Walter Morgan, who was rarely called anything except “Cookie” by those he worked with, hummed softly to himself as he maneuvered around his domain – the high-tech galley aboard the submarine Seaview. One of the original crew members, he’d signed on as a nuclear reactor technician and still served in that capacity in emergency situations. But an incident during one of Seaview’s early cruises had the Skipper at the time, Capt. John Phillips, asking for volunteers to man the galley when the original cook had been injured. An excellent but amateur, self-taught, chef, Walter had quickly found that he really liked cooking for Seaview’s crew. The crew seemed happy with his efforts as well, and almost before he realized what was happening he became ‘Cookie.’
Oh,
he had to admit, there had been some rocky times. Admiral Nelson, the man who designed and
owned Seaview as part of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research, wasn’t the easiest
man in the world to get along with. Not
only was he a perfectionist and a workaholic, some of the scientists and
researchers who were all too frequently aboard for one project or another
seemed to make a habit of causing absolute chaos. That’s how the original cook had been
injured. And then there was the new
Skipper. Capt. Phillips had been killed
and Nelson had brought in some baby-faced Commander to take over. Cookie hadn’t at first been impressed but he,
like the rest of the crew, had fairly quickly gotten used to the man and his
different ways, and Seaview had never run more smoothly. There was still chaos, Cookie was quick to
note. But… Cookie smiled as he continued to hum
softly. Life was good.
Today
was a typical example. Seaview had left
port three days ago on some special project of the Admiral’s. There were a couple of researchers aboard
from NIMR, and also some scientist friend of Nelson’s – Cookie hadn’t paid much
attention to the actual project they were all involved in; he didn’t really
care. His only questions had been about
if any of the guests had specific dietary issues – food allergies, etc. When he’d been told no, he’d been free to
plan his menus accordingly.
This
morning, once breakfast was pretty well over and lunch was under control,
Cookie decided to make a big batch of fresh whole-wheat rolls. Some would go well with the dinner he had
planned for this evening, and any leftovers the crew would make short work of
as snacks and impromptu sandwich bread.
If by any chance there were any left the following day he’d turn them
into croutons for the salad he was planning to make. He nodded to his assistant, Higgins, who was
keeping an eye on the Wardroom as well as watching the pans of chili mac n’
cheese that were about halfway baked for lunch, and started gathering his
ingredients for the rolls. Yeast was
quickly combined with warm water and a bit of sugar so that it could proof
while he put the dry ingredients together.
He opened the flour bin, prepared to start measuring out half
whole-wheat flour and half white, a combination that had quickly proven to be a
huge hit with the crew, and realized that the regular flour bin was almost
empty. Higgins caught the puzzled
expression on his face and immediately turned red.
“Sorry,
Cookie,” he apologized. “I meant to fill
that right after breakfast yesterday but I got sidetracked and totally
forgot. I’ll run down to the storage
locker and get it right now.
Cookie
waved off the apology. Yesterday
morning’s breakfast had gotten a little hectic after overhearing XO Morton
gently harassing the Skipper, Cdr. Crane, about some waffles the two had eaten
someplace back East when the pair had attended Annapolis together. Cookie had asked what was so special about
them – he was always trying to stay one step ahead of the Skipper, whose eating
habits weren’t always the best. Neither
XO nor Skipper could exactly explain with anything better than “the texture
was…different, and they were kind of dark – but yummy.” Cookie had immediately guessed that someone
had substituted whole-wheat flour for at least some of the usual white, and
mixed up a small batch. He was extremely
pleased that apparently he’d guessed right.
The Skipper, usually a very light eater, had not only had seconds but
thirds as well, which led to everyone else having more than usual, and Cookie
had to scramble to keep up with demand.
Now
he laughed. “Hey, no problem. It was actually kind of nice to see the
Skipper eat that much at one time.”
“And
fun to see how everyone else thought that it was great as well,” Higgins
agreed.
Cookie’s
grin increased. “You keep an eye on
lunch. The yeast needs to proof a bit
longer anyway. I’ll go get the flour.”
“You
sure, Cookie? That’s really my job.”
Cookie
waved him off once more. “No biggy. Gives me a chance to stretch my legs,” and he
headed out the Galley door and down one deck, to where the main storage locker
for Seaview’s non-perishable food supplies were located.
“Please
tell me you’re not abandoning ship,” came from behind Cookie as he hit the
bottom of the stairs and headed for the storage area’s door. He turned, and smiled as he spotted Skipper
Crane coming toward him with a clipboard in his hand. Unless he was needed in the Conn, Crane was
apt to be found anywhere and everywhere on the boat no matter the time of
day. Or night, for that matter.
“Not
a chance, Skipper,” Cookie told him honestly but with a quick smile. He started to add, “Who’d keep you properly
fed,” decided that was a bit too informal, even for him, and buried it quickly
in a small cough. “Just need to grab
something while it’s quiet,” he said instead, because he needed to say
‘something’ in response to Crane’s comment.
“Need
a hand?” Crane asked.
Cookie’s
grin broadened once more. That had taken
some getting used to – by the entire crew.
Crane didn’t care what needed doing.
From dealing with giant mutant seaweed down to installing a new light
bulb – if he could help he was right there in the middle of whatever the issue
was, and didn’t give a rip if it was seemingly ‘below his station,’ as it
were. “Just grabbing a bag of flour,”
Cookie now told him. “Got it under
control.”
Crane
grinned as well. “I’ll just get the
hatch for you, then.” The pair entered
the storage locker, and Cookie walked over to where the pallet of fifty-pound
bags of flour was secured. He loosened
the straps long enough to grab the bag he needed, grinned again as Crane
quickly re-secured the straps, and headed back toward the hatch.
They’d
nearly made it when the intercom crackled with something that sounded like “All
hands, brace for ro…” and the submarine was instantly rocked wildly from side
to side. Both Cookie and Crane were
knocked off their feet. The bag of
flour, which Cookie had tossed over his shoulder once Crane started re-securing
the pallet, was ripped from his hands, broke on impact with the deck, and flour
flew everywhere!
The
intercom crackled again. “Damage report
– all stations,” came in XO Morton’s confident, controlled voice. Crane glanced at Cookie as he quickly got to
his feet and reached for the nearest mic.
Cookie gave him a quick “I’m okay,” but frowned at the mess the split
open bag of flour had made. He didn’t
pay a whole lot of attention as Crane called the Conn for an update. Seaview had hit an underwater wave with
almost no warning. It happened sometimes
– such was life on a submarine. He did,
however, turn as Crane, who was listening as the XO told him all damage reports
were negligible, gave his own report.
“When
you can, send a couple men down to the main food storage locker. We’ve had a snow storm that needs cleaning
up.”
Cookie
couldn’t help himself. He looked around
at the mess, including the fact that both he and the Skipper were covered with
flour, and he just started to laugh. He
looked up at Crane, who also started chuckling.
“What’s going on down there?” XO Morton demanded. Apparently the mic was still open. The growled comment only made Crane laugh
harder and Cookie did the same.
‘Something’ came over the intercom before it went dead and Crane hung up
the mic, still laughing. “You got this?”
he asked Cookie.
“Under
control,” Cookie assured him as two crewmen scurried in through the open hatch,
followed closely by COB Jones. All three
took one look at the mess and also started to grin. “Have this cleaned up in no time,” the chef
told his CO.
Crane
was still grinning. “Carry on,” he told
all four. “I’d better go explain to the
XO before he has any more of a hissy fit.”
He gave a quick brush to his uniform but nothing much short of Laundry
Detail was going to salvage it. He
shrugged, smiled again, and headed toward the Conn. Cookie and COB Jones shared a look, grinned,
and everyone got busy cleaning up the mess.
Just another day on Seaview.