(Morcster Chef Book 2) - Chapter 88 (Patreon)

“So, how are you feeling?” Gernon asked Arek, examining the orc’s dish. Both chefs had several slices of their meals left over.

“As good as I can be, I suppose,” Arek replied with a chuckle. “Chick has never been my forte. I tended to trade for the majority of my meat, and the merchants I worked with usually stocked red meat.”

“Nothing wrong with having a specialty,” Gernon said. “You finished pretty quickly. You must have been confident in your recipe.”

“I’m confident in everything I cook,” Arek said. “I’m not sure if it’ll match up to anything of your caliber, though.”

“Care to find out?” Gernon asked, nodding at one of the remaining slices of meat on his plate.

“I was hoping you’d offer,” Arek said, a grin stretching across his face. He grabbed a serving fork and plate from his table, carefully sliding a piece of chicken onto it. Arek tipped the plate, pouring a little extra sauce over it before claiming his prize. “You’re welcome to taste my meal as well, if you’d like.”

“Don’t see why not,” Gernon said, nodding appreciatively. While he served himself a portion of Arek’s food, the orc examined the bright orange chicken before him. The sauce was rich and creamy, dotted with dozens of spices.

When he pressed down on the chicken with his fork, it broke apart almost instantly. Arek poked a small piece with a single prong of his fork and brought it to his mouth.

The meal practically melted instantly. A burst of flavor unfurled in his mouth like an exotic flower. The chicken was, unsurprisingly, perfect. It had the faintest crust on the outside, but it was packed chock full of flavor from the sauce.

The flavor itself was difficult to summarize. It was a myriad of hot spices that Arek had never tasted before. There were hints of smokiness and what could almost be described as different flavors of heat. Everything was tied together by a creamy undertone that kept the dish from becoming overpowering.

It was the perfect combination to draw Arek back in for another bite. He devoured the entire meal within minutes, carefully wiping the last of the sauce up from the plate and barely keeping himself from licking it clean.

“That was amazing,” Arek said, thoroughly taken aback. “I thought I’d be able to recognize more, but half of the things in this meal were completely foreign to me. Where did you get these spices?”

“You can find many of them in the Market District of the Floating Cities,” Gernon said after swallowing a bite of Arek’s chicken. “But the original recipe comes from the Burning Plateau. I traveled there many years ago to learn from their master chefs.”

“It worked,” Arek said. Both chefs chuckled.

Gernon finished off the last bite of Arek’s meal, using the chicken like a sponge to gather the last of the sauce from the plate. He let out a thoughtful grunt.

“A very simple dish,” Gernon said. “But this was not a contest of difficulty. It was of flavor. The choice of soy sauce was intelligent – it pairs surprisingly well with butter to give the meat a smoky flavor. Your skill shines through in the preparation of the chicken and your timing. If this had been in the oven for even a few more seconds, it would become slightly overcooked.”

“That’s a lot of words to say you liked it,” Arek said.

“I’m an old-fashioned man,” Gernon replied. “We like blathering. As for the drawbacks – I think you could use a bit more complexity in this meal. It is good, but the flavor profile is not as developed as it could be. Something to challenge the tastebuds or diversify the flavor more would be beneficial.”

Arek nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps a side dish would go well. Something crunchy?”

“That would be wise,” Gernon agreed. “My own dish is often served atop rice, but I wanted to focus exclusively on the chicken in this contest. Speaking of which, it seems like the judges are almost finished.”

They both turned towards Betsy and the other four men and women, who were in the process of finishing off the last morsels of food on the plates before them. Not a single piece of chicken or sauce had been left behind.

A napkin materialized in Betsy’s hand and she wiped her mouth delicately with it. She snapped her fingers and the plates vanished. The waitress rose to her feet and shook her head in disbelief.

“What a fantastic showing from both contestants!” Betsy called. “I’m sure it takes none of you by surprise that Gernon’s meal was positively divine, but this challenger came in swinging. His chicken was buttery and rich, with just enough garlic to give it a little kick. Meanwhile, Gernon created a storm of spice and flavor that I can still feel in my mouth!”

The crowd cheered. It might have been the most animated Arek had ever seen people for the results of a cooking contest.

“Before we get into the official judging, I’d like to honor tradition by asking you all one question. Do any of you believe that the challenger’s meal was actually better than Gernon’s?”

The crowd fell silent. The first three judges slowly shook their heads. A gasp rose up as the final judge, a pudgy man with a bushy mustache and a receding hairline, slowly raised his hand.

“I did,” he said meekly. “I’m afraid I don’t like spicy food very much.”

“And there you have it, folks! This challenger has a judge in his court! But the true test isn’t if he can beat Gernon – it’s if he can stand up to it! So, without further ado, let’s get into the real judging!”