— The Travelling Chef —
"My father passed away three months ago, but I can instruct you instead."
A man in a chef's uniform with long brown hair tied back had come to the bakery one day, asking for Master Attendant to teach him some recipes and techniques. But it's just Sister and I at the bakery now, and Sister had to break the news to him.
A female patisserie seemed to not phase the man and he accepted the replacement. In return, he would teach her some of what he learned on his travels. On one more condition.
"Let me hide out at your place," he requested. "I have a stalker that won't leave me alone."
"Okay. You can use my father's old room. Our apartment is just upstairs."
Pastel de Nata was this man's name. According to Sister, Master Attendant had met him a long time ago in his youth and gave his sweets a high praise. Pastel de Nata had apparently come to learn from the chef he met years back. Now, Sister was the teacher.
"Is it okay to call you Pastel or Nata?" I asked him the first night he took up residence in my late Master Attendant's room.
"Nata is fine. The chef said your name is Cookie, correct? Is it a nickname or your real name?"
"It's my name all right."
"I've never heard of a Food Soul like yourself. Do you have experience in cooking?"
"Sister has taught me some recipes by Master Attendant. I once made my own recipe for banana bread, but it deflates so quickly. I've tried five times, but it ends up the same way."
"You will have to show me. I don't usually give help, but you sound like you want it make it a new addition to your Master Attendant's store."
Nata's posture changed from his seat in the tall chair across from me. He seemed to be serious in helping me, and I grasped that hope immediately.
Problem solved in the span of three days. Not enough flour and yeast and too much salt. I could only laugh in front of Nata out of embarrassment. The moment he cut into the banana bread, the kitchen filled with the scent of bananas, vanilla and brown sugar. Nata gave a slice to me and then to Sister before serving himself.
"Cookie, this is perfect! Daddy would be proud!"
I smiled towards Sister and looked back at Nata. A small smile was on his face and he looked like he was savoring the bread in his mouth. I haven't seen him look like that before.
"You made a good choice in the vanilla and brown sugar, Cookie."
He praised me. He actually praised me, a second-rate patisserie. Why are my cheeks starting to heat up? Is it because I'm eating the bread fresh from the oven and forgetting how hot it is? Is this still embarrassment?
What is this feeling?