[Ranma][Fanfic] Flambe! Week 1/4

[bridget ellen engman]

Ranma 1/2 Flambe!

A Month of Anything-Goes Martial Arts Recipes
in Weekly Installments.

Author's Note: The idea for this one came from a week in which I
read Banana Yoshimoto's "Kitchen" and the now-famous "Like Water
for Chocolate" in quick succession, as well as from the recipes
included in Hitomi Ichinohei's fine (but unfortunately
unfinished) fanfic "A Son's Duty." All characters the property
of Rumiko Takahashi; origin of recipes (which, I should point
out, are all edible) will be credited with each installment.
Bon Appetit!

DISCLAIMER: The author is not responsible for any damage caused
to your kitchen by the preparation of these recipes.

Week 1: Black-Bottomed Banana Bread

Akane ran until her breath sounded in her ears like waves on
the shore and her legs ached with cold and fatigue. The rain had
lifted, and here and there a star winked faintly through a gap in
the clouds; thunder still rumbled faintly in the distance. When
she could run no more, she drew up before the dripping eaves of a
vegetable stand, its wares shut up for the night, and leaned her
cheek against the chill of a lamppost.
"That dummy..." she whispered wearily, tears and anger
welling up inside her again. As usual, anger won out and she
started pounding her fist into the lamppost. "Dummy, dummy,
dummy!" she chanted in rhythm with each blow, her voice
gradually rising until she was nearly shouting.
The rusty jangle of a bell broke into her chant, and she
looked up in surprise. Across the street, tucked between an
incense shop and a drugstore, was a small Shinto shrine, its
orange pillars glistening with rain. Water dripped haphazardly
from the leaves of a huge tree that stood to one side of the
gate, its girth embraced by a huge rope hung with damp strips of
white paper that moved sluggishly with the breeze. The twin
statues of foxes that flanked the shrine were stained slate grey
in the aftermath of the rain.
Akane tentatively crept through the _torii_, guiltily
wondering if the shrine were open to the public so late. But
there seemed to be no hours posted, so she cautiously approached
the small wooden building. Hanging just under the eaves was a
large round bell, apparently the source of the ringing a moment
before; a thick straw rope hung down past a slatted
wooden box for monetary donations. The interior of the shrine
was too dark for her to see, even the glow of the nearby
streetlamps not penetrating; yet the darkness felt somehow
comforting, as if she were snuggled in a warm bed.
Which she might be now if it weren't for Ranma. The dummy.
Her hand tightened around the rope unconsciously. When Kasumi
had announced her intention to attend a month-long conference on
household remedies and medicinal plants in the United States,
Akane had leapt at the chance to cook for the family. Ranma had
leapt, too, she recalled bitterly -- for the door. But finals
were coming up, so he couldn't go on a training trip now. Ranma
knew better than to eat at the Nekohanten or Ucchan's every
night, and he couldn't afford to eat anywhere else. So Akane had
been given two of the things she needed the most -- a chance to
practice and a captive guinea pi... uh, taste-tester.
Unfortunately, he wasn't being much help.
<Some constructive criticism!> she grumped. <Collapsing on
the floor and writhing in agony isn't what I call constructive.
"Needs less salt" -- now *that* would be constructive.> But...
she had to admit that her dinner hadn't left him with much
choice. When she had finally tasted it herself (after smashing
Ranma into the floor, of course) *she* had almost collapsed.
What could have gone wrong? She had poured all her energy
into creating the perfect dinner, and it had ended up a perfect
disaster.
On impulse, Akane wrapped both hands around the thick rope.
She had no change to donate, but that couldn't be helped. She
screwed her eyes shut and rang the bell one, two, three times,
then clapped her hands and bowed her head.
<I wish... I wish I could cook.> she fervently prayed. <If
I could cook, I know everything would be all right.>
The bell echoed in the damp, empty streets, then fell
silent. Akane opened her eyes and stepped back, feeling oddly
disappointed. <Silly!> she berated herself. <It's not like
some spirit is going to just appear and teach me to cook...>
"Excuse me..." The voice was slow and warm with the rusty
tinge of age. Akane jumped and whirled around.
An old woman in a plain grey kimono stood behind her,
umbrella held up against the dripping water. Her face had the
lined, worn patina of a fine-grained wood, and her expression
radiated pleasant concern.
<That was fast!> Akane thought. The woman bowed slightly in
greeting and went on.
"I apologize for troubling you, but you woke me up from my
nap, and I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help
you."
"Well," Akane paused, wondering what rules of etiquette
applied to dealing with spirits. She laughed nervously. "Well,
I was just wishing I could cook... But don't you know that? I
called you, didn't I?"
The woman stared at her for a moment, then laughed, a mellow
laugh that filled the shrine grounds.
"Is that why you were attacking my lamppost? To call me?
I'm afraid the vegetable shop is closed, and I won't have any
fresh wares until morning." The woman gestured across the
street, and Akane noticed that the shutters of the vegetable
stand were open, showing a faintly lit interior. "Why wouldn't
you just try an all-night supermarket, if you're so eager to
cook." She sounded amused, not annoyed, and Akane blushed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trouble you."
"That's quite all right, dear," the woman said kindly. "Is
there something else wrong? You seem quite upset."
Akane hesitated. "I really don't want to burden you with my
problems. I mean we just met..." The woman's face creased into
a welcoming smile.
"It's no trouble at all, dear. Why don't you come have a
cup of tea to warm up before you return home? I'd very much
enjoy the company. I don't have many visitors these days." When
Akane nodded, the woman turned and clopped across the wet
pavement in her _geta_, leading Akane back to the vegetable shop.
They slipped around stacked crates and tables and through a
long curtain into a narrow six-tatami room with a low wooden
table. The room was pristine and brightly lit by a fluorescent
light overhead; a few pieces of whitish pottery sat on shelves
along one wall, and an arrangement of chrysanthemums was set in
an alcove in another wall. Akane knelt beside the table while
the woman went through another curtain, returning a minute or two
later with a small white teapot and a pair of teacups on a
lacquered tray.
The old woman knelt across from Akane and poured tea, the
reassuring slosh of the liquid the only sound in the room. Akane
wrapped her hands around her cup, feeling the warmth seep into
her chilled fingers. She hadn't realized she was so cold.
"So, my dear," the woman said softly. "We should probably
begin with introductions. My name is Oharu Murakami."
"Akane Tendo. Pleased to meet you." They both bowed
slightly. Akane sipped at her tea, at a loss for where to begin.
As she set her cup down, the woman's leathery hand touched her
arm.
"Don't hold back, dear." she whispered encouragingly. "I'm
very curious as to why a nice young girl like yourself is trying
to buy vegetables in the middle of the night, not to mention
crying and smashing lampposts."
At this, Akane sniffled a bit. In short sentences, she
spoke of the evening's fiasco, becoming more open with each sip
of tea. When she reached the part about the shrine, she blushed
a bit.
"...so I thought, well, maybe it wouldn't hurt. I mean, I
don't really expect it to work, but... I can always hope, can't
I?"
Mrs. Murakami looked thoughtful, tapping a finger on the
edge of her cup.
"You say some people have tried to teach you to cook?"
"Well, Kasumi. That's my older sister. She lets me try
sometimes. And Ranma's mother has tried once or twice, but that
didn't help either."
"Has either of these people ever taught anyone to cook
before?"
"Well, they're both wonderful cooks themselves, so they
should be able to help me, if there was any hope."
The woman laughed again, warming Akane as much as the tea.
"Being able to cook doesn't mean anything as far as their ability
to teach cooking. Teaching takes far more than an instinct for
food; it takes an instinct for people. These two fine cooks,
what would you say about their powers of observation? Of people,
I mean."
Akane thought for a moment. She loved Kasumi and Mrs.
Saotome. But she had to admit...
"Well, they are a bit dense in some ways. They seem to miss
a lot of things that other people notice right away. Ranma's mom
never even figured out that... well... she never figured out
about Ranma until she saw it right before her eyes. I mean, how
could she miss something so obvious...?"
"You see? The fact that you haven't been able to learn from
them doesn't mean you can't learn at all. It just means you need
a new teacher who can adapt the teaching to your personality."
"But who would teach me, if they can't?" Akane glumly
stared at her empty cup. Mrs. Murakami leaned over and calmly
poured her more tea.
"Well, I was thinking perhaps I could."
"You? But we just met. I couldn't possibly impose upon
you..."
"Oh, it's no imposition. It's been a long time since I've
helped anyone out like this. And I do love a challenge."
Akane sipped at her tea again, remaining silent.
"Please allow me to do this." Mrs. Murakami leaned over and
covered Akane's hand with her own. "I would so enjoy it."
Akane hesitated. She could hardly believe that someone was
willing to help her. "Well, okay... but if you change your mind
after seeing me cook, I'll understand. Really."
"Don't worry, Akane. I already have an idea what part of
your problem is, and there's still life in me, old as I am. Why
don't I come over tomorrow at, say, six o'clock? That should
give us enough time to prepare a meal, and the vegetable shop
will be closed."
"S... sure." Akane wrote the address on an envelope and
handed it to Mrs. Murakami, who scanned it and sent Akane a
shrewd look.
"The Tendo Dojo? Does this mean your family practices
martial arts?"
"Well, not my whole family. Just me and my dad. And of
course, there's Ranma and his dad..."
"Ah, good. This won't be nearly as painful as you think.
Now, it's getting late. Don't you think your family will be
worried?"
Akane stood reluctantly. "They've probably sent Ranma out
to look for me by now, so I guess you're right."
"Well, in that case, I'll see you tomorrow evening." Mrs.
Murakami escorted Akane back through the vegetable shop, waving
to her as she closed the shutters. Akane walked slowly along the
narrow streets, inhaling the freshly-washed air. The clouds were
mostly gone now, and she could see a few constellations each time
she passed out from under a streetlamp.
<A teacher, huh?> she mused, clasping her hands behind her
back. <I wonder if it can really work...>

The next day, she waited in agony for six o'clock.
Breakfast and lunch passed without incident; they still had a
goodly supply of Kasumi's miso soup in the fridge, and some
leftovers for their lunches, so Akane wouldn't need to make those
for a week or so. Though at the rate Ranma was eating them, they
wouldn't last quite that long. It was almost as if he were
trying to eat enough food for dinner as well... When the thought
occurred to her, she threw Ranma in the pond, just in case that
*was* what he was doing. It just wasn't fair.
Finally, on the stroke of six, she heard the outer door of
the entrance slide open, and Mrs. Murakami's voice carry through
to the living room. She was wearing a kimono nearly identical to
her clothing of the day before, grey fabric with a subtle design
worked into the threads. Akane quickly escorted her towards the
kitchen, hoping nobody would see them.
"Hey, Akane, who's this?" Akane flushed and turned to face
Ranma.
"This is Mrs. Murakami. Mrs. Murakami, Ranma."
"Ah, your fiance I've heard so much about. Pleased to meet
you." She bowed politely. Ranma turned as red as Akane.
"Um... pleased to meet you, but I'm not..."
Akane elbowed him in the gut. "We've got to get going,
seeya!" She grabbed Mrs. Murakami's arm and dragged her into the
kitchen. Ranma stared after them in confusion, then shrugged and
returned to the living room.
Mrs. Murakami looked around the kitchen, nodding in
approval. "Well, Akane, what were you planning on cooking
tonight?"
"Um, pork curry. Sometimes it turns out kinda normal, so I
thought it might be a good place to start."
"That sounds fine. Why don't you begin?"
"Aren't you going to help me?"
"Well, I can't teach you until I've seen you cook. I'll
just watch this time around, and then we can begin your lessons."
Akane nodded reluctantly, then turned to the stove and
concentrated. <This time!> she thought determinedly. <This time
I'll do it right!> Glowing blue, she charged into the fray.
Twenty minutes later, she stared at the glop in the pan. It
didn't look quite like Kasumi's, but it was done. Time to taste-
test it.
"Ranma! Dinner's ready!"
Mrs. Murakami placed a restraining hand on her arm. "No, I
don't think so, dear."
"But... why not? How else am I supposed to know if it's any
good?"
"Well, first of all, it's not good to depend on other
people's opinions too much. You need to find your self-worth in
your own success, not in other people's determination of your
success. But secondly, I think you should look at this bottle."
"That's just the oil I cooked the pork and vegetables in..."
Mrs. Murakami turned the plastic bottle so Akane could see
the label clearly. "I'm sorry, dear, but motor oil is not
generally considered to be edible."
Akane stared at the bottle, a sob welling up in her throat.
"But... but I tried so hard!"
"Oh, don't cry, Akane. I wasn't expecting you to do as well
as you did. I know exactly how to train you now."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do. But we can't do it here. Why don't you show me
to your dojo? And bring with you that sack of empty bottles.
Reusing is a form of recycling, isn't it?"

Mrs. Murakami knelt in the center of the dojo, motioning for
Akane to sit opposite her.
"Now, in a few minutes, we're going to start practicing, but
first there are a few questions I need to ask you. Be very
honest, with me and with yourself." Akane nodded. "How many
people do you know who can cook?"
"Well, there's Kasumi and Mrs. Saotome, of course. Ukyou
and Shampoo. Kodachi, I guess, though she does tend to poison
her cooking. And, well..." she flushed ""... Ranma's not bad
either."
"Hmmm... So, how would you describe Kasumi's character?"
"Well... calm, soothing."
"And how would you describe her food?"
"I don't know... it's very satisfying, and calming."
"How about this... Ukyou?"
"She's, well, she's a really nice girl... " <...when she's
not glomping on to Ranma...> "... and she's very cheerful. I
think she's pretty independent, too -- she runs a restaurant by
herself, and she's only sixteen."
"And her food?"
"Well, she cooks okonomiyaki. So there's a lot of variety,
and it's always very original. Her sauce is wonderful, very
tangy and sweet..."
"How about Ranma's personality? I know it's hard to be
objective about someone you love, but be honest."
"Someone I..." Akane stopped herself. It was a natural
assumption to make. She heaved a deep breath, and thought for a
minute. "Well, he's very self-confident. Tenacious. He's not
very sensitive or gentle..." Akane trailed off. "Wait a minute,
are you saying that someone's personality affects their cooking?"
"Well, yes. It's a very important factor."
Akane pondered that for a moment. She had only eaten
Ranma's cooking a few times, but... now that she thought about
it, it was a lot like him. It was never subtle, and it always
seemed to have a little flash to it, as if he had added just a
tad more of some unusual spice that just happened to work. It
was as if his self-confidence somehow oozed into the pan with the
ingredients. But if cooking and personality were related so
closely...
"So..." Akane suppressed a sob. "So my personality is BAD-
TASTING?" Mrs. Murakami laughed.
"Oh, no, not at all. But it does explain why your cooking
hasn't been working for you, if you've been trying to cook like
Kasumi. I haven't met her, of course, but from your description
she seems very placid, calm, and maternal."
"Which I'm not," Akane said bitterly.
"Don't be upset, Akane. Your personality is far more
interesting. You have a lot of fire in you, a lot of spice. The
way you've been cooking up until now goes against that." Akane
smiled slightly at that. "It doesn't surprise me in the least
that the one food you've made successfully so far is curry. That
gives the spice in you an avenue for expression. But it isn't
only personality that affects cooking. It's approach."
"Approach?"
"Yes. When Kasumi cooks, how does she go about it?"
"Well, she's very calm. She's always calm... she hums to
herself a lot, and smiles."
"Ukyou?"
"She's always smiling, too. She lives for okonomiyaki, and
it's almost like she's dancing when she cooks. Ranma... he
grins, and jumps around a lot."
"Does he now? That must be interesting to watch. Now, when
you began cooking your curry just now, what did you do?"
"I, um, concentrated..."
"What did you think about?"
"I thought about making good food."
"Honestly?" Mrs. Murakami's eyes bored into Akane's. She
thought again, then bowed her head.
"No," she said in a small voice.
"What did you think about?"
"Ranma. How I was going to show him this time. How I was
going to make him eat his words."
"That's what I thought. You see, you focused your aura as
if you were going into a battle. That battle aura seeped into
your food as you cooked it. And you have a very strong _ki_, so
it affects your cooking even more. What you need to do is focus
your _ki_ in a positive way, so that it improves your cooking.
So -- what makes you feel good? What makes you happy?"
<Ranma being nice...> she thought wistfully, <...but that
doesn't happen enough to be any good.> Aloud, she said,
"Practicing martial arts. Breaking cinderblocks always makes me
feel better when I'm upset."
Mrs. Murakami looked at her shrewdly for a moment, then
nodded. "I thought that might be the case. That's why we came
out to the dojo. What we are going to practice is Martial Arts
Cooking."
Akane looked up in amazement. Mrs. Murakami was smiling
broadly, her eyes almost lost in crinkles of merriment.
"What? Don't you think it's appropriate?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so."
"Good. I think this will also solve the motor-oil problem.
Tell me, how do you go about breaking cinderblocks?"
"I, um, put them in the middle of the floor. Then I break
them with the side of my hand."
"Can you break them without setting them up?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, you have to set up before you cook, too. Get out all
the ingredients and set them up for you to use."
"But Kasumi never does that. She just takes everything out
when she needs it."
"Yes, but Kasumi is also the one who arranged the kitchen,
isn't she? She's effectively set up the entire room in advance,
so that everything is where she can find it most easily. You, on
the other hand, need to arrange ingredients so they are right for
yourself. So, let's begin." She picked up the bag of bottles
and containers and began arranging them around Akane. "Now, this
one is the curry powder..."

An hour later, Akane stood in the midst of her set of
bottles, taking deep breaths as she calmed herself for a final
run of the kata. Mrs. Murakami stood a short ways away, watching
her.
"Ready.... begin!"
Akane swung her right arm out to the bottle designated
"cooking oil." <Grab, twist, bring around in one smooth movement.
Left arm passes over, removes top. Twist, pour, stop. Replace
oil, pause, focus, wait. "The moments of inaction are as
important as the moments of action." Hold pose and -- left arm
grasps pork, circular movement, pork in oil...> She continued
the movements, imitating the motions of cooking while she
switched from bottle to box to spoon. Finally, she gave the
"wok" a final twist of her arm and turned to present it before
Mrs. Murakami. The older woman smiled secretively.
"Now... Now I think you're ready for the real thing. Let's
go back to the kitchen."
Ranma chose that moment to poke his head in the dojo door.
"Hey, Akane, if you're not cooking tonight, does that mean I
can order out? The rest of the family already went out to eat,
and I could really go for some burgers right now..."
Akane stomped over to him and grabbed the front of his
shirt. "Who says I'm not cooking?" she growled. "I've been
practicing all night, and you darn well better be sitting at the
table when I finish. Got it?"
Ranma glanced at Mrs. Murakami. "Does this poor woman know
that you're planning to poison her?"
Akane glowed blue and wound up for a good hammerblow.
"Akane, stop!" Mrs. Murakami's voice held an edge of steel.
Akane paused and looked at her in shock. "Do you want to lose
all the focus you've gained this evening? Concentrate on the
kata, and let's return to the kitchen." Akane dropped Ranma in
embarrassment. As they left, Mrs. Murakami bowed to Ranma, the
twinkle back in her eyes.
"Thank you for the concern, young man, but I don't believe I
am in any danger. Akane's made great progress tonight. Dinner
should be ready shortly; I suggest you prepare yourself for a
surprise."

Ranma stared at the dish in front of him. He was
surprised, all right. It looked, well, normal. The meat looked
like meat, the vegetables looked like vegetables, and it was even
curry-colored.
That meant it had to taste really bad. If she got the looks
right, there's no way she could have gotten the taste right as
well. But... He closed his eyes and braced himself. <"We who
are about to die...">
He chewed. And chewed a bit more. And swallowed. Oh god,
it was the worst kind of Akane-cooking. The kind that made it
down to the stomach all right, then exploded. He waited for the
explosion. His stomach growled for more. He waited. Still no
explosion. He tried another bite. Then another. Suddenly he
looked down at his bowl and realized it was all gone. And he
wasn't dead. And it had tasted... okay. Not delicious, maybe,
but not toxic either. A bit spicy.
It couldn't possibly be Akane's cooking. Maybe that old
woman had done it before she left... He suddenly noticed Akane
was staring at him expectantly. He looked between his empty bowl
and her a few times. This was too much. With each glance,
though, Akane's expectant look grew less eager and more angry.
When he looked at the bowl the eighth time, she whipped out her
mallet and bashed him on the head.
"Can't you at least say something about it?" she yelled.
"You ate all of it, so say something!"
"Ummm..." Ranma was still in shock. He wasn't dead. "It's
delayed-action, right? I'll wake up in the middle of the night
screaming, right?"
"Why can't you just say it's good? Mrs. Murakami taught me
how to cook something! And I did it! Why can't you admit it?"
"No, there's got to be something weird going on.... Did you
buy something magic from a vendor? Or get a mix? Or order this
out?..." Ranma was running out of reasons. But Akane couldn't
have cooked this. "It's that old woman! She's really a
spirit..." Akane whacked him with the mallet again, this time
upside the head. He felt a little bit nauseous. That was more
like it.
"You jerk! I finally cook something right, and you can't
even admit you're wrong! You moron!"
Akane ran out of the room, and Ranma felt almost sorry. But
then, she'd left the food. Good thing she hadn't cooked it
herself; he was really hungry tonight. He helped himself to
more.
Still... he paused with chopsticks halfway to his mouth....
there was something funny going on. And it had to do with that
Murakami lady.
He really had to find out what was going on. This was all
just too weird.

END PART 1

ANYTHING-GOES MARTIAL ARTS COOKING TIP 1:
A Word About Tools

There are two specialized tools which are used in Anything-Goes
Martial Arts Cooking. The first is the mallet. Males may have
problems obtaining one from Hammerspace; substitute any
appropriate tool. The second is the Big-Ass Spatula (tm). While
purists may argue that this tool is the exclusive property of
Okonomiyaki-Style Martial Arts, none can deny its usefulness
in other Martial Arts Cooking endeavors. Not sold in stores;
get one custom-made, but don't forget to send Ukyou a cut. If
you don't... don't say we didn't warn you.

KATA 1
Black-Bottom Banana Bread
(this one was cut out of either the Elgin Courier-News or the
Chicago Tribune by my mother)

WEAPONS:

4 small very ripe bananas (black is good!)
1/2 cup unsalted butter or margarine, softened
2/3 cup sugar
3 large eggs (chicken ones, of course)
1/4 cup milk
1 cup cake flour
1 1/2 tsp baking POWDER
1 tsp baking SODA
generous 1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups chocolate chips

TECHNIQUE:

1. Begin with a very clean kitchen. Put rack in center of oven;
heat oven to 350 degrees FAHRENHEIT. Generously grease a 9 x 5
loaf pan with butter or margarine or other *edible* shortening
product. Hold pan next to flour sack. Karate-chop sack, thereby
dusting pan lightly with flour. Set aside. Measure all other
ingredients and arrange in proper order for kata. Clean kitchen.

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