Ernest's Choice
It was supposed to bring him back, not drive him insane.
Lights on the sleek cooking device blinked at him. The darkness added a sinister tone to it, but pulling up the shutters would risk attracting the attention of the journalists that were prowling around his house, stealing his rubbish. As much as this sudden interest in his life flattered him, Ernest would rather die than allow his secret to come out.
What kind of a celebrity chef hides in his office? It was all because of the E-chef. Every time the damn appliance let out that annoying ping to alert him it was time to add another ingredient, Ernest’s self-respect wailed. At first, he’d got excited and tried to guess the ingredient that was going to appear on the E-chef’s screen, but it had started to wear him down. The damn thing was supposed to rescue his career, not hijack it.
Every single dish the E-chef created had outsold Ernest’s signature dishes and pushed them off the menu. True, the new dishes had put him back on the culinary map, but the mystery of his renewed success was making people snoop around his house.
A gentle knock on the door broke his chain of thoughts.
‘Mr Herero, can I have a moment?’
‘Give me a second, Alice.’
To be on the safe side, Ernest threw a thick cloth over the E-chef, though this didn’t completely kill the red and green lights on its screen. Swiftly, he left the office and closed the door behind him, almost hitting his sous-chef in the face.
He blinked at her. ‘You can’t possibly be done with the testing.’
Alice smiled, coaxing a curl behind her ear. ‘I’ve got a few more to do, nothing to worry about.’
Ernest’s jaw tightened. Why was she bothering him when she knew he was busy?
‘Is this about Louise M Peters, then?’
‘No, nothing like that. I wondered… Could we discuss my remuneration. We’ve said we would—’
‘This isn’t a good time, Alice. I have to focus.’
She made her eyes big. He hated when she did that. It made it harder for him to stick to his thoughts, especially since she’d started to wear the tight-fitting V-neck shirts.
‘What day would be best, you reckon?’
He straightened his back. ‘Let’s park this for now, okay?’
‘If we could just set a date—’
‘We’ll do that after next week, alright?’
‘It’s just that we’ve already said—’
‘Not now, Alice. You know I’m on a deadline.’ He clasped the door handle. ‘If there’s nothing else…’
She hesitated for a second before shaking her head.
‘Good. That’s sorted then.’
He waited for her to walk away before going back into the office. With clammy fingers, he pulled the cloth off the E-chef and turned to his espresso machine. There was a device that actually made life better by producing a delicious dark shot of bitter happiness. He added sugar and was about to take a sip when the E-chef pinged. Downing his espresso, Ernest sucked in his stomach and checked the screen.
‘Are you flippin’ nuts?’ Raking his fingers over his receding hairline, he squinted to check he hadn’t misread the instructions.
Add 1 tsp of red miso, a pinch of sugar and 1/2 tsp of chilli flakes. Stir and let cook another 3 minutes on a low heat.
‘I don’t cook with chilli, you twat,’ he hissed.
How could a machine that had intelligence in its design be so stupid at the same time? The mere thought of spicing up his dishes was absurd. He had zero tolerance for heat. It was like asking a vegetarian to season their dishes with bacon!
Leaning forward, Ernest tapped ‘dismiss’, followed by ‘generate new’. He craned his neck, searching for a way to exclude an ingredient. The underlying principles of his cuisine were sacred, even if his beloved team would gladly gobble down any concoction created by this infernal machine, spicy or not. Every new dish brought more praise. If they only knew it was a machine, not him, creating them. He’d pushed the boundaries to test if anyone in his team would baulk, but no one did. Not only that, they loved the new stuff. They bloody loved it!
The E-chef pinged once more, sending a wave of unease through this gut. The devilish device was far too efficient for its own good. What did it want this time? That he should substitute chilli with cayenne pepper?
‘No, no, no!’
Ernest slumped into his chair. This damn machine was going to end him. It churned and churned and despite its absurd speed, it hadn’t given him a single solid idea of what to serve Louise M Peters. He had less than a week left, and he couldn’t serve a spicy dish to a distinguished food critic, no matter how original a beetroot miso soup with chilli might sound. How about a beetroot miso soup without chilli? With a dollop of sour cream and dill?
His thoughts darkened. It wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to administer a fatal blow to the infernal device and reduce it to scraps of metal and plastic. As satisfying as the thought was, he still needed the E-chef. But the longer he held onto it, the less the world needed him. What was worse, the E-chef had destroyed his joy in cooking. No more luxurious moments of creation. All he did these days was press buttons. Was he even still a chef? He felt more like a secretary. And a bloody liar.
None of that would have happened if it wasn’t for Nommy. His former student turned archenemy, who’d made his fortune not by the virtue of his food but by driving it around. And to think how he’d laughed when Nommy launched his contact-free meal delivery! Laughed and mocked him in front of the team. A few weeks later, Nommy was a rich man.
It wasn’t as though Ernest was waiting for a miracle, far from it, but between having to pay a mortgage and keeping his staff on full pay, he’d to make some unpopular choices. Choices that had caused his best cooks to flock to Nommy’s. Once the pandemic waned, Ernest was worse off than when he first started. Rumours surfaced that Nommy wanted to buy him out. That’s when he scrapped the leftovers, took a loan and turned things around.
And look at him now.
Ernest caressed the casing of the E-chef. He’d been unfair. Without this gadget, infernal or not, he would have lost his business. Technically, he could stop using it, but his team would wonder what had happened. They loved the new speed of work, a speed he couldn’t keep up on his own.
As long as he was sure the E-chef was a bespoke deal, and the overpriced consultant he’d hired stuck to the Non-Disclosure Agreement, things were going to be alright. But if one more guest dared to tell him how much they looooved his new recipes, how they were a hundred times better than his old ones, he was going to stab them with a fork.
All he needed to do was keep the E-chef a secret for the rest of his life.
The rest. Of. His. Life?
A vein in Ernest’s head throbbed as he made himself another espresso, adding two spoons of sugar. Caffeine sharpened his focus. It was the only thing that worked. Perhaps that could be the new secret ingredient for the dish he was going to serve next week. What would Louise M Peters think of a steak in a coffee-infused barbecue sauce? Or better yet, coffee-infused chocolate sauce?
He had one shot to redeem his restaurant in the eyes the prickly food critic. This time, Louise M Peters’ review wouldn’t reduce him to tears, he’d make sure of it. Otherwise, he might as well lock up his business and throw away the key.
He tapped the E-chef’s casing. ‘Come on, pal. Let’s do this.’
He was stuck with this thing for better or for worse. Unless, of course…
His eyes widened as the caffeine kicked in. Could he do that?
The idea was bonkers, though no more than having to hide in his office with the E-chef for the rest of his life.
If his plan succeeded, he’d be free to do what he wanted. On his own terms. But he’d have to proceed with the utmost care. Overlooking as much as a single detail could cost him more than his business.
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