“Chef! Someone wants to talk to you!”

The green skinned figure looked up, surprise bleeding into his look of concentration. Dark purple eyes narrowed, irritation replacing the surprise and as he went back to his work. Fire danced before him, a large hand shaking a pan over the flame as the other pushed a wooden spoon through the pan’s contents. “I am busy,” he grumbled as he manipulated the ingredients. The spoon rose to his lips, lips smacked as he nodded at the taste. A pinch of fine grey powder fell into the pan and he continued his work. “They can wait.”

The young woman shook her head, pointed ears poked through flaxen hair as she stepped next to him, a new spoon drifting closer to the pan. “He looks awful serious Chef. Says it’s real important that he talks to you.”

He slapped her hand with his spoon, grinning tuskily at her yelp. Turning away, still holding the pan, he peered out the kitchen window into the busy room. It was not long until he saw a well-dressed man sitting in the corner. As if feeling the chef’s gaze, the man raised a hand, a bright gold ring shining in the light. The chef sighed heavily, nodding back and poured the pan’s contents onto a plate. “Guess you’re right. Better go see what he wants.” He handed the steaming plate to a server and gave the pan to the woman, smiling as she tasted the remnants within. “Make an order of the special and bring it to go will you please? Tea as well. Thank you, Melody.”

The man rose as the chef approached, arms outstretched. “Eyezyk Iron Fang! How’s the best orc chef in the city?” Eyezyk smiled back and hugged the man fondly, squeezing with broad arms and enjoying feeling the man wince. “Busy as usual. You know better than to come bother me during the early dinner rush.” He let the man go and they both sat down. Every other table was full of patrons, customers ate with gusto, the satisfied ones leaving full and soon replaced by those eager and hungry. Savory aromas warred with each other in the air, whetting the appetite and building anticipation. Eyezyk looked the man up and down and took in his richly crafted suit. “You are looking good Leon. Fatter though. What is the matter? Too much sitting managing your empire? You need to get back into a hot kitchen.”

Leon Richards grimaced, mock affront crossing his face as he patted his stomach ruefully. “Jealousy is an ugly color Eyezyk, or maybe you’re green with envy?” The human smirked at the orc’s groan. “I put my time into the kitchen, built a chain and am comfortably ensconced as a leader of a rising food company. Something you could do too you know.” Another grin as the orc groaned again.

Eyezyk rolled his eyes, waving away the old argument. “Thank you, Melody,” he said to the elvish girl, gratefully accepting the steaming mug of tea. He sipped the acrid brew, breathing a sigh of relief at the momentary respite from the busy kitchen. He peered closely at Leon, eyes focused through the steam. “Now, as much as I enjoy your visits I know this is not a social call. You know better than to come when the restaurant is busy. What do you need?”

Leon sipped from his own mug, rolling a mouthful of tea in his mouth before swallowing. “I have a job for you my friend. A favor.”

Purple eyes rolled deep in their sockets. “Have your skills atrophied so much that you need to hire a chef? Do you not have an army of them in your company? I am sure many would fight to cook for their glorious leader.” Eyezyk sighed deeply, “If you must have me cater for you I shall. My costs are high but you can afford them.”

The orc smiled at Leon’s snort. “Don’t you start with me. I taught you what you know and can cook you under the table any day.” It was Eyezyk’s turn to snort and the man continued. “No, I need your other skill set, arguably your better one.”

A thoughtful look replaced the mirth on Eyezk’s face. “I do not really do that anymore. You know that, as well as the reason.”

Leon waved a hand, brushing away the protest. “I know you’re still the very best gourmet investigator the Agency ever had. I know you were called Eyezyk Golden Tongue because your palate is almost divine in nature.” He ignored the look of embarrassment that appeared. “You still hold the record for finding the most new ingredients in the history of modern cooking. You were the one that found the ancient sources of now widely used spices. People wouldn’t have access to cheaper Shire Pepper if you didn’t find them and worked hard to make them available. Kalen water, void grouse, golden burdock, frosted chilis, deeper seaweed, do I need to go on?”

Eyezyk’s lips spread wider and wider as the list grew, eyes peering away into the depths of memories as Leon spoke. However, the smile faded as memories turned bitter. Leon nodded sympathetically, following the orc’s thoughts. “You quit after those critics got jealous. They felt you were only worth as a finder and not a cook. They likened you to a truffle hunter. You quit and clawed your way through the kitchens, fought hard and cooked harder. Now you run one of the busiest and best restaurants in the world, while they choke on their words.” The man sipped from his mug, letting the sounds of eating customers fill the space. “You proved them wrong my friend. No one is prouder than I.”

Eyezyk smiled softly, eyes watching people eat food, his food. The room was filled with the sounds of cutlery on plates, sounds of appreciation and satisfaction punctuated by laughter and kind words. Leon held his mug up in salute and Eyezky tapped it with his own with appreciation. Seeing the orc in a more amiable mood the man reached to his side, setting a metal container onto the table between them. The lid came off and Eyezyk breathed deep, stopping as the scent reached his nose. His eyes widened and Leon nodded. “Doesn’t that smell incredible? Wait until you taste it.”

The orc fished out a spoon from his coat pocket, pulling the vessel closer to him. He breathed deep, inhaling the heady aroma, letting it fill his senses. Already he could pick out a few ingredients: some sort of fowl, a woody scent that spoke of roots, a spicy afternote. He peered into the container, surprised to see a clear broth filling it. It glinted in the light, absolutely devoid of anything within allowing him to see the sides and bottom of the container. The spoon slipped into the liquid, breaking through the surface easily but somehow felt heavy, pulling on the spoon. Eyezyk pulled the spoon out, admiring the golden soup and finally brought it to his lips.

Eyezyk almost gasped audibly, his eyes widened with wonder as the soup passed his lips, rolled over his tongue, and flowed down his throat. It was similar to many soups he had before: a clear broth akin to a consommé, rich in taste yet uncomplicated, the mouth tingled with spice. However, the taste was almost foreign, a sum of the parts that he had never experienced before. He looked back into the container with wonder.

Leon smiled at the orc’s reaction. “Right? Isn’t it incredible?” He reached out and tapped the vessel. “This is why I need your expertise. My chefs can’t figure it out, even the food scientists are having trouble figuring out the parts. If anyone can, it’s you.”

A dark green eyebrow rose. “Why do you not ask the chef who made it?”

Leon shrugged, a quizzical expression appearing. “Because the place it came from disappeared.” He colored at Eyezyk’s snort. “No seriously! One of my assistants went to one of those pop-up places. Tasted the soup and was floored. The chef wouldn’t meet with her and she bought out all the store had. When she tried to go back the next day the chef was gone, one of those temporary wanderer types.”

Another half-hearted shrug. “The owner barely had a name much less any other info. My people went through a lot of what we had trying to figure it out and well, we haven’t come close.” He smiled widely as Melody brought him a container of food. “Thanks my dear,” he said as he happily accepted the food, slipping her a few bills despite her protests. He turned back to the orc. “So, tell me my friend. Don’t you want to try and figure it out? I can see that light in your eyes, Eyezyk Iron Fang, the Golden Tongue does not back down from a challenge.”

Eyezyk didn’t say anything, still savoring the taste. He sighed indulgently, giving a reluctant nod and ignoring the man’s laughter. As Leon rose the orc looked at him. “What happens if I figure it out?”

Leon smiled through a mouthful of noodles, not bothering to wait. “When you figure it out, you’ll tell me how to make one version and you will make your own. Everyone wins.” He left the restaurant waving, “Take your time, it’s in good hands now.”

As the restaurant slowed from the lunch rush, Eyezk stood in the part of the kitchen affectionately called the Alchemist’s Corner. Here was Eyezyk’s private part of the kitchen, his favorite utensils and equipment, personal books, and the rarest of ingredients stood apart from the rest. The metal vessel sat on the counter, its precious contents shining in the light. It seemed to give off a palpable aura, not just of smell but sight. An aurora of light danced above the open container and Eyezyk watched it carefully.

“Hmm, this will be tricky,” he murmured to himself as he tapped a spoon against his lips. “It really is different from any soup I have had before. I can taste some of the ingredients like volcanic salt, ditch-nettle peppercorns, and some kind of poultry. Yet the amount of each makes a profound difference.” Shaking his head, he clapped his hands together, a look of resolving replacing passive contemplation. “Every soup starts the same: a foundation of stock.”

Crystal clear water from the mountain springs filled a tall silver pot, a flash of the knife cut apart a gold quality stone grouse, sinking gently to the bottom of the pot. Eyezyk sniffed delicately at his root locker, selecting new potatoes and celeriac. Soon the pot bubbled away, a vigorous simmer that released clouds of aromatic steam as they popped. The chef nodded with satisfaction, “Yes, like any home, a sound foundation is needed. I am sure this will prove to be the bones of the soup.”

After hours of bubbling, moments during service where he returned to skim off fat and impurity, the stock had reduced slightly. The once transparent liquid approaching a brownish hue from the ingredients it held. The orc poured a measure into a small tasting saucer, admiring the thin consistency. “Hmm, yes, a start,” he murmured as he tasted it. “Not nearly approaching the body however…” He resisted tasting the other soup again, wanting to approach it with a clearer palate. “Perhaps a combination of meat. Yes, some gilded duck would do well. It will impart a richer flavor that will enhance the grouse.”

Days passed. While never neglecting his restaurant, Eyezyk spent most of his time in the Alchemist’s Corner. The pot never ceased to simmer, it’s ingredients constantly replaced and replenished as the orc chef continued to experiment. Some days entire batches had to be eliminated due to incorrectly added ingredients: sky beans had caused the stock to cloud and flavor to muddle. He was sure aged rice wine would add depth to the soup yet it reacted with the cloud parsnip making the broth taste like vinegar and brine. Flashes of inspiration stayed away crushing defeat. A sip of tarbean tea gave him the idea to blend the tea into the stock, adding a bitter note that elevated the sweetness from the ice carrots. He chanced upon a school of Miso sardines at the docks, small fish that when cooked released clouds of umami flavor that drastically increased the richness.

He spent his few times away from the kitchen at the markets, traveling even to the outer farmlands for the freshest produce. Gleefully he bought a supply of ginger barley, rarely seen out of season. They helped clear away crude impurities in the broth. A farmer friend gave him an extra-large shipment of cerulean eggs, laid at random by rainbow chickens, they gave off deep richness and sweetness the longer they boiled. Every day he cooked, experimented, reaching closer and closer to his goal.

The orc clenched his massive green fists, half in exultation and half in despair. He had finally gotten so close, a quarter of a teaspoon’s breadth away from the final product. He stared at the gleaming liquid in the container, much reduced after careful measured tastes. His eyes flicked back to the pot containing his own creation. If he had not tasted the original, he would be perfectly happy with his soup. It glinted with the same golden hue the mystery soup did, the smell was *almost* the same. Only when you tasted them side by side did you realize that the original had that one more step, that last bit of flavor that made the delicious extraordinary. Most of his staff had told him what he made was more than good enough, and while he agreed that it was good it was not what he wanted. Not yet.

A soft clink at his side made him turn and he peered down at Melody smiling up at him, offering him a glass. “You’ve been working real hard chef. For a while now, you should take a break.” He was about to brush her off, mind still snarling at the obstacle before him. However, her bright green eyes chased away the fog of his frustration and he smiled tiredly, accepting the glass of cool water. He drank thirstily, letting the sweet liquid rejuvenate him. The elvish girl peered into the pot and sniffed appreciatively. “Smells really good chef, is it done?”

He handed her a spoon. “Not quite Melody, how about you give it a taste.” He watched as she happily dunked the spoon into the pot, blowing on the steaming soup before sipping it. Her eyes closed dreamily as she licked the spoon and her lips clean. “That taste’s great! Really rich but has a clean after taste, that’s from the cerulean eggs, right?”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, watching her drink another spoonful. “Very good, exactly that. Your palate is improving.” He looked away from her blush and pointed an accusing finger at the metal container sitting next to the pot. “Unfortunately, it is not yet that. I have been trying to cook something that is similar to that soup yet it is not same.”

She quirked a honey gold eyebrow at him. “Don’t you say that we should cook our version of things? That it’s no use to mimic something someone else made?”

He snorted reluctantly. “Well, yes that is true. However, I was hired to recreate that as closely as possible. After I can do that I will make my own.” At her inquiring glance he nodded assent, and she withdraw a tiny spoonful of the mystery concoction from its dwindling supply. She sipped it slowly, letting it roll over her tongue.

“Wow, I can see what you mean. That tastes really good, must be better when it’s fresh.” She smiled broadly, a dimple appearing in her cheek as she drank more of his creation. “I prefer your soup though chef, it tastes happier to me.”

“Flattery will not aid you overmuch,” he replied secretly pleased by her praise. He covered darkening green skin by throwing a towel at the giggling elf. “Do not drink all of that either, I am still trying to perfect it.”

She giggled more, pouring out a small bowl and ignoring his scowl. “No really, yours is a lot better. I can taste a lot of the ingredients in your soup and how they work. The only thing I can taste from the other one is fireweed.” She continued to slurp happily, only realizing how slow the orc had become with her statement. “Something wrong chef?”

“A-Are you certain? Fireweed?” It was an effort to keep his jaw from falling open as he stared at the girl. “It is….fireweed? Not swamp chilies?” He rushed to a cabinet, throwing the doors opening and rifling through the containers with manic energy. Containers and packages flew over his shoulders as the girl watched mouth agape, she’s never seen him act this way. “No chef, it’s fireweed. Probably a blend of them. It’s an elvish spice mix, a cooking tradition where every home has their own special blend. This one tastes a lot like my mother’s.”

A variety of jars hit the table and Eyezyk popped off their lids. He breathed deeply of each, finally recognizing the elusive smell that had escaped him for so long. He had thought it was a combination of other spices, ingredients of something else. He knew the flavors of the different fireweeds yet he never cooked them in a combination of each other, having never heard of a blend of them. He gestured at the girl, eager motions that made her beam and rush over.

An hour later they looked at the new pot bubbling on the stove top. With careful sips from the original the two had come to what they believed to be the correct ratio of fireweeds: a combination of firey blue, seaweed red, and mossy white. They ground the spices together, toasted the mix over a fire before sprinkling it into the soup. Another strain through a chinois and the new golden broth simmered before them. His hand shook as he lifted a spoon to his lips, and as he drank he felt days of effort slide off his shoulders. Weeks’ worth of frustration dissipated as the soup flowed down his throat, warming him from within. He nodded almost drunkenly at Melody’s similar moan of appreciation. “Thank you Melody,” he said. His voice shook with pregnant emotion, appreciation.

The girl blushed furiously, straight to her ear tips. “Oh, well, I’m happy to help chef!” she chirped as she slurped happily at her bowl. “Never would’ve thought something simple as a fireweed mix would be what you needed.” She licked her lips as she refilled her bowl. “Still think yours is better though.”

He grinned back. “You might be right. Drink to your heart’s content. I am going to call Leon and then I will return, for the real work.”

She looked back confused. “Real work?”

His smile turned almost predatory. “Why yes. Like you said earlier, we made something similar. Now we must make something better."