Culinary Explorations

"If you complain about it, I'll gut you."

Sanji had good reason for the threat that he didn't bother to veil. His initial reaction upon hearing from the crew's green-haired swordsman that he had never actually tried sushi before was to yell that the very idea was blasphemy to the Gods of food. His next action upon calming down was to race into the galley, remove the ingredients needed for sushi from the refrigerator and the food stores and get to work, not forgetting to drag an indignant swordsman with him, sit him down at the table, and force him to watch the process of making what he regarded to be the Da Vinci equivalent of foods.

Sushi was one of the first things that Sanji had learnt to make as a cook, and though he was a veritable expert in virtually all kinds of food, the amount of care he put into the various components of his spiced sea king rolls (a dish he was famed for back on the Baratie) made the process a lengthy endeavour regardless of his skill. From adding just the right amount of rice vinegar to the sushi rice, to chopping the sea king with surgical precision, to rolling up the rice with the nori and adding a dash of his secret spicy sauce (one of the ingredients was classic Japanese wasabi, but Sanji would never tell you that), there wasn't one part of the process that Sanji overlooked in terms of care.

And yet the green bastard had just sat there, falling asleep the moment his ass touched the chair.

Sanji growled a little and placed the finished plate of sushi in front of the swordsman, Zoro grunting as he was startled awake by the less-than-elegant sound of the plate angrily making contact with the table. He took a cursory glance at the almost-too-pretty-to-eat rolls of seaweed and his favourite fish, shrugged, and beckoned to the cook for a pair of chopsticks.

"Sushi is meant to be eaten with your bare hands, you uncivilised oaf."

Not bothering to mention that using chopsticks actually sounded more gracious than handling food with his fingers, Zoro picked up a single, perfectly cut roll of sushi, dipped it into the extremely light soy sauce that the cook had prepared (following the cook's verbal winces of outrage as indication of the point where enough soy sauce had gotten onto the roll) and delivered it into his mouth.

Sanji delivered this story's opening line as Zoro chewed the first sushi that he had ever eaten in his life.

In a sense, the food item was confusing to Zoro. How the hell had Sanji managed to make everything stay together and not fall apart when he held it? And regardless of its supposed simplicity, and regardless of Zoro's less-than-honed palate, the food was surprisingly fresh despite its simplicity. Also, it surprised Zoro that he could actually taste every individual component. From the umami taste of the properly portioned slice of raw sea king sashimi, the fluffiness and sweetness of the rice used in the sushi, the perfect tinge of spiciness brought about the hot sauce, and the gentle saltiness of the soy sauce that Sanji had designed to not overpower the taste of everything else, it brought a strange sense of civility to food that Zoro had never felt before.

Zoro silently finished off the rest of the sushi on the plate, during which Sanji had deemed him a lost cause based on his unchanging facial expression and huffily walked back into the kitchen to continue preparations for the crew's dinner. Quietly and grudgingly admitting to himself that the curly-brow really cooked some of the best food he had ever eaten, Zoro picked up his plate, walked into the kitchen and presented it to the cook, who looked at him in surprise.

"Who said anything about complaining?"

The two men stared at each other.

"Seconds."

Zoro deposited his plate on the counter before making his way back to the galley table. Sanji muttered loudly about impolite marimos as he rolled up his sleeves yet again and checked on the remaining sushi rice, all whilst smiling widely on the inside.

As a young cook studying under the tutelage of the infamous Red Leg Zeff, one of the first things that had been forcibly drilled into Sanji via sharp kicks to the behind was the evils of fast food. Zeff constantly dismissed food products from the oligopoly of three popular fast food chains that were spread all over the world as barely edible trash, and always refused the young blonde whenever he ventured a request to taste something from the shops, following it up with harsher kicks during that night's dinner service. One of the first things Sanji did after leaving the Baratie and finally finding a period of relative calm in Loguetown was to go into one of the fast food outlets and order a burger and fries, feeling that it was symbolic of growing up and leaving the protection that Zeff had offered him for so many years.

He immediately realised that the old geezer was right after a single bite of an obviously frozen-and-reheated pathetic excuse of a burger. It was hard to tell which component was worse, the bun being soggy and the meat (which the shop claimed was beef) of unknown origin. His fries didn't yield any better tastes or anything even remotely resembling satisfaction. Sanji left the outlet with practically all of his meal still intact on his tray, feeling a little stupid as he swore to himself never to cook food as shitty as that.

Then, when Franky had joined their crew after their adventure at Enies Lobby and Water Seven, Sanji almost blanched when their new shipwright told him that his favourite food was (goddamn) burgers and (f*cking) fries, accompanied by a bottle of cola. Sanji had the intention to cook their new member his favourite meal to welcome him into the crew and thank him for the incredible new kitchen that had been built for his use, but he hadn't taken into consideration the possibility that Franky's favourite food would be something that he had hated on first bite.

The shipwright was one of his nakama, though, and as the ship's cook, as much as he hated to admit it at that moment...his job was to keep everyone happy by cooking good tasting food that they enjoyed.

And maybe he was being a little...pretentious.

That was how the two crew members in question found themselves in the ship's galley, the blue-haired shipwright curiously taking the first bite of a burger that Sanji had painstaking prepared to tread the thin line between quality and potential unhealthiness. Sanji had wanted to stay true to what Franky probably expected from a burger and fries, but couldn't resist pulling out ingredients that would never be seen in a fast food burger. Alongside a patty of beef that he had seared perfectly to a medium level of doneness for the sake of getting some char on the edges (going past medium rare even a little bit actually made Sanji weep a little), Sanji had thrown in, nay, carefully positioned luxury melted gouda cheese for sharpness of taste, sweetened lemon juice for tanginess, diced red onions for a spicy kickback to the tongue, freshly sliced tomatoes for additional moisture, and delicious melted avocado as an animal oil replacement, because Sanji wasn't going to load up their new shipwright's arteries with lard no matter how much he liked it.

Sanji honestly hadn't expected Franky to like it, considering how his definition of a burger was probably one that could be obtained from any cheap fast food outlet, all greasy and soggy and cooked to a (gasp) well-done level of cookery. Therefore, he was surprised when Franky gently put down the burger in his hands and turned to face him with teary eyes, eyes which Sanji had horrifically mistaken for tears of disgust before Franky practically launched himself at the blonde cook, sobbing into his suit jacket like any manly man should.

"Sanji-bro...it tastes awesome. Just as good as the burgers Kokoro-babaa cooked for us when I was younger!"

Sanji had been so pleased that Franky had liked the burger that he wasn't even upset that the shipwright had left avocado stains on his jacket. He expressed said relief out loud, mentioning about how Franky could expect good quality burgers like this one in the future and would no longer need to go into food fast places to satisfy his burger and fries fix, before the large man looked up from perfectly crispy and healthy fries with a look of confusion.

"I don't even like the food from those places, Sanji-bro. It all tastes like crap."

Sanji had never been more relieved in his life.

Sanji was never one to criticise a simple recipe. As long as it delivered him food that presented the taste, smell, texture and sight he wanted, he couldn't care less if the recipe had a hundred instructions or a single one. Today, he was working on a remarkably simple recipe to a certain tasty confectionary that he had learned about on the last touristy island they had visited, and the recipe also yielded the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with the crew member that was the to-go-to guy for sweets and candies.

"Sanji! Is this enough sugar?"

Sanji looked away momentarily from the mixture of brown sugar, butter and milk that he had been stirring on the boil in a saucepan for the past few minutes to check the bowl that Chopper had measured the sugar out into. He was a good enough cook to instinctively know when an ingredient was sufficient by just feeling it or simply looking at it, and he raised an impressed eyebrow when he realised that Chopper, despite never having cooked a day in his life, had gotten the amount of sugar right on his very first try.

"That's very good, Chopper. It's just right."

The sparkling in Chopper's eyes at the very moment could have blinded an entire country.

After the simple processes of mixing in additional ingredients (which Chopper measured out to perfection, causing Sanji to scratch his head in confusion until he realised that a doctor probably measured out medicines all the time), including a dash of peanut butter of Sanji's own creation, the mixture was placed into the fridge to chill, and the excited little doctor ushered out of the galley to go play with Luffy and Usopp, with the promise of completed candy if he came back in an hour. Sanji was honestly a little nervous as he scrubbed his dirty plates and pans, constantly throwing useless glances to the fridge. He could have screwed up an experimental dish at any other time and gotten past the guilt without too much trouble, but this time, there was a tiny reindeer's happiness on the line, and it wouldn't do him well at all to break his heart, even if it were over just sweets.

Sanji prayed that the recipe's simplicity wouldn't cause it to turn out to be a dud.

An hour later, the mixture had solidified into a massive block of brown that resembled what Sanji had seen on the island in terms of sight, at the very least. Knowing that Chopper would come in at any moment, Sanji picked up his chef's knife and cut the large block into small, bite-sized cubes. His desire to taste it first and make any necessary last minute fixings before serving it to their doctor was dashed when Chopper practically pranced into the galley early, obviously excited to try the sweets that he had helped make.

Resigning himself to his fate, Sanji placed a single cube of completed peanut butter fudge into the reindeer's hooves. Chopper missed Sanji's slightly worried expression when he popped the cube into his mouth and started chewing, Sanji doing the exact same thing with his own identical piece of fudge. From the cook's perspective, he had worried for nothing. Sanji was always more of a fan of spicy foods and deep flavours, but there was just something about the undeniably mood-lifting sweetness of the sugar, the salty and savoury flavour of the peanut butter, and the unworldly smooth texture of the deceptively simple confection that all just popped.

However, Sanji knew that Chopper's reaction was the only one that mattered. The cook waited anxiously and sucked on his own piece of fudge as he watched Chopper's face, trying to gauge for a reaction. Chopper's smile grew even brighter, and he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was safe.

Sanji didn't know which was sweeter; the peanut butter fudge, or the affectionate hug that the ship's doctor gave him a moment later as thanks for making him simple but delicious candy.

It had been a very scary thing indeed, asking Nami for a few of her precious tangerines from her trees so that he could use them as an ingredient in his cooking. Nami had, as expected, made him grovel a little for what he wanted, but when she finally handed him four yellow-orange fruits, albeit a little reluctantly, Sanji immediately swore that he would ensure that he did her little treasures justice. The intimidation factor upped itself from that point on. Sanji already had ideas for a little afternoon snack that he could present Nami that involved her tangerines, but it was a new dish that worked well with one colour, and never before had anybody tried to substitute that colour for any other.

He knew he was walking on shaky ground, but making something boring with the tangerines would be a great injustice to the faith that his beloved Nami-san had in him.

Sanji only found out about the existence of red velvet cake late into his culinary education, and he had instantly been wowed by the dark red colour of the sponge layers when he had been cut a slice, instantly wondering what exotic taste would emerge from that mesmerising a colour on a cake. One bite later, and he was left somewhat confused and disappointed. The layer cake really did taste good, with its cream cheese frosting and vanilla-based sponge, but he tasted nothing else, and nothing that indicated that any red ingredient that he knew of had been used. The baker later told him that red velvet cakes were made with beetroot-based food colouring for its royal colour, and while the results were beautiful, Sanji couldn't help but feel that the recipe wasn't even remotely complete. He couldn't bear the thought of only working with aesthetics and ignoring smell and taste altogether, and from that point on, he had tried to find a red ingredient that made sense with cream cheese in a cake, but to no avail.

So if that was a lost cause, perhaps he just had to swap the colour palette.

The base for the frosting was easy enough to prepare, what with the classic baking combination of eggs, sugar, butter, flour and fresh cream cheese. What really concerned Sanji was the creation of the sponge cake itself. Instead of adding the red food colouring that most chefs would include when making red velvet cake, Sanji created a bright yellow citrus flavouring from the juice, pulp and skins of Nami's tangerines, thickening it with eggs and flour and stirring it until a smooth and velvety batter was created. Mixing his invention with the other necessary ingredients for a cake and adding buttermilk to the mixture after some last minute consideration, Sanji popped the cake pan into the oven and set it to cook for an hour and ten minutes, leaving the completed frosting to cool on the side.

It was all up to fate now.

Nami looked up from her book in surprise when a shadow descended on her, smiling a little when she saw Sanji standing over her with a plate in his hand and an excited smile on his face.

"I made Nami-san a snack with the tangerines you gave me...I hope you like it!"

The cake was a visual masterpiece. Nami liked beautiful things, and the slice of cake sitting on the plate in front of her, with its yellow-orange visage and frosting which practically sparkled with the additional sprinkling of fine sugar on its top, really was beautiful. Nami had never seen anything like it, and she almost couldn't bear to it eat it, but Sanji had specially made it for her, and it wouldn't be nice of her to deny his gift. Her first bite brought her into a new realm of pleasure, the tartness of the tangerines ringing through perfectly through the sponge cake, complementing the lightly sour bite of the cream cheese frosting and the sweetness of the buttermilk and vanilla. The cake felt almost ethereal with its nearly non-existent weight, and as Nami made her second and third bites, the taste only got finer and finer.

The cake looked beautiful, but tasted even better.

Nami expressed that opinion to Sanji, watching bemusedly as he literally went head over heels and burst into loud song, waking Zoro up and started an aggressive verbal exchange that would ultimately end in a clash of swords and shoes.

Sanji had always appreciated fresh fish. It was hard not to, having been taught about the virtues of fresh seafood from the moment he had started training as a cook, and even now, as an experienced master cook onboard one of the most infamous pirate crews in the world, it was still very possible for Sanji to swoon upon seeing what he regarded to be a good specimen of fish. He also took pride in being able to fillet a fish into perfectly sized portions and not waste any part of the animal. Parts other cooks regarded as useless, the bones and remaining scraps of meat, made the base to many of Sanji's soups. A good cook could make great food out of the cheapest, most disposable ingredients.

One fine day, Usopp, arguably the most skilled fisherman out of the entire crew, pulled out a massive silver-skinned fish from the depths of the ocean. Sanji had not expected there to be salmon in that part of the sea, but it didn't matter, the cook practically drooling when he turned his head from his chopping board and watched Usopp enter the galley with the salmon hoisted on his shoulder, huffing a little from the weight. Sanji always looked forward to a good catch, and the salmon, its gills still flapping and its eyes still bright with life, was a really good one that could feed them for at least (Sanji estimated) six staggered meals.

"That's a really good catch, Usopp. Come back in half an hour...I've got a new recipe that you could try."

Salmon was considered a more expensive fish compared to the cheaper species that Sanji usually worked with; John Dory, Red Mullet, Sea Bass, et cetera. But that didn't mean that he wasn't able to cook up a storm with a classier fish, and a good fisherman deserved at the very least a good meal made from the very fish that he had caught. He already had a dish that was slightly fancier than the crew's usual tastes at the back of his head, and he didn't know if Usopp would appreciate the subtleties of finer cooking, but he at the very least had to try and impart that knowledge to his friend.

Filleting the fish was an easy task, Sanji having done it thousands of times in the past. Removing the pin bones was also simple, Sanji trailing his hand on the surface of the fillets and extracting tiny bones at lightning speed. Upon selecting one especially pretty and generously-sized fillet, Sanji immediately seasoned it lightly with black pepper, salt and basil before placing it into his pan and turning up the heat. Cooking fish was a potentially haphazard thing. Unlike meat, which had variable levels of doneness, fish that was even slightly overcooked would disintegrate into flakes when touched with a fork or knife, and as far as Sanji was concerned, that meat was inedible. Whilst the fish cooked under Sanji's close supervision, a delicate but viscous sauce sat in a saucepan on the boil, an eccentric mixture of butter, mustard, milk, white wine and paprika that only a cook of Sanji's calibre would even dare to attempt.

Trying his best to ignore Sanji staring at him from across the room vying for a positive reaction, Usopp sweatdropped a little as he cut off a piece of lightly seared salmon and smeared it with a generous helping of the yellow-brown sauce on his plate. Silently wondering if he should get ready to fake a good reaction if need be so as to avoid a sad and potentially violent reaction from their hot-tempered cook, Usopp placed the forkful of salmon into his mouth, and instantly, his eyes widened in delight. The fish was moist, sweet and savoury, the basil adding a startling burst of green freshness, and the sauce, though nothing like Usopp had ever tried before, provided so many dimensions of taste that Usopp had no idea how to process them all. He could taste the remnants of fruitiness and tanginess from some alcohol that he wasn't familiar with, the sweetness from what tasted like milk, spiciness from some mystery ingredient (Usopp wasn't much of a taste expert) and what he instantly recognised as mustard bringing a pleasant heat to the surface of his tongue.

He didn't even need to fake a good reaction, his genuine, affirmative smile telling the cook all he needed to know about the new recipe. Sanji returned it before wrapping the remaining salmon fillets in cling film and placing them in the freezer, a veritable smorgasbord of new ideas involving salmon already in his head.

When Brook first disclosed to him that he had sailed alone in the middle of a fog for ten years and had essentially starved for that amount of time, Sanji had first been bewildered, before the horrible memories up on a barren rock flashed back to him and his stomach growled with desperate intensity. Starving wasn't a pleasant memory, and although Brook actually didn't have a proper digestive system and couldn't actually suffer the effects of malnutrition, he felt somewhat vindictive toward's Brook's hunger when he asked him what his favourite food in his first life was, determined to satisfy.

Brook said takoyaki, and Sanji beamed unrestrainedly.

The Strawhat's new musician was a remarkably jovial fellow who blended in perfectly with his new crewmates, but there was an air of sadness about him that didn't go unnoticed. Brook would sometimes go quiet and stare off into space, and though his facial expressions were unreadable as he didn't actually have a face, Sanji had no doubt that he was thinking about his old crew in those moments, and if Sanji could do anything to ease the pain at the end of Brook's past life, he would do it. Unfortunately, there was no way to go back in time and fix things, and Sanji could only work in his capacity as the ship's cook to momentarily replace Brook's bad memories with good ones.

Takoyaki was a popular Japanese street food, but most stalls made the tragic and inexcusable business decision of putting in far too much wheat flour and too little actual octopus as a way to save money on the seafood, which was expensive. It also seemed that most people who tried takoyaki only ate it because it was the only way they could bear the taste of octopus, which was accused of being overly rubbery and inedible. Sanji, however, knew otherwise. Takoyaki wasn't takoyaki unless you gave the people who ate the food a satisfactory helping of octopus (the flour merely being there for moulding of the spherical shape and providing barely detectable taste), and the only reason why many people felt that Octopus was rubbery was because they had never actually tasted properly cooked octopus before. Cooks usually messed up cookery of the sea creature and overcooked it beyond recognition, believing that that was the proper way to do it.

Thankfully, Sanji wasn't like other cooks.

Proper takoyaki was a surprisingly complex dish involving a myriad of strong taste elements, and Sanji was more than happy to grant it the attention it deserved. After ensuring that his octopus had been cooked to the consistency that he believed to be appropriate, he chopped it up into small pieces and started crushing the katsuobushi, dried and fermented tuna flakes, to make the base for the takoyaki batter. The addition of flour, salt, baking powder, eggs and soy sauce was a very simple thing, and just to add a little extra Japanese flavour, Sanji completed the batter with a generous helping of dashi, whisking the entire mixture whilst whistling happily to himself. Franky had helped him make the cast-iron takoyaki mould just for this dish, and when it finally heated on the stove to a sufficient degree, Sanji filled the moulds up with just a little batter and a very generous helping of octopus in each mould, knowing that no matter what, the octopus had to take center stage.

Sanji found Brook sitting in the aquarium bar playing a sad tune on his violin, and though Sanji still couldn't read his expression (he never could, dammit), he could tell that the musician was in one of his moods. Wordlessly, he placed the plate of six takoyaki balls, garnished with additional katsuobushi, diced spring onions and home-made mayonnaise, and left the bar. Brook paused his music practice and stabbed at one of the impressively sized octopus balls with the toothpick on the side of the plate, delivering it into his jaw(bone).

He nearly melted with the pleasure that his favourite dish delivered. Only this time, it was even better. The takoyaki batter, solidified, was perfectly seasoned, and now, he could actually taste the damned octopus, which practically melted in his mouth and left behind a distinctive scent of the sea as he chewed it. And against all odds, it wasn't rubbery, and it tasted glorious. Sanji had essentially taken his favourite dish and improved it leaps and bounds.

Brook smiled an undetectable smile as he finished off his food, making a mental note to thank the cook later for his generous and kind gesture.

Everyone who has met the Strawhat pirates wouldn't be able to deny the fact that the entire crew worked in tandem with each other in a way akin to the way a hurricane musters air and rips through things (through no actual fault of its own). And yet, every hurricane has a calm center, and that was represented perfectly by Robin, the ship's archaeologist. Sanji could immediately tell that Robin was different from the rest of them from the first day she set foot on their ship. Unlike everyone else, she was calm with a pleasant disposition at all times, and she subscribed to a school of taste that nearly always went under-appreciated. The particular taste, from a biological perspective, was foul to most and a warning of potentially dangerous food, but to the trained, like Sanji, and to the refined, like Robin, it worked in an almost masochistic way, stunning the palate with tenacity before rewarding those that powered through it with a burst of heavy satisfaction.

Bitterness.

Robin had never actually told Sanji about her liking of food that fell under that dimension of taste, but it didn't take an idiot to realise that there was just something about her cup of black coffee in the mornings, her shying away from the same sweets that Chopper enjoyed so much, and her mild oral fixation with an occasional sampling of dark chocolate that indicated to the world that Robin found pleasure in the classier things in life. And for Sanji, that just gave him another reason to love Robin-chan more. It did pose a significant challenge to Sanji, however, when he first realised that he had to think up more recipes for the underrated taste of bitterness. He had been so used to sweet, spicy, savoury and lightly sour taste that even he himself had neglected that particular taste profile.

Robin spent many late nights in the library reading her books at an hour where most of the crew was already asleep. She was never disturbed, but one particular night, Robin heard a knock on the door. A little confused as to why somebody was still up, she opened it, only to see the face of the ship's cook smiling gently back at her.

"Cook-san. What a surprise."

"Good evening, Robin-chan. Don't let me disturb your reading...I've just prepared a little something to tempt your tastebuds tonight."

He then handed her a tray. Robin didn't immediately look at it as her disembodied hands took it from the chef's hands and placed it gently on the library's study table, but she caught a whiff of a familiar, pungent yet robust smell that immediately perked up her senses, and she smiled back at Sanji appreciatively.

"Thank you, Cook-san. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"Not at all, Robin-chan. Good night."

With that, Sanji left. Robin didn't need to look down to know that he had prepared her a cup of her favourite blend of coffee with a touch of milk and no sugar. What she was surprised by, however, was the sight of an additional small fork and a small plate on the tray, on which sat a tiny plateau of what looked like dark chocolate. Closer observation made her recognise a dessert that she hadn't had in ages, but that she had thoroughly enjoyed when she first tried it. She grinned a little at the implications of the dish. When it came down to desserts, there was non that represented darkness and sinfulness more than the veritable performance piece known as the Chocolate Molten Lava Cake.

Knowing that Sanji would have made the cake perfectly, Robin carefully cut into the flourless cake with the fork, watching as its melted innards of the bitterest dark chocolate Sanji could get his hands on spilled out with enticing slowness and colour onto the plate. Robin cut off a piece and closed her eyes to enjoy the aroma of still warm dark chocolate mingling with the fragrance of the coffee next to it, feeling her somewhat tired senses awaken at the scent of aerial caffeine. Placing it in her mouth granted her a taste of something so rich and yet so much biting bitterness that her usual calm countenance lit up in pleasant surprise, and as she continued to sip her coffee and enjoy the dark chocolate cake with just barely a touch of sweetness, she couldn't help but realise how lucky she was to be found by this particular crew with this particular cook onboard.

It was almost antithetical, but it had to be said. Never in a million years did Robin imagine that bitterness could taste so sweet.

"SANJI! MEEEEEEEEAAAAAAT!"

Sanji sighed as his captain's yell resonated throughout the ship. Their ship's bottomless pit had an appetite that was as infamous as his public persona, and though Sanji tried his very best to satisfy Luffy's eternal cravings for meat, it was a little hard for him to take sometimes.

Just like everyone else on the ship, Sanji loved his captain like family. He really did, but occasionally he'd be preparing a new dish for dinner, or experimenting with new ways to seal flavour into the meat that Luffy liked so much, when he's overcome with the realisation that it didn't appear to matter how much effort he put into ensuring that his food was flawless, because Luffy would just vacuum it up with his stretchy jowls and not actually bother to properly taste the food he was eating. In some sense, Luffy was the opposite of Zoro. While Zoro gave little to no indication that he cared about Sanji's cooking, but showed it in subtle ways, Luffy always said at the end of every meal that Sanji's food was great before running off to do his own thing, not appearing to acknowledge the fact that Sanji had left a soup simmering for twenty-four hours to get in as much umami flavour that he could, or that the meat he had been eating was marinated with a special blend of fifteen unique spices.

In some sense, Luffy perhaps represented the bitter truth of the sadness of cooks...their efforts didn't always go appreciated.

Then, Luffy burst into the galley, already drooling at the thought of the meat he was about to savour. Sanji, busy with dinner, gestured to the plate on the table that might as well have Luffy's name on it. One full barbecued chicken, dressed and seasoned to perfection, it's skin crispy golden brown, still crackling quietly from the heat from the oven, drained of excess oil and waiting for the ship's captain to devour it. Rubbing his hands with glee, Luffy picked up the chicken by a leg and inhaled it, bones and all. He always threw up the bones about half an hour later, but Sanji couldn't help but wince as he heard the sound of a very satisfied Luffy squashing his gorgeously cooked chicken down his throat.

He then turned to his side upon realising that Luffy was standing next to him, a little taken aback. The grin on Luffy's face could have melted the hardest glaciers in the world. And the best part? It was completely genuine.

"Thanks for the meat, Sanji. You're the best!"

Sanji shook his head exasperatedly as Luffy plodded out of the galley, a bemused chuckle forming in his throat. It always took small moments like the one they had just shared to remind him about the simple way that Luffy did things. In some sense, Sanji felt a great sense of satisfaction whenever he watched Luffy polish his plate clean. Yes, he ate far too fast. Yes, he probably didn't actually taste the subtleties of his cooking. But there was undoubtedly legitimate joy in Luffy's eyes whenever he was about to eat something that Sanji made for him. The occasional stuffy customer back in the Baratie gave him compliments, but those words felt dead, cold and almost meaningless. Luffy's smirks of permanent approval gave Sanji more validation than any of those old farts ever did.

Sanji would cook, and cook, and cook. He would follow Luffy and the Strawhats to the ends of the earth if he had to, all the while creating new food and crafting every culinary masterpiece that he could think up. Whether it was teaching a thick-headed marimo about the beauty of sushi, making designer burgers for a pervert shipwright, churning out home-made fudge with a tiny reindeer, creating fruity desserts for a beautiful navigator, making the most out of the catch of the day delivered to him by a long-nosed sniper, shaping octopus meatballs for an otherworldly musician, exploring the depths of deep flavours with a refined archaeologist, or filling up a bottomless pit with as much meat and love that he could find, he would do it without complaint and to the best of his ability.

Because he was Blackleg Sanji. Master of flavours. Prince of cuisine. Cook of the seas.

Author's Note - All of the Strawhats' favourite food are accurate to the SBSs that Oda have released with his manga chapters over the years.

If I failed to make you feel hungry after reading this series of tiny food-based vignettes, then I have failed in my quest. I've always found joy in writing about food, and with as fantastic a character as Sanji dab smack in the main crew of my favourite manga series, it would be a travesty if I didn't release a story about him and his practice of the culinary arts. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I considered splitting it into tiny chapters like my previous work "Law and Disorder" but decided against it because of the short length of each vignette.

Reviews appreciated, and you can go have your food now.

~SUITELIFEFAN