Recipes For Happiness

Posted on Tue Dec 31st, 2019 @ 12:14pm by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Petty Officer 1st Class Cicero Delacroix
Edited on on Tue Dec 31st, 2019 @ 12:17pm

Mission: Neutral Zone Neutrality
Location: USS Hera, Deck 9, Main Galley
Timeline: 2396

The mod minidress clad maiden of the USS Hera, the lost navigator who served as her first officer strode into the galley, to the clattering of at least one pan as someone got nervous around the line officer. While Paris was known to be gregarious and chatty, high ranking officers strolling through any section of the starship where they were seldom seen tended to make the enlisted personnel nervous. Gracious and calm, she asked for directions to the petty officer she sought until she located the head chef, then she waited for him to finish what he was doing and notice her presence.

How could one not admire such beauty? thought Cicero to himself as he finished mincing some exotic bulb vegetable, definitely in the Allium genus. It had a similar look, scent, and feel of a bulb onion from Earth with the exception its elongated bellish look which made it look closer to a shallot than that of a rounded bulb onion. It had skin, layers, and when cut into released syn-propanethial-S-oxide, but the starship's environmental systems helped combat the liquid being exposed to the air.

Once finished mining, he had set them aside to mingle with the starships displaced Executive Officer. "I hope there wasn't a complaint about the scent. They are rather pungent, but I assure you they are perfectly safe and will be absolutely delicious when I'm through with them" he said promisingly. "Just not something I'll be offering to the Vulcans less I be dealt with a nerve pinch or two" he teased.

"I have absolute faith in your abilities, Chef," the first officer offered with a winning, easygoing smile. "So far I've heard all good things about what comes out of your kitchen. So, I'm coming down here on a multiple mission today. See how you are settling, see how you are finding our facilities and crew, and maybe pick up a recipe or two from you. While I'm not the worst cook, my meals tend to be rather provincial- intergalactic cuisine wasn't nearly what is is today back on Earth in my day. So, while I understand a number of vegetarian dishes, I'd like to expand my repertoire if you have the time and inclination. For instance, what are you making here?"

Cicero smiled and gestured for the woman to come around into the galley. "Well, if you're here to learn you certainly aren't going to be doing much learning from that side of the room" he said teasingly. "I'm glad nobody has filed any complaints or negative reports about me yet, but I appreciate your faith nonetheless" he said genuinely as he started showing her what he had been doing.

"So, I'm mincing this vegetable here and I'm going to use it in a vegetarian dish. It's very much like a bulb onion from Earth. So, please excuse the odor from it as it is rather pungent, but believe me....delicious in stuff, but I don't advise eating it by itself unless you want to have a fierce case of prospering from your pores and a burning sensation on your tongue" he informed her.

He then gestured to an area where he had big balls of dough. "Don't tell the Italians, but the French boy is going to be making some pizza" he whispered. "With those" he added gesturing once more to the pungent foreign onion-like vegetable. "With cheese, spinach, and a little broccoli" he noted.

That got a laugh out of the nubile navigator as she came around the table. “Aside from ratatouille and a few casseroles, my actual French cooking repertoire is nowhere near as extensive as Italian cuisine. Since most of their recipes tend to be easy to make without the addition of meat, I rely on pasta dishes pretty heavily. But I’ve not really done pizza so much, so color me interested.”

Leaning down, she took an experimental sniff of the onion, then came back up, eyes watering. “Ohhh, you were not kidding about that… alien onion, that’s strong all right. So, color me engaged. What’s the plan, Chef?”

"When it comes to food, Commander, I rarely tease" commented Cicero. "French food can be nice, but when it comes down to it I don't like to cage myself. The culinary world is ever-expanding. The more worlds we visit, the more ingredients we acquire and can use" added Cicero.

He pointed at the dough. "First things first...we stretch that dough out so we can get our pizza going. Have you ever wrestled dough by hand, Commander?"

"Can't say as I really have, Chef. Biscuits and cookies and such, but never a yeasty dough like this, no. So what's our first step, a little flour sprinkled for non-stick?" The commander was engaged, clearly unafraid to own up to what she didn't know, and was an eager pupil. "I'm all ears, tough!"

"You don't look Vulcan or Ferengi to me" he replied teasingly "But being a good listener is half the battle. Following directions and knowing your ingredients is another part of it. You're right though" he added. Cicero gestured to a stack of boards in the corner. "We need to wrestle with this dough a while and get it out of ball form until it is decently thin, but not paper-thin. You'll want to throw some flour onto the boards then slap your ball of dough onto it. Feel free to sprinkle more flour onto the dough if needed or onto your hands...sometimes it has a tendency to want to stick to you."

"Sound advice," Paris grinned, skimming some of the flour over her hands and coating the palms and sides efficiently. "Dough slapping is definitely not in my skillset, so this seems the perfect time to learn." As she mimicked his motions, following his example top learn the technique, the friendly first officer changed the subject.

"So how are you finding the Hera?" Paris asked solicitously. "Getting out much, or just waiting by the river here and getting to know your shipmates, since they do come to you, after all."

Cicero smiled and chuckled with a gleam in his eyes. "Not to knock your position, Commander, but I have a wonderful job aboard this starship. I get all the socialization with the crew that you do and more; However, I don't get the pressure of command decisions. My primary concern is keeping the crew well-fed, not getting cited during inspections, and staying in the good graces of dieticians" he replied.

He was truly happy aboard the USS Hera. It was everything and more than what he could have dreamt of. "I get to see the crew through good times and bad. We travel through the stars and sometimes when we are in orbit of a planet or moon, I have a splendid view from up here."

“Not a whit of offense taken, Chef,” Paris replied with an easy smile. “All your points are true and valid. It takes an entire crew to keep her running, and your job may be more important than mine. You feed us, keep one eye on our health, maintain the barometer of the crew and officers, and you got to be everyone’s friend.”

“I’d say that I envy you, but we all have our strengths, and we all have our jobs to do. Mine is just insuring everyone does their jobs, and that the crew have what they need to do their jobs, both in tools and materials and personnel. Given how starship life has changed in the last century and a half, it’s comforting to know some things haven’t really changed a bit.” Flipping the dough, Paris continued to knead it as she spoke- never concentrating too much on one task, but watching, working and talking all at the same time. It was clear that multitasking was a high priority on the Commander’s skill list.

"And to be fair, the vistas and views are pretty darn spectacular," she agreed.

Cicero gestured to a container. "Had some free time last night after most everyone turned in and the skeleton crew had night watch. So, I thought I would sneak in and get a head start on things" he confessed. "That is part of the magic of how I'm getting everything done...a few extra minutes to an hour when I'm supposed to be 'relaxing' or 'sleeping'" he noted. "That would be the sauce in the container. Just need to pour it on once our dough is stretched and spread it thinly, but leave some room at the edges. That's going to form our crust" explained the culinary specialist.

"You have a lot of duties and responsibilities, Commander" commented Cicero. "Don't think for a moment that it goes unnoticed. You do far more than keep the crew in line and ensure we are all doing our jobs; Without you, the ship falls apart from the inside out. You take command of away teams and in a heartbeat assume command of the starship when the need arises."

“You are unsurprisingly well-informed, Chef,” Paris replied with a piper’s smile. “A wise man once told me that the best first officers are those qualified to command, yet choose to support their captain instead. Captain Telvan saved my life, in more ways than one. Back in my day a lady captain or first officer were practically nonexistent. But in the modern-day, I’m entrusted to do all of those things… and I’m happy to have the opportunity to contribute. Much like yourself- we all have our gifts, but we excel when we are called upon to rise to the challenge, no? And this ship certainly has challenging missions.”

"Back in your day they thought it a good idea to have an archaic revival of fashion and other things" said Cicero. "That's the only way I can account for the Starfleet uniforms of the time. Not that the skirt uniform looks bad on you, but it was a strange, strange time" he said with a smile. "Then again they did try it once more in the 2360s with unisex those skant things, no thank you. I like my trousers just fine."

"Mister Sonak has a theory on that one, which I can easily subscribe to. Society, when not run purely by logic, as most societies are not, tends to operate on a pendulum. Human society in particular. So we will swing all the way toward respecting everyone's personhood, eliminating discrimination, rising above our petty differences just to look at one another as equals, all important, all exploring the universe in our own way." Kneading the dough as she spoke, the Commander was clearly enjoying the topic.

"Then with a sufficient bent to some fascism, and a recovery from that, you're back to men wolf whistling at lady officers who are called upon to bare their legs in hosiery and knee boots with heels. A man has to crawl through a duct? No problem. A female officer hasd to crawl through that duct? It's like watching a Miradonian plumage display. Floomf!" Paris laughed musically at her own joke, then her kneading slowed as she slid a bit into reverie.

"That was the thing, though... I owned this uniform. It was sexist and degrading and I made it all work. Loot at these heels," Paris bent her leg at the knee and extended her thigh back a bit to bring the heel of her chunky high-heeled boot into view. Her black-clad legs were defined, but hard to see as more than a shape in the inky black tights she wore. "I can walk up a wall with these things... kind of. They have gravity magnets in them, so I can at least secure myself. Plus those treads really are amazing- I almost never slide, and no matter what angle they land on, these heels get a grip."

Putting her hoof back beneath her with a runner's side-step, Paris gestured to the rest of the uniform. "All I have are the reinforced slits at the waist and gravity magnets at the hip and back for the phaser and the tricorder, so since I can fish around in my top, I use it for storage. I know, dignified officer TMI, right?" the first officer made a face and finished her thought. "Point is, I worked hard to make this mod minidress, which was a throwback to one of the most chauvinistic times to be alive for which I will happily report I do not miss in the least, no matter how nostalgic I may wax upon it."

"But the pioneer spirit that drove those space-exploring madmen, those starship cowboys... they laid the railroad tracks for civilizations to grow, and grow they did. That's why the miniskirt, and the old delta of command, Chef Delacroix. To honor the generation of which I was a part, and the ideals they represented. The good and the bad." At that, Paris rolled her eyes a bit, then tossed in, "Plus I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, and I want to make people aware on meeting me that I'm a throwback. This is all a high-tech future to me, and I often don't understand things other people take for granted. So I give them a big hint up front. I think it works... well, honest question time, Chef. Does it work?"

Cicero sucked in his bottom lip for most of the woman's monologue. She was a starlet and there was no denying that. Earth had it's Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburns, and Josephine Bakers; Cicero had learned about them from his time on Earth. He had an acquaintance who was somewhat of an aficionado of all things old and glamorous. This is way more than I wanted to ever know about a superior officer, let alone about the First Officer he thought to himself. "Uh...like headlights...big voluptuous headlights, Ma'am" he said responding to her. His eyes locked onto her breasts like a Borg cube's holding beam onto a defenseless vessel.

He reversed thrustered himself back into his work station and thumped his tailbone against the edge. "Com...com..com COMMANDER!" he said in a slightly raised voice. "I'm very interested in everything you said about logic and civilizations reverting back to times past. It was all very fascinating, but I must admit I am a little uncomfortable with....this" he struggled to explain as he regained his footing. "I'm here to make food and maybe some friends. I do not mean to offend you" he said calming himself.

He brought his voice down a few octaves and gulped. "You are a very beautiful woman...and my superior. I have nothing but the highest respect for you" he said, his cheeks rosy as he blushed. "I'm just...oh this is kind of embarrassing. If you are coming onto me...I'm not interested, Commander Ma'am."

Those bright blue eyes narrowed, as clearly the man hadn't been listening to what she said, and he'd been choosing to infer what he wanted from what she'd been saying. When she spoke, gone were the friendly lilting tones she'd been employing, replaced by the unmistakable steel of a commander who was making it abundantly clear to an enlisted man who was laboring under a misconception just exactly what was going on. "I am married, Petty Officer Delacroix. Even if I weren't, I wouldn't fraternize. Apparently my frank and casual conversational style has led to misinterpretation. Let me make this abundantly clear, then. I am not 'coming on to you'. Nothing in this conversation has been intended to give you that impression in any way, shape or form. I was discussing the anachronistic and sexist nature of my uniform, which was not intended to sexually harass you whatsoever. if you feel that you have been subjected to harassment, you may feel to file a complaint and we can settle this matter through military justice channels."

Dusting off her hands, the first officer drew herself erect, her demeanor far from the casual and friendly ease of a moment ago, now quite the picture of rigid military discipline. turning abruptly and without another word, the Commander performed an about-face and marched out of the kitchen, clearly insulted and aggravated by the encounter.

Petty Officer Delacroix would find himself rotated off the Hera the very next day, to be assigned to Starbase 23, on the border of the Klingon and Romulan Star Empires. It seemed that insulting a superior officer often came with a price, and it was now taking form in a duty assignment in a very hostile sector of space. As for Commander Paris, she learned not to mingle with the enlisted and try to have actual conversations with them. She continued to learn her recipes from cookbooks, which suited her just fine.

It was, she decided, her own recipe for happiness.