Another revision. It's been too long since I posted these, and part 3
should be done by Wednesday.
Ranma 1/2 Flambe!
A Month of Anything-Goes Martial Arts Recipes
in Weekly Installments.
Author's Note: The idea for this one came from a week in which I
read Banana Yoshimoto's "Kitchen" and the now-famous "Like Water
for Chocolate" in quick succession, as well as from the recipes
included in Hitomi Ichinohei's fine (but unfortunately
unfinished) fanfic "A Son's Duty." All characters the property
of Rumiko Takahashi; origin of recipes (which, I should point
out, are all edible) will be credited with each installment.
Bon Appetit!
DISCLAIMER: The author is not responsible for any damage caused
to your kitchen by the preparation of these recipes.
Week 1: Black-Bottomed Banana Bread
Akane ran until her breath sounded in her ears like waves on
the shore and her legs ached with cold and fatigue. The rain had
lifted, and here and there a star winked faintly through a gap in
the clouds; thunder still rumbled faintly in the distance. When
she could run no more, she drew up before the dripping eaves of a
vegetable stand, its wares shut up for the night, and leaned her
cheek against the chill of a lamppost.
"That dummy..." she whispered wearily, tears and anger
welling up inside her again. As usual, anger won out and she
started pounding her fist into the lamppost. "Dummy, dummy,
dummy!" she chanted in rhythm with each blow, her voice
gradually rising until she was nearly shouting.
The rusty jangle of a bell broke into her chant, and she
looked up in surprise. Across the street, tucked between an
incense shop and a drugstore, was a small Shinto shrine, its
orange pillars glistening with rain. Water dripped haphazardly
from the leaves of a huge tree that stood to one side of the
gate, its girth embraced by a huge rope hung with damp strips of
white paper that moved sluggishly with the breeze. The twin
statues of foxes that flanked the shrine were stained slate grey
in the aftermath of the rain.
Akane tentatively crept through the _torii_, guiltily
wondering if the shrine were open to the public so late. But
there seemed to be no hours posted, so she cautiously approached
the small wooden building. Hanging just under the eaves was a
large round bell, apparently the source of the ringing a moment
before; a thick straw rope hung down past a slatted
wooden box for monetary donations. The interior of the shrine
was too dark for her to see, even the glow of the nearby
streetlamps not penetrating; yet the darkness felt somehow
comforting, as if she were snuggled in a warm bed.
Which she might be now if it weren't for Ranma. The dummy.
Her hand tightened around the rope unconsciously. When Kasumi
had announced her intention to attend a month-long conference on
household remedies and medicinal plants in the United States,
Akane had leapt at the chance to cook for the family. Ranma had
leapt, too, she recalled bitterly -- for the door. But finals
were coming up, so he couldn't go on a training trip now. Ranma
knew better than to eat at the Nekohanten or Ucchan's every
night, and he couldn't afford to eat anywhere else. So Akane had
been given two of the things she needed the most -- a chance to
practice and a captive guinea pi... uh, taste-tester.
Unfortunately, he wasn't being much help.
<Some constructive criticism!> she grumped. <Collapsing on
the floor and writhing in agony isn't what I call constructive.
"Needs less salt" -- now *that* would be constructive.> But...
she had to admit that her dinner hadn't left him with much
choice. When she had finally tasted it herself (after smashing
Ranma into the floor, of course) *she* had almost collapsed.
What could have gone wrong? She had poured all her energy
into creating the perfect dinner, and it had ended up a perfect
disaster.
On impulse, Akane wrapped both hands around the thick rope.
She had no change to donate, but that couldn't be helped. She
screwed her eyes shut and rang the bell one, two, three times,
then clapped her hands and bowed her head.
<I wish... I wish I could cook.> she fervently prayed. <If
I could cook, I know everything would be all right.>
The bell echoed in the damp, empty streets, then fell
silent. Akane opened her eyes and stepped back, feeling oddly
disappointed. <Silly!> she berated herself. <It's not like
some spirit is going to just appear and teach me to cook...>
"Excuse me..." The voice was slow and warm with the rusty
tinge of age. Akane jumped and whirled around.
An old woman in a plain grey kimono stood behind her,
umbrella held up against the dripping water. Her face had the
lined, worn patina of a fine-grained wood, and her expression
radiated pleasant concern.
<That was fast!> Akane thought. The woman bowed slightly in
greeting and went on.
"I apologize for troubling you, but you woke me up from my
nap, and I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help
you."
"Well," Akane paused, wondering what rules of etiquette
applied to dealing with spirits. She laughed nervously. "Well,
I was just wishing I could cook... But don't you know that? I
called you, didn't I?"
The woman stared at her for a moment, then laughed, a mellow
laugh that filled the shrine grounds.
"Is that why you were attacking my lamppost? To call me?
I'm afraid the vegetable shop is closed, and I won't have any
fresh wares until morning." The woman gestured across the
street, and Akane noticed that the shutters of the vegetable
stand were open, showing a faintly lit interior. "Why wouldn't
you just try an all-night supermarket, if you're so eager to
cook." She sounded amused, not annoyed, and Akane blushed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trouble you."
"That's quite all right, dear," the woman said kindly. "Is
there something else wrong? You seem quite upset."
Akane hesitated. "I really don't want to burden you with my
problems. I mean we just met..." The woman's face creased into
a welcoming smile.
"It's no trouble at all, dear. Why don't you come have a
cup of tea to warm up before you return home? I'd very much
enjoy the company. I don't have many visitors these days." When
Akane nodded, the woman turned and clopped across the wet
pavement in her _geta_, leading Akane back to the vegetable shop.
They slipped around stacked crates and tables and through a
long curtain into a narrow six-tatami room with a low wooden
table. The room was pristine and brightly lit by a fluorescent
light overhead; a few pieces of whitish pottery sat on shelves
along one wall, and an arrangement of chrysanthemums was set in
an alcove in another wall. Akane knelt beside the table while
the woman went through another curtain, returning a minute or two
later with a small white teapot and a pair of teacups on a
lacquered tray.
The old woman knelt across from Akane and poured tea, the
reassuring slosh of the liquid the only sound in the room. Akane
wrapped her hands around her cup, feeling the warmth seep into
her chilled fingers. She hadn't realized she was so cold.
"So, my dear," the woman said softly. "We should probably
begin with introductions. My name is Oharu Murakami."
"Akane Tendo. Pleased to meet you." They both bowed
slightly. Akane sipped at her tea, at a loss for where to begin.
As she set her cup down, the woman's leathery hand touched her
arm.
"Don't hold back, dear." she whispered encouragingly. "I'm
very curious as to why a nice young girl like yourself is trying
to buy vegetables in the middle of the night, not to mention
crying and smashing lampposts."
At this, Akane sniffled a bit. In short sentences, she
spoke of the evening's fiasco, becoming more open with each sip
of tea. When she reached the part about the shrine, she blushed
a bit.
"...so I thought, well, maybe it wouldn't hurt. I mean, I
don't really expect it to work, but... I can always hope, can't
I?"
Mrs. Murakami looked thoughtful, tapping a finger on the
edge of her cup.
"You say some people have tried to teach you to cook?"
"Well, Kasumi. That's my older sister. She lets me try
sometimes. And Ranma's mother has tried once or twice, but that
didn't help either."
"Has either of these people ever taught anyone to cook
before?"
"Well, they're both wonderful cooks themselves, so they
should be able to help me, if there was any hope."
The woman laughed again, warming Akane as much as the tea.
"Being able to cook doesn't mean anything as far as their ability
to teach cooking. Teaching takes far more than an instinct for
food; it takes an instinct for people. These two fine cooks,
what would you say about their powers of observation? Of people,
I mean."
Akane thought for a moment. She loved Kasumi and Mrs.
Saotome. But she had to admit...
"Well, they are a bit dense in some ways. They seem to miss
a lot of things that other people notice right away. Ranma's mom
never even figured out that... well... she never figured out
about Ranma until she saw it right before her eyes. I mean, how
could she miss something so obvious...?"
"You see? The fact that you haven't been able to learn from
them doesn't mean you can't learn at all. It just means you need
a new teacher who can adapt the teaching to your personality."
"But who would teach me, if they can't?" Akane glumly
stared at her empty cup. Mrs. Murakami leaned over and calmly
poured her more tea.
"Well, I was thinking perhaps I could."
"You? But we just met. I couldn't possibly impose upon
you..."
"Oh, it's no imposition. It's been a long time since I've
helped anyone out like this. And I do love a challenge."
Akane sipped at her tea again, remaining silent.
"Please allow me to do this." Mrs. Murakami leaned over and
covered Akane's hand with her own. "I would so enjoy it."
Akane hesitated. She could hardly believe that someone was
willing to help her. "Well, okay... but if you change your mind
after seeing me cook, I'll understand. Really."
"Don't worry, Akane. I already have an idea what part of
your problem is, and there's still life in me, old as I am. Why
don't I come over tomorrow at, say, six o'clock? That should
give us enough time to prepare a meal, and the vegetable shop
will be closed."
"S... sure." Akane wrote the address on an envelope and
handed it to Mrs. Murakami, who scanned it and sent Akane a
shrewd look.
"The Tendo Dojo? Does this mean your family practices
martial arts?"
"Well, not my whole family. Just me and my dad. And of
course, there's Ranma and his dad..."
"Ah, good. This won't be nearly as painful as you think.
Now, it's getting late. Don't you think your family will be
worried?"
Akane stood reluctantly. "They've probably sent Ranma out
to look for me by now, so I guess you're right."
"Well, in that case, I'll see you tomorrow evening." Mrs.
Murakami escorted Akane back through the vegetable shop, waving
to her as she closed the shutters. Akane walked slowly along the
narrow streets, inhaling the freshly-washed air. The clouds were
mostly gone now, and she could see a few constellations each time
she passed out from under a streetlamp.
<A teacher, huh?> she mused, clasping her hands behind her
back. <I wonder if it can really work...>
The next day, she waited in agony for six o'clock.
Breakfast and lunch passed without incident; they still had a
goodly supply of Kasumi's miso soup in the fridge, and some
leftovers for their lunches, so Akane wouldn't need to make those
for a week or so. Though at the rate Ranma was eating them, they
wouldn't last quite that long. It was almost as if he were
trying to eat enough food for dinner as well... When the thought
occurred to her, she threw Ranma in the pond, just in case that
*was* what he was doing. It just wasn't fair.
Finally, on the stroke of six, she heard the outer door of
the entrance slide open, and Mrs. Murakami's voice carry through
to the living room. She was wearing a kimono nearly identical to
her clothing of the day before, grey fabric with a subtle design
worked into the threads. Akane quickly escorted her towards the
kitchen, hoping nobody would see them.
"Hey, Akane, who's this?" Akane flushed and turned to face
Ranma.
"This is Mrs. Murakami. Mrs. Murakami, Ranma."
"Ah, your fiance I've heard so much about. Pleased to meet
you." She bowed politely. Ranma turned as red as Akane.
"Um... pleased to meet you, but I'm not..."
Akane elbowed him in the gut. "We've got to get going,
seeya!" She grabbed Mrs. Murakami's arm and dragged her into the
kitchen. Ranma stared after them in confusion, then shrugged and
returned to the living room.
Mrs. Murakami looked around the kitchen, nodding in
approval. "Well, Akane, what were you planning on cooking
tonight?"
"Um, pork curry. Sometimes it turns out kinda normal, so I
thought it might be a good place to start."
"That sounds fine. Why don't you begin?"
"Aren't you going to help me?"
"Well, I can't teach you until I've seen you cook. I'll
just watch this time around, and then we can begin your lessons."
Akane nodded reluctantly, then turned to the stove and
concentrated. <This time!> she thought determinedly. <This time
I'll do it right!> Glowing blue, she charged into the fray.
Twenty minutes later, she stared at the glop in the pan. It
didn't look quite like Kasumi's, but it was done. Time to taste-
test it.
"Ranma! Dinner's ready!"
Mrs. Murakami placed a restraining hand on her arm. "No, I
don't think so, dear."
"But... why not? How else am I supposed to know if it's any
good?"
"Well, first of all, it's not good to depend on other
people's opinions too much. You need to find your self-worth in
your own success, not in other people's determination of your
success. But secondly, I think you should look at this bottle."
"That's just the oil I cooked the pork and vegetables in..."
Mrs. Murakami turned the plastic bottle so Akane could see
the label clearly. "I'm sorry, dear, but motor oil is not
generally considered to be edible."
Akane stared at the bottle, a sob welling up in her throat.
"But... but I tried so hard!"
"Oh, don't cry, Akane. I wasn't expecting you to do as well
as you did. I know exactly how to train you now."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do. But we can't do it here. Why don't you show me
to your dojo? And bring with you that sack of empty bottles.
Reusing is a form of recycling, isn't it?"
Mrs. Murakami knelt in the center of the dojo, motioning for
Akane to sit opposite her.
"Now, in a few minutes, we're going to start practicing, but
first there are a few questions I need to ask you. Be very
honest, with me and with yourself." Akane nodded. "How many
people do you know who can cook?"
"Well, there's Kasumi and Mrs. Saotome, of course. Ukyou
and Shampoo. Kodachi, I guess, though she does tend to poison
her cooking. And, well..." she flushed ""... Ranma's not bad
either."
"Hmmm... So, how would you describe Kasumi's character?"
"Well... calm, soothing."
"And how would you describe her food?"
"I don't know... it's very satisfying, and calming."
"How about this... Ukyou?"
"She's, well, she's a really nice girl... " <...when she's
not glomping on to Ranma...> "... and she's very cheerful. I
think she's pretty independent, too -- she runs a restaurant by
herself, and she's only sixteen."
"And her food?"
"Well, she cooks okonomiyaki. So there's a lot of variety,
and it's always very original. Her sauce is wonderful, very
tangy and sweet..."
"How about Ranma's personality? I know it's hard to be
objective about someone you love, but be honest."
"Someone I..." Akane stopped herself. It was a natural
assumption to make. She heaved a deep breath, and thought for a
minute. "Well, he's very self-confident. Tenacious. He's not
very sensitive or gentle..." Akane trailed off. "Wait a minute,
are you saying that someone's personality affects their cooking?"
"Well, yes. It's a very important factor."
Akane pondered that for a moment. She had only eaten
Ranma's cooking a few times, but... now that she thought about
it, it was a lot like him. It was never subtle, and it always
seemed to have a little flash to it, as if he had added just a
tad more of some unusual spice that just happened to work. It
was as if his self-confidence somehow oozed into the pan with the
ingredients. But if cooking and personality were related so
closely...
"So..." Akane suppressed a sob. "So my personality is BAD-
TASTING?" Mrs. Murakami laughed.
"Oh, no, not at all. But it does explain why your cooking
hasn't been working for you, if you've been trying to cook like
Kasumi. I haven't met her, of course, but from your description
she seems very placid, calm, and maternal."
"Which I'm not," Akane said bitterly.
"Don't be upset, Akane. Your personality is far more
interesting. You have a lot of fire in you, a lot of spice. The
way you've been cooking up until now goes against that." Akane
smiled slightly at that. "It doesn't surprise me in the least
that the one food you've made successfully so far is curry. That
gives the spice in you an avenue for expression. But it isn't
only personality that affects cooking. It's approach."
"Approach?"
"Yes. When Kasumi cooks, how does she go about it?"
"Well, she's very calm. She's always calm... she hums to
herself a lot, and smiles."
"Ukyou?"
"She's always smiling, too. She lives for okonomiyaki, and
it's almost like she's dancing when she cooks. Ranma... he
grins, and jumps around a lot."
"Does he now? That must be interesting to watch. Now, when
you began cooking your curry just now, what did you do?"
"I, um, concentrated..."
"What did you think about?"
"I thought about making good food."
"Honestly?" Mrs. Murakami's eyes bored into Akane's. She
thought again, then bowed her head.
"No," she said in a small voice.
"What did you think about?"
"Ranma. How I was going to show him this time. How I was
going to make him eat his words."
"That's what I thought. You see, you focused your aura as
if you were going into a battle. That battle aura seeped into
your food as you cooked it. And you have a very strong _ki_, so
it affects your cooking even more. What you need to do is focus
your _ki_ in a positive way, so that it improves your cooking.
So -- what makes you feel good? What makes you happy?"
<Ranma being nice...> she thought wistfully, <...but that
doesn't happen enough to be any good.> Aloud, she said,
"Practicing martial arts. Breaking cinderblocks always makes me
feel better when I'm upset."
Mrs. Murakami looked at her shrewdly for a moment, then
nodded. "I thought that might be the case. That's why we came
out to the dojo. What we are going to practice is Martial Arts
Cooking."
Akane looked up in amazement. Mrs. Murakami was smiling
broadly, her eyes almost lost in crinkles of merriment.
"What? Don't you think it's appropriate?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so."
"Good. I think this will also solve the motor-oil problem.
Tell me, how do you go about breaking cinderblocks?"
"I, um, put them in the middle of the floor. Then I break
them with the side of my hand."
"Can you break them without setting them up?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, you have to set up before you cook, too. Get out all
the ingredients and set them up for you to use."
"But Kasumi never does that. She just takes everything out
when she needs it."
"Yes, but Kasumi is also the one who arranged the kitchen,
isn't she? She's effectively set up the entire room in advance,
so that everything is where she can find it most easily. You, on
the other hand, need to arrange ingredients so they are right for
yourself. So, let's begin." She picked up the bag of bottles
and containers and began arranging them around Akane. "Now, this
one is the curry powder..."
An hour later, Akane stood in the midst of her set of
bottles, taking deep breaths as she calmed herself for a final
run of the kata. Mrs. Murakami stood a short ways away, watching
her.
"Ready.... begin!"
Akane swung her right arm out to the bottle designated
"cooking oil." <Grab, twist, bring around in one smooth movement.
Left arm passes over, removes top. Twist, pour, stop. Replace
oil, pause, focus, wait. "The moments of inaction are as
important as the moments of action." Hold pose and -- left arm
grasps pork, circular movement, pork in oil...> She continued
the movements, imitating the motions of cooking while she
switched from bottle to box to spoon. Finally, she gave the
"wok" a final twist of her arm and turned to present it before
Mrs. Murakami. The older woman smiled secretively.
"Now... Now I think you're ready for the real thing. Let's
go back to the kitchen."
Ranma chose that moment to poke his head in the dojo door.
"Hey, Akane, if you're not cooking tonight, does that mean I
can order out? The rest of the family already went out to eat,
and I could really go for some burgers right now..."
Akane stomped over to him and grabbed the front of his
shirt. "Who says I'm not cooking?" she growled. "I've been
practicing all night, and you darn well better be sitting at the
table when I finish. Got it?"
Ranma glanced at Mrs. Murakami. "Does this poor woman know
that you're planning to poison her?"
Akane glowed blue and wound up for a good hammerblow.
"Akane, stop!" Mrs. Murakami's voice held an edge of steel.
Akane paused and looked at her in shock. "Do you want to lose
all the focus you've gained this evening? Concentrate on the
kata, and let's return to the kitchen." Akane dropped Ranma in
embarrassment. As they left, Mrs. Murakami bowed to Ranma, the
twinkle back in her eyes.
"Thank you for the concern, young man, but I don't believe I
am in any danger. Akane's made great progress tonight. Dinner
should be ready shortly; I suggest you prepare yourself for a
surprise."
Ranma stared at the dish in front of him. He was
surprised, all right. It looked, well, normal. The meat looked
like meat, the vegetables looked like vegetables, and it was even
curry-colored.
That meant it had to taste really bad. If she got the looks
right, there's no way she could have gotten the taste right as
well. But... He closed his eyes and braced himself. <"We who
are about to die...">
He chewed. And chewed a bit more. And swallowed. Oh god,
it was the worst kind of Akane-cooking. The kind that made it
down to the stomach all right, then exploded. He waited for the
explosion. His stomach growled for more. He waited. Still no
explosion. He tried another bite. Then another. Suddenly he
looked down at his bowl and realized it was all gone. And he
wasn't dead. And it had tasted... okay. Not delicious, maybe,
but not toxic either. A bit spicy.
It couldn't possibly be Akane's cooking. Maybe that old
woman had done it before she left... He suddenly noticed Akane
was staring at him expectantly. He looked between his empty bowl
and her a few times. This was too much. With each glance,
though, Akane's expectant look grew less eager and more angry.
When he looked at the bowl the eighth time, she whipped out her
mallet and bashed him on the head.
"Can't you at least say something about it?" she yelled.
"You ate all of it, so say something!"
"Ummm..." Ranma was still in shock. He wasn't dead. "It's
delayed-action, right? I'll wake up in the middle of the night
screaming, right?"
"Why can't you just say it's good? Mrs. Murakami taught me
how to cook something! And I did it! Why can't you admit it?"
"No, there's got to be something weird going on.... Did you
buy something magic from a vendor? Or get a mix? Or order this
out?..." Ranma was running out of reasons. But Akane couldn't
have cooked this. "It's that old woman! She's really a
spirit..." Akane whacked him with the mallet again, this time
upside the head. He felt a little bit nauseous. That was more
like it.
"You jerk! I finally cook something right, and you can't
even admit you're wrong! You moron!"
Akane ran out of the room, and Ranma felt almost sorry. But
then, she'd left the food. Good thing she hadn't cooked it
herself; he was really hungry tonight. He helped himself to
more.
Still... he paused with chopsticks halfway to his mouth....
there was something funny going on. And it had to do with that
Murakami lady.
He really had to find out what was going on. This was all
just too weird.
END PART 1
ANYTHING-GOES MARTIAL ARTS COOKING TIP 1:
A Word About Tools
There are two specialized tools which are used in Anything-Goes
Martial Arts Cooking. The first is the mallet. Males may have
problems obtaining one from Hammerspace; substitute any
appropriate tool. The second is the Big-Ass Spatula (tm). While
purists may argue that this tool is the exclusive property of
Okonomiyaki-Style Martial Arts, none can deny its usefulness
in other Martial Arts Cooking endeavors. Not sold in stores;
get one custom-made, but don't forget to send Ukyou a cut. If
you don't... don't say we didn't warn you.
KATA 1
Black-Bottom Banana Bread
(this one was cut out of either the Elgin Courier-News or the
Chicago Tribune by my mother)
WEAPONS:
4 small very ripe bananas (black is good!)
1/2 cup unsalted butter or margarine, softened
2/3 cup sugar
3 large eggs (chicken ones, of course)
1/4 cup milk
1 cup cake flour
1 1/2 tsp baking POWDER
1 tsp baking SODA
generous 1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups chocolate chips
TECHNIQUE:
1. Begin with a very clean kitchen. Put rack in center of oven;
heat oven to 350 degrees FAHRENHEIT. Generously grease a 9 x 5
loaf pan with butter or margarine or other *edible* shortening
product. Hold pan next to flour sack. Karate-chop sack, thereby
dusting pan lightly with flour. Set aside. Measure all other
ingredients and arrange in proper order for kata. Clean kitchen.
2. Peel bananas. Smash bananas with mallet. Scrape banana pulp
off walls. (Alternately, mash with a fork.) Continue until
banana pulp resembles Ranma's face after a fight (i.e. lumpy).
Set aside in large mixing bowl (bananas, not Ranma). Clean
kitchen again.
3. Beat butter and sugar within an inch of their lives;
roundhouse kicks work well, though an electric mixer may be used.
Gather mess into a second bowl. Break eggs into separate bowl.
Remove shells. Add non-shell parts of eggs to butter and sugar
and mix until fluffy and smooth. Be sure to stir clockwise and
counterclockwise with each hand, to improve your blocks. Add
milk and mix again. Add this batter to banana bowl and mix
again. By now your blocks should be quite good. Sift dry
ingredients (hint: everything else) with your favorite speed-
striking technique (DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!) and add to bowl.
Throw chocolate chips into air and attempt to swat every single
one into the batter; if you can do this, you can master the
Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken. Scrape any batter, dry ingredients,
or chocolate chips off floor, walls, appliances, big sisters,
etc. and return to bowl. Mix with wooden spoon or Big-Ass
Spatula (tm). Transfer batter to pan (the one with the flour --
remember that?). Clean kitchen again.
4. Put pan in oven, on rack prepared in Step One. Watch
approximately two episodes of Ranma 1/2. If you can't stop at
two, set timer for 55-60 minutes. To test bread, meditate
briefly on a single word, such as "chocolate." Very, very gently
insert toothpick into center of bread until only a small end
protrudes. (Note: DO NOT attempt a toothpick-missile-strike, or
you'll never get it out of the bread.) Reversing your motions
exactly, remove toothpick. If it is clean, your mind is pure and
your bread is done. If not, meditate a few minutes more. Bread
should be dark brown, not black. If it is black, reset oven for
FAHRENHEIT NOT CELSIUS and start over. If you mastered the
Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken in Step Three, remove from oven with
bare hands; otherwise use potholders. Place on cooling rack and
defend from rogue pandas for 10 minutes; remove from pan and
allow to cool completely on rack. Chocolate chips should have
settled to bottom and formed layer of chocolate. The uninformed
will (you hope) believe this is in fact a layer of char and will
avoid your bread like the plague. Encourage this. This leaves
more bread for you and your fiance.
5. You will probably need to clean the kitchen again.
Ranma 1/2 Flambe!
WEEK 2: Failed Fudge
Akane wrapped the two blocks of baking chocolate in a
plastic bag and set the bag in the middle of the freshly-washed floor.
She took a deep, cleansing breath, raised her mallet over her
head, and brought it down with a resounding thwack. A few
fragments of chocolate skittered across the floor, but most of it
stayed in the bag. She gathered the few strays and put all of
the chocolate fragments in a small plastic bowl, then quickly
mopped the floor again.
The chocolate went off to the left at a thirty-degree angle,
right beside the sugar she had already measured. The sour cream
was at a similar angle to her right. The butter was in the
freezer, and the sink was filled with cold water. She checked
her notebook again. After her first session with Mrs. Murakami,
she had taken to rewriting each new recipe she learned in the
appropriate martial arts terms, taking notes as to things to
watch out for; it made remembering each kata much easier. In the
past week, she had added to her pork curry kata recipes for miso
soup, oyako domburi, and ton-katsu, as well as a few Western
dishes -- lasagna, Texas-style chili, and something called
"hamburger pie." Mrs. Murakami had encouraged her to explore
other nations' cuisines, as there were many dishes she thought
were well-suited to Akane's temperament.
Today, though, Akane had a surprise for her teacher. She
had found a new recipe, one that looked relatively simple, and
worked out a kata based on the recipe all by herself. As she set
a heavy saucepan on the stove, she laughed imagining the look
on Mrs. Murakami's face when Akane presented her with a plate of
delicious, creamy fudge.
Ranma peeked cautiously around the edge of the doorframe.
Akane was laughing. That couldn't bode well. It sounded like a
normal laugh, but really it was a laugh of pure evil as Akane
embarked on a course of destruction meant for the entire world.
It had to be. Why else would Akane be happy cooking?
He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he watched Akane
closely. She seemed to be meditating. Very unlike Akane. He
wondered briefly if she were possessed by a demon. A cooking
demon, out to trick him into lowering his defenses by plying him
with decent food, until at last it would strike with its long
pointy fangs... That was a possible explanation -- but difficult
to test, at least until the fangs showed up. He had to watch a
bit longer. He was lucky to have caught her alone; he felt
uneasy watching when Mrs. Murakami was there. There was
something about the old woman that made him feel, well,
vulnerable, as if she saw all his secrets. Wait -- Akane was
about to move...
She brought her arms around in a fluid motion and began what
looked like a martial arts form. A punch to her left, and a
plastic bowl went flying into the air. She swatted it with a
sideways chop, and the contents of the bowl -- something brown --
went flying into the pan. She caught the bowl and flung it
behind her without looking; it crashed onto the counter with a
dull clatter. Another blow, and a measuring cup full of sugar
was treated similarly, the sugar flying into the pan, and the cup
onto the counter. Akane kicked out to her right, and a plastic
dairy container leapt into the air; she brought both fists
together, crushing it directly above the pan so that the white
paste inside slid goopily out. A few more attacks, and the
ingredients that had been arranged around her were all in the
pan. Letting out a joyous cry, she brought her right arm around
in a circular block, turning on the stove at the bottom of her
swing.
Ranma twisted his mouth. <All that fuss just to dump stuff
in a pan...?>
Akane seemed to be stirring the pan with a wooden spoon,
first clockwise, then counterclockwise, with an almost hypnotic
rhythm. For the life of him, Ranma could not figure out what she
was making. It didn't really help that he was looking at her
back. He considered walking in nonchalantly and asking her what
she was doing, but her attitude made him think he would be taking
his life in his hands. She seemed almost preternaturally alert.
Plus her mallet was sitting off to one side, within easy reach.
Not good odds.
Suddenly Akane stepped back, bringing her arms around to a
ready position. Ranma could barely see the pan over her
shoulder. Not much seemed to be happening; he could see rising
steam, and the end of what looked like... a thermometer? From
the angle of her head, it seemed she was focusing all her
attention on the pan, watching for some sign. Several minutes
passed. Ranma focused on Akane. Akane focused on the pan.
With a blinding flash of movement, Akane swung her right arm
around to grab a potholder off the wall. She grasped the pan,
made a flying leap over to the sink, and dunked the pot in. A
cloud of steam rose up. Then she roundhouse-kicked the freezer
open, grabbed something small and yellow in one fist, and flung
it into the pan, diving into the air as she did so. She landed
in a roll and came up in a ready position, facing the sink.
Ranma could see her profile as she breathed heavily, all her
attention focused on the pan again. As if an afterthought, the
freezer door swung closed with a small thud.
Ranma withdrew into the hall, out of sight. He was right,
something really weird was going on. First, Akane started
producing edible meals, with no sign that they were takeout or
premixed. Now she was cooking like it was a cross between
chemistry and kempo. He had to get to the bottom of things.
So far, his investigations had been fruitless. Staking out
the front and back doors for delivery men had been a no go; no
visitors had arrived all week, and he had gotten rained on twice.
The few glances he managed to take into the kitchen when dinner
was being prepared had shown Akane active, while Mrs. Murakami
just sat there, so the old lady wasn't doing the cooking. And
what was with those sessions in the dojo?
Today, he decided, he had to follow the old lady home. He
was going to find out what was going on if it killed him.
And with Akane cooking, that was always a possibility.
Akane let out a yell and began to stir the contents of the
pan. Two right blocks, two left blocks, pause, deep breath. Two
right, two left, pause, breathe. The cookbook had said to be
sure to give the fudge time to react, so she was careful to pause
often. What a conscientious cook she was turning out to be!
Twenty minutes later, she was getting annoyed. She had
given the darn fudge plenty of time to turn, but it still sat in
the pan, completely liquid. And her arms were getting tired.
She stopped and sank to the floor. She should have known it
wouldn't work. But what could she have done wrong? She reached
up and pulled her notebook off the counter. No, she had done
everything the recipe said. She had followed the kata precisely.
It just wasn't working the way it was supposed to.
The whole fudge cookbook was probably a practical joke. All
that mumbo-jumbo about "shocking" and "graining" and "seeding"
-- she should have known from the start it was a fake. Honestly,
"soft ball stage," "hard ball stage" -- it sounded almost, well,
pornographic.
She stood and gave her fudge soup a few more stirs. It
stayed soup. She pulled out the spoon and watched it drip
sluggishly. Sure looked yummy, though. She caught a drip on her
index finger and popped it in her mouth. Tasted good, too... but
fudge was just not supposed to be eaten with a spoon. There was
probably an unwritten Law of Fudge that read "Fudge shall be able
to be picked up with the fingers." She tasted another drip, then
gazed morosely at the pan. No way she could eat all of it drip
by drip. She would have to throw it away. It just wasn't fair.
"Excuse me..." Mrs. Murakami's voice startled her, and she
spun around, trying to hide the pan. Mrs. Murakami's face beamed
gently at her, and she smiled back half-heartedly. Mrs. Murakami
went on.
"I see you've already gotten started on tonight's meal.
Good for you! After all, you'll need to be cooking by yourself
soon enough." She tried to peer around Akane; Akane shifted to
block her view again. "What is it you have there, dear? I smell
chocolate. Is this for dessert?"
Akane started to sniffle. This was not the way things were
supposed to happen. "Well, it's... it's supposed to be..." she
burst into tears, covering her face in her hands. A moment
later, she felt Mrs. Murakami's arm around her, comforting her.
"It's all right, dear." Her voice sounded like chocolate to
Akane's ears, and the thought made her cry harder. "Don't cry
any more, Akane. Why don't you just tell me about it?"
"But it's... I was making... I wanted it to be a surprise!
And it didn't work. I can't cook after all..."
"What was it supposed to be?" Mrs. Murakami was completely
calm.
"It... well... fudge." Akane wiped at her eyes and stared
at the floor in shame. "It was such an easy recipe..." Mrs.
Murakami started to laugh and Akane looked up, hurt.
"Don't look at me like that, dear." Mrs. Murakami squeezed
Akane's shoulder bracingly. "It's just that making fudge is
anything but easy. Even seasoned chefs can fail at making fudge
sometimes. So many things can affect it -- the temperature, the
humidity, anything. It's no surprise that it didn't turn out.
Now, let me have a look at it." Akane stepped aside, allowing
her to inspect the pan. "Hmmm... You've been beating this for
some time, correct? My guess would be that you didn't cook it
quite long enough. Did you test it?"
"I cooked it to the temperature that it said in the recipe.
The second it reached that temperature, I took it off. It should
have been right!"
"Ah, but thermometers aren't always accurate enough for
candy-making. You need to test it first, drop a small spoonful
of the syrup into cool water and see how it reacts." Akane
looked back down, her cheeks red. The older woman smiled and
went on. "You've been doing a wonderful job so far, learning
every recipe by heart. But there is more to it than that.
Martial arts isn't only a matter of learning movements; in order
to fight, one has to be able to respond to situations
automatically, without thought. Eventually you develop an
instinct for battle, until the strongest martial artists can
sense an attack coming before it is even launched. Isn't that
so?" Akane nodded. "Well, it is much the same in cooking. You
have to develop an instinct for cooking, become attuned to your
cooking and your environment so that you can automatically adjust
your technique to respond to the situation. Until then, you have
to learn to accept the occasional failure, and use that failure
to move you farther along the path. And remember, unlike martial
arts, cooking is, at least in this day and age, never truly a
survival situation; you can always do something over." Akane
smiled at this, and looked back at the pan, sticking her finger
in for another taste.
"Well," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "I guess I'd
better clean this up then. I need the pan for dinner..."
"Wait just a moment, Akane. There's one more lesson I think
you can learn from this. It's called serendipity."
"Seren-what?"
"Serendipity. It means a good result that comes about by
accident. Quite honestly, if it wasn't for serendipity, half of
the food we now consider run-of-the-mill would never have even
existed. Cooking itself was probably an accidental discovery,
made when someone long ago tripped and dropped something into a
campfire." Akane giggled a bit at this, her good mood restored.
"What it can also mean to us is making the most of our mistakes.
Sometimes failed food can be salvaged, or even made into
something better. And I have an idea for this fudge soup of
yours..."
Ranma frowned through the entire meal. The sweet-and-sour
chicken was quite good, almost delicious, though it seemed that
it was missing something; he couldn't quite figure out what.
Maybe a bit more pineapple juice? The rice was excellent,
beautifully sticky without being soggy; it had been improving
every day. The tea was just a tad too bitter, but otherwise
excellent. If Kasumi had cooked the meal, he would have been
grinning from ear to ear. As it was, his mood grew blacker as he
helped himself to seconds.
Mrs. Murakami was eating with them tonight, since Akane had
wanted to try making a full family-sized portion. Over the past
week, the rest of the family had started drifting in to meals,
first Soun, who had wept tears of joy after his first bite of
Akane's oyako domburi, then the ever-hungry Genma, then finally
Nabiki, who didn't intend to spend any of her own money eating
out. Happosai was thankfully out on a training trip that he had
said would take a month; nobody missed him. And everyone was
enjoying tonight's meal, although of course they had all waited
to taste it until Ranma had taken his first bite; old habits died
hard. Soun looked as if he was willing to give the entire house
to Mrs. Murakami in gratitude; Nabiki even offered a sidelong
compliment to Akane, who smiled, then glared at Ranma. He knew
that Mrs. Murakami's presence was the only reason he hadn't been
bashed over the head yet; Akane had quickly developed a strong
case of hero-worship, and was on her best behavior. But he
didn't trust the old woman, not one inch. This meal was only
proof of her perfidy. He served himself thirds.
The meal ended, and Mrs. Murakami gave Akane a significant
look that Ranma didn't miss. Akane stood up and practically
danced into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a small
tray. Ranma stared at it in surprise. Dessert? Oh, no. This
was Akane's first try at dessert since she had started her
diabolical cooking lessons; there was no way of knowing if she'd
figured out the difference between sugar and salt. He found
himself hoping she hadn't as she distributed plates around the
table. If it was bad, then it meant Akane was back to normal.
"Pecan pie!" Genma exclaimed in joy. "If only I had a
wonderful daughter like you, then I could die a happy man."
"Wait till you try it, you may die yet!" Ranma quipped
automatically. Akane glared at him, then beamed at the others.
"It's CHOCOLATE pecan pie," she said proudly, sending a
secretive smile at Mrs. Murakami. Ranma didn't miss that one
either. Something fishy was going on with this pie. Maybe there
was something fishy in the pie. That would be pleasantly
nostalgic. He nervously scooped a bit up with a spoon. Everyone
at the table was staring at him, waiting for his reaction. He
popped it in his mouth.
Definitely sugar instead of salt. And well-flavored, a good
rich chocolate. It had a tang to it as well, a bite that was
really quite pleasant. Heck, it was delicious. His mind froze,
and he watched the others begin to eat, now that the pie was
proven safe. Akane's eyes still bored into him. He suddenly
realized that this must be what Akane had been making earlier.
She had made this by herself. Without anyone else there.
Looking like she was trying some sort of magic spell. And it was
delicious. He automatically smashed his father's hand as the old
man made a grab for his slice; magic or not, he never gave up
good food. He finished it quickly, his face still blank. Across
the table, Akane's expectant face had fallen; as he watched, it
reshaped itself in angry lines. He was in for it now. But he
couldn't do anything but stare.
Mrs. Murakami stood. "Well, thank you so much for your
hospitality. I really must be going now; I have several errands
to attend to on my way home." Ranma jumped at this. He had
almost forgotten his plan!
"Here, let me walk you home. It's already dark." Everyone
was staring at him. He glared around the table. "Hey, I'm being
polite! Don't look so surprised."
"That won't be necessary, young man. Why don't you spend
some time with your fiancee?"
Ranma was not giving up. Besides, he knew he was getting
beat up tonight anyways; at least that hadn't changed. The inevitable
pain could wait a little while. "How about I see you to the door,
then?"
"Well, all right. If you insist."
Ranma took Mrs. Murakami's arm and accompanied her as far as
the gate, then watched as she walked slowly away. When she was
almost out of sight, he leapt to the rooftops and began following
her. Behind him, he could hear Akane screaming his name in rage.
He followed at a short distance, leaping from rooftop to
rooftop. The woman moved surprisingly fast for one so old; no
problem for him, of course, but he added it to his list of
grievances. She went straight for several blocks, then made a
left turn, then a right. They had moved into an older section of
town, where the houses were slightly more run-down; he had to be
careful of loose tiles on the rooftops. Finally he leapt to the
top of a telephone pole and watched closely as the woman slowed
down in front of a vegetable shop that had the name "Murakami" on
the door. Then she turned -- not right, into the shop, but left.
Ranma stared in disbelief as the woman walked into the Shinto
shrine.
<I _knew_ something was up!> he congratulated himself,
leaping over to the _torii_, then down into the cramped shrine
grounds. He looked around warily; she had to be just inside, and
he didn't trust spirits of any kind. He'd had some pretty bad
experiences. So he was prepared for a confrontation, though he
would have trouble fighting a spirit that looked like a woman.
But, as he had half-expected, the old woman was nowhere to
be seen.
END WEEK 2
ANYTHING-GOES MARTIAL ARTS COOKING TIP 2:
Public Relations
Anything-Goes Martial-Arts Cooking is a particularly delicate
art, and as in any other delicate art, occasionally something
gets ruined. Eggshells get into frosting, roving geezers steal
vital ingredients, and flying bodies knock food across the room.
Don't sweat it. The best strategy for dealing with this is:
never tell anyone what you're making. Ever. All they have to do
is eat; they don't need to know how the dog got the pork that was
supposed to be in that vegetable stir-fry, or how you cleaned the
eggs off the floor before beating them. Nobody needs to know.
Be sure to lock the door, too.
KATA 2
Failed Fudge Recipes
(adapted from the book Oh, Fudge! by Lee Edwards Benning)
2a: Drizzle Bars
WEAPONS:
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 1/2 cups finely crushed graham crackers (mallet useful for
this)
1 recipe failed fudge (too hard, too soft, too runny, too sugary,
too chewy, etc.)(may substitute 1 6- or 12-oz package of
chocolate chips if your fudge failed to fail)
1 6- or 12-oz package chips in complementary flavor (peanut
butter, white chocolate, etc.)(NOT wood chips)(NOT potato
chips)(NOT buffalo chips)
1 3.5-oz can (1 1/3 cups) flaked coconut (not coconut flake --
that's the principal) True martial artists will use a whole
coconut.
1 cup walnuts
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
TECHNIQUE:
1. Clean up all fudge mess and don't tell anyone you tried to
make fudge. Preheat oven to 375 degrees FAHRENHEIT.
Measure all other ingredients and arrange in proper order for
kata.
2. Melt butter in pan over low heat. Gather crushed graham
crackers from floor and stir into butter. Mop floor and wipe off
mallet. Pat crumb mixture evenly in the bottom of an ungreased
13 x 9 x 2 -inch baking pan, using carefully controlled multiple
blows with the heel of the hand. Eventually, the crust should be
flat; this may take some time if your control is off.
3. Throw bag of chips into the air; roundhouse kick so that
impact occurs over crust and chips scatter in pan. Gather any
chips that landed elsewhere and return them to the pan. If
failed fudge is liquid, pour haphazardly over chips; if not, chop
fudge with edge of hand or Big-Ass Spatula (tm) into small pieces
and scatter over chips in same fashion, using opposite leg.
4. Break open coconut with mallet; speed strike coconut meat (the
white part) until it is shredded; alternately, open can. Discard
husk (the brown part) Scatter coconut evenly over fudge.
Trounce walnuts in the same fashion and add. Gather any loose
ingredients and add to pan. Mop floor.
5. Holding can of sweetened condensed milk over pan, crush can
in fist and drizzle contents over everything. Wipe up excess
from floor and walls. Place pan in oven.
6. Bake for 20 minutes (not long enough to watch any Ranma,
sorry), then use Big-Ass Spatula (tm) or mallet to squash down
and compact the bars. Make them flat. Finish baking for 15-20
minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool. Meanwhile, clean
the kitchen. Cut in squares. Don't let Kasumi take the credit
for these!
2b: Failed Fudge Pecan Pie (for expert fudge failers)
WEAPONS:
1 prebaked 8-inch pie crust (buy it! don't be ashamed!)
3 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 recipe failed fudge (1 pound), runny, at room temperature
2 large eggs
1/8 tsp. cream of tartar (I know it doesn't look like cream!
Trust me!)
pecans or walnuts
whipping cream
TECHNIQUE:
1. Clean up all fudge mess and don't tell anyone you tried to
make fudge. Preheat oven to 350 degrees FAHRENHEIT. Measure
ingredients and arrange in proper order for kata.
2. Blend cream cheese and runny fudge with bare-handed blows,
electric mixer, or food processor. Separate eggs. No, this does
not mean one egg goes on each counter while they try to work out
their differences. Separate egg yolks (the yellow part) from egg
whites (the clear part). To do so, fling eggs into air.
Precisely slice each one open 1/2 inch from the end with cleaver
or Big-Ass Spatula (tm). Quickly snatch yolks from plummeting
egg mess and toss to bowl of fudge mixture while whites fall into
a separate bowl. Remove eggshells and discard. Clean kitchen.
Beat fudge mixture and egg yolks soundly. Wash hands.
3. In separate bowl, with clean beaters, hands, etc., beat egg
whites until frothy. (Note: Cooks who tend to be heavy-handed
(this means you, Akane) or who want to build stamina, be sure to
beat egg whites by hand. This should tire you out enough to do
the rest of the kata gently. Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken speeds up
the process nicely.) Add cream of tartar (yes, that white
powder) and continue beating until whites form stiff peaks (if
you're using two beaters, they could form twin peaks).
4. Meditating on your "chocolate" mantra, fold whites LIGHTLY
into fudge mixture with Big-Ass Spatula (tm). In one smooth
movement of the Spatula, mound mixture in center of prebaked
crust. Follow Spatula movement with side-kick to nut container,
sending nuts into air. Whack nuts on top of fudge stuff with
reverse swing of Spatula. But not too hard. Mixture will spread
during baking, so don't hammer it flat.
5. Put pie in oven. Listen to Ranma 1/2 Calendar CD, including
as much as you can stand of that horrible Christmas song. If you
doubt your ability to make it through that last evil track, set
timer for 45 minutes. Center should have fallen -- this isn't a
souffle, it's SUPPOSED to fall, so don't worry about shaking your
bootie to the Nekohanten Menu Song. Let cool. Slice. Wash
hands. Whip cream severely and fling a glob onto each slice.
Clean kitchen and serve.
bengman *"Nanika kuwasero, tonikaku kuwasero, zenbu kuwasero!
Bridget E. Engman * Demae mo ii ze! Henshin shichau to yubi ga futosugite,
b-engma@students. * Pizza no chuumon sae mo denwa dekinai!"
uiuc.edu * ---Wan Dabada, "Can't Stop Eatin'"