Evan felt as if he were entering an arena in Ancient Rome. Well, he wasn't going to fight, but death already threatened him anyway. If he failed this test, he would return to the plate — and this time permanently. Although then Arslan would cook him and had promised to invite the girls…
He shook his head. He wasn't here to think of himself as meat. He was here to become a cook.
He gathered all his determination and entered the hall.
It was that representative kitchen, like something from a culinary show hosted by famous chefs.
In the center stood two workstations. On the left was a mezzanine. There were Callisa and her parents Dorian and Elara, Frida, Aiko, Morona, Rufus and Shawn. Under the mezzanine stood Arslan, Ernst, Valentine and Porcelli.
Opposite the stations sat a trio of judges: a goat, a black cat and a beaver.
Arslan and Porcelli stepped out in front of both stations. At Arslan's gesture, Evan took his place between them.
"I, Arslan Flambe, present to you Evan Smith, whom I wish to take as my apprentice. He is young, but he has already shown talent and culinary skills."
"I, Octavian Porcelli, also vouch for Evan Smith. He is young and inexperienced, but he has potential."
Evan straightened up to appear a little taller and more serious.
The judges rose.
"Very well, Master Arslan. We agree to subject Evan Smith to the apprentice examination. As a potential master you have no right to help Evan. Please, candidate, step forward."
Evan took one step forward. He felt tense.
"We will be your jury. I am Basilli Carpini. For 26 years I have been a teacher at an elite culinary school, I have trained many famous chefs and butchers, written many books on cutting techniques and the blades themselves," said the old goat.
"Odelia Lenoir. I run the restaurant 'Black Pearl.' For seven years in a row I have held the prestigious Golden Knife award, and my restaurant has been in the top ten of the world's 100 best restaurants for eight years," said the cat.
"Gerhard Molitor, senior inspector for Meat and Slaughter. I started as a simple butcher and became a senior one. I sit on the main control and certification council of the Meat and Slaughter Office," said the beaver.
"Mr. Evan, please take your place at the first station."
Arslan moved back against the wall. Porcelli went up to the mezzanine. Evan and the judges took their places at the first station. On it were a cutting board, a knife and bowls.
The goat stood at the station. "The test consists of three stages. The first stage is—" he reached into the cupboard under the station and pulled out several bags "—onion cutting."
He took one vegetable from the bags and with extraordinary speed peeled it, divided it into halves, diced one and cut the other into half-slices.
"This is your task. You will cut onions until I tell you to stop. Half into dice, the other half into half-slices. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Carpini," Evan answered like a soldier on watch.
"Good. Take position."
Evan stood ready. He waited for the signal.
"Ready… start!"
Evan took the first onion. He peeled it, divided it into halves and began cutting. Meanwhile a conversation was taking place on the mezzanine.
"Foxy, chopping onions isn't hard… well, maybe except for the tears."
Callisa sighed.
"It's clear you don't know anything about this, Frida. It's not about waving a knife around. It's about cutting everything into even pieces, at an even pace, and not cutting yourself in the process."
"Is he crying?" Aiko asked.
"It's that onion. I can already smell it from here," Frida growled.
"As long as that's all it is," Callisa summed up.
Evan cut the onions. He tried to focus on the task, but the tears made everything harder. He tried not to lose the rhythm and to cut evenly. He focused on his role as a cook, but a voice at the back of his head suggested using the onions as sides and an ingredient for sauce for his own meat. That distracted him more than the tears.
"Stop! Put the knife down." A clap.
Evan stopped the knife mid-descent. He set it down and stepped back one pace. The judges approached. They examined the station, the waste and the cut onions. Evan felt sweat running down his back.
"Station order maintained, little waste, cutting a little uneven but acceptable. Task passed."
A collective sigh of relief rose from the mezzanine. Evan himself was afraid to show anything beyond concentration.
"Please proceed to the next station," the cat said.
On the next station there was a stove, a small pot, a saucepan, pans, small plates, salt, pepper, butter, vinegar, whisks and spatulas, and a carton of six eggs.
"You can handle a knife. Now we will test your feel. Time for the egg test."
Up above, Frida snorted.
"Eggs? That's even easier."
"It's clear you don't know what you're talking about, Frida."
"And how exactly do you mess that up?"
"It's not about messing it up, but about controlling temperature and time. One mistake and the whole result will be far from ideal."
"It's a mini-game of hitting the mark on hard difficulty," Aiko said.
Evan put the pot on the heat. He would start with the soft-boiled egg. He listened to his own head. This was not meat or a side for meat. He heard nothing from the back of his mind.
He exhaled. He decided he could handle it.
He began setting the timer. Then he remembered something.
A competition from the time when he was on Earth. He had lost because he had underestimated the eggs! Was he making the same mistake again now?!
No! Not this time!
He focused. The moment he put the egg in and started the timer, he stared intensely at the display. 4:30 he waited. At first he had thought exactly five minutes, but he took it out at 4:50.
He set it in an egg cup.
"Now the fried egg."
He set a pan, melted the butter. He waited for the right temperature. When it was good, he cracked the egg in. He managed not to break the yolk. He watched to keep the white in shape and the yolk in the center. Unfortunately it didn't work out. He tried to fix it, but time started to press him. He decided it was better not to risk it. He seasoned it with salt and pepper, took it off the pan and arranged it on a small plate.
He took another small pot and poured water and vinegar into it. Poached egg. That was what he considered the hardest. Here it was easy to end in disaster. He cracked the egg into a small bowl. He began stirring to create a whirlpool in the water. He felt his heart rise into his throat. He poured the egg from the bowl into the center of the whirl. At first it was fine, but then the white started to spread. He tried to gather it together. Somehow it worked. He fished it out after exactly three minutes and laid it on a small plate. It didn't have a perfect shape, but the yolk should be liquid.
Only the omelette remained.
He cracked three eggs into a bowl, added a little pepper and salt. He beat the eggs into a smooth mass. He melted butter in a pan. He poured the mass onto the pan. He watched the mass carefully. He gently stirred and monitored the setting. When he decided it was time, he folded the omelette in half and slid it onto a plate so it could finish with its own heat.
"I'm finished."
Odelia and the other judges approached.
"Let's see how you did."
First she examined the soft-boiled egg. Evan felt fairly confident here; he was convinced he had done it well. The judges looked at the shell, then Odelia cracked it with a spoon and took a portion. The yolk was liquid.
"This is a good soft-boiled egg."
They moved to the fried egg. Here he was less certain. That shifted yolk mildly irritated him. Odelia checked the white with a fork. She cut it. It was liquid.
"If the yolk hadn't slid, it would have been perfect, but it's good."
At the poached egg he felt his heart rise into his throat. It was far from ideal, but it wasn't a tragedy.
She cut the yolk. It was liquid.
"You managed to limit the damage to the white, and the yolk is good. Acceptable level."
He exhaled… at least that much.
Now came the omelette. The judges examined it for a moment before cutting and tasting it.
"You held it a few seconds too long, but it's fluffy and not burnt. This is a good omelette."
Silence fell for a moment. Evan heard a voice at the back of his head telling him he should invite the judges to a dinner of himself if he lost. Being eaten by Odelia wouldn't be bad. With difficulty he drove the thought away without shaking his head.
"You didn't manage everything perfectly, but you came out of the problems with a defensive hand. Egg test passed."
He exhaled. He had made it.
The beaver stepped forward. He looked at Arslan.
"Rufus Lapin, please come down."
"Me, Director?"
"Yes. Come down."
Rufus came down looking confused. From his expression one could clearly read that he had no idea what this was about. When he stood at the bottom, the judge spoke.
"The third test is the meat evaluation of this rabbit here."
Evan turned toward Rufus. He felt his brain register an error. Rufus's jaw dropped. He looked once at the jury, once at Evan. Finally astonishment gave way to anger.
"I DO NOT AGREE!!! I'M LEAVING!!!"
He spun on his heel and headed for the door. His path, however, was blocked by Arslan.
"You can't force me into this, Director. Besides, there's sure to be someone willing."
Rufus spoke boldly and pointed at the audience. In response Shawn waved to them. Arslan, however, had no intention of yielding.
"I considered that, but Rufus Lapin, have you checked your social media account today?"
Rufus laid his ears back. The director spoke calmly, but one could sense approaching trouble.
"No… why do you ask?"
"Do it now."
He pulled out his phone. He opened the app. First his eyes widened, then he rubbed them. Then his expression began to fall and his face began to pale. Finally he shouted at the top of his voice.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?!"
Evan glanced over his shoulder and could not believe what he was seeing.
"Rufus, you're the sensible one, right?"
At the same moment everyone on the mezzanine pulled out their phones.
On Rufus's account were photos of him on a park bench. He was completely naked and totally drunk in them. In every photo he posed in positions straight from adult sites, presenting his assets and male interest. Each photo was accompanied by captions in the style of "Who's in the mood for rabbit" or "hot rabbit for you," and those were not the most direct descriptions. It was hard to say what was more shocking: the photos and their captions, or the fact that each already had a five-digit number of likes and shares.
"Not bad, Rufus!" Shawn gave him a thumbs-up.
"Super. I'm liking it." The artistic cat-girl really liked those photos.
"I know that park. It's in the red zone. How can someone get that wasted?" Frida looked at it with mild amusement.
"Why…"
The memories returned to him with the force of a speeding train. Yesterday a girl he had been trying to meet through an app had stood him up again. Furious, he had gone to a bar. There he had drunk and complained. Finally he had left blackout drunk with a takeaway supply.
He had reached the park, and there he remembered playing with his phone, and then… the only thing he remembered was waking up naked on the bench.
"That's why…"
He curled up and covered his head with his hands.
"In your place I would be worried about something far more serious." Ernst approached him.
"Like what?" Rufus was already on the edge of despair.
"A fine."
"A fine? For what?"
The commissioner took out a notebook and began writing.
"Consumption of alcohol in a public place, indecent exposure, behavior in a red zone, publication of photos that could constitute hunting consent. All together that will be… this much."
He showed Rufus the notebook, and the rabbit screamed in fear.
"THAT MUCH?! IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?!" He pulled out his phone and checked the cited paragraphs. "Legal…"
"Payable within 14 days."
"But I don't have that much."
"Refusal or inability to pay means placement in the penalty display case for a period of 3 to 7 days."
"In the display case?!"
"Yes. Since this would be your first exhibition, the slaughter fee would be correspondingly higher."
Rufus trembled. If he ended up in the display case, what chance did he have of coming out of it alive? Especially after those photos…
"I'll pay."
"Really?" Rufus looked at Arslan as if at a savior.
"On the condition that you agree to participate in the meat evaluation."
Rufus looked one way then the other. On one side the meat display case: the threat of death and humiliation before the entire world. On the other the meat test and humiliation before the entire hall. Finally he hung his head and said in a voice that sounded as if it had undergone heavy torture.
"All right, I agree."
He returned to Evan and asked quietly.
"Have you done this before?"
"No, but it was done to me."
"Small comfort."
"Evan Smith. Please begin," the beaver said.
Evan swallowed and looked at Rufus. He had allowed Dorian to examine him because of his disease. Now he was supposed to do the same to a friend who did not want it. On top of that, something at the back of his head told him he was doing the right thing and that he was doing Rufus a favor.
"Rufus, you have to undress," he said with difficulty.
"Do I really have to?" Pain and humiliation rang in his voice.
"Unfortunately."
He hissed and turned his head, but slowly began to undress. Finally he was left in just his underwear. He looked at Evan. He nodded. With an expression of suffering he pulled off his briefs.
Evan approached him.
He began to touch him. He tried to remember everything Dorian had done and how. He tried to feel the muscle structure with his fingers. It was hard to concentrate. He constantly felt everyone's eyes on him, and on top of that the disease bombarded his thoughts. In addition Rufus groaned involuntarily and kept pulling away.
"I'm finished," Evan said.
"What is the assessment?"
Evan looked at Rufus apologetically before he began to speak.
"This is a young male rabbit leading an active, athletic lifestyle. The meat is low-fat with good elasticity. The leg portions are particularly well developed; they should be springy and intense in flavor…"
Rufus cried out and curled up.
"Can you stop talking about my legs like that?!"
"I'm trying to sound like a cook."
"It looks like you're sending me to the plate."
"I'm sorry."
The judge grunted.
"Please continue."
"The overall meat profile is light, marbled. It requires a short, precise process or prior marinating. I advise against long roasting; it would ruin the juiciness and the meat would remain dry."
"So what dish does the candidate recommend?"
Evan took a breath. Rufus, meanwhile, plugged his ears.
"First of all I advise against roasting whole. True, it would be spectacular, but the meat is too lean and too athletic. It can be done, but he would need to be marinated for a long time and a considerable amount of fat applied so he doesn't dry out."
Evan felt as if he were taking a school exam with the addition of a courtroom and the sauce of testifying against a friend who had done something stupid.
"As for what I recommend."
He swallowed, and Rufus curled up even more.
"Quickly pan-fried medallions from the back with herb butter. It requires a lot of control, but it will be delicate."
Rufus covered his back with one hand.
"Thighs braised in wine with root vegetables. Long braising will solve the elasticity problem and has a rustic feel."
Rufus grabbed his thighs.
"If we're already talking about rustic cuisine, then rabbit pâté is also good, but it requires butter or cream."
Here Rufus's expression truly fell. He grabbed his ears and began to sweat.
"As for cream… classic rabbit in mustard and cream. The gentle acidity will enhance the delicacy, and the sauce will protect it from drying out."
Rufus curled into a ball. He trembled like jelly.
"Another classic option is ragout with root vegetables."
Rufus was already on the edge. He spoke in a thin voice.
"Maybe that's enough already?"
Gerhard cleared his throat.
"Yes, that's enough. You may get dressed."
Rufus immediately threw himself at his clothes and began putting them on.
"Mr. Evan." The candidate straightened. He felt sweat running down his back and that he was trembling. "You conducted the meat evaluation in a proper manner. Usually one does not converse with the meat, but usually that concerns tests right before slaughter, so it has no effect on the assessment. You also presented a good list of dishes. Task passed."
Carpini spoke again.
"As a teacher of many famous chefs, I can say with peace of mind that you have passed the tests. Arslan, you have found a good boy. Take care of him."
Next was Odelia.
"You passed the tests. Don't rest on your laurels yet. There is a lot of learning ahead of you." She smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry, but as a restaurateur I simply have to say this. If you or your friend ever want, my kitchen stands open before you."
The restaurateur clasped her hands in a gesture of apology. At the back of Evan's head the erosion demanded immediate acceptance of the offer. It was an unpleasant sensation running through the body like a kitchen knife or a band saw for meat. Rufus, meanwhile, hid behind him. The judges and people in the audience threw her displeased looks.
Next was Gerhard.
"You passed the tests. Congratulations and I wish you success in developing your career."
Arslan approached at Carpini's summons and took a hat from him. Then he approached Evan.
"Congratulations, Evan. From now on you are my apprentice. You have just taken the first step on the distinguished path of a cook. Wear this hat with pride."
He placed the hat on Evan's head. Evan had thought that when he received it he would feel relief, but no. He felt as if something had been placed on his head that was simultaneously a symbol of prestige, constant pressure, and a seasoning all at once.
"There is still a great deal of learning ahead of you."
"Yes, Master." He bowed.