"Brat, my other leg is riding on your dish."
"Relax, old man."
"I will win."
Sanji and the newly revived Carmen headed into the kitchen. Baratie's pantry was a paradise of ingredients.
Nami leaned close. "Rody, do you think Carmen can win?"
"Hard."
In the original tale she lost to Sanji. It barely mattered. This was her wish, and he wanted to taste something extraordinary. Rody was very curious about Sanji's craft.
"Hey, is this a restaurant or not? Can I get a barrel of gasoline?" Windfire Wheel called toward the chefs. (Author's add-on here)
"It spoke. The motorcycle spoke."
"I was wondering why they brought a walking bike. So it is alive."
"A talking motorcycle is too weird."
"And this is a restaurant, not a repair shop."
Zeff watched Windfire Wheel with keen interest. He had sailed the Grand Line and still had never seen anything like this. "Bring him a barrel. Any soul who arrives hungry leaves fed under Baratie's roof."
"Right away, head chef."
A moment later the barrel arrived.
"Ah, topped off," Windfire Wheel sighed in bliss.
Nami tilted her head. "I always wanted to ask. What does gasoline taste like to you?"
"Probably the way your cola tastes to humans."
"Unbelievable."
"Do you need other food too?"
"No. But if you have special energy stones, even better."
"Alright, you two," Rody cut in. "They are about to start."
...
They gathered to watch. Sanji moved like any ordinary cook, only every cut and stir carried a quiet precision. Carmen burned with her trademark passion, fan flashing, sleeves flying, every motion loud with heat.
"Please enjoy."
Plates landed almost together. Sanji set down a mound of fried rice. It looked plain at first glance, yet a clean, rich aroma rose off each grain. Carmen presented fire bull roast, the meat from that crimson sea beast native to the West Blue, seared until it gleamed.
Rody picked up several slices of fire bull. The flavor matched her work on the ship, but the texture had stepped up, layers unfolding on the tongue. "You improved."
He scooped a spoonful of Sanji's fried rice. Each grain stayed separate and lively. The diced meat was perfectly done, tender without being soft, springy without turning tough. The balance sang in the mouth. It was simply beautiful.
Nami swallowed hard. "Well? Which is better?"
Rody handed her the spoon. "Taste for yourself."
She tried both, then nodded. "This Sanji's fried rice is a little better. Carmen's roast is still great."
Rody smiled. "I prefer meat, and rice dishes are not my usual pick. This fried rice wins anyway."
"Captain, you are torturing me," Windfire Wheel groaned. "I want to eat now, but I am a motor being. None of that goes in."
Nami patted his arm. "Then do not feel bad. We cannot drink gasoline. Only you can, and we will never know what it tastes like."
Rody looked at Carmen. "Do you still want the verdict?"
"No need."
Carmen exhaled, cigarette trembling between her fingers. "I lost."
"For years I trained and trained so I could stand at your level," she said to Sanji. "I forgot the heart that treats every single ingredient with respect. That is the only way to make food truly good. This time you win."
Her eyes brightened again. "But do not celebrate too fast. I will follow Lord Rody into the Grand Line. I will search for All Blue, learn from many chefs, and when we meet again we will cook once more."
"I know you have not let go of All Blue," she added with a grin. "I will go first. Catch up quickly. Do not fall behind. Ah-hahaha…"
Carmen spun up so quickly she bonked the ceiling. Leo and Jose scrambled and caught her as she dropped, dazed.
Rody rubbed his forehead. "Is she an idiot?"
"The head chef's leg is safe," one cook whispered.
"Yes, no more hobbling on two hands," another joked.
"Shut it, fools," Zeff barked. "Clear those plates. Guests left food on the tables."
Rody waved him down. "Old man, I will cover the tabs for the ones who ran."
He leaned forward, amused. "Now feed me your own best."
"Have every chef make their signature dish. I will pay double for each plate."
Soon the staff had the room spotless. Dish after dish arrived, steam curling, spices waking the air. It was the finest meal Rody had eaten since entering this world, a parade of skill and pride.
"Old man, your craft is solid."
"I am satisfied today."
"I only wonder when I will taste it again." He took the bag of treasure from Mike and set it on the table, then rose to leave with his crew.
At the door, Carmen glanced back at Sanji. "Do your best. Next time I will not lose."
"Leaving already, Sanji?" Zeff asked quietly.
"Who is leaving, old man?" Sanji flicked his cigarette and headed for the kitchen.
"Good. That one is not the man you should follow." Zeff shook his head and smiled at the boy's back.
...
A day later.
Carmen had lost the match, felt the sting, then ate the staff's signature dishes and found her fire again. She buried herself in the galley, testing sauces and heat, plotting a path forward.
On deck, Rody toyed with a Den Den Mushi taken from Krieg's hoard. The creatures lived like animals and needed feeding. People dressed them up as they liked. He rolled a pink standard Den Den Mushi in his hands. It could call across islands. The image snails fascinated him most. Were their projections truly high quality? Could a snail become near-sighted? If it did, would the projection blur? What would a myopic projection even look like?
Mike stepped beside him, cane tapping the rail. "Lord Rody, Loguetown lies just ahead."