Somewhere along the walk it occurred to Joel that he was exceptionally hungry, having not eaten since about 4am save only for a protein bar, energy drinks and coffee since that time. He wanted
real food and the thought of a deep fried oreo just turned his empty stomach at the suggestion, though it probably wouldn’t have been bad paired with the coffee some other time. He glanced around for something familiar and fairly quick to order. Whenever Siobhan would playfully pull his arm, he would yank her back progressively harder to see if he could make her lose her balance. It was good fun and particularly since she was so tall, it was easy to get her legs comically crossed up. Having worked with his hands most of his life and being used to keeping a firm grasp on a steering wheel, his grip was like a steel vice over her hand. He snickered and feigned shoving her into some stranger’s path only to pull her back again.
Siobhan chatted with a couple of strangers as they seemed to reach an impasse where it was either going to be the horror of fried park food or… he looked at the next tent over,
Kobayashi, as the banner read. He considered for a moment that coffee probably wasn’t going to go well with Japanese, particularly when mixed with hard liquor, but in the end, he decided he didn’t care and was aiming to knock back a few glasses of water and get on the green tea before absorbing some sushi with a swiftness.
Since his return from Japan, he’d avoided Asian cuisine for a while, simply being burnt out with it so whatever Kobayashi had to offer would be the first Japanese dish he’d had since being
in Japan. He took a seat on a stool at the setup counter area and took off his sunglasses. The chef working the sushi bar recognized his black jacket and the unmistakable orange Rebellion “R” and the Porsche font logo below it giving an affirmative nod. He quickly set to work on Joel’s order while there seemed to be some great ruckus brewing in the back as another chef continued in his work.
A few moments later, the plate came over the glass. The presentation looked on point. No different than sitting in Tokyo Bay. All of the rolls were either Tuna, Salmon or vegetable based. He couldn’t stomach the shrimp, crab or other seafood offerings. Pulling the paper wrapper off the chopsticks, he broke them apart and was ready to set to it.
“JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL!!!,” Right when he was about to take a bite, a familiar voice bellowed his name from what seemed like halfway across the Park. Joel shuddered at the rough pronunciation of his name rendered in brutal Germanic bass. People glanced around, interrupted within their conversations as Chef Bruno paraded his way across the lawn with great stride. He still had two German engineers from Porsche cackling with laughter towed in his entourage along with a pathetic looking representative from the City Parks Commission who was recording the results of the judging with a tablet. Word among the vendors was that there had been a mix up in the placement of the contestant dishes which resulted in Bruno sampling the offerings of the
amateur cooking class rather than the professional. Unfortunately, the Panzer had unloaded on two elderly ladies before the error was realized labeling one homemade lasagna dish a “fucking travesty” and the other caserole entry “a petree dish of bullshit.” Apparently, he was not well pleased with the mistake and refused to sample any more food that was brought up to the judging area, instead opting to make his rounds
personally whether the entries were ready or not. He thundered up to the booth and slapped Joel heartily on the back.
“Joel, mein junge,” He shook Joel’s shoulder firmly. His hand was so large it easily wrapped over the shoulder and gripped firmly to drive home to the magnitude of his displeasure. “I fucking tell you,” He said. “I don’t know how you fucking do it,” He motioned with his free hand at the rest of the venue set around them. “Everywhere I go the food is shit, it’s like a non-stop fuck-up.” His eyes locked on to one of Ryan’s helpers attempting to make off towards the judging area with their entry. Bruno had an odd habit of pointing with his pointer finger and his pinky finger in a gesture that resembled a two-pronged fork, a trait he was dubiously known for when he was particularly irate. His long arm leveled towards the helper with the two fingers pointing squarely at the man like the business-end of an 88mm cannon. “YOU!” He barked. “Bring that shit over here!” Eyes glaring, he pushed Joel’s plate aside nonchalantly sending all of it crashing directly into a waste bin at the end of the counter and pointed firmly down at the open countertop. The poor helper looked like he’d been struck by a rifle shot at the sound of the German’s voice and megearly placed the dish between the two men.
Bruno removed the lid and tossed it like a frisbee, examining the dish carefully and taking in the scents that wafted up from the tray. His eyes narrowed discerningly at the presentation, annoyed that the chef that prepared it was apparently not present to accompany his entry, but also slightly intrigued. He picked up a fork, but instead of tasting the dish, he handed the utensil to Joel. “Take a bite and tell me what you think.” It was more of a command than a statement. The towering German’s face was as unflinching as a concrete wall as he held out the fork.
Joel was so hungry that he reckoned they could have put an old baseball glove on the plate and he would have eaten it. Whatever it was smelled good, though he was completely surprised by the challenge. He wasn’t a food critic nor possessed any real concept of tasting edicate, but it occurred to him that the reps from Porsche might be offended if he didn’t acquiesce to their friend and Bruno seemed to have some sort of soft spot for him. He glanced over at Sio and shrugged before carving out a decent fork full and taking a bite.
Bruno looked on sternly.
Joel nodded approvingly. He was hungry. It was good. He didn’t care if he got cussed out for it. If they would have just let him stick to driving the cars while they handled the food there wouldn’t be risk for an international incident... though before he could finish the thought, Bruno’s fork hit the dish like a dive-bomber and he took a bite for himself. He chewed slowly, deliberately, as if searching for an error that he could exploit, just like he was known for on television, but surprisingly finding none that turned him off. “Fucking delicious.” He pronounced and scooped up another generous portion. “Finally some fucking talent around here. Joel, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Such a man of culture!” He said merrily, still chewing the second bite. He looked around the gathering of shocked cooks and helpers in the stand. “Who’s the fucking captain of this ship?” He said.
The City representative adjusted his glasses and ran his fingers quickly over the tablet screen making sure he got the name correct before he got yelled at
again. “Ryan Woods, sir.”
“Good, he fucking wins.” Bruno said with finality, wiping his mouth gingerly with a napkin. “We’re done here.”
“But sir,” The man protested. He thumbed feverishly over the tablet sensing the intense glare blazing over him. “You already said Charles Rainer was the winner.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“He was the third booth we visited,” The man said. “You said his entry was,” He stopped to clear his throat. “a ‘fucking cornucopia of-’.”
“Ya-ya-ya, I fucking know what I said,” Bruno spat. “That was the one with the fucking depressing title.” He shook his head. “Dammit all, I’ve made a fuck up.”
Joel continued eating happily giving zero fucks who won the contest, just glad to have some sustenance in his gut.
Siobhan watched Joel as she was about to order the fried Oreo and the yell that rang out with a heavy German accent his name. Raising an eyebrow as Joel shuddered she grinned watching the German man stride over to them. She nearly lost it as Bruno slapped Joel on the back.
Keeping the laughter contained was hard and the fried Oreo was abandoned as she followed him over. Bruno was clearly upset and his accent was thick, leaving Siobhan to thinking that he’d be switching to German fairly soon. As he talked about the fact that the fare was subpar. She winced at that very glad she had not decided to join the competition. Joel had never complained about her cooking, quite the opposite. She liked cooking for him and seeing him enjoy different foods would help her branch out more with his diet.
She watched as Joel ate and Bruno snagged a bit from his plate then declared it the winner. Siobhan smiled but it fell as Bruno admitted to already declaring a winner once already. She tapped her lips and leaned in to whisper in Joel’s ear.
“Watch me put out this fire.”She smiled brilliantly at Bruno and said.
“How about a cook off? Select some ingredients and have them make something from those ingredients. To the victor goes the spoils.”Bruno’s expression lightened as he took time to observe Siobhan’s full figure. “Whoa, whoa, whoa…” He exclaimed with a broad smile. “She has the brains and the body, huh?” He jabbed his elbow into Joel’s side playfully. “Makin’ me kinda nervous here!” He chuckled. “I like this idea... I take it!”
@Almalthia@KillBox@Tyler Night
