She always forgot the most important ingredient.
josh
It was becoming unbearable. What kind of idiot chefs was Le Cordon Bleu churning out these days? They can whip up a soufflé with their eyes closed but can barely remember their own names. Every day I gave her the same instruction, every day it was just as simple, yet every day she made the same mistake.
“Let’s look at our notes from your very first day again.” The exasperation in my voice was palpable, yet she seemed entirely unperturbed. “Come on, quicker.” Even her pace was infuriating.
“This page?” She asked, doe-eyed and hopeful. My fury subsided at once, replaced with compassion, guilt, and an awkward amount of lust.
“Yes, exactly - what does this bit right here say?” I pointed to her cursive notes that I had made her underline and circle in red. “What is the base herb of every single dish we create here?”
“Oregano.” Her mouth overly exaggerated each syllable. Oh-ri-gah-noo.
“Oregano! Precisely! It is the essence of what we do! Now say it again so I know you’ve understood me this time.”
I felt the blade hit my spine and twist upward. She lent into my ear.
“Nobody says ‘Oregano’, you little prick.”