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The disapproving glare coming from the crimson eyes was nothing new. Macaron Critique was more often than not glaring for whatever reason. This time, it was the odd little foal with the strange rump.

"If you'd been on time, you'd have gotten a good morning." He said curtly, wide eyes unblinking. "But now we must go straight to work." He turned, pushing open the door with a hoof and walking into the cafeteria without so much as a glance back.

Why they allowed children into his kitchen, he would never know. Perhaps it was to make them feel useful. But when he took over the cafeteria while the real lunch lady was out with a broken leg,.He vowed to make these kids something other than macaroni slop and rubbery potatoes.

"I need you to get the cornbread mixture out of the pantry." He said, flipping his recipe book open to the chili section. "It's a big yellow bag with a mule on it."

Macaron at first did not hear the foal in the pantry. He was too busy gathering bell peppers, onions and other veggies from the fridge. When he returned to the counter to find his helper still not around, he sighed heavily, dropping the ingredients on the surface with a little more force than necessary.

"I'd like it now if you please!" he called, pulling a knife form the magnetic strip on the wall. Was he going to have to hold the kid's hoof?

Peanut's eyes were met with the wide, eerie stare from the pegasus."Child, do you think me an amateur?" He waved the knife around in a circle. "Or do knives make you nervous? Either way, you must trust your chef in the kitchen!" He stopped waving and pointed it at the cookbook. "Now, do I let you help me cook, or should you be an ingredient runner only?"

He turned back to his veggies, letting to poor kid sweat it out.

After two full minutes of silence but for the drop of the knife, Macaron said "The bag of mix has the recipe on the back. The recipe makes twenty pieces of cornbread, so you'll need to double it." The chopping stopped once again, and he looked over his shoulder.

"You get four questions. Asking for me to reach something doesn't count because, well, you're short. Bowls are under the counter, measuring cups are over there by the stove." He swiped a hoof over the peppers, sweeping them into a bowl without looking at them. Nary a piece dropped.

He didn't dismiss the foal, just walked passed him to get a large pot of water on to boil. He paused, thinking.



"And don't burn yourself on the oven. Roased foal isn't on the menu today."

Macaron smirked as the poor little urchin's voice shook. He didn't really intentionally choose to be ornery. But in his experience with the food industry, he found that being aggressive got more results than coddling. And resulted in better food.

The veggies went into a pan and started sizzling, and he took a minute to watch Peanut work. The mix was all over the table, but rather than plow through and leave the place a mess, the foal was cleaning up after himself. Good. a foal I don't have to teach basic hygiene to. The approval didn't show on his face, though he refrained from telling him off for throwing food around. Instead, he went to the fridge and quietly got the milk from the shelf that he knew was too high.

He wordlessly placed it next to Peanut before turning back to his veggies, and couldn't help himself.

"Try not to spill the milk will you? That takes more work to clean up, and I don't want the place to smell rancid when it dries."

With a sigh and a silent curse for himself telling the kid to leave the oven alone, he poured his eggs into the skillet with veggies, and went to preheat the oven for him. The oven was antique at best, but it would have to do.

"It takes four minutes for an oven to reach the right temp. Don't put it in before then!"

It was then he heard his eggs sizzle and began to stir. Breakfast stir fry and cornbread. Now this was food fit for foals!

The silence that ensued was wonderful. As he began his next set of veggies, he looked back at Peanut to find him working diligently.


...Maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.

And then his stomach growled. Macaron sighed. This was why kids were irritating. Their tiny metabolisms and constant need for food was exhausting. He rolled his eyes and looked around. What in here was a decent snack?

Bananas! That was a thing! He picked a few from the bunch on the other table and cut them up, placing them on a plate and sliding them in front of the foal.


"I can't have you passing out." he mumbled

The oven dinged while the foal snacked and Macaron stirred. with the first batch of stir fry in the pan, he wandered over to the lunchroom itself and called for the helper.

"Oi! Come get this pan before it turns cold!"

"I'll be there in a minute!" the teacher's assistant said.

"No, NOW!" he shouted, stomping his foot in a very childlike manner. "I'll not have this get cold because YOU'VE decided to dawdle!" He turned around without another word, closing the door and eyeing Peanut, daring him to say something.

"Do you know how long that's supposed to bake?"

He didn't know what he was making?!


"You..don't...know." He said flatly, more a statement than a question. He face-hoofed, dragging the appendage down his muzzle with a sigh.

"Ok kid, I'm gonna offer you some advice. If you don't know what you're making, don't bloody well make it. There's no way you can understand how something is supposed to taste.." he trailed off, picking up the stirring spoon and checking the consistency of the batter "..if you aren't sure what you're supposed to make in the first place." He placed the spoon back down with a clang, satisfied with the sticky batter.

"It's cornbread kid. To go with the stir fry. THAT HAD BETTER NOT BE COLD!" he suddenly shouted while the helper jumped their way through the door with the crock of food.

"The oven is simple. An idiot could figure it out. Put batter on that tray, not too thick. Then use that hot pad for your hooves so they don't burn when it comes out. If you're scared, I can do it. But don't expect to work in here much more."