• Dear Diary,
    When we last left off, Sanji and I had just met. After helping me unpack my things, he left me alone to sleep. I dreamed of my brother that night far off on the East Blue sea with the traveling circus. He was practicing on his unicycle against an opponent, or was he actually fighting him? I couldn't tell. But whatever the case, I could tell that my brother and the man he was fighting against were not friendly with one another and that beast the man was riding on didn't look too nice either. Also, my brother was losing; he was unleashing all of his best tricks only to have them bated away by the beast. I want to scream my encouragement but found only silence in my dreamworld.

    When I woke up, the sun was just peeking over the horizon. I dressed and when downstairs to find Chef Zeff with a mop and bucket in his hands. He told me that starting today I was the new clean-up girl. As such one of duties would be to get the main dining room ready before Baratie opened for business. He gave me the mop and bucket and left.

    It took me almost two hours but I mopped the floor, filled the salt and pepper shakers, and wiped the tables so that they shone. I wiped my brow relieved that I had finished my first task. Just then, the doors opened a large crowd of customers came in. I ran up the stairs scared by the sudden stampede of people. "Cusine," (Chef!) I called to Chef Zeff, "des personnes sont ici." (Some people are here.)

    He shouted something into the kitchen that I couldn't understand, and with that the kitchen became a whirlwind of activity. Chefs rushed everywhere scrambling to get ingredients, utensils, or vessels for their cooking. I inched past trying not to get in the way, a girl in a bandana and apron who didn't look like anything special. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and turned around to find Sanji, with my French-English/English-French dictionary in his hand, staring back at me. (Now I knew where it had gone last night.)

    "Pardon, je ne sais pas ta nomme." (Excuse me, I do not know your name.)

    He spoke in a strange mash-up between a New-Yorker and French accent. Trying to hide my shyness I replied, "Je suis finit avec la salle a mange." (I have finished with the dining room.)

    "Tu t'appelle comment?" (What's your name?)

    "Je m'appelle Marie. Et toi?" (My name is Marie. And you?)

    "Moi, je m'appelle Sanji. Je suis le deuxieme cuisine" (Me, my name is Sanji. I am the second chef.)

    "Mais oui. Le deuxieme cuisine ca je regarde ici." (Of course. The second chef that I have seen here.)

    "Non, je suis le deuxieme cuisine dans la restaurant." (No, I'm the second chef in the restaurant.)

    "Oh, je comprende maintenant." (Oh, now I understand.)

    "Allez a la porte. Nous sommes occupies." (Go to the door. We're busy.)

    From that day on, I kept out of the kitchen during business hours. I kept mostly to the main dining room where my services were most needed. This went on for six months without interruption, and during that time Sanji taught me English and I taught him French. I could now get by in most situations with English, but I spoke with a French accent and I still do now.

    Then one day, in late October, I woke before the sun or anyone else. I had had the dream about my brother fighting the beast tamer again and I couldn't get back to sleep. I also felt rather hungry considering I hadn't had dinner the night before. Since I supposed to get up for another hour, I snuck down to the kitchen to see what I could find. My gut said "Eggs" and I just happened to see some near by. 'Well it looks like an omelette for breakfast,' I thought and with that I set to work.

    I broke three eggs into a bowl and stirred in some leftover cheese that someone had left out from our Mexican themed dinner last night. I washed and diced some peppers, sliced some tomatoes, and chopped an onion. I found a skillet and put it on the stove to warm while I went to the fridge to look for some fresh orange juice. Having no success, I settled for mango juice and went back to put the omelette in the skillet.

    As the omelette cooked, the smell of caramelizing onions carried through out the restaurant. It reached deep into the noses of Patty, Carne and the other chefs. They turned over in their sleep but didn't stir. Sanji and Chef smelled it too but they didn't go back to sleep even though the dawn was just breaking. They followed their noses, literally, to the kitchen where they found me digging in to my newly made omelette.

    "Marie," asked Sanji confused, "what are you doing here?"

    "I had the dream about my brother again and I didn't eat dinner last night. I thought that if I ate something I might fall back asleep and my gut said "Eggs" so here I am. Chef, please don't be mad at me," I said, ducking and covering my head on the last part for I had tasted the fury of Zeff's peg leg quite a few times.

    "I'm not mad you," said Chef. "I'm just sad that you didn't leave anything for us."

    "There's still some leftover if you'd like to try it."

    I pointed out the half-empty skillet still on the stove. Sanji picked up the skillet and put it on the table where I was sitting. He took out two forks, one of which he gave to Chef, and they both took a bite. Their responses were as follows: Chef assumed a thoughtful expression and stared at the wall, and Sanji chewed his heartily and smiled taking another forkful. "This omelette ain't half bad," Chef said after a while.

    "I made it using three eggs, cheese, tomatoes, peppers and an onion. It's a simple recipe, but it filled me up on the way to school when my mother made it for breakfast."

    "Simple ingredients, and yet it's so delicious," said Sanji. "I think salsa would make a nice garnish with maybe some home-fries on the side. A refreshing blast of heat on the cold sea."

    "Can you make more of this?," asked Chef. "I think we should serve this to the customers today. If they like it, we'll put it on the breakfast menu. If not, it comes outta' your pay check for wasted ingredients. How 'bout it?"

    "You have got yourself a wager, Chef. But first, I'll need to clean up the main dining room."

    That was the first dish I ever made at Baratie. On Sanji's advice, I added salsa and home-fries to my Mexican omelette, as I had decided to call it. From that time on, I had two jobs: one was still to clean up the dining room. The other was a short order cook for Baratie's famous Mexican omelettes.

    That's all for now. Tomorrow, I'll tell you about how Lieutenant Fullbody almost ruined the reputation of my beloved Sanji. Goodnight.
    Marie