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“Yeah. It needs to start simmering or it's going to be tough.”
“Got it,” she said as she grabbed a whole rabbit from the hotel pan and started to work.
Magnus truly thanked his lucky stars every day. Veronica, straight out of culinary school had come to apply to work in his kitchen at The Park. She'd worked the line, mostly salads which was a total waste of her talent. She was efficient and knew how to take orders.
Once upon a time he'd even tried to date her. It had only taken one night for them to realize that they were better suited as friends rather than lovers. As much as he intellectually thought that he needed a sweet, biddable woman, he knew that wasn't the case. He was into sassy, self-assured women who took absolutely no bullshit. Women like Caroline. Seeing as how he was one of the Transfigured, it was unlikely that Caroline would be attracted to him. He found that most human women tended to be turned off by it. Not that he could really blame them. Humans were the only producers of the thing that the Transfigured truly needed to live. Blood.
Sure, the Transfigured still ate food. That was more out of habit than any physical need, though. That always sparked a question from every reporter he'd ever spoken to. Since he didn't technically need to eat, why food? Why cooking?
From a young age, he'd known what he wanted to do. Even after he'd been tested and it was discovered that he was Transfigured, that hadn't stopped him. A man had to do something with his life. Especially if he was going to be living it indefinitely.
He heard that some of the Transfigured stopped eating after the change happened. He couldn't imagine a world without food, though. It was his passion, and the best way that he knew how to communicate with the world at large. God knew, he didn't want to talk to them directly.
With the rabbit finally simmering in the combination of Madeira and stock, he moved on to the next entree. He cursed the seasonal, ever changing menu even though it was his own. He'd put a fresh mushroom ravioli dish on there, which meant that he got to make them from scratch every night.
By the end of his shift, he was exhausted. Though he wanted nothing more than to go home and relax, there was prep to do and apparently some gin drinks he was supposed to be trying.
He had just finished wrapping the last of the leftovers from dinner service. Tomorrow they'd be donated to one of the local homeless shelters by one of the day staff. He didn't want to serve day old food to the customers but he thought it was wasteful to throw it away, too. When he'd approached Lilly with the idea, she'd agreed, and coordinated with the rest of the restaurants in the hotel to set it up.
He glanced up at the wall clock impatiently. Christ, how long did it take to mix a drink?
Seconds later she popped through the door and said, “Sorry about that. We had someone who got a little drunk and wouldn't take the hint to leave.”
“Must be a pain in the ass,” he commiserated. “Like those bastards that come in and sit down twenty minutes before closing.”
“The worst,” she agreed. “Anyway. Drinks are ready.”
“Be right in. I need paper and pen.”
She nodded and said, “’Kay. See you in a minute then.”
He watched her walk away, noticing that this time she wore what looked like fuzzy slippers on her feet. With a smirk, he went into the small office. He snagged a notebook and pen off the desk and then went in search of Caroline.
He found her on one of the stools in front of the bar. Her eyes were closed as she stretched her arms above her head. Her moan of pleasure bordered on obscene.
Desperate to tamp down his x-rated thoughts, he cleared his throat and said, “Caroline?”
Her chocolate brown eyes opened and she said, “Sorry, sorry. Haven't had a chance to sit all night. But, here you go.”
“Me either,” he griped, grabbing the stool next to her. “What have we got here?”
“This one,” she said, pointing at a murky purple concoction, “is lavender infused gin, Earl Grey tea, and simple syrup.”
He blinked at her, confused when she picked up an orange peel and a lighter. Mystified, he watched as she warmed it and then rubbed the skin against the rim of the glass. When she waved her hand, he said, “Smart. The essential oils add flavor and scent without messing with the color of the drink.”
Tentatively, he took a sip. He wasn't certain how infused the gin was. Lavender could be incredibly overpowering. He could only taste the faintest hint, though. The flavor was complex and layered. It was pretty damn good. As the he pulled the glass back, the citrus scent hit him again.
“Wow. That's really good,” he said, setting the glass down. He began writing notes. A lavender smoked duck breast. Pink in the middle. Carrots, zucchini and squash with tarragon.
“You don't have to sound shocked,” she responded, dryly. “You're not the only professional that works here, ya know?”
Magnus held up his hands and said, “Truce, truce. I was a dick earlier. It's a bad habit of mine. I was only paying you a compliment, Caroline.”
“Thank you,” she said, stiffly. “This one is a play on a martini. It's got gin, lychee and cranberry.”
He studied the light pink beverage and chuckled. “I feel so manly drinking all these pastel drinks.”
“Most of the patrons in the bar are men. I'm hoping some of the fruitier drinks will draw more female clientele. I'm sure your manhood will be fine.”
