by Chris Bunch
"Great. Great. Themes and all,” Sten said. “But, before you go any further, I have to ask you a question."
"Question away, dear,” Marr said, thunking down the last peeled tomato.
"I can't do onions like Senn...” he said, pointing at the furry little whirlwind, chopping up big mounds of the stuff. “I'm not built for it. But that trick with the tomatoes ... Every time I have to peel tomatoes, I mutilate the suckers. One pound of peel for every ounce of tomato."
"Poor thing,” Marr said.
"You only have to dip them in boiling water,” Senn said in a small—I really, really, don't think you're stupid—voice.
"And he's the leader of us all,” Marr said.
"I did read about it, once,” Sten said, weak. “But I never got around to testing it out."
"There, there, dear,” Senn said. “Of course you didn't."
The kitchen was filled with the delicious odor of tomatoes, garlic, and onions sizzling in olive oil. Marr tasted, adjusted the paprika, stirred some more, then nodded to Senn, who poured in fresh chicken stock.
Marr clamped a lid on the pot and set it to simmer. “When dinner is served,” he told Sten, “you might want to go easy on the soup."
Sten eyed the big pot, “Sure looks like enough to go around to me."
Senn laughed. “Oh, there's plenty, all right. But this is a special recipe. A guaranteed first-course tension-breaker. For the guests, that is. Not the host. Hosts should beware of this dish."
"You see,” Marr elaborated, “After we strain it through a sieve, we're going to stir in some flour and sour cream. Just enough to make it smooth.
"Then ... a moment before we serve it ... we add vodka. Lots of vodka! And ... voila,” Senn said. “We give you ... Hungarian tomato vodka soup! It's quite potent, too."
"A tongue loosener, huh?” Sten said, dry. “Did you guys ever consider a career as Mantis interrogators?"
"Amateurs,” Senn sniffed.
"No challenge at all,” Marr said.
* * * *
"After we get the Zaginow delegation nice and soothed,” Senn said, “we need to work on their courage.” He was dusting chunks of meat with flour, spiked with lots of salt and pepper.
Marr was assembling chopped-up onions, bell peppers, and crushed garlic. “Build them up for a firm commitment,” he said.
Senn giggled. “So to speak."
"Don't be dirty,” Marr said, putting on a pan doused with olive oil to heat.
"I can't help it,” Senn said, the giggles building. “My mind just works that way. Especially when we're cooking mountain oysters."
Sten frowned. He picked up a chunk of the floured meat. Sniffed it. “Don't smell like oysters to me."
"They're calf testicles, dear,” Marr explained. “Cut from the little dickens before they're old enough to know what's missing."
"We're going to do them Basque style,” Senn said. “The image is so sexy. Muscular brutes with large libidos."
"Makes you want to fry balls all day,” Marr said.
Sten looked at the meat he held in his hand. “Sorry, boys,” he said. “I hope you know they went for a good cause."
* * * *
"Now, we need to engage their minds,” Marr said.
Sten looked doubtfully at the large heap of bird parts he'd carved up with his cleaver. “Brain power through a clottin’ chicken? You've gotta be kidding."
"Stupid animals, yes,” Senn said. “But they're so willing. Especially plucked and dressed out. See how patiently they await their marinade?"
"Like the Zaginows?” Sten guessed.
"Excellent, Sten, dear. You're beginning to get the idea,” Marr said. “At this point we should have our new friends primed and ready for fresh approaches ... Alert them through their taste buds there are endless possibilities once an alliance has been achieved."
"Don't be so stuffy,” Senn said. He waved a spice-dusted paw at Sten. “Ignore him. The dish is called jerk chicken, after all,” he said.
"I like it ... mon,” Sten said.
Marr set down the bunch of scallions he was dicing up. “You've heard of it?” He seemed disappointed.
"From Jamaica, right?” Sten said. “One of the old Earth islands. A place where they smoke rope fibers and drink silly fruit drinks with little parasols on top."
Marr sighed. “Aren't we running out of clean pots, yet?"
"Not a chance,” Sten said. “I've only heard of jerk chicken. I'm not moving until I see how this is done."
"In a kitchen,” Marr said, “only the chef is permitted to be clever. Pot washers laugh at Chef's cunning jokes. Pot washers peel potatoes. Pot washers are in a constant state of awe at Chef's genius. Pot washers scrape slime from floors. Pot washers duck a lot when sharp objects are thrown at them when they make poor Chef mad. These are only some of the things pot washers do."
Marr sniffed, “What they don't do, is be clever. Pot washers are never, ever clever."
"I promise it'll never happen again,” Sten said.
"He really wasn't that clever,” Senn said.
"Very well,” Marr said. “It can stay. But only if It promises to button Its lip."
"Mmmmmph,” Sten grunted, pointed at his zipped lip.
"Actually, this is a dish even a pot washer could master the first time,” Marr said. “It only tastes complex."
He touched a switch under the chopping board and a metal processor revolved up. Pawfuls of chopped hot pepper and scallions went into the processor, along with a few bay leaves, some grated ginger, and diced garlic.
"Now the allspice,” Marr said. “That's the anchor. You use about five tablespoons for every kilo of meat. Along with one teaspoon each of nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, and pepper."
He dumped the spices into the processor and hit the button. As it whirred, he slowly poured in oil.
"Peanut oil,” Marr said. “Just enough for it all to stick together."
In two beats it was done. Sten peered at the goo.
"Another thing pot washers get to do,” Marr said, “is smear goo over chicken."
"This is true. Chefs never smear goo,” Senn said. “Especially when they're furry."
Sten, the comparatively hairless pot washer, began spreading the marinade over the chicken. Actually, he didn't really mind. It smelled wonderful. His mouth watered imagining what it was all going to taste like when Marr and Senn tonged the chicken off the barbecue.
In the corner, he could hear Marr and Senn arguing over the relative merits of pine nuts in Lebanese pilaf. All about him were the warm smells of a dozen dishes bubbling and simmering. He felt relaxed ... clear-minded.
On the whole, he thought, he'd much rather be a pot washer than a Hero of the Revolution.
Marr and Senn observed Sten's beaming face as he slathered marinade over chicken.
"Do you think he's ready?” Marr whispered.
"Absolutely,” Senn said. “I don't like to pat myself on the back, but I think this is one of the best jobs we've ever done."
"Beings don't realize,” Marr said, “that the first—and only—real secret of a dinner party is getting the host prepared first."
"A little kitchen magic,” Senn said. “It works every time."
Alex Kilgour's Beef Jerky
The strips of beef were drained and laid on the counter. Over them Alex sprinkled salt—at least a pinch per slice. After that, chopped parsley. Then very generous pinches of a potpourri of the spices he'd bought. Thyme. More savory. Sweet basil. Pepper. Garlic pepper. Herb pepper. Marjoram. Some cumin, just for the hell of it. He pressed the spices into the meat with the flat of his knife, then flipped the slices over and repeated the seasoning.
The meat went into the tenement's dilapidated oven, set at its absolute lowest, and with a cork holding the oven door open a centimeter or two.
He took a long nap, storing energy for the future. When he awoke, just before dusk, the slices of beef were dry, twisted, black, thoroughly nasty, and no more than a kilo
in total weight.
He admired his jerky. “Ah'm noo th’ cook th’ Emp, Marr, Senn, or e'en m’ wee Sten is. But this'll chew easy, I’ th’ woods, I’ th’ rain."
[Back to Table of Contents]
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
International best selling authors and screenwriters Allan Cole and the late Chris Bunch were collaborators for nearly twenty years. Together, and separately, they have published over forty novels and sold more than 150 TV and movie screenplalys. For details about Allan's life and work, see his homepage at www.acole.com. For information about Chris, see his Wikipedia entry at en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ChrisBunch. Both authors are also featured in the International Movie Data Base (IMDB.com)
* * *
Visit ebooks.wildsidebooks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
