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Sanji doesn’t mind peeling duty.
It’s the only thing Zeff doesn’t criticize, after all. Peeling isn’t a hard task. It lets Sanji’s mind wander a bit…though he definitely didn’t like it at first. He learned to sit with himself a long time ago, and doing it again reminded him too much of long hours spent alone, with nothing but his thoughts and four walls.
But over time, the task became a small break from his now busy life at the Baratie, without making him feel useless and in the way. He was still technically cooking, even if he wasn’t running around the kitchen.
So he peels the potatoes, mind drifting to the meals these vegetables will become.
Will this one be for a side dish? For soup? Maybe I can use the uglier ones for a recipe I want to try?
The thoughts turn to ways to ask Zeff if he can. Still nervous to ask for things without just yelling “I”m gonna do it and you can’t stop me old man !”
“—Keep it up, kiddo! Soon you’ll get the perfect peel!”
Carne’s voice snaps him out of his thinking.
What was that? Had he missed the first part of what he said, too busy thinking about the idea of Garlic Miso mashed potatoes?
The perfect peel? Zeff never mentioned that. Was it something he was supposed to be trying for?
“Just peel Eggplant. Ignore the idiot.”
Zeff cuts into his thoughts without even looking his way, busy with a big pot too high for Sanji to see into. The boy feels his cheeks flush pink. Embarrassed. The head chef knows him well enough to predict he’d stop peeling to stare at Carne with a confused expression and furrowed brows.
Maybe it’s something Zeff thinks he’s not ready for yet, like making a roux or pan-searing meat.
He’s thirteen! He can totally do those things! But no, “heat control” is something he’s still “too young” to learn.
He knows Zeff is just scared Sanji might outdo him too early. And the pre-teen will allow Zeff to restrain his knowledge only because the old man shouldn’t retire just yet.
Still, his thoughts drift back to peels,the little scraps occupying far too much brain space even if he doesn’t even realise they fall on the ground instead of the burlap bag at his feet.
Is he WASTING?!? all this peel by not doing it perfectly?
He really doesn’t know. Every peel ends up in broth or compost. Everything is used. Isn't that what perfect is? Absolute efficiency, zero waste?
The hell is a “perfect peel,” and why does it feel like he's missing something?
Carne is probably just messing with him. It wouldn’t be the first time. The chef likes to make him mad and red in the face just for laughs. Frustrating the blonde almost everyday.
Sanji shakes his head and gets back to peeling, tossing the overthinking away. He’ll forget about it soon enough, replaced by another stupid thing from Carne.
—------------------------------
But he doesn’t, and the concept of a “Perfect peel” haunts him every time he sits on the crate to shed the skin of a new bag of potatoes.
—--------------------------------
It’s early in the morning, and only Zeff and another cook beside him are in the kitchen, both preparing for the day without even speaking to one another. It’s strange, but Sanji joins them without saying anything either.
Morning prep is definitely calmer than any other time, but the kitchen is always full of chatter and yelling. Today though, only the chopping of veggies, the low humming of heat simmering a broth and other small noises is reaching his ears
It’s calm, unusual. But not unwelcome by the *slightly* more relaxed expression on Zeff’s face.
Yet Sanji hates it. It makes the thoughts louder when he just learned to make himself comfortable ignoring them and drowning them out with the usual chaos of a kitchen full of cooks.
But a glance at the old man makes him lose any will to provoque a little chaos to feel better. He just needs to fill his head with something else and push the thoughts away.
So he sits on the crate, and his mind is filled with the stupid concept of a perfect peel. The need to simply survive the day has shifted to the urge to make something he doesn’t even understand happen.
Grabbing the knife, Sanji gets to work.
The perfect peel must be one where most of the potato is intact, maybe the quality of the potato matters ? Probably. So the blonde grabs the smoothest round potato at the top of the sack and starts to peel slowly, much slower than usual. trying to get under the skin without taking away much of the yellow flesh.
Sanji thinks of the cucumber slices for the cucumber carpaccio and salad where the slices are so thin it melts in the mouth.
He thinks of the tomato, and how he likes it when Zeff cuts it very thin for sandwiches, so the tomato doesn’t overpower the other ingredients.
But trying to make the scraps thin is harder than he thought. He keeps missing his fingers by a hair every time he cuts a bit of the skin off. It’s scary. Sanji doesn’t want to harm his hands. The old man is very adamant about keeping them safe. Especially while cutting. “You have to fold your fingers, Eggplant. You want to be a cartoon character?” that’s something he’s heard enough times.
He probably shouldn’t be holding the potato the way he is. This isn’t the right technique, he knows it. But it’s the only way he can avoid wasting too much time. The perfect peel shouldn’t make them late for lunch.
And like some kind of jinx, just thinking about it makes it happen. And a little cut is now on the top of his thumb. It stings, it hurts. And Sanji puts it in his mouth by reflex. The taste is hearty and metallic and definitely not hygienic.
“What the hell are you doing?! Rinse it with water, not your filthy mouth!”
Of course Zeff saw that. It’s like instinct. Wasn’t he supposed to be prepping greens instead of watching him?! Sanji glares at him, how does he somehow know every time? Zeff must have a “Sanji screw-up radar”.
“Shut up old man, I'm going.”
But even when he gets up to obey, eyes follow him to the sink, watching as he cleans the blood of the potato and his thumb.
“What? Can’t trust me to clean a little thing like that?!”
Ignoring the obvious insecurity in his voice, the head chef just raises an eyebrow, glancing from Sanji to the little scraps on the floor, then to Sanji, then back to the potato in his hand and the scraps again.
Finally, Zeff settles on looking directly at him and repeats himself.
“No, seriously. What the hell were you doing? Even an amputee is faster than you, Eggplant.”
The expression on Zeff’s face isn’t one of anger or frustration, like it usually is when the kitchen isn’t running smoothly. Instead, it’s just a slight confusion, with furrowed brows and a scowl. And Sanji suddenly feels embarrassed. Hiding it with an annoyed noise as he returns to the crate.
“None of your business!”
It earns him a roll of eyes, and Zeff turns his back on him, not interested in watching the young teen anymore. Missing the look the young cook gives him at his answer
“Well, pick up the pace, brat. You don’t need any new fancy peeling technique, you were doing perfectly fine before.”
Sanji shouldn't have felt that proud at a “perfectly fine”. But any praise of Zeff is precious to him even if he will never admit it. And the next time he sits on that crate. He will think of this instead of a stupid perfect peel that probably doesn’t even exist.
Carne should watch out. Vengeance is a meal eaten with potatoes or something.
