The secret to a great curry is the mix of spices! Cardamom, cumin, kashmir! Curry lives and dies by your choice of powders and leaves, among many other tiny choices that most people just do unconsciously, thinking them unimportant. I repeat the steps I will follow to myself as I set everything on top of the counter, rubbing my hands and setting the most important parts of my method up: my wok, the bottle of peanut oil, and finally my wooden spoon. I carefully pull it out of its resting spot, cleaning the dust that had accumulated on it from disuse: it was a good utensil, made from red wood, with a healing sigil carved and burnt on its back.

I hold it close to my forehead, smiling a little to myself as I whisper.

“Hello again, old friend. I am sorry I’ve left you alone for so long… fancy working with me once more?”

“And the spoon said: Stop talking to inanimate objects and get to cooking, fool.”

Oh shush. This is my kitchen, I have the right to be silly.

I can feel Mustafá watching from the door… It honestly makes me a little nervous, so I turn around to face her and shoo her out.

“No audience today, no no.” I feel confident, powerful, as I repel the meddlesome witch from my territory. “I will let you know when it is ready.”

“I only wish to learn of your method.” She protests, but surprisingly enough she obeys! The crone is banished to my comfy no-longer-reclining chair. For a moment I think of protesting that but, I think I reached the maximum levels of my authority.

I turn around and rub my hands softly, going to immediately grab the chicken strips, cut them into cubes and then clean them with water before setting them in a strainer. After they are dry, for a moment I think of marinating them with lemon for an enhanced flavor, but decide against it. The curry will be flavorful, I don’t want to mask it with intense fruity chicken!

After the chicken is done, I go for the onion, quickly dicing it as finely as I am able. The thought of doing it with magic comes to my head but, no. The handling of the ingredients should be done with your own hands, to transfer the energies you want to imbue your cooking with!

The onions were cut easily. A little trick if you don’t like crying: eat bread or chew mint gum while cutting them. You’ll thank me later.

Then, I make a paste by blending tomato, garlic, ginger and (as Mustafá wanted it spicy) chili peppers. Make sure that the paste is not too liquid! Thick and smooth is good, but don’t overdo it!

“Who are you talking to?”

Myself. I like talking to myself. You know this.

“Hmph.”

I add some oil to the wok! Not too much oil, just enough to cover the flat surface of the pan. I have the heat on high at first until ripples begin to appear in the hot oil, and then I lower the heat to minimum before adding the basil, the cloves, the cardamom and the cinnamon. I take a moment to delight myself with the scent of spices being cooked, the sound of the cardamom pods popping, but not too long! Just a few seconds should be enough, until the cinnamon sticks unfurl. Then, I add the onions and a few sprinkles of salt, to help them release all their juicy goodness. The heat goes to medium-high now, as I sauté the mix.

Saints above, the room is filling with delightful smells! I can’t help but jump a little bit in place!

“Stop that this instant, you ridiculous oaf!”

Once the onions get brown on the edges, reduce the heat to medium-low. Let them turn golden and beautiful, not too brown though! Once they reach a colour you like (I personally go for a golden brown! Not too dark), add a splash of water to stop them from browning anymore… but be careful! The oil won't like that at all.

As oil and water duke it out in the wok and a few drops of it jump around, I add a spoon of turmeric, and another spoon of kashmiri red chili! The smell immediately turns a little spicier, as the mixture takes a beautiful red colour while I stir it in low heat, making sure everything mixes well.

“Can we use paprika instead of kashmiri?”

Of course~! I just like kashmiri because it is mild and bright red, but you can use any chili powder. I think some Wohlian Ají would go real good with this… hmmm…

Then, comes the time to add the paste I made with tomato, garlic and ginger, stirring slowly, letting the flavors mix, match and meet each other on a medium-high heat. It smells good already, spicy, hearty and rich! I am tempted to try it already but no! I must resist! It is not finished yet!

In goes the chicken and up goes the heat! Time to cook this baby up real good, making sure all the oh so delicious juices from the chicken build up and then dry up! I know, it is tempting to rush and just leave the juices from the chicken in but no! You must resist too! It will all be worth it in the end, I promise!

“Is that ready?” I can feel how Mustafá peeks from the other room and I immediately point at her with my spoon.

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“Shoo! It is not ready! You can’t rush the flavors out of food!” I shake the spoon in front of her.

I am very sure I saw Mustafá pouting, but that’s impossible.

While the chicken cooks, I decide to try my hand at magical cooking in a more literal sense. Using telekinesis, I set the electric kettle to heat up some water and also set a pot with oil on the stove. Two cups of rice are quickly sautéed and salted, before I add four (or rather three and three quarters) cups of boiling water and leave the pot to cook the rice

With that I focus back on the chicken. The juices have dried up, so I can now add salt, coriander, cumin and a dash of nutmeg for that after taste! Then, the heavy cream! I whisk it a little bit before adding it to the wok and start stirring everything together…

This is when I realize that I absolutely forgot about the potatoes and the veggies! Sweat rolls down my brown, for a moment I feel panic building up and all that confidence disappears, but I somehow manage to get a grip on it. I just need to fix this, quickly! But I don’t have the time to…

“... Mustafá!” I suddenly call “Do you have a ‘peeling’ spell?!”

She peeked from the door again.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Can you please use it to peel the potatoes and the carrots?” I ask, sending a knife to quickly cut the bell peppers. It absolutely PULVERIZES the first one. The second one is cut way too thick. “URGH! Damn you, magic! Damn you to the blazes of Hell!”

“I guess it is the least I can do.” The mage walks over to the vegetables, taking a knife from the counter and then starting to slowly peel a potato.

“...Are you serious!?” I whine again.

“Enchanting a knife to act on its own would require more effort than it is worth, and telekinesis can be bad for very precise movements, as you demonstrated with the bell peppers.” At least it seems Mustafá knows how to peel them proper! The skin comes off so thin and clean! “How many?”

Honestly, I feel a little curious and jealous, maybe she had strict parents or something like that? I doubt a powerful mage worked as a servant, but then again, maybe she wasn’t born a mage…

“All six! Then cut them in halves and pass them to me.” I continue to watch over the cooking of my curry, smirking as things seem to be coming together despite it all! Mustafá throws in the potatoes, I stir it all together, and add a cup of water to the mix. Remember, we are not making soup here! So it has to be only enough to thin the mixture, not to overwhelm it.

I cover the wok and leave it in low, so it can properly cook.

“How long now.” Mustafá’s legendary patience is showing.

“Twenty five minutes.” I say, taking a moment to recover my breath and clean some sweat off my brow. “Oof! That was exhausting! I don’t remember it being so exhausting! Am I really in such bad a shape?”

“No. You just spent what little Astral you had left.” Mustafá crosses her arms. “I thought you said you’d be careful.”

“I only used a little bit in making the rice though…” I pout, looking at the rice pot, which by the way, is quite close to ready!”

“It wasn’t that. You’ve been casting a spell this whole time.” She continued to look down at me. I blush.

“Oh shush now, you flatterer!” I am surprised at my own smile.

“I am not being a flatterer, I am stating a fact. You’ve been using Emotional magic here.” She points at the pot. “From the smell and the Astral I can feel, you made a potful of Regenerative Elixir.”

“...Wait, you’re being serious now?” Blink blink.

“I am always serious.” The mage simply states. “After a mage’s awakening, their ability to create increases exponentially. The things you make, they all will carry some magic in them from now on.”

“Woah…”

“So be careful.” She snaps her fingers, trying to keep my attention. “This is a double edged sword. Your highs will be higher, but your lows will be more dangerous. Strive to be mentally stable.”

“You… know that’s kind of a tall order for me, you know?” Oh the shame, it makes me look away almost immediately. “Does this mean I will become a better writer and cook just by virtue of being a mage?”

“No. Backwards. You will become a better mage by virtue of being an artist. Learn to manage your creative energies and things will flourish” With a nod, Mustafá turns around and walks out of the kitchen. “It’s in Gato’s book.”

“I thought he was being metaphorical…”

With a little sigh, I look at the cooking pot. Is it really magical…? A part of me really wants to open the pot and see but no, food needs its privacy to build up flavor. So, I decide to try and simply wait. I don’t even walk out of the kitchen, I just take the time to do the dishes, clean the counter and then wash my hands…

When the twenty five minutes pass, I hurriedly go over to see the fruit of my efforts.The curry has a cute red colour, it smells of cardamom and basil, with hints of cinnamon and intense heat around. My face grows red and hot just from the scents, I can’t wait anymore! I take a little porcelain plate from the counter, serve a little of the curry on it, and sip…

It’s… not a great curry. It is a bit oily, and I need to adjust the spices a bit better, probably less cumin… but with a single taste I can feel my heart swell with pride. It is not a great curry, but it is mine, and I like it. It is good enough.

A little too hot for me though. My tongue burns. Despite my proud Wohlian ancestry, I can’t handle hot food at all. I am sure I could (and have) gotten sweaty from eating mayo. Which is a shame, for I love spicy food! I whine and quickly go for a glug of milk to try and calm myself down.

“Alright, it’s ready!” I announce proudly, walking over to the living room and setting the plates on the round table. Mustafá snaps her fingers to summon forth two cups and a bottle of soda I had saved. “...You can do that without even looking!?”

“You underestimate the amount of time I’ve been doing this.” She simply said, sitting by the table. “No naan?”

“Ah, we ran out of bread during breakfast. Sorry. The rice will have to do.” I sit by her side. “Alright, let’s dig in!”

I do my absolute best not to look at Mustafá while she eats. I don’t want to give her the indication that I am monitoring her reactions or anything, even if I kinda want to do that. No, instead I focus on eating some of my curry and grin to myself from the intense flavor. The spices compliment each other perfectly, it’s hot, but not only on the tongue, but the ginger also burns as you swallow! And the chicken! I was afraid that not marinating it would be a mistake, but it is tender and flavorful as it is!

Maybe a dash of lemon would help next time, just to firm up the chicken…

“Are you not going to ask me if I like it?” She suddenly says.

“I was waiting for you to comment on your own.” Finally I look back at her. She’s looking at me quite intently.

“It’s good.” Mustafá noted. “It’s not perfect. You have no idea about real spices, and it is still a bit mild.”

“Mild!?” I say, my face sweating from the spice.

“Mild.” She repeats. “But. It’s good. It reminds me of home... Well done.”

While the woman goes back to eating, I can’t help but smiling a little bit.

“...Will you tell me about your home?” I venture.

“Do you have the fragment of the Sun in your hands?” She asks without looking at me.

“No…”

“That’s your answer.”

I am eager to know more of her, to actually get to stand on her same ground for once… but I guess I can live with these little moments. For now.