“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Omi ran past her with his arm full of dishes. Holding the stack with one hand, he released the other and pointed toward the fish bin. “Water!” Three fish flew out, pushed by the water, and he directed them in Kimiko’s direction.

The fish hit her in the face.

“Thanks,” she grumbled, picking them off and tossing them into her pot. She slipped her finger near the stove and murmured, “Fire.” A small flame flickered from her finger and lit the stove.

She’d never turned the on button on the stove before. Or the off-button, really.

“This is ridiculous,” Kimiko said as she came back up to broil the fish. “Why are we so busy on Thursdays? Why not Wednesdays? Or even Saturdays, even.”

“You don’t have shift on Saturdays,” said Master Guan, the sous-chef. He was the only somewhat head chef whom they saw frequently.

Kimiko flushed. “I know that,” she muttered, staring at her fish. The water was bubbling even more now.

“Dishes, dishes, dishes!” Omi was behind them, throwing the dishes into five sinks at a time.

Clay came out from the back, saying, “I got the bread – whoa!” He nearly ran into Omi as Omi sped around, grabbing all the dishes from the cart.

“Now onto the next!” he said as he emptied the current one.

“Wait, no, Omi!” said Clay. “That’s the – ” He sighed as Omi grabbed a dish and dumped the food into the trash can before tossing it swiftly into the sink, all in one second. “That’s the ready to go out cart,” he finished.

“Oh,” said Omi.

Kimiko groaned and smacked her forehead. “Now I have to make it all over again,” she said.

At that moment, Manager Fung came out from the back with his pet gecko, Dojo. “How are you doing, young chefs?” he asked.

“Great!” said Omi.

“Yeah, if you don’t count the fact that you’re rushing through the dishes too fast for your own good,” said Clay, going to join Kimiko at the stove.

“I am only enthusiastic about work! I work as efficiently and effectively as possible!”

“Yeah, and it’s not efficient or effective at all,” said Kimiko. She hated making ratatouille.

“Well I couldn’t tell that that was food!” Omi said defensively. “It looked like a lump of junk!”

Raimundo entered the kitchen at that moment, wheeling in a cart stock full of dirty dishes. “Who are we talking about?” he asked. “Jack Spicer?”

A head popped in from the back. “You guys were talking about me?” asked Jack. “What did you say? Were you talking about what an awesome janitor I am?”

“Yeah…” said Kimiko, not looking at him. “The awesomest.”

“Great!” Jack’s face brightened up. “Does that mean I’ll get a promotion? Will I work with the food?”

Grand Master Chef Dashi, who usually kept to the back (and had been cooking here for the past two thousand years, no big deal), said, “Jack, you’re not getting a promotion.”

Jack deflated. “Aww…” He retreated back to behind the restaurant, where he’d been sweeping up the stray trash.

“Well,” said Dojo, to everyone’s surprise.

“You can talk!” said Master Fung.

“A talking gecko! That is a most magical creature,” said Omi, going over and pulling at Dojo’s face curiously.

Dojo smacked him away. “Yes, I can talk, I thought you already knew,” he said. “And I’m a dragon.”

“Why’re you talking?” asked Kimiko.

“Well I was going to say that it’s been nice checking up on you chefs—and busboys,” he added, nodding at Raimundo and Omi, “but I’d like to go back to my nap and dinner.”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” said Kimiko.

“I’ll have another dinner later,” said Dojo.

Master Fung sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I knew there was a reason for my gecko’s laziness,” he muttered, and brought Dojo and himself back to his manager’s office.

“I should get these food out to the customers, too,” said Raimundo, grabbing the cart that Kimiko had just finished filling up. “Jermaine’s still getting orders, but there’s this one couple and the lady—she has thecraziestred hair, and what up with her makeup?—is so picky about everything. She’s giving Jermaine a headache.”

“I will go rescue him!” said Omi, heading towards the door.

Clay stood in front of him and folded his arms, and Omi hopelessly hit at him as he tried to get through. “No you ain’t, partner,” he said, holding Omi by the scruff of his chef’s robes. “You’re going to stay here and finish the dishes.” He pointed to the new dirty cart.

“Aw,” said Omi. “See, this is why I wanted to do it as quickly as possible!”

“Yeah, and as thoroughly too.” Kimiko held up one of the newly washed dishes, which still had stains on the bottom.

Omi smiled sheepishly. “Oops.”

“We better get going then,” said Raimundo. Aiming himself at the door, he held onto his cart with one hand and pushed the other behind him, and shouting, “Wind!” Immediately he was propelled out and delivering food to the customers.

Clay went to help Kimiko with cooking. “Earth!” he said, and turned on four stoves at once, and tossed pans and pots on them.

Jermaine came in with the orders five minutes later and ten minutes after that, Raimundo was back with a stack of newly dirty dishes. Omi scrubbed them and washed them and dried them, not minding all the work, really. Eventually he’d go home with his coworkers—most of them—and home was upstairs, several bedrooms and a living room above the Xiaolin Restaurant.

They didn’t mind, though, because yeah, this was home.

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xiaolin restaurant

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu