Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
55: Cooking
~*~
Kaoru loved cooking. Every
part of the process; the way the fish sizzled on the griddle, oiled and
seasoned, the way the rice bubbled as it was boiled, the way the tofu bobbed and
floated like tiny white islands in the soup. She loved it with ever fiber of her
heart.
Unfortunately, cooking did not
love her.
She wasn't sure why, but
nothing seemed to go exactly right when she cooked. The food was edible, there
was no question about that, but there was always something not quite right,
whether it was the taste, consistency, or feel of the dish. It was a consistent
frustration, but she refused to be deterred. Surrender was an old enemy, one she
never gave into easily, if at all.
She envied
Kenshin's culinary skills, more than any other ability he possessed. She had
long been aware of her limitations as a swordsman, and she never resented his
gifts of careful control, practiced restraint, and flawless mannerisms. But the
ability to properly run a kitchen should have long been hers, as a woman, but
more importantly as a woman who had been cooking alone for nearly ten years - as
long as he had, she realized.
Despite her quiet jealousy, she
loved to watch him cook. The way he arranged everything perfectly, timed with
care, prepared with ease, spiced and seasoned till the taste was just right. It
was a practiced ritual for him, so simple, yet a challenge every time. Kaoru
found it enduring and infuriating at the same time.
She knew he was under
appreciated. Rarely did he receive a thank you for his troubles, although it was
his unspoken job to cook and clean in payment for his stay, and he worked
without complaint or expectation of reward, unlike the other two who frequented
her property. Often they were too busy fighting over their portions to be truly
grateful for the hardworking rurouni who did his best to please them. She felt
badly for it, at times, but it never seemed to matter to him. Perhaps their
mealtime duels was praise enough; never, she added, in the slightest of sulks,
had they fought over a meal she had cooked.
She couldn't bring herself to
resent him for it though, even if she was wanted to. Instead, she remained
thankful, and allowed him to cook day after day, watching, and learning at the
same time, by his silent example.
~*~
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