Erika barely flinched at the sudden noise from outside, making sure not to drop the tray of cupcakes she had pulled from the oven. She gently set the tray down on a cooling rack as the Village Bakery door swung open. A somewhat stunned Phelocan limped in.
"Hello, Maury," Erika called out across the room while barely glancing up. "Came in too high on the landing again? You didn't hurt yourself this time, did you?" Erika added, noting the Phelocan's limping.
"It's minor, I'll shake it off in a moment," Maury replied. "Of course, a delicious cupcake would help make me feel better.” He eyed the tray of fresh cupcakes and did his best impression of puppy dog eyes.
  
Looking up, Erika grinned and playfully responded. "A cupcake? I'm not sure I could part with any of these fantastic cupcakes... Although.... if you've brought something special for me, I might be able to give up one," she said, waving nonchalantly.
"Well, it's my lucky day, then!" Maury grinned back, reaching into his messenger bag. “Let’s see… a bill or two, some junk mail… ah, a copy of the next Food Fest magazine!”
“Oh, great! I wonder what holiday treats they’ve reviewed, and what’s popular this year. I could use ideas for a new recipe to draw in a few more customers.” Erika reached out for the mail. Maury brought the mail forward but hesitated before Erika could grasp it.
“Great enough for a cupcake?” Maury asked.
Erika giggled. “Yes, you silly bird. Take any you want; they should be cool enough to handle now.”
Erika set the bills and junk mail aside and proceeded to flip through the magazine. Maury gleefully picked out a sprinkle-covered cupcake. Seeing Erika so engrossed in the magazine, he whispered a soft “Thank you,” and decided it best to slip out quietly rather than bother her.
“Hey, they’ve got a new column running!” Erika spoke out loud, perhaps not aware that Maury had taken his leave. “Looks like they’re reviewing eateries around Mistic…” Erika skimmed the article, then did a double-take, reading the passage more thoroughly. Her brow furled and she scrunched up her face, visibly upset. “Gordon said WHAT?!”
*****
Clayton was equally bent up over the contents of the column and was going to make sure he set things straight. “If he thinks that he can claim that he’s the best chef around, he’s got another thing coming!” He rapped hard on the door of Mistica Cuisine, then thought better of it and tried the door knob - unlocked. Clayton barged inside through the doorway, startling a few waiters who were setting up tables for the evening. “Where’s Gordon?” Clayton called out to them.
“In the kitchen, where any master chef should be,” came a happy reply from the back of the restaurant. Gordon walked into the main dining room and approached Clayton, glancing at the crumpled up magazine in Clayton’s paw. “Oh, I see you’ve got your copy of the article already, no need for me to share the good news then.”
“You are no master chef, Gordon, and if you think that—“ Clayton started.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” startled, Gordon cut him off. “However, if you feel the need to contest that, please, let’s step outside to talk. Gentlemen,” he called to his waiters, “If you have need of me, I will be outside.”
Clayton and Gordon stepped out of the restaurant into the small clearing in the wood that served as the center of Darkwood Hollow. Before had they moved five paces, Erika stormed over, heading straight for Gordon. “Just who do you think you are, claiming you’re the best chef in all of Mistica?”
Gordon sighed, obviously dismayed that the others did not celebrate his newly appointed title.
“If you are so upset with the article, shouldn’t you two storm the magazine publication headquarters instead, then?” Gordon said. “They were the ones who made the claim, after all. But I digress, I do agree with their opinion on the matter.”
“Still, the direct quotes from YOU in the interview were unnecessary!” Erika cried out. “Your ‘wonderful cuisine can top any common baker’s fare, or —“
“— swamp folk food; if you can call it food, at all.' ” Clayton filled in, snarling a bit.
“I’m sorry, but soup with eyeballs is more of a tragedy than a specialty,” Gordon said with disdain. “At least Erika creates food that is edible, even if it isn’t fine cuisine.”
“Excuse me?!” Clayton raged. “Erika, you’re sensible, right? Tell this guy that my food is great!”
“I…” Erika hesitated. “I can’t really say I find severed limbs all that… appetizing?” She said, grimacing at the thought of some of Clayton’s more specialized dishes.
Clayton boiled over. “That’s it! You two just don’t have any appreciation for my food, but I’ve got a good customer base that loves it! I’m a better chef than either of you!”
“A customer base with no taste,” Gordon muttered under his breath.
“Now wait a minute! That’s not—“ Erika’s retort was cut off as they were interrupted.
“Um… pardon me?” Keilly appeared between the three. “I’ve just come from visiting Pandoria, and I couldn’t help but hear your bickering. Rather, I should put it; everyone could hear the commotion you’re making.” The trio of trouble glanced around and noted that they had drawn a fair amount of attention. “Please calm your tempers, then tell me, what exactly is going on here?”
Clayton, Gordon, and Erika each explained in turn about the article and the comments made on their cooking abilities. Keilly quietly listened to each as they huffed about the other two. After all was said, Keilly pondered for a minute while the trio waited for her to set the record straight - in their favor, or course. Finally, she looked each of them in the eyes and said, “I know how to prove who’s best. I need to attend to a few things first, but please meet me back here outside Mistica Cuisine this time tomorrow.” Keilly then darted off before they could reply.
Puzzled at Keilly’s actions, the three resigned to the temporary impasse. They quietly parted ways, but all three would definitely be back to show that they were the better chef.
~Mistic Team
|
