The name of the game now was 'to fill in the blanks'.

I had a clear vision of the end goal, the dish I wanted to cook. I knew the base ingredients as well as a general idea of how to prepare them. I deliberately chose an easy to make dish for this exact reason. Even though I haven't cooked anything myself in years, it wasn't like I've never been to a kitchen. I've seen my ex-girlfriend cook many times and my mother before that, as well as my grandmother. Even my father would cook to us sometimes, before he... Well, that's beside the point now.

I've felt like I had a solid grasp on the theory of how to prepare the dish. I ate it dozens, hundreds of times, hopefully enough to know exactly what to aim for. The last and the important part was filling in the blanks.

I wasn't so naive as to think that seeing someone else cook and eating something myself would make me at least a half-decent cook, mind you. Hopefully, I've prepared for that.

I've read it in some book, some phrase, although the exact quote escapes me, its meaning stuck. It went something like 'prepare to throw one away'.

Anyone who has ever done sports has probably heard of Gladwell and his ten-thousand hours theory. The idea behind it, the one that coach would slam into you, was that you would master something after doing it for ten-thousand hours. Throw a ball for ten-thousand hours and you'll master it. Play a video game for ten-thousand hours and you'll master it. The theory could be applied to anything, even cooking. A completely incompetent buffoon, such as I was, could master anything after ten-thousand hours. Needless to say, I did not have an hour to spare, not to mention a thousand.

The best I could do was one chicken. I've anticipated that it was impossible for my first attempt to be successful, so I've prepared to 'throw the first one away'.

"What will you do with it?"

Without my noticing, Clem had brought a chair right next to me and was now standing on top of it, looking over my shoulder. Figuratively speaking, mind you, even standing on a stool she wasn't tall enough to actually look over my shoulder.

But that reminded me - Clem was experienced in the matters of the kitchen. The things that I did not know, the things that I could not know, she just might. When it comes to cooking, some things you just have to learn on your own. Sometimes you just have to try and try again until you succeed, until you find the right way to do it. Like the issue that I was currently facing - anyone who has ever fried anything would probably find my problem laughable. And trying to find the right way would only waste time, which I did not have.

"Are you interested in cooking?" I try to sound casual.

"I don't mind it."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Are you saying you're not very good at it?"

"No, I'm pretty good."

As expected, Clem wasn't Athena and I couldn't bait her this easily.

"Then which would you dip the chicken into - the egg whites or the yolk?" I pointed at the two bowls in front of me. It seemed to work, because she suddenly looked curious.

"Why not both?"

And really, why not both? I asked the girls to separate the two, but I didn't know yet which one I wanted to actually use. beating them together was still an option, but based on absolutely nothing but my guess, I decided that it was best to dip the chicken into only one of them. Which, I had no idea.

"Let me give you a hint," I offered. "After we dip the chicken into the egg, we will be rolling that chicken in flour till it's completely covered, so what we want, is for the flour to stick real good to the meat."

The difference may seen minimal here, but this minuscule difference between egg yolk and whites could ruin the whole dish. What was the point of seasoning, if it wouldn't stick to the chicken? Or if it would fall off in the oil?

My anxiety was intensifying. Just minutes before I had the whole thing planned, now every little detail seemed an insurmountable mountain.

"Hmm," she put her finger on her chin again, thinking for a while. "But that can be either of them, no?"

This wasn't working out as well as I hoped. It was going pretty poorly in general.

"I guess you need to think about it some more..."

Was what I've said, but in reality I had another pressing issue. Hoping that Clem will take care of the egg problem for me, I moved on to the seasoning, leaving her to ponder over the two egg bowls. As far as a buffoon would be concerned, seasoning was the most important part of this dish. And as far as I could tell, that buffoon was completely right.

I took the bowl with flour in it. This was the most important and dish defining part. Too much salt and it's ruined. Not enough and it's tasteless. Everything had to be just right and that required the amounts of confidence I did not currently possess.

I opened the princess's personal stash of spices. It was grudgingly handed by Athena to Clem, who casually passed it on to me. Clearly good spices were still a rare and expensive commodity. I started checking and adding different spices to the flour, first the ones I recognized, then I relied on my nose to chose the rest of them.

Paprika. Chili powder. Black pepper, but just a pinch. Salt. Careful not to add too much. The rest I improvised. I added spices I've never actually heard of before or at least never paid enough attention to - basil, thyme, oregano, mustard, turmeric. I had no idea how all of them would mix together, but individually I've liked each and every one of them enough to risk my life on it. Not like I had much choice.

"Um, excuse me," I approached a maid that was cleaning garlic next to me. She looked back at me sharply, so much so it almost pierced me, but seeing I was still alive, I took it as an invitation to continue. "Do you think I could take some of ypur garlic?"

She kept staring me down in silence. It took me probably longer than I'd like to admit to realize she wasn't going to reply. When I finally did, I extended my arm trying to take few of the garlic pieces. At the end of it, while I was hastily walking away with my garlic, I was counting my blessings to leave with all my fingers intact.

While I was reaching for garlic, I've figured it all out. We'll rub the garlic on chicken, then we'll dip it into egg. Half of it to egg whites, the other half to yolk and find out which one works better the hard way. We'll cover the chicken with my seasoned flour and dip the chicken into boiling oil and cook it for as long as we feel is right. And that was it. Chicken, garlic, egg, seasoned flour, fried in oil. Easy as pie.

This would work, I was sure of it. Not even a buffoon could mess this one up.