The Essentials

My mother used to say that quality cookware, a fully stocked pantry, and a cook who wasn’t afraid to get messy were the three essential elements for a perfect kitchen. She rebelled against the idea that the perfect kitchen was a pristine kitchen, the type you’d see on a magazine cover with their sleek granite countertops, shiny hardwood floors, and copper cookware dangling above a white ivory island with a natural butcher’s block top. Fully equipped and fully functional, capable of creating the most lavish feasts, yet these kitchens only created lavish praise for the homeowner’s refined taste. What my mother knew, and what she taught me, was that a house without a grease-stained kitchen was a house without love.

I must admit I was a rather slow learner. I was quite the hellraiser when I was little, running around like my tail was on fire, stopping to eat only for as long as it took to shovel it down my cavernous maw. Then one day my mother collared me as I was about to dash away from the messy remains of yet another meal and announced that I was old enough to help out in the kitchen. Not only did she teach me how to cook, she taught me the joys of cooking. And now that I have a hellraiser of my own, I look forward to the day he’s old enough to cook with me.

Balthazar stomped into the kitchen as I was deciding what to prepare for dinner. “I’M HUNGRY!!” He whined, his eyes glowing red and his tail furiously whipping back and forth across the floor. The spikes caught the rung of a stool and flung it across the room. I reached into the scorpion jar and tossed one to him. He caught in his jaws and eagerly gobbled it down. The venom quickly worked its magic, and moments later my little spawn was black-eyed and happily nestled in my lap. I silently thanked mom for that little trick. Without it, I probably would have eaten him a long time ago.

I was about to put him down for a nap so I could cook in peace when I happened to look over at the broken stool against the wall. I hadn’t realized how fearsome and strong my spawn had become. Maybe it was time. “Balthazar, honey, would you like to help mommy make dinner?” I asked. His face brightened and he nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was genuinely excited or just happy to avoid a nap, but I was happy either way.

I stretched a tentacle up to the shelf and grabbed the old cigar box containing mom’s recipes. After she passed I’d spent some time searching for a nicer container, one without stains and rusty latches and a fading logo with the grinning mustachioed human, but over time I grew quite attached to it. This box had kept mom’s recipes dry and safe for decades, and had become as precious as the contents it dutifully protected.

I carefully flipped though the index cards. “How about sparrow pot pie?” I asked Balthazar. He shook his head. “Risotto with mushrooms and maggots?” Another shake. “How about fried gecko? You can eat the head.” Yet another shake. “Well, what do you want?”

“Chicken nuggets!” He replied without hesitation. I winced. How did my son come to love such gross things?

“Here we go!” I said, pulling out a card. “Garbage stew! It’s grandma’s favorite recipe! You’ll love it!” The look on my spawn’s face said he was far from convinced. “C’mon, let’s check the pantry.”

I knew we had plenty of rat meat in the freezer, so we walked over to the pantry and slid open the door. Rows and rows of boxed, bagged and canned goods lined the shelves. I scanned the card’s list of ingredients. “We need flour, beef broth, foxglove, carrots, potatoes, and cockroaches,” I told Balthazar. With a little coaching he was able to find the items and bring them to me one by one, mostly intact. “I need to trim your claws more often,” I muttered as I pulled two potatoes free from his fingers. We gathered everything up and brought them over to the kitchen counter.

I pulled a stool over for Balthazar. He eagerly scrambled onto it as my tentacles flew in and out of the cabinets grabbing everything we needed. I’d performed this ritual thousands of times without thinking, but something about having an attentive audience really brought out the performer in me. I waved the utensils and cookware around my head, banging them together and singing silly songs to their metallic beat while my spawn clapped and giggled. Then I swiftly and expertly set them down all at once in their proper place. I reached over and opened the refrigerator door, scooped up three rat fillets and lay them across the cutting board. Grabbing a knife, I began slicing through the tender pink flesh while opening cans of broth while Balthazar watched, mesmerized.

“Let me try, mommy!” Balthazar suddenly exclaimed, reaching for the knife. I gently seized his hand and reached for another knife, allowing him to grab the handle before wrapping my tentacle around his hand. Together we chopped up the carrots and slid them into the stockpot, joining the cubed rat in a bubbling pool of beef broth. We did the same for the potatoes and then the foxglove, chopping from right to left, up and down, counted off in perfectly timed beats. One, two, three. One, two, three. Into the pot they went.

A heavenly smell filled the kitchen as the meat and vegetables mingled together, their juices seeping into the broth. I let Balthazar stir the pot all by himself, blending the flavors together in perfect harmony. I opened the flour to find it crawling with weevils, much to my relief. I was afraid I hadn’t aged it long enough in the damp corners of the pantry. I tossed in a few handfuls and watched them swirl around before sinking into the thickening broth. I opened the cockroach tin to add the final ingredient only to find it empty, with not so much as a single antennae left.

“What’s wrong, mommy?” Balthazar asked. I must have looked upset, and in truth I was. Garbage stew without cockroaches is like Cthulhu without his dragon wings – you can do without them, but it’s impossible not to notice their absence. I looked up to tell Balthazar we would have to throw the stew away, but changed my mind when I looked into his eyes, dull and grey with worry.

“We’re out of cockroaches,” I said. “But don’t worry, We’ll just run out and get more.”

****

With the stew simmering on the stove and my spawn clinging firmly to my back, I silently made my way through the back alleys of the human settlement. A full moon hung low in the sky, transforming the land into a stark negative of itself. A night like this made it harder to stay hidden, the shadows shrinking under a glow as bright as a thousand streetlights, but I wasn’t too worried. This was a quick errand at a time when most humans were sleeping. We’d be in and out before anyone knew we were there.

The best source of cockroaches were the dumpsters in the alley between an Italian restaurant and a pizza place. Human food can be quite savory when allowed to age, and it really gives the cockroaches that feed on it an extra kick. I lifted the lid of one dumpster and was greeted by a shiny pile of black bags. “Watch mommy, Balthazar,” I said as I started digging around. The disturbance turned up several cockroaches, scurrying around in confusion. I scooped them up and put them into a jar. “Now you try,” I said, holding out the jar to him. My spawn stopped gnawing on the frozen rat tail I’d given him to keep him quiet and eagerly grabbed it. I placed him in the dumpster, and he began to burrow through the mounds of plastic in search of his quarry. Grabbing the other jar from my purse, I lowered myself into the other dumpster.

I had to dig all the way to the bottom to find cockroaches, but it was worth it. After screwing the lid onto a full jar, I sat back and admired their sleek shells, plump abdomens and spindly legs all wrapped up in a wonderfully crunchy shell. I flashed back to my mother dumping them into the stew and explaining how they gave it texture. That, along with smell and taste, were the three essential elements for a perfect meal. And meals, like relationships, worked best when all the elements complimented each other.

A door banged open and my hearts leaped into my throat when I heard someone enter the alley from the restaurant. “I told you bums to stay out my dumpsters!” An angry male voice above me shouted. The entire container began to shake as the human banged something heavy on it. I froze. Adult humans could be very dangerous when confronted. But with Balthazar was only a few feet away, I had no choice but to go in with tentacles blazing and hope for the best. I gathered my wits and tensed every muscle in my body, preparing to spring.

The banging suddenly stopped, and moments later bloodcurdling screams ripped through the air, primal fear mixing with angry assertions of dominance. I could hear footsteps tearing out of the alley, the fearful screaming fading away into the night alongside them. I quickly scrambled out of my dumpster and there was Balthazar standing on top of his dumpster, eyes blazing, fangs bared and dripping with thick saliva, scales shimmering in the moonlight, looming over the alley like an apex predator. I had never been so proud.

****

“DADDY!”

Balthazar rushed to his father as he stomped through the door and was met with an absentminded pat on the head. My mate walked past him without a word and sank into the nearest chair, fatigue and worry pulling at his face.

“Bad day, honey?” I asked as I stirred the stew and took three bowls from the cupboard.

“THE WORST!” My mate roared. “The meeting with the client was a disaster. Wendigo was the one who screwed up the numbers but I got the blame and Chimera spent an hour chewing me up and spitting me out! You should see the bite marks on my…is that garbage stew?” He suddenly asked, staring down at the bowl I had placed in front of him.

“Yes, it is. And guess who helped me make it?” I asked, gesturing to our beaming spawn.

“Eat it Daddy!” Balthazar commanded.

My mate lifted the spoon to his lips and slurped. “It’s good,” he said, dipping the spoon back into the bowl, the anger and stress of the day fading away with every bite. I could see Balthazar relaxing as the stew settled warm and cozy in his stomach, and I could feel it happening to me as well. A delicious meal, happy loved ones, and good stories were the three essential elements for a perfect life. We had the first two ingredients, and I was poised to add the final one.

“So, Balthazar,” I said. “Tell daddy what we did tonight.”