“And now, for the annual cook-off!” Mayor Mare shouted over the ruckus of the audience. Upon hearing her words, the mass of ponies quietened down. “We have the budding chefs in the left corner!” she exclaimed, pointing over to the mares hiding behind ovens and fiddling with utensils. “The hungry, hungry participants in the right!” She pointed to the bored stallions waiting on the tables set out before them. One unfortunate fellow, with the prospect of fifteen meals ahead of him, merely rested his chin on the table, staring into nothingness as a sigh escaped him.
“As they say, the best way to a stallion’s heart is through his stomach!” Mayor Mare announced, chuckling slightly. “Chefs, you have exactly sixty minutes to prepare a meal of your choosing for your… beloved. The use of unicorn magic is completely forbidden, as is the use of wings, though I fail to see how you can use feathers for cooking…” Mayor’s voice trailed off, staring at the ceiling. Coming back to reality, she chuckled, grinning. “Anyway, raise your spatulas or spoons if you’re ready!”
Pushing the chef hat out of her eyes, Smarty gulped before raising her spoon. Her eyes fell upon Big Mac, who was gazing off into the distance. After she had announced her interest in him yesterday, Big Mac had become even more difficult to speak to back at the orchard. In fact, they hadn’t even exchanged a word. It was fair enough, seeing as though it came out of nowhere for him. Of course, she had lied to him a little. Only a little, she dismissed, shaking her head.
“Good, I see you are all ready. Well, without further ado, let the annual cook-off begin!” Mayor shouted, raising her hooves. “I wish you all the best of luck! Start the clock!”
Smarty looked down at the oven as the din of hundreds upon hundreds of utensils clanging together filled the room. She stared into space, losing focus of the world around her. The oven, square in shape, filled her view. She clutched a metallic spoon with her hoof, seeing a tiny, inverted reflection of her frowning face in the corner of her eye. Smarty simply froze like a mannequin. The noises of around her faded, and she was left entirely alone in her mind.
Oh, manure, she thought.
Shaking her head vigorously, she snapped back to reality and plunged herself into action. First, the egg. She couldn’t remember how to prepare an egg correctly, but she’d figure it out. That was the most difficult item on the list of difficult things. There was only one type of food she knew how to make, and that was only learnt from being Twilight’s cooking assistant. Yes, of course she had her own little chef hat. Back then, when she was a doll, and now. She wouldn’t have it any other way, even if she was the only mare in the room with one.
She reached for the eggs. When she was about to smash one down into the bowl, she looked at the eggs more closely. An oval, pale orange in colour, sat on her hoof. In all honesty, Smarty didn’t know how hard to hit the thing. She looked around nervously. Everyone else was too occupied with their meals to notice little, ol’ her, but that didn’t make her feel any better. All it took was one small slip-up for someone to notice. She swallowed her pride before slamming the egg on the table with all her might.
True to the anatomy of the egg, it simply shattered with a rather loud crack, splattering its gooey contents across the table. As soon as she heard the noise, her head turned, checking to see if anyone had seen. She gave a sigh of relief as she reached for a paper towel. Smarty felt eyes bore into her back, and she turned back to find Big Mac watching her for the first time that day.
Of all the times he could watch, it had to be now. Cursing under her breath, she pretended not to notice, quickly looking up to seemingly check the clock above his head. Big Mac’s gaze followed her own, watching the clock with her. Nice recovery, she thought, focusing back on the meal. Once the remains of the egg had been cleaned away, which Smarty had been sure to block Big Mac’s view of with her body, she reached for another egg.
This time, softer, she mentally berated. Smarty gulped before hitting the egg on the side of the table. Much to her satisfaction, it didn’t break open. A tiny crack appeared on the pale orange oval. Slowly but surely, she was getting there. With a couple more taps, she managed to break open the shell and pour the contents into the bowl. Using a fork, she made sure no shards of shell remained in the yolk. Smarty checked on the time, just to be sure.
Ten minutes. She had spent ten minutes on cracking one egg.
Smarty turned so quickly, she could’ve sworn she left a skid mark on the tiled floors. She made a grab for the flour, but upon hitting the bag with a hushed thump, a cloud of white powder flew into the air. It hovered for a second, allowing Smarty to raise her head to see the splendour before it fell downwards, covering her from mane to tail with white dust. She merely huffed. There was no time to tidy herself up, even if the mare beside her was snickering. This was a cook-off, not a fashion contest.
Time was ticking away. Smarty didn’t know how much flour she needed—she could only guess—but if it was too much… well, Big Mac had a big appetite, anyway. Lifting the bag from the bottom, she poured the flour in. Not the entire bag, of course. That would be far too silly. It joined the egg, which had looked rather lonely until then. When Smarty felt there was enough, she put the bag to one side. Her eyes darted towards the salt as a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. She only needed a pinch; it wasn’t exactly difficult. Then again, she had cocked up everything else until that point.
She took the salt shaker in her hoof, eyeing the small holes on the top closely. It was completely foolproof. Tapping it, she made sure the top was secure. She checked there were no cracks in the glass. With a cautious shake of her hoof, Smarty rolled the dice against the gods and goddesses of cuisine, summoning forth a tiny amount of powder. Smarty shrugged. Not that hard. She placed it extra carefully into the bowl, just to be sure.
Next, the milk. She held the jug closely, some of the liquid spilling out of the sides and onto her flour-filled coat, but it didn’t concern her. Smarty tilted the container until she was content with the amount. She also tipped the small cup of water into the mix. Gazing into the bowl, she noticed that her creation didn’t look the most appetising. At least not now. Soon. With the bowl prepared, she poured the contents into the food processor. Luckily, none of the liquid spilt out of the side, like it had before with the milk. She was learning. Eventually.
As she sighed happily, she pressed several buttons and waited until the confounded machine began churning up the liquid before turning back around, a confident smile on her dusty face. Smarty took that as her cue to clean herself up. With a discarded tea towel, she rubbed her face vigourously to remove all the dust that had accumulated on her cheeks. Fortunately, no other pony noticed; they were all too busy with their own meals. She harrumphed, smelling the distinct smell of victory and…
Apple pie? Smarty sniffed at the air again. After living with Granny Smith for only a few weeks, she could recognise the smell anywhere. She glanced around the room, trying to find the source. When it fell upon the yellow pegasus—the one who was competing against her—she snorted. Didn’t Fluttershy know? Big Mac was just as fed up with apple pies as she was. Smarty rubbed her hooves together, chuckling silently. He’s as good as mine… Smarty suddenly shook her head and dismissed the thought. She couldn’t be too cocky. Even in the face of victory.
The machine behind her spluttered and hissed. Gasping, she turned, seeing the mixture leaking out of the top. She slammed her hooves down on the top, shutting the lid securely. The noise echoed around the room, but only a few heads turned in her direction. Once the gawkers had lost interest, Smarty let out a sigh of relief. I am a moron, she thought, her head falling into her hooves. I didn’t even close the lid…
“Half the time is gone, ladies!” Mayor Mare’s voice cried. “Thirty minutes remaining!”
Even though it was impossible to make the old machine go any faster, Smarty tried to find some form of magic button. She sighed, slowly backing away from the processor. It was no use. At least she could try to bolster her confidence. Her eyes wandered over to Fluttershy once more, but before she felt a snigger escape her lips, she saw something that only made her gawk in awe.
With a delicate movement of her hoof, Fluttershy sent the apple spinning into the air. Her other hoof reached for something on the table; the object moved so quickly, Smarty could only see the blur of motion. As the apple began to fall, Fluttershy shifted the object upwards, sending a reflection of harsh, blinding light into Smarty’s eyes. She could only raise a hoof to block the light before both objects collided. From what she could barely see, Fluttershy moved her hoof very precisely around the spinning apple. When the light in her eyes faded away, Smarty saw the perfectly-sized slices of apple collected neatly on the plate below.
Her mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide. The constant noise around her simply fell to a dull murmur. Though she was obviously occupied with processing the sight she’d just saw, she felt a pair of eyes watching her. Smarty’s head tilted upwards, finding Fluttershy staring straight back at her with gentle yet surprised eyes.
A high-pitched note erupted from behind her. Saved by the bell…
With a tap on the plastic container, Smarty checked the mixture. It wasn’t done just yet; she had cooked enough batter in her day to know. A bit of egg hadn’t been properly mixed, thanks to the ancient age of the device. She tutted, turning the machine back on with a push. It spluttered before mixing once more.
Smarty sniffed at the air. Various aromas from other dishes wafted around the room, mixing together in a pleasant scent of fresh bread, hay chips and, well, apples. Of course, that wasn’t to say there wasn’t a fair share of horrible smells. Smarty could taste burnt pastry on the tip of her tongue, and the indistinguishable scent of garlic emanated from the corner of the room. On closer inspection, the source was occupied by a rather muscular mare with a small moustache. She blinked. Definitely not the type of mare you’d want to mess with.
She took a moment to watch the mares struggle away at their meals, who had, only moments before, stared at her with the same intensity. Smarty could see one or two crack under her gaze, falling prey to her menacing glare. Some would smile and wave back, and others would stare daggers. It didn’t make a difference to Smarty—none of them were competing over Big Mac, and the only one who was, Fluttershy, didn’t know she was making a mistake. All according to plan… Smarty thought, rubbing her hooves together and smiling strangely.
Ding!
Turning on the spot, Smarty inspected the food processor. With a discerning eye, she took a closer look at the batter. Satisfied with the texture after poking the liquid with a gentle hoof, Smarty readied the gas hob, turning the knob slightly to the right. She then pressed the button, summoning a ring of blue fire to erupt around the metal disc. Admittedly, it had been a damned good guess on Smarty’s part with igniting the gas. That, or the fact there was a completely inconspicuous image of a flame with the word ‘Ignite’ printed above the button. Either one.
Placing a small bit of butter on the frying pan to melt, Smarty turned to her utensils. She reached for a ladle, submerging it in the viscous mixture before emptying the overqualified spoon over the pan. As soon as the stuff came into contact with the hot metal, it sizzled and spat, covering the entire surface in a blanket of liquid. Smarty was on the solidified batter in seconds, using a spatula to separate the pan from pancake. Once satisfied with the golden colour on the underside after taking a peek, she flipped the premature pancake with a gentle flick of her spatula.
Another sizzle erupted into the air, boosting Smarty’s confidence. She could hear several mares sniffing at the new, beautiful scent entering their nostrils. Some turned their heads, licking their lips. She felt like she was glowing with confidence. With a grin, she raised the pan from the hob, holding it in both hooves. Smarty gave it a little shake for luck before tossing the pancake above her head.
It soared into the air. Time slowed to a standstill. Mares and stallions simply stared. She felt immortal. Gasps of amazement filled the room. The room buzzed with energy. Smarty could see every tiny movement of the pancake. She licked her lips. Needed to focus. Prepared for every rotation. It began falling down. Spinning. Smarty moved her pan from left to right. It needed to be perfect. Big Mac was watching. Turning. Fluttershy was watching. Falling. Everyone in the damned room was watching.
And watch, they did, for that was all they could do when the pancake fell to the ground with an almighty slap.
Smarty simply stared down at the deflated disc, her mouth open in horror or shock. To her, it didn’t make much difference which one. For a while, she didn’t even notice the rest of the ponies in the room staring down at the pancake alongside her. When someone let out a stifled cry of laughter, which was quickly hushed by members of the forming crowd, she came back to reality. Her cheeks blushed a fierce crimson, and she quickly scooped up the remains with the spatula. Smarty opened the bin, placing the late pancake in the unmarked grave.
She felt the eyes of everyone still on her as they scrutinised and judged her. On the verge of tears, she returned to her food processor, pouring more batter into the pan. As it sizzled away happily, free from judgmental society, Smarty found her eyes wandering over to the door. She could just run away from it all—away from the prying eyes and the embarrassment that followed. They didn’t know her. They certainly wouldn’t care when their sweethearts were on the line. Besides, the whole competition was moronic; it was probably created by a lonely, lonely stallion back in the day.
Still, she continued making the pancakes. As the silence was replaced by the various noises of kitchen life, she flipped the pancake with a soft flick of the spatula. Smarty wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Even though she knew Big Mac was aware of her mistake by his passive stare, she kept going. Smarty was only a pony; she made mistakes. At least he would understand and appreciate her humility, as opposed to Fluttershy’s pure skill.
The first pancake was born into the world. Smarty placed it on a plate before grabbing the lemons and bags of sugar on the side of the table. She cut each lemon in half, the sour juices dripping from the knife she used. Squeezing a side gently, a fair amount of the liquid lemon poured onto her work. The pancake was her canvas—the lemon juice being the paint—and Smarty was the artist. With a discerning eye, she dabbed here and there, in all the right places. Of course, it wasn’t perfect, but art never was. Oh, the pains of being an artist.
Once she was content—or, at least, content as can be for an artist—she sprinkled a small amount of sugar over the entire pancake. She had to counter the bitter taste of the lemon juice, of course. Smarty then took one side and folded it into the middle. With a careful hoof, she did the same for the other side, folding it over the other fold. She sprinkled more lemon juice and sugar on top for luck, as one can never have enough.
Her first official pancake was done, but there was still a lot of batter remaining. Sticking her tongue out her mouth, she prepared the next. And then the next. And then the next. Her actions blurred into one as she went into the zone. With each passing minute, the stack of folded pancakes grew one by one. It was on her fifth when the mayor decided to clear her throat. “Five minutes remaining!” she yelled over the numerous cooking instruments. “Get it on the plate before it’s too late! Hey, that rhymed,” she murmured under her breath. Smarty was the only one to hear, as everyone else had gone into hyperdrive.
Five minutes? Plenty of time…
As relaxed as possible, she placed the finished pancake with the other before adding the necessary condiments. Raising a hoof to her chin in thought, Smarty simply looked at the plate. She adjusted each pancake slightly, making sure they were in the perfect place. Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out a knife and fork and placed it on the stack. She paused. Her hoof moved the fork slightly to the left. She stared intently at the plate, as if daring it to move.
“Your time is up!” cried the merry voice of Mayor Mare. “Please, stop whatever you are doing, and step away from the ovens.” The sound of clip-clopping filled the room as Smarty did as told. Her eyes continued staring at the fork—she knew it was now too far to the left, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Damn it! she thought, twiddling her mane.
“Your meal will be collected by our assistants at hoof, and will then be presented to your lucky loved one!” the mayor exclaimed, pointing towards the stallions. They perked their ears instantly at the mention of food, all aside from one in particular. It wasn’t Big Mac, and it wasn’t a stallion Smarty recognised. She then saw the names of fifteen mares and realised before frowning at the prospect. “Once finished, the stallions shall give their reviews, which will be revealed to you tomorrow.” Mayor Mare put on a warm smile as the mass of mares mumbled incoherently. “Until then, I suppose! Of course, the stallions will, from now on, have their private dormitories for the next week, just to prevent any… unfair variables.”
Smarty opened her mouth to argue, but quickly closed it. She thought she had the edge over Fluttershy with the ability to speak with Big Mac back on the orchard, but the logic made sense. It would be unfair when Fluttershy couldn’t talk to him so easily.
A number of mares voiced their concerns, but the mayor was having none of it. “Now, now, ladies!” she cried, her brow furrowing slightly. “This is dictated by tradition, and isn’t up for discussion. It is only fair. Please leave through the doors on the left. We will see all of you again tomorrow, fairly early in the morning, so have a good night’s rest.” Mayor Mare chuckled slightly, rubbing her hooves together deviously before continuing. “You will all need it… for the fashion contest tomorrow.”
Smarty’s eyes went wide as a silent ‘no’ escaped her lips.
“A fashion contest?” Smarty cried to the skies as she walked. “What kind of test is that?”
As per usual, the skies didn’t reply. She cursed at them. Cursed them for being inanimate. It was just unfair. How could she—the pony with the elegance of a drunk pig—even compete? Especially against Fluttershy. It seemed ridiculous to her. Fluttershy seemed so delicate and graceful, Smarty reckoned a weak gust of wind would carry her far away. She paused. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea…
“Forget it!” she exclaimed, stomping at the ground. “Just… forget it.”
The competition seemed so shallow. It was obviously focused on the outward appearance, not something from within. Fashion contests weren’t intended for everyone. They existed for ponies like Fluttershy—ponies with natural elegance. They existed for beautiful ponies. Not like Smarty. She wasn’t beautiful; she was just a dull, grey mare with nothing special on offer. Not like Fluttershy. Why would Big Mac ever want an ordinary mare when he could have Fluttershy?
“Uh… h-hi,” said a distant voice. Smarty let out a cry, her eyes darting left and right. She was ready to gallop away when it spoke again. “D-don’t be scared,” it said, “I’m up here.” Though her instincts begged her not to, Smarty looked up to find a cloud flying low to the ground. She stopped walking and simply gawked at it for a moment.
“Well, hello, mental breakdown!” Smarty cried, waving her hoof frantically at the cloud. She checked the non-existent watch on her foreleg, tutting slightly. “You’re quite late, you know. Might have to report that to the mental breakdown police. I expected you wa-a-ay back, when I was slowly losing my sanity as a doll. You know—”
A yellow head appeared over the side of the cloud, pink strands of hair falling from it. “Wh… what are you talking about?” Fluttershy asked, her hooves clutching the edge as she gazed down.
Smarty blinked. “Nothing.”
An uneasy silence fell between them as they watched each other.
“I, uh, just wanted to say that you make pancakes really well,” Fluttershy said, shying away from the edge.
“Thanks?” Smarty said, cocking her head. She then shook it, realising Fluttershy wasn’t one to mock. “No, I mean, thank you!” she exclaimed, smiling. “I learnt how to make them when I was a… little filly.”
“It shows.”
Another moment of silence.
“You make apple pies really well,” Smarty tried, licking her lips. “When you were cutting those apples, I thought you were a ninja or something.”
Fluttershy giggled. “Thank you,” she said, grinning.
Silence fell.
“Looking forward to the fashion contest?” Smarty asked, hoping the pegasus would simply leave her to her crippling depression.
“Not really,” Fluttershy said. “But at least I have someone to help me.”
Oh, is that so? Smarty thought, raising her eyebrows. “Who would that be, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Rainbow Dash. She’s giving me some… confidence lessons.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Smarty said.
“Thanks.”
Silence.
“Listen,” Smarty said, her ears falling, “between you and me… I don’t think I have a snowball’s chance in Tartarus of winning this thing.”
It was Fluttershy’s time to raise her eyebrows. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know… You just seem perfect for him,” Smarty said, her lips trembling slightly.
“Don’t say that,” Fluttershy said.
“Why? I mean, you’re beautiful. I’m not. You’re elegant. I’m not. You both seem fairly… quiet, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Fluttershy dismissed.
“You are perfect for him,” Smarty said, frowning.
“No.” Fluttershy shook her head. “He decides who is perfect for him.” Fluttershy sighed, looking up into the sky. Smarty kept her eyes trained on her. “I’m not sure which one of us is perfect for him. Neither of us know, but we both know him fairly well, I believe. Big Mac is a… quiet stallion. It’s hard to read his mind. Up until now, I thought you were the perfect one for him, not me.”
“B-but you’re both so similar!” Smarty cried.
“Opposites attract,” the pegasus mused, smiling slightly. “From what I’ve heard about you, you’re smart and funny. You’re impulsive and adventurous, unlike me. He’s the only one who chooses, Smarty, not us. We certainly can’t assume what he likes and what he doesn’t, but we can hope.” Fluttershy paused. “And don’t say you’re not beautiful.”
Another period of silence fell, but it felt right for the pair of them. “Th-thanks,” Smarty finally said, sniffing. “Really, thanks. I... think I needed that.”
Fluttershy smiled warmly. “ No problem. Sometimes, we all do.”
“G-good luck to you, Fluttershy,” Smarty said.
“You, too,” she said. “Nice speaking to you.”
“Thanks again,” Smarty said, turning away. She continued walking down the path, her mind buzzing with thoughts. She wasn’t doomed. At least, not entirely. Fluttershy had given her hope, and that was all she needed at that point in time.
Dash is giving her help? Smarty thought, scratching her head. I wonder how Rarity would feel about that.