It's Friday night in Ponyville and Anonymous is standing where he always is: behind the counter shouting out orders to his staff. It's the beginning of Restaurant Week and he's hating every minute. If he had his way, he wouldn't deal with this gimmick, but, being that he's the Head Chef and not the owner, that isn't really his call to make. Waiters trot in and out of the kitchen area carrying platters of food and rattling off orders to him over the service counter.
“Table Six: Two salads, one hay-fritte, one portabella, two soup!” Anon yells out to the cooks, who respond as one.
“Yes, Chef!” He bring his attention back to plating dishes as the cooks bring them up to him. The evening is going smoothly, luckily. This week is generally stressful enough without having any screw-ups in the kitchen to make things worse. As he plates a set of entrees, Anon's eye twitches, catching a missing item.
“Where's Table Four's risotto? What's the hold up?” He barks, turning around to stare down the offending cook. He looks up at the Chef apologetically.
“Sorry, Chef. Two minutes.”
“Makes it one minute. What do I always say about timing?”
“It's everything, Chef.”
“Exactly. Make it work.”
“Yes, Chef.”
The waiter for Table Four is looking antsy when Anon turns back around to him.
“I need Table Four's plates now, Chef.” He says, a little nervous.
“Coming up. Send them my apologies for the wait.” The risotto finally comes to the counter and he quickly plates it with the rest of the entrees. The waiter whisks it away into the sea of tables and chairs.
Anon looks out over the counter at the dining room. It's taken him years of straightforward determination, blood, and sweat to get to where he stands right now: Head Chef at one of Ponyville’s premiere establishments. Anon's pride is shaken two minutes later when the waiter clears his throat to get the Chef's attention. He looks at Anon with a tired expression and holds up a plate.
“Table Four would like a new plate of risotto. Seems this one is overdone.”
“Can't have one service go off without a hitch, eh?” Anon remarks jokingly.
“Seems that way, Chef.” Anon takes the plate and taste the risotto. It's creamy and smooth. The rice has a little less firmness that he would like, but it's certainly not noticeably overdone. Whoever sent this back must have discerning tastes. Anon decides to make the new risotto himself and turns to the waiter.
“Tell our guest that their risotto will be out shortly. Five minutes.” The waiter nods and trots off. Anon turns to the line and starts preparing the new plate. Oil falls into a deep pan as he turns on the flames and lays out his ingredients. He crushes some rosemary and sage, throwing them into the oil just as it begins to swirl. After that comes the rice. He pours it into the pan after the herbs have let their flavors into the oil. The rice lets out a satisfying hiss as it heats up and becomes transparent. Anon closes his eyes and thinks about how this is exactly what he's in Equestria to do. No matter how much Restaurant Week irks him, with its uninspired menus and demand for quick prep at the cost of any semblance of soul to the food, the chance to do what he does best is always welcome. He looks down. The rice is ready. Time to add the broth. A plume of steam billows up from the pan, carrying the smell of the herbs and oil with it. The rice greedily soaks up the liquid and he adds the onion and mushrooms before pouring in more broth. After several minutes and a few more pours, the risotto is done. The rice is perfect; he's made sure of it. Years of experience have taught Anon how to make risotto the right way. Granted, it also gave him a nigh-pathological need to see to any dish that gets sent back to the kitchen, but that's an acceptable tradeoff given that he's managed to make a reputation here and in the cities as a great Chef. Another set of orders comes in and he calls out to the kitchen yet again. “Table Eleven: Two hay-frittes, one salad, one risotto, one soup!”
“Yes, Chef!” comes the response from the kitchen. Anon places a few plates on the counter and calls to the waiters.
“Table Six: Up!” A glance at the clock lets Anon know that he's halfway through the dinner rush. Things are looking good-
“Chef?” Anon turns to see Table Four's waiter standing uneasily across the counter.
“What's the problem now?”
“She wouldn't say. She just asked to speak with you, Chef.” Anon sighs and calls over to his Sous.
“Take over plating for a couple minutes. I've got to talk to a table.”
“Yes, Chef,” he says and walks over to the counter. Anon follows the waiter through the sea of tables out to Table Four. The place is packed. Restaurant Weeks always attracts a bigger crowd than the average night and it being Friday only compounds things. He passes by ponies he knows from town as he goes, greeting them in passing as he makes his way after the waiter. Rarity and her family sit at one of the booths and he sees the white mare wave happily when she sees him walking by. Anon decides to stop by her table once he's finished with Table Four.
The waiter stops in front of a party of five. Anon straightens his coat and looks around the table at the guests. Eventually his eyes stop on the plate of risotto and the discerning customer. A tan pony wearing a ruffled tie and spectacles looks up at him from her seat. Anon swallows nervously as the waiter makes introductions.
“Madam Mayor, Councilors, I present our Head Chef d'Cuisine, Anonymous.” The waiter motions to Anon before walking off to take care of the other customers. The Chef gives a slight bow and addresses the grey-maned mare.
“Good evening, Madam Mayor. What seems to be the trouble?” There's an uncomfortable pause in which her gaze flits between the Chef and the risotto.
“Yes, Mr...Anonymous, was it?”
“You can just call me Anon, ma'am”
“Anon, them. I felt it was necessary to speak to you face to face instead of just sending plates back to you in the hopes that you would somehow know what I wanted.”
“That's very thoughtful of you, ma'am. What can I do for you?” He does his best to keep a cool tone, the Mayor's remarks having set him on edge.
“Well, the risotto is fine, I suppose, but it seems to be...missing something... I thought it was that it was simply overcooked at first, but the second dish had it too...” She looks at the plate pensively. “Tell me: do you use fresh or dry rosemary in your oil?” The specificness of the question causes Anon to raise an eyebrow.
“Uh, we use dried rosemary. About a sprig of it, crushed and heated with some sage in the oil. Why do you ask?” The mare thinks for a minute before responding.
“That must be it. Would it be possible to use fresh thyme instead? The rosemary overpowers the finish from the onions and upsets the overall balance of the dish.” Anon takes a moment to realize that his jaw is hanging open in shock.
“O-of course, Madam Mayor... Mushroom risotto substituting thyme for rosemary. I'll have it out for you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Anon.” Anon walks back to the kitchen, stunned by the exchange.
The shock wears off after about ten feet and by the time Anon comes around to Rarity's table he's more annoyed at the Mayor's presumption to tell him how to do his job. The good Madam Mayor can wait a little while for her very special request, he thinks. Rarity cheerfully speaks up as the Chef approaches the table.
“Anon! How delightful to see you. I was just in the middle of telling my parents what a positively wonderful establishment this place is. It's like a little piece of Canterlot right here in Ponyville!” Anon realizes that he's clenching a fist and, before Rarity can see, releases it and puts on a smile for the mare.
“Thank you, Rarity. I love the Ponyville fare, but there's always a place in my heart for the good old classic Canterlot school.” He turns to the rest of the ponies seated beside Rarity “And how are all of you enjoying the evening?”
“Everything's been perfect, Anon,” Rarity's mother chimes in. After the Mayor’s jarringly specific critique, Anon is glad to have some positive feedback, no matter how minor.
“Good, good. I'm happy to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a special order I have to go fill.” He turns to Rarity and smiles. “But Rarity? We'll need to get together sometime soon. It's been busy here, but I'm sure we could swing lunch tomorrow to catch up?”
“Oh, of course, Anon! I'd love to! Around noon at the cafe, yes?”
“Sounds good. I'll see you then. Enjoy the rest of the evening.” Rarity has been one of Anon's closer friends since he moved to Ponyville, despite the age-gap between them. Her parents had let the Chef rent out a room at the boutique for a short time while his house was being prepared to move into. The lunch set up, Anon heads to the kitchen to make the Mayor's risotto.
“How'd it go, Chef?” The Sous asks as Anon comes back to the counter.
“Seems like Madam Mayor is quite the connoisseur. Get one of the cooks to grab some thyme for me, will you?”
“Yes, Chef.” He walks off to the back of the kitchen and Anon turns to the burners. Taking a fresh pan from the rack, he brings the oil up to temperature. The thyme comes soon enough and he deftly crushes it up with the sage. Steam again billows up from the pan when he adds the broth to the rice, bearing a totally different scent than before. As he add the mushrooms and onion, he's struck by how well the smell of the herbs and other ingredients balances. Anon knots his brow and finishes the preparation. Before he plates the dish, he tastes the risotto to make sure it's been done right. The Chef's frustration mounts as the light, sweet finish of the onions comes out, complimented by the thyme and sage.
“How in Tartarus did I miss something that simple?” He mutters to himself. The waiter comes up to take the plate, but Anon raises a hand and stop him, saying “I'll take this one.”
“Alright, Chef.” Anon wipes the edge of the plate and carries it into the sea of tables towards his destination. By now it's been almost 45 minutes since Table Four placed their original orders. He's getting nervous. Service shouldn't be so slow in his kitchen. Once he arrives at the table he sets the plate down in front of the Mayor. Now that he's given it to her, indignation and annoyance have given way to anxiety. A bad review from somepony with so much pull in the community could kill his reputation here.
She chews slowly, agonizingly so. Anon feels a drop of sweat roll down his forehead. The other ponies at the table, having finished their own plates, watch nervously as the Mayor sets her fork back down. She dabs her lips with a napkin before slowly turning to address the Chef.
“Anon, I must say I'm impressed. It's not often we get a chef with talent like yours here, let alone one with such a vested interest in his clientele.”
“It's not often I serve customers with such well-developed tastes, ma'am.” He does his best to hid his bruised ego. The customer comes first here, after all.
“This risotto is superb. You've done exactly what you needed to. Bravo, Chef.” She says this with a charismatic smile and a clap of her hooves. It might be her tone, or maybe just his ego, but Anon can't help feeling talked down to.
“Thank you very much, Madam Mayor. I'll have the risotto taken off the bill for the long wait.”
“I appreciate it, Anon. Thank you for a wonderful meal.”
“Have a pleasant evening, everypony.” Anon walks back to the line not sure if he's scored a victory here or not and takes his place at the counter once more. The Sous goes back to his duties and before long Anon is back in the swing of things. The flurry of activity in the kitchen forces any thoughts of the Mayor's comments from his mind. “Table Two: Three crème brulee, two tiramisu!”
“Yes, Chef!”
The restaurant closes at 11 that night. Anon wipes his counters down and turn the gas at his stove off before writing up the shift notes for the night's service. Out of 243 covers, only two returned plates. Service speed was good, if a little slow, but nothing to go on about. Restaurant Week, for all the grief it brings him, is off to a good start. On top of that, he isn't needed until five tomorrow afternoon, which means he's free to have lunch with Rarity. Anon jots down the shift notes and pins them to the cork board outside his office before leaving the dishwashers to their work and heading out into the night. The air is cool; a soft breeze blows through the streets as he makes his way home. It's nothing like Canterlot here, and worlds away from the hustle-bustle of Manehattan. Such a small town like this, he was surprised when he was asked to come here to run the kitchen of a fine-dining establishment. It's been a success so far, though, and the pay is nothing to complain about. Ponies have been coming from all over Equestria to eat here. Anon has had parties from Cloudsdale, Baltimare, and even a few all the way from Manehattan. He concedes that having a human Head Chef adds a little bit of novelty draw, but he likes to think it's his reputation as a Chef that brings them in. Despite how much Anon misses the lively scenes in Canterlot and Manehattan, Ponyville has grown on him in the last year. The quiet nights in Ponyville are a reprieve from the noise and crazed activity in the kitchen. He still recalls nights in Manehattan where he would leave work hoping for some relaxation only to walk right into the middle of a street-party.
Anon reaches his house after about ten minutes of walking. Exhausted, he flops into the chair in his living room with a glass of scotch to unwind over. Now that he's made it to somewhere quiet, the Mayor's comments come back into his head. Anon isn't sure why they're sticking with him, though. He's dealt with critics, and ponies who thought themselves critics, before. He's had worse reviews. For Celestia's sake, he's had ponies walk right out in a huff when he was just starting out. The world of high-cuisine is an unforgiving place and he ran that gauntlet for years before coming here, so why is he bristling so much at one discerning mayor's comments? He takes a sip of scotch as he mulls it over. “Probably just surprise,” the Chef thinks to himself. After all, it's not like he was exactly expecting such specific criticism off the cuff like that. It was good criticism too. He's not sure he would have thought of it had she not brought the subject up. She's an interesting one, to be sure, that Mayor. Anon finds himself wondering where she could have gotten such a keen palette. The only other pony he knows who knows food anywhere near that level is Rarity, and she got it from him. Rarity's mother still chides him jokingly, saying it's his fault Rarity spends so much on food nowadays. Anon chuckles to himself as he finishes his scotch and puts the glass in the sink. The clock reads midnight. Time for bed. He's going to need his sleep if he's going to take Rarity out to lunch and THEN work service. All things considered, it's a tough call saying which is more stressful.