Chapter 2: What's Ya Name, Man?
Culinary school was almost too easy for Hamilton. His prior experience in a kitchen and his family's cookbook made everything they taught him felt like a refresher's course. He did appreciate the guidance, it was just that he didn't need that much work on his skills. Cooking was in his bones and recipes flowed through his veins, it was just how he was.
The young chef had gone to multiple culinary schools since coming to America two years ago. He'd never been kicked out of one, the curriculum just couldn't keep up with the young chef. He could finish an entire semesters worth of work in about a month. Before he finished his first year of culinary school, he'd been moved to twelve different schools for varying lengths of time. The longest he'd ever stayed at a school was about three months before they ran out of material to teach him and had to move again.
Hamilton noticed that he had developed an interesting reputation for himself as he started his second year. He was the talk of most of the schools he came to and was often called "The Caribbean Spitfire Chef." He didn't mind the attention, he just wished the rumors about his culinary exploits were a little more believable. He'd never even seen a Komodo Dragon, let alone cook one.
Hamilton was currently attending a school in New York City, New York. It was a good school in Harlem that he'd been with for about two months. However, the usual problem was coming up again. He estimated that he only had about another month or so before he had to leave again. The young cook had already decided to stay in New York though; there were tons of schools in the area and he just loved this state. He loved all the states, but New York had a special place in his heart.
At the moment, our favorite chef was walking home after stopping by the Union Square Greenmarket. It was his favorite place to get ingredients for his class or just groceries for himself. He'd found a killer deal on a large basket of vegetables and was plotting that night's dinner and how much he would be able to give to his neighbors. Some of the people he lived by needed a proper meal much more than he did.
He was so busy thinking over his next culinary masterpiece, he didn't see the towering person in front of him before he ran into him. Being the smaller of the two by far and how fast he was going, Hamilton fell on his backside. He dropped several of the other things he'd picked up while he was out; just some homemade saltwater taffy he came by, perfect for the kids he lived near; but didn't spill a single vegetable, he had too much skill for that.
He looked back up at the person he ran into and was meet with the tallest person he'd ever seen. He was at the very least six feet tall with a wide build. He was the type of person you'd expect to see on a football field or bench lifting monster truck tires. Hamilton couldn't help but wonder what he did as he started picking up the taffies. The man seemed to finally notice he hit someone and squatted down to help Hamilton. The shorter of the two stood and accepted the taffies the taller one offered.
"So sorry about that. I didn't see you."
"It's fine. I didn't see you either."
The man picked up Hamilton's vegetable basket, quickly looking over its contents before giving it back to him, "Feeding an army in your spare time?"
He chuckled briefly as he took the basket, "No, this is for class and any extra is going to my neighbors."
"Class, huh? You a culinary student or something?"
Hamilton couldn't help the proud smile that fought its way out onto his face, "Yep. Top of my class too. I'm going to take the culinary world by storm. Just you watch!"
The man blinked in surprise at the young chef's outburst; Hamilton had a habit of announcing his plot of food-based domination to anyone who asked and anyone who didn't.
The man chuckled after a minute of silence, "You're certainly something. The name's Hercules Mulligan. What's yours?"
"Alexander Hamilton. A pleasure to meet you."
Mulligan blinked at his name, "Hamilton?"
"Yes, sir. Have you heard of me?"
"... Maybe... Here."
Mulligan took a small baby blue business card out of his pocket and gave it to him. Against baby blue, the words "The Valley Forge Outpost" stood out in jet black. Hamilton thought the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He turned it over and saw a phone number and address. He glanced up at Mulligan with a curious eyebrow. The man just smirked.
"My business card. Drop by some time. I think you'll be interested."
He looked down at the card for a second before putting it in his back pocket, "You know what? Sure. Why not? I'll stop by."
"Great! I'll see you around then."
"I expect so. Till next time, Mr. Mulligan."
The elder man laughed, "Mr. Mulligan? Really? I'm, like, only a couple of years older than you, man! Just call me Herc. Everyone does."
"Oh. Alright. See you later than, Herc."
Herc chuckled and headed in the direction he was first going in before they ran into each other, "Be seeing you, Alexander!"
For someone so big, he disappeared into a crowd very easily. Hamilton took the business card back out and looked over it. He smiled slightly and put it away again. He'd figure out where it was later, right now he needed to get home. For some reason, he really wanted to know about the mysterious Hercules Mulligan and this oddly familiar sounding place he worked out. He supposed that he'd just have to wait to find out.