"It was eight years ago today..." Mung Daal said softly to himself. He stared at a sleeping Chowder, who had icing all around his mouth and had passed out after eating his entire birthday cake. Mung smiled at his young apprentice, so young and full of life. "Eight years ago since my life had truly changed."

Mung Daal had just closed up shop for the day. His hair had more silver than dark blue, yet he still felt as young and vibrant as ever. He had the love of his dear wife, even though she showed it the most unpleasant ways. He sat in the kitchen, making sure everything was neat and clean (he hadn't hired Schnitzel yet) when he heard the doorbell ring. "We're closed!" he called out, rather annoyed.

The doorbell rang again. "I said we're closed! Come back in the morning!"

Mung waited a few moments, and turned back to cleaning up, when the doorbell rang again. The chef stomped towards the door, ready to kill. "I said we're CLOSED. Are you DEAF?"

He opened the door but no one was there. "Rotten teenagers with their pranks," he mumbled. He turned around and shut the door, when he heard the sound of a baby cooing. He opened the door again, and looked around. Nothing. Then he heard the cooing again, followed by a short cry. He looked down and saw a little basket with a purple blanket covering a lump. He picked up the basket, curious.

He peeled off the blanket, only to reveal a chubby lavender creature. The creature giggled, and reached up a hand towards Mung's mustache. He grabbed it and chewed on it playfully, not yet having teeth to break any hair.

"Where did you come from?" Mung asked, knowing the baby couldn't answer him. He pulled off more of the blanket, it was summer at the time and he didn't want the baby to get a heat stroke, when a little paper fluttered down. He retrieved it from the ground. It was written in sloppy handwriting, as if it was written in a hurry. It read,

"Please take good care of my baby. Me and my husband are unable to care for him, as we are poor. We would rather give him a better chance at life, a chance to become successful. We hope you can care for him. Please, just call him Chowder."

"Well, Chowder, let's get you inside. I bet you're starving. With that the baby's stomach rumbled, and Mung Daal chuckled.

"You know, maybe I can teach you as you get older. You will be learning from the best."

Mung Daal sighed happily. He went upstairs and brought down Chowder's blanket and pillow, trying to make him comfortable. "Sleep tight, Chowder," the chef whispered, and he flicked off the light.