>Friday afternoon in Manehattan.
>Carriages and ponies fill the city streets despite chilly winds.
>Airships and balloons pass overhead, dragging banners and flags behind them.
>The sun shines brightly in the clear blue sky.
>Of course, you're not paying attention to any of that.
>You're focusing on editing your menus.
>The cooks sit around a table in the dining room with you, jotting things down onto notepads.
>You glance at the one to your right.
Alright, Star Bright, you've got experience with Prancian cooking. What do you think about doing a broccoli soup with some of that bleu cheese we got in from Canterlot?
>When you sent Star Bright the letter about your starting a restaurant, he didn't reply.
>Instead, you opened the place up one day to see him standing in the alley leading to the kitchen.
>”Should be good. Be better if we did it in spring, though, around when the fiddleheads start coming in. That'd make a perfect garnish,” he answers, looking over his notepad.
That's a good idea. We'll put it off until then. Instead, how about we make a simple tomato bisque?
>The ponies around the table nod in approval.
>”I had a thought,” one starts. She's a dark grey unicorn with a bright blue streak running through her otherwise indigo mane. “How does—and this is for entrees, sorry to change the pace—roast pumpkin ravioli with a kind of mushroomy shallot sauce sound?”
>You shoot questioning looks at the other two cooks.
I think it sounds like a start. Let's workshop it, shall we? What can we do to improve on that?
>”Maybe add something...” Star Bright begins to say.
>”It would already have cinnamon and cumin in,” the grey unicorn interjects. Star Bright stops.The unicorn leans back with a smug smile.
1/
 
That'll be nice and warm. How about putting a little bit of coffee in? And make sure you use Chanterelles. They'll pair well with the pasta.
>”Got it. I'll make sure we get some next week,” she remarks.
>Star Bright suddenly looks towards the door.
>”I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” you hear Em coo.
>You turn and see the mare walk in, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck.
>Her mane flops into her face, adding a splash of bright pink to the otherwise brown and orange dining room.
We can pick this up again tomorrow.
>You motion to the three cooks.
Go and finish up the prep work. We open in five hours.
>”Yes, Chef!” the three reply. They head off, leaving you and Em alone.
>She takes a seat next to you at the table.
>”How's your day been? I feel like I haven't seen you at all,” Em asks.
It's good. We were just doing the new menu.
>”I can't wait to try it.”
Did your meeting go well?
>”It was an interview, and yes. It went very well, thank you.”
I'll be honest, I was a little nervous about that article of yours.
>”So was I, but it had to be written. I didn't know how much attention it would get, though.”
You titled it “My Lost Town: How Love Cost me a Home.” What did you think would happen?
>Em grins sheepishly.
>”I don't know. It felt so good to get off my chest, though, and Vanity Mare ate it up.”
What did the interview pony want?
>”Oh, she was some journalist doing an article on the article. Apparently it caused its own sort of scandal with Ponyville. Rose sent me a letter about it. You remember?”
Yeah, it was nice.
2/
 
>Em raises her eyebrows. “Nice?”
Well, yeah. Knowing that Filthy's term as Mayor fell so short of expectations? You heard his speeches. He really fancied himself something great.
>The mare giggles softly.
>”I'll admit, it did feel nice to read that it hadn't gone so well.”
That interviewer didn't give you any trouble about... well, us... did she?
>Em traces a hoof on the cream-colored tablecloth.
>”Not at all. She was very professional about it. I think my article helped.”
I bet it did. That article blew me away, and I was there for all that stuff happening!
>You both laugh.
I'm glad it went well. Have you heard anything from Ginger? You two are still exchanging letters, right?
>”Yes, she's doing very well at her new place. She's the Sous at Prongs, now.”
Oh? Good for her. Looks like both my Sous Chefs have moved on to bigger things.
>You remember the letter of reference that you wrote for Whooves when he started working in Hoofington.
>Em sighs and stares out the window with a soft smile.
>”I never thought I'd live in the city again, last time I left.”
Crazy how things change, isn't it?
>”Yes it is. You know I thought Ponyville was like a paradise when I was there? Now look at it. The last five conversations I've heard about it have been about how backwards those ponies are.”
>You nudge her shoulder.
Hey, if they sent you a letter begging you to come back, would you?
3/
 
>The mare flicks her mane.
>”...You know what?” she asks coyly. “The city is noisy, busy, and the streets have a habit of smelling like a toilet during the summer. I'm pretty sure I saw a rat the size of my head jump into a sewer the other day...”
>Em rests her head on the table.
>”...And I still wouldn't trade this for the world.”
That's good to hear. I've still got, like, five years of payments to make on this restaurant.
>You chuckle and kiss her forehead.
Did you look at that wedding invitation from Hors D'eouvre, by the way?
>She shakes her head. “Did it come after I left?”
Must have. Anyway, it's on the eighteenth. They're having the thing out in Fillydelphia.
>”I'll save the date. Can we go to his restaurant?”
I'm pretty sure he wouldn't let us come to Filly without.
>”Touché.”
>The clock strikes four o'clock.
>”Alright, I should go. I have a meeting with Morning Glory at the publisher's about my new article.”
>She gets up from her chair and kisses your cheek.
>”You'll be home for dinner tonight?”
Around nine. The produce seller down at the market wanted to show me his new stuff and he's only free then.
>Em nods.
>”I'll wait to start until you get back. I want to show you what I learned last week.”
>You cock your eyebrow.
Oh? What's that?
>Em raises a hoof. “I don't want to spoil the surprise. Just know that it involves the first time we met—”
Is it mushroom risotto?
>Em purses her lips.
>”N-no,” she declares defensively. “I-it's...” She's blushing. “I'll see you tonight!”
>Without another word, she flees. You call after her.
Love you too, Emmie!
>You walk to the kitchen.
>Outside, ponies and carriages go by. Every so often an eye will trail up to the facade above your windows. Against the black polished wood is the name of your restaurant in polished bronze letters.
>”Anonyme”
>Friday afternoon in Manehattan.
>Time to get to work.
End