Rice Cooker Revenge – Chapter 5

RICE COOKER

If I’m going to go out, I’m going out with a bang. There’s really no need for me to keep these secrets since The Chef has never, ever treated me well. Slam! Jab! Crack. That’s all I’ve ever known from him. Ryu is kind and honest, the perfect person to show up The Chef.

I talk while The Chef is busy doing other things. It’s not like he can hear me anyway, and Ryu is eager to learn as much as possible in the shortest amount of time as possible. I think he’s tired of living with his brother and eating instant ramen everyday.

“Did you get down the part about what kind of oil The Chef uses?”

I cook up a big batch of rice and Ryu is back to washing dishes again. He nods his head over the sink, humming his acknowledgments, but refraining from speaking to me directly. Over at the frying station, The Chef has everything lined up and ready to go for several orders of shrimp and vegetable tempura. He blots each piece dry, dips them in batter, rolls them in panko bread crumbs and lightly places them in the hot oil. They sizzle and dance around, morphing from sand-colored unappetizing lumps to golden fried morsels of goodness. I never crave food since all I do is cook rice, but these always look amazing, and there are times when I hear people in the restaurant exclaiming how good they are.

Ryu glances at the plates of tempura as The Chef lifts each from the frier with a wire spatula. The Chef growls at Ryu, “Get back to work! Or I’ll have no plates for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, Chef-san.” Ryu hunches back over the sink, scrubbing and washing plate after plate.

The Chef stands at the door to the restaurant, peeking out and watching the customers ooh and ahh over his lunches once again. He folds his arms across his chest, smugly satisfied by all he’s accomplished in life. This gives me pause. I can imagine The Chef young and ambitious like Ryu, ready to make his career with his city-wide famous tempura. Maybe he doesn’t deserve for us to be stealing his secrets and trying to usurp him.

The kitchen door pushes open straight into The Chef, jostling him to the side. He scowls at the old man, Yoshinoro, as he brings in a plate of pickles.

“Watch where you’re going.” The Chef’s face falls into a deep frown. “Why are you bringing back the pickles?”

Yoshinoro sighs before taking a tiny step back. “The customer says they are too flabby and taste rotten.”

“They’re perfectly fine pickles.” He picks one up but doesn’t eat it.

“He would like better pickles. Is this all we have?”

“Of course it’s all we have. Who is this that’s insulting my pickles?” The Chef leans over Yoshinoro’s shoulder and peers out the tiny window in the door.

“It’s not a problem,” Yoshinoro whispers, placing his hand on The Chef’s chest.

Bad idea.

“Don’t put your hands on me, Yoshi. Show me this customer right now.”

The Chef pushes past Yoshinoro and stalks into the restaurant.

I take back all my good thoughts towards The Chef as he yells at a customer in the restaurant while all other noises fall silent. Ryu walks up to me, drying his hands on a towel.

“What an asshole. You’d think he could just apologize for his weak pickles and beg the forgiveness of the customer.” Ryu shakes his head.

“You know what I already think of the man,” I say, simmering down for the last few minutes of my cooking time. “He doesn’t deserve the small amount of success he’s had. If only he could control his temper…”

Ryu grabs the piece of paper and pen he keeps in his back pocket now. “What was he doing before he battered and fried the shrimp?”

“Great! Yes! Let’s get back to business, he…”

The door flies open and The Chef eyes Ryu. “Who are you talking to in here?”

Ryu slowly inches his paper back into his pocket.

“Uh, I wasn’t talking.” He leans against the wall in front of me, blocking my view of The Chef (or blocking The Chef’s view of me? I can’t tell.)

“Yes you were. I heard your voice right before I opened the door. Are you going crazy or something? Because I can’t have people with mental illnesses in my kitchen.”

Ryu pauses. “I wasn’t talking, I swear.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” The Chef strides up to Ryu, right in his face. Ryu’s body tenses, and I try to think of what I can do to help.

“No, Chef-san. I’m not… I’m…”

I burst into their conversation to chime about the rice being done, my little Amaryllis – Air Louis XIII jingle signaling the rice is done to perfection.

The Chef points his index finger in Ryu’s face. “You’re on rice and dishwashing duty for the rest of the month. If I catch you lying to me again, you’re fired. Understand?”

“Yes, Chef-san,” Ryu whispers, hanging his head.

The Chef returns to the tempura frying and Ryu turns to me, mouthing, “Thank you,” under his breath.

That was a close one.