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There’s damp laundry swung over the railing, the breeze is fresh and crisp in the early morning air. The ship’s shiny new cook considers having a cigarette, reminds himself that food comes first. Polished dress shoes click-clack their way into the galley. It’s time to get to work.
- 1: Breakfast -
It’s been about a week since Sanji boarded the Merry. Who’s counting the days on a pirate ship, anyway? Sanji is. It’s been exactly a week, seven days, actually.
The blond walks up to the counter, scoots the little stool in the corner over, and reaches up, up, to grab his diary— it’s not a diary, shut up, it’s a log on their food stock, meal planning, the occasional lost doodle or funny quote by a crewmember, whatever— and flip it open to the eighth page. Today’s date is quickly scribbled into the corner.
Before Sanji can start jotting down the ingredients for breakfast enthusiastically, he hesitates for a second, then flips all the way to the back of the thick, leather-bound dummy to the several hastily ink-clad, dogeared pages, full of his crewmates’ respective preferences he’s come to learn in his so far little time on the ship.
He certainly didn’t take on an easy job, Sanji has found, which is mostly due to their captain — sweet, kind, obnoxious Luffy, the man who’ll be king of the pirates, who also happens to be a black hole. The notes on Luffy’s taste are, for the majority, a long, long list of all different kinds of meat, each with specifications on how the captain likes each type to be prepared, which is mostly raw. Not too complicated, if it weren’t for the amounts Luffy demands. Furthermore, there’s smaller notes on how Sanji can manage to sneakily incorporate veggies into his captain’s meals, written in cursive that Sanji can only pray Luffy can’t decipher. Can the kid read? It feels rude to ask. He might over breakfast. Luffy doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to care about politeness.
Flipping to the next page, Sanji’s eye lands on the notes about their sharpshooter’s palate. Sanji’s secretly thankful that Usopp is on the pickier side, as this makes picking dishes easier by process of elimination. He is, however, fond of incredibly salty foods, complains when his food isn’t salty enough, and Sanji doesn’t have the energy to explain that he doesn’t want Usopp to overdose on sodium every day. Sanji just hopes that over time, Usopp will get used to the regular levels of salt in his meals. He’ll live.
Zoro’s page is next, and it’s merely a few words and aborted sentences, with the swordsman’s responses to prying questions about how his food tastes being a glare, a grunted “fine”, a grunted “tastes like shit”, or a completely flat expression paired with a shrug. Sanji doesn’t know if he’s picky, doesn’t know if he even likes bread, he doesn’t know anything. Sanji considers Zoro the grumpy problem child of the crew when it comes to food. It’s fine, it’s alright, he can deal with stubbornness. He’s gonna get to the bottom of Zoro’s tastes someday, just you wait, shit swordsman. He flips the page.
Nami on the other hand, oh, wonderful, wonderful Nami’s taste is, thankfully, not too difficult to grasp — this doesn’t stop Sanji from jotting down every miniscule detail about their lovely navigator’s likes and dislikes; as the ship’s designated cook, he can serve no less than perfect meals, especially if they’re for Nami, of course. Nami’s not a picky eater, but her favorite dishes typically include tangerines in some way, may it be in the form of marmalade, sauce, salad dressing, toppings on desserts, you name it.
She’s fond of fruits and other refreshing, light foods in general, and Sanji makes a mental note to go look for a farmer’s market on the next inhabited, non-hostile island they dock at. Sweet, lovely Nami also seems to like — ah, Sanji has to stop himself in his tracks. There’s no need to go over the entire (double sided) page.
The crew just set sail again, and Sanji has access to peculiar looking eggs and freshly picked fruits and vegetables, laying in their respective places and waiting patiently to be consumed. He flips back to the eighth page.
He knows quite a bunch of Nami’s food preferences by heart already, so he immediately gets to writing; two sunny side up, runny eggs, fresh fruits on the side, perhaps he still has time to whip up some tangerine sauce to go with it. Otherwise, toast with the tangerine marmalade that’s thankfully still in the fridge (Luffy doesn’t particularly care for tangerine marmalade) on the side will suffice. Leaving some room underneath in case Nami has any critique, he moves onto Luffy.
Luffy’s is simple enough; an entire carton of eggs, scrambled, paired with even more bacon than there is egg, no toast, plus meat on the side. The cook isn’t sure how hungry exactly their captain will be on this particular morning, so the amount of meat on the side remains ambiguous for now. Sanji wakes up a little sweaty and fearing for their stock every morning.
Seeing as Usopp invented a doohickey yesterday that nearly blew up the shelves holding Sanji’s beloved spices and herbs, the cook briefly considers serving him an omelette with mushrooms in it, but shoos the thought away just as quickly. He can’t let personal matters interfere with his performance in the kitchen, that would be deeply unprofessional. Zeff would have his head were he to ever see the geezer again. Omelette with some scallion, bell pepper, spinach and bits of bacon will do. Good thing bacon’s already plenty salty in itself.
Lastly, Sanji lingers on what Zoro would like. What would he like? Does he even like anything? Or is he just okay with any food that’s put in front of him? Sanji hates to admit it, but that thought bugs him. Sue him, he’s a cook, he wants people to genuinely enjoy what he serves them. There’s gotta be something, something he can figure out sometime.
But that time is not now, and Sanji opts for a fried egg paired with some plain white rice, topped with some sesame seeds and spring onion. Zoro seems to like rice, at least. He could strategically place tiny bottles of soy sauce and chili oil on the table to see if he’ll add any of it to his dish. Sanji absentmindedly raps the pen against the table.
Breakfast almost, almost goes swimmingly; Nami simply adores the tangerine sauce on top of her eggs, even if Sanji was afraid he may have rushed it — he makes a mental note to start planning ahead the evening prior from now on — Usopp doesn’t bitch and moan about salt and instead tells him that the food’s really, really good through a mouthful of egg, and he miraculously estimated the perfect amount of meat for Luffy.
Almost everyone seems satiated, Sanji’s happy, but Zoro didn’t reach for the soy sauce nor for the chili oil. Does he like his rice plain? Or maybe he simply didn’t spot the little bottles?
He could’ve placed them differently on the table, lord knows if the guy’s directionlessness also affects his ability to navigate where condiments are placed on tables if they aren’t directly in front of him. Should he have scrambled the egg instead and fried it together with the rice? Sanji’s head feels like the shit-ton of eggshells he cracked for his crew on this dewy morning.
The plan wasn’t foolproof, Zoro eats while blinking away the sleep from his eyes, Sanji still doesn’t know anything, except for the fact that Zoro looks a little bit like a hamster when he eats. That’s not getting him anywhere. Sanji munches on his own buttered piece of toast at the counter. Better luck next time.
- 2: Lunch -
It’s been a little over two weeks since Sanji boarded the Merry. He might’ve forgotten to write down the date a few times, but it’s been approximately two weeks.
The back of the dummy keeps getting richer with little pointers about his crew’s tastes, and yet Zoro’s page remains more or less the same. Not much to write about if the guy just refuses to express what he likes and dislikes, like it’s the hardest thing in the world for him. It’s not going to stop Sanji from trying his fucking best to read his stupid unreadable face.
He’ll get there, he keeps chanting in his head like a mantra, he’ll get through to him.
Lunch is right around the corner; Merry hasn’t seen the shore in a little while, Usopp and Luffy, to their dismay, seem to be unable to catch anything fresh, so Sanji’s gonna have to use up whatever is still left of their stock. Breakfast was mostly hearty, he’d like to make something sweet to balance it out. There’s a little voice in the back of his head telling him there’s a loaf of bread turning stale in the pantry, right as his eye lands on the page with various kinds of french toast he’s learned over the years. He could make all of these with his eyes closed; lunch is decided, then.
For Nami, he could incorporate some tangerine zest and a pinch of cinnamon and clove into the mixture, slice fruits into little hearts, and top it all off with a drizzle of syrup and chopped pecans. Luffy would definitely still want meat, even after devouring most of the meats available on the table during breakfast (Usopp was able to snatch a few pieces). Sanji guesses it’s worth a shot to experiment a little with savoury french toast, he’s sure Luffy would happily devour it either way. Usopp would prefer something that’s not too overwhelmingly sweet, so Sanji opts for forest fruits and a light dash of syrup.
Now, Sanji really needs to stop saving the most difficult task for last, because he’s trying to conjure up something that would definitely please Zoro, and comes up blank. He could make something completely different for Zoro, something that includes rice — a safe option, he knows Zoro likes rice, but that’s about as far as his knowledge goes — but that might be a little weird. Zoro’s not special, Sanji scoffs under his breath, to himself, and feels like an idiot for a second. French toast. Alright.
Maybe the classic, basic recipe, which was the first he’d learned as a kid, french toast with sugar and cinnamon? Paired with a generous amount of greek yoghurt, for the protein, of course.
Usually Sanji would be happy to experiment a little, but doing so with Zoro’s meals feels like poking a tiger with a two-and-a-half foot long pole. For now, the basics will do, until Zoro mans the hell up and just spits out what he wants Sanji to cook up for him.
So, shortly after, Sanji pops out of the galley while balancing the plates carefully using both arms, plus the top of his head (a skill beaten into him by the old geezer), delivers Nami’s beautifully crafted plate to her lawnchair with a twirl and a stream of compliments, until she cuts him off with a polite thanks, hands Luffy his dish only for Luffy to swallow the stack of toast whole, plate included, drops Usopp’s off in his little workshop, where the sharpshooter is still fully concentrated on tinkering around with a new invention.
Lastly, he trails over to the railing where Zoro’s taking a nap. The guy doesn’t seem to stop frowning, ever, even in his sleep. Maybe it’s because he’s sleeping on wood. Doesn’t exactly look comfortable. Sanji knocks the toe of his shoe against Zoro’s knee.
“Lunch is served. Eat up, grass patch.”
Sanji’s fully prepared to walk away after dropping off the stack of sugary toast, but stops in his tracks when he sees it; Zoro’s eyeing the dish, and something is most definitely off. Sanji’s goal snaps back into place in his brain.
He’ll take anything can get. He feels like a detective who’s been put on a seemingly unsolvable mystery case, and he’s starving for clues. Throwing on a disguise so he can follow the possible lead, he lights up a smoke and leans against the creaky railing next to the swordsman.
“Don’t you have lunch to eat too?” Zoro tries. The bastard. He’s not making this plan fall apart by suddenly acting like he cares about whether Sanji eats or not.
Sanji stands his ground, “I already had mine.” Zoro’s still eyeing the toast suspiciously. Sanji faintly hears Nami fawning over how good the toast is from the upper deck.
“Well, are you going to eat it? If you don’t hurry up, who knows, Luffy’s arm might stretch around the corner to snatch it up,” he snickers a little internally at the mental image. The swordsman doesn’t seem to find it as entertaining, grunts something unintelligible, and finally takes a bite.
And there it is. There it fucking is, Zoro’s brow twitches and the corners of his mouth turn down further (how is that possible?) just the teeniest tiniest bit as he’s chewing. Sanji’s got him pinned straight to the board with a thumbtack and red thread looped around him.
The blond picks up the two-and-a-half foot pole and jabs. “How is it?” And maybe Zoro’s less of a tiger, more of a skittish housecat, because he lies straight through his teeth with a bowed back when he mumbles, “It’s alright.”
Usually, Sanji might’ve made a snarky comment, smirked at him, said “is that so? If that’s the case, you’ll eat up every last bit of it, right?” But it’s been four-ish weeks and really, he doesn’t find it funny anymore. It’s finally clear that Zoro does in fact dislike something, that something being sweet sugary french toast, and yet here he is, still claiming that he thinks it’s alright.
Whatever the reason may be, Sanji is not having this, so he snaps.
“For fuck’s sake, if you don’t like it, just say so.” The cook snatches the plate out of the swordsman’s hand. “Tell me, what about it do you not like?”
“Huh?” Zoro looks dumbfounded, a little wide eyed. He looks like an idiot, even more so than usual. Which is impressive, considering he always looks like an idiot.
“You heard me, tell me what you don’t like, and I can change it for you, dickhead.” Sanji thought he abandoned approach A — which consists of asking the most straightforward questions possible — when it came to Zoro, but apparently he did not. He’s grasping for straws here.
“I like it just fine, what’s your problem, cook?” Zoro’s hand flies up, and Sanji holds the plate higher so he can’t reach it from where he’s sitting.
“You’ve been a real pain in my ass since I joined the crew, you know? As a cook, it’s my job to cater to everyone’s tastes, and here you are, clearly not enjoying what I just made you. Yet you have the guts to ask me what my problem is? What’s yours?”
Sanji’s own words startle him a little; the last thing he wanted to do was lay out his frustrations so plainly, he’s handing Zoro the offense on a silver platter.
But Zoro doesn’t reach for the offense — he is, however, still reaching for the plate — as he appears just as startled as Sanji. For a bit, they’ve roped themselves into a staring contest, until Sanji deflates and breaks the silence.
“Look, I’m not asking you for full-length reviews, all I want to know is if you like it or not. That’s all I need to work with. Can you just do that for me?” Sanji breathes out.
Zoro seems to be processing Sanji’s words, squints a little, and then slowly nods. It’s a draw, then. You’re joking. Was it that easy?
- 3: Afternoon snack -
It’s been three weeks, maybe three and a half, and Sanji has come to find that it was in fact, not that easy. He should’ve known, he’d already established that being the Straw Hats’ cook is not and will never be an easy job.
They’re making progress, certainly! He’d almost tell Zoro he’s proud of him for opening up a little more if the mere thought of it didn’t make Sanji feel like diving into the ocean and swimming far, far away until he can’t see the smiling-ram-shaped figurehead anymore. That’s besides the point.
Zoro’s more upfront about what he doesn’t like now, which is fantastic, first of all. His page in the dummy is finally starting to fill up a little. Sanji’s starting to suspect he may have thought Zoro was just pestering him for the bit when really, he was trying to tell him that, no, he genuinely does not like the food, but Sanji’s proud to say that he’s finally getting the hang of the whole reading Zoro’s unreadable face thing, paradoxical as it sounds.
He’ll tell Sanji if his food is too spicy, if it’s not spicy enough, if it’s too salty, if the rice is too mushy, if it’s too sweet— god, Sanji must have heard that one a million times by now. He seems somewhat reluctant to give Sanji these pointers, and that’s just ridiculous, almost offensive. Sanji’s a professional, he knows how to take criticism and use it well.
Either way, while the critique is a massive help in Sanji’s journey, he’s still yet to mention a meal that he truly likes, he hasn’t asked Sanji to make him anything in particular, whereas Luffy, for example, yells all about the foods he wants to eat, which is mainly meat . Still.
Zoro’s got enough to complain about, albeit hesitantly, but what’s his favorite food? Does he have one? If so, does the guy even know what it is himself?
It’s dark out, Sanji’s journal is open on the counter; in tomorrow’s experiment, his goal is to find out whether Zoro likes ice cream at all. Of course, it can’t be anything sweet. As he’s tiredly churning the last of the matcha ice cream, almost ready to be slid into the freezer together with the pistachio ice cream, he grins about the color of the two flavors. He’d wanted to use green almonds as toppings too. Completely unintentional, somehow, and he’s certain it’ll piss the swordsman off. Score.
Sanji’s grin widens a little further as he considers making three miniature swords as decoration. No, that might result in getting the real things being swung at him. Usopp’s already had to repair a good chunk of the main deck and railing yesterday, the damage having been inflicted by none other than Zoro and himself. He’ll spare the poor longnose— for tomorrow, at least. No promising there won’t be any sparring on deck for the days to come, like hell either of them will wait patiently for dry land to brawl.
Peering into the bucket, the blond decides that the snack is ready to be popped into the freezer and that he should tuck himself in. Quickly scribbling down the last few details of his recipes, he kills the light and slips out of the galley.
In the afternoon sun, Sanji plops down by the railing next to Zoro. He was right, the color of the ice cream did effectively piss the swordsman off, which resulted in a light scuffle. Just a few balusters were sliced in half or kicked to bits, all of Sanji’s good intentions about Usopp not needing to repair anything today having been tossed into the ocean. The fight only screeched to a halt because Sanji yelled that the ice cream would melt. It’s a draw, as usual, which may as well be equivalent to defeat, so both boys eat their snacks gloomily.
There’s a 50% chance Zoro will draw his swords again. Sanji decides to try it anyway. Be straightforward, be direct, speak Zoro’s language. “Was there anything you liked to eat as a kid?”
Zoro, miraculously, does not immediately draw his swords again. He does, however, look like a deer in headlights, kinda like when Sanji snapped at him over french toast.
Zoro blinks. “Uh. I don’t know?”
Sanji blinks back, feeling annoyance crawl its way back up. It never got to mellow out much, anyway, after sparring over green ice cream.
“How do you not know if there was anything you liked to eat as a kid?” Zoro shovels some more matcha ice cream into his mouth. He doesn’t hate it, at least, thank god.
“I just didn’t pay a lot of attention to it. I just ate whatever.”
“Okay, rephrase, was there anything in particular that you just ate often?” Sanji feels like he’s going insane. His eyebrow is twitching. He can hear the wheels turning in Zoro’s brain.
Zoro visibly perks up a little bit, as if he’s thought of something, yet he still seems a little hesitant to speak. Interesting. “Onigiri, I guess?"
And frankly, Sanji feels like an idiot. He’s made plenty of dishes involving rice over the last few weeks, and yet he hasn’t made something as simple as onigiri even once. Curse his affection for elaborate dishes and eccentric ingredients. He stomps down the frustration to listen to the rest of what Zoro has to say.
“I usually ate it over at a friend’s house, but it’s not like—“ the swordsman trails off and Sanji’s focus is shattered by an audible splash closeby. The two boys look at each other.
Sanji feels like kicking Zoro overboard after the captain just because he needs to kick something overboard out of frustration, and Zoro is the nearest available kickable object.
“Was that Luffy?”
Nami’s yelling from the upper deck. Usopp sounds close to crying. Zoro and Sanji are still staring at each other. Sanji begrudgingly stands up.
“What kinda filling did the onigiri have? Or does mold cause memory loss?” He jabs half-heartedly while slipping his jacket off and hanging it over the railing.
“I’ll remember, give me ten seconds.” Zoro slumps further down onto the deck and closes his eyes.
“Just try to recall what foodstuffs were generally available on the moss patch you came from. I can work with that.” Sanji toes his shoes off and dives to retrieve their captain.
- 4: Dinner -
Food is food, nutrients are nutrients, he needs it to live, and he’s fine with that; this is a mindset Zoro has always had, and will likely always have.
It’s been four-ish weeks since they’ve had a cook on board, an actual cook. Regardless of how obnoxious the lovesick loser is, he does his job well, and Zoro can tell that his workouts are much more effective now with the proper diet.
However, he wasn’t at all prepared to practically have the cook hovering over him during mealtimes. Not in a literal sense, of course, more in the sense that he’s always got an eye on him, glancing at him every few seconds. It makes Zoro feel like a bug that’s been put in a glass jar by Luffy and Usopp. It’s uncomfortable. He wishes he was actually a bug, so he could scare the cook off. Alas.
And he keeps nagging about what he does and doesn’t like. The cook asks if he likes fruits, and Zoro thinks about the vitamins and fibers in apples. He says, “It’s fine.” The cook asks if he likes dairy, and Zoro thinks about the calcium and phosphorus in milk. He says, “Sure.” Food is food, food is necessary to nurture your body. That’s about as far as Zoro’s love for food goes.
But the cook is persistent, and he keeps serving him wildly different foods, all while keeping his visible eye locked on Zoro as he eats. Sometimes, Zoro considers throwing his meal into the cook’s face, but then he’ll likely get kicked overboard for wasting food. So he sits, and tries to ignore the burning gaze.
Today, Zoro discovered that matcha and pistachio ice cream isn’t bad at all. The color pissed him off a bit though, rightfully so. Though their scuffle was cut short, Zoro got to blow off some steam, he’s sure the cook did too. Afterwards, they sat side by side, and the cook wasted some more time on asking questions. This one was new, though.
Something he ate a lot as a kid? Zoro’s not sure why anyone would remember that. He mostly remembers training, day after day, hanging out with the kids from the dojo, taking care of the younger ones. Most of his memories aren’t necessarily focused on mealtimes, so he stands over the dirt in the dojo’s training yard, picks up the shovel and digs a little further.
He recalls his morning training, lord knows how long he’d be out there until the wooden swords had to be yanked out of his little hands forcefully so he’d go have breakfast inside the training hall. He’d say thank you for the food, because without it, he can’t become the greatest swordsman, after all, and then he’d scarf it down so he could sprint back to training grounds as soon as possible.
Kuina would come around, they would spar. He would lose, and she’d hold out her hand to help him get back up and to drag him to where her father was making lunch. Always onigiri, usually with varying fillings.
Sitting down at the table together, Zoro would tell Kuina that he’d definitely be able to beat her this time through a mouthful of rice and tuna, and she’d scoff at him with chipmunk cheeks. They’d get scolded for speaking with their mouths full, and after finishing their meal they’d be off again.
So, with Sanji’s stare still stabbing daggers into him, he answers his nagging. The cook almost looks relieved, until Luffy decides to take a swim. Of course. Duty calls, the cook is off, Zoro has breathing room again, and he can return to his nap.
He dreams of small hands, swinging wooden swords aimlessly. He dreams of the windowsills in Kuina’s kitchen. He dreams of dirt and sugary rice. Was that the last time he ate onigiri?
Zoro feels his side being nudged, gently at first, until he can tell it’ll turn into a full blown kick if he stays put for too long. Catching an ankle in his hand, he slowly blinks the sleep away from his eyes to see the cook looming over him. How long has he been asleep for? The sun is setting and Sanji’s wearing different clothes— ah, right. He jumped into the sea after Luffy. Zoro didn’t sleep for 28 hours, he knew that had to be too good to be true on this ship.
Sanji doesn’t offer his hand, Zoro pulls himself up, and he scowls at Sanji’s teasing comment about how it’s probably for the better that he’s there to lead him to the galley for dinner, he’d get lost otherwise. Not true, he doesn’t get lost.
Usopp and Nami are already chatting at the table, and Nami gives Sanji a little wave as he practically constructs a sonnet on the spot about the outfit she’s wearing today — though she does look dangerously close to knocking him on the head — before getting interrupted by Luffy slingshotting him through the door and landing flat against the wall like a cartoon, just barely grazing Zoro himself. Sanji’s yelling at Luffy about the shelves with the herbs and stuff again. It’s a regular dinner on the Merry.
Dinner consists of a large arrangement of side dishes today, and unsurprisingly, there’s also a plate of onigiri on the table, set near the spot that’s usually occupied by Zoro.
Feels odd, for the guy who tries to kick his head off of his shoulders daily to go out of his way to make this side dish catered to him specifically. It almost makes him want to hand the whole plate to Luffy, whose shoulder is pressed against his, just to piss the cook off and get him to treat him the way he normally would.
He blames it on the leftover sleepiness from his nap and his rumbling stomach that he doesn’t follow through with this plan, and instead munches on one of the rice balls.
And it’s stupid, it’s oh, so stupid, and maybe people have a point when they say food can hold emotional worth, and damn, has it been a long time since he’s had onigiri as good as, probably even better than Koushirou’s. He wants to bash his head against the table, but the cook would take that as an insult, and he for sure wants him to keep making him onigiri.
And Zoro is nothing if not an honest man, so he tells Sanji — who, frustratingly enough, doesn’t sit down with everyone else in favor of spinning and circling around the table to pick up empty dishes — that it’s good, before moving to snatch some more before it disappears into the black hole sitting next to him.
That’s funny. Sanji’s expression brightens, there’s something there that opens up and flowers. It’s short and Sanji’s spinning back to the sink in a matter of seconds. It was subtle, it was something he hadn’t seen on the cook’s face before, and it got directed at him of all people.
Like he’s fulfilled a challenge. Like he’s knocked him flat on his ass and won a match against him. Like he wants to hear him say that again. He can’t have been
that
stubborn, right?