#so i opted for pickle instead of mic

[smile-files]

o ariadne, accomplice to the minotaur's murder; your scarlet string is his blood in your hands... and yet theseus, forsaking sand and sail, is the only creature dead to you

(objectober 2024 day 18: maze)

maze generated on https://www.mazegenerator.net

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 20

Queen of Peace

Summary: In which, at April’s angered behest, Ava contacts the superintendent. Word Count: 1,534 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

“He did what?”

If Ava's jaw could have dropped any lower, it would have. Daybreak Academy's musical director, April Tremaine, gave a bemused smirk.

“You're acting like he decided to go skinny dipping in a kiddie pool.” she even teased. “Is it really that weird for a grown man to join in on open mic night?”

Ava didn't answer at first- instead knitting her fingers together from under her desk. Even if she couldn't see it, April could sense Ava's hesitation.

“Or, it's not open mic night you're worried about?” April then guessed. At Ava's persistent silence, April decided to switch tactics. And it meant putting on her mom hat and glaring Ava down. “What is going on between you five?” she all but demanded in a voice she really hated using. “The other staff is starting to question what's up too.”

“I...” Ava finally started to say. “It's complicated. I've been meaning to contact the superintendent.”

“So why haven't you?”

Again, the only answer Ava could give was silence. April's eyes narrowed. With or without her permission, April's mom mode had been activated big time. It was pretty impressive considering her own child barely saw this side of her.

“Ava,” April demanded. “Listen to me, and listen to me good- none of us wanted five headmasters. Us senior staff knew it was going to divide the kids even further. And while many of us still have respect for you five, it grows incredibly thin on days when we're not informed of what is going on. Let the superintendent know that when you contact him. Got it?”

Ava flinched. April wasn't giving a request, it was an order.

“I… I will.” Ava promised. “Thank you for your opinion, April.”

April gave nothing more than an annoyed huff as she spun on her heel to leave. The mild slam of the door was her last stand in the matter, and it made Ava flinch again.

As a still, almost chilling, air started to fill Ava's office, the young headmaster looked down at her desk in shame. She glanced over at her phone and then quickly looked away again. There was a reason why she hadn't contacted the superintendent, and it was close to the same reason why the other headmasters hadn't done the same; they didn't want Aced to get in trouble. Was he in trouble? Sure, possibly, he assaulted an independent school operator and fellow headmaster in the same afternoon. But did it warrant enough for him to potentially lose his job if it were reported? Depending on how it was worded? It was a large possibility.

And, of course, the rest of the staff was beginning to notice, as April had pointed out. If the staff knew, then the kids were starting to catch on as well. Payroll staff were one of the biggest gossips on campus; Ava was just lucky that many of them -like April- would bring their complaints directly to her. But then that lead into a different problem; how did she get stuck being everyone's queen of peace? Invi was the one who kept the most tabs on the school's activities, along with crowd control when the time called for it. Not that it had worked out very well last time…

With that final thought, Ava reached for the phone and started to dial the superintendent's business number. She immediately regretted it the moment after as she listened to the phone try to connect. Being unable to knit her hands together (what with one hand holding the phone), Ava instead opted to drum her fingers on the desk as the phone continued to ring. It was at the tenth ring that the superintendent decided to pick up.

“Oh, Ava!” he greeted in a bright tone. Something in Ava relaxed- it's been awhile since she'd heard that voice. “It's been awhile since I've heard from you and my other well chosen headmasters! How have you been?”

The smile that had been on Ava's face was wiped away with a shake of her head. Focus, Ava, you're here for business and not idle chit-chat.

“Sir, I wanted to discuss...”

“Hey,” he then casually said, cutting her off, ���How about we talk in the flesh? I'm in town for awhile and I've been meaning to make a trip up to the academy; but if you come to me, then we can talk things out one on one. What do you say?”

For a moment, Ava was at a loss for words. She even wondered if someone had told him about Aced's outburst. But that was impossible, no one knew but the headmasters and Ephemer. That Moogle, maybe, but it wouldn't have said anything to the superintendent. Would it?

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Ava found herself agreeing.

“Great! There's a swell little coffee shop in Cable Town, I think it's called Club 13- I hear it's a pretty hipster. Meet me there tomorrow around, oh say, noon-ish. Alright?”

“S-sure.”

“It's been great hearing from you Ava, see you tomorrow!” and with that, the line went dead. Ava stared at the receiver for a moment before placing the phone down. What just happened?

. . .

Back when she was a student, Ava had known the superintendent as the sole headmaster of Daybreak. Aced and Ira had already graduated and were taking an apprenticeship as future administrators. Invi was six years older than Ava, but was also on the fast track to doing the same as the boys. Gula had been the youngest, attending Daybreak Academy a year after Ava started. And it was Gula who started to call the then headmaster MoM.

There was some joke behind it, but Ava couldn't remember it for the life of her now. It was... an acronym, of something. Master of Monotony? No… Mischiever on Meth? Nah, not that she would put it past Gula to have made that joke once. But it was always the name Ava associated with the headmaster, even now when he was their current superintendent: MoM. The worst irony about the nickname was that the man was anything but motherly (or fatherly, for that matter) in the way he taught them. He was stubborn, a practical joker, cryptic, and -on rare, rather scary occasions- dead serious.

But when she saw that 60 or 70 something man drinking from a glass cola bottle with a big red and white straw, it felt as if no time has passed between them.

“Ava!” he happily greeted as she took a seat across from him. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!”

“It's great to see you too.” Ava agreed.

“Now,” MoM cheerfully declared, “Let's order some cake and you can tell me all about your troubles. Assume most of them are school related, and not general catching up stuff?”

“Unfortunately.” Ava agreed with a nod.

As she then went on to explain the situation, MoM only seemed to be half listening. On numerous occasions he called for the waitress to bring them another drink, or ordered another slice of cake for himself. When Ava was finished, he let out a pensive silence pass between them.

“Seems like quite the pickle.” he eventually said to her. “But Aced's a stubborn guy, he'll get himself together eventually.”

For some reason, this wasn't the answer she had been expecting, so Ava let out a small, “Right...”

“But,” the superintendent then mused, “In the mean time, I do have an idea on how you could increase student morale.”

“How?” Ava asked, almost a bit too quickly.

“Create an entirely separate organization- something like a student council, but more… politically present, so to speak. Allow them to learn the ropes of what it takes to be a great headmaster, and then when the times comes, they will be. Simple, no?”

“Would that really work?”

“It worked for you five, didn't it?”

Ava thought about it, and April's threat from earlier came back quickly. 'None of us wanted five headmasters. We knew it would divide the kids further.'

“Sir, I don't think...”

“Well that was a great talk! Thanks for meeting with me, Ava, but now I've gotta jet. I'm expecting a video conference with Luxu in the next half hour or so, and you know how he is with being late.”

Ava gave a half hearted nod. She only had faint memories of Luxu, who had acted as a headmaster before she and Gula signed on. Other than that, Ava knew next to nothing about the man.

The superintendent didn't seem to notice her response. Once he had gotten up, he went over to give Ava a kindly pat on the head.

“Don't be such a stranger next time, Ava. I like talking to you five- we're like a family, you know? Just make sure that your new student council can work well with each other, or it'll all fall flat.”

“Of course.” Ava agreed without looking at him. And with that, the superintendent paid for their bill and disappeared into the street. It was only now that Ava realized she had knit her fingers together in anxiety.

“A student council…?” she mumbled to herself. “Would it even work...?”

[the-coconut-asado]

INSIDE THE YELLOW KITCHEN

My father-in-law isn’t a big fan of Masterchef: “First they make you cook. And then they make you cry. Who wants to watch that?”

He was referring to Australian Masterchef, where the mostly lovable contestants all go ‘on a journey’ and bawl their eyes out whenever Nigella makes a guest appearance. But he could just as easily have been referring to Indian Masterchef, where the finale becomes one big Bollywood production number, the contestants dance, the judges sing and everyone cries in a way that makes no sense but really doesn’t matter.  

He was not, of course, referring to British Masterchef, where viewers get frostbite from Torode and Wallace’s on-screen charisma, and losers wait to be beaten up in the locker room. I can still remember Celebrity Masterchef winner Ade Edmondson doing a sad solitary high kick alone in the studio. And somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Of course, millions stay glued to the franchise, while for contestants the joy of progressing through the rounds is tempered by tweets that brand you a plonker for ‘sous-viding the pork like that.’ As budding chefs drop off the ladder, they all affirm to camera that they have learnt so much. And in today’s format of multiple rounds and challenges, real kitchen pressures, and big brother style set up, it would be hard not to.

Why am I even talking about this? Well, this April marks 25 years since my own, much more modest, Masterchef appearance. The days when thousands, not millions, tuned in to BBC2 on a Sunday afternoon and contestants simply wanted to be the best amateur cook in the country, rather than a multi-millionaire culinary superstar (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Hosted by Lloyd Grossman (he of the tortured vowels and the cook-in sauces), with a celebrity and a cheffy judge in tow, it was a slow, warm bath of a show to watch and two and a half hours of gentle pressure to participate in.

The format was simple. Three finalists in a red, blue or yellow kitchen had to cook a three-course meal for four people in two and a half hours.  My journey to the yellow kitchen started with a simple 20-page entry form, which aside from testing my culinary general knowledge also asked questions like “What do your friends think of your cooking?” I deployed some casual racism by answering: “My friend’s boyfriend who is French and therefore super fussy about his food, thinks I should open my own patisserie.” Tick.

I was also asked to prepare a menu to cook should I be selected for the televised regional final. I decided my best chance of stand out was to opt for South Pacific dishes. So I created recipes for a Thai Prawn Rendezvous (we were barely out of the eighties, don’t judge me), Spiced Pork with Cardamom rice and Palusami (a South Pacific baked leaf with coconut milk, chilli, lemon and onion) and, to complete the New Romantic pretentions of this line up, individual hazelnut tarts with a mango coulis. Prawns, rourou, mangoes, coconut– yes, technically these are Pacific ingredients, but my pork dish was just as technically Mexican and hazelnuts are anyone’s guess geographically. Let’s face it, the identity of this menu was all over the place.

But it got me noticed enough to be invited to the non-televised round, and from there I was one of the 27 finalists selected for the TV regional finals. Lest the cynical high notes of my prose suggest otherwise, I was properly over the moon.

And yet, I was the omelette-pan equivalent of John Snow. I knew nothing, and very much in a Wildling accent. We had to come up with two more menus, and submit them before our episode was recorded, just in case we went through to the final. While I had given days of thought to my ‘South Pacific’ selection, I rushed the other two menus and didn’t really believe in either of them. I can still remember trying to achieve choux swans in my kitchen one night, creating instead something that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a rejected Picasso canvas, and thinking ‘that’ll do’. There would clearly be no time to get any more creative.

Finn, the cheery producer who greeted us in the studio on the big day, wired us up to mics saying: “Don’t ‘panic! I’ll tell you when to panic!” and we all laughed weakly. Then suddenly the familiar music struck up, Lloyd did his bits to camera, and I answered his questions politely and with no hint of personality whatsoever.

Here are other four ways I took a sharp left turn that day:

I made Lloyd Grossman choke on a chilli.  Some might applaud me for that. I couldn’t possibly comment.

The celebrity judge (Peter Bowles) hated anything spicy. My main course was riddled with spice.

I burned my fingers. And they caught it on camera.

I forgot how to use a colander.

 There are also four things I did right:

The chef judge Joyce Molyneaux (incidentally the first ever female chef to win a Michelin Star) clearly liked my food and thought that my Palusami was the stand out dish of the day.

I didn’t panic. Well, Finn did tell me not to.

That hazelnut tart was a little morsel of genius in a sea of so-so.

My smile and applause was Oscar-night perfect when the annoying dentist with the California roll sushi was announced the winner.

Would I enter again today? Not in a heartbeat. Unless I lived in Australia.

But with twenty-five years more experience in the kitchen I can share the kind of starter and pork main course I would prefer to cook now. The Palusami I will leave to another blog. But I won’t be changing a thing about the hazelnut tart (well, maybe one thing). From me to you.

 Beetroot Cured Salmon with candied walnuts

I discovered the joys of curing last year. You need to forward plan a couple of days but the whole process is simple and fuss-free. There’s a lot of wow factor at the end – and much less faff than the last minute sautéing of my Masterchef prawn rendezvous. This recipe is from my Spanish culinary hero, Jose Pizarro. Serves 6

Ingredients

1 700g piece of salmon fillet, pin boned and skinned

3 raw beetroots, peeled and grated

1 lemon

1 bunch tarragon, finely chopped

100g golden caster sugar

100g sea salt

100ml gin

For the salad:

50g walnut halves

100g golden caster sugar

1 pink grapefruit

2 oranges

5 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

Spinach leaves or watercress

How to make

Mix the grated beetroot with the tarragon, zest from the lemon, sugar and salt.

Line a shallow dish (enough to fit the whole salmon fillet snugly) with two or three sheets of clingfilm, long enough to seal up the salmon. Spoon in half the beetroot mixture, drizzle with half the gin and lay the salmon fillet on top. Spread the rest of the beetroot mix on top of the salmon, pour over the rest of the gin, then wrap tightly in the clingfilm and leave in the fridge for 48 hours minimum, 72 hours maximum. Check in on it regularly as liquid will seep from it and you will need to keep draining it away.

 For the salad: First, candy the walnuts. Put the sugar and about 2-3 tbsp. water in a pan and dissolve the sugar over a low heat. Bring to the boil and bubble until the sugar turns brown. Remove from the heat quickly (you don’t want to burn it and it can turn in seconds) and add the walnuts to coat. Pour this onto a baking sheet lined with baking parchment and leave to cool. Break up into shards when cold.

Segment the citrus fruits over a bowl to catch the juices (cut between the segments so you leave the skin behind). Mix the juice with a pinch of salt and sugar, and lots of black pepper. Whisk in the oil.

 When the salmon is cured, scrape off all the salt mixture, rinse under cold water and part dry. Finely slice, divide the green leaves between six plates and scatter with the citrus fruit. Arrange slices of salmon, top with the candied walnuts and drizzle the dressing over. Serve straight away.

Spiced Pulled Pork with Chipotle Barbecue Sauce

Within the two and a half hour restrictions of Masterchef, I cooked a pork tenderloin and served with a spiky tomato, vinegar and chilli sauce. It was a recipe that made it into the first Best of Masterchef cookbook, but these days it takes a lot for the pork tenderloin cut to excite me. Much better, if you have the luxury of five hours, to cook this beauty. Serves 6-8

Ingredients:

1 x 3kg pork shoulder, off the bone

4 tbsp. olive oil

2 tsp. pimento (smoked paprika)

2 tsp. mustard powder

1 tsp. garlic salt

½ tsp. achiote powder

1 tsp. cumin powder

1.2 tsp. cumin seeds

1 tsp. onion salt

 For the Chipotle Barbecue Sauce

1 tbsp. olive oil

1 onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, crushed

100ml white wine vinegar

85g soft brown sugar

1 tsp. smoked paprika

1 tsp. hot chilli powder

1 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

2 tsp. chipotle paste

2 tbsp. tomato puree

350ml tomato passata

2 tbsps. black treacle

 How to Make

Heat the oven to 150C/ Gas 2. Mix all the dry spices together in a small bowl. Rub the pork with half the oil, heat a pan and brown the pork on all sides. Transfer to a rack in a roasting pan and brush with the spices.  Add 11/2 cups water to the pan, cover in foil and cook for  5 hours

Make the sauce: heat the oil in a deep saucepan, add the onion and garlic and sauté for about 5 mins. Add the rest of the ingredients, bring to the boil, then simmer for about 5-10 minutes. Cover and put to one side.

Make some coleslaw: thinly slice a head of green cabbage, and then thinly slice an onion and 6 pickled jalapenos (you can buy jars of these in most supermarkets). Make a dressing with 1 cup mayonnaise, 1 cup sour cream, ½ cup juice from the pickled jalapenos, 2 tbsps. Dijon mustard, ½ tsp. Tabasco sauce, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Put the cabbage and onions into a bowl, pour over the dressing and mix.

 To serve: take the pork out of the oven and pull apart with two forks. 

Pile the pork into crusty white rolls, top with some coleslaw and drizzle with the chipotle sauce.

Alternatively, leave out the bread rolls and serve the pork, sauce and coleslaw straight with some baked sweet potato.

Hazelnut Tart

I have made a couple of slight adjustments to this recipe since the original – namely orange zest and juice. I think this is just perfect served with a dollop of cream (clotted cream even better) but if you want to recreate my full 1992 experience then you can whip up some mango coulis as well by blitzing 50g caster sugar, 250 fl oz. water, 2 sliced mangoes and lemon juice to taste in a liquidizer. Serves 8-10

Ingredients

For the pastry:

325g plain flour

Pinch of salt

150 cold unsalted butter, diced

180 g icing sugar

2 medium eggs

Grated zest of 1 large orange

For the filling:

180ml golden syrup

100g butter, melted

4 medium eggs, beaten

3 tsp. plain flour

150g soft brown sugar

300g shelled hazelnuts, coarsely ground

Generous pinch ground cinnamon

Juice of 1 orange

How to make

To make the pastry, sift the flour and salt onto a cool work surface and make a well in the centre. Add the diced butter, icing sugar, orange zest and eggs to the well. Mix these ingredients together then gradually mix in the flour, using your hands, until a ball of dough is formed. Alternatively, mix everything except the eggs in a food processor, add the eggs and blitz until just coming together, then turn onto a work surface and gently bring together until a smooth ball. 

Do not overwork the pastry or it will be as tough as old boots. Wrap in clingfim and leave in the fridge for at least 1 hour to settle.

Heat the over to 180C (Gas Mark 4). Roll out the pastry thinly on a lightly floured work surface and use to line a 25cm (10 in) tart tin. Prick all over with a fork, line with baking parchment and baking beans and blind bake the pastry shell for 15 mins. Take out the parchment and the beans, return to the oven for a further 5 mins.

To prepare the filling: mix the golden syrup with the melted butter. Gradually whisk in the beaten eggs, followed by the flour, brown sugar and orange juice. Finally, fold in the ground hazelnuts and cinnamon. Put the tart back in the oven and bake for 35-40 mins, until the filling is risen and golden.

Remove from the oven and cool. Serve either slightly warm or cold with a generous dollop of cream (and mango coulis if you wish).