The chef was right. C'kayah had to give him that, he was right about Kaurwa, with it's intense flavors. Many so-called chefs sought intense flavors by simply maximizing what is already there: salt; spice; garlic; heat. Their Kaurwa was noticeable, yes, but forgettable. Uninspired.
He smiled at the dancers as they swayed to another table, then turned his attention to Snarl again. He used rigatoni. An interesting choice for the intensely flavorful Kaurwa. The pasta would trap more of the sauce, but not more of the larger ingredients: the cheese, the olives. He grinned as Snarl spoke of the parsley - an herb many considered to be inconsequential. An ornament. Both Miqo'te knew what it could add to a dish.
Finally the plate arrived, borne by first one then the other of the dancers. He looked down at it. The sauce shining wetly in the afternoon light, filling only the ends of the rigatoni's tubes. Parsley flecks greeted his eye, the chef hadn't overcooked them, and they promised a green tang to the dish. The olives were small, and halved, each with it's own little cargo of sauce. He took the fork and bit. It was spicy, yes, as it should be but no more than that. The olives retained their unique flavor, as did the parsley. He could taste the salt of it, but it didn't overwhelm him, while the cheese added both a snap as well as helping to mingle the flavors. And last of all was the aftertaste of the oil: sweet and bright as a new day. He smiled.
"This", he said, gesturing with his fork, "is nicely done. You have an appreciation for food, and that's not something that can be overstated."
He smiled at the dancers as they swayed to another table, then turned his attention to Snarl again. He used rigatoni. An interesting choice for the intensely flavorful Kaurwa. The pasta would trap more of the sauce, but not more of the larger ingredients: the cheese, the olives. He grinned as Snarl spoke of the parsley - an herb many considered to be inconsequential. An ornament. Both Miqo'te knew what it could add to a dish.
Finally the plate arrived, borne by first one then the other of the dancers. He looked down at it. The sauce shining wetly in the afternoon light, filling only the ends of the rigatoni's tubes. Parsley flecks greeted his eye, the chef hadn't overcooked them, and they promised a green tang to the dish. The olives were small, and halved, each with it's own little cargo of sauce. He took the fork and bit. It was spicy, yes, as it should be but no more than that. The olives retained their unique flavor, as did the parsley. He could taste the salt of it, but it didn't overwhelm him, while the cheese added both a snap as well as helping to mingle the flavors. And last of all was the aftertaste of the oil: sweet and bright as a new day. He smiled.
"This", he said, gesturing with his fork, "is nicely done. You have an appreciation for food, and that's not something that can be overstated."
