Peter and Crème Fraiche sat at a single long table facing the kitchen. The sound of sizzling and chopping sounded off loudly within the kitchen. Meanwhile, a line of stallions carried in around a dozen crates jingling with filled glass bottles towards the bar. Inside, Lyra toured Berry Punch inside, allowing her to accustom herself with the bar’s various glasses and alcohols. Berry Punch looked like a kid in a candy store that had just been given the key and the deed.
“I trust you know what each of these glasses are?” asked Lyra.
“You don’t need to worry,” Berry Punch replied. “I own at least one of each of these kinds of glasses at home.”
“You like to drink a lot?” asked Lyra.
“Not so much drinking as much as making them. In a way, it’s kind of like being a chef like Peter. You measure your ingredients, mix them up, and then, voila!”
“I see. And you think you can act as this restaurant’s bartender?”
“Lyra, please,” she chuckled. “Peter didn’t request me because I can only make a market-stand smoothie. Just move aside…”
Berry Punch knocked a top off one of the crates a pulled out a collection of bottles of different liquors from inside of it, leaving Lyra unsure what she could be possibly be making. From the side of the dining room, a dark-cream colored earth stallion with a natural-orange mane and tail walked out of the kitchen, wheeling in a cart with his teeth upon the handle. Noticing the ponies appearance, Peter and Crème Fraiche eyed him as he approached the table.
“Hello again, Spic Span,” greeted Peter.
“Yes, hi,” the pony slightly stammered.
“Hmm. You sound nervous. Why?”
“It’s just… I’ve never cooked for somepon– someone such as yourself. I only want to look my best.”
“Well, let’s see what you have,” spoke Crème Fraiche.
The pony lifted the top of his tray, revealing a long, ovular plate of large raviolis sitting in a creamy white sauce. In the very center of the plate was a small tower of seasoned cherry tomatoes and a basil leaf on top.
“Alright,” said Peter. “What is this dish?”
“This is wild mushroom ravioli in a garlic and truffle alfredo sauce. The filling for the ravioli is bolete and chanterelle mushrooms cooked in a port wine reduction. The tomatoes are there to help reduce the sweetness and bring out some tartness.”
Peter and Crème Fraiche were already eating a half-ravioli and tomato half that had previously been speared on their forks. Spic Span nervously scanned his eyes between his two judges as he saw their own eyes widen.
“Spic Span,” giggled Peter, “you really have no reason to be nervous. That was delicious.”
“What?” he gasped. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You’re right, the ravioli and the sauce would be way too rich without the tomatoes mellowing out those intense flavors. Also, quite brave of you to use a red wine in a white sauce. But I really, really like it.”
“I do too,” added Crème Fraiche, “the choice of mushrooms was also excellent. The earthiness of the chanterelle really worked well with the port, and very smart to use garlic in with the sauce. The mushrooms really compliment it.”
“So…” Spic Span wondered, “does that mean…”
“We still have quite a few more applicants to look at,” said Peter, reviewing the pony’s resume. “We just wanted to see your own creativity and cooking skills so we can determine the best and most innovative cooks. We’ll be sure to let you know soon, okay?”
“Oh… uh, okay!”
“It’s been a pleasure. Take it easy.”
As Peter and Crème Fraiche shook Spic Span's hoof, Lyra watched with wonder at the bar as Berry Punch vigorously shook the ice and liquid inside a large, metal cocktail shaker. Lyra then put her face close to two glasses set on the bar beside a bottle of cola and dumped the yellowish contents of the shaker into the glasses.
“I’ve never had a Manehattan Iced Tea before,” Lyra said. “Do you really need that much alcohol?”
“Absolutely,” answered Berry punch as she splashed some of the cola into both glasses. “Besides, you won’t even taste it.”
With a strong stir of her glass, the cola was mixed in, giving the drink a light-caramel color. Lyra picked up her drink in her magic aura while Berry Punch grabbed hers with both of her hooves. Both then watched as the next cooking candidate among a moderate line of others outside stepped in towards Peter and Crème Fraiche’s table.
“Cheers,” Berry Punch said, clinking the side of her glass against Lyra’s glass.
With gladdened smiles following after, the two ponies smiled as they took sips of their cocktails. Lyra’s eyes shot open at the odd, but refreshingly tasty flavor of her drink. Smacking her mouth to register the taste, she looked to the confidently smiling Berry Punch. Lyra could not stifle an impressed giggle before she took a much larger gulp.
____________________________________________________________
With the night quieting the town, Peter wearily stepped into the library with a small knapsack strapped over his shoulder, his first sight being Spike as he stood on a rolling ladder placed on the right side of the room, dusting the top of the shelves. Upon hearing the doorbell upon Peter’s entrance, Spike turned to face him and smiled.
“Oh,” he greeted with slight surprise, “hi, Peter! How was…”
Spike’s words trailed off as he looked at Peter’s tired and seemingly miserable face.
“So…” groaned Peter.
“Peter!” exclaimed Spike as he dropped his duster and slid down the ladder to the floor. “Are you alright!”
“So… full.”
“Full?” the baby dragon responded, his alert and fearful expression quelled by the human’s response. “Oh, right. You must have eaten a lot of good food, huh? I’m so jealous. Anyone you liked?”
“Could you give me a second, buddy?” asked Peter as he made his way up the stairs. “I need to lie down for a second.”
Spike, tapping the ends of his fingers in apprehension, dutifully followed Peter up the winding steps.
____________________________________________________________
Twilight hummed to herself as she casually wrote a series of notes at her desk beside a recently opened book. Hearing both Peter and Spike’s footsteps come up to the room, she was broken out of her idle trance and set her things down, turning to see Peter and Spike walking in together.
“Peter?” whispered Twilight. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about,” said Spike with assurance. “He’s just got a bit of a stomachache from eating everyone’s food.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” she said matter-of-factly. “Here, let me help.”
Standing off the pillow that she sat on, she charged her horn, the aura wrapping around it and Peter. As she trotted up the stairs to her bedroom, Peter was gently lifted into the air and carried off behind her, Spike quickening his pace to follow them. Peter sighed as he was placed onto Twilight’s bed upon his side, allowing him to face the pony and the dragon by his side.
“How many applicants were there?” asked Twilight.
“About…” Peter said softly. “About four dozen.”
“So you ate forty-eight bites of food?” she asked.
“Oh, it had to be more than that. Some of the food was too good to leave at one bite. Crème is fine though. You ponies and your large stomachs.”
“You shouldn’t blame us for your overeating, Peter.”
“And what should I have done? Spit it out in front of the pony who made it?”
“I suppose not, but perhaps smaller bites next time?”
“Good thing for me, there won’t be a next time. At least, not for a while.”
“Why?” asked Spike, his hands pulling him over the top of the mattress. “Did you find your new cooks?”
“Yeah,” Peter responded. “Twilight, could you do me a favor?”
“Yes?” she responded.
“Could you help me write out my acceptance letters?”
“Oh, sure. What do you need me to say?”
“First, get the black folder out of my bag.”
Twilight nodded and charged her horn, the flap on Peter’s bag opening and the folder sliding out and floating to Twilight in her magic grasp.
“Just read off the names, and I’ll tell you which ones are in and which ones are out,” instructed Peter.
“Okay then,” responded Twilight as the papers were slid out of the folder. “First one is… Fire Frenzy.”
“He was really peppy, but I don’t think a kitchen environment his for him.”
“Reject,” whispered Twilight as she marked an X on the paper before flipping it to the back. “Next one is… Mille Feuille.”
“Oh,” Peter moaned in pleasure, “she certainly earned her name. She’s definitely going to be our dessert chef.”
“Excellent,” Twilight quietly responded as she marked a “D.C.” upon the page and sent it to the back. “Next one’s… Spic Span?”
____________________________________________________________
The next morning, Spic Span stood outside of his home, his hoof pressing a wet, sudsy towel against a glass window. Standing back down to dip his towel into the cleaner water, he turned back to the window to see Peter riding up towards his house on his bicycle, his bag wrapped around his shoulder. Upon spotting him, Spic Span froze with fear, almost as if death itself was riding towards him.
“Hey, Spic Span!” called Peter with a friendly wave.
“Oh,” the startled pony said as they both approached his mailbox, “hey, Peter? Did you already make your decision?”
“I did,” he said, pulling a rolled and sealed scroll from his bag with the name “Spic Span” written upon the back. “I was going to drop it in your mailbox and be on my way, but since you’re here, I can thank you for saving me the trouble.”
“Hahaha,” forced Spic Span with a trembling point of his hoof, “that’s a good one.”
Peter pursed his lips as he tried to transition from Spic Span’s poor attempt at a last minute butter-up.
“Well…” he spoke, finally handing the pony the paper as if there was nothing left, “here you are. Thanks for coming yesterday!”
Peter turned from the house and rode back off into town. Spic Span gulped conclusively with failure appearing as sweat on his brow. With a trembling breath, he mustered the strength to open the letter and peek at its contents.
Upon reading the first few lines, his tense body eased its way into relaxation and his nervous frown morphed into an excited smile. Continuing to read, he let out a shaky giggle, each new breath strengthening the laugh into one of tremendous victory.
“Honey?!” shouted Spic Span at the top of his lungs as he galloped into the house. “Honey!!”
Passersby stared at the residence of Spic Span with slightly frightened expressions. It wasn’t until they looked past his window and saw a mare fervently hugging him that their apprehensions turned to ones of genuine pleasant interest.
____________________________________________________________
A line of roughly a dozen chefs, both mares to stallions alike Spic Span among them, lined the inside of the Sparké kitchen in white jackets and white cloth caps with black brims like an army. Before them on the pass table were roughly four dozen different labeled dishes on plates, bowls and platters, ranging from sandwiches, appetizers, salads, soups, small and large plates, and desserts.
Walking along the other side of the pass table were Peter and Crème Fraiche, both in jackets but not the caps, eyeing both their newly hired cooks and the dishes they had prepared for them. With a final pace back and observation of the ponies before them, Peter and Crème Fraiche came to a stop at the middle of the line.
“Our first service is tomorrow night,” said Peter, “and I have been informed that Princess Celestia and Princess Luna themselves are going to be coming to experience our first dinner.”
The news struck the cooks like a bag of bricks, each of them murmuring to each other on the sudden importance of the night.
“Also,” added Peter, “my pop is being invited too, and I have no intention of disappointing him. Crème Fraiche and I have hired the eight of you because we have enough trust and faith in you and your talents so that we do not disappoint them.
“To ensure tomorrow night’s success, I would like you to take a look at the dishes that will become our regular menu. After you’ve taken a look at them, feel free to take a bite. Allow yourself to taste what you cook; familiarize yourself with it. You will also have a recipe book to take home for future reference. I want you coming back tomorrow for prepping knowing each recipe like the back of your hooves. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Chef!” the cooks all sounded of in unison.
“Fantastic. You may begin your study.”
Almost as if children looking through a toy-store window, the eight chefs bumped heads as they tried to get the best view they could. Peter nodded as he and Crème Fraiche stepped aside to give them room.
“What time do you need me back here?” she asked.
“Closer to seven,” Peter responded, already shedding his jacket. “I’m not going to expect the wait staff to need to memorize the recipes as closely as the ones making it.”
“Fair enough,” she said, pulling her own uniform off with her magic. “Once we’re done here, would you like to grab some lunch?”
“I’d love to, but I need to get back to Twilight’s to talk to my pop. How’s about once we’re done cooking the menu for the waiting staff, we can make some dinner while the ovens and stoves are still hot.”
Crème Fraiche let out a warm chuckle.
“That’s the Peter I know and love,” she said, lightly pinching Peter’s cheek with her magic.
“Alright!” he laughed as he fanned the aura away. “Alright. It’s a date.”
The two smiled warmly as they turned back to the chefs, each one now beginning to take their first morsels, struggling to compose themselves through the overwhelmingly delicious flavors.
____________________________________________________________
Peter sat in front of his laptop at Twilight’s desk that night, the screen set on Skype as his dad was called upon it. He kept his face close to the screen anticipating when he’d get to see his face again. Once his picture icon appeared, Peter smiled, ready to begin his talk.
“Hey, pop,” he greeted.
Peter was suddenly nonplused by the absence of his father’s voice. Suddenly he was greeted by a pair of eyes blown up on his screen.
“Your dad is with me,” the man on the screen said in a low voice. “Give me the money if you want to see your dad again.”
Peter could only laugh, seeing through the man’s façade instantly and recognizing who he was.
“Really?” he asked, playing along. “How much, Hans Gruber?”
The other man sighed in defeat upon looking at Peter’s piercing face and leaned back, revealing his short blonde hair, light beard, and his black tank top with the art of Boston’s first album over it. Peter laughed even harder as his minor suspicions were now confirmed.
“Jesus Christ,” he chortled. “Jake Bronson, how are you?”
“How am I?” asked Jake, genuinely surprised. “Your dad tells me you got sucked up into some weird pony land and I was about to get his ass locked away. Come on,” he cloyingly asked as he closely observed the space behind him. “I want to see this! Where are they little horsies?”
Peter smirked as he leaned his body and his head back in the chair.
“Twilight!” shouted Peter. “Spike. There’s someone else I want you to meet!”
Jake chuckled in continued disbelief as he sat back in the chair, listening to the patter of hooves as they came. Once Twilight and Spike both leapt down halfway down the top well of stairs, Jake’s laughing stopped, but his smile only grew wider as the pony and dragon came closer to the screen.
“Well,” he sighed, “I’ll be damned.”
“Twilight,” said Peter as he scooted back in his chair, “this is one of my best friends back home, Jake Bronson.”
“Wow,” said Twilight, instantly surprising Jake. “Peter had told me quite a lot about you, but I never thought we’d be able to talk in person.”
“You’re telling me,” panted Jake, watching as Spike hopped up to wave into the camera. “To think I’d actually be talking to a real life unicorn.”
“I’m actually more surprised that you’re taking this so well.”
“You know, I was scared shitless when I wasn’t getting any calls from him when I assumed he was going to be in New York, but I’m just glad I get to see his face again.”
“That’s good for you,” she said sincerely.
The noises of a person descending stairs was loudly clear behind Jake, and it wasn’t long before Patrick’s head and the rest of his body peered out into frame as he stood behind Jake.
“Ah,” Patrick said, “I see you met Peter’s new friends.”
“I got to hand it to you, Pat,” admitted Jake with a gentle shake of his head, “I think we’re both crazy together.”
“Oh, come on!” he chortled, playfully smacking Jake away from the chair and sitting down on the now empty spot. “There you are.”
“Hey, pop,” greeted Peter.
“So, you’re ready for us tomorrow night?”
“Us?” Twilight asked confusedly. “You mean Jake too?”
“Why not?” asked Jake, appearing behind Patrick and bending his body towards the camera. “Are you suddenly too good to see your old friend in the flesh again?”
“It’s not that,” said Peter nonchalantly. “I’m certain Celestia would be more than delighted to let you come too, Jake…”
“Princess Celestia,” he silently giggled.
“…but I’ll need to let her know so she can make the proper arrangements.”
“Arrangements?”
“Twilight?” he questioned, turning to her.
“Got it,” she replied, a paper and quill floating towards her, her magic aura visible for all around to see.
Stepping off and away from the screen, Jake finally looked stunned.
“Did she just…” spoke Jake. “How did she do that?”
“I’ll give you a wild hint,” Peter replied. “It’s the same reason why I’m here and how you’ll be coming to visit me.”
“I don’t know,” he responded with feigned dumbness, “magic?”
“You got it.”
“Magic? Seriously?”
“How else do you explain the purple talking unicorn?”
“…Touché.”
“Just wait with dad outside and please, bring something nicer to wear than a wife-beater.”
“Fine, I’ll wear a t-shirt. Happy?”
“Pop, you’ll make sure he dresses nice, won’t you?”
“Don’t worry,” assured Patrick. “I won’t let a bum walk into your restaurant tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Jake laughed, “relax! I packed a couple of polos!”
“That should be fine. Just try and not freak out over every little thing you see when you get there.”
“I’ve already seen your pony friend. How much more do you think there is for me to ‘freak out’ about?”
“Just prepare yourself for anything and everything.”
“Done and done.”
“I’m sorry I have to cut this short,” Peter suddenly said, “but I’ve got a really busy day to prepare for.”
“I bet you do,” Patrick said.
“I’ve got to wake up nice and early, and then I’m treating Twilight and her friends for lunch as my first official service. Warm up both the kitchen and the waiting staff, so to speak.”
“Good thinking.”
“Twilight should have sent her letter by now, so I’ll text to let you know if Jake can come, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
“Peter,” called Twilight from the side, “Princess Celestia just responded. She says Jake is more than welcome to come.”
“See?” he said to Jake. “You’re good to go.”
“The tension was killing me,” Jake responded in deadpan. “Either way, nighty night, dude.”
“Yes,” agreed Patrick. “You get a good night’s rest. You’ll be needing it.”
“Will do, pop. See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, son.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Jake’s comically contorted face and moaned, “Aww,” before the call went out. Peter leaned back in his chair and looked up at the sky, reflecting fondly about the thought of being able to see his good human friend after so long.
____________________________________________________________
Inside his restaurant kitchen along with his other hard-working compatriots, Peter, now in his chef’s jacket, slammed the side of his knife on a clove of garlic, smashing it and causing the skin to break free. Tossing the skins aside, he began quickly mincing the garlic, eyeing a bowl where more minced garlic was stored. Finally satisfied with its consistency, Peter scooped the garlic into the blade of his knife and wiped it into the bowl on his thumb.
Peter took a sigh and wiped his sweaty brow upon his apron. As he picked the bowl up and carried it towards a prep table, he watched as Spic Span kneaded dough further down the line. His motions were fast and static, clearly showing signs of nervousness. With a huffing smirk, Peter set his garlic down and patted Spic Span on the shoulder, getting him to stop and look up into his smiling face.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You got this. It’s just seven diners.”
Seeing the level of confidence and faith in his leader, he stepped away from his dough and went towards the stoves. Peter smiled as he and several others in his crew observed and accounted their pots and pans.
“Peter!” called Lyra’s voice from the main dining room. “They’re here!”
The other chefs could also hear the news and began to fret lightly as the moment of truth was soon coming upon them.
“Game faces, everyone!” called Peter as he walked backwards to the kitchen’s exit. “Game faces!”
With that, Peter quickly slipped out and into the dining room.
____________________________________________________________
Twilight, her five best pony friends, and Spike walked into the foyer, instantly greeted by the smiles of Lyra at the front, Berry Punch in the bar, and six ponies dressed in black vests and red polos. Lyra’s outfit was very similar, but her vest was laced with gold linings.
“Twilight,” greeted Lyra, “friends, we’re very happy for you to come.”
“Hey,” blurted Rainbow Dash, “when there’s free grub, you can always count me in!”
“Rainbow,” scolded Applejack, “we’re here to support Peter, not just get a free meal.”
“Thanks, Applejack,” said Twilight, “but I wouldn’t hold it against her for being excited to eat here, especially since Peter’s running the kitchen.”
“Right this way,” said Lyra as she motioned her head and body into the dining room as she walked.
Twilight and the others followed her in, being led to a long, set table with two chairs on one long side and three with a booster seat in the other. A menu was placed atop each plate, but the ponies looked far happier once they saw Peter standing beside the table.
“This is so cool!” Pinkie Pie chirped, hopping about in all directions as she took in the sights. “Can I have my birthday here so I can get a free dessert!”
“Of course,” laughed Peter. “Everyone gets free dessert on their birthday!”
“I love this place already!”
“Please,” Peter said, backing up with a gentle motion of his arms, “have a seat.”
Using her magic, Lyra pulled each of the seven seats out from under the table.
“Calling dibs on the end!” shouted Rainbow Dash, her flank already landing on the seat at the end of her statement.
“Twilight gets the other end,” reminded Rarity, as she took the center of the three seats on the long side. “After all, the restaurant is practically named after her.”
The others nodded in agreement as they sat, Spike being on the seat to Twilight’s right on the three-chaired side.
“Lyra,” bid Peter, “let’s go!”
With a smile, Peter slipped into the chaos of the kitchen.
“Break a leg, Peter!” cried Pinkie Pie. “Oh, wait,” she suddenly realized, “that’s only in theater. This isn’t a play, this is lunch! I take it back, Peter! Good luck!”
Her shouted was silenced with a gentle tapping on the shoulder from Lyra as she inquired her order.
____________________________________________________________
Peter placed the last two plates of Twilight’s order on the pass window, which were taken in the magic aura of a stallion waiter’s unicorn horn. Walking away with it and into the dining room, two other servers were handing plates of food to Twilight and her friends.
On Applejack and Rainbow Dash’s plates, respectively, were an open-faced sandwich with a portabella mushroom topped with onions and a reddish yellow sauce and a standard cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, pickle, a patty made from what appeared to be packed hay. Rarity’s plate consisted of Peter’s ratatouille, and Fluttershy was served a colorful salad with different varieties of fresh fruit in it.
While Spike salivated over a child-sized portion of macaroni and cheese cooked in a small crock, Twilight and Pinkie Pie were served their meals: Twilight’s being Peter’s pizzoccheri, and Pinkie Pie’s being a bowl of caramelle.
“Eee!” squeaked Pinkie Pie. “They’re even shaped like candy! This is the best idea ever!”
With everyone served, most of them dug in with gusto save for Fluttershy, Rarity, and Twilight, who paced their bites and slowly savored their food. From the kitchen, Peter smiled as he could see that not one eye was opened among the ponies as they succumbed to the flavor his food had left on their tongues.
____________________________________________________________
A pair of busponies cleared the table of empty plates, bowls, and glasses on the now empty table. Both Peter and Crème Fraiche stood in the foyer of Sparké with Lyra. Twilight and her pony friends looked engorged, but satisfied for the delicious lunch they had been given.
“Peter,” said Twilight, “I can’t thank you enough for letting us come today. I know you won’t open for lunch normally, but–”
“It was no problem at all, Twilight,” interrupted Peter with a wave of his hand. “I just hope that I can continue persuading your friends to come without the promise of free food.”
“Don’t worry. Your food is totally worth it.”
With an unexpected hop off her front hooves, Twilight wrapped her arms behind Peter’s neck and pulled him close, her face squeezing lovingly into his. The others, especially Spike and Crème Fraiche, displayed touched smiles as Peter softly laid his hands over her back.
“Uh, Twilight?” said Peter. “My apron…”
Twilight pushed herself off and stood on her hind legs, only to see tomato sauce and small bits of herbs now caked on her belly. Twilight’s friends laughed as they saw the mess she had made to her stomach, and once she too saw it, Twilight set herself back down and grimaced. She then worked herself back to a joking smirk and looked back at Peter.
“I think a bath would be really nice after a meal like that anyway,” she reasoned. “Good luck tonight, Peter. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Okay, then, Twilight,” he said.
Twilight turned and walked to the exit, allowing her friends to do the same, but not before waving and bidding Peter farewell. Peter beamed from ear to ear as a single tear fell from his eye, his friends already breaking away to their respective homes. It was then that he felt a hoof upon his shoulder, turning to see that it belonged to Crème Fraiche.
“Come on,” she advised him playfully, “you have a kitchen to clean and re-prep for tonight.”
With a jesting roll of his eyes, Peter quickly shuffled back into the kitchen, Crème Fraiche gleefully trotting in behind him.
____________________________________________________________
The afternoon sun began to set the sky ablaze with orange. Inside the Sparké dining room, candles on the tables, chandeliers on the ceiling, and a fire burning in the fireplace added some light to the restaurant as night tried to take the day away. The tables were all set and spotless, and the bar and it’s bartender were all set, not a glass or cup out of place.
The chefs in the kitchen eyed through the pass window to see a decently sized group of ponies waiting outside for the doors to officially open. The waiting staff stood along the wall, a couple letting out a few nervous gulps as their first official service was about to begin.
Lyra stood at the doors with Peter beside him, ready to make the official announcement. Turning back to the kitchen, he turned to see Crème Fraiche in the pass window, smiling and nodding in approval. He then looked to Lyra, who turned to look back at him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Mmhm,” she said.
With decisive steps, the two of them stepped through the first set of doors together. With a turn of the lock on the front doors, Lyra and Peter both stepped out to face the crowd of ponies whose eyes were now all on them. Peter took a deep breath, hardly able to contain his excitement. In the same breath, he kept his attention to his mass of soon-to-be patrons.
“Welcome, friends,” Peter exclaimed, “to Sparké.”