"Saitama, Anya, come on over," Gustave said, his voice warm and inviting. He gestured for them to follow him to the massive, glass-fronted refrigerator that lined one wall of the galley. "Just tell me what you'd like to eat. I can make anything you can imagine."
He swung the heavy door open, revealing a breathtaking panorama of ingredients from countless worlds. There were giant sea beast fillets next to bundles of vibrant, otherworldly vegetables, and strange, glowing fruits nestled beside familiar cuts of meat. The sheer variety left both of his new guests speechless.
"Whoa," Saitama muttered, his usual stoicism giving way to genuine surprise. The discounted produce section at his local supermarket offered only a handful of sad-looking options, all of which he could name with his eyes closed. Facing the bounty of the Bamboo Staff's larder, he felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation: the burden of choice.
Anya, however, was in paradise. "Anya's never seen so much food before!" she chirped, pressing her face against the cool glass, her eyes wide as she tried to take it all in. She wanted the shiny red fish, the funny-shaped purple vegetable, and the big piece of meat with the bone sticking out. She wanted everything.
"Waaah, Anya doesn't know what to eat!" she finally wailed, overwhelmed by the possibilities. She couldn't name most of the ingredients, and her own culinary experience was limited to watching her parents cook.
Gustave smiled and gently ruffled her pink hair. The texture was surprisingly soft, much like Conan's. "It's okay, Anya, take your time. If you don't know the name of a dish, just point to the ingredients you'd like to try, and I can put something together for you."
His suggestion sparked a memory. A show she had watched just last night. "Anya knows!" she declared, her face lighting up. "Anya wants to eat omelet rice! I saw it on TV!"
"Omelet rice, an excellent choice," Gustave nodded, a professional glint in his eye. It was a dish that demanded precision and technique, but for him, it was a simple pleasure to create.
"Um, Gustave," Saitama said, having given up on deciding for himself. "I'll have an omelet rice, too."
"Perfect. Two orders of omelet rice coming right up," Gustave confirmed. "Would you like something to drink while you wait? You can sit at the counter."
"Anya wants an iced Coke!"
"I'll just have some juice, thanks."
Gustave quickly retrieved their drinks and got them settled at the polished wooden counter before heading back into the kitchen, his mind already running through the process. Omelet rice lived or died on two things: the savory fried rice at its core and the delicate, creamy omelet draped over it.
Today, he decided on a rich soy sauce chicken fried rice.
He started by taking a plump, tender chicken breast and dicing it into small, uniform cubes. He placed them in a bowl, adding a splash of soy sauce, a pinch of starch, and a few slivers of fresh ginger. Then, a low hum filled the air as a faint blue light enveloped his hands. He was using a subtle electromagnetic field to accelerate the marination, driving the flavors deep into the muscle fibers in a fraction of the usual time. This was one of the core principles of his electro-culinary arts: enhancing flavor at a molecular level without compromising texture.
Next came the sauce for the rice: a simple but balanced mixture of light soy sauce, sugar, vinegar, and a hint of white pepper.
With his wok heated to a precise, uniform temperature using his Contrôle thermique parfait, he added a splash of oil. The marinated chicken went in, searing instantly with a satisfying sizzle. Once cooked through, he set it aside. A bit more oil, a spoonful of aromatic bean paste, and he stir-fried it until the oil blushed a brilliant red. In went the chopped onion and garlic, their fragrance blooming in the intense heat. He returned the chicken to the wok, tossed in the sauce, and finally, added a mound of perfectly cooked rice.
He worked quickly, the high, even heat ensuring every grain was coated in the savory sauce without becoming mushy. When the sauce had been fully absorbed, he sprinkled in a handful of chopped green onions for a fresh, sharp finish and scooped the fragrant rice onto two plates, shaping it neatly.
Now for the main event: the omelet. He cracked five large eggs into a bowl, seasoning them with salt and pepper. As he whisked them, another almost invisible electrical current flowed from his fingertips, applying a low-frequency field to the mixture. This technique aligned the proteins in the eggs, creating a liquid that was impossibly smooth and uniform, the key to a truly silky omelet.
He heated a clean pan, letting the oil shimmer across its entire surface. The egg mixture was poured in, and he immediately agitated it with his chopsticks, creating soft, delicate curds. When the center was just beginning to set, he used a spatula to gently roll the omelet from the edge, sealing the molten core within a perfectly cooked, golden skin. A successful omelet was a paradox: a solid exterior that held a liquid center, waiting to be released.
While Gustave worked his magic in the kitchen, Anya struck up a conversation with Saitama, having already deduced from his thoughts that he was a good person. Saitama, happy for the company, began recounting one of his battles.
"So, one time, I ran into this praying mantis monster. You know what a praying mantis is, right? Big bug, with the two scythes for arms..." Saitama mimed the creature's sharp claws. Though his acting wasn't very convincing, Anya knew exactly what he meant.
"Anya knows mantises!" she shouted happily.
"Yeah, so this mantis monster was smashing up the street, and I was just coming back from the supermarket. It was a real shame, actually."
"I was just walking along, and the mantis ripped my shopping bag. All my discounted stuff spilled onto the ground. What a waste, those were all mine..."
As Saitama spoke, his story began to drift. It was supposed to be about a monster fight, but it quickly turned into a detailed lament about his lost groceries.
"Brother Saitama, what about the mantis? Where did the mantis go?!" Anya asked, growing anxious. She had listened for a long time, but he hadn't mentioned the monster's fate.
"Huh? The mantis monster?" Saitama scratched his bald head, trying to remember. "Oh, right. I was picking up my discounted stuff, and I think the mantis was about to step on it. I was worried he'd crush my vegetables, so I kinda just... pushed him. Then he was gone."
"Ah? He disappeared? That's too bad!" Anya looked disappointed. She had imagined a fierce, drawn-out battle where Saitama finally won through sheer effort. She didn't realize that the "disappearance" was the result of Saitama's light push completely atomizing the monster. He had been so focused on his groceries that he hadn't even noticed.
"Your omelet rice is ready!" Gustave announced, setting two steaming plates on the counter. One was a large portion for Saitama, the other a smaller one for Anya. He also placed a small dish of crisp, pickled radish between them.
"Waaaaah!" Anya's eyes went wide, sparkling with delight at the sight of the glistening golden omelet.
"Better eat it while it's hot," Gustave said, handing them each a spoon.
"Thank you!" Anya chirped. She gently pressed her spoon into the top of the omelet. The delicate skin split open, and the creamy, semi-liquid egg inside flowed out like molten gold, blanketing the dark, savory rice beneath.
"Amazing," Saitama couldn't help but praise. He had tried to make one himself before, but it had always ended in scrambled failure.
They both scooped a spoonful into their mouths.
"It's delicious!" Anya's eyes lit up even brighter. "It's even better than Dad's cooking!" She couldn't help but compare Gustave's masterpiece to the meals made by her secret agent father, Loid Forger, and Gustave's was the clear winner.
Saitama, on the other hand, had already devoured half of his plate in complete silence. The chef's skill was undeniable, and even better, the meal was free. For him, there was no higher praise.
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