A/N: Hello Beans! I hope you are safe wherever you are and that this intense chapter of food somehow lifts your spirit by just a little. Hehe. Oh! And and and I watched this anime called Shokugeki no Soma? And apart from the fact that their clothes start disappearing when they taste good food, um, I actually really like the anime! Haha! 

The music/score was stunning and although the characters are archetypal, I did enjoy the food. The Erina (?) girl also had some magic tongue thing that resembles Vanilla's ability to identify ingredients upon tasting so that was really cool. The main character, Soma is very outgoing and cheery and positive boi with many girls (and guys) flocking to him huhu. Do check it out if you're interested in culinary stuff! It's the only show I've seen so far that incorporates a culinary school in the story and revolves around it. Enjoy this chapter! 

I'll see you on Sunday ^^

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[Vanilla]

If the question was whether I'd somehow considered an alternate, parallel universe in which Uncle Al had never decided to take me in and become my legal guardian, the answer would be no. There were better things to be thinking about. And while I do, indeed, subscribe to the astronomical theory of the multiverse, there simply wasn't any practical use in entertaining a different story I could have lived.

Pulling up outside the orphanage did nothing to jolt the memories I'd long discarded. Realistically speaking, no two-year-old was going to remember the exact details of the kind of infant lives they used to lead and the apparent week I'd spent at a baby adoption centre before Uncle Al returned from the other side of the world to cradle me in his arms was... well, quite forgettable.

"So the head welfare officer wants to remind us about the no-swearing rule and that conversation topics should steer clear of anything regarding past or ex-families. Remember—be nice. Smile like you're permanently high, and uh... yeah." Lee Jungwoo raised a thumbs-up to conclude before disappearing down the front exit of the bus.

Most of us had decided to alight from the back instead, where boxes of craft and equipment were stacked atop one another and required our assistance to transport. Half of it was filled with vibrant origami paper, ice cream sticks and rolls of felt, materials that were to be used during the hour's-worth of activity time while the party was being set up.

"Hello everyone. It's so nice to see you all and so kind of you to be thinking about our children despite your busy schedules," a bespectacled, dark-skinned woman greeted us as we gathered in a semi-circle around the front gate of the facility. "I'm Tiana, welfare officer here at Sunbeam. The kids call me Mrs. Tea, which I do like, so I hope you have something tea-flavoured on your menu today." In mere sentences, she had managed to lift the dual nerves of meeting new people and competing in a foreign environment, all whilst putting smiles on our faces at the same time.

"We'll start with a quick tour of the orphanage—just the dorm, the living space, where we have our pre-school classes and activities, then we'll show you guys the kitchen so that we can get started on the party."

After leaving the boxes of materials with a pair of friendly teacher volunteers, we were shown around the facility and given a brief explanation of their daily schedule. The main building housed an activity centre, where the younger kids of kindergarten age had their morning classes before joining afterschool care with the elementary school children.

The garden was a mere vegetable patch with cherry tomato plants in their flowering stages and a small lemon tree. In contrast, the backyard was large enough to include several outdoor swing sets, an elephant slide, a sandpit, and a seesaw—apart from mismatched outdoor furniture lining the fence that were likely donated.

"What's on the other side?" Si Yin posed to Mrs. Tea while we were about to leave the playground and head through the back to the centre's meal kitchen. "Behind the fence, I mean. There's like cones and stuff, so it looks like an obstacle course."

Mrs. Tea nodded. "You're not far off! There's an animal shelter next door and the kids have a weekly duty roster, taking turns to help out with small stuff like feeding and cleaning or just spending time with them. It gives them a sense of purpose and helps in giving back to the community too."

What a sustainable model! I couldn't help but think, albeit certain that the main reason for having the kids help out next door had to be the healing properties of dogs and cats as company and vice versa.

"So this is it," Mrs. Tea showed the lot of us into a double station kitchen with a decent island and two additional fold-out tables in the middle for extra workspace. In total, there were six stoves. "I'll leave you guys to split into the teams you came up with and if you need any help, I'm with the kids. It's not the biggest kitchen, for sure, and I'm really sorry about that but if you need any extra tables, we can always bring them in from the classrooms. Unfortunately, one of our ceramic pots were chipped so we're left with two non-stick pans, one skillet and just one other pot..."

Chen was quick to reassure the welfare officer that we were prepared to make do and that we'd brought our own necessary equipment like crockery, dishware and coolers. As soon as we were left to our own devices, the thirty of us organized ourselves into the three separate teams we were assigned to on the bus ride here—the kitchen team led by Chen, the entertainment team led by Lee, and the set-up team by Birchwood. The facilitators keeping a close watch on us stood by with minimal intervention, only reaching out whenever a staff member of the orphanage had questions to ask.

"That kitchen's for dwarves," was all my team captain had to say, squinting past the doorway we'd come from and eventually spotting our boxes of party décor and tablecloths. "How's this fair? The elderly home CSS got has, like, three floors. Wait no don't open those you moron, I obviously haven't decided where we're setting up." The sophomore who'd reached for the opening of a box retreated at once, opting to stand aside with a guilty look on her face instead.

"Do you have something in mind?" I posed, giving our surroundings a quick survey. Judging by the corner they'd left our boxes in, the teacher volunteers had assumed we were setting up in the activity room where space was abundant. "Lee's team should be starting on the craft activities very soon. We should do as much as we can to avoid distracting the children from their tasks."

There were only five of us on set-up and whoever put me here must have been hoping that I'd make up for the lack of members but alas, that was not to be. Leroy, Si Yin, Raul and Rosi were assigned to individual items on the menu so at present, I was on my own. Technically with Miss Birchwood on something relatively behind-the-scenes which therefore meant a certain extent of relief, but still.

"Why don't you guys take the area behind that bamboo room divider thing? Mrs. Tea said they use it during nap time for the nursery and kindergarten kids," suggested Lee upon our consulting, simultaneously unpacking rolls of felt and stacks of origami paper and passing them to members of his team waiting in a line. "We're starting in five minutes so you can pull up the dividers while we're handing out the craft materials."

Birchwood had been slightly hesitant in picking up the idea but eventually started dishing out instructions on the number of tables we were using and walking us through the ideal timing and direction the children should be taking to go down the buffet line.

"So they'll start here, with the plates and utensils," she held up her hands in an imaginary table form before leading us farther down. "Separated by the centrepiece right down here, and walk down from here—main one, protein one, main two, veg one, protein two, veg two, then drinks and then dessert on a separate table..."

Immediately, I was envisioning a professional catering team meant for wedding receptions and cocktail parties at the mention of centrepieces. As surprising as it might sound, I was human enough to comprehend and therefore predict the basic behaviour of most children under ten; and the one thing I knew for sure was that lining up and going down a buffet line in an orderly, polished manner was the least of child-like behaviour.

"Um," I tapped Birchwood on the shoulder. "Sorry. I was just wondering... have you ever organized a birthday party for a sibling? Or perhaps a cousin or some distant relative. Commissioned to, maybe? Considering that you're highly sought after as a pastry chef," I'd added for extra measure.

"No of course not," she said rather frankly. "Children don't know how to appreciate high quality desserts. I mean, they're happy with gummy bears and boring vanilla ice cream."

I nodded, testing the waters for something along those lines. "Exactly. Well, you see. It might very well be that the children will end up skipping the line, heading straight for the desserts or, well, skipping the vegetables and then getting reprimanded by the teacher volunteers for not respecting us when, in fact, it honestly doesn't matter if they're behaving themselves or not as long as they like the food. If we set the buffet up in a line, we're establishing an unspoken rule that, well, this is first and that comes second and then this comes last and I don't think that is what children will be fond of. Should we somehow find a way to eliminate this restriction and allow them to decide freely what it is they want to eat without the adults thinking that they are being rude, that would be ideal."

Observing a grand total of four blank stares, I summed up at once: "So um the bottom line is that I'd hire you to organize my—I mean a wedding reception, yes, but, not, let's say, my nephew's birthday party."

Still, blank.

Desperate, I made a split-second decision to adopt a certain idiot's vocabulary. "This set-up is 'adulty' and far too polished for a children's party. It might suck."

The light in their eyes returned by some miraculous feat. "Well why didn't you say that from the start?" Birchwood had scoffed at once, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, okay. I get it. Does anyone have other ideas then?"

I could tell from the silence that everyone else either did not wish to voice ideas of their own for fear that either one of us would pick it apart or had run out of creative straws to draw from. The bouts of laughter coming from the other side of the activity room beyond the bamboo partition were full of joy and delight. Lee and his team were working their magic.

The environment was conducive, for sure. Standing in a corner, by the window, away from the laughter and happy noise—this was the kind of environment I was wholly familiar with. What, even now, felt beyond my zone of comfort was the Everest of a sandpit; the earthquake of a swing; the avalanche of a slide; the impossibility of joining something or fitting in and only in the comfort of a seesaw was...

I chanced a glimpse out of the window, up at the sky. Clear. The view from the window we were standing next to felt oddly similar to the view from that window I'd often found myself sitting by back in Evergreen Kindergarten for Future Leaders and this, this was where I would listen to the sound—

the creak of a seesaw.

*

It was after consulting Mrs. Tea about setting up in the backyard that we finally settled on a circular, six-station floor plan that both utilized and factored in every surrounding outdoor dining bench and playground equipment to create the most fun and dynamic eating experience a boringly programmed mind like my own could possibly think of.

With the help of two volunteer teachers, the five of us were able to rearrange the outdoor furniture and decorate each station differently to exemplify the dish they were serving. The waffle iron pizza station would have a classic tartan tablecloth while the dessert station would be two tables combined with a thicker waterproof material draped over it and the letters 'D-E-S-S-E-R-T' stuck to the side in craft paper.

While our team captain handled most of the aesthetics and décor, she'd left the preparation and arrangement of basic serveware up to me. I had been mildly confused; with most of the stations ready to go, the only remaining task would have been to stack and arrange the party plates. The forks and knives were perfectly fanned out in respective fancy tumblers so apart from getting the plates out from their boxes and transferring the juice dispenser to the beverage station, there wasn't much else to be doing.

"Oh my god, you are so dense," was all Birchwood had to say upon my questioning of her decision. She hadn't once looked up from her glitter glue signboard for the 'Princess Toast' dessert. "They'll come looking for you in, like, five minutes or something. Most of the food should be done by now."

"Ah, but I'm not exactly an expert in this field of..." As though on cue, Chen had emerged from the backdoor of the main building and, upon spotting the lot of us dealing with the décor, came over for a quick time check. "Twenty minutes to party. White, I need you in the kitchen as soon as possible. Taste everything—make sure it's good."

I'd given Birchwood a surprised glance to which she'd rolled her eyes and squinted as though I was a puny little speck of dust that did not even deserve the words 'I told you so.' After assuring Chen that I'd be with him in five minutes, I took to the activity room in search for the box of party plates whilst entrusting the setting up of the juice dispenser to a sophomore nutritionist.

As I was picking up the box and getting ready to leave the activity room without being noticed by the kids having fun with craftwork, I noticed a girl seated in the corner of the room with a book on her lap. There hadn't been a chair, let alone a girl seated in it, when we first left the room to set up in the backyard.

While she did seem old enough to find the arts and craft entertainment mildly boring to sit out on, the book in her lap was closed and pretty much untouched from the direction of her gaze—out past window and towards the front garden. The next thing I knew, she'd noticed my awful staring and hastily opened the book to hide her face behind it.

Needless to say, I was both embarrassed and extremely guilty for scaring her off, leaving her overly conscious about whatever she was doing and overall causing discomfort. As most would know, I hadn't the radiant, cheerful face of an angel like my godfather did and the closest inanimate thing I probably resembles was the face of an ice cube.

After arranging the party plates and ensuring that the juice dispensers were washed and working, I made my way to the kitchen for tasting at once. Needless to say, it was a fair bit chaotic in the back, as it tends to be in every production kitchen, professional or not— providing a perfect juxtaposition to the quiet outdoors.

There was, however, the fragrance of something oddly nostalgic. Just, wafting in the air and all of a sudden, coursing through my veins.

"Right, you can start with the mains," Chen had attacked me with as soon as I was through the door, nearly shouting over the noise. "Taco's here. Pizza's there. Sides are on that table over there. Chicken. Asparagus. Potatoes. Nutjammers. I know you're a fan of perfect balance but it's kids we're serving so maybe go light on the criticism and turn down the sensitivity just a notch. They like it a little sweeter than you do, and maybe a little saltier too. Oh and make sure you taste all three flavours of the chicken, by the way. Then it's dessert but we're running late on that, yeah I know, I'm the number one pastry chef, but I'm also the one overseeing everything and I'm still not used to it."

I was about to assure him that I had nothing against a one-off occasion of poor time management when someone else pulled him aside to discuss kitchen matters that thankfully did not concern my kitchen-less self. Wary about his earlier remark on the sweet and saltiness of the food however, I pulled up an unofficial scoring rubric (dug up from past archives thanks to Keith granting me access for a 'splendid' job on the school festival article).

While it was important to cater to the tastes and preferences of our guests, we were, inevitably, going to be assessed by a judging panel of professionals. Additionally, I was highly aware and familiar with the heightened sensitivity of children's' taste buds (unfortunately, unlike others, mine did not decrease over time or maturity) and had to factor that into my tasting.

It was upon taking a single glance at the tray of perfectly crisp, fried chicken bites that I was able to identify the familiar fragrance, electric in the air and almost sizzling in my mind that could, at once, pull up the visual memory of walking into Annie's diner and the countless number of times I was led up the stairs and into his room.

I didn't need to taste it to know exactly who the chef was and by god, did that infuriate me immensely. They were done in Annie's three signature ways: southern, garlic butter and sweet soy. Fresh out of the fryer, I had to pick them up carefully before quickly sending one of the smaller portions into my mouth; hearing the first crunch at the back of my teeth and each subsequent bite ringing its way to the top of my head, giving way to well-seasoned, perfectly juicy chunks of chicken thigh infused with spices that wholly reminded me of racing on Peach Beach as fictional characters in tiny karts.

By this point, you'd think I could no longer be surprised by the cooking of someone I had become so helplessly intimate with and indeed, I'd thought so myself. Yet, here I was, standing in the middle of a bustling, noisy kitchen, recalling a childhood I had, moments earlier, unconsciously categorized as... well, as non-existent.

I was a child. One whose spirits could be invariably lifted by the scent of fried chicken and familiar company and games and having someone else to sit with on the other end of the seesaw; I had so foolishly put myself on a high horse, as though being childlike was something I was never young enough to experience with an older mind when, in fact, it had existed all along.

Trust an idiot to come waltzing by with some awfully delicious chunks of fried chicken, topped with his signature criminal looks and embarrassingly provocative words I could already hear in my mind whilst tasting the rest of the chicken flavours.

It was obvious by the sound, texture and bite of the crunch that he'd not only double dipped the chicken in buttermilk but actually went on to double fry it for the science and secret to a perfect, crisp exterior. Other compliments like the glazes being of perfect consistency to evenly coat the chicken but at the same time not too oily and thick to be seeping through the crust were, well, applicable but I wasn't going to waste any time giving him mental praise.

There was one thing I did not quite like about the sweet soy version, which most likely involved brown sugar judging by its definitive caramelised flavour and consistency. While it was, indeed, clever of him to be using brown sugar instead of the pure carbohydrate that white was and the often healthier association of the former, I'd unfortunately found it a tad too sweet for my liking.

I did, however, remind myself about Chen's earlier warning about laying off the criticism since it wasn't as though Leroy's every dish was meant for by consumption, so I'd merely noted it down after concluding that it was just the right sweetness for every other six-year-old.

The asparagus were done cleverly similar to what we did over at Chip's for thanksgiving—wrapped up bacon and puff pastry strips and baked, ultimately paired with a refreshing garlic and herb veggie dip that was both healthy and sinfully delicious at the same time. Perfect for the children and a brilliant way to be hiding those vegetables.

The fish tacos were packed with heat, citrus and herbs, chock full of cilantro lime slaw, avocado, red onions and smoky, crisp, panko-baked cod bits that could have tricked any adult into thinking they were unhealthily fried.

Hm. Si Yin must have been on this one. I couldn't quite tell which others she would have been on, and the cilantro lime slaw tasted vaguely similar to that sauce she made me try the other day.

Raul's job on the waffle iron pizzas, assisted by two others, was in simple terms every child's dream breakfast, lunch and dinner in one dish. Cheesy, toasted to perfection, but also sufficiently soft and fluffy on the inside to compliment the crunch and texture of crispy bacon, peperoni, olives, mushrooms and grilled cherry tomatoes double-sealed by the cheese and the waffle press so as to prevent the fillings from falling out.

While they were, indeed, a sad violation of pizza rules, I wasn't going to further offend an Italian by, um, claiming that his waffle iron pizzas were offensive since they did taste exceptionally suitable for children and would most likely be the biggest hit among the other dishes. Those were the hardest to figure out since, well, I wasn't too sure if the judges were the conservative kind. Especially L'assiette's culinary dean, Chef Henri Pierre.

I mean, he was the one who took jabs at Leroy's phad thai during the tag team contest we did during the school festival.

Moving on to dessert, I set the nutjammers made by Chen aside—perfectly fine, no comments required—and inspected the slices of watermelon and cantaloupe we were using for the interactive activity station. Initially, we hadn't a clue how the obligatory fruits were supposed to be included in the menu since, well, no typical child under the age of ten would jump on the idea of having cantaloupe for dessert but it was after contacting Layla Tenner as a last resort that she'd come up with allowing the kids to cookie-cut their names using alphabet shapes and slices of fruit.

All I had to do was to ensure the slices were of similar thickness. Already, including an interactive food station in a children's party buffet was ingenious and would most definitely land us a favourable spot on the 'Organization and Planning' rubric—taking pictures of the kids with their cut-out names arranged neatly on a bamboo skewer to form a pegged polaroid photo display would've made the experience much more memorable than any other catered food party they'd had in the past.

The other interactive station that stemmed from Tenner's idea was letting them have a go at making their own colourful buttercream toast. Naturally, several of us (including myself) had been thoroughly against the idea of 'Princess Toast', which was the mere spreading of pastel, multi-coloured buttercream on toast and allowing the children to sprinkle as much edible glitter, chocolate rice and M&Ms on top of it as they liked. Just the thought of it could send diabetes coursing through my veins.

To increase the technicality of the dish and not make it seem as though the pastry chefs on the team were skiving off, I'd suggested pumpkin bread instead of the white bread they were intending to use in the first place, toasted with a hint of honey and also adding natural flavouring to the premade, store bought buttercream.

The pastel shades were mostly the work of strawberry compote (pink) and blueberry jam (purple) and according to the recipe, should've been properly balanced in terms of sweetness to acidity, which shouldn't taste all too bad even if store bought buttercream was enough to make me shudder at... good god.

Immediately, I was searching for some water and thank goodness for the dispenser nearby or I might have had trouble swallowing.

"Chen?" I called out to him but barely made it over the noise. Most of the kitchen were rushing to get their dishes out of the door and into the backyard with about seven minutes left on the clock.

Glancing down at the bowl of pink buttercream in front of me had the effect of triggering an acid reflux but for the sake of competition, I had no choice but to taste the other bowl of purple buttercream—only to reach for a second cup of water.

There was no telling if the store bought version had, before alterations, been sweetened to an unpalatable extent and needling out whoever was responsible for the diabetic concoction was not the solution at hand. Everyone else in the kitchen did not seem to have the time or the capacity to entertain my concerns so when Violet Birchwood walked in to demand those on dessert to speed up their process, I had instantly pulled her aside to taste the buttercream.

Needless to say, a second opinion was necessary for things like these and considering the fact that I, specifically, was not a fan of (most) junk food or candy, perhaps someone else might find the buttercream to their liking.

This was unfortunately not the case for Birchwood. Almost at once, she'd spat the thing out on a kitchen towel. "What's this shit?"

"It's far too sweet, even for children," I proposed and she looked at me as though I was stating the obvious. "Is there anything we can do to save this? There's simply too much buttercream and the colour's the entire reason this Princess Toast thing might appeal to the kids."

"We're tossing this out, for sure. Like, no one's going to eat this and not go to the hospital."

"What happens if we leave out a compulsory ingredient from the basket though?"

"We're allowed to leave out three. Which we've done already," Birchwood drummed her fingers on the table. Impatient. "Oh my god think of something."

Glancing at the basket of ingredients we'd received earlier today, I noticed the jar of marshmallow fluff I hadn't known existed on earth till three hours ago. "We have five more minutes. And the main course might buy us some time—"

"Hello? Are you forgetting something? Like, you literally just told me that the kids are going to be all over the dessert table first. That's why I've been rushing the dessert team. Why is fruit slicing taking so long?" She glanced over my shoulder at the two juniors rapidly slicing watermelons and cantaloupes.

By this point, most of the kitchen was empty since everyone else had to be setting up outside and ensuring that the trays of food were well kept and manned by the assigned chefs. There was no one else we could immediately consult.

"What do you think of simply replacing the buttercream with marshmallow fluff? Do you think we'd have any strawberries and blueberries left for the flavouring? The colour and acidity is crucial in balancing out the sweetness. We could just split the jar into three portions and that's pink, purple and white."

Already, Birchwood was demanding for mixing bowls and a double boiler. The kitchen was unfortunately empty. "If it's a compote, all I need is five minutes. Leave the balancing to me but you're out on the dessert station alone."

I nodded, wholly surprised and grateful that she hadn't thought of pushing the blame on the person who made the buttercream but had decided instead to prioritise resolving the crisis before anything else. "I'll try my best not to disappoint you."

Leaving the fixing of dessert to Birchwood, I made my way out of the kitchen through the back, running into self-proclaimed chicken professional Leroy Cox. Initially, the idea had been to report the slip-ups to Chen whilst giving him a quick summary of what I thought about the other dishes but upon, quite literally, having some sense knocked into me (how, exactly, can a human body possibly feel like a wall?), I realized that Birchwood had not factored in the absence of a blast chiller and that the compote might not even cool in time for her to add it to the fluff. Five minutes was most definitely not going to be enough.

"I need your help," I'd established in the heat of the moment, not quite yet thinking through exactly what it was I needed help with. "Um. Are you... sorry. You're probably busy with the..."

"Go on." He waited, reaching for a pair of tongs lying somewhere on a table behind me.

"We don't exactly have an appetiser, which is the only thing I can think of that would distract the kids from dessert," I tried to explain. "Something that would catch the eye of any child in a heartbeat like... potato chips. Or, something along those lines. We have to buy Birchwood some time. Could you make an appetiser? Anything that takes less than five minutes would be ideal."

The first thing he suggested off the top of his head was lotus root chips.

Needless to say, I had to first check if I'd heard him right. "You brought lotus root here."

His smile was criminal. "Was what I ate as a kid all the time," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Chen rejected it last minute."

Without a doubt, it was a brilliant idea. Lotus root was not only higher in mineral and overall vitamin percentage, it also averaged four percent less calories than potatoes. "And how long will you be needing?"

"How long do you think I need?"

Knowing him, the most probable estimate had to be a maximum of three to four minutes but deliberately provoking him into proving me wrong was likely to achieve the effect of speeding up his process in an attempt to, well, either rise up to the challenge or impress me. "Oh, well... maybe five—"

"Three." He saw through my words, smirking and reaching for my forehead. I let him.

"This is the only reward you're getting," I said beforehand. He responded with a grand total of two indecent fingers.

*

Moments before the start of the dinner party, Chen was back inside the activity room with Lee and the entertainment team for a short new year's resolution speech while the rest of us were on standby at our assigned stations.

Birchwood was in the kitchen with Rosi, trying their best to cool the strawberry and blueberry compote by rapidly stirring it in the coolers we brought along. Thankfully, Leroy had arrived just in time with three bowls of lotus root chips seconds before the children emerged from the activity room, hand in hand with several team members. To say they flocked to the potato-chip-looking appetiser like a hoard of enthused pigeons felt like an understatement, so I'd left it there and merely given the chef at his station a nod of approval. The look he gave in return was mildly illicit and so I'd turned away and resumed my minding of fruit skewers.

"They put him on fruit." Oh. Hm. "Yeah I mean. It's the only logical option..." Ah. It appears that I am the subject of a casual conversation! Likely among two or three members of the entertainment team who were seeing the set up for the first time. What an achievement. "You think Chen did it on purpose?" "How are they going to grade him if all he's done is taste the food?"

Oh, was all I could think then. Ultimately, they'd raised a valid point about the scoring system and taking into consideration the fact that this was an elimination round, I, too, hadn't quite an idea how the elimination would come into play. Still. I could hear them.

"I don't think Chen's like that. Anyway, what else can he put him on?" Ah. "Critics huh. But he can't plate too, right?" Not wrong. "I don't know. Fruit punch?"

Admittedly, I had been sort of prioritising the state of us as a team rather than focusing on the individual aspect of elimination like I did in the first round. The nature of organizing a buffet party for a specific group of people was somehow different and had close to nothing to do with our individual performances as culinary learners. In fact, how was one to grade the entertainment team who'd done arts and craft with the children instead of the cooking?

Well! If this was going to be my last participating round, I suppose I might as well enjoy it. A tad bit disappointing, but I should at the very least ensure our guests a good time.

"Hey, uh." Ah. Someone part of the conversation I'd overheard! "Should we encourage some kids to come over to your station? Like, call them over or something?"

I'd blinked in response. Significantly surprised. "Oh! No, don't worry about that. It's part of the plan, you see. Birchwood isn't done with the Princess Toast half of the dessert station we're manning, so I told Leroy to distract them with an appetiser instead. It's working, as you can see."

"Leroy?" They seemed confused.

"Cox, I meant." Clearing my throat and inwardly accusing myself of letting my guard down, I then politely suggested they help the kids out with introducing the food instead of standing around. That way, some form of culinary knowledge, too, would be required.

This was sadly rather hypocritical of myself since, ultimately, I was left to sit alone in a tiny plastic chair, watching cling-wrapped bowls of sliced fruit and a jar of alphabet cookie cutters next to a container of bamboo skewers.

Waving to the kids did not help. Their faces scrunched up at the sight of fruit and it did not take long for them to notice a general trend of their peers avoiding the sad station. I crossed my fingers for Birchwood to be on her way or I'd be spending more lonely minutes staring at floral tablecloth.

On the other hand, a certain idiot appeared to be thriving in his natural habitat of fried chicken; entertaining an enthused line of tiny fans returning for a second or third serving of crispy, fragrant chicken chunks. The southern style was a surprising hit amongst the younger kids despite the heat it packed and as expected, no sane human being, young or not, could have settled with one serving.

Even with the judges, it had received countless praise and repeated orders. Minutes after the start of the dinner party, Chef Allan and Chef Yamazaki were making their rounds. They were scheduled to be starting with ours before heading to CSS's elderly home some fifteen minutes away while the other judges started first at L'assiette's homeless shelter.

For some reason, the chefs themselves had gravitated to Leroy's station upon their arrival, much like the children themselves. Specifically the garlic butter fried chicken.

"It was a good idea to double fry the chicken for the ones with glaze," I'd heard him note, reaching for his third chicken chunk. "The garlic butter glaze coating the crunch on the chicken doesn't compromise the crispiness of it. It's rich without being too heavy. Ah. The sweet soy isn't doing too bad either but... it's not to my liking."

Chef Yamazaki had laughed, nodding. "I know what you mean. But I remember you, from the paella stall at the school festival. The sugar in this... was intended, no?" He said, referring to the sweet soy glaze I had, myself, tasted earlier and doubted for a second.

"It's brown sugar," the chef clarified and instantly, I was having a private 'aha!' moment with myself, having guessed earlier on. "More flavour and moistness without the pure carbs. Was thinking they'd like it sweet."

The exact term was caramel sweet but, yes, taking into consideration who it was he had in mind whilst frying up the chicken, there was some justification in him going heavy-handed on the sugar. How someone so oddly magnetic to adults and children alike despite his apparent stoic exterior had something to do with a keen sense of taste—apt at identifying and reproducing food that suited one's exact preferences. Simply put: his ability to adapt.

While he did, on the surface, appear stubborn and uninterested in the tastes of people other than himself (and, um, me, I suppose), he, in actuality, possessed an aptitude for service and empathy. I on the other hand, did not. Occasional glances in Si Yin's direction also proved herself of similar species; paling at the sight of four children holding out their bare hands for another fish taco with 'extra crisp' and not quite understanding what they'd meant by that.

"Ooh alphabet cookie cutters," Chef Yamazaki noted on sight. He was, I think, my third visitor. Most kids had flocked to Birchwood's Princess Toast as soon as she'd emerged with the bowls of pastel-coloured marshmallow fluff. It certainly helped that she herself looked the part and soon attracted an entire table of girls seated at her station sprinkling edible glitter over their pastel marshmallow fluff layer spread on top of a slice of honey pumpkin toast. I spent most of the time watching until one of the girls asked if she could borrow a heart-shaped cookie cutter and a slice of watermelon.

"Well, um. It's unfortunately dead simple," I conveyed to the judges before me, who were picking out slices of cantaloupe for themselves. "They pick the fruit, choose the cookie cutters to spell out their name and slide them onto the bamboo skewer. There's also a picture involved at the end of it." I held up a polaroid camera. Si Yin's.

"I mean, it's effective." Chef Yamazaki had laughed, punching out an 'S'. "And an innovative way of incorporating fruits into a children's buffet. I can't get my girl to eat her fruits unless its strawberries we have."

"O-oh. I think my uh... Chip mentioned that." I did not want to seem overly affectionate with Chef Allan still around, since, well, Chef Yamazaki was here as a judge and certainly not my godfather's ex-student. "Your daughter might be a fan of what we have next door, then. Fruit-flavoured marshmallow fluff on a slice of honey pumpkin bread. Toasted. The glitter's edible, by the way."

The pair 'oohed' and proceeded to shuffle on with their slices of cantaloupe. Birchwood seemed a tad too busy with the kids to accommodate the judges, so I helped hand out a slice of freshly toasted pumpkin bread. They tore it in half and shared the piece.

"Mm! What kind of honey is that?" Chef Allan nodded. "It goes amazingly well with the pumpkin. Doesn't overpower. Are we supposed to... dip it in the..." he gestured towards the bowls of marshmallow fluff. I provided a sheepish laugh in response.

"Um. Well, you tell Miss Birchwood over there which colour you'd like—or a mix, if that's what you wish—and she'll spread an even layer on your toast for you. Then, you decorate it with M&Ms or chocolate rice or... the edible glitter."

Chef Yamazaki was about to say something about the final station they were assessing when, from a distance behind us, someone called out to our school's culinary dean.

"Allan. You're still here?"

It was L'assiette's representative. The one who had been extremely critical of Leroy's phad thai and had publicly claimed that should his dish be the standard of our school, L'assiette would have no issue at all with this year's W-interschool. I had wholly understood where he was coming from at that point in time with the gimmicky, colour-changing food but he'd said something about Michelin star restaurants and put Leroy in the worst mood imaginable that I had to call him an idiot three times before he eventually returned to his original state of indecent fingers.

"Oh. Well... yes. We still have ten more minutes," Chef Allan checked the time, appearing rather confused. "You're done with the shelter?"

"We finished pretty quickly," said the culinary dean of CSS, flashing a quick but oddly uncertain smile as she tailed Chef Henri Pierre. "Ah. This is your last station?"

"Yes. It's—"

"You call this dessert?"

Chef Pierre had taken one long look at the kids sprinkling glitter over their Princess Toast before striding over and scoffing at the bowls of marshmallow fluff. Right in front of Birchwood and the children. "Miss Birchwood. What happened to extravagance? Weeks ago, you were walking up to the table with a stunning black forest chocolate tree. What is this?"

At once, the pair of judges who had been harmlessly making their proper rounds according to the schedule were stunned into silence. The facilitators who'd arrived together with Chef Pierre and the culinary dean of CSS, too, appeared speechless, unable to act in an instant. I, myself, hadn't expected this level of sheer... insensitivity. At once, I was feeling embarrassed, outraged and bewildered by his absurd behaviour.

"Firstly, this was not my idea."

Birchwood was in the middle of preparing a nice bed of marshmallow fluff for another girl's Princess Toast and had stood up as soon as she'd slid it in front of her guest to decorate but every child at the table was looking up at the silly culinary dean going red-faced at some toast. It was downright embarrassing, to say the least.

"I didn't come up with any of this. Second, I coloured the marshmallow fluff with strawberry and blueberry compote—all natural—and you haven't even tasted it. Third, you really think kids are going to like the classy desserts I usually do? Sorry, hah, but I'm here to win, so... by the way, I'm telling my dad about this... PMS of yours. Your mood swings are waaay worse than anything I'd ever seen, so. Shoo. Go away. We're full here. You'll have to wait till it's your turn to sprinkle some glitter."

Needless to say, I was blown away by the sheer embodiment of royalty in her very words but even then, I could not help but worry for her scores and subsequent status. While she was the daughter of our school's headmaster, I wasn't too sure if this warranted immunity from elimination since, well... that would most certainly be cause for concern. Chef Allan, a close friend of both L'assiette's culinary dean and Birchwood's father, had sought to diffuse the situation while some kids, including boys, were already abandoning their Princess Toast and running off to tell Mrs. Tea at the fish taco station.

"Henri. I understand where you're coming from but this isn't the right time or place to be speaking like that. You're embarrassing a student in front of her guests. Who are very, very young. You have to be sensitive... we're representing our schools out here."

"Allan," Chef Pierre nearly laughed. "Don't tell me you don't faint at the sight of one-dimensional, gimmicky garbage like this. Nothing about it refined or technically challenging. You're expecting me to grade a dish anyone else can make by slapping some store-bought—"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I believe the nice student over here has made her point. She'd re-calibrated the taste of the marshmallow fluff knowing that it would be one-dimensional, adding natural flavours to it using fruit compotes, which I'm sure she is familiar with." Chef Yamazaki was a guest judge and had thus appeared unfamiliar with most of the primary judges. It was after stepping in that Chef Pierre actually registered his presence. "Not to mention, the pumpkin bread was handmade and toasted to perfection. I wouldn't say boulangerie isn't 'technically challenging'.

"Either way, if my daughter were here, I'm pretty sure she would, um, unfortunately be staying at this station throughout the entire party," he'd added light-heartedly, flashing a gentle smile. "I think... it's important to know our guests, above everything else. What I cook at home will always be different from what I cook in my restaurant."

Birchwood and I exchanged a look of relief but neither of us made a move to continue whatever it was we were doing until the judges decided to dissolve the impromptu meeting of seeming aggression held over a table of desserts and allow the kids to return.

On the bright side, most of them seemed to have noticed the commotion and had, after hearing about what had happened from their peers, decided to drop by my fruit-cutting station. It eased the two of us back into our duties and soon, I was finding myself swarmed with children digging for alphabets in their names and slicing them into watermelons and cantaloupes. Some had decided to go for just stars and hearts but that, too, was entirely fine since the fruit did end up going in their systems. Leftovers were put aside for blending purposes after clean-up.

"Hello. Do you need any help?" I said to a girl who'd come by without company, recognizing her as the one I'd seen gazing out of the window with a book on her lap earlier this afternoon. Not quite participating in the activities that the other children were enjoying together. In fact, I'd seen Mrs. Tea propel her in the direction of our interactive dessert station in what I assumed was an attempt to get her involved.

"So um. Do you prefer watermelons or cantaloupes? If you haven't had these, I guarantee they are the sweetest slices of fruit," I pushed the trays of fruit her way for some form of a reaction. After pausing, she'd pointed at the cantaloupes. Ah! An adventurer. Most of the kids had went for the familiar watermelons.

After selecting a nice big slice of the pale orange fruit, I let her pick the cookie cutters. At this, she appeared visibly hesitant.

"Um," I sat beside her. Mildly anxious. "Is... is something the matter?"

"I don't like my name."

"Oh! And... well," I'd managed without sounding too surprised. Inside, I was experiencing quite the earthquake, hearing something I'd most likely said so myself when I was a lot younger. "Why not?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Brilliant!" I told her, refusing to give in despite her sour mood. "We have something in common. I assure you; no one has ever beaten me in the game of 'I have the most embarrassing name in the world.'"

Enthused, I'd proceeded to search for cookie cutters of my own and cut the treacherous word out of beautiful cantaloupe, skewering each piece as I sliced. Once finished, I'd held it up for her to see. "Imagine having this as your name! And as a male species of the human race."

Thank the gods of rolling pins—she actually laughed.

"Okay... that's totally embarrassing."

Humoured by her reaction, we partook in a short conversation about our ages (she was ten, and much older than the other kids here) and hobbies while she spelt out her name in cantaloupe. L-O-T-U-S.

"That's a flower!" I'd exclaimed, thoroughly offended by her prior embarrassment. "It's a beautiful name."

"No," she'd rolled her eyes and huffed. "The root has so many holes in them and it's so ugly... and... my acne... just makes it worse. School sucks."

I paused; oddly speechless. The look in her eyes felt almost familiar in that instant and I, afraid to dwell in waters close to the heart, channelled a furious wave towards dry shores. "Wait here."

Most of the lotus chips were gone by the time I'd made my way over but I was certain a handful of them would make my point so I brought them over to the dessert station and placed them right in front of her. "These were what all of them were scrambling for as soon as the party started. Try it."

She had blinked at the form of lotus root she never seemed to have witnessed in her entire life, gingerly picking up a chip before nibbling at a corner and then sending it into her jaws whole. "It's... really good. I thought they were slimey and... weird. But this tastes totally different!"

I nodded in perfect agreement, arms folded, proud of a certain idiot's work. "And you're not the only one who thinks so! They're almost out. How about I get the chef to make an extra portion for you to bring to school? Share them with your classmates and they, too, will come to realise how delicious lotus roots are. And how beautiful your name is!"

In the time I'd disappeared to return the bowl of lotus root chips to their rightful station, someone extremely additional and unnecessary had the audacity to take over my station a-a-and my precious conversational guest. The intention had been to send him back to his fried chicken place but Lotus had, in a lovely and excitable disposition, waved as I neared and mouthed the word 'chef' whilst pointing at the lotus root chips on a napkin by her cantaloupe.

Leroy, apparently free from his shift, had raised a skewer in his hand with a criminal smirk of his. 'Impress me.' It spelt. The nerve of him to add a watermelon heart behind it! And and and hand it to me as though this was... this was a—

===============

By the time we'd cleaned up and ended the new year's party with sparklers for wish-making and resolution setting, Chen had gathered the thirty of us before a laptop broadcasting a livestream of the results. Some of the kids, curious and all, had joined us in hopes of celebrating a nice little victory.

The announcement began on a long and confusing note of elimination rubrics before finally revealing the overall ranking of each school and the subsequent members who'd passed the round on each team. According to the system, only fifteen participants from each school could make it to the next round.

The team had neither burst into shrieks of despair or cries of joy upon registering the number 'two' beside our school's name but instead, had fallen into an uncanny silence as soon as the elimination board came up onto the screen. The first couple of names were uninteresting, if not expected. Chen, Leroy and Si Yin had all made it through to the third round. At number fifteen, however... was an odd arrangement that had some of us thoroughly confused.

V. J. White / V. Birchwood