been postponed indefinitely.

I hung up the phone, stunned and humiliated.  Tears built behind my eyes.  I looked wildly around the room, searching for something to blame.  I found Calvin White.

“If only you hadn’t been sleeping!”  I bellowed, realizing too late that maybe I was being a little unfair.  He grumped, turned over, and slipped right back into his intolerable snore.  Furiously, I screamed “GET OUT,” and with that, he dashed out of the room as his lazy legs could carry him, and I sunk down into my old couch and cried.

Calvin White or no Calvin White, I wasn’t going to let this day be entirely dilapidated.  I whisked my whisk into high gear once more, and whipped up a second batch of cookies.  They found their place in the oven, and one hour later I was enjoying a batch of my ambrosial Chocolate Chipper cookies.  I let bliss sweep over me and tried to forget the trying events of the day.  There was, after all, always tomorrow.

Word count:  700