Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Ratatouille.
When you take a vacation, you go away to relax and get away from the hectic busyness of real life, right? That's what other people (and in turn, rats) did. Remy, Linguini, and Colette, on the other hand, couldn't stay relaxed and lazy for even a couple of days. Well, Linguini could. His ideal vacation would be at the beaches and casinos of Barcelona—a drink in one hand, Colette on his arm, a week chockful of gambling, cards, poolside chairs, and no busy schedules, and no work whatsoever. However, he let Colette and Remy decide where they'd spent their week off from the bistro. He figured that they liked planning stuff; they'd plan a much better vacation than he ever could.
Of course, when he put his fate into their hands, he didn't count on their choices being so . . . not vacation-y.
Which is why he found himself waking up at six in the morning (just like on work days—which wasn't a good sign) and, yawning, tying the shoelaces to his hiking boots. Remy, on the other hand, had already made up the little bed they'd made up for him on the windowsill, and was pulling up the blind to welcome in the crack of sunrise over Périgord, France. The open window showed off a magnificent, beautiful landscape, full of wintering trees, sparse yellow grasses covered with snow, of beautiful morning sky.
Remy drank it in like a strengthening wine, and sighed heavily, but contentedly.
Linguini stood up and yawned into his sleeve again as he leaned against the window. "Looks like a beautiful day, Little Chef. If we find that truffle you're after, this trip might actually be worthwhile."
Remy rolled his eyes and leapt down. Linguini didn't entertain the hopes and dreams he and Colette had cultivated since the lightning bolt moment it occurred to them both that they had to spend their vacation down in Périgord, France, and hire a pig, and find truffles. Er, truffle. If they found a single truffle, it would be worth every expense and sacrifice.
Linguini locked up their inn room and almost hit Colette in the chest as he turned away from the door and quickly became face-to-face with her.
"Ah! Um, good morning," he said. She backed up, a little disconcerted, and Remy raced up to Linguini's shoulder, ready to play peacemaker if need be. "How did you sleep?" Linguini inquired.
"Just fine. Five hours is all I need." Colette wore jeans and a thick scarlet sweater under her heavy winter's coat and hat. It was nice being out of a chef's uniform for once. Colette straightened and said, "We must hurry. All the truffle-hunters are already ahead of us!"
Linguini sighed and let her grab his arm and drag him down the stairs. He'd rather sit back with a cup of thick hot chocolate in front of the roaring hearth and have a gentle, romantic conversation with Colette before they went outside and learned how to ski. Instead they were racing outside into the cobblestoned lined streets to a bakery for a quick bite before they took a taxi out to the farm to get the pig they'd hired.
Yeah. They'd hired a pig. Linguini had looked concerned when Colette brought this up as a travel expense. "Truffles grow under the roots of oak and poplar trees, in the ground. Unless you have a plan to dig up around every tree in Périgord's forest, we're hiring a sow." Linguini had looked at Remy for some confirmation of this weird idea; it didn't help when Remy nodded understandingly, as if this was all perfectly natural and normal.
Less than half an hour later Linguini found himself holding a leash to a grey-patched pink sow. She sniffed at Remy, who stroked her nose and talked to her in his own little language (could all animals talk to each other? Did they share the same language or did they just get the general gist of what the other was saying? Linguini groaned).
Some pretty weird stuff had already happened in his life. He'd been hired as a garbage boy in a 3-star restaurant that his biological father had owned before he died in infamy, then became best friends with a rat, then became the owner of this super-successful restaurant that got shut down by a health inspector, and then became the owner of an even more successful bistro, while also getting the girl of his dreams. Yeah, a lot of weird stuff. But renting a sow to sniff around snow-drifts on his vacation was definitely up on the top-ten list. Definitely not one of his first thoughts about what he wanted to do on this vacation.
"Her name is Greta," Colette told him. She crouched in front of the sow and offered her an apple, which she snuffled and then greedily guzzled.
Linguini sighed a little. "Greta. The pig's name is Greta."
Colette straightened and put her hands on her hips. Cocking her head, she said, "What? You're best friends with a rat. Who are you to judge?"
"Hey, you know, that's true," Linguini said apologetically.
She smiled teasingly at him, and he relaxed a little, and they set off on their quest. They walked past the boundaries of the farm they rented Greta from and entered the deep, dark, snow-fermented forests of Périgord. Here lay a land rich with this rare treasure.
"So, do we have any idea what we're doing?" Linguini wondered. "I mean, we have the pig and the right spot, right, but where do we go from there?"
"Last night I talked to some other truffle-hunters in the inn's lounge. They said they've found a couple of truffles down more in the southeastern part of this forest. We're heading in that direction."
Linguini thought that the term 'truffle-hunters' insinuated that they were hunting down some dangerous live animal that could run away from them, not some stanky-looking expensive fungus growing along some disgorging tree roots. He wisely kept his wry observations to himself, to save himself from several narrow-eyed glares from his girlfriend. He also didn't want to ruin Colette's or Remy's experiences. The two were fairly dancing as they entertained the fantastic idea of finding the buried treasure. They were pirates intent on finding X marks the spot.
"This is such an exciting life! Gosh, I envy you. Imagine waking up each day to the challenge of finding a truffle! Oh! The adrenaline, the excitement, the tension, the suspense!" Remy gesticulated with his paws so violently Greta looked concerned.
"Yes, I know it looks fun. Really, it is tiresome. You can walk all day along the snow-covered ground and still not find anything. Sticking your snout into snow drifts, losing the scent with all this dampness—so cold! All I want to do sometimes is go sleep in my sty and never go out again," Greta told Remy in her rough French accent.
"But the possibilities! Have you ever cooked with a truffle?" Greta gave Remy a look. "Well, it's great. You treat it like you're cooking pure gold. It's like this precious little treasure you treat with respect. Oh, imagine cooking the truffle you found with your own bare paws!"
"Hey, I'm the one looking for the truffle here," Greta pointed out.
"I know, I know," Remy said quickly. "I have full faith in your abilities, Greta. Oh, I just can't wait until we find it!"
Greta cast him a sidewise glance. So excited, so built-up, so sure of her. "I hope for your sake, monsieur, I find one," she said.
The unlikely combination of humans and animals trooped across the snow-strewn stretch of forest. It was a gorgeous day, if unseasonably cold. For November, they preferred a temperature of maybe 50 degrees Fahrenheit. It was 32 degrees today. Greta snuffled like she had a cold. "Is she okay?" Linguini wondered. "It's kinda cold. What if she has a stuffed nose? You don't think that'll hamper her smelling abilities, do—do you?"
"The farmer reassured me she's his best. She'll find one," Colette said. She looked ahead of them to see a couple of random pairs of well-bundled truffle-hunters shuffling about; she scoffed. "We'll beat them."
"If they were here ahead of us, how come they didn't get the farmer's best sow?" Linguini wondered. Was this a helpless, hopeless mission built on a hopeful dream without a dream pig to back it up?
Colette rubbed her thumb against her fingers in a money-giving gesture. "I called ahead. Made a few arrangements, got us the best of the best. You know how we get the best bread for La Ratatouille. I know how to get the best sow for the best truffle for La Ratatouille."
"Money's a universal language," Linguini said understandingly.
"Everyone seems to understand it," Colette said lightly, pocketing her gloved hands and blowing out a steamy cloud. Linguini wrapped an arm around her covered shoulders and she snuggled against him as Greta pulled them ahead with a great pull on her leash.
"Wait, do you have something?" Remy wondered, skipping and leaping over little potholes of snow to keep up with Greta. He began to regret refusing Linguini's offer of hanging out in his coat pocket. The ground was literally freezing and Greta's pace was faster, seeing as she went on four legs instead of two.
Greta put her head up and sniffed the air like a bloodhound. Then she planted her sniffer against the ground and scurried ahead. "I do! I do! You're gonna get your truffle, Remy!" She inhaled every inch of the ground ahead of her, not noticing the pine needles and pine cones and dead leaves she uncovered. Linguini, surprised by her sudden spurt of speed, let go of Colette so he could keep a firm grip with both hands on the leash. Colette hurried to keep up with them. Greta's eyes were on the ground, her snout eating up every tidbit of scent of the truffle's trail. She could run into a tree and barely notice the bump in her head. Linguini guided her through the forest as they sped past the other pairs of truffle-hunters. Colette's face was a mix of serious intent on finishing their quest, and excitement. A real wild truffle! Quelle une idée excitante! She could hardly stand the giggle in her throat and the thumping-beat of her heart.
Greta led them to a dark alcove of trees in the forest. Right up to the tallest oak in a ring, she stepped over its many slithering roots until she happened upon the end of the road. She stopped stepping over the hurdles and settled on this particular root. She ran along its length, dragging Linguini and causing him to stumble. Colette jumped and Remy hurried down the root. Greta abruptly stopped and dug away with her hooves.
"Linguini, pull her back! She will damage the truffle—or worse, eat it!" Colette said.
Linguini did so, amid Greta's squeals and kicks. "It's under some leaves! These stupid humans," she scoffed, "thinking me capable of harming my life's work! Remy, Remy, uncover the truffle!"
Remy instantly leapt into action. Colette stood back as he poked and prodded with his paws through the mixture of rotting leaves, soil, and tree bark. Then, alongside the root, almost hidden right under it, he stopped and stood back and stopped breathing. His heartbeat came thudding back into focus as he stood as still as a statue, staring at that beautiful, priceless truffle.
The ring of encroaching trees was ignored as a spotlight of white light hit this truffle. Was that an angel chorus? Whatever it was, it was a miracle. There was their sought-after treasure. Through the cold and muck and an odd vacation stood a masterpiece. It was a wrinkled little ball covered in what looked like soft yet hard little pebbles. It was not flawless. Remy could see a tiny spot where the skin was torn, revealing the geode-ish grey inside. He could practically taste its exquisite earthy taste.
Colette knelt next to the root, murmuring soft French in amazement. "It's like a rare diamond." Linguini and Greta stopped pulling in different directions. Greta grinned and said, "There's your truffle, Remy. Enjoy."
Remy and Colette met eyes. Their foodie hearts were mutual. She waved a gloved hand to it. "You and Greta found it. You pick it."
Remy gently plucked the dirty truffle from its spot under the root. He held it in his paws like it was a diamond. It was about the size of an egg—not bad for their first hunt.
"Quick, quick, we must take it back to the cabin. We must get back to La Ratatouille!" Colette announced.
Linguini became un-dumbstruck from the diamond. "Wait, what? Go back to Paris? But we just got here! We've got a week left here!"
"The truffle is only good for the next two or three days. Any day after that is an insult to the quality of such a revered fungus," Colette said defensively, looking at him in surprise for not considering the shelf life of a freshly picked truffle as first-priority.
"So we have to go home immediately? I-I thought we were going to go skiing, and go ice-skating, and snuggle up by the fire with hot chocolate. I thought we were here to be together. . . But you just came here for the truffle."
"We all came here for the truffle! We know that as chefs even vacations are business trips. Our vacations are pervaded by the idea of food—restaurants to visit, vineyards to explore, truffles to hunt!" Colette declared.
Linguini looked hurt. "I'm not a chef. So that may be it for you, but not for me." He sighed and Colette tried to be impassive even as she felt bad for pushing him aside.
"Do you have the box I told you to bring, to store the truffle?" she said, looking through her hair at the ground, not meeting his eyes.
Linguini sighed again. "Yeah, I do." He reached into his coat pocket, dug around for a minute, and brought out a box. Only he'd brought out the wrong box. One could guess that he brought two boxes, each for a distinct purpose, and took out the wrong one at the wrong time. See, he had a little brown box for the truffle—a convenient, little dark place for it to stay. The other box in his pocket was a ring box. Of course now he accidentally brought out the ring box.
Remy's eyes went wide—he'd traipsed through enough bowels and alleys and attics of Paris to recognize what that meant. He'd seen a few proposals on the barge he liked to ride on Sunday afternoons. He almost dropped the truffle.
Colette looked at Remy's weirded-out face and looked up. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands and looked up at Linguini.
Linguini was looking back at from whence they came, figuring out how long it would take to repack his bags at the inn. Would the taxi ride back to the airport be weird, with him and Colette fighting? Man, what a vacation—
Colette scoffed. What was he staring off in the distance for? Idiot! "What is the meaning of this?" she said, just to get his attention.
His big eyes swiveled around to her angry face. "The meaning of what?" he wondered.
"'The meaning of what?' You think me an idiot? Is this a joke? You are surely treating it like a joke! Can't even look me in the eyes and you spring out a ring box!" Colette smashed past him, shy just of slapping him. She ignored the tears in her eyes and the hitching in her throat as she torn past him, running through the uneven forest floor back to the farm.
"What'd I do? Wait, Colette! What did I do?!" Linguini recovered his balance and looked at Remy and Greta for help. "Guys, what did I do?"
Remy and Greta both stared at the ring, then back at him, then back at the ring.
Linguini stared at them, then at the ring, then back at them.
"Oh, that was a mistake. That was bad timing! I meant this to be a romantic vacation! Sorry, Little Chef, I gotta run!" Linguini's legs were faster than his voice. He was after Colette before he could finish speaking. He yelled over his shoulder, already outside the ring of pine trees, "Go back to the inn. Meet you at the lounge's hearth!"
He disappeared with the sounds of echoed "Colette!" and general crashing about the forest trailing after him. Once complete silence reigned in the wintry forest, Remy and Greta looked at each other.
"I guess I'm carrying this truffle by itself," Remy said ruefully.
"Do I want to know what just happened?" Greta wondered.
Remy sighed, then chuckled ruefully as he wrapped up his dirty truffle in the driest leaves he could find. "I can try explaining it, but even I barely understand it."
Remy was sipping a hot chocolate on the stones in front of the hearth. Next to him, under his arm, he kept his truffle close. He heard a great shout of laughter and goofy chuckling coming from the front door. He stood up as in stumbled two snow-covered figures. They dusted themselves off just as Linguini found his little friend. "Little Chef! Little Chef!" he called. Remy watched in suspense as the two sauntered over to him. They were a linked pair; arms over each other, inseparable. Remy knew the answer when both looked at him with grins.
"Wellllll, Little Chef," Linguini giggled, barely able to speak.
So Colette slipped off her glove and let her engagement ring speak for him. "It's even more beautiful and precious than that truffle," she said proudly. Which was saying a lot, given how much she and Remy wanted that truffle. "We are going to stay here for a few days longer. But say, I have an idea. I'll talk to the chef of this inn. See if we can put that truffle to good use here."
Remy decided that in the end, that was a good idea. He gave them an affirmative nod, then clapped in congratulations. He couldn't think of a better way to celebrate this precious truffle than to make delicious dishes for his best friends in this cozy inn in Périgord, celebrating the best day of their lives.
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