It had been a long winter and a cool, wet spring. The buds on the trees were starting to open, but the color of the grass was still muted and any ground that hadn't been paved was practically mud. The traveler's patent leather shoes squelched as he walked and he cursed under his breath as he nearly tripped over a loose branch on the ground. Why didn't the person he was looking for have a room at the inn or live in a house like a normal person? He wasn't an outdoorsman by any means, and having to hunt him down like this was frustrating.
He hoisted his pack on his back and continued along, sweat rolling down his forehead and burning his eyes. He normally wouldn't go through this kind of trouble to meet someone, but this was an opportunity for him to grow in his career, and he took his job very seriously. Each step was an effort, the wet earth suctioning the soles of his shoes. He tried to focus his effort on something else, quoting a few lines to his favorite culinary textbook.
"A dish shared with others is made all the more delicious."
"The beauty in a dish is revealed when it is eaten."
"Allow your cooking to reflect your soul, to become an outside representation of the love you feel for others."
They were truly the words of a poet. While some may have scoffed at the idea of such words in a textbook to teach students, these very words made him realize that he wanted food to be his life's work. Preparing food was more than just a way of providing sustenance; it was a way for him to express himself. If he could use cooking as a medium to show others what he was capable of and have them take him seriously, then he was more than willing to give it his best shot.
After a couple of minutes trudging through the overgrowth, he slumped down on a fallen log, attempting to catch his breath in short gasps. He wasn't physically fit by any means and he made no attempts to hide this fact; after all, he was in the middle of the wilderness and there was no one to observe him huffing and puffing, choking for air as he licked his dry lips.
"A truly delicious dish tastes of love."
A gravelly voice that was surprisingly deep startled him from his rest. "You returned, moi." The small man shuffled through the overgrowth, scratching at his grisly beard as he looked at the gourmet curiously. He was barefoot and in this clammy weather, the gourmet really didn't know how he handled it. His shabby clothing, if it could be called that, didn't really look like it would protect him much from the elements.
The gourmet cringed in response, remembering just how strange this "teacher" was. Suddenly the thought of seeking out a hobo to instruct him on foraging and cooking local cuisine sounded horribly embarrassing. He was a nationally acclaimed food critic, after all, and there was a good chance that the two of them hanging out together could hurt his reputation. After all, the idea that someone living out in the wilderness could possibly know more about cuisine than someone with his culinary education was laughable. He removed his plum silk top hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief he produced from his pocket. "Murrey, I have been looking for you for a while. I made a dish that I think is better than that food you let me try last fall."
He stared at the gourmet curiously. He had seen the rotund man waddling near the Goddess Spring last fall, but he couldn't remember much of him. He slapped himself on the forehead as his memories flooded to him all at once. It was that greedy glutton who had insisted on trying some of his meager meal. When Murrey had offered him a bite, the stranger had consumed almost half of it. The frown faded from his face as he saw the gourmet reach into his pack and pull out a covered dish. The shrimp and shellfish were arranged over the golden rice pristinely and Murrey wondered how it had traveled so well.
Well, this is the moment, the gourmet told himself. After months of obsessing over his sample of the hobo's food, he was determined to surpass his skill. After all, it wasn't as if Murrey had pored over books and attended courses on honing his sense of smell and taste. The gourmet had analyzed the flavor of Murrey's dish to the best of his memory and thought of him as his teacher, trying his best to create something so delicious. He was positively certain that Murrey lacked formal training, as his food hadn't looked appetizing at all. The gourmet smirked; he had at least beaten him out in that category. He was eager to show that he had become the better cook after all of his practice.
"Voila! My signature paella! Surely this will be the most exquisite thing you have ever eaten. Please take it and let me know what you think!" The gourmet thrust out the glassware with his hands. His confidence soared as he was reminded how appealing the food looked and he was excited to hear the man's praise of his cooking.
Murrey took the offered plate and fork not without a bit of suspicion. "Why for m-me, moi?"
The gourmet weaved his sausage-like fingers together and a smirk played at his lips. "I want you to eat it and give me your honest critique. Many consider this dish to be the best thing they've ever tasted, you know," he added with a confident chuckle. To admit he saw himself as Murrey's pupil felt embarrassing and silly; he refrained from saying it aloud.
He was given a curious stare in response as he took a bite of the food, chewing thoughtfully. His fork sat still on the plate as his jaw stopped moving and he slowly swallowed.
Why was the hobo not shoveling the food in his mouth like there was no tomorrow? The gourmet had expected to see rice flying accompanied by the sound of smacking lips and chomping. Why was Murrey not licking the plate clean, mumbling compliments between bites? He never felt so insulted. After playing with the rim of his hat in his hands, the gourmet could take it no longer. "Well, what do you think?" he repeated. Perhaps Murrey was struggling to find the words to describe the amazing treat he just tasted and it was too precious to eat.
He shook his shaggy head. "I-It's not very good, moi. Too many seasonings distract from the ingredients. Try focusing on the natural flavors, moi. Bring out the soul of the food."
The gourmet found himself grinding his teeth. "Why you ungrateful little-" he muttered under his breath, cutting himself off. "Don't you want to eat the rest of it?"
His jaw dropped as Murrey handed him back the dish. "N-no thanks… Murrey is fine, moi."
After months of studying and tweaking the recipe, adjusting cooking times and seasonings… He had eaten nothing but paella for the past six weeks, struggling to get it right. It had been designed to be irresistible. There was no way that anyone could turn their nose up at the dish…
All of his hard work had gone to waste.
Insulted that the beggar hadn't been enthralled to inhale every last bit of food, the gourmet threw the plate on the ground. The result wasn't as dramatic as he had hoped, as the plate was cushioned by mud and vegetation as it hit the ground, falling nearly noiselessly. A couple of shrimp and mussels bounced out of the dish and some rice spilled into the dirt.
"I hope you're happy!" he fumed, stamping on the ground. "I used so much saffron and exotic spice in that dish! Expertly cooked in a five-star kitchen by a master of the culinary arts! People would have been happy to pay a lot of money for it."
Murrey blinked wordlessly, wondering what it was he was expecting him to say. He had asked for honesty, and he had given it to him.
His silence only infuriated the gourmet, who balled up his fists. "How dare you insult my hard work! I don't know why I even asked for your opinion! Honestly, why do I care what you think? I mean, you look at you – you're just a-"
"You have much to learn, moi." A sadness filled Murrey's dark eyes as he shook his head, ambling back into the overgrowth. "A truly delicious dish tastes of love."
The gourmet's eyes popped open in surprise, his monocle falling out as his lungs deflated. He could hear his old teacher's voice in his head repeating those same words, pointing at the cover the class's textbook, the very book the gourmet lived his life by – The Heart of French Cuisine, by Murrey LeRoux. How could he have been so blind? He hung his head; indeed, he had much to learn.
0o0o0o0
Author's Note: This story is loosely based on the event with the two of these characters in HMDS. I hope you enjoyed!