Tastes Like Heresy

by Bugsydor

Chapter 1: Some Time to Reflect

I've come to the conclusion that the world would be a much safer place for me if I could learn to keep my Tartarus-cursed mouth shut. I wouldn't cause explosions, I wouldn't make waves, and I certainly wouldn't be packing up for my impending exile right now. Then again, I wouldn't have found exactly what I was looking for, I would never have come to the attention of those in authority, and I definitely would not be living through interesting times, either.

Urgh! Why does the safe path always have to be the boring one?! One of my greatest assets got twisted into becoming my greatest liability. Oh, but the universe does seem to have a perverse appreciation for irony, doesn't it?

Well, I can't fault Fate his sense of humor. I mean, who'd ever think that somepony like looney little Amber Spice, Royal Chef for his eminence King Lanthanum, would find a way to get herself banished? What could I do? Bake an alfalfa seed cake for her magnificence Princess Topaz that had a dirty limerick scrawled in blood across the top? And yet, here I am getting ready to look back on my life like I'm some old nag on her deathbed. And I'm sure that Fate is laughing his rump off at his own cleverness.

Looking back, I guess this whole mess technically started by my following some of my mother Amber Draft's advice. I opened my mouth, and she filled me with comfort and direction that happened to turn south after a while. I can't exactly blame her, though. All she was doing was being a good listener and giving her daughter something to smile about. Saying it's her fault I got exiled from Unicornia would be about as harsh and unreasonable as blaming your grandfather's heart attack on a yearling's sneeze startling him.

I can't imagine how she's taking this.

Well, getting banished for heresy is a tough thing to explain, so I might as well start at the beginning. I'd been having a rough week, so I decided I'd stop by Mom's bar, The Amber Mare. It's a great place to go and offload your problems. Using an actual fireplace and torches instead of magelight gems helps give the tavern a warm, friendly atmosphere. Combine that with freely flowing mead, wine, and oat beer, polished orange-brown granite counters, fur-cushioned furniture, and a barkeep with a keen ear, a wise voice, and a heart of gold, and you've got a cozy place to sort out your troubles. Or just forget them for a while. Whenever I enter the place, it feels like I'm coming home. My old room being just up the stairs and to the right doesn't hurt that impression, either.

Now what could drive an upstanding young mare like me to drink? I had a lot of things going for me, after all. I've got a family that loves and supports me, I got my dream job of cooking for the royal family, and I'm not a bad looking pony if I do say so myself. You might ask what was getting me down. That's basically what Mom did when she saw me trot up to the counter.

“Hey hon, why the long face?” she asked.

“Long f-f-face?! Oh no! I haven't morphed into a stallion, have I? This is so awkward! How will I ever explain to my friends? To my f-family? Oh woe is me!” I wailed an octave lower than normal whilst collapsing.

I then blubbered, “I-If I'm g-going to have to l-live my life as a— s-st-STALLION... I must know if I retain any of my former fab-b-bulosity. Tell me, fair barkeep, where I may f-find a mirror in which to behold my new elongated visage and det-t-termine if I am at least handsome in this new form.”

Mom, wearing a bemused smirk, gestured with her horn at the gigantic mirror covering the wall behind the counter.

Gazing into the mirror, I adopted a madmare's rictus and pitched my voice back to normal upon pretending to notice I was indeed still female. “Oh joy of joys, I retain my original gender! This calls for a celebration. I need a glass of honeyjack and a party hat, pronto! Nothing could possibly be wrong with a day where I discover I don't suffer from some horrible genderbending curse, after all.”

“I left myself wide open for that one, Spicy. First glass is on the house,” she said as she magically chilled my drink and slid it to me. “Really though, something's bothering you. Don't even think you can hide it from me. Seriously kid, what's eating you today?”she said with a concerned gleam in her eyes.

The forced, manic grin melted from my muzzle faster than froth you'd just spit in.

“Work. My job is killing me,” I sighed.

“Work's been tougher than usual? Princess been persnickety about what you're feeding her?”

“No more persnickety than I've come to expect.” I took a swig of my drink. “That's the thing, though. I've been the royal chef for a few years now, so I am intimately acquainted with every recipe that has been on the royal menu for the past three centuries. Every. Last. Recipe.” I punctuated that last bit by stomping on the counter first with my left forehoof, then with my right, and finally with my face. “There are only so many variations a pony can do on alfalfa flapjacks when all you have to work with is alfalfa, oats, eggs, honey, berries, salt, a dismal smattering of precious herbs and spices, some seasonal flowers, and the occasional bit of meat brought home from the fur hunts.”

“So what you're saying, hon, is that you're bored?”

“Not just bored. I'm stagnating, and it's driving me up the walls!” I took a slurp. “I'm a mare whose special talent is supposed to be coming up with new and interesting things and ways to cook. I'm stuck making the same old, bland recipes year after year, and it's finally gotten to me. What's a pony supposed to do when she can't even think of how to do what she's supposed to be good at anymo-ho-ore?!” I bawled.

A patron to my left glared at me, then shifted a concerned glance to Mom as if to ask how many I'd had. She gazed back with a face that said 'Not enough.' I'd have let the nosy patron know how unamused I was, but I was a bit busy.

“Easy there, Spicy. You're not the first mare to doubt her cutie mark,” she soothed, running her amber hoof through my poofy, brownish red mane. When she continued, her tone had grown just firm enough to support me while gently telling me to buck up and grow a spine of my own.

“Besides,” she said, “it's not all bad on your end. You've got me and this tavern, for starters. You've got an understanding ear to open up to about your troubles so they don't trouble you so much.

“And then there's your own resources. Your sharp mind may have dug itself into a rut following the royal routine, but you're still the same smart, beautiful, curious pony who thought to put some of my still-fermenting mead in Pa's bread dough and gave us a whole new line of foodstuffs to sell alongside these tankards of mouse urine.” She paused to chuckle at her own remark. I almost smiled as well.

“What you need, young lady,” she dictated whilst holding my chin up to look me in the eyes, “is a fresh perspective. You've got free run of a large part of the palace, so use it! Go up into the spires and look out over the valley fields. Chat with the court magician or some of the other nice stallions roaming about and see if they have any new ideas. Doesn't even have to be about food to inspire you to take off in a new direction, after all. You could even, Topaz forbid, do some research in the Royal Archives! Who knows what sorts of cooking arcana you could unearth in those timeless, dusty halls where mortals fear to tread.”

Once I'd calmed down enough to stop crying and levitate my glass again, I took another long sip from my honeyjack. I didn't remember Mom refilling it, but the mead was a good inch higher in the glass than it was a minute ago. And it tasted salty, too. Mmm... salt. Back when I was helping Mom run the bar for a few extra bits, I'd come up with the idea of putting salt in the beer. Ever the whimsical one, Mother called it tear-beer and threw it up on the board. Did I ever mention how much I love salt? I just can't imagine why that drink never sold too well. You can keep all the gemstones in this dang mountain. Just give me a mountain of salt to roll around in, and I'll be happy.

“Y'know what?” I sniffled. “I think you're right!”

And so it began.

Comments

[Bemmo]

I am liking this so far. Well written, reasonable conflict for the character to struggle against, likeable character so far, keep the creativity juices flowing and you'll have a winner I reckon :)
Fyi, Cardslafter posted a suggestion for this fic, so there may be an imminent influx of viewers :3