(Mission 81) Cooking Contest.

[cremuex]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Spoiler}Mission #81
Participate in the once a month Cooking Contest on Athen's Island. Win in at least two of the three categories that you will be judged on!

"To the north is a plaza offering places to stay and rest. A once a month cooking contest is held here. Chefs from all over come to battle it out to see who is the best chef. The contest is separated into three stages speed, skill, and the cook-off. In the first stage contestants must make a giant chopped salad as fast as they can. Of course it's not only about speed but their knivesmenship. In the next stage participants are giving a taste of a dish made by one of the judges. They must replicate it as close as they can. In the third stage the remaining contestants cook their signature or best dish."


This thread was intended for FARRIS and CHAR, but is any other cooks would like to join, just ask :3c
Please be open to communication, especially when it comes to when the rounds are being judged.
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Small pale feminine hands held up the stalk of grapes into the sunlight, the translucent skin showing the flesh inside to be clear and with seeds so small that they were barely larger than a pin prick, tightly clustered together. They must have been a variety of white grape, though one that was local to the island and rarely if ever produced anywhere else and shared similarities with smokey glass marbles.

"They call it the Asacci grape, I see you've noticed it's clear coloration, like a crystal is it not? That's because it only grows in dark damp environments."

Even though they were firm and fresh, there was almost a softness to them, like they could be bruised or popped if one wasn't careful enough with how they were handled. They had a heaviness to them too, which spoke to how well hydrated they were and that they were perfectly ripe.

"Ahh yes, the source of the nectar of the gods-! Asacci wine is a delicacy that you could only find here on Athens. Pure, refreshing, crisp, sparkling- Perfect for any meal!" The salesman touted as he leaned against the polished wood counter top of his stall which only seemed to sell grapes and the wine they made, though it seemed fairly successful from the sheer quantity and size of the barrels and glass bottles. The blonde customer hadn't given him any reason to think she would be interested in the beverage but her poured the sample bottle into a flute glass all the same and slid it towards her with an intense look in his eyes, like she simply didn't have an option but to try the heavenly fluid.

Her hands flew up in protest, declaring that she simply couldn't not because she was under age or anything, but more because she didn't like the taste nor did she see the point in drinking alcohol.

"Oh, that's fine, I thought you looked like a chef and you were here for the contest, after all, this product is only used by the finest cooks since it makes every meal cooked with it so divine. My mistake madam, the Pinot Noir and champagnes we have for sale might not be to your tastes, they're only for the most refined." He moved his hand as to pretend that he was going to take it away, but it was only a bluff and after a few seconds of his hand hovering near the glass and looking into her blue eyes she took the glass and swirled it. Her little button nose taking in the bouquet as it swirled around before taking the tiniest of sips, only to check the taste for cooking.

The drink was aromatic, tart and tangy, though dry as any wine could be expected. It didn't have as much of a burn to it as other alcohols she had, and she could consider it one of the more pleasant of alcoholic drinks. It wasn't as nice as sweet water that Tony made, but it would still do well with many meats, not all of them white. It carried the right notes to be used with deserts as well, and had a sweetness that tingled at the end of it. It was very fruity for a moelleux and as more time went on she found it to only get better, though it wasn't something that she would drink by choice.

She didn't say anything to the man's attempts at trying to make her feel less of herself as a cook, and she wasn't professionally trained enough to know that you were supposed to spit the wine out when you were done tasting it.

"Please tell me more about the contest." She requested as she put the cup and the grapes down on the table top. She was only visiting the area.

"Ahh, of course! The contest is held monthly, in the Centre plaza of the North District. There's usually three rounds, with three judges, where you get judged on overall skill. It's free to enter and all the cook wear and supplies are provided for. You're rather fortunate, the event begins tomorrow at midday, you should go watch, of course, all are welcome to join- professional chefs, stay at home mothers, marines, civilians- oh even revolutionaries and pirates." the brunette man added quietly, a hand covering his face as he leaned over to whisper in her ear, which only made her lean away from him.

Oh... kaaaaaaaaay she thought to herself as she edged away, a hand hovering over one of her dials should she need to use it for a quick escape. As off putting as the man was acting he had given her some useful information, and it certainly was something that she was going to look into. She ordered a bottle of each type available, if they could be used for cooking, or if not, one of the crew might like them, putting the money for them on the counter, not wanting to directly touch the man and disappearing into the crowd quickly with her bottles of wine.

[viruswithshoes]

"Oh thweetie, you'll never learn."
A cyborg towering over people at seven feet would have been ostentatious enough without the thigh high lime green boots and matching boa.
Dagon gave a weary sigh at the looming okama as he slowly cut away at a recently dispatched blowfish with a borrowed katana. Removing the poison sacs was a daunting task for trained chefs with proper tools. Dagon was self-trained and was at the time using a katana that had seen better days. He felt like he had offered to perform surgery with a block of wood.

The okama chef's hands bled from gripping the blade of the katana as if it were a typical kitchen knife which made him grateful he had made the rice for the nigiri first. The man sitting at the stall who wasn't a mass of black market technology and ambiguous sexuality started to leave until the cyborg's hand clamped down upon his shoulder.
"A bet's a bet." The chef with the bleeding hands and blonde mohawk said as he plated three large pieces of blowfish sushi cut with a blunt old katana.

People gathered around, mostly in order to see who would be the first to possibly die from consuming poison. The cook, the okama cyborg, and the extremely nervous looking man in a top knot all ate their piece of nigiri simultaneously and in lock-step unison none of the trio died.

The original bet had long been forgotten by all three parties when it came time to consume the possibly poisonous puffer. What had begun as a simple challenge to eat fugu had turned into a criticism of Dagon's cooking skills and soon devolved into sword cut blowfish and a penalty that would mark the loser forever.
Dagon lightly pounded his own chest with his fist.
"Right here. Dagon Basqiat. That's with a 'Q'."
Dagon heaved a sigh of relief over not having to get the other man's name tattooed upon his person for losing the bet. It then dawned on him that if he had lost the bet and not cut the fugu correctly the three of them would be dead.

The proprietor of the sushi stall Dagon had commandeered looked like he wished one of the poison sacs had been cut and could rid himself of these troublesome smugglers and their idiotic death games.
Blood dripped onto Dagon's red shirt printed with a black kraken as he lit up a cigarette of a lighter shade of the same color. The acrid smoke disturbed a few people as he walked through the marketplace but none dared speak up to a man with bleeding hands and accompanied by a large, lisping, cross-dressing cyborg.

At times it was hard to take Arkady Kuznetzov as threatening given his flamboyant looks, but there were times the okama cyborg adopted a tone with the seriousness of a third heart attack.
"You won't live long letting people goad you into things like that." The words were clipped and drained of emotion and lacking their usual lisp. This was The Velvet Spike voice. It was still friendly but with a hint of potential murder lying barely underneath. The okama reached over, put his massive hand on Dagon's partially shaved head and turned it towards a sign.
"If you have to prove something you might as well get fantastic prize out of it. Not just having some man tattoo your name on himself. But if you're intimidated by these trained chefs I can understand."
With that subtle dare, Dagon found himself signing up for a cooking contest taking place the next day.

[cremuex]

The door clicked shut behind her, as she crept away as quietly as she could. She normally wouldn’t have done such a sneaky thing as to enter someone’s room without permission, but it was for a good cause. She knew that Zenit would probably be sleeping in today and as the ship’s self appointed cook she had to make sure that he was eating properly. If her coming into his room and leaving breakfast on his bedside table hadn’t woken him up, surely the smell would and while she didn't intend to wake him, he probably wouldn't be too angry at her about it in retrospect.

Four long cuts of freshly cooked bacon; Fat sizzled to crunchy perfection. French toast with chicken and herb sausages. Grilled brown button mushrooms and tomato, thickly sliced. An egg cooked to the snipers preference seated atop the toast with a side of fresh juice in a chilled glass. Knife and fork cradled next to the condiments. A bowl of berries and fruit for the little Lemming companion to nibble on. A small note was folded up underneath the plate to inform him that she’d made plans and would be away most of the day, though not specifically where, just in case she got embarrassed or flustered by him visiting and checking out the event. Finished lovingly with ‘I hope you have a great day!’ in her flowery cursive. Like a doting mother that was just so proud of her child.

The blonde threw her arms through her backpack straps and headed off to the center where the contest was being held that day. The air was crisp and the weather was slightly gloomy, though she could only hope that the weather would get better through out the day. It seemed like the island very rarely exhibited this type of weather.

The smell of fish from the early morning haul was even more overwhelming then it was the day before, the salt spray from the ocean not helping to ease it up. The spices and herbs hadn’t yet offered a sanctuary against the stench either, and even the curry was barely noticeable unless you deliberately were looking for it.
 
She could only assume from the way things were being set up that one of the dishes would include one of the many fish on display. While she had practice in cooking fish, she begged whatever powers that be that she wouldn't have that as the 'taste and replicate the dish' round. She hated fish personally, well, most types of seafood to be honest, so all she knew about cooking them was based on others taste and preference.

She seemed to have arrived a fair bit earlier then she'd planned, probably on account of being so excited to see others cook. She didn't have many chances for cultural experiences so she wanted to soak it all up like a sponge. Normally she would set time aside in case she got lost but coming around the day prior had taken care of that issue.

Kitchen stalls were still being set up, transportable stove tops were being connected to gas canisters and tested to make sure that they were functioning properly for the big day. A few others seemed to have shown up just as early and one of them so happened to be setting up the table for entrants to sign up on. The young woman couldn't have been older than eighteen, and her short black hair was done in a pixie cut. At least she would be warm wrapped up in her red woolen coat. Sheets of paper clipped down to a board so that they could walk around and register people without them needing to come specifically to the table. Something about her demeanor said that she did this every time the cooking festivities were on as she directed people where to go and what to do.

"Hello! Are you in charge of registration?" The blonde cheerfully inquired when she was close enough to the other woman.

"Yes I am! Are you interested in signing up for the event?" The response was just as formal and obvious as her own question about if the other was in charge of registration. Cremuex gave a little nod in confirmation and a happy 'mmhmm' as she was handed the clip board to fill her information out on.

Cremuex would be contestant number four for today, and as such was told which cooking station would be hers to occupy for the day and directed to get herself acquainted with where everything was held in the draws.

There would still be a bit of time but more and more people were starting to appear as time ticked away. She had offered to help with the preparations when she signed up- however, while she was a contestant she wasn’t allowed to handle anything, should something untoward happen, like peeking at what ingredients were to be used and getting an unfair advantage over the other competitors. Apparently someone had done such a thing before and even went so far as to try and sabotage others ingredients.

Without being allowed to help with anything her options were limited to either just sitting at her counter, or introducing herself and wishing other contestants the best of luck. She wasn’t competitive, and she had no reason to be rude to anyone, though inevitably some either brushed her off of thought that she was a threat since she’d come from off the island (something which struck her as hilarious since she wasn't an amazing chef in the first place). She resigned herself to putting on the cooking uniform and apron provided for her. Even though it was a bit large, she was still able to wrap the string around her waist twice and busied herself with putting up her hair so that it wouldn't distract her or get in the food.