Whoof!  Here it is, finally.  This is pretty rough -- I just pounded out 
the last 2/3 of it this afternoon -- but it's done.  C+C welcome, as 
always. Anyone needs parts 1-3, let me know.

Ranma 1/2 Flambe!
by bengman

Week 4:  Tarte aux Cerises, FLAMBEE!

     Ranma watched Akane over the edge of his bowl as he sipped
his miso soup.  Well, it was supposed to be miso soup.  It wasn't
*bad*, per se; he had to admit that.  *Bad*, in Ranma's world,
meant that he needed a trip to the emergency room to get over it. 
Unfortunately, the soup wasn't *good*, either.  It tasted like
nothing, except maybe like cardboard.  The broth was bland; there
was just enough to it that it didn't taste like water, but it
didn't taste like miso, either.  The tofu tasted like tofu, of
course, but then tofu didn't taste like much of anything to begin
with.  There were scallions floating in the soup, but Ranma could
swear they were plastic for all the flavor they had.  The soup
was just... there.
     Just like Akane.  On the other side of the table, she was
toying with her bowl, not even bothering to pick it up.  As he
watched, she picked up a cube of tofu with her chopsticks, stared
at it, then let it plop back into the broth.  She had been like
this for the past week; she cooked meals in silence, picked at
her food in silence, and then went to her room.  Since the fire,
she hadn't gone out for her morning run, she hadn't worked out in
the dojo, she hadn't even fought with him once.  She just moved
through the house like a ghost, smiling faintly at her father and
sister, speaking when spoken to, and cooking.
     That was the strangest thing of all.  He could understand if
her cooking had gotten back to normal after the old hag had been
sent packing.  But it hadn't.  Nor had she stopped cooking
altogether; true to her word, she was going to cook until Kasumi
got back.  But it was as if something was sucking all the flavor
out of the food as she was cooking, so that it looked normal, it
had all the right ingredients, and yet it tasted... empty. 
Hollow.
     It tasted like Ranma felt.
     He had won, he knew that.  Without a single blow, he had
gotten rid of the demon -- or whatever she had been -- that had
been luring Akane down a path of darkness.  He had saved Akane
from herself.  And yet... It had been too easy.  It made him
wonder if he had won at all.
     It made him wonder if there had been a battle to win.
     That thought made him uncomfortable.  It gave him a dull,
throbbing pang at the back of his head that, if he had to
identify it, he would call "guilt" -- but he didn't like to
identify it, because if he admitted that he felt guilty, then
that meant that he had done something to feel guilty about, and
that meant that he had been... wrong.
     And if he had been wrong... He watched Akane lift another
cube of tofu, mesmerized by the splash as it dropped back into
the soup.  If he had been wrong... No, he didn't want to think
about that.  He would just sip away at his cardboard soup, and
watch the cardboard Akane across the table, and not think at all.
     The sound of the front door opening shocked him out of his
reverie, and he almost leapt to his feet.  The entire family was
at the breakfast table, morosely working their way through
breakfast, and Ranma's first thought was that he had been right
after all, and Mrs. Murakami had come back to finish the job. 
Slow measured footsteps came towards the family room; he riveted
his eyes on the doorway and waited, holding his breath.  The
other members of the family had noticed the arrival and were also
watching curiously.  Ranma poised himself for battle, building up
his ki...
     ...And letting it fizzle.  Kasumi stood in the doorway, her
pleasant face beaming as she set down her travel bag.  She tilted
her head a bit to one side, putting her hands behind her back,
and laughed at the looks of surprise on the faces before her.
     "Good morning, everybody!" she said sweetly, one hand coming
delicately to her mouth.  "Did I surprise you?"
     "Kasumi!"  Soun exclaimed joyously, tears coming to his
eyes.  "What are you doing home so early?  Doesn't the convention
last another week?  You didn't come all the way from the airport
yourself, did you?"
     "Oh, father," she chided serenely.  "I'm perfectly capable
of surviving a train trip from Narita by myself.  I didn't want
to ruin the surprise by calling."
     Nabiki pushed aside her bowl of soup with poorly-disguised
relief.  "But why are you so early?" she asked, raising her
eyebrows.
     "Oh," Kasumi blushed.  "I got a little bit homesick, being
gone so long, and the last week of the convention didn't have any
presentations I wanted to see.  So I decided to come home.  I
missed you all so much."  She knelt at the table, starting to
talk about how exciting her trip had been, if a bit frightening,
and how pleasant the weather in Chicago was...
     Ranma tuned her out, staring at his half-finished bowl of
soup.  Akane would be crushed that Kasumi was taking over the
cooking; she had been so excited about her big chance.  His mouth
watered, though, at the thought of Kasumi's cooking, so subtly
flavorful and easy on the stomach.  That thought made the ache at
the back of his head grow sharper; he rubbed at the nape of his
neck, sighing.  Then his ears pricked up at what Kasumi was
saying.
     "...now, Akane, I know you were counting on taking this week
to do more bridal training, right?"  Akane didn't answer; Kasumi
went on blithely.  "I'll stay out of the kitchen for the next
week, so you can keep practicing.  Is that all right?"
     Ranma surreptitiously scanned the other faces at the table. 
Soun's was a bit tearful, Genma's full of fear.  Nabiki seemed to
be making calculations in her head, frowning at her soup. 
Akane... Akane was staring at the table, her eyes tired.  Then
she looked up at Kasumi with a weak smile.
     "Thank you, Kasumi, but I don't think it's necessary."  Her
voice was toneless, indifferent.  "I've gotten enough practice
over the past three weeks to last for some time.  And..."  she
doodled on the table with her finger "...I think I'm just not cut
out for cooking."
     Kasumi looked worried, a tiny line appearing between her
eyebrows.  "Akane, are you sure?  I don't mind, really I don't."  
     Akane's smile widened, but her eyes kept that tired, dull
look.  "No, Kasumi, I just... finally realized that I should just
stay out of the kitchen.  I'm dangerous."  Ranma winced.
     Kasumi glanced between Akane and Ranma, then smiled
reassuringly.  "Well, all right.  I have missed cooking.  But
remember, I owe you a week of practice.  Just let me know when
you're ready for it."
     Akane looked down again.  "Okay."  She resumed playing with
her soup, apparently not noticing the wave of relief that swept
over the table.  Ranma watched her in helpless concern.  This
just wasn't right.  Akane wasn't supposed to be so... meek.  He
had wished on occasion that she would be more gentle, more
feminine, more pliable -- but this wasn't what he wanted either. 
He wanted... he wanted Akane to be herself.  Even if that meant
getting clobbered.  Even if it meant being poisoned.  The
violent, aggressive, lively Akane was the one that he... that
he... that he was used to.  He had to do something about it, he
had to get Akane back.  But how?
     He had been -- he gritted his teeth -- wrong.  He would have
to find a way to repair the damage; then maybe his head would
stop aching, and Akane would notice him again, maybe even fight
with him.  Things would be back to normal.  And the best way to
set things right was to get to the source of the problem...
     He leapt to his feet and ran out the door, tossing a goodbye
over his shoulder.  He heard Kasumi exclaim something behind him,
and Nabiki's world-weary voice answering, but he didn't stop.  He
had work to do.
     Straight, then left, then right... well, he didn't need to
go the long way, by now he knew where he was going, so he bounded
up to the rooftops, leaping from ridge to ridge until he caught
the flash of orange he was looking for.  He flipped to the top of
the _torii_, then down into the shrine, his breath rasping in his
ears.
     "Old wo..." he began, then caught himself.  He was here to
(he winced again) apologize. "Mrs. Murakami?"  There was no
answer, and he looked out the gate at the vegetable shop.  The
shutters were closed, but then it was rather early in the
morning.  Maybe she wasn't even awake yet...
     "Yes?"  The voice came from behind him, and he spun in a
mixture of annoyed surprise and relief.  Mrs. Murakami stood
there in front of the shrine, wearing her usual grey silk kimono,
a tall broom loosely held in her hands.  There was a dustpan
sitting on one edge of the shrine, and Ranma sheepishly recalled
what she had said about cleaning up the shrine grounds.  The old
woman's face was curious and open, not hostile as he had
expected.  Disarmed, Ranma looked at the ground and then up.  He
had to do it.  For Akane.
     "I just wanted to say I'm so... I'm very very so... what I'm
trying to say is..."  This was harder than he'd thought.  He
clenched his fists and said in a small voice, "I'm sorry."
     Mrs. Murakami looked at him sternly.  "Why are you
apologizing to me?"
     "Because... because I was..." His fists clenched again.
"wrong."
     "That may be, but I understood from the beginning that you
were operating under an illusion.  You thought I wanted to harm
the woman you love, and I respect that."
     Ranma flared a bit.  "Hey, this is hard enough to do without
you making it harder."  He deflated.  "What I really wanted to
ask you is... would you come back to the dojo to see Akane? 
She's really... she's just not herself lately.  Not since you
left.  She doesn't want to cook any more, and when she does...
it's not like her.  I thought, maybe if you came and talked to
her..."
     "No."
     Ranma couldn't believe his ears.  "No?"
     "Well, I wouldn't mind talking to Akane again.  But I don't
think my visit would do any good.  You see, it wasn't my leaving
that caused the problem."
     "It wasn't?  I thought, well, maybe she needed a few more
lessons..."
     "No, she's finished with her lessons.  We were going to stop
soon anyhow; the day after I left, she was going to prepare a
special graduation meal.  I've taught Akane all she needs to know
to eventually become a fine cook; from now on she only needs
practice."
     "But... she doesn't want to practice."
     "I thought as much.  Haven't you realized why?"
     Ranma frowned.  "Because she wasn't cooking as well as she
could?  She's discouraged by her lack of progress?"
     Mrs. Murakami raised her eyebrows.  "Not quite.  Think a bit
more."
     Ranma thought.  And thought.  Then he remembered what Akane
had said.  She had finally realized that she should stay out of
the kitchen.  His words, through her mouth.  He looked guiltily
up at Mrs. Murakami.
     "You mean... it's because of me?"
     Mrs. Murakami nodded gravely.
     "But... I ate all her cooking, didn't I?  Even when it
started tasting like cardboard, I ate it.  With someone that
cooks as bad as Akane, that's a real accomplishment..."
     "Does Akane cook badly any more?  Honestly?"
     "Well, she has to... I mean, Akane cooking well is a sign of
the apocalypse..."
     "Ranma."  Mrs. Murakami's voice was harsh, and he broke off. 
"When you ate that curry that Akane fixed on the first night of
her lessons, what did you think of it?"
     "That there must have been some sort of magic involved
because it was..." He caught himself in realization.  "It was
good."
     "It was, wasn't it.  And was there any magic involved?"
     Ranma searched his memories, then looked at the woman before
him.  "No.  I thought there was, but..." he trailed off.
     "And what did you say to Akane about the food?"
     "I don't remember..." Well, he was beginning to remember. 
But he didn't want to say it.
     "Did you tell her it was good?"  Mrs. Murakami pressed.
     "...no."  Ranma admitted after a long pause.
     Mrs. Murakami sighed and seated herself on a stone bench. 
"And that, my dear boy, is where the problem lies.  I had hoped
Akane would be able to take pride in her own cooking without
needing any outside approval.  I am confident that eventually she
will.  However, at this time she is sorely lacking in the self-
confidence she needs in order to do so.  And, like it or not, the
scale she is using to judge her own success is not the approval
of her family members, or her own sense of accomplishment.  It is
you."  
     "Me?"
     "Yes, you.  Whose eyes did she watch every night at dinner? 
Why wasn't she content with the praise of her father, or her
sister?  She was cooking for her beloved fiance.  And you
wouldn't give her even a word of encouragement, even though she
had made so much progress in such a short time."  Her voice was
mild, but Ranma could sense the accusation.  He hung his head
slightly.
     "But... if she can cook now, why has her food tasted so...
bland lately?"
     Mrs. Murakami looked sad.  "Young man, do you know anything
about _ki_?"
     Ranma stood up straight, jerking his thumb at his chest. 
"Lady, there ain't a martial artist in town who understands it
better than me."
     "Good.  Then you understand how _ki_ can flow about you, how
it takes on the flavor of your emotions, and how it can be
projected."
     "Of course!"  Where was she going with this?  It's not like
they were talking martial arts here...
     "Well, to make a long story short, the problem with Akane's
cooking now has little to do with skill.  It has to do with her
_ki_.  How would you describe Akane's cooking now?  Be honest."
     "It... it doesn't taste like anything."
     "And what has Akane's mood been like lately?"
     Ranma didn't answer.  He didn't need to.
     "You see, she no longer focuses her battle aura, her anger,
her defiance when she's cooking.  But she also doesn't bring any
taste of her own to the recipes.  Once she has regained her joy
in cooking, her cooking will return to the way it was before I
left.  It may even improve; love adds a flavor to a meal that
cannot be replaced."
     "So... if you come talk to her, she'll cheer up, right?" 
Ranma sank down on the bench beside her.
     "No.  As I said earlier, a visit from me won't help.  She
isn't depressed because of me."
     "Oh."  That meant... he was going to have to apologize. 
Twice in one day.
     Mrs. Murakami laughed suddenly.  "Don't look so downcast at
the prospect.  Quarrels between fiancees are perfectly normal,
but I'm sure you've realized that making up afterwards can make
the fights worthwhile."
     Ranma winced a bit.  "But what if she won't listen to me
when I apologize?"
     "Well, then, you'll have to convince her.  Perhaps she'll
need a hug, or even a kiss."  Mrs. Murakami winked.  "I'm sure
you can manage that."
     "But..."
     "And above all, make sure she cooks again.  Tonight, if
possible.  Make sure she cooks for you. After that... you know
what to do."
     "Um... eat it?"
     Mrs. Murakami looked at him expectantly.
     "And, um... tell her it's good?"
     She nodded.
     "But what if it's not?"
     Mrs. Murakami smiled.  "If you do your job properly, it will
be."
     "Oh."  Ranma looked at his hands for a moment, then stood
with resolve.  "Okay, here goes."  He took a few steps towards
the gate, then looked back.  Mrs. Murakami's face was unreadable,
but he thought he sensed approval.  He smiled tentatively. 
"Thanks."
     Mrs. Murakami's face broke into a smile.  "It's my pleasure,
young man.  Now go."
     Ranma ran out into the street, his pigtail flapping behind
him, and bounded up onto the rooftop again.  He didn't bother
looking back.
     Shortly, he stood outside Akane's room, staring at her
nameplate.  Kasumi had said she was up here, but there was no
sound from inside.  But then, did he really expect her to be
laughing?  or even crying?  He reached up one hand, paused, then
rapped his knuckle on the door three times.  There was a long
silence, and he had resigned himself to looking elsewhere when he
heard Akane's weary voice say, "Yes?"  He didn't wait for more,
opening the door and peeking in.
     She was seated at her desk, her hands supporting her chin as
she stared out the window.  She didn't bother turning around,
didn't even move.  Ranma closed the door behind him and walked up
to her, standing just behind her.  He could see her face in the
makeup mirror on her desk; not a spark of interest, or even
anger.  Even her hair looked limp.  He cleared his throat and
began his carefully rehearsed speech.
     "Um... Akane, I just wanted to say... I was... wrong."  Her
eyes didn't move at all, staring out the window listlessly.  "I
should have told you how good your cooking was getting, and I
didn't.  I'm..." he gulped "sorry."  Still silence.  He doggedly
pushed on.  "I really thought it was good.  But I thought...
well, never mind what I thought.  What I wanted to ask you is...
will you... will you..."  This was harder than he'd thought; he
took a deep breath, then said in a rush, "Will you cook dinner
for me tonight?"  Silence.  "I mean... I went and talked to Mrs.
Murakami, and she said... she said you'd been working on a
special meal.  I really want to try it.  And Kasumi doesn't
mind..." 
     He trailed off.  No response.  He thought back to what Mrs.
Murakami had said.  Maybe a hug would work.  Praying that nobody
would walk in, he lifted his arms slightly, watching Akane's face
in the mirror.  There was something different about it...  She
began to move.  He braced himself for the hug.  Not too
difficult, just wrap the arms and squeeze, and let go.  That
would have to work, wouldn't it?
     Akane stood up and turned around.  Her face turned up to
his, her eyes gleaming with... something.  She looked into his
eyes.  "Really, Ranma?  You mean it?"
     Ranma paused, his plan of attack sent awry.  Obviously she
was unconvinced.  And looking at her eyes, shining up at him, he
suddenly concluded that a hug just wouldn't do it.  Something
more was needed.  Something that would really convince her.  It
would be a difficult job, but he would do it for Akane's sake. 
He nodded wordlessly and reached his arms up more, bending his
head ever so slightly down towards hers and closing his eyes...
     And his arms closed on empty air.  Akane was already dancing
out of the room, babbling in a high voice.  "Oh, I've got so much
shopping to do!  I'll have to get fish, and crabmeat, and
bananas..."  Her head poked back in the door, a wide grin across
her face.  "Just you wait, Ranma!  I'll fix a feast fit for a
king!"  Her footsteps dashed down the stairs and out of hearing.
     Ranma stood there a moment longer, his arms clutching at
empty air.  Good, he thought.  He hadn't needed to resort to the
more drastic measures after all.  Lucky for him.
     He squelched the slight feeling of disappointment that
welled up in him as he turned and left the room.

     Ranma sat alone in the family room, staring at the empty
table and trying to ignore the noises that were coming from the
kitchen.  It was difficult.  Every few minutes he would hear a
loud whack, or a cry, or the sound of something hitting the wall. 
He wanted nothing more than to flee, run until he was as far away
from Akane's cooking as his legs would take him.  But he stayed. 
The path of a true martial artist was fraught with peril, and
tonight he would face the peril, though a little voice inside him
screamed that it was too perilous, too perilous indeed.  He
mentally stomped on the little voice.  He had made a vow to
himself, and he was going to see it through.  He winced at the
sound of something splattering.  He had started out facing the
kitchen, but watching Akane's body moving around beneath the
_noren_ had made him worry even more.  She was doing some really
strange stuff in there, and his instincts were screaming that
something was wrong.
     It wasn't only his instincts, either.  Nabiki had vanished
about fifteen minutes after Akane had started cooking, dragging
Kasumi with her.  When Ranma had asked where she was going, she
had simply raised an eyebrow.  Even an offer of all the money he
possessed had only elicited a bark of laughter, and the comment
that she intended to live through the night, and his measly 500
yen wasn't worth her life.  Soun had retreated with Genma to the
garden, and Ranma had heard them sneak over the wall, probably to
find some cheap takoyaki stall or something.  So now he was alone
with the frightening whacks and splashes and cries coming from
the kitchen.  
     Before she started, Akane had set the table for the entire
family, putting several candles in the center.  Ranma had asked
why, nervously, and she had simply smiled and said that she
didn't want the overhead lights on, they would spoil the effect. 
Ranma hoped she didn't mean that the food would look too scary
with the lights on...  
     The sounds in the kitchen died down, and he heard what
sounded like a mop, then the worrisome sound of a match striking. 
Akane's voice rang out.  "Close your eyes, everyone!"  Ranma was
only too willing to obey.  He blinked them shut; a moment later
his eyelids dimmed as the overhead lights went out, replaced by
the slight warmth of the candles.  He heard various things being
set down on the table, and itched to open his eyes -- he needed
to see his fate approaching, he needed time to resign himself to
it.  The candles suddenly sounded awfully loud... he fought to
keep his eyes shut, hoping the room wasn't on fire again.
     "Hey, where is everybody?"  Her voice was perplexed, but not
upset.
     "They all had prior engagements," he lied.
     "Oh, well."  Akane didn't sound too worried.  "All right,
you can open them now, Ranma."  Ranma ignored the dread that
curled in the pit of his stomach and looked.
     The first thing he noticed was the flames.  There was
something on fire right in front of Akane... it looked like a
pie.  He gulped in fear.  Flaming was not good.  He scanned the
table.  There was a plate of something that looked like hockey
pucks, black patties of something lying in pools of butter.  Over
to one side was a dish of some thick brown stew that smelled
spicy, but didn't look too good. A loaf of something brown, that
seemed to be burnt black through a good half-inch of the bottom.
Something covered in... mashed potatoes?  Dear god.  Ranma stared
in horror at what he had gotten himself into.
     He picked up his chopsticks in a daze.  <All I have to do is
eat it.  I've eaten worse.  I have to have eaten worse.  I eat
it, and I tell her it's good, even if it isn't, and everything
will be fine.>  He repeated this to himself over and over as he
picked up one of the hockey pucks with his chopsticks and put it
resolutely in his mouth.
     The smooth texture of his first bite surprised him, and he
stared at the remnant of the patty in his hands.  The inside was
a pleasant pink, and he could taste the flavors of crab and some
kind of fish, overlaid with a smoky spiciness... He finished the
patty and moved on to the next dish, keeping his face blank.  He
tried a little bit of each one, except for the flaming one. 
Akane's face across the table was beginning to fall as he tried
the bread, the black layer of which turned out to be chocolate. 
Finally, he pointed at the pie; Akane flushed and blew on it
until the flames went out.
     "It's for dessert, but..." She cut a slice and put it on a
plate, handing it to him unhappily.  He put down his chopstickas
and picked up a spoon, digging it into the cherries and custard
inside.  He put the spoon in his mouth and closed his eyes. 
Leaving them closed, he set down the plate before him, then the
spoon.  Then he opened his eyes and smiled straight at Akane.
     "It's perfect."
     And it was.

     Akane carried the cloth-wrapped tray along the dark streets,
looking behind her every so often to make sure Ranma hadn't
followed her... not that he would be able to move after the
amount he'd eaten.  She laughed to herself as she approached the
vegetable shop.
     Balancing the tray on one hand, she knocked at the closed
shutters.  There was no answer.  Odd.  She should be home, hadn't
she said she didn't go out much?  She knocked again.
     "Excuse me, miss?"  The rough, aged voice came from the
little drugstore across the street, next to the shrine; Akane
turned and saw an old man leaning on the stoop.  
     "Yes?"  Akane glanced back at the shutters, noticing that
there was no sound from inside.  Maybe Mrs. Murakami had gone
shopping...
     "Is there something I can help you with?"  the old man went
on, looking at her strangely.
     "Oh, I'm just here to visit Mrs. Murakami.  Do you know
where she went?"
     The old man shook his head.  "I'm sorry to say this, but
Mrs. Murakami won't be coming back."
     "What?"
     "What I mean to say is, she passed away just a short while
back.  Just over a month."
     Akane's mouth went dry.  "She's... dead?"
     The old man nodded sadly.  "She was a good woman, too... but
you must know that, or you wouldn't be visiting.  After her
husband died, she used to devote herself to taking care of that
shrine across the street.  When she died last month, she was
enshrined there in thanks for what she had done, for so long.  So
I'm sorry to say, she won't be able to receive your gift..."
     Akane smiled uneasily.  "Um... thanks.  I guess... I should
go pay her a visit in the shrine, then."
     "She'd probably like that," the man nodded, then went back
into his shop.  Akane stood there for several minutes, then
turned and walked slowly into the shrine, looking around
nervously.  There, in the corner, there was a small kiosk she
hadn't noticed before.  She approached it, running one hand over
the carved characters on the fairly new stone.  Murakami.
     She set the tray down on the stone, opening the cloth to
reveal a set of dishes, each holding a sample of the food she had
cooked that night.  Akane paused, then pulled a small vial out of
her pocket.  She lit a match, holding it under the vial for a few
moments, then shook it out.  She poured the liquid over the slice
of cherry pie  and lit it with another match.  By the light of
the faint flames and the nearby streetlamps, she smiled and knelt
down.
     "I... I wanted you to try the meal I cooked, but I guess you
can't eat it.  But I'll leave it here anyhow, maybe the birds can
eat it... It's strange talking to you, realizing that you are
dead... that you were dead the whole time."  She smiled wryly. 
"I thought you were a spirit the first time I met you, and I
guess I was right, though I'm glad you didn't tell me.  I
probably wouldn't have believed I could really cook.  And.. you
didn't use magic on me, did you?  You just.. helped me find my
own path.  Thank you."
     Akane laughed, her unease fading.  "You should have seen
Ranma's face when he saw my special meal.  He thought he was
going to die, then and there.  It was so funny... But then he
liked it.  He said it was perfect.  And... I tried it myself, and
maybe he was right.  Well, maybe it wasn't perfect, I'm sure I
still have a long way to go, but somehow it *felt* perfect. 
And..." she blushed.  "And we got to eat by candlelight, just the
two of us.  It was... nice."  She fell silent and looked at the
stone for a long moment.  "I wish I could see you again, just to
thank you to your face... but I guess you know.  Don't you?"
     She waited a moment longer, then stood, brushing leaves off
her knees.  "I'll... I'll come back and visit again, soon.  Thank
you again..." She bowed to the stone, then turned and walked
through the gate, heading for home.
     She didn't notice the dark shape that leapt down from the
_torii_ to stand where she had knelt just before.
     "I knew you were a spirit," Ranma said smugly.  "I was
right, wasn't I?"  He paused.  "Well, okay, so I was wrong about
the capricious evil demon part, but I was right about the spirit
part."  He crouched down in front of the shrine, watching the
flames in silence.  Then he spoke up again, abruptly.  
     "I just came here to say... thanks again.  I like Akane
better this way."  He grinned wickedly.  "Even if I am gonna get
bashed on the head again.  She's herself again.  Plus, I got you
to thank for keeping me from being poisoned for the rest of my
life..." The flames on the slice of pie seemed to flare up
higher.  "Just kidding!" he said hastily, then speculatively eyed
the tray of food.  He hadn't seen Akane set any aside, but he
hadn't paid much attention once he really started eating.
     "You're not going to eat that, are you?"
     The flames seemed to grow higher again.
     "Well, of course you can't eat it.  You're a spirit, aren't
you?"  He eyed the food a bit more.  "How 'bout I make you a
deal..."
     When he left the shrine about twenty minutes later, the
pavement had been neatly swept, fallen leaves put in a trashcan
off on the street.  The stone of the shrine gleamed faintly with
a layer of fresh water.  And in the corner, standing atop the
small stone reading "Murakami," was a tray of dishes, each one
completely empty.


ANYTHING-GOES MARTIAL ARTS COOKING TIP 4:
Presentation

Anything-Goes Martial Arts Cooking is arguably one of the most
dramatic types of cuisine in existence today.  French cooking has
a certain flair to it, and some mid-eastern and south Asian
dishes are amazing, but Anything-Goes Martial Arts Cooking takes
all of these techniques and draws on only the best.  In addition
to such techniques as flaming, it is recommended that Anything-
Goes Martial Arts Chefs master Volcano dishes, the dramatic use
of dry ice, and particularly the many graceful and dramatic ways
of getting the food to the table.  Practice your aim, and soon
you will be able to fling food from the kitchen straight to the
table without spilling a drop; with practice, you can even work
on going around curves.  Above all, remember that this is an art. 
And anything goes.


KATA 4:  Tarte aux Cerises, FLAMBEE!
(from 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking' by Julia Child,
Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck)

WEAPONS:
3 cups defrosted frozen cherries
3 tbsp. kirsch or cognac (woo-hoo!)
1 cup red Bordeaux wine (tipsy yet?)
2 tbsp lemon juice
6 tbsp sugar
creme patissiere:
  1 cup sugar
  5 egg yolks
  2/3 cup sifted all-purpose flour
  2 cups boiling milk
  1 tbsp butter
  2 tsp vanilla extract
8-inch fully-cooked pastry shell (you can buy this one, too)
3 tbsp sugar
1/4 cup kirsch or cognac (we're cutting you off after this)
fire extinguisher

TECHNIQUE:

1. Make sure sink and kitchen are clean.  Measure all ingredients
and arrange in proper order for kata.  Drain cherries by
flinging them with their juice to the sink and snatching the
cherries out before they land.  Gather any escapees and toss all
cherries to bowl.  Clean kitchen again.  With a smooth movement
of your arm, pour approximately three tablespoons of kirsch or
cognac over the cherries.  Allow them to soak while you go watch
one episode of Ranma 1/2 with commercials, about half an hour.

2. Drain cherries in the same method used in step 1, except place
a large bowl in the sink to catch the liqueur; set liqueur aside. 
Meanwhile, dump wine, lemon juice, and sugar into a pot on the
stove, alternating arms right-left-right.  Finally, bring left
arm around in circular block, turning on stove.  Bring mixture to
a boil.  Missile strike all cherries into pan.  Bring the liquid
to just below a simmer and meditate on the tiny bubbles for 5 to
6 minutes, until cherries are tender but retain their shape. 
Turn off heat with reverse circular block.  Set pan aside and
allow to cool for 20 to 30 minutes.  No time to watch another
Ranma episode, you've got to make the creme patissiere.

3. CREME PATISSIERE:  Set milk in pan on stove to boil. 
Meanwhile, remove egg yolks from eggs one by one, by flinging
each egg into the air, slicing it open near one end with Big-Ass
Spatula (tm), and snatching yolk out as entire mess plummets. 
Let egg whites and shells fall into bowl; remove shells and
discard, while putting egg whites in fridge for some other
project. Meanwhile, toss all egg yolks to mixing bowl.  Clean
kitchen.  Begin beating egg yolks.  As you are trouncing them,
kick measuring cup of sugar into the air over bowl, so that sugar
gradually scatters in bowl.  Gather up any sugar that missed, and
repeat this technique until all sugar has been added to egg
yolks.  Continue to beat egg yolks and sugar for two to three
mintues, until the mixture is pale yellow and thickens enough so
that when a bit is lifted in the beater (be it hands or a whisk)
it will fall back into the bowl, forming a slowly dissolving
ribbon on the surface of the mixture.  Don't get carried away and
beat it beyond this point; self-control is the mark of a true
martial artist.  Sift flour into bowl with your favorite speed-
striking technique and beat into mixture.  While continuing to
beat the egg yolk mixture, gradually pour on the boiling milk in
a thin stream of droplets, being careful not to scald your hands. 
Clean kitchen.   Fling contents of bowl into 2 1/2 quart enameled
heavy-bottomed saucepan and set over moderately high heat.  Stir
with wire whisk (don't use your bare hands for this part),
reaching all over the bottom of the pan.  As sauce comes to a
boil it will get lumpy, but will smooth out as you beat it,
unlike some people we could mention.  When a boil has been
reached, turn heat down to moderately low and beat for two to
three minutes to cook the flour.  Be careful custard does not
scorch in bottom of pan; you get to burn things later.  Turn off
heat with blocking motion and missile strike butter into pan;
beat it in.  Add liqueur saved from draining cherries (remember
that?) plus enough more to make it equal 2 or 3 tablespoons again
(don't go overboard here...) and beat into mixture.  Clean
kitchen again.  Creme Patissiere completed.  (Now you just need
to figure out how to pronounce it...)

4. Drain cherries yet again, by the very same method as used in
step one.  Clean kitchen again.  Fold the drained cherries into 
1 1/2 cups of the creme patissiere with Big-Ass Spatula (tm); set
rest of creme patissiere aside for future projects.  With a fluid
movement of Spatula, spread mixture in pastry shell.  Preheat
broiler to moderately hot. Meditate on the flames until it is
time to serve.

5. Immediately before serving, bring sugar across top of tart in
modified sideways karate chop movement, sprinkling it over the
surface.  Carefully set tart under broiler for two to three
minutes to carmelize the sugar lightly; be careful that it
doesn't burn yet, you don't want to deprive yourself of your fun. 
While this is happening, turn out the lights in the dining room. 
Warm last dose of liqueur in a small saucepan.  Just before
entering the dining room, pour the warm liqueur over the hot
carmelized surface.  Avert your face, light a match, and...
FLAMBEE!  

6. Use fire extinguisher to put out rest of kitchen, being
extremely careful not to get any on the tart.  Bring the flaming
tart to the table, taking care not to set the _noren_ or your
hair on fire on your way.  Allow flames to die out before eating.
After meal, bask in the adulation of your family; though a true
martial artist is modest, this time you've certainly earned it. 
Bon appetit!  


AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Whew!  Little did I know what I was getting
myself into when I started this... I was first inspired to do a
fanfic with recipes by Hitomi Ichinohei's recipes included in "A
Son's Duty"; although I can lay no claim to authentic Japanese
cuisine, I do have a hefty array of cookbooks, and I thought if I
couldn't be authentic, pehaps I could be amusing.  The idea
percolated in my head for some time, but then when I read
"Kitchen" and "Like Water for Chocolate," it crystallized into
what you have just finished reading.  

I would like to thank: 
--my moderator for moving heaven and earth to get this actually
posted in weekly installments; you are a god of the Usenet.

--the fanfic mailing list for their many helpful comments

--and a certain nameless person who has inspired me no end
regarding fine cuisine and chocolate.  I'll bring the Merlot...


bengman ***  "On the appointed day, I notice something amazing. When I take a 
step outside the vacant lot, a meadow spreads out before my eyes.  And there 
are lots of horses and cows staring at me. Since when has there been a ranch on
Akane's street? -- Where the heck am I?!" -- Ryouga, "Ittai koko wa dokonanda?"