@okiewrites​​

Meghan could tell from the look on Chef Delgado’s face she was in for a scolding. The man -- with a face that Meghan often liked to muse was crafted by the gods themselves -- could make even the sturdiest of demeanors crumble with that look. As it were, she attempted to arrange her features in some semblance of passiveness despite ardently wishing there was some mode of escape. Strangely enough he didn’t intimidate her, not in the traditional sense. She’d happily admit his range of skills far surpassed her own and with an efficiency she envied. Flawless. It wouldn’t have been surprising for her to feel lacking in comparison but instead she felt exhilarated to have the privilege of working alongside him. That is if she didn’t irritate the piss out of him. The main source of their conflict was a difference in styles, Luis had a certain way of doing things, a very particular way. Unfortunately it contrasted her own routines. Which was none. SInce she’d taken the position of his second in command it seemed the only thing she was capable of serving effectively was vexation and sporadic bouts of kitchen chaos. 

Her credentials were superb and she’d graduated culinary school with honors but her method were admittedly outlandish. It was never about the technicalities with Meghan, nor the presentation. She liked to think of herself as an artist and her canvas was an infinite palette of flavor. She saw a brilliance in food, a potential to help and heal others, a way to show them how the sublime was simply a mixture of the ordinary. Her thoughts were so immersed in every sense, using that expansive knowledge and engineering it for her own self expression. Here in the kitchen she was one with it all; the spices, the flames and a feeling. 

Meghan moved as if she had her own personal opera playing within. At times she flitted as though she were the bow of the cello, steady and deep. Other times she was the violin in some rapid dance. Yet whatever rhythm flowed in her soul from day to day, be them tranquil seas or tempests, what she made was so heavenly. She left a trail of wreckage in her wake but at least the end result was favorable. Her favorite part was watching her customers take a bit, the silly woman and her vulnerable childish heart, awaiting the facial expressions and sounds. For what was the point of flair if she couldn’t see the truth in that reaction of awe and pleasure.

Before Luis could deliver whatever reprimand she was deserved, she held up a hand. “This is about the primavera isn’t it” she hurried out, scanning his features to for any indication of her wrong doings. In the next moment she seemed to realize she might be exposing yet another dish she’d tinkered with just before being served. “Unless it's not about the primavera then I absolutely did not add more parmigiano. Why would I need to you know? Everything you make it great, just great. No, fantastic” bordering on rambling territory she figured flattery was the easiest defense. “You could carry on with whatever it is you mean to be chastising me about, I can tell by that brow it's a doozy and I’m so looking forward to it”  her smile held an edge of sarcasm he was sure to discern. “Or you could try this” seemingly out of thin air she produced a ladle of sauce, raising it to his mouth eagerly. “Come on, open up. I promise it’s good”