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Table for Two 15: Yaourt aux Noix

By: Fillydelphian on Apr 17th, 2013 | syntax: None | size: 20.95 KB | hits: 54 | expires: Never

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>You awaken to the sound of Em fumbling with the bedsheets in the pre-sunrise darkness.
>She groggily surveys the room, doing her best not to disturb you.
>Her inky silhouette starts to shuffle up from the bed, almost without definition.
>With a smirk you reach out into the dark.
>Em lets out a yelp when you catch her hind leg.
Where do you think you're going?
>The mare sighs and slips back to the mattress.
>”Thought I could get out without waking you,” she says.
Why would you want that?
>”Because I wanted to let you sleep in.”
And miss seeing you off?
>”...I'm just going home. You know, to my house? I want to go at an hour when nopony will see me.”
>You shrug.
Makes sense.
>”So go back to sleep. I'll come to the restaurant for dinner, and tomorrow you've got the evening off, right?”
That's right.
>”Good.” She flops her forehooves over your chest and rests her head against your shoulder.
>After a pause, you run your fingers through her mane.
Thanks for playing along last night.
>”I'm still cross with you for making me do it, but under the circumstances I think I can forgive you,” she replies before nuzzling her velvety muzzle into you.
I think it's this all-encompassing kindness of yours that I like best about you.
>”Watch that tone, Chef.”
>The two of you lay silent for a minute, until you're stuck with a thought.
Hey Em?
>”Yes?” she answers, perking up and raising her head.
How did you manage to get contacts on such short notice? You always have your glasses on; I've never seen you without them except for tonight and at the party.
>You feel Em's hooves shift around on your chest.
>”Well, I...I uh...” she mumbles.
1/
Come on, Em. Don't hold out on me now.
>The mare droops her head back down onto you and huffs.
>”I didn't.”
What do you mean?
>”I don't need them. I just wear frames with flat glass put in.”
>You stifle a laugh.
>”Hey! It's not funny!”
Please tell me it isn't because they 'make you look smarter.'
>No response.
>You reach with your free hand and pull Em over you.
You're ridiculous. Never change.
>Em nestles herself closer to you for a moment, before looking up to the window.
>The first hints of the morning sun begin to peek over the horizon.
>”I should go before it's light out. Don't forget the story, okay? I went back to Fillydelphia on the--”
Five-thirty express. I've got it.
>She gets out of bed and walks to the other end of the room, stopping when she reaches the door.
>”And thank Ginger again for me, will you? I really did enjoy spending time with you and her last night.”
Will do. Don't get lost.
>As your eyes adjust, you see Em grin.
>”I'll do my best.”
>Later that morning.
>You come in to work just in time to catch the daily produce delivery.
>A stout stallion hauls crates from his cart and carries them into the alley.
>”Mornin', Anon,” he says gruffly. “Been a while since I seen ya.”
Morning, Long. How've you been holding up? I know you and Sterling were dealing with that bank problem. You get that all sorted out?
>The stallion pulls another crate down from the cart.
>”Yeah, Sterlie 'n I are doin' good now. She got a new job uptown, even.”
Well, I'm glad to hear that. Take care of yourself, alright?
>”Same to you.”
2/
>Whooves is directing the prep cooks, who are sorting the produce and bringing everything into the large walk-in at the end of the kitchen.
>”Morning, Chef,” the Sous calls out when he sees you.
Hey, Whooves.
>”Have a good time at Ginger's place?” he asks, voice laced with smugness.
>You shoot him a glare and a smirk.
Yeah, we made these little risotto fritters after the pub. Might make them a special one of these days, see how they go with the customers.
>”Nice. You'll have to show me those sometime.”
>The Sous whistles at one of the prep cooks.
>”Hey! We need those onions for stock! What are you putting all of them away for!?”
>He starts to trot off, and looks back to you.
>”Let me know what you need. I'll see if we can get those fritters on the specials tonight if you want.”
Alright, I'll get a recipe together for you.
>Whooves nods and goes back to the prep cooks with a look of annoyance at their missteps.
3/
>You get to your duties shortly after putting on your jacket and hat.
>It's Thursday. The weekend rush starts around today.
>After looking over the delivery list Long left, you take note of what you have in the walk-in.
>It takes about five minutes for you to tally up everything that the kitchen is missing for the night's service and write up the prep list for the day.
>You hand your clipboard off to Whooves, who starts assigning the prep cooks their jobs for the day.
>Back in your office, you scratch out the recipe for Whooves.
Arborio rice, butter, onion, stock, mushroom, dark ale... what else?
>You lean back and think to yourself for a minute before snapping your fingers and going back to the pad of paper.
Thyme and salt, let it chill, stuff with some cheddar, then roll into balls. Flour, egg wash, then breadcrumbs, and fry.
>The kitchen comes to life outside your office as the prep cooks begin to work in force. You lean out the door and call out.
Whooves! Get over here! Look this over with me!
>”Yes, Chef! Just a minute!” the stallion yells in response.
>He comes over and you give him the paper.
Beer and mushroom risotto balls, stuffed with cheese and fried. Make up a batch before lunch service and have the prep cooks and waiters taste it.
>”Will do, Chef. This was Ginger's idea?”
I didn't believe it either, until we tried it out. Trust me. It'll make a good appetizer for winter.
4/
>”Whatever you say, Chef. I'll have that batch out pronto.” Whooves looks at the paper once more. “Hey, what's your plan with that colt? Wasn't Ginger supposed to be in charge of him?”
She still is. He's learned enough that he can be on a longer leash, but I want her to mentor him a little more before I let him on his own entirely.
>”Sure that isn't too much pressure to put on Ginger?”
She can handle it. If she has problems, she'll let me know. Now get working, Whooves. I'll be out in a second to double check inventory, then I've got a meeting with a couple managers about some parties next week.
>”Got it.”
>The Sous walks off and you get up from your chair. You pick up your other clipboard and start going through the kitchen, writing down anything you're low on to order for tomorrow.
>”Chef?” a voice pipes up from the dining room.
>You look out to see a manager looking earnestly at you from across the counter.
Yes?
>”A word?” he asks.
Sure. What is it?
>You come around the counter and look the manager in the eye.
>He looks around as if paranoid of listeners-in, and leans close to you.
>”A friend of mine tipped me off last night: the Marechelin ponies are considering adding Ponyville to the Guide. If they are, then they'll be sending a few Inspectors within the next few weeks to make the publishing deadline. I thought you should know.”
>You take a second to wipe the look of disbelief off your face.
You're serious? The Marechelin Guide? Here?
>”It's just a rumor, but my friend isn't often wrong. Don't say too much about it. You know how the Guide likes to keep up its whole veneer of mystery.”
I do, indeed. Thanks for the tip-off. Anything else going on?
5/
>”Not at the moment. The other managers will be meeting up in an hour or two, once everyp0ny gets here. Celestia knows it's not normal to have us come in this early...”
It's those parties coming in today. Boss wanted us to be as prepped as possible so he scheduled a whole bunch of us early. Let me know when you guys are meeting. I'll be there.
>”Okay, Chef.”
>The manager leaves you sitting at the table, processing what he's told you.
>A mere mention in the Marechelin Guide has brought chefs up from relative obscurity and into the culinary limelight. A Star is one of the greater achievements in the industry.
>You go back to the kitchen feeling lighter on your feet.
6/
>Ginger arrives in the kitchen at eight.
>The large party arrives at eleven along with the beginnings of the lunch rush.
>You pass the gold-maned Sous on your way to your office, and lean down to her ear.
Two things, Ging: One, staff liked the risotto fritters. They're the special tonight. Two, you've done a few nights of Sous service with Whooves now. Time for a deep-end test. You're on your own for the next hour. Take care of the kitchen.
>She looks up at you with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
>”I'll do my best, Chef.”
Your best won't matter if things get out of hoof.
>Ginger gives you a quick nod before turning her concentration back to wiping her counter.
>You turn and meet Whooves at his station.
Come on, let's go get lunch. Ginger's got this.
>The stallion silently follows you to the door.
>”Table Seven: One salad, one onion soup, one linguine, two hay-BLT!” Ginger calls from the service counter.
>”Yes, Chef!” the kitchen replies in unison.
>”You really think she can handle the lunch rush all on her own, Anon?” Whooves asks as the two of you walk through the alley behind the restaurant.
She's ready for a little more responsibility. Besides, you're the one who was supposed to be teaching her. Who do you think I'm going to blame if she can't handle it?
>Whooves knots his brow in response.
>He opens his mouth to speak, but you interject.
What, worried?
>”Not at all. She had me teaching her, after all.”
Good. Cafe, then?
>”How about we try that new Cervidasian place? Prongs?”
That opened up last week, didn't it?
>”It's been getting good reviews. Lots of traditional Deer Republic stuff.”
Well let's go there, then.
7/
>You and Whooves sit at a table under the clear glass ceiling of the restaurant. A few leaves blow about above you in the breeze.
Fancy décor, huh?
>”Yeah, the owners wanted to give it an open-air feel without limiting the place too much when winter comes around,” Whooves says, looking the menu over.
>”Would you like to hear our daily specials, sirs?” your waiter suddenly asks, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
Sure.
>”Alright, we've got a nice five-vegetable curry with eggplant, potato, green pea, bottle gourd, and ridge gourd; that comes with a side of hoof-formed dumplings,” the waiter begins.
>”And we also have our special Pani Puri for appetizer. That's a hollow flatbread that we fry and fill with a mixture of potato and black chickpea. That comes with a side of three different chutneys.”
That sounds interesting.
>”It's fantastic,” she remarks. “Last, for dessert we have a sweet hoof-made yoghurt, garnished with cardamom, saffron, and ground nuts.”
Thanks. We'll probably need another minute, though.
>”Okay. I'll be back shortly.”
>You turn back to your menu.
>”So I saw those Guardsponies that came in yesterday. What was that about?” Whooves asks after a beat.
They were asking around about the fire. Usual thing, you know? Collecting statements and whatnot.
>”Did they tell you anything?”
Not a lot. They said it might have been intentional, though.
>Whooves gives you a look of shock.
>”What? Like somep0ny went out and set your house on fire on purpose? Why would anyp0ny do that?”
I don't know. That's just what they told me. I still think it was accidental.
>The Sous leans in over the table.
>”You don't think it's got anything to do with those notes you've been getting, do you?”
Those? No. They're harmless. Annoying, but harmless.
8/
>”I heard that the minotaur couple out south's been getting similar messages. The librarian's dragon too. Seems like a few p0nies are really setting themselves against anything with two legs.”
>You lay your menu down and look up at the ceiling.
It's nothing I haven't dealt with before. All this talk we have here about harmony and understanding doesn't mean every pony in Equestria is going to be on board. You can't have everyone think the same.
>”Amen to that.”
Why don't we talk about something else? You know the general manager? Lime Rickey?
>”Yeah?”
>You lower your voice so those around you can't hear.
He told me the Marechelin Guide might be coming to Ponyville before the next book is out. The managers and I had a meeting about it earlier today.
>Whooves gapes.
>”Seriously? You think they're going to give us a Star?”
I have the utmost confidence that, if the rumors are true, we can get that Star. Just keep it in the kitchen, alright? Don't tell anyone who doesn't work for the restaurant.
>”You got it. Celestia, the Guide...You realize what this means? Ponyville is gonna be on the map! I mean, I know we've been getting more and more restaurants here in town, but still...”
It's huge. We get a Star, it makes our careers
>”You mean, 'YOU get a Star, it makes YOUR career,'” Whooves corrects. “Nop0ny cares about the underlings, Anon. A Star for you is a sign you've made it. Star for the rest of us is just something to pad our resumes with. I'm more interested in what it'll mean for Ponyville. I grew up here, remember. Everything's different now. Used to be this town was a backwater. Now look at it. It's turning into a real hub.”
9/
Do you think that's a positive thing?
>”I don't know. Seems to me that most of the ponies here are open to it, but with this much happening at once there's bound to be backlash. I mean, it's happened so quickly, you know? Two years ago there were four restaurants in Ponyville and two of them weren't even proper sit-down places. Now we've got something like fifteen? Not counting the food carts and the stalls. I've never seen anything like it.”
>Your waitress appears at your table without you noticing.
>”Have you decided what you'd like to order?” she pipes up.
>Whooves and you both start in surprise.
>”Right, I'll have the hay vindaloo.”
And I'll have the curry special.
>The mare speeds off towards the kitchen.
Jeez, she's like a ninja.
>”I was thinking the same thing. I didn't even see her come up to us.”
>Forty five minutes later.
>You follow Whooves out of Prongs and head up Mane Street, back towards the restaurant.
>On the way, you hear somep0ny call out.
>”Anon!”
>Rarity trots up behind the two of you, perfectly-coiffed mane bouncing with her strides.
>You notice a subtle expression of worry on her face and slow your pace.
Hey, go on ahead and make sure Ginger handled lunch. I'll be back in a few.
>”Alright. See you later,” the Sous replies, leaving you and Rarity alone.
Hi, Rarity.
>Her expression seems to sour.
>She rears up and punches your arm.
>”That, Anonymous, is for not even making the attempt to speak to me yesterday. I spent all day worrying!” she admonishes.
Worrying? About what?
10/
>Rarity's face reddens.
>”About what? About whom! About you, Anon! Do you know how worried I was when I heard about your house? I mean, the newspaper didn't say anything about anyp0ny getting hurt, but then I didn't hear from you at all and I thought something must have happened, otherwise you would have at the very least come to me, your friend, and said something!”
Well, I--
>She cuts you off with a loud sigh.
>”No use now, I suppose. Are you alright? It must have been an absolutely dreadful experience! To think one minute you're sleeping soundly and the next you're woken up by your house erupting in flames around you! I can't even imagine!” the mare says, gesticulating dramatically for emphasis.
Actually, I, uh...wasn't in the house when it happened...
>”What?” she responds, freezing her forelegs mid-gesture. “Well if you weren't in your own home at three o' clock in the morning, then where were you?”
>You cough and look at the ground.
Party?
>”Pardon?”
We were at a party. Well, we had just gotten back from one, at any rate.
>”We?”
...Yeah...Em and I...We went to a Night Mare Night party with some of the cooks from work.
>”Aren't you still keeping Her Mayorship as your dirty little secret?” Rarity asks with no small measure of bitterness.
We are...It was a perfect opportunity, though. She went in costume and we made up a whole back story for her. No one suspected a thing.
>You shift your weight uneasily.
>”You are absolutely ridiculous, Anon. You realize how ludicrous this entire charade has become, don't you? Creating a false identity for her to keep your sordid affair under wraps? I can't believe you would do something so hare-brained.”
11/
>She takes a deep breath and collects herself.
>”No,no, forget I said anything. Where are you staying? Are you doing alright?”
I'm fine. You know Ginger Gold, right? One of my cooks?
>”We've spoken on occasion.”
She's putting me up at her house. I'll be staying there until my house is repaired enough that I can move back in.
>”Well, I'm glad to hear you have a roof over your head. Though, I am a bit surprised it isn't the Mayor's. You'd think she would be the first to offer.”
>You're not sure you like Rarity's tone.
It was all a bit of a shock. And besides, it'd be suspicious if I were to suddenly move in with the Mayor instead of someone whom ponies know I know.
>”Ah, keeping up appearances even though this, then. I really must commend the two of you on your dedication.”
>Rarity turns to go up the street.
>”Well, it certainly was a pleasure speaking with you, as always. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask.”
>Before you can respond, she starts walking. You stand in the street rubbing the sore spot on your arm.
12/
>You come back to the restaurant to see Ginger standing at the service counter, diligently looking over and plating the constant stream of dishes coming to her to be sent to the dining room.
>She turns to look at you momentarily and you catch the manic look of concentrated revelry in her eyes before she whips around and gets back to work.
>You stifle a laugh and walk into your office to get changed.
>After pulling your jacket on, you head over to the counter and lay a hand on the mare's shoulder.
You're looking right at home. Take it the party went out happy?
>”Yes, Chef. They left a few minutes ago.”
No issues with the kitchen, then?
>”Not at all. Everyp0ny's been on-point today.”
Good. Want to take the rest of the lunch service? I'm on dinner today.
>The lights of the line shine in the mare's eyes. She gulps and glances at the dining room once more before replying.
>”Y-yeah. Yeah! I can finish lunch. Definitely!”
Alright. Hold the line until six, then.
>”Yes, Chef!”
13/
>You walk back to the kitchen to observe the cooks.
>The colt is at the soup station with a cook watching over him.
How's he doing?
>”Good. Hasn't burned anything yet,” the cook says.
>The colt looks up from what he's doing.
>”Want to try it? It's vegetable chowder,” the colt pipes up earnestly.
Alright. Get me a spoon.
>The colt watches you nervously as you grab a spoon from the cook and taste the soup.
>You swish it around in your mouth and knot your brow.
>There's onion as a base, some oregano and basil, a hefty amount of zucchini and corn, then broth and milk on top of it with potatoes serving to give the chowder more body.
>You place the spoon down on the counter.
Not bad. Add some black pepper and a little bit of salt and work on keeping the bottom moving so it doesn't scorch. Keep it up.
>”Thank you, Chef!” the colt yelps happily.
Now get back to work.
>”Yes, Chef!”
>You head to your office to fill out the final paperwork for Ginger's promotion.
14/
>The next day.
>You wake to the sound of rapid knocking on the front door.
>Ginger's hooffalls can be heard echoing through the house. The clock reads six in the morning.
>There's a long pause after she opens the latch.
>”Anon! Are you awake!?” she suddenly yells.
Ugh, yeah! What is it?
>”You'd better come down here!”
What's this all about? You know how early it is!?
>”Just come down!” her tone is worrying. You shuffle down the stairs in your bedclothes to see two of your dishwashers standing in the doorway.
What's going on?
>”Sorry to wake you, Chef, but Whooves insisted we get you,” one says nervously.
Get me for what?
>The two dishwashers look at each other briefly.
>”He said you had to come see for yourself, Chef.”
>You groan.
Fine. Let me get some clothes on.
>”I'm coming too,” Ginger says.
>You arrive at the restaurant a few minutes later. The sun has just come up over the horizon and casts long shadows over the streets.
>The dishwashers lead you to the east corner of the building, where Whooves, the owner, and two guards stand waiting.
Anyone care to tell me what in Tartarus is going on here? Whooves?
>The stallion just points at the wall with his hoof.
>Irritated, you turn to look.
>On the brick facade in stark white paint is scrawled “Ape inside,” followed by a crude caricature of an orangutan in a toque.
>”Somep0ny painted it in the night,” the owner says.
>”There was a window badly cracked as well,” a guard adds. “Lucky it didn't shatter.”
>Whooves shoots you a questioning look.
>”Still think it's harmless, Chef?”
End.

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>You awaken to the sound of Em fumbling with the bedsheets in the pre-sunrise darkness.
>She groggily surveys the room, doing her best not to disturb you.
>Her inky silhouette starts to shuffle up from the bed, almost without definition.
>With a smirk you reach out into the dark.
>Em lets out a yelp when you catch her hind leg.
Where do you think you're going?
>The mare sighs and slips back to the mattress.
>”Thought I could get out without waking you,” she says.
Why would you want that?
>”Because I wanted to let you sleep in.”
And miss seeing you off?
>”...I'm just going home. You know, to my house? I want to go at an hour when nopony will see me.”
>You shrug.
Makes sense.
>”So go back to sleep. I'll come to the restaurant for dinner, and tomorrow you've got the evening off, right?”
That's right.
>”Good.” She flops her forehooves over your chest and rests her head against your shoulder.
>After a pause, you run your fingers through her mane.
Thanks for playing along last night.
>”I'm still cross with you for making me do it, but under the circumstances I think I can forgive you,” she replies before nuzzling her velvety muzzle into you.
I think it's this all-encompassing kindness of yours that I like best about you.
>”Watch that tone, Chef.”
>The two of you lay silent for a minute, until you're stuck with a thought.
Hey Em?
>”Yes?” she answers, perking up and raising her head.
How did you manage to get contacts on such short notice? You always have your glasses on; I've never seen you without them except for tonight and at the party.
>You feel Em's hooves shift around on your chest.
>”Well, I...I uh...” she mumbles.
1/

Come on, Em. Don't hold out on me now.
>The mare droops her head back down onto you and huffs.
>”I didn't.”
What do you mean?
>”I don't need them. I just wear frames with flat glass put in.”
>You stifle a laugh.
>”Hey! It's not funny!”
Please tell me it isn't because they 'make you look smarter.'
>No response.
>You reach with your free hand and pull Em over you.
You're ridiculous. Never change.
>Em nestles herself closer to you for a moment, before looking up to the window.
>The first hints of the morning sun begin to peek over the horizon.
>”I should go before it's light out. Don't forget the story, okay? I went back to Fillydelphia on the--”
Five-thirty express. I've got it.
>She gets out of bed and walks to the other end of the room, stopping when she reaches the door.
>”And thank Ginger again for me, will you? I really did enjoy spending time with you and her last night.”
Will do. Don't get lost.
>As your eyes adjust, you see Em grin.
>”I'll do my best.”

>Later that morning.
>You come in to work just in time to catch the daily produce delivery.
>A stout stallion hauls crates from his cart and carries them into the alley.
>”Mornin', Anon,” he says gruffly. “Been a while since I seen ya.”
Morning, Long. How've you been holding up? I know you and Sterling were dealing with that bank problem. You get that all sorted out?
>The stallion pulls another crate down from the cart.
>”Yeah, Sterlie 'n I are doin' good now. She got a new job uptown, even.”
Well, I'm glad to hear that. Take care of yourself, alright?
>”Same to you.”
2/

>Whooves is directing the prep cooks, who are sorting the produce and bringing everything into the large walk-in at the end of the kitchen.
>”Morning, Chef,” the Sous calls out when he sees you.
Hey, Whooves.
>”Have a good time at Ginger's place?” he asks, voice laced with smugness.
>You shoot him a glare and a smirk.
Yeah, we made these little risotto fritters after the pub. Might make them a special one of these days, see how they go with the customers.
>”Nice. You'll have to show me those sometime.”
>The Sous whistles at one of the prep cooks.
>”Hey! We need those onions for stock! What are you putting all of them away for!?”
>He starts to trot off, and looks back to you.
>”Let me know what you need. I'll see if we can get those fritters on the specials tonight if you want.”
Alright, I'll get a recipe together for you.
>Whooves nods and goes back to the prep cooks with a look of annoyance at their missteps.
3/

>You get to your duties shortly after putting on your jacket and hat.
>It's Thursday. The weekend rush starts around today.
>After looking over the delivery list Long left, you take note of what you have in the walk-in.
>It takes about five minutes for you to tally up everything that the kitchen is missing for the night's service and write up the prep list for the day.
>You hand your clipboard off to Whooves, who starts assigning the prep cooks their jobs for the day.
>Back in your office, you scratch out the recipe for Whooves.
Arborio rice, butter, onion, stock, mushroom, dark ale... what else?
>You lean back and think to yourself for a minute before snapping your fingers and going back to the pad of paper.
Thyme and salt, let it chill, stuff with some cheddar, then roll into balls. Flour, egg wash, then breadcrumbs, and fry.
>The kitchen comes to life outside your office as the prep cooks begin to work in force. You lean out the door and call out.
Whooves! Get over here! Look this over with me!
>”Yes, Chef! Just a minute!” the stallion yells in response.
>He comes over and you give him the paper.
Beer and mushroom risotto balls, stuffed with cheese and fried. Make up a batch before lunch service and have the prep cooks and waiters taste it.
>”Will do, Chef. This was Ginger's idea?”
I didn't believe it either, until we tried it out. Trust me. It'll make a good appetizer for winter.
4/

>”Whatever you say, Chef. I'll have that batch out pronto.” Whooves looks at the paper once more. “Hey, what's your plan with that colt? Wasn't Ginger supposed to be in charge of him?”
She still is. He's learned enough that he can be on a longer leash, but I want her to mentor him a little more before I let him on his own entirely.
>”Sure that isn't too much pressure to put on Ginger?”
She can handle it. If she has problems, she'll let me know. Now get working, Whooves. I'll be out in a second to double check inventory, then I've got a meeting with a couple managers about some parties next week.
>”Got it.”
>The Sous walks off and you get up from your chair. You pick up your other clipboard and start going through the kitchen, writing down anything you're low on to order for tomorrow.
>”Chef?” a voice pipes up from the dining room.
>You look out to see a manager looking earnestly at you from across the counter.
Yes?
>”A word?” he asks.
Sure. What is it?
>You come around the counter and look the manager in the eye.
>He looks around as if paranoid of listeners-in, and leans close to you.
>”A friend of mine tipped me off last night: the Marechelin ponies are considering adding Ponyville to the Guide. If they are, then they'll be sending a few Inspectors within the next few weeks to make the publishing deadline. I thought you should know.”
>You take a second to wipe the look of disbelief off your face.
You're serious? The Marechelin Guide? Here?
>”It's just a rumor, but my friend isn't often wrong. Don't say too much about it. You know how the Guide likes to keep up its whole veneer of mystery.”
I do, indeed. Thanks for the tip-off. Anything else going on?
5/

>”Not at the moment. The other managers will be meeting up in an hour or two, once everyp0ny gets here. Celestia knows it's not normal to have us come in this early...”
It's those parties coming in today. Boss wanted us to be as prepped as possible so he scheduled a whole bunch of us early. Let me know when you guys are meeting. I'll be there.
>”Okay, Chef.”
>The manager leaves you sitting at the table, processing what he's told you.
>A mere mention in the Marechelin Guide has brought chefs up from relative obscurity and into the culinary limelight. A Star is one of the greater achievements in the industry.
>You go back to the kitchen feeling lighter on your feet.
6/

>Ginger arrives in the kitchen at eight.
>The large party arrives at eleven along with the beginnings of the lunch rush.
>You pass the gold-maned Sous on your way to your office, and lean down to her ear.
Two things, Ging: One, staff liked the risotto fritters. They're the special tonight. Two, you've done a few nights of Sous service with Whooves now. Time for a deep-end test. You're on your own for the next hour. Take care of the kitchen.
>She looks up at you with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
>”I'll do my best, Chef.”
Your best won't matter if things get out of hoof.
>Ginger gives you a quick nod before turning her concentration back to wiping her counter.
>You turn and meet Whooves at his station.
Come on, let's go get lunch. Ginger's got this.
>The stallion silently follows you to the door.
>”Table Seven: One salad, one onion soup, one linguine, two hay-BLT!” Ginger calls from the service counter.
>”Yes, Chef!” the kitchen replies in unison.
>”You really think she can handle the lunch rush all on her own, Anon?” Whooves asks as the two of you walk through the alley behind the restaurant.
She's ready for a little more responsibility. Besides, you're the one who was supposed to be teaching her. Who do you think I'm going to blame if she can't handle it?
>Whooves knots his brow in response.
>He opens his mouth to speak, but you interject.
What, worried?
>”Not at all. She had me teaching her, after all.”
Good. Cafe, then?
>”How about we try that new Cervidasian place? Prongs?”
That opened up last week, didn't it?
>”It's been getting good reviews. Lots of traditional Deer Republic stuff.”
Well let's go there, then.
7/

>You and Whooves sit at a table under the clear glass ceiling of the restaurant. A few leaves blow about above you in the breeze.
Fancy décor, huh?
>”Yeah, the owners wanted to give it an open-air feel without limiting the place too much when winter comes around,” Whooves says, looking the menu over.
>”Would you like to hear our daily specials, sirs?” your waiter suddenly asks, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
Sure.
>”Alright, we've got a nice five-vegetable curry with eggplant, potato, green pea, bottle gourd, and ridge gourd; that comes with a side of hoof-formed dumplings,” the waiter begins.
>”And we also have our special Pani Puri for appetizer. That's a hollow flatbread that we fry and fill with a mixture of potato and black chickpea. That comes with a side of three different chutneys.”
That sounds interesting.
>”It's fantastic,” she remarks. “Last, for dessert we have a sweet hoof-made yoghurt, garnished with cardamom, saffron, and ground nuts.”
Thanks. We'll probably need another minute, though.
>”Okay. I'll be back shortly.”
>You turn back to your menu.
>”So I saw those Guardsponies that came in yesterday. What was that about?” Whooves asks after a beat.
They were asking around about the fire. Usual thing, you know? Collecting statements and whatnot.
>”Did they tell you anything?”
Not a lot. They said it might have been intentional, though.
>Whooves gives you a look of shock.
>”What? Like somep0ny went out and set your house on fire on purpose? Why would anyp0ny do that?”
I don't know. That's just what they told me. I still think it was accidental.
>The Sous leans in over the table.
>”You don't think it's got anything to do with those notes you've been getting, do you?”
Those? No. They're harmless. Annoying, but harmless.
8/

>”I heard that the minotaur couple out south's been getting similar messages. The librarian's dragon too. Seems like a few p0nies are really setting themselves against anything with two legs.”
>You lay your menu down and look up at the ceiling.
It's nothing I haven't dealt with before. All this talk we have here about harmony and understanding doesn't mean every pony in Equestria is going to be on board. You can't have everyone think the same.
>”Amen to that.”
Why don't we talk about something else? You know the general manager? Lime Rickey?
>”Yeah?”
>You lower your voice so those around you can't hear.
He told me the Marechelin Guide might be coming to Ponyville before the next book is out. The managers and I had a meeting about it earlier today.
>Whooves gapes.
>”Seriously? You think they're going to give us a Star?”
I have the utmost confidence that, if the rumors are true, we can get that Star. Just keep it in the kitchen, alright? Don't tell anyone who doesn't work for the restaurant.
>”You got it. Celestia, the Guide...You realize what this means? Ponyville is gonna be on the map! I mean, I know we've been getting more and more restaurants here in town, but still...”
It's huge. We get a Star, it makes our careers
>”You mean, 'YOU get a Star, it makes YOUR career,'” Whooves corrects. “Nop0ny cares about the underlings, Anon. A Star for you is a sign you've made it. Star for the rest of us is just something to pad our resumes with. I'm more interested in what it'll mean for Ponyville. I grew up here, remember. Everything's different now. Used to be this town was a backwater. Now look at it. It's turning into a real hub.”
9/

Do you think that's a positive thing?
>”I don't know. Seems to me that most of the ponies here are open to it, but with this much happening at once there's bound to be backlash. I mean, it's happened so quickly, you know? Two years ago there were four restaurants in Ponyville and two of them weren't even proper sit-down places. Now we've got something like fifteen? Not counting the food carts and the stalls. I've never seen anything like it.”
>Your waitress appears at your table without you noticing.
>”Have you decided what you'd like to order?” she pipes up.
>Whooves and you both start in surprise.
>”Right, I'll have the hay vindaloo.”
And I'll have the curry special.
>The mare speeds off towards the kitchen.
Jeez, she's like a ninja.
>”I was thinking the same thing. I didn't even see her come up to us.”

>Forty five minutes later.
>You follow Whooves out of Prongs and head up Mane Street, back towards the restaurant.
>On the way, you hear somep0ny call out.
>”Anon!”
>Rarity trots up behind the two of you, perfectly-coiffed mane bouncing with her strides.
>You notice a subtle expression of worry on her face and slow your pace.
Hey, go on ahead and make sure Ginger handled lunch. I'll be back in a few.
>”Alright. See you later,” the Sous replies, leaving you and Rarity alone.
Hi, Rarity.
>Her expression seems to sour.
>She rears up and punches your arm.
>”That, Anonymous, is for not even making the attempt to speak to me yesterday. I spent all day worrying!” she admonishes.
Worrying? About what?
10/

>Rarity's face reddens.
>”About what? About whom! About you, Anon! Do you know how worried I was when I heard about your house? I mean, the newspaper didn't say anything about anyp0ny getting hurt, but then I didn't hear from you at all and I thought something must have happened, otherwise you would have at the very least come to me, your friend, and said something!”
Well, I--
>She cuts you off with a loud sigh.
>”No use now, I suppose. Are you alright? It must have been an absolutely dreadful experience! To think one minute you're sleeping soundly and the next you're woken up by your house erupting in flames around you! I can't even imagine!” the mare says, gesticulating dramatically for emphasis.
Actually, I, uh...wasn't in the house when it happened...
>”What?” she responds, freezing her forelegs mid-gesture. “Well if you weren't in your own home at three o' clock in the morning, then where were you?”
>You cough and look at the ground.
Party?
>”Pardon?”
We were at a party. Well, we had just gotten back from one, at any rate.
>”We?”
...Yeah...Em and I...We went to a Night Mare Night party with some of the cooks from work.
>”Aren't you still keeping Her Mayorship as your dirty little secret?” Rarity asks with no small measure of bitterness.
We are...It was a perfect opportunity, though. She went in costume and we made up a whole back story for her. No one suspected a thing.
>You shift your weight uneasily.
>”You are absolutely ridiculous, Anon. You realize how ludicrous this entire charade has become, don't you? Creating a false identity for her to keep your sordid affair under wraps? I can't believe you would do something so hare-brained.”
11/

>She takes a deep breath and collects herself.
>”No,no, forget I said anything. Where are you staying? Are you doing alright?”
I'm fine. You know Ginger Gold, right? One of my cooks?
>”We've spoken on occasion.”
She's putting me up at her house. I'll be staying there until my house is repaired enough that I can move back in.
>”Well, I'm glad to hear you have a roof over your head. Though, I am a bit surprised it isn't the Mayor's. You'd think she would be the first to offer.”
>You're not sure you like Rarity's tone.
It was all a bit of a shock. And besides, it'd be suspicious if I were to suddenly move in with the Mayor instead of someone whom ponies know I know.
>”Ah, keeping up appearances even though this, then. I really must commend the two of you on your dedication.”
>Rarity turns to go up the street.
>”Well, it certainly was a pleasure speaking with you, as always. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask.”
>Before you can respond, she starts walking. You stand in the street rubbing the sore spot on your arm.
12/

>You come back to the restaurant to see Ginger standing at the service counter, diligently looking over and plating the constant stream of dishes coming to her to be sent to the dining room.
>She turns to look at you momentarily and you catch the manic look of concentrated revelry in her eyes before she whips around and gets back to work.
>You stifle a laugh and walk into your office to get changed.
>After pulling your jacket on, you head over to the counter and lay a hand on the mare's shoulder.
You're looking right at home. Take it the party went out happy?
>”Yes, Chef. They left a few minutes ago.”
No issues with the kitchen, then?
>”Not at all. Everyp0ny's been on-point today.”
Good. Want to take the rest of the lunch service? I'm on dinner today. 
>The lights of the line shine in the mare's eyes. She gulps and glances at the dining room once more before replying.
>”Y-yeah. Yeah! I can finish lunch. Definitely!”
Alright. Hold the line until six, then.
>”Yes, Chef!”
13/

>You walk back to the kitchen to observe the cooks.
>The colt is at the soup station with a cook watching over him.
How's he doing?
>”Good. Hasn't burned anything yet,” the cook says.
>The colt looks up from what he's doing.
>”Want to try it? It's vegetable chowder,” the colt pipes up earnestly.
Alright. Get me a spoon.
>The colt watches you nervously as you grab a spoon from the cook and taste the soup.
>You swish it around in your mouth and knot your brow.
>There's onion as a base, some oregano and basil, a hefty amount of zucchini and corn, then broth and milk on top of it with potatoes serving to give the chowder more body.
>You place the spoon down on the counter.
Not bad. Add some black pepper and a little bit of salt and work on keeping the bottom moving so it doesn't scorch. Keep it up.
>”Thank you, Chef!” the colt yelps happily.
Now get back to work.
>”Yes, Chef!”
>You head to your office to fill out the final paperwork for Ginger's promotion.
14/

>The next day.
>You wake to the sound of rapid knocking on the front door.
>Ginger's hooffalls can be heard echoing through the house. The clock reads six in the morning.
>There's a long pause after she opens the latch.
>”Anon! Are you awake!?” she suddenly yells.
Ugh, yeah! What is it?
>”You'd better come down here!”
What's this all about? You know how early it is!?
>”Just come down!” her tone is worrying. You shuffle down the stairs in your bedclothes to see two of your dishwashers standing in the doorway.
What's going on?
>”Sorry to wake you, Chef, but Whooves insisted we get you,” one says nervously.
Get me for what?
>The two dishwashers look at each other briefly.
>”He said you had to come see for yourself, Chef.”
>You groan.
Fine. Let me get some clothes on.
>”I'm coming too,” Ginger says.

>You arrive at the restaurant a few minutes later. The sun has just come up over the horizon and casts long shadows over the streets.
>The dishwashers lead you to the east corner of the building, where Whooves, the owner, and two guards stand waiting.
Anyone care to tell me what in Tartarus is going on here? Whooves?
>The stallion just points at the wall with his hoof.
>Irritated, you turn to look.
>On the brick facade in stark white paint is scrawled “Ape inside,” followed by a crude caricature of an orangutan in a toque.
>”Somep0ny painted it in the night,” the owner says.
>”There was a window badly cracked as well,” a guard adds. “Lucky it didn't shatter.”
>Whooves shoots you a questioning look.
>”Still think it's harmless, Chef?”
End.

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