Today, we return to fictional writing. It’s rough and unpolished, but it’s pretty much out of my head and on paper. The Roughest of Rough Drafts, if you will.
I’ve been struck by the muses of inspiration! Today is an idea that’s floating around in my head – all characters and plotlines etc are © Stacy Ann Thomas. The idea is that this main character, who is temporarily being known as Anna, is an aspiring chef who during her final in her home kitchen while she’s cooking a la Master Chef home restaurant style, unleashes her witch powers accidentially while humming a chant that she used to hear her mother whisper when she was a child. This is just a snippit that formed in my head during the day and I suspect we’ll be seeing more of her…
Quickly tying my apron on, I murmured a quick “Yes Chef!” as I grabbed my knife roll. Heading to my station in the restaurant, I sat my knife roll down and fished out my favourite knife, a well worn santoku. Setting it down and quickly washing my hands, I began to chop and slice vegetables for that night’s service, focusing on making sure my brunoise were even and perfectly diced, and that my slices were also even. I focused so completely on my task, that I didn’t pay attention to the normal joking and horsing around that generally takes place in the kitchen during these nights. I had fallen behind on my grades in school and I knew that our head chef, Antoine du Baptiste, would mark me down for any cuts that weren’t perfect.
Sure, this was a restaurant run entirely by students to prepare us for the real world of working in a restaurant but that was never an excuse for sloppiness. And Chef Antoine was fond of pointing out that if we were working in the restaurant, we were clearly near the end of our educations at St Martin’s Culinary Academy and should therefore be able to do a perfect brunoise.
“Anna!” Chef Antoine’s voice cut through my vegetable chopping, and I paused, looking up at him. He stood over my station, a smirk on his rough features as he caught my attention.
“Yes Chef?” I asked.
“You have been working all night and not saying a word. Come, we have some announcements to make about your end of term exams. This is your last term, is it not?”
I nodded slightly, finishing the carrots I was dicing before cleaning my station and going over to where my classmates had gathered. We stood patiently in our white uniforms, hands clasped behind our backs while Chef Antoine began to explain to us what our final exams would be.
“We are doing something different this time. Instead of just having you run this restaurant for a night as we have in the past, you will also be running a restaurant from your own homes for a night, much like those cooking shows that are now on your televisions. You will not be filmed, but you will be graded on all your hospitality choices, not just your cooking and running of the kitchen. If you live with family or roommates, please speak with me privately – we will, of course work around this.” He looked at each and every one of us before dismissing us.
I quickly grabbed my knife roll and cursed inwardly. I toyed momentarily with the idea of saying I didn’t have a kitchen to cook in, but a small part of me rebelled against that idea. I had a good home, after all, that had been left to me in my Mother’s will and the kitchen in it was actually really nice. I loved cooking in it, and my love of cooking is what had inspired me to see admission to St Martin’s. Sighing, I climbed in my car and drove home to try and get some sleep before tomorrow afternoon’s practical courses. No doubt we were going to have to create our own menus or something.
What was I, some sort of Kitchen Witch? Not hardly!