Absinthe

Chapter 28: Identity

It had been three months since that stupid kiss. In other words, it had been a full 90 or so days of

fighting a hard battle to stop myself from slapping the shit out of the asshole that was Jiwoo. Every

single moment with him in our classes was plain torture. My hands were itching to beat him to a pulp,

and the itch was akin to some stubborn wart that refuses to go away.

I'm not a violent person, and the diary I've kept since I was in second grade will prove to you that I have

never been in a fist fight my entire life. But fine, I'll admit that maybe it's my innate gayness that has

prevented me from even roughhousing anyone. I may have a sharp tongue sometimes, but I've never

felt the desire to hurt someone physically.

Until now.

Because what that asshole had done was plain unbelievable.

It was horrible.

Disgusting.

Cruel.

"Oi, BJ! Three orders of our specialty lava cake!"

"Huh?"

"Quit daydreaming and get your ass to plating these!"

"Yes, Chef!"

True to Chef Maxwell's word, our classes had drastically changed after the palate test. Genre after

genre, dish after dish, ingredient after ingredient, Chef Maxwell started hammering the entire world of

cuisine into our skulls.

Our morning classes in business management were also over. They had been replaced with afternoon

classes in food science, only this time, we were studying the chemical properties of each ingredients.

And to be honest with you, that was the only thing I was enjoying about the course.

It was fun learning about what makes one type of potato different from another, or how one type of

tomato has more sugars than the next. Or about the cynarin in artichokes that disables your tongue's

sweetness receptors for a while before fooling your brain into thinking that the next bite you take is so

much sweeter than it actually is.

Fun, right?

I guess that was just me because Nico, Vivi, and the asshole I'm refusing to name from now on

seemed to be winging our food science classes.

On the other hand, since the number of hands-on sessions had doubled, I started falling behind. But

that was to be expected because all three of my classmates have more extensive culinary

backgrounds. What did I have save for my decade-long experience in churning out financial projections

and kissing the asses of old men a.k.a. my bosses? None.

And that was the reason why those in Chef Maxwell's kitchen despaired whenever I was assigned to

their section for my OJT.

Well, maybe except for the pâtissier, Chef Jacob. He was neutral about having me in his section

because I hardly made mistakes with desserts, but he was far from satisfied with my speed.

"I said stop daydreaming. If you don't, I'll kick you out!"

"Three servings of lava cake ready for service, Chef!"

"Go out and serve it yourself. The guests specifically asked to meet you."

A wrinkle formed between my eyebrows. "What? Chef, have I done something wrong?"

"Repeat customers from yesterday," Chef Jacob clarified with a smile. "They've been looking for you

since they tasted your lava cake, but you were already in class with Chef Maxwell when they asked for

you. You've done great, so go and take your compliments."

Despite the anger boiling in me for the past three months, my loneliness from Cassie's and Faye's

absolute lack of contact, and the fatigue at always being the worst OJT chef, I felt happy.

"But I couldn't have done it if—"

"Nonsense!" Chef Jacob interrupted. "This is your recipe. You were the one who put the lava in that

lava cake. Take pride in what you do, BJ, because you're excellent at it."

I was really glad. Even with the grueling work required, I figured there was still a future for me in the

industry after all.

"Congratulations, BJ," said Chef Maxwell at the start of our class that night. "You're the first person to

earn a compliment from our very picky customers. Until when are you going to keep me waiting, Nico?

Vivi? Jiwoo?"

None of them answered, but I could feel their frustration.

"I was expecting all of you to at least get a compliment from a customer before we go onto the next

stage of your education. I guess we really can't wait for that now, can we?"

"We'll get it, Chef Maxwell."

It was Jiwoo.

Shit! I just promised myself not to mention or even think about his name! How could I forget that?

"Very well," Chef Maxwell said, nodding in acknowledgement to that annoying person who I 100%

won't name anymore. "Let's move on then. For centuries there has been a lot of debate on what the

greatest cuisines of the world are. The de facto common belief is that French, Chinese, and Turkish

share the title of the world's three greatest cuisines.

"However, a recent study and survey of how the different cuisines stand up against each other was

conducted by none other than the Federation of United Chef Knights, or FUCK. Cuisines from all

around the world were ranked based on their cultural influence, technicality, variation, and, of course,

taste.

"Can you guess which cuisines came out on top?"

The annoying half-Korean said, "Indian."

"Indian cuisine comes in at rank 4 with its excellent regional variation and unparalleled use of spices

and unique ingredients with powerful flavor profiles."

"Japanese?" answered Vivi.

"Washoku, or Japanese cuisine, comes in at rank 5. And truthfully, there are more complex cuisines

than washoku. Some examples are Thai, Indonesian, and Turkish, which incidentally all made it to the

top ten cuisines. However, it is undeniable that none of the other cuisines come close to matching

Japan's aesthetics when it comes to cooking. Washoku, after all, is an art form."2

I looked up and saw Vivi frowning. She must have been remembering her roots.

"Chinese, then?" I asked, also recalling the fact that Vivi is a specialist in Chinese cuisine, too.

"Chinese cuisine made it to rank 3. Although the world argues that Chinese cuisine is not really a

cuisine in itself but a collection of unique cuisines all across the wide lands of China, no one can deny

the Chinese identity in cooking with the wok.

"Two more slots to guess, ranks 1 and 2. Nico, do you mind having a shot at both?"

"Italian and French."

"Exactly. Two European powerhouses. Italian cuisine is characterized by its unbelievable simplicity.

Most of its recipes need about—"

"Five to eight ingredients," Jiwoo and Nico continued in unison.

Jesus Christ, I forgot to forget about that half Korean's name again!

"Yes, indeed. Italians create some of the world's best dishes by having unparalleled knowledge and

expertise in understanding the quality of the ingredients they use."

"And the French? They just do fancy stuff, in my own opinion," Vivi commented.

"French cuisine, once considered and now proven to actually be the world's best cuisine, is not simply

fancy stuff. No other culture in the world has refined its techniques in maximizing the taste of

ingredients. Contrary to the Italians, the French have step after step after step, ingredient after

ingredient after ingredient in their recipes, each serving a particular purpose and enabling the dish to

have je ne sais quoi!"

All of us were quiet for a while until Chef Maxwell broke the silence.

"Which brings us to your next challenge."

The stillness in the room was replaced with tension you could physically feel.

"Until next Friday, I want you to go through all the lessons we've had and all the days you've been in

my kitchen and decide on your identity as a chef."

"Identity as a chef?" It was the jerk again.

"Yes," Chef Maxwell answered. "Your identity as a chef. Your genre. Your specialty."

"Can't we specialize in all of it just like you, Chef Maxwell?"

Chef Maxwell smiled. "That brings us to the second part of your challenge. But before I explain that,

allow me to continue explaining the first one."

I looked around and, sure enough, all eyes were laser-focused on Chef Maxwell.

"You have one week to determine your identity as a chef—in other words, develop your unique style of

cooking. This is, of course, going to be based on a particular cuisine."

Nobody said anything, but I knew that none of us understood what he meant.

"Don't be confused," Chef Maxwell started. "Even if you identify as a French cuisine specialist, for

example, it doesn't mean you won't be able to do other cuisines anymore. It only indicates that

whatever you do in the kitchen will be influenced by your specialty, be it the way you cut vegetables or

how you prepare your stock."

It now made sense. But what was the challenge in that?

"With that, you have to cook a dish that will make me acknowledge your specialization."

What? Did that mean we were going to fail if we're unable to showcase the specialization we identify

for ourselves?

"This is crucial before we proceed to the next stage of your education because your OJT will be

replaced with classes specially designed to enhance your techniques in that particular specialization

cuisine."

"And what's the second part of the challenge, Chef?" Nico asked. NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

"You have to guess what my specialization is."

Again, we were rendered speechless upon hearing that. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the

second challenge was far more difficult for us than the first. As I've mentioned before, Chef Maxwell

runs a fusion restaurant, so they keep changing the menu depending on what's in season.

"And it won't be a challenge without stakes, will it?"

"Steaks?" went the half Korean. Ugh, he was irritating and stupid.

"No, not steaks. Stakes, as in something we bet on," Chef Maxwell replied, laughing slightly. "For the

winner of this challenge, I offer a fourteen-course dinner menu for two here at my restaurant, personally

prepared and served by me. I'll let you experience what food made by a two-starred Michelin chef

tastes like."

Fuck, I needed that!

"As for the apprentice with the lowest score, you'll be on janitorial duty for a month. Sounds fair,

yes?"