By Abigail Falanga
Eggs are magic.
They seem simple: shell, white, yolk. Cook them scrambled, fried, boiled.
But separate the parts and find complexity. Whites may be whipped into foam light as cloud and stable as glass. Yolks—yellow as sunshine—whipped with oil and lemon juice, turn white. Whipped into a béchamel of butter, flour, and milk, they become a creamy, delectable base to be transformed into any number of things. Fold whipped whites into a cake and whisk yolks and liqueur into a zabaglione and—voila!—tiramisu.
The possibilities were endless. Enchantment wrapped in an ordinary shell.
So, looking at her fallen soufflé, Moira had every reason to be disappointed.
As a fairy, Moira might have used stronger spells to achieve the perfect lift of cloudlike egg and cheese, though not as satisfactorily. She had delighted in mastering the more common enchantments of culinary school. Cookery was one of those fields of magic so ubiquitous that most humans forgot they practiced it. Yet many of the most extraordinary properties of this ingredient or that technique were discovered by human chefs, refining the processes of ordinary wizardry without realizing they were doing so.
Moira reveled in the magic and wonder she created in the kitchen of this restaurant as one of three chefs under a human manager who didn’t realize what she truly was. She cooked for the sheer joy of it. The pleasure the diners found as a perfect crème brûlée shattered under their spoon. Their gasps of delight at a plate arranged like a mountain landscape.
But she wasn’t naive. Some, she knew, were in this business to feed their hungry ambition.
She marched across the kitchen—nearly empty in the afternoon lull—to Pete, who glowered over a menu plan, and smacked the depressed soufflé in front of him.
“Are you responsible for this?”
He scowled from it to her. “Why would I mess up your soufflé?”
“To sabotage me. Everyone knows how ruthless you are with rivals.”
“Then anybody can tell you I have more effective methods than—” Pete smirked. “—this. The cat probably slammed the window. That sometimes makes soufflés fall.”
“Not my soufflés.” Moira shook her head. “Wait. What cat? The restaurant doesn’t keep a cat.”
“A stray. I’ve seen it around the last few days. These things happen. Throw your pride to the side. No need to get paranoid.”
There were times when Pete strongly tempted her to break her rule and jinx him. But fairies knew when someone was lying, and she believed his denial.
His suggested explanation didn’t satisfy her either, but she still went to examine the window. It was high and narrow, opening wide enough for ventilation and little else. But—climbing on the counter to reach it since flying would attract too much attention—sure enough, she found a tuft of fur caught in the corner.
A chair scraped, and she tucked her dark hair behind her ear and turned. Pete was gone and the kitchen, empty.
Feeling a little guilty, Moira flitted over to the box where the kitchen herbs grew.
Many herbs, of course, are magical and—
Curious. The thyme, normally a soft green, was now dusky purple. Innocuous enough to not attract notice, since some varieties of thyme can be purple, but to change color in only a few hours meant a strong enchantment had been worked nearby. Might that also explain the soufflé?
She took a few thyme leaves and the fur tuft and rubbed them together into fine dust. Then, with a whispered charm, she blew it into the kitchen. Time turned back in her vision to when the cat was there. A moment from a few hours past…
It was the dark of early morning. The cat, gray and stealthy, nudged the window open, then dropped from counter to floor and crossed to the walk-in refrigerator. It hopped up, steadying itself with one front paw while it manipulated the lock with more-than-feline dexterity. Before it could get it open, the restaurant’s front door slammed—the first employee arriving. The cat hissed and bolted, and the vision dissolved.
Moira raised an eyebrow.
Night was nearly spent when Moira, hidden in a countertop shadow, at last saw the cat pawing at the window. It entered and, as before, crossed to the refrigerator. Certainly not a normal cat, the way it worked the lock. She waited as it went in and then emerged a few minutes later, carrying a lump of something in a bag.
Quick as a twinkling, Moira flew to close the window and snatch the bag.
The smell instantly told her what it was—the black truffle delivered two days ago.
The cat arched its back and yowled, “Give that back!”
“Why?” the fairy contended. “It’s not yours.”
“Yes, it is.”
Moira blinked. The cat wasn’t lying.
She dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged. “Explain.”
The cat narrowed its eyes but sat opposite her, wrapping its long tail around its feet. “Our king died a week ago when an evil hog stole the enchanted truffle that kept him alive. As soon as we learned where it had been sold, I followed it here to get it back. Then, all I had to do was wait for the right opportunity.”
An enchantment powerful enough to keep a Fae king alive and yet corrupted by theft. That would certainly be enough to cause havoc with all sorts of magic. It would be common sense to return it, but still…
“I’ll let you have it to restore your king to life,” she said. “But in return, you must send another unenchanted truffle every month for three years.”
“Agreed,” the cat nodded, sighing relief.
Moira smiled as it left, though possibly she owed Pete an apology. Quite a thing to win, and not much to lose.
Truffles are also magic, and she had dishes planned. A croque madame on grilled portabellas with a truffle-infused hollandaise, perhaps.
Can you guess which song from the 1960's inspired this story? Share in the comments!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I like the idea of cooking as wizardry, it would explain a lot.
Thanks!
And, yes, it would, wouldn’t it?
I was inspired by a (not particularly reliable Internet sourced) article which mentioned that fine cooking was considered witchcraft in the middle ages, with recipes guarded as fiercely as spells…
StorySpinner, aka Abigail Falanga
I love faerie stories and this was great :D
Why, thank you, Florid!
As a first effort with urban fantasy fairies, this was a lot of fun to write :D
StorySpinner, aka Abigail Falanga
Thanks for reading, everyone! This one was really fun to write, since I got to explore one of my favorite hobbies (cooking!) in a different way.
Would you like a clue to the song?
I misspelled a line from my chosen song as the title. A bit of wordplay, which I then used in full double-meaning within the story. Have fun searching!
StorySpinner aka Abigail Falanga