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Chapter 26 - Draining
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 18:00:04 +0000 UTC“He does not like you,” Brûlée told Julienne during their second week of lessons.
Julienne watched as Orzo grabbed Yarrow’s shoulder and laughed over some inside joke.
“He’s been nice to me,” Julienne argued.
“No. He’s acted nice. His nice toward you is not like his nice toward us.”
“I mean, he’s tested me, but he’s just trying to teach me.”
Julienne had grown used to Orzo’s trials. The Head Chef often removed ingredients or added unneeded ones, challenging Julienne to find the difference in the essence.
“He doesn’t like my father, either,” Brûlée said. “But he likes Yarrow. He gives him much more attention.”
Orzo kissed his fingers after tasting from Yarrow’s spoon.
“Yarrow has a lot of potential,” Julienne reasoned.
“And you don’t?”
“Maybe I’m just a more finished product.” Julienne flashed a sarcastic grin. But when he turned back to his cooking, he frowned.
He no longer hated his cousin—just his voice and the way he acted and the threat he posed. But so far in Julienne’s summer in Labrusca, that was as good of company as he could get. Yarrow had given up his position as Julienne’s shadow in favor of becoming Orzo’s. Mindy worked in another kitchen with a handful of Saucelleries. Oliver could only be found for a brief moment in the afternoon between his waking up and his going to enjoy Toral’s nightlife. Good for them, bad for Julienne’s loneliness.
Not that there weren’t those clamoring for Julienne’s attention. His parents had invited him to cook for them time and time again, but he excused himself by claiming exhaustion. They never heard that he was tired and offered to cook for him. They didn’t ask about his life. They just wanted a meal by a Julienne.
And they were just the start of it. Half a dozen representatives came to the royal palace each day to try to get their restaurant on Julienne’s schedule, but he was already booked five nights a week and didn’t want to push Yarrow and Mindy to seven nights. With the exception of Brûlée, the students of the Lyceum made transparent attempts to ingratiate themselves with Julienne, touting their skills in the hope that Julienne might invite them to work at Cafe Julienne.
When he was alone, Julienne wanted company. But when the dishonest and the sycophants and the ladder-climbers came to him, he wanted to be alone. A general sense of stress overwhelmed him, pushing the floor of his stomach up and serving as a springboard for his reflux. The acid burned his throat as Orzo left Yarrow and approached Julienne.
“Petit Julienne! What are you making today?”
Julienne snapped up straight, taking on his best formal kitchen posture. “A quiche, Chef. Focusing on perfecting the texture. We’ll be serving it tonight at Chateau Chervil, so I wanted to practice this afternoon. I am just about to put this in the oven.”
“Ah, very good, very good.” Orzo grinned and slapped Julienne’s back once, twice, three times, each one being a little harder. “While it bakes, perhaps you and your cousin will be up for a little one-on-one challenge to entertain the class? I think everyone is ready for a break, no?”
Orzo turned and nearly yelled as he spoke, prompting the class to laugh and confirm. “Yes, Chef!”
Julienne couldn’t say no. “Yes, Chef. I’ll get this in the oven right away and then we can begin.”
Every eye in the kitchen followed Julienne as he put his quiche in the oven. When he returned, a single slice of mushroom had been placed at his station.
“We’ll be making a simple dish with a complication,” Orzo explained loud enough for the entire class to hear. “Cream of mushroom. Made with a single mushroom.”
Julienne’s mind started whirring and his stomach settled. He let the stress of cooking wash away the stress of life—he found it much preferable. “Other ingredients?” he asked.
“Anything you’d like so as long as you don’t like a second mushroom,” Orzo laughed. “You have…let’s say half an hour. Begin!”
Julienne opened the flue to let the stove heat up, tossing some butter and olive oil in a pot before going to grab the rest of his ingredients. He put two onions in the crook of his arm and smashed garlic between his wrists as he ran back to the stove.
He cut along the grain of the onion to keep them intact throughout the cooking process. With only one slice of mushroom, he needed the onions to make up the texture of the dish. His knife made quick work of the first onion, chop-chop-chop-chop.
Brûlée made quicker work of his. He ran his knife gently over the surface of the onion, using essence to split it into thin slices. By the time Julienne got to chopping his second onion, Brûlée already had two in the pot.
Once Julienne got his onion into the pot, he minced his garlic, rubbing it back and forth across a zester. Brûlée only needed to rub each clove twice across his zester to fully mince it.
Julienne clenched his teeth and told himself to stop looking at Brûlée. He needed to focus on his own work, and the biggest challenge of all had arrived. He grabbed the single slice of mushroom and assessed its essence. It seemed emptier than it should have been. Julienne wondered if Orzo truly didn’t like Julienne and perhaps sabotaged him with the weaker of the two mushrooms. He pushed the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t have emotion distracting him. He needed to get all of the flavor of the soup out of that one little slice.
The standard practice at Cafe Julienne was to start with too many ingredients—all of which were of higher quality than this puny slice of mushroom—and then combine them into single pieces of intense flavor. It was about maximizing total flavor, not getting the most flavor from each bit.
Julienne loved the challenge. He held the mushroom in both hands, his essence swarming through his body, his tongue sticking out and wriggling around in concentration. He added his essence to the mushroom until it couldn’t take anymore, then converted that essence into flavor, then loaded up the mushroom with essence again, then converted it, and so on and so on until the mushroom could handle no further manipulation.
Fearing the mushroom might explode, he set it gently into the pot and mixed it in with the onion and garlic. A couple sprigs of thyme joined the party, and Julienne set off for his other ingredients. As he walked past, he looked into Brûlée’s pot, which was full to the brim with mushrooms. Julienne smiled. Duplicating the mushroom that many times had surely deprived it of any flavor.
Focus. Focus. Don’t forget to breathe. In. In. In. Out.
Julienne found his ingredients and came back to his stove just in time to pour in the marsala wine. He stirred, letting the flavorful essence of the mushroom seep out into the wine. He added a dash of flour, let it cook, then added beef stock, drawing a couple of comments from the onlooking students. He looked over at Brûlée, who had added chicken stock. Julienne smiled again. Cream of mushroom was meant to be hearty, and while Julienne often made it with chicken stock, using beef stock in this instance would help cover the lack of mushroom.
“Interesting choices, interesting choices,” Orzo mused as he paced back and forth.
Julienne threw in salt, pepper, crumbled beef bouillon cubes, and gave it a few more stirs. He let the mushroom break apart and melt into the mixture, dispersing its flavor perfectly. He partially closed the flue for a lower heat, covered the pot, and smiled at himself. Brûlée was good. Probably better than Julienne. But he couldn’t have gotten more out of his ingredients than Julienne had.
But Brûlée wasn’t done adding ingredients. He crushed up dried seaweed and mixed it with miso paste and a dash of soy sauce, then added it all to his pot before covering it. Julienne wondered if such Urokan flavors were normal for Labruscans to include in their cream of mushroom.
The other students went back to prepare their stations for their next projects, leaving Julienne and Brûlée to stir their pots every few minutes. An inkling of doubt wormed its way into Julienne, compelling him to test the taste. He replaced doubt with confidence as he tasted the powerful mushroom in the soup.
Once the mixture thickened, Julienne reduced the heat again and poured in heavy cream, the white liquid quickly turning into a pale brown as he stirred. He salted and peppered to his taste, mixed in a bit of parsley, and stirred until Orzo called time.
“Let’s see what we have!” Orzo called the rest of the students to gather as Julienne and Brûlée poured their soups into bowls.
Julienne smiled at Yarrow, confident that he would win. He prepared a grand presentation worthy of Cafe Julienne, but Orzo was not interested. The Head Chef took a spoon and tried Julienne’s soup without warning.
“Mmm,” he moaned. “Delicious. But missing something. Let us see if our Brûlée has what I’m craving.”
Julienne flinched. Missing something? He tried a spoonful of soup. It was nearly as good as the cream of mushroom soups he had made without limitations. How could it be missing something?
Orzo dug his spoon through the mushrooms of Brûlée’s soup, took a bite, and tossed his spoon blindly behind him. A student had to duck out of the way to let the spoon fly past and clang to rest against the ground.
“Texture, petit Julienne. Texture. You used your mushroom for flavor, and did it well, but you did not have to. Our Brûlée here has found the solution. Recreate the umami of the mushroom with other ingredients, duplicate the mushroom for the appropriate texture. Well done, Brûlée.”
“Thank you, Chef,” Brûlée said.
Julienne clenched his jaw and looked down at his soup. He should have added celery. Maybe that would have done it.
“Oh, petit Julienne,” Orzo called out with sympathy. “Do not look so down! All students of the Lyceum come to the same sobering realization that you have—you simply cannot compare yourself to Brûlée.”
Julienne fought the urge to storm out. Ragged breaths hissed from his mouth, his stomach tensing up. The kitchen had turned from a sanctuary to a battleground, and everyone was against him. He missed Cafe Julienne.
“Oh, petit Julienne. You’ve forgotten your quiche. I’m afraid it’s burned by now.”
Yarrow knew not to mention the incident to Mindy. Or perhaps he didn’t think it was worth mentioning. When Mindy asked about their day, he only spoke of himself and how quickly he was progressing. Orzo seemed to be unlocking the potential of Yarrow that they all knew was there. Julienne didn’t know how. He wasn’t privy to their lessons.
Mindy had a similarly constructive streak of days, inspiring a menu change to inspire her recent revelation of chipotle tahini sauce. Julienne approved the change without a care. He hardly did any cooking, anyway.
They only spent one night at each restaurant, so Julienne spent most of his service on the dining floor schmoozing with anyone who might be a player in their grand truffle game. He only went in the kitchen long enough to convince the diners that he was the one making meals. Assuming Brûlée didn’t usurp his title, Julienne vowed that once he took charge of Cafe Julienne, it’d be all about the food. But in the meantime, his Labruscan tour continued, and the restaurants put big signs up days in advance advertising a night with Julienne.
Once they left the restaurant, they walked through a cloud of smoke where a Kuutsan man let people sample his tobacco. Julienne had heard the plant could help settle his nerves, but he had also heard it could affect his ability to taste. He was nearly desperate enough for comfort to make the sacrifice. Nearly. His taste was the only thing he could rely on. Without that, he’d truly be nothing.
At the end of each night, the carriage came to pick them up. Toral’s nightlife meant more than just all-night bars. The rivers were unsafe after dark, and King Verjus insisted upon a guarded carriage. Oliver managed just fine, staying late and slinking back through ways no one knew, but Julienne was given no other option. At least in the dark of the carriage, he could close his eyes and not be bothered by anyone.
Until he arrived to the royal keep, at least. Once there, some distant cousin always wanted a word. On this occasion, it was one of the few people that Julienne actually enjoyed seeing.
“Julienne! It’s been a minute,” Neccio said as he pulled Julienne away into a hallway with marble busts lining the wall. Yarrow and Mindy split to go to their rooms, unburdened by familial expectations.
“Uncle Neccio,” Julienne said with a smile. He stepped close to his uncle, using him as a shield as they walked through the halls of the keep. As long as they looked engaged, people would put off their attention seeking for another day. “I understand you’ve been busy at Second Courses.”
“Absolutely slammed. I’ve been meaning to make time for you, but we have every table reserved for the rest of the year, and there are still people of influence who want in. I’m sure you can relate at Cafe Julienne.”
Julienne nodded and chuckled. If anyone could understand the plight he faced of an in-demand restaurant, it was Neccio. Second Courses was his creation, named due to the restaurant’s promise that their second course could beat any other, and in just ten years of operation, it had become perhaps the most in-demand restaurant in Labrusca. Julienne thought that if his uncle kept it up, Neccio might don a white jacket before losing the rest of his hair.
Strangely, Second Courses was the only restaurant that didn’t ask Julienne’s team to cook for them. Julienne never asked why. It was nice to have a family member that didn’t want something from him.
“It’s alright, uncle. I’ve hardly had any time myself.” Julienne sighed. “I’d take a whole day off to sleep if my reflux would let me.”
“Ah, the old Allard belly’s got you already?” Neccio rubbed one hand on his bald head and the other on his belly. “No man in the family above the age of thirty has escaped it.”
“I didn’t even make it to twenty,” Julienne complained with a little hint of laughter at his own misery. “I can’t sleep on my right side anymore!”
Neccio laughed with his belly out. “For you to have it so early, it must be due to stress. Tell me…” He leaned in with a coy smile. “You’re not stressed out over anything, are you?”
Julienne looked through the corners of his eyes, containing his smile. Then they both burst out into laughter again.
“I’ll fix it for you,” Neccio said with a casualness that made Julienne gawk.
“You can fix it?”
“Not permanently. But temporarily. I’ll prepare a tonic. Go to bed. I’ll come by in an hour.”
“You can fix my problem in an hour?”
Neccio raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I am very good.”
Julienne laughed.
“Really!” Neccio continued. “I bow to one Chef and his name is—”
“Julienne,” Julienne finished.
Neccio’s smile disappeared. Julienne had deflated the music of their conversation in a single note. “Orzo,” Neccio corrected. His voice no longer bounced. “He should be a White Jacket like my brother. I’ll be by your room in an hour.”
Julienne watched Orzo leave, stunned by the shift in tone. It was as if the air itself had left the room. Julienne shivered in the vacuum and left for his room. As he neared, he heard Yarrow’s voice.
“...gruyere. Egg. Poached. Prosciutto. Now, the bread should be toasted so that only the edges have a hint of black. I do not want the middle of the bread burnt.”
Julienne turned the corner to see a butler writing down Yarrow’s order.
“Orange juice and a coffee. Some berries. Raspberries if we have them fresh. Some yogurt. Oatmeal. Bacon. And a banana. That’s all.”
“I’ll see to it.” The butler turned and smiled at Julienne as he approached. “Something for your breakfast, master Julienne?”
Julienne scrunched up his face in confusion. “Uh, no. No thank you.”
“Very well.” The butler marched away, and Julienne poked his head into Yarrow’s room.
“You have them making breakfast for you?”
Yarrow did not look away from the mirror. He wore two different shoes and inspected how they looked at different angles. “I’m meeting Head Chef Orzo early in the morning and don’t want to expend any essence.”
Julienne watched Yarrow for a moment. At that moment, he felt no closer to his fellow student than he did the random family members that drifted through the keep. “Your lessons have been going well. I’ve seen the improvement.”
Yarrow flashed the side of his shoe in the mirror and shook his head. “You’d really see it if Head Chef Orzo didn’t completely deplete me of essence in our lessons. It’s why I’ve been eating such big breakfasts.”
“Well…” Julienne waited for Yarrow to look up, but he never did. “I’m glad you’re feeling at home.”
“I can’t wait to show your uncle what I can do,” Yarrow sneered. “He’ll eat any doubts he’s ever had about me.”
Julienne frowned. “He’s the one who told me to hire you. He saw your potential.”
“Hm.” Yarrow kicked off one shoe, putting on another to match his other foot. “I don’t think he’s done much to cultivate it.”
Julienne just watched as Yarrow continued inspecting his shoes. “Well. Goodnight, Yarrow.”
“Goodnight, Julienne.”
Julienne considered checking on Mindy, but didn’t want to risk her disappointing him too. He turned in for the night, sitting on his bed and processing things until Neccio knocked on the door.
“I’ve brought the cure to your ailment,” he nearly sang in an operatic voice. The music had returned twofold, sending deep echoes into the hallway. He rushed to sit next to Julienne, holding up a corked vial of some black liquid that left brown residue when it sloshed.
Julienne took the vial and held it up to his face, inspecting the liquid. “Vanilla?”
“Mostly.”
“And it’ll fix my stomach?”
“Temporarily.”
Julienne laughed. “How much of it do I drink?”
“Oh, an eighth or so. I’ll be sure to make more for you. You’ll have to take it every night. But before you do, you must do a little ritual. Your acid is worse from stress, so this is a technique to reduce the stress. While holding the vial, just like that, say very, very specifically where you are. It will help ground you in your present state.”
Julienne chuckled. “Head Chef Orzo had me do the same thing. With the vanilla and everything.”
“Ha! Head Chef Orzo and I, birds of a feather. Perhaps he learned it from me.”
Julienne tilted the vial around, watching the brown of the vanilla fade from the ends of the glass.
“Well,” Neccio said. The music was gone again. “Go ahead.”
Julienne frowned. Something about the ritual felt too personal to do in company. “The southeast wing—”
“Specific,” Neccio interrupted.
“I am sitting in bed—”
“Deliberately,” Neccio interrupted again. “You must feel where you are as you say it.”
Julienne took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I am sitting in bed in the southeast wing of the royal keep in Toral in Labrusca.”
“And drink.”
Julienne popped the cork open and took a swig from the vial. Countless flavors assaulted his senses. Sweet, creamy, flora, but burning, smoky, and buttery. He struggled to swallow and struggled to imagine that it would help. But he placed his trust in his uncle.
“Watch,” Neccio said. The music had returned. “You will sleep through the night. No acid. A restful sleep.”
And he was right. When Julienne woke up in the morning, he couldn’t remember turning over even a single time, and Yarrow had already left for the Lyceum.
