Fabulous Feast

by Alex Milway

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Anna, struggling to hold up her side of the oven.

  ‘Rosie Goat and – MEH! – Sorrel,’ said one of the goats. ‘We’re – MEH! – here for the chef showdown.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Anna, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. ‘If you just head over to Lemmy at the front desk …’

  But Lemmy was deep in his own problems.

  ‘Kind sir!’ said Simon Suckerlot, scrambling up on to the front desk using his tentacles. Trails of water dripped down behind him. ‘I may be having a minor emergency.’

  ‘You are?’ said Lemmy, worried.

  ‘Let me ask you,’ said Simon, ‘does seawater run through the taps here?’

  Lemmy had never even considered it.

  ‘I …’ he said, pausing to think.

  ‘You see,’ said Simon, ‘a cephalopod such as myself needs a constant source of brine. Not brackish water, you hear – no mere puddle with a dash of salt – no! I need proper, solid, stand-you-up-straight water from the briny deep.’

  ‘I can’t say sorry enough!’ said Lemmy.

  ‘If I was a sea creature such as a lonely penguin, who can live in fresh water, it wouldn’t be a problem,’ said Simon, turning all theatrical. He placed his tentacles on his heart. ‘But … sadly … I am just an octopus!’

  ‘Sir,’ said Lemmy apologetically, ‘I shall sort it out right away.’

  The octopus doffed his hat, and slipped back down to his coconut.

  ‘You are a wonder of the natural world,’ said Simon, rolling away.

  10

  Bathtime Blues

  Lemmy knocked hesitantly on the kitchen door, but there was no reply. He peered through the window to find the room empty.

  Eva walked past, carrying a tray of berry smoothies for Sorrel and Rosie Goat.

  ‘Is chef about?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s buying ingredients,’ said Eva cheerfully. ‘Apparently there’s some special herb she’s after.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lemmy.

  ‘Shall I tell her you came by?’ she asked.

  ‘NO!’ snapped Lemmy. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Eva shrugged and carried on her business. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t scared of Madame Le Pig.

  Lemmy opened the door and sneaked into the kitchen. He searched the cupboards from top to bottom until he found the chef’s salt store. There were boxes of smoked salt, pink salt, seaweed salt, as well as a huge bag of the finest sea salt.

  ‘That’s the stuff!’ he cheered, slinging the sea salt under his arm.

  He headed upstairs to Simon Suckerlot’s room. The octopus was lounging at a table reading a collection of poetry by Sylvia Platypus.

  ‘Hello, sir!’ said Lemmy. ‘Salt?’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Simon, crawling over with his shell. ‘The bath is full and ready.’

  Lemmy slit open the bag of salt, scooped out a handful and threw it in.

  ‘There you go,’ he said.

  Simon rolled a tentacle, urging more.

  ‘Keep it coming!’ he said.

  Lemmy tipped in another handful.

  Simon wanted more.

  Eventually Lemmy poured in the whole bag. Simon dipped the end of a tentacle into the water and tasted it.

  ‘Too mild,’ he said. ‘You’d add more seasoning to a plate of fries.’

  ‘Wait here!’ said Lemmy.

  He raced back down to the kitchen and grabbed all the other salts from the cupboard, sliding herbs and spices into their places to make it look like nothing had been moved. When Lemmy returned, Simon was fully submerged and blowing inky bubbles to the surface.

  ‘Salt, sir!’ said Lemmy.

  Simon wrapped his tentacles round the taps and pulled himself up.

  ‘Marvellous,’ he said. ‘Now pour it all in!’

  Lemmy did exactly that, and Simon slipped back into the water with a plop.

  ‘MWAH!’ said Simon, smacking his beak with his tentacles. ‘Now that is perfect. I shall sleep like the king of the sea now!’

  And as Lemmy walked away he hoped, above all else, that Madame Le Pig wouldn’t notice what had gone missing.

  11

  A Cowpat on the Back

  Alfonso Fastbeak stumbled out into the lobby from the lift, looking exhausted. Ms Fragranti had worked him to the bone.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Anna, who was pinning posters to the walls.

  ‘Sadly not. I still can’t fly, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Though on the bright side, I’m now excellent at ballet.’

  He stopped suddenly with a look of horror on his face.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Anna.

  He slowly raised his leg into the air and brown sludge dripped from his foot. ‘How hard is it to use the facilities?!’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Anna.

  ‘I’m no expert, miss, but it looks like a cowpat,’ said Alfonso.

  Anna knelt down and sniffed the circular brown mound.

  ‘It smells like it too,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you a cloth.’

  Alfonso attempted to flick the poo from his foot.

  ‘I’ve landed in worse,’ he said. ‘It just came as a surprise, that’s all.’

  At that point the Horntops entered the lobby, chatting happily about food.

  ‘Norman, wasn’t that buffalo grass a delight?’ said Mrs Horntop.

  ‘Aye. It was delicious!’ said Norman.

  The Horntops were the only two cows in the hotel, and Anna realised she’d have to confront them. But how do you confront someone about the fact they’d left a cowpat on the floor? she wondered. Direct and to the point, she decided.

  ‘Ah,’ said Anna, ‘Mrs Horntop, might I have a word?’

  ‘The lunch was wonderful,’ said Mrs Horntop, smiling. ‘As good as we’d hoped! And we’re now heading up to the Barnyard Deli for a grass platter. Isn’t that right, Norman?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, Petal,’ said Norman.

  ‘I’m pleased you’re enjoying yourself,’ said Anna. ‘However, we have a slight issue.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Mrs Horntop.

  ‘There’s a cowpat on the floor,’ said Anna, direct and to the point.

  ‘Hang my hairy horns,’ said Mrs Horntop. ‘So there is! Who would have done such a thing? Norman, have you seen that mess on the floor over there? Awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘Terrible. Some cows have no manners.’

  ‘No manners at all,’ said Mrs Horntop. ‘Now, we must get going so we don’t miss our reservation.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, Petal,’ said Norman, checking his watch. ‘That grass has to be freshly cut, or it loses its colour.’

  ‘So it wasn’t one of you?’ asked Anna.

  Mrs Horntop flushed red with embarrassment. ‘Us?’ she said. ‘Never. My Norman is very well trained. As am I.’

  ‘Aye, Petal, that’s right,’ he replied. ‘Come on, love.’

  Anna was left stunned.

  ‘I bet it’s all that grass they eat,’ said Alfonso, shaking his head. ‘They just don’t have any control.’

  12

  To Greater Heights!

  The following day, Alfonso was back to training with Ms Fragranti.

  ‘Come on, out you come, darling,’ said the flamingo, who was standing on the roof.

  Alfonso was desperately unsure. They were very high up.

  ‘I think it’s too soon,’ he said.

  ‘When confronting our fears,’ said Ms Fragranti, her long neck twisting so that she could see him, ‘we are confronting life itself. If we don’t move forward, then backwards is the only other direction available.’

  ‘What about staying right where we are?’ he said. ‘That’s another option.’

  Ms Fragranti reached her wing through the Royal Suite window and Alfonso took hold.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ he said.

  ‘Alfonso Fastbeak!’ said Ms Fragranti with such confidence and energy that she could have roused a
snail into flight. ‘You are a death-defying, loop-the-looping stunt pigeon. All I ask is that you sit up here and feel the wind in your feathers. Breathe it in, darling.’

  Alfonso did as he was asked and clambered out on to the roof.

  ‘My legs don’t want to move,’ he said, sitting down as fast as he could. Gravity weighed very heavy on him, pushing him flat against the tiles.

  ‘It is better than yesterday,’ Ms Fragranti said, and stretched her wings. ‘Look at you! You may not be flying, but you are up high, as a bird like you should be.’

  Alfonso breathed deeply and let the smell of fresh sea air fill his lungs. It was true: he did feel a tingle of excitement in his cheeks. The old Alfonso was returning.

  ‘Try standing up,’ said Ms Fragranti.

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ said Alfonso.

  The flamingo willed him on. ‘I am here to help you,’ she said, tapping him on the chest. ‘Confidence is found in here.’

  Alfonso cooed, puffed up his feathers and stood up.

  ‘Wonderful, darling!’ said Ms Fragranti. ‘How does it feel?’

  ‘Say, I reckon that it’s getting a little bit better,’ he said, loosening up.

  But at that very moment his claws lost their grip. He skidded downwards, never quite regaining his hold. Ms Fragranti acted fast, swinging her neck down low to loop round him. Alfonso gripped her scarf and finally stopped sliding.

  ‘Gee whizz, can we go back inside now?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so, darling, yes,’ agreed Ms Fragranti.

  They rested for a moment in the Royal Suite, before Alfonso decided he’d had enough.

  ‘Aww, shucks, I can’t do it,’ he said. ‘I feel like fear is eating me from the inside.’

  Ms Fragranti tipped her beak and looked kindly upon him.

  ‘We all suffer from stage fright at some point in our lives, darling,’ she said. ‘Yet we mustn’t let it rule us.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Alfonso, ‘but I think it’s ruling me.’

  Alfonso headed downstairs and took some less terrifying air out on the terrace.

  13

  A Pig in a Pickle

  The evening before the competition, T. Bear knocked on Anna’s office door and walked inside.

  ‘I’ve found us a judge,’ he said a little nervously.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Anna.

  T. Bear clutched his paws. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘when you first arrived here, there was a cat who came to inspect the hotel –’

  ‘Mr Grayson?’ said Anna.

  ‘That’s right,’ replied T. Bear. ‘He was very official, and fair, and I thought he might be a good fit.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ said Anna. ‘And he liked us as well. I’d better tell Madame Le Pig.’

  Anna rushed to the kitchen. The restaurant was filled with guests, but the chef was unusually quiet.

  ‘What is it?’ said Madame Le Pig, finishing off a round of desserts.

  ‘We have a judge,’ said Anna. ‘Mr Grayson, the hotel inspector!’

  ‘What does it matter to me?’ said Le Pig with a shrug. ‘I have my new menu. That is all I need.’

  ‘But we know he likes your food,’ said Anna. ‘The other chefs won’t stand a chance.’

  Madame Le Pig placed the puddings at the service hatch and dinged a bell for Eva. She huffed. ‘I hope you are right,’ she said.

  Anna was stopped dead by the chef’s words. This did not sound like the Madame Le Pig she knew.

  ‘You hope?’ said Anna. ‘I know you will win.’

  ‘HOW CAN YOU?’ snapped the chef, who became instantly flushed with rage. ‘I have spent the past fifteen years fighting to be the best chef in the world. It is not easy being brilliant!’

  ‘I know it’s not,’ said Anna.

  For the first time she realised that Madame Le Pig was worried about losing the competition. And what would happen if she did lose? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Madame Le Pig sniffed. ‘I have to work,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, yes,’ said Anna, and she left the kitchen, feeling terrible.

  Luckily Ms Fragranti was waiting for Anna in the lobby as she returned to her office.

  ‘A word, darling?’ said the flamingo.

  ‘Yes?’ said Anna with a sigh. ‘More problems?’

  They walked into the office and Anna sat down.

  ‘I don’t think I can help him,’ said Ms Fragranti. ‘Alfonso needs more than a coach; he needs …’ Ms Fragranti was unusually lost for words. ‘He needs to find himself. Only once he believes in himself will he soar again across the sky.’

  ‘I see,’ said Anna.

  ‘And you, darling, you’re not your usual self?’ asked Ms Fragranti.

  ‘I think I’ve forced Madame Le Pig into a situation she didn’t want to be in,’ said Anna.

  ‘This competition?’

  Anna nodded.

  Ms Fragranti spread a wing round Anna’s shoulder to comfort her. ‘It is a hard lesson to learn, but prizes are not everything, darling,’ said the flamingo. ‘Madame Le Pig’s brilliance is found in her food, not the trophies on her shelf.’

  ‘I thought she’d just get angry and shout a lot, like always,’ said Anna. ‘I didn’t think she’d start to worry about losing.’

  ‘Winning is lovely,’ said Ms Fragranti, ‘but losing? Now that can affect us all.’

  ‘I see that now,’ said Anna, growing more and more desperate. ‘All the chefs are amazing. Oh, how do I make sure she wins?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Ms Fragranti, horrified. ‘Cooking is like art – it is not a game. It cannot be won, and you cannot cheat.’

  ‘But what if she loses?’ asked Anna. ‘It will ruin her.’

  ‘You must believe in her no matter what,’ said Ms Fragranti.

  Anna’s head fell to the desk. ‘Will you stay for tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘I like having you here.’

  ‘Of course, darling,’ said Ms Fragranti. ‘I would never leave in your hour of need! I can keep an eye on your chef. She doesn’t scare me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Anna. ‘Now I’d better go and check how the ballroom is coming along.’

  14

  Cow Confidential

  With just hours to go before the competition the hotel was filled with guests. There was an exciting buzz about the place and it wasn’t because of the party of bees that had come to stay.

  Anna headed down through the lobby staircase to the ballroom. Giant photographs of the three chefs hung on the walls, and Stella was wrestling with some disagreeable copper pipes. With Hilary’s help she’d worked day and night to create the makeshift kitchens, and now they were looking exactly how Anna had designed them.

  ‘It’s perfect!’ she said.

  Upon the stage there were three cooking stations in place, each with a fridge, an oven and hob, and a bench for preparing food. Stella was deep in thought, plumbing in the gas pipes. She tightened a bolt, then stood up and nodded happily.

  ‘It’s all or nothing!’ said Stella, and she flicked a switch. A crown of flames burst out of a hob. ‘And we’re cooking on gas!’

  ‘I’ll get T. Bear to sort out the chairs and tables,’ said Anna. ‘And then I think we’re almost ready.’

  ‘And can I have a sleep?’ asked Stella.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Anna.

  She marched back upstairs full of excitement, only to find another cowpat lying in front of the reception desk.

  ‘Lemmy?’ she said, jolting the lemur into life. ‘Did you see who did this?’

  Lemmy peered over the desk. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said.

  ‘I know it wasn’t you,’ said Anna.

  ‘I’ll call Hilary,’ said Lemmy. ‘She won’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t like it either!’ said Anna. ‘I’m going to have to say something to the cows. You can’t just go around doing things like this on other people’s carpets!’

  ‘You tell ’em, miss!’ said Lemmy.


  ‘I just have to find the right moment,’ said Anna, ‘but they can’t be doing this at the food competition. That would be awful!’

  ‘And get us shut down!’ said Lemmy.

  Anna’s face turned to horror. The one person with the power to shut down her hotel was the one person judging the Battle of the Chefs: Mr Grayson, the world’s most difficult hotel inspector. She had to tell the cows immediately.

  •

  Anna found the Horntops out on the terrace, lounging by the pool. With all their fur they couldn’t notice the slight chill in the air.

  ‘Mrs Horntop?’ said Anna.

  ‘Aye,’ said the cow, who was tucking into a rolled-up mini bale of hay. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s the cowpats,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve just found another!’

  ‘Oh no, it’s nothing to do with us, is it, Norman?’

  ‘Aye, Petal,’ said Norman, chewing on a pack of grass crisps. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Anna, ‘we have to find a way to stop them – oh gosh, how do I say this? – appearing? I’ll have to ask you to leave if it continues.’

  ‘Us?’ said Mrs Horntop. ‘Leave?’

  ‘There’s a hotel inspector visiting tonight,’ said Anna. ‘He can shut us down if there are … well, you know. If those things are all over the floor.’

  ‘Shut you down?’ said Norman. ‘But it’s nothing to do with us, is it, Petal?’

  Mrs Horntop pulled Anna to one side and whispered into her ear. ‘I don’t want him knowing,’ she said.

  ‘Knowing what?’ asked Anna.

  ‘I’m grass-intolerant,’ said Mrs Horntop. ‘But it’s his favourite thing. Eating grass is what he loves more than anything, and, well, it goes right through me.’

  ‘But he loves you, doesn’t he?’ asked Anna. ‘He’d understand if you told him.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could try,’ said Mrs Horntop thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps he would!’