Chapter 1 - A Specialty Dish

A stray idea I had long ago when watching Shokugeki no Soma!

Basically? Shokugeki no Souma with Gordon Ramsay with a touch of Hell's Kitchen.

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Rewritten as of August 18, 2020!

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London, England

A tall blonde man, one with an expression as cold as his eyes, stood directly across a counter from a boy of similar appearance. His aged chef's jacket creased as the elder man walked around the counter, facing the boy at the other side of the kitchen.

"Right," he gestured the younger, who did his best to hide his jitters. "You may start."

As soon as the commanding voice, laced with a British accent reached the boy's ears, his hands immediately reached for the handle of his knife, gripping it in a way not unlike an artist would hold his brush.

Alright, calm down, even breaths, it's just another time you cook for him.

The boy could feel his father's gaze, ones of an insurmountable champion that could never be overcome, bore into his back.

Calming himself down to face his foe, he put his trusty frying pan onto the stove.

A simple chef's hat, embroidered with elegant letters spelling 'Ramsay,' was worn on the boy's head. The fluid cuts made directly on a pile of black mushrooms making naught a crease.

Okay, mushrooms are prepped, need to sear the beef.

With his hands off the knife, which was gently laid to the side, he removed three layers of cling film on the beef fillet he left to chill the day before. The recipe certainly wasn't a hard one, but to fight the strongest of beasts on its own territory was an uphill battle from the start.

The olive oil gave a sharp hiss as the beef was placed in to sear. I've done this hundreds of times, I know I won't make a single mistake!

Without hesitation, he put a finger to the fillet to fill its firmness, he was sure it was perfect, but it never hurt to double-check.

Hmm, just under medium-rare.

It was time for the next step, the mushroom was already cut, and the pan was already heated. It was time for the second wave. The pan, now filled with the juices and oil from the beef, would enhance the flavour of the Duxelle [A French mushroom paste] when it was done.

From the side, the elder Ramsay watched in cold calculation as he analyzed each and every movement with his eyes. Each cut, each swipe, and each action must be done with no wasted movement. Even a fraction of a second could change the taste, and even the slightest imperfection… just simply will not do.

To be able to cook with speed and precision surpassing what should be possible for a normal human, all while keeping all the unused parts of the body perfectly still. That was what earned him the nickname 'The God Hand,' among his peers.

With that thought, the slightest of smiles adorned his hardened features as he watched.

It seems you finally learned.

Approximately ten minutes passed before he looked back to the pan and saw that the formation of the mushroom paste - Duxelle, has finished. Smirking to himself, he laid down two slices of parma ham on the film. Everything was still perfect, he had practiced these movements for ten years, each time getting better than the last, each fight getting closer to victory. Snapping out of his thoughts, he took out the paste and smeared it over the ham in an even layer.

As soon as the spread was consistent, he reached for the fillet on the side and placed it on top of the mushroom paste, seasoning it with sea salt and pepper before rolling the sides of the ham to encompass the beef.

He then brushed a piece of puff pastry with the egg wash - a mixture of egg yolks, sea salt, and water. With movements that were both strong and graceful, befitting of a knight, he carefully wrapped the pastry around the beef, making a near-perfect rotation with the excess just enough to be squeezed together to seal the ends.

At this point, making this dish is just like breathing.

As soon as he took the fillet out of the fridge, he removed the film, scored the pastry then put the dish into an oven preheated to 200 Celsius. As if by instinct, the timer was set to ten minutes, which was the minimum time needed, all that was after was to watch until the pastry became a perfect golden brown.

Then again, some people are better than others in that regard.

Now? It was the calm before the storm, there would be no second chances if the dish was taken out too early or too late, it must be timed perfectly or else the ship will sink, along with its captain.

16 minutes and 14 seconds in, the instincts he developed from over a decade of culinary preparation, not to mention the same dish, told him that now was the time.

As soon as the oven opened, it was like a piece of art finally clicked in. A seemingly golden glow enveloped the dish that was taken out. A brilliant aroma filled the room, one far stronger than any he created before.

Smiling, the boy reached for his dish as if it was a newborn baby. My masterpiece.

With a confident stride, he took his dish into his arms and walked towards his father. They both knew that the dish should be allowed to cool for ten minutes.

So, the taste would just have to wait.

This was it.

He had experienced this countless times, to cook for chefs that were infinitely more skilled. Even though his exterior did not betray his emotion, inside, he was starting to shake. Truly, he could not remember exactly how many times he cooked - failed - that dish. But, despite his fluttering heartbeat and the queasy feeling rising from the bottom of his stomach, he felt that this was it.

Like the final charge from a knight who lost time and time again, each time getting up stronger than the last.

With a knife in his right hand and a fork in his left, the father approached the dish. An expressionless face paired with graceful, perfectly practiced movements only served to unnerve the young chef further.

Steeling his will, the boy banished any thought of defeat and gazed straight as his father. Just like any other day.

"Tender," the man commented as he made the first cut. With a sniff, he took in the aroma as the trapped fragrance finally broke its way out; an ever-small smile gracing his aged features. "Brilliant aroma."

As soon as the son heard those words, he could not help but pump his fists lightly, accompanied by a silent 'yes'. Cooking was like one of those Ninja Warrior games, each obstacle had to be maneuvered for the entire course to be complete. Just like how each step of a dish must be perfected for it to achieve its flavour.

"Let's have a taste." The boy smiled at that.

He knew he would like it. Every single task was completed to the best of his ability, zero mistakes. Yet a single shred of doubt snuck its way into the back of his mind.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

It was not the way how a customer would sample the dish, it was an experienced chef feeling for any discrepancies in the quality, making sure to taste every aspect of the dish. Jack grimaced.

The same method he used himself.

"It is acceptable."

FINALLY!

Those words brought forth both happiness and relief, one from finally gaining his father's approval, and one from finally escaping the massive tension created by his powerful aura. Any longer and he would have lost his demeanor.

Deep down, he wanted his father to say it was delicious, to create a dish that could even make him - the greatest in the world - want more. Jack snorted at that thought. Not even the top 100 can do that consistently.

For now? As long as his food ranked above 'dog feed' he was happy.

Taking off his chef's hat, he placed it back to the large briefcase he took it out from earlier. His confidence perked up as the tension left the air; a smile gracing his features while he walked back to just in front of his father.

Then the words that he waited a decade to say finally came out.

"And that's how you make a perfect Beef Wellington."

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Chapter 1 Finished! Next Chapter - A new mission!

Make sure to check out my other stories!

A special thanks to "PandaNoodles" for creating the cover pic :)

Minipa, out!