Table for Two

by Fillydelphian

Amuse Bouche

Anon’s alarm clock pulled him from sleep at 8:00 the next morning. He got out of bed quickly, never being one to waste time half-awake. After going about his morning routine, he went to the kitchen to make breakfast. He put on a pot of coffee before looking through the refrigerator for eggs. As he took the carton off the shelf, Anon recalled that, were he still living in Canterlot or Manehattan, he would be paying top-bit for eggs like these. With Fluttershy and her chickens just a short walk away, he seldom found himself short.

“I guess country life has its perks,” he said to himself as the last vestiges of last night’s frustration quickly faded away and he got to working. He deftly cracked a few eggs into a bowl and beat them before tossing in some dill. A pan went onto one of the burners and he flicked the gas on to heat it. While the pan came up to temperature, Anon set about chopping onion and mushrooms and taking out a chunk of feta cheese. The eggs fell into the pan with a hiss and Anon flicked the quickly setting fluid around to form the light layers and folds that make his perfect omelette. The smell of cooking eggs and dill quickly filled the kitchen and mixed with the dark aroma of the coffee. As the eggs finished cooking, Anon added the omelette's filling and slid it out of the pan, folding it in half as it came to rest on a plate. He made sure to put the cutting board in the sink and wash his knives before eating while he waits for the coffee to brew.

After finishing his breakfast, Anon put his dishes in the sink and downed his coffee in preparation for the long day ahead. With a few hours to himself before his lunch with Rarity, he decided to take the opportunity to buy food for the week. After all, the produce always best bought in the morning.

“Let's see, what do I need?” Anon muttered to himself as he looked through the fridge. “Lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, carrots, eggs, onion...” He jotted the list quickly on a scrap of paper, scanning the rest of the kitchen. “Might as well pick up some apples, maybe another bottle of olive oil?” Anon stuffed the list into his pocket with a bag of coins and headed out the door into the crisp fall air. Seated in the heart of Ponyville, the market was alive with ponies walking between produce stalls, shouting prices and carrying bushels of every vegetable and fruit under the sun. The sound of bits clattering on counters and the noise of the crowd quickly overtook the chirping of the morning birds as Anon made his way into the thick of it. The scene was reminiscent of the markets in Manehattan, though far less chaotic than that vision of urban sprawl on the coast.

“Mornin' Anon. What kin ah git fer ya?” Applejack's bright voice came up over the racket as Anon approached her stall.

“Good morning, Applejack. The usual?”

“Figgered as much. Here y'are. Six bits.” She spoke with an accommodating smile on her face. Anon dropped the coins onto the counter and the orange mare swept them off with her hoof, biting one of them with mock scrutiny. “Enjoy yer apples, Mr. Fancy.”

“I'll let that go because you've got the best in Equestria.” He snapped back, returning Applejack's laugh. “Take care Applejack, and tell Granny Smith to let me know next time the Zap-Apples come in. I missed out last season and I've got a couple recipes I want to try with those things.”

“Will do. Take care, Anon.” Sack of apples in-hand, Anon made his way to a vegetable cart. He stood staring at the laid-out produce for a minute. Cloves of garlic hung just overhead, casting shadows on neat rows of carrots, lettuce, cabbage, and a host of other vegetables arranged perfectly and ripe for the taking. It was a vision of plenty, of possibility. He started picking out what he needed, enough to make his meals for the week.

The groceries out of the way, Anon hauled the bags and baskets home to put away. With another hour until lunch with Rarity, Anon took out his set of knives to sharpen and maintain the tools of his trade. He drew the first out of its pocket: a paring knife. Not being as heavily used as the others in his collection, the paring knife merely needed a wipe down after he made sure its edge was keen. Next came the cleaver, then the twelve-inch utility, then the carving knife. He sharpened and cleaned each one in succession until he came to the final one: the ten-inch kitchen knife. It was a work of art. A gift from his teacher in Canterlot, it was specially made for you.

Pony knives were fine, his mentor had said, but Anon needed something to fit his hands. With Griffon-forged steel and a deep ebony handle, it truly was perfect. Along the flat of the blade was etched, “A true chef's heart, his very being, is held in his knives.” Anon read the inscription intently, reflecting on his knife's journey with him from Canterlot back to Manehattan, and then to Ponyville. He drew the blade across the sharpening stone, listening to the gritty metallic ring that sounded with each motion. As he'd done for years, he kept the edge honed to a razor. The clock struck noon. Anon rose and put his knives away before walking out the door to meet Rarity.

Carousel Boutique was a short walk from Anon's home. He spent the time thinking about where to actually go to lunch. As he came to the door, the small cafe on Mane Street sprang to mind. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, eliciting a call from Rarity.

“Come in, come in! It's open!” she yelled. Anon walked inside and the mare trotted out into the foyer, preoccupied with her work. “Oh! Anon! I didn't even realize it was you! I'll be right out, and then we can go, alright?”

“Are you sure? You look busy and I can wait until--”

“No, no, let's go. Work can wait!” she responded, cutting him off. She seemed more animated than usual.

“Alright, then Let's go. How does the cafe downtown sound?”

“That sounds lovely.” Rarity ducked into the back room, returning a minute later sporting a trendy-looking autumn hat. “Let's be off then.”

“After you.”

“Ever the gentleman.” She walked happily out the door with you in tow.

At the cafe, the pair took their seats outside. It was a small place, and quaint. Right on the corner of Mane Street and one of the many cross-streets, the cafe got a good amount of business and seemed to always be at least half-full of ponies enjoying their meals. Rarity started off conversation once the waiter had left them alone.

“So how was your evening, Anon? You were working rather hard yesterday, as I recall,” she asked, leaning forward.

“It went well enough, I suppose. Only one table returned anything, so that's a success.” Rarity looked scandalized.

“Somepony sent something of yours back?” she balked..

“Only one table, and they sent something one of the cooks made first. They only sent back one that I made myself.”

“Somepony had the nerve to send back something that you made personally? Why, I've never--”

“Rarity, it isn't a big deal. It was a very good learning experience,” Anon interjected. “I'm glad you have such a high opinion of my cooking, though.” The white mare went slightly pink at the comment.

“Well, I do pride myself on knowing the high-class when I encounter it.” She looked proud until Anon continued.

“But do you know what was surprising about the whole thing? It was the mayor who sent the risotto back.” Anon leaned back in his chair and looked at the sky absentmindedly. “She has some seriously refined taste, you know.” The blush on Rarity's cheeks disappeared almost instantly.

“The mayor sent back your food? What was wrong with it? Not enough hay?” she said judgmentally.

“Er, no. Actually, she gave me some very good feedback on my recipe. I might put her suggestion into the menu,” the chef answered.

Anon had never seen a pony do a spit take before. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or not when Rarity began to sputter in confusion.

“You're serious? But she isn't even a cook! She's never even been outside of Ponyville, for all I know! What could she possibly--”

“Rarity, calm down. You're making a big deal out of something small.” The mare seemed to collect herself after a few deep breaths.

“You're right, Anon. It's unladylike anyway, getting so worked up like that.” She shifted her posture and sat more rigidly in her chair as she looked over the menu.

“So how have things been with the others? I see Applejack and Fluttershy whenever I'm getting food, but I how are Pinkie, Rainbow, and Twilight?” Anon changed the subject, hoping to divert Rarity's attention from his work. The mare might have acted mature and refined most of the time, but underneath it all, she was still young. Rarity spoke at length of what was going on in the lives of her friends. She and Anon spent the next half hour catching up and enjoying the light lunches they had ordered. During breaks in the conversation, however, Anon's thoughts flew back to the previous evening, the restaurant, and the mayor's comments.

“Maybe I will use that suggestion on the menu,” he thought to himself, deciding to recreate the risotto once he got to work. He'd only been half serious when he mentioned it to Rarity, but thinking on it, it wasn't a bad idea. The check came shortly after, and the two left the cafe. On the way back, Anon felt Rarity brush against his hand. He unconsciously edged away, chalking it up to his walking too closely to the mare and not noticing the blush, which had returned to her cheeks.

That afternoon, Anon came to a kitchen already alive with activity. As he passed through the door, we watched cooks and dishwashers moving to and fro as they completed evening prep.

“Afternoon, Chef!” they said, greeting him in waves. Anon tracked the sous chef down as he donned his hat and jacket.

“Whooves! Hey, I'm making a change on the risotto. Make sure you're free in an hour so we can workshop it,” he said, once he'd found the stallion.

“Yes, Chef,” came the reply.

An hour later, Anon came to the seating area with the completed risotto. Whooves eyed the plate as it was set down.

“Is this it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Give it a try. I made some changes to the recipe.” The stallion took a bite and mulled it over.

“Huh,” he said, putting the fork down. “That's different. You can really taste the onion and mushroom now. What did you do?” he asked, looking confused.

“Switched the rosemary for thyme.”

“How'd you think of that?”

“Would you believe me if I said the mayor suggested it?” Whooves' eyes went wide.

“No way. Seriously?” Anon smirked at his reaction.

“Remember she sent that plate back last night?”

“Yeah. You looked pissed.”

“I was, but it turns out she had some valuable input. We're doing the risotto this way from now on. Got it?”

“Yes, Chef.” Whooves got up and trotted off to inform the staff of the change. Anon surveyed the kitchen to make sure everything was in working order. The walk-on was stocked, the stations were all clean and clear, and the prep was nearing completion just in time for doors to open. Anon breathed a sigh of relief. The restaurant would need to be prepared for the coming dinner service. It was Saturday night during Restaurant Week, after all, and there was no greater Hell.

At six forty five, Anon called the kitchen staff together for a pep talk. He ran a kitchen of twelve. One pastry cook, two on salads, one pasta, one garnish, one fry, one saucier, one pony on grill, three dishwashers, and of course, his sous. He cleared his throat once they were all gathered.

“Alright,” he began, “we open in fifteen. This is the biggest night of Restaurant Week, and we're going to get hit hard from the start. I want each and every one of you at the top of your game tonight. Quick, clean, quality service will keep us from getting swamped. I want as good a service tonight as we had last night and I know you ponies can pull it off, because you're the best in town. Now are we going to get in there and blow these ponies away?” The collective shout in response reminded Anon of how much he loved his line of work.

“Yes, Chef!”

By seven thirty, the restaurant was full and the first orders were flying in. Anon yelled them back to the kitchen like a general giving orders to his men in the trenches.

“Table Eleven: Two portabella, two soup!”

“Yes, Chef!”

“Table Six: Three hay-fritte, one soup, one salad!”

“Yes, Chef!”

“Table One: One portabella, one salad, one risotto!”

“Yes, Chef!” The food was coming out as fast as Anon could shout orders to the kitchen.

“Table Ten: Up!” The waiters came and whisked the plates away like a great conveyor belt. “Table Twenty: Two hay-fritte, one portabella, one soup!”

“Yes, Chef!”

By eight, the restaurant had a line leading to the doors. Anon looked at the scene between shouting orders and plating food. A waiter trotted up to the counter around nine thirty.

“Chef?” he asked over the din.

“What is it?” Anon answered hastily, not looking up from his work. “Table Sixteen: Up!”

“I've got an order for the risotto, Chef.”

“Alright, what table?”

“Four. The mare there introduced herself as Rose? She says she's a friend of the Mayor's.” Anon stopped abruptly and looked out at the tables in the dining room.

“Coming right up.” He called to Whooves. “Hey, take over plating for a little while. I've got something I'm going to make myself.”

“Yes, Chef,” Whooves answered. As Anon prepared his ingredients, he found himself wondering why he was bothering to make the risotto himself.

“Not like Table Four's any different, so why not leave it to the cooks?” he thought as he skillfully sped through the process. He offered silent thanks to his prep team for getting everything ready for fast service. The plate went out and Anon went back to plating after wiping the sweat from his palm.

“Table Ten: Three tiramisu!” he yelled after receiving another order from a waiter.

“Yes, Chef!” came the response. Desserts were going out alongside entrees in equal number, reflecting the late hour. The smell from the kitchen was an intoxicating combination of sweet desserts and savory dinners. Anon's stomach growled and he threw a glance at the clock.

“One hour left,” he mumbled. Table Four's waiter came to the counter once more.

“Chef?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“The mare at Table Four would like a word.” Anon turned and looked to the sous.

“Whooves, take over plating again. I've got a table to talk to.”

“On it, Chef.” He took his place at the counter as Anon went after the waiter into the sea of tables. Eventually he arrived at Table Four, where there was seated a mare with a rose red mane.

“Ms. Rose, I give you Head Chef Anonymous,” the waiter said, bowing slightly before walking off to attend to his other tables.

“Charmed,” the mare said, extending her hoof to shake.

“How are you this evening, ma'am?” Anon asked.

“I'm very well, thank you. I wanted to extend my compliments to the chef. Em told me about your risotto during our visit this afternoon and I just had to come by and try it myself.”

“Thank you. Madam Mayor's suggestion has been very well received in the kitchen.” Rose smiled at him silently for a moment before answering.

“You made quite the impression, Anon. I haven't seen Em rave about food since she came back from that trip to Hoofington.”

“That's very flattering, ma'am. I'll have to send her my thanks.”

“You won't have to. She's coming for lunch tomorrow. You'll be able to thank her in person then.” The mare's smile widened as she spoke. “Well, that's it. My compliments again to the Chef.”

“Thank you, ma'am. Enjoy your evening.” Anon walked back to the kitchen briskly. Whooves was waiting at the counter, looking curious.

“What did they want?” he asked, plating a dish of pasta.

“Just a customer complimenting the risotto.”

“That thyme was a great idea. Everypony in the kitchen's loved it so far.”

“Out there, too, it looks like. You guys did a good job tonight, too. Kudos.”

“Thanks, Chef.” Anon took his place at the plating counter again, his spirits raised.

After the last guests finally left, Anon went to his office to write up the shift notes. Three hundred and twelve covers in one evening, no returns. A spectacular service all around. After pinning the notes to the cork board outside the office, he took his hat and jacket off and headed into the night air. The walk home was peaceful. Anon's mind wandered to the Mayor's planned lunch the next day and he felt himself getting slightly nervous.

“Cut that out, Anon,” he said to himself. “You've had tougher customers. You've done harder parties; you catered the Gala, for chrissake!” Getting home, he took a seat in the living room and ruminated. “I should ask her about where she learned about food when I thank her tomorrow,” he thought to himself. “Curious.

Comments

[Romalisk]

I had to go back and double check the characters for the story. Mayor Mare is on that list... so does that mean there might be a brief something between them? Or just a small character to character bonding moment that might result in a platonic friendship? Oh and... It was a work of art. A gift from his teacher in Canterlot, it was specially made for you. POV switch there. POV can be hard to keep track of right?

[Fillydelphian]

2972956
Fixed. I AM converting this from a second-person version that I wrote last year, so yeah, that'll happen now and again. Thanks for pointing it out.

And I'm not entirely sure what you mean with the first half of your comment. The Mayor's referred to several times in this chapter. She just doesn't herself appear in it. She featured fairly significantly in chapter 1 and I thought I'd laid out her nickname fairly clearly here in this chapter.

[Romalisk]

2973238 I'm just trying to figure out if the Main Character and Mayor Mare will be friends and exchange cooking tips, have a brief fling, or get settled in for some serious romance. I don't think I've seen many Mayor MarexHuman stories before.

[Vitae]

Simply adore this. Tis good tis good