I actually wrote this about a week ago. I was too lazy to go over, correct it enough, and make sure it wasn't as bad as it originally was (That, and I was shy about it, considering my lack of describing certain things, and the time skips). I literally went over this three or four times, and ended up finding typos/misplaced words each time. Let me tell ya, do not attempt writing something intelligible around 4AM when you haven't slept in a few days. So if you find typos, or something, just... don't be surprised. This one was a quick spit that I paused my other fics to run to. (Literally, I was writing me some yaoi, and got this idea, closed everything, and opened a new writing pad. ((facepalm))) Also, pretend the Gourmet doesn't exist here, or that Kai doesn't know of him. ;P
The characters used in this don't belong to me.
Clair is a tough one.
I shoved a plate in front of her at the table, it was the last one of today, because the sun was already down, and it was getting pretty dark in this town. My heart went crazy for a bit there when I saw her blue eyes squint at the plate of food in front of her, as if examining every little tiny piece possible.
She nodded, score one. The scent wasn't horrible to her, I found this one to be the easiest. Not quite sure how, considering how strict she was, maybe her sense of smell wasn't sufficient.
Another nod, indicating score two, which always meant she approved of the appearance, setting of the food, and drink offered. I had a little trouble with this one at first, but I found just the right way to meet her standards.
But it was always the third one!
A good cook normally has someone there to sit by and really tell them heart to heart if the food is acceptable. I was lucky enough to get the one girl who's parents were both high quality chefs. Sometimes I wish I didn't, though.
I watched nervously, my heart tying knots as she slid an occupied fork into her mouth. The knots untied and sored up as I saw her head do a slight turn side to side.
Score three was almost impossible with this one. Everyone thought I was perfect at this except for her!
However, it was a goal all the same. If I could get a pretty girl like her, who has tasted the all considered 'best of the best', to accept my creations, then I'd believe ANY ONE could.
I sighed, steadying myself for another set of a painful speech from her.
"It tastes kind of..." she paused, perhaps trying to gather a word for it. "Flat. Like you'd get it at a quick fast food place, who's all for looks, but is really cheap."
A cheap fast food place. She'd refer to that one often. It seems I'm not quite out of the old kind of food I used to do; the kind from the city.
"Very dry, too." she placed her utensil down without bothering to take another bite. "Looks good, though."
That was her style, putting sugar at the very end of the piles of sour.
"Well, okay." turned away from her, unable to keep my scowling face of discomfort contained to myself, but the least I could do was not show it to her.
"I'll be going then." she stood up, leaving every thing at the table where it originally was left at.
Fine, I'll be nice.
"Shall, I walk you there? It's rather da--"
"No." she turned to face me, serious made a home firmly on her expressions. The door behind her opened, and revealed some darkness, but street lights were visible off in the distance.
"You need to clean up this place now." she pointed at the used dishes from today's work. "We'll start first thing tomorrow. Pronto." and with that she left the door to slide close as she walked off into the beach.
All I could do was let out a tired sigh and slide down against a nearby chair. This is going to take forever.
--
I wondered, really, if that farmer had any work at all. She was already up and sitting at the inn waiting for me to wake up. When I had come down from my morning shower, and getting dressed for the day, I found her sitting at the table closest to the stairs. She was tapping her finger rather impatiently against it, giving me an annoyed look. Here it comes.
"We've wasted valuable time with you sleeping in." she stood. "Just imagine, Kai. If you had left food out and slept in the 15 minutes you just did, that's a heavy reduction in good taste and freshness!" she held up a finger as if scolding me.
Really, Clair. I know. You treat me as if I'm a stupid child.
I caught Doug at the corner of my eye behind the counter, giving off an apologizing look, and I could only just nod Clair's enthusiasm off and follow her out of the inn.
When we finally got there, she sat down at the same table as usual and began to ramble off. Again.
"You were doing well before, but now you're quickly failing. Maybe you're trying too hard, or we're having a wrong approach." I could sense a teacher-like tone in her voice, and I really just wanted to ignore her.
She sat there, sitting that same exact way I found her at the inn. Arm up, and palm firmly against a leaning cheek, as if she was bored, and the opposite hand tapping continuously at the table.
Did she really not want to do this that badly? Even if I tried to question that to her, she'd just mention that it's her set duty now, or something like that.
I set the first dish in front of her, and her eyes immediately narrowed down, examining it to it's fullest. Her head bobbed downward once, quickly followed by another. I expected the first two nods, now, I've got smell, and looks all wrapped up.
I just had to close my eyes, and take a deep breath as I felt her take a first bite, when I opened my eyes she sat quiet.
"Aside from looks, it really tastes like a beginner made it. It's very pretty, though." she gave off a rare smile as she leaned her head down to look at it from another angle.
The compliments flew to the back of my head, along with that smile, and the whole beginner bit shot through my heart.
"Oh."
"You should do sculptures and stuff." the smile was still on her face, and she began poking at the meal with her fork.
I want it to taste good, and that's not for poking, you... you butt-head!
"Let's try this--"
"Well! It's getting late!" I began to lead her off her seat, cutting off whatever she was going to say next. She's been meaning to say whatever it is for a while now, but I won't have it! I know it's her trying to yell at me. Too much salt, too little sugar, not enough juicy. Every thing's off to her.
"But I've only eaten one--"
"I suddenly don't feel well!" I pushed her towards the door, opening it for her, and leading her out.
"Oh. Well I hope you feel better soon."
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." slammed, and locked.
Alone, and all I could do was take the bandanna off my head and roughly mess at my hair in attempts to get all the frustration out.
Maybe she's right, now. Maybe this kind of food isn't my type. Maybe I've just lost my touch. Wait, is there a foodist's block, like an artist's block? That could be my problem.
Wait, isn't making food an art. So then artist's block would apply to both!
Or my head is probably just dying out on me from today's work.
--
"Some say that there are the kind of people who do their best when they make for other's, and the other kind who do their best when they make for their own comfort." she sat there, talking towards me, as I pulled some baked corn out of the oven, and handed it to my friend.
"Personally, I think everyone has a little bit of both, but some have more of one than other's." my friend, Gray, nodded, agreeing to her, and chewing loudly at the food I had just given him. At least he liked it.
"Now what do you want?" I hoped my voice didn't sound too harsh, it was certainly enough for her to look up at me with a playful smirk and a raised eyebrow.
"Make me your favorite meal. Like your comfort food or something."
"Mine!? What in the world for?"
"What? So I can eat it. Why else?"
I couldn't help but growl under my breath. "I don't get you."
She shooed me off, waving her hand away from me. "Go, go. You're always lingering. It's not good for someone who wants to cook so well." she sang the last sentence, dragging it off and irritating me even more.
Really, that girl knows just how to make my blood boil and almost blow up at times.
I moved things around in the filled refrigerator, trying to gather the exact ingredients and equipment.
This was something my sister had showed me how to do when I was much younger, it kind of hits my heart a nice way whenever I make and eat it, because I haven't seen her in so long considering she's off and married now.
I've cooked it so much, I could pull it off in my sleep.
When I had finished, Gray had already been done eating and shoved the plate at the farthest and opposite end of the table, as if wanting to get it as far away from him as possible. I couldn't help but smile at the emptiness of the plate, but frown at the impatient girl sitting beside him as I placed my filled plate before her.
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked down at it for a while, blond hair dangling over her shoulders.
Then I realized it.
She's not planning on doing the whole testing bit right now is she?!
At least not in front of Gray! I don't want her thoughts invading his mind and making him hate my food too!
She nodded once, then twice, there was no backing out, and I found it in me not to stop her.
When I found her chewing without a planted expression of approval on her face, I realized this wasn't all that fair. She didn't even tell me she'd do this!
"You like to make this one a lot, don't you?" it sounded a little angry, and I stood still, only able to mumble a quick "Uh-huh."
"Mmm." She nodded, shoving another fork full into her mouth.
Wait. She nodded.
"Yup, this one's good." A part of my mind shattered a little. Sh-she took more than one simple bite!
"You're the kind of person who makes mostly for your own comfort." she said, food still in her mouth, and swinging the fork at me.
I couldn't say anything back, in fact, I was almost sure it was a dream.
Then I felt a pinch at my arm, and I looked down at my friend.
He shook his head, and smiled. "It's not."
I had to laugh. I guess he knew her, too.
((FacePalms again)) I don't think I'm capable of writing a Harvest Moon fan fiction without involving Gray SOMEHOW.