Character
A solid year and a couple thousand credits later, Varek had found himself to be an exceptional chef. He truly left the life of war and combat behind and traded it for a life filled with pure ingredients. For Varek, cooking was better than seeing the end of a barrel, or worse, hearing the sound of a humming red saber. Part of him deep down missed it though. Fighting for something that mattered more than his current 3,500 square foot cantina. In truth, he was barely an owner of the place. His few thousand credits made what it was today possible. A crowded cantina filled to the brim, the capacity of the guest was clearly over the allowed limit, but that didn't stop the drinks from flowing and the food from being delivered perfectly hot.
The sizziling splatter from below the steel pan hissed, steam rising to the air as an aroma of seasoned Shaak filled the kitchen. A sudden beeping from the back far wall chimed loudly, to allow the other chef to rush and pull the first dutch oven from the nanowave appliance. The burst of spices and beautifully simmering local mushrooms began to take over. The roasted meat perfectly sat above a sprinkle of greens and noodles. The braised shaak was cooked medium rare, the slight charred edges were from a process of searing. All before being placed into the oven for the final result, that was now placed in front of Varek.
"Chef! The next batch of the Braised Ala Shaak is ready!" A young male Clarodian yelled, after placing the goregeous meat onto the duratsteel countertop. Varek looked at the horns first and then shifted his yellow eyes to the young man.
"Excellent, Yamir." Varek's tone was gruff, but pleased. "Now go drop the last of the fresh pasta. We have two more tables and the kitchen is done for the night."
"Yes, Chef!"
Varek moved quickly, grabing a few utensils and lightly removing the shaak meat from the dutchy. With precsion the meat fit into the sizziling oil and fresh garlic. He began to slowly turn it, searing the mid sections of the juicy delight. The oil fused into it and the sheer pink color of the meat began to lightly turn brown. The timing had to be perfect and the internal clock of Varek's mind began to clock it. Then the greens were added, leaving the sauce to stew on the side with the fresh pasta floating to the top. A step that had to take place before Varek was ready to have it enter the pan. In a brisk motion of pure refinement, he sliced into the meat. With satisfaction he waited, his eyes glowing with intensity as he watched the garlic glaze over the fresh greens with a spatula. Then he twisted the meat over and before he gave a second thought, poured the brown sauce and noodles into the mix. A burst of flame roared beneath the pan, but instead of concern a smile reached Varek's face. He peered out of the kitchen window, taking notice of the immense crowd.
"Yamir! Let's get that last dish done, we are almost ready to serve!"
"Heard, Chef!" Yamir responded quickly and rushed to the other side of the kitchen island. More spices and a few herbs were needed for the final garnish. He knew all too well that the Crimson Chef wasn't going to find forgetting acceptable. That was just the way things were. It might have been a rough opportunity to work as a chef for a cantina, but truly, Yamir was to learn all he could from Varek and respected him for his craft.
A few minutes passed and the plates were steaming hot and ready to be whisked away into the front half of the cantina. Varek, wiped his head dry and turned the burners off before taking a deep breath.
Another successful rush.
Varek grinned and looked to Yamir. The kid had spunk and he was learning everyday. Still, that didn't mean the kitchen was going to clean itself.
"Start with the prep station and work your way to the sink over here. I'm taking a break, if you need me..." Varek paused, looking out into the sea of all the guests through the long window into the bar. "I'm going to have a drink at the bar."
He pushed the swinging doors open, a brisk rush of cool air slammed into him and his Lekku slightly twitched. His tall red image taking up the entire frame of the walkway before proceeding. A few people gave him a nod or two of acknowledgement. As he sat down onto the old wooden stool, he could overhear the satisfied customers with their food. He smiled, lifted his finger to the bartender and waited for his usual.
Valery Noble