For the first two days after Jerry’s embargo, Ethan was miserable. His hands shook as he tried to hold a knife, turning usually perfect brunois vegetables into various oblong shapes for his venison consumé. His throbbing headache caused him to overcook the porchetta that Nigel had worked so diligently on preparing. Several orders were delayed as Ethan had to rush outside to vomit by the smoke shed.

The only upside was that, for as bad as his body felt, he was at least distracted from his depression.

The third morning, his head didn’t throb nearly as bad as it had the previous two days when sunlight broke through his window. He managed to make it through his shower without vomiting and down the stairs without falling, as he had done the previous two days.

“How you feeling, Chef?” Jerry asked empathetically as he poured Ethan a cup of thick black coffee, adding a small pitcher of cream to the plate.

“Heh, better than yesterday,” Ethan answered him, taking a seat at the bar. His cheeks were pale and his eyes still red. “Thanks.” He took the small plate, his shaking hands caused it to rattle delicately, spilling a few drops of coffee.

“You look like it,” Jerry smiled as Ethan sipped the steaming beverage. “What’re you doing for lunch today?”

“Not sure,” Ethan sniffled and wiped his face as he sat up straight. “There wasn’t enough porchetta left over to run another meal.”

“Yeah, that went over pretty well,” Jerry nodded in agreement. “I got a surprise for you.” He beckoned for Ethan to follow him into the kitchen.

Nigel was busy cleaning up the breakfast dishes when they entered. The large dish sink was full of dirty egg pans and the smell of bacon still lingered in the air.

“Morning boss...es,” the cook greeted them with a soap aid covered hand as they walked in.

“Morning, Nigel,” Jerry said happily, walking over to a large, wet looking, wooden crate.

“Morning,” Ethan echoed Jerry’s greeting as he grabbed a somewhat clean jacket from the hook by the door. “What is that, Jerry?” He furrowed his brows in confusion as the innkeeper leaned on the crate, clearly elated. The smell of earthy swamp water gently wafting from the crate nearly caused him to gag.

“Marsh Shrimp!” Jerry announced, prying the lid free. Across the room, Nigel dropped a pan on the floor with a loud clatter.

“Where the hell did you get those?” He practically shouted as he rushed over to Jerry and Ethan. “I mean, sorry for yelling.”

Jerry smiled and reached one of his huge hands into the crate. When he removed it, he was holding one of the largest, strangest, only vaguely shrimp like looking crustacean Ethan had ever seen.

It was roughly the size of a langoustine, but lacked the claws of the small lobsters. Instead, it had scythe like appendages that it waved around angrily. It’s shell was a mottled pattern of green, brown and blue, except for its eyes. It’s half a dozen bulbous eyes were vibrant in a rainbow of colors and all attached to long stalks.

“Ummmm…” Ethan looked at the creature with apprehension. Jerry was positively beaming at it while Nigel was practically salivating.

“Just wait,” Jerry said patiently, “Nigel, fetch me a pan.”

Nigel abandoned the soapy mess of dishes and eagerly retrieved a large sauté pan. He immediately set it on a burner and returned to Ethan and Jerry.

“Watch,” effortlessly, Jerry retrieved a large knife and stabbed it through the head of the marsh shrimp. Immediately, it began twitching as it died. Ethan had done similar with countless lobsters in his career.

With two deft twists, the innkeeper removed the scythe arms and head and threw them into the garbage.

“No meat on those,” he explained as he used the knife to remove the hard outer carapace along the tail of the shrimp.

Ethan leaned against the wall as he watched Jerry cook the marsh shrimp. He was still shaking and dizzy from coming down off his month and a half spent drunk. He felt like he was going to throw up. Only his focus on seeing his boss cook was keeping him on his feet.

A few minutes later, Jerry removed the crustacean from the sizzling oil and placed it on a plate.

“Try it,” his booming voice commanded as he offered the shrimp to Ethan.

Tentatively, Ethan cut into the shrimp with a small paring knife and stabbed it with a fork.

The smell caused his stomach to churn. It wasn’t that the shrimp smelled bad, just that any food for the last two days had caused the same reaction.

He paused as he held the small bite to his nose, trying to appreciate the smell of the shrimp. Even with no extra seasoning, he couldn’t help but notice the shrimp smelled amazing.

Forcing his stomach to keep from lurching, Ethan put the bite in his mouth.

Instantly, he was in awe. The marsh shrimp was phenomenal.

It had a texture closer to lobster than shrimp, smooth but still with a noticeable sharp crunch. The flavor was incredible. Buttery and sweet, again like lobster, but with a peppery aftertaste.

“Good, isn’t it?” Jerry grinned at him as he bit into his own piece of shrimp. Nigel was stabbing his fork on the plate, getting a second piece. “You think you can do something with this?”

“Fuck yeah, I can!” Ethan answered him excitedly before suddenly frowning. He sprinted over to the closest trash can and finally vomited. His stomach rejected even the smallest bit of actual food.

When he turned back to Nigel and Jerry, he could see the look of concern on the two men’s faces.

“Still not feeling great?” Jerry asked him.

“A little whiskey would help,” Ethan tried to keep the pleading tone from his voice as he practically begged to be allowed a drink.

“No,” Jerry said firmly, shaking his head. “Five more days, then we’ll see.”

Ethan splashed some water on his face, trying to rinse the remainder of the vomit off his chin.

“So what’re you going to do with the marsh shrimp?” Jerry asked when he returned. He was resting his arm on the wooden crate protectively.

“Shrimp and grits,” Ethan said, motioning for Jerry to move so he could get a better idea of how many shrimp he had to work with. They were so huge that it would only take one or two per plate. “Where’d you say these came from?”

“A young woman offered to sell them to me,” he grinned and shook his head “I don’t think she knew what she had, I got them dirt cheap.”

Ethan lifted one of the marsh shrimp from the crate to inspect it closer.

Marsh Shrimp

Cooking reagent - Epic

Holy balls! He was astonished by the quality of the ingredient. Most cooking ingredients that he’d been able to work with so far were “Common” at best. Deer and hogs were plentiful pretty much everywhere.

“You need anything else from me?” Jerry asked, with another proud look at the marsh shrimp.

“Nah, give me an hour and I’ll do a tasting before lunch,” Ethan shook his head as he grabbed a clean apron.

“What can I do?” Nigel approached him after Jerry had left.

“You remember how to make rice grits?” Ethan asked as he honed his knife.

“Yes, Chef,” Nigel nodded.

“Get the big ass pot and start the grits,” Ethan pointed with his knife across the room. “We got any more of that cave aged Parmesan from Sitifus?”

“About half a wheel.”

“Grate half of it,” Ethan instructed his assistant as he removed one of the large shrimp from the crate. “Keep the rinds, add them to the stock and cream for the grits. And pull about eight large pieces of Tasso from the smoke shed.”

“Heard,” Nigel nodded and began moving quickly across the kitchen to do as he’d been instructed.

It only took half an hour for Ethan to clean the marsh shrimp, unlike Jerry, he left the heads still attached. Most of them anyway, he cut off the eyeball stalks.

While he’d been working, he’d been shouting rapid instructions to the very busy Nigel.

“I need a dozen peppers, three quarts of tomatoes, and a large pan of those foraged mushrooms.”

The shrimp and grits dish they were rapidly assembling was, by far, Ethan’s most practiced dish. He’d learned it in one of his first restaurant jobs after graduating culinary school, and after years of practice, along with the permission of the chef he’d basically stolen the dish from, he’d perfected his version of it.

Carefully, he scribbled the name of the dish on the chalkboard that would hang in the front of the bar, announcing what the daily special would be.

“Marsh Shrimp and Parmesan rice grits with Tasso and red eye gravy.”

“What’s ‘red eye gravy’?” Nigel asked, walking up behind Ethan.

“It’s a loose gravy made with coffee and pork,” Ethan said, still bent over the chalkboard. “You get all the veg cut?”

“Yes, Chef,” Nigel nodded. “And the grits are ready, cheese is already stirred in.”

“Excellent,” Ethan stood up and looked around the kitchen. “Go find Jerry and let him know we’ll have a plate ready in about 10 minutes.”

“Heard,” Nigel said as he rushed to the front of the bar.

In the moment he was gone, Ethan retreated to the smoke shed, grabbing two of his hand rolled cigarettes on the way out.

He was hoping the rush of nicotine would help steady his increasingly shaking hands. His focus on his work had helped distract him from his forced detox, which in turn, was helping to distract him from the pit that had been eating away at him for weeks. But now that he had a moment of down time, both the emptiness and the ill feeling of his body ridding itself of toxins were rushing in as a reminder of what a shitty person he was.

He inhaled slowly, drawing the bitter smoke into his lungs. The smoke and nicotine flooded his lungs and immediately entered his bloodstream, and his head started spinning. It had exactly the opposite effect he’d been hoping it would.

Ethan leaned against the wall and slid down until he was resting on his calves, holding his head in his hands. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself as he felt his heartbeat pound. The world started to fade and he had to catch himself from falling over with the hand not holding his head, crushing his cigarette into the ground.

“Chef?” Nigel’s voice came from the door back to the kitchen.

“Yeah!” Ethan shouted back, forcing himself to stand up.

“Jerry’s ready when you are,” Nigel said as he rounded the corner Ethan had hidden behind. “Are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah, just need a minute,” Ethan nodded, feeling suddenly sweaty. He knew Nigel had gotten used to seeing him as a mess over the last month, but it still embarrassed him. Just another tick in the ‘Ethan is human garbage’ column… He thought to himself. “Start getting a pan hot and I'll be right there.”

Nigel nodded silently and disappeared.

After Ethan finally found the strength to stand up, he returned to the kitchen, splashed some water on his face and retied his apron.

“Ready?” He asked Nigel, grabbing a small metal bowl and tossing two of the marsh shrimp in it.

“Ready, Chef!” Nigel nodded excitedly.

Ethan quickly demonstrated how to prepare the marsh shrimp and red eye gravy. He sautéed Tasso, mushrooms, peppers and onions, before adding the head on shrimp. When it was par cooked, he added the tomatoes and a splash of coffee. Finally, he finished the sauce with some chicken stock and three heaping spoonfuls of butter.

“Keep the sauce moving after you add the butter,” he explained to Nigel as he shook the pan in a circular motion. “It’ll keep it from breaking.”

“Heard,” Nigel watched him carefully, making sure to pay attention to Ethan’s every move and the order in which he added components to the pan.

When the sauce was at the consistency he was looking for, Ethan tasted it with a small spoon before adding another pinch of salt and pepper.

“Hand me one of those bowls with a big ladle of rice grits,” he pointed at the clay bowls he used for most soupy dishes and added a splash of lemon juice and fresh parsley to the pan.

“This enough?” Nigel asked him, presenting the bowl.

“Perfect,” Ethan said, swinging the pan to the table behind him.

His jaw involuntarily clinched as he concentrated, his eyes focused on the shrimp in the pan. Carefully, he spooned the Tasso and vegetables on top of the creamy grits. The shrimp, he placed in the middle of the plate, standing up so they crossed at the head. The last step was slowly spooning the gravy over the entire dish, he made sure not to smother everything in the slightly bitter sauce.

“Go grab Jerry,” Ethan said as he sprinkled a pinch of grated Parmesan on the dish to finish it. He sighed as he stood up, stretching his back. For a brief moment, he’d been able to forget about the emptiness, forget about his failures, forget about Alera. He felt at peace, if for only a moment.

“Why do I feel like it’s looking at me?” Jerry asked, breaking Ethan’s moment. “You didn’t take the heads off.”

“Just trust me,” Ethan shook his head as he handed a spoon and a knife to the innkeeper, along with one to Nigel.

“I do, but it’s still weird to eat it with its face still attached,” Jerry said, accepting the utensils.

“Try it, if you don't like it, I’ll do the rest without the heads,” Ethan said, frowning at his boss. “But you do this with the heads.” With a quick twist, Ethan ripped the head off one of the large marsh shrimps and held it over the body. An orange brown liquid released onto the crustacean.

“You sure about this?” Jerry looked at him questioningly as he dipped his spoon into the bowl.

“The juices from the shrimp add flavor,” Ethan explained, raising his arms and running hands through his hair. “It’s not a big thing, but it elevates the dish.”

Jerry raised the full spoon to his nose and smelled it.

“Smells amazing,” he said before taking a bite. “Tastes incredible.” He shook his head and blinked. “You have a gift my friend.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, nodding for Nigel to take his bite.

“Just in time too,” Jerry clapped him on the back, “first couple of customers are here for lunch.”

For three hours, Ethan and Nigel worked frantically through the long lunch rush. They moved in tandem, back home in kitchens it was called “the dance”. Ethan swung right, Nigel left, Ethan cooked shrimp and sauce, Nigel plated. The bartenders on duty picked up each bowl as soon as it was ready, running the steaming food out to the waiting customer.

He loved dinner and lunch rushes more than anything. For a few hours everyday, Ethan could tune out everything around him, focus only on getting each plate perfect before it went out the door. There was nothing else that mattered in the middle of a rush.

“Last order of shrimp!” Ethan called out as the rush had mostly died down.

“Good,” Jerry said, walking in at the perfect time. “You just have one customer left, and there’s a gentleman out here wanting to speak to you chef. Offer his gratitude or something.”

“Finish this up for me, Nigel,” Ethan slid the pan off the heat and over to the other cook.

“Heard, Chef,” Nigel nodded enthusiastically as he grabbed the metal pan handle with a fluffy white towel.

Ethan removed his dirty apron and threw it across the room at the laundry hamper they kept for soiled towels and aprons. It landed on the floor.

“I’ll get that in a minute,” he said, mostly to himself as he splashed some water on his sweaty and greasy face. He’d been taught to always look presentable when he talked with the public, a lesson he’d taken to heart.

He tried to project confidence in his gait, despite his exhaustion, as he pushed on the swinging door. Jerry was leaning against the bar, talking to a customer as Ethan approached him.

“Hey boss,” he said, walking over to the innkeeper. “Who was it who wanted to see me?”

“Perfect timing!” Jerry stood up straight, still obscuring his view of the customer at the bar. “This fine man wanted to tell the chef personally how good his meal was.”

He stepped aside, giving Ethan a view of a very familiar face, with long dark hair and dark brown eyes.

“It was great,” David said, pushing his empty bowl back on the bartop. “Really reminds me of home.”