Culinary Intelligence

Posted on Sun Jul 28th, 2019 @ 12:44pm by Petty Officer 1st Class Cicero Delacroix & Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV

Mission: Mudd on the Souls of Mankind
Location: USS HERA, Deck 9, Officer's Mess
Timeline: Just before Spar-Dee-Har-Har

Overseeing the deck nine mess halls which were joined through a small corridor, Cicero had moved back and forth for a while making sure that the enlisted crew mess and officer's mess were ready for chow time. The culinary ticket for the officers today was heavily leaning towards seafood and vegetables. Of course, Cicero put a little of his own touch on things, but Starfleet had their standards and guidelines as to what to feed a hungry crew. He ultimately settled himself down and planted himself in the officer's mess serving food for the individuals who entered through the doors and got into line.

Working the line, Cicero had served a few officers who received their food and took a seat. He had not seen any of the starship's Department Heads or the Captain's senior staff yet until the doors parted ways and the red-haired gray uniformed man with rather fascinating facial hair and a very old fashioned appearance to him came through the doors. It was not like what was being served to the standard junior and senior officer's was bad. It was all good, but Cicero did know how to treat the heads of Departments and members of the Captain's senior staff with a little extra care.

Cicero put on a very sweet smile when the Chief Intelligence Officer neared. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. How are you doing today?" he asked the man. Cicero wanted to mingle a bit with Clemens and others. He wanted to get to know the crew and get to know things they liked or disliked as well as any dietary needs that they may have. "I hope you came nice and hungry, Sir" added Cicero.

Intel Chief Clemens had a PADD in hand, as he entered the room. Without looking up from it, he managed to avoid any collisions in the fairly-busy messhall as he approached the line.

At the sound of Cicero's cheery voice, the Southern-fried Secret Sorcerer refocused his attention to the man addressing him.

His internal HUD ran through the service record of the chef, as Sam flashed a fusion-powered grin, and replied, "Off'suh DEE-lah-croyah! It's a playz-yuh t'fin'leh meet'yuh, suh. Ah've bin heah'in' awl soahts'uh good stuff 'bout yuh talent fuh makin' happeh bellies happen, heayah!"

The culinary specialist smiled shyly. He was humbled by the scuttlebutt that he was making bellies happy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant, and thank you. I have been trying my best to serve the crew some tastes from their homes and expand their culinary senses a bit" he said pleasantly.

"What makes your belly happy?" asked Cicero with a bashful smile. "I do take requests. Well, at least I listen to people and what they like and would want to see, but I do try my best to wave my spatula around and make a little magic happen in the galleys."

Clemens mused, "D'yuh know how tuh make chick'n 'n dumplins? Spoon-style, nawt rolled?"
He looked wistful. "Ah miss muh ma's cookin'."

Cicero pursed his lips and stroked his chin. "Well, I do know how to make dumplings, several sorts of them, and I know how to make chicken. Chicken and dumplings shouldn't be an issue, but I may need to consult the Federation culinary database about 'spoon-style'" replied the young culinary specialist. "Where's home for you, Sir?" asked Cicero.

"Ah hayuhl outta Miss-ooh-rah, in thuh Yew-Knight'd-Stay'ts uv 'Mehr'cuh, ahn Uh'th, 'bout halfway 'round thuh plah'nit fruhm thuh Fed'ray'shuhn Cah'pit'uhl. An' wheah d'you hay'uhl fruhm, if'n ah may ahsk?"

Cicero felt the distinctive feature on his forehead. "My mother's side of the family are Napean, but I call Earth home. My father is human. I think I got most of his looks except for my mother's donut like a crescent, but it's necessary. I consider myself from France and most of my human ancestors were French."

Clemens looked wistful at the mention of his homeworld. "Well, thuh Frain'ch've always been good cooks. Ah knew a gal in N'oh'lins, once- ah sweah it musta been huh g'netics- she made it look like cha'ld's play t'make all them fluffeh pay'strees, 'n cakes that it'd take th'Corps of Engineers a muhnth t'design- so fahst it'd make yuh haid spin."

He smiled, and added, "Ah think this heah ship needs someone lahk you, suhn. Someone tuh r'mind 'em that it's nawt awhl fights, 'n'stress, 'n'pay'hn."

The young chef smiled at the compliments. "Thank you," he said showing his gratitude to the man. "I may not be much of a fighter and I am not that great outside of my domain here, but I take my duties seriously. It is my job to make sure that the crew is well fed and that you all get to enjoy some of the luxuries from back home. It helps with morale which is something important especially in a war, but things are good and when things are good, the crew are happy. The happier the crew more they want to eat things that keep them that way."

Clemens nodded at the cavalier chef, acknowledging his expertise. "Ya reckon ah could get a mess o'chicken n' dumplins, sometahm soon? No bones needed- muh ma always jus' used reg'luh ol' breast meat. In th'meantahm, ah'm a'gonna have a seat an' look ovuh th'menu uv th'day, ovuh heah." He waved toward the seating area.

"I'll see what I can do" replied Cicero. "Go have a seat and I'll get to work before I get written up for being too social" teased the young man. It would not be the first time he had been written up for mingling with the crew longer than necessary while on duty. Some places were more tolerant about 'customer service,' but others wanted you to just exchange a hello, answer dietary questions, and send them on their way. He did not feel that the Hera was like this, but he still did not want to test those waters yet.