At precisely 0930, Roadblock knocked on the General's door.
"Come in." Before he was through the door, the General said: "Sit."
Roadblock took the offered chair and sat straight.
"Doc has cleared you for base duty only," the G.I. Joe commander stated. "As much as I hate losing you as a field soldier, I fully agree with him. With that said, I have a temporary post for you. Chef has requested an infinite leave, because his mother is very ill. I need someone to take over the kitchens in his absence. Can you do it?"
"In charge of the kitchens? Yes, Sir I can do it. No problem Sir."
Roadblock wanted to cook. He had always wanted to be a chef. He hated to work with the bulk items, dehydrated mystery flakes that the army called staples, but he was convinced he could bring the those ingredients to a higher, tastier standard.
"Roadblock, I know that you love to cook, but keep in mind that we had a strict budget for food stuff, and everyone has to be feed. As much as I love your lasagne, we cannot afford to have it every night. Can you stick to the budget?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good. Dismissed."
Roadblock stood, saluted his General and turned to leave.
"Oh, Roadblock. Doc told me to tell you to keep your fingers out of the pots. Whatever that means."
"Yes Sir. Will do Sir."
In the main kitchen, Chef took Roadblock on a tour. He gave his replacement the menu for the next three months. He showed Roadblock how to fill out the logs that tracked the foodstuff and the requisition forms. He also showed Roadblock the budget and ordering catalogues.
They went through the duty roster, and who was good at what. Running the kitchens was much like running any other military operation. The objective was to utilise all the resources, human and material, to accomplish a specific goal: get the meals out at a precise time to feed everyone.
Roadblock looked at the menu and saw that liver was the main ingredient for lunch. It was a cheap source of protein and high in iron. Few people entering the army liked it, but most grew to develop some acceptance of it. However, Roadblock immediately started to look through the inventory to see how he could make the organ meat tastier.
He ordered one of the kitchen staff to get the large cans of tomato soup that were available, along with five pounds of bacon. It was not enough bacon to flavour the meat to his liking, but if he used some of the grease to sear the meat in, it would not be too bad.
He had the liver sliced thinner than usual, rolled in flour and spices, seared and then well cooked in the tomato soup and caramelised onions. The odd lucky person would get a crumb of bacon. He spiced up the potatoes by mixing half flakes and half real spuds. He showed one of the assistant cooks how to caramelise the butter before mixing it in with the mashed potatoes. He also had a bit of bacon grease added to the mix.
The only thing he could not do anything about was the mushed caned green peas. He would have to experiment. The problem was that particular cheap brand was only available in bulk. He could not just get a small can to work with. If he worked with a sample out of a large can, he would have to do it right after opening it, for the darn things tended to go rancid within hours. He would have to time it right. Roadblock also took a mental note to see how he could have salad greens and more fresh vegetables added to the food stuff supplies. He had gotten some in town for his own dietary needs, but he thought it would be nice if everyone could have access to a similar fresh spread.
Conscientious of his new condition, Roadblock took careful notes of what he sampled and how much. He also checked his sugar levels regularly. He kept a detail log of what he ate, how much insulin he took, and his sugar numbers.
Everyone was overjoyed to find out that Roadblock had been assigned to the kitchens. Many had been disappointed to discover the hated liver on the menu, but most had been impressed by its preparation.
A few weeks later, during his regular check in with Doc, Nurse Maggie had informed him that they had a date for his diabetic teaching, and that an insulin pump was on its way.
"I don't need to go to that," he complained. "I am doing fine with all the information you have given me."
"You have been doing well but I still think you should go," the nurse said.
"I've been keeping my sugars in the acceptable range. I don't need any more teaching."
The nurse looked at him for a long moment.
"I will make you a deal. If you have no episodes of extreme low or high blood sugars levels between here and in three weeks, when your appointment with the clinic is, I will cancel it."
"Deal!" Roadblock felt like he had just won a major battle. He would show her he could manage his diabetes on his own.
"See you in a month, unless you need us before."
"A month sounds good to me!" With that he was off.