Chapter 9 Where Recipe Meets Magic
Where Recipe Meets Magic
AFTER THE APRON FITTING, FLORA LED THE STREAM OF PIPS toward the greenhouse in the garden.
Standing outside, next to two trellis-covered stone tables, was a petite woman with sun-kissed skin, dirt under her nails, and twigs tangled in her tight curls. She tugged at a sprig.
“Good day, everyone! I’m Gideon Green. You may call me Instructor Gideon.” She smiled politely at Flora. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like to get some fresh air.”
“Thank you, but”—Flora glanced back at one of the towers—“Madame Godard needs to see me in her office.”
Gideon picked up a watering can. “In that case, you better not keep the headmistress waiting.”
Sylvie watched enviously as Flora vanished up the path.
Of course Sylvie was excited to be starting her preparatory classes. But it was hard to concentrate on cooking when her mind was focused on the book in the library. Plus …
She looked up at the canopy of young snake gourds blotting out the sky above the tables. They were as long as her arms and reminded Sylvie of sleek green eels, docile yet deceitful.
“Now, before we begin, a bit more about me.” Gideon tipped the metal spout onto the roots of the sprawling vine.
“My areas of expertise are peculiar plants, plant breeding, and culinary farming. It’s my job to maintain Brindille’s gardens and teach classes pertaining to cultivation and foraging.”
“I thought classes were canceled for the day,” said Adara, staring uncertainly at the writhing gourds.
“For everyone else, yes. However, you have six weeks until testing, which means there is no time for breaks”—Instructor Gideon emptied the watering can, then paused—“despite the August Strange announcements.”
“I wonder if it’s true,” said Big Shawn. “Could there be something the CCS isn’t telling us?”
Sylvie felt her cheeks flush.
“You should let others worry about that,” said Gideon. “You’re here to focus on learning.”
Georgia stood quietly at the other end of the table, chewing on a nail as the gourds twisted back into tight coils.
“Perfect! That should keep them calm until our lesson is over,” said Gideon.
“We don’t have to try and charm them, do we?” Adara asked.
“No—”
Darius cut in. “What’s wrong? You scared of a little gourd?”
Instructor Gideon thrust out the watering can. “Well, if you aren’t, Darius, be my guest. But I’d caution you. Young snake gourds have flesh sweet as a melon, but a bite as sharp as a knife.”
Darius turned three shades paler. “Actually, I think I’m good.”
“Wise decision.” Gideon dusted off her hands and turned back to the class. “Peculiar plant maintenance isn’t taught until your third year. So you’ll have time before you need to learn how to charm a gourd.”
Sylvie felt the fluttering in her chest release. After her run-in the other night in the garden, she’d had enough of cucurbit serpents.
“You are here today to build on your foundation of culinary knowledge.” Gideon gestured to the produce on the tables with silver placards in front of it.
There were fluffy mounds of sea moss, baskets filled with gnarled marshmallow roots, vases filled with bobbing bouquets of snowdrops, and heads of what looked like feathery cabbage, which had no label.
“Even without spells, cooking is part heart, part knowledge.” She scooped up the strange plant that didn’t have a name. “Who can tell me what this is?”
Sylvie searched her memory. She’d seen it before, growing in the garden of an old woman who sold odd fruits and heirloom vegetables.
“It’s part of the chicory family,” said Sylvie, racking her brain.
“The plant is called puntarelle,” said Georgia.
“Very good!” Instructor Gideon beamed.
“I say lucky guess,” Darius muttered.
Sylvie glanced at Georgia. She got the feeling she’d heard the slight but was pretending not to.
Even though Sylvie disliked her roommate, she had to admit it wasn’t luck. It was impressive. Maybe there is more to her than makeup and pastry bags.
Sylvie turned her attention back to Instructor Gideon, tugging at the puntarelle.
She dropped a leaf into a bowl of ice water.
“Even in non-magical cooking, there are consequences when you don’t follow the rules.
” She pointed to a second bowl. Inside, feathery spears rested limply, like fish languishing in the sand.
“Fail to soak your puntarelle, and it will be bitter… . Ingredients always guide the recipe. That’s doubly true when whipping up wizardry. ”
Adara chewed on the tip of a pencil as she jotted down notes.
Gideon pointed to the strange roots and plants around her. “These are the building blocks of every spell. This is where recipe meets magic!”
“So cool,” said Big Shawn.
“If you don’t understand the ingredients you’re working with, even the most talented among you will be unable to cook up the spell that will bring forth your Blade.” Gideon rested a hand firmly on the basket of marshmallow root. “That’s why you’re here, to set the foundation.”
The boy called Carlos nodded. “My mom’s a healer. She says plant seeds are the life and blood of elixirs.”
“Your mother is correct,” said Gideon.
“Are we going to talk for the whole class or cook?” Darius asked.
“Ingredients always come before the recipe, Mr. Maxwell.” Gideon lifted a sheet pan loaded with fluffy white pillows.
Sylvie eyed the spongy squares. Marshmallows.
“Before you get to the test that will decide your future, you must understand how magic works.” She pulled out her Blade, a double-edged knife with a Birchwood handle and emerald-green rivets.
Gideon pressed the tip down. Tiny sparks erupted, covering the marshmallows in crusty golden shells.
“I want to learn to roast marshmallows that way,” said Big Shawn.
Carlos nodded.
“Once you have your Blade, some magic from the spell that made it is imbued within. Ingredients. Recipe. Execution. Blade. Each component feeds off the other.”
Sylvie watched intently as Instructor Gideon moved between the two tables in front of her.
“Anyone can make a regular marshmallow. Egg whites. Vanilla. Gelatin. But if you want to make one that toasts to perfection with the flick of the wrist?” Gideon scooped up a ball of sea moss. “You must recognize the right ingredients. Sea moss. Marshmallow root. Egg whites.”
Adara raised her hand. “But isn’t that what recipes are for? They tell you which ingredients to use.”
Sylvie’s mom had loads of cookbooks, but they mostly sat on shelves collecting dust. Real cooking is about intuition, she always said. You have to feel your way through the dish.
“Sometimes that’s true,” said Gideon. “But what do you do when you don’t have the right recipe? Or worse, what happens when you don’t see an ingredient for what it truly is?”
Sylvie had made that mistake once. She accidentally used salt in a cake instead of sugar. Even in non-magical cooking, mistakes could equal disaster.
“Cooking requires you to use all your senses and intuition,” continued Gideon.
There was that word again, the sixth sense, guiding your hand.
Darius folded his arms across his chest. “If someone can’t recognize magic when it’s right under their nose, they shouldn’t be here.”
Gideon raised a brow. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”
The edges of his mouth curled. “Yeah, I do.”
“Excellent! Then I’m sure you’ll pass today’s class with flying colors.
” She hoisted up a basket of something that looked like purple onions.
“These are squill bulbs. I’ve hidden them throughout this area of the garden.
” She pointed to a patch the size of a football field.
“Each of you will take a shovel and hunt one down.”
“You can’t be serious,” Darius groused. “We’re not dogs. How are we supposed to find something you’ve shoved in the dirt?”
Gideon smiled like a Cheshire cat. “For you, I’m sure it’ll be simple.”
Darius now turned even paler. “This is a waste of time. I’m going to make sure the CCS hears about this. We should be cooking, not gardening.”
“This task is not about gardening,” continued Gideon.
“It’s about recognizing something that has been touched by magic.
” She picked up her Blade. “Beet paper. Sugar windows. Pastillage tables. Tempered chocolate doors. Half of Brindille is an edible illusion, even this.” She lifted her knife and drove it down onto the stone surface in front of her.
Sylvie recoiled, waiting for the sound of crushing steel. But it never came.
A sheet of gray lifted off the table, pulled by an invisible force.
“Is that what I think it is?” Adara asked.
“Whoa!” Carlos’s mouth hung agape. “Chocolate.”
Sylvie stared.
Resting beneath the stone facade, like a hermit crab hiding beneath a shell, was a pristine block of tempered chocolate.
Gideon tapped the side of her Blade gently against the other table. Sylvie waited for another spark. But nothing came.
“You need to learn to recognize what is real and what is magic. It doesn’t matter if it’s a chocolate table or a squill bulb. The fate of your spell … your safety … your Blade depend on it.”
Sylvie stared at the knife in Gideon’s hand. Once you had your Blade, you were bound to it. If something happened to it, that was it. There was no do-over. Your ability to cook up magic was lost.
“Now please grab a hand trowel.” Gideon pointed to a wooden crate filled with small shovels. “I’ve hidden one bulb per student. You’ll have an hour to find them, starting now.”
Sylvie joined the pack of kids diving into the crate.
How am I going to find a squill when I know nothing about them? Sylvie racked her mind for clues as she yanked up a blue-handled trowel. She stopped short.
A hand with a set of bitten nails was clutching the other end.
Georgia stared at her for a moment, looking slightly annoyed.
You can take it, Sylvie was about to say. But before she got a chance …
“I’ll find another one,” said Georgia, pushing back into the box.
Sylvie thought about handing over the shovel. But was Georgia trying to be nice? Maybe she doesn’t want anything to do with me?