Plomeek For Two

Plomeek For Two

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com
RATING: PG
SPOILERs: None
ARCHIVE: Yes, unnecessary to ask.
DISCLAIMER: Enterprise is the property of Paramount. No profit is being made.
SUMMARY: Trip invites T'Pol to her first picnic.

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"Chef?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"There'll be four dining with me tonight. The three Anadalasiian dignitaries and Ensign Mayweather."

"Sub-commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker won't be joining you?"

"Not tonight. They've been obliged to make other plans. The dignitaries will not eat in the same room with a Vulcan. They consider *their* odor offensive." The amusement in Archer's tone was obvious. "Commander Tucker has taken it upon himself to make it up to her for their snub."

Ah, the reason for the Commander's request concerning the boxed meal prep, Chef thought.

"Very good, Captain. What are your visiting guests' preferences?"

Archer sighed, wishing he knew precisely. "Their communiqué didn't give me much to go on, Chef. It only said that the dignitaries are meat lovers. The information indicated that the kind of meat is not the concern, just that it be plentiful. I'll leave it solely up to you, but here's a tip...every meat dish you know...prepare it. The meatier, the better. Archer out."

Chef frowned, and considered the meats that were on hand. They were low since the crew loved meat too. Sighing, he realized that with the mandatory power restrictions, use of the protein resequencers wasn't an option for the time being. He'd have to make do with what was on hand.

His eyes fell upon the utilitarian food chest, a compact carryall, and remembered the Commander's instructions: 'Chef, I want the juiciest ribs ya got--plenty of 'em, grilled to perfection--and I want 'em smothered in enough barbeque sauce to drown Texas.' The Chief Engineer had requested for his companion, the alluring Sub-commander, the kinds of salads she would have for dinner. He also asked for a thermos filled with plomeek soup. He knew that was her favorite food.

On the heels of that request, he had also wanted three or more bottles of beer for himself.

This was a diplomatic emergency, Chef reasoned as he extracted the Chief Engineer's hefty order from the stainless metallic carrier. **I'll make it up to him once we're fully restocked.** Wasting no time, the master chef put the reclaimed ribs back in dyna-hermetic storage just in time to hear the cheerful whistling of the man who was going on a picnic.

"Hey there, Chef. What's cookin'?" The Southerner smiled broadly as his hand settled on the carrier's wide handle. All set to carry the repast off, he halted, taking in the Chef's quizzical look. "Anything I should know before high-tailing it planet-side?"

Sorely bemused, Chef replied, "No, Commander. I wish you a beautiful day, and a good time." **He's early!**

"Thanks, Chef." He raised the carrier to him in salute. "Catch you later..."

"Commander..."

"Yeah, Chef?" Trip stopped and turned around.

Sounding as though he had been caught off guard, Chef shrugged, and said, "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Okay, and thanks for all this."

As Chef watched the Commander leave, he considered that if the eager young man had not shown up so soon, there would have been time to compensate with some kind of substitution. He had lacked the heart to tell him about what had had to be done; the Chief Engineer looked so happy. **Maybe the Sub-commander will be willing to share her 'tasties' with her fellow picnicker.**

Hours later on Andalasiian...

Rubbing his hands together before digging into the carrier, Trip announced, "There's nothing better than eating mouth-watering food out in fresh air." Chuckling as he surveyed the grassy hillock he had selected for them, he continued, "Man, I'm as hungry as a bear straight out of hibernation after that long walk we took. "How about this air, huh? Is it fresh enough for you, Sub-commander?"

T'Pol thought it best to keep silent about the chill she felt since the air was nippy, without so much as a light breeze. Having scanned current weather conditions before their departure, she wore a jacket lined with Oba fleece. They were here for her sake and she appreciated the Commander's gesture.

The lush, picturesque countryside was dappled with resplendent hues of gold and red. The rolling hills were majestic, and appealed to her aesthetically. Their present location overlooked a breathtaking vista of the peaceful valley replete with echoes, which lay below.

"It is pleasant."

"Glad you think so," Trip acknowledged, not bothering to halt his determined searching in the carrier's slotted confines.

"What are you looking for?"

Her question did not slow his diligent rummaging down any. He was crankily muttering to himself as though she had asked herself the question. "That's funny..."

T'Pol came away from the overlook. Standing at his left shoulder that was level with her shin, she asked, "I am not aware of the presence of humor."

"That's 'cause I'm not jokin'. I can't find my grub."

"Define 'grub,' Mister Tucker, if you would."

Frowning up at her he replied, "My honey mesquite ribs I had done up special. Clear enough definition for you?" He peered into the carrier once more, seized a see-through container that held one of her vegan salads and grilled it with stormy eye. "Your eats are all here, but mind aren't." He then held up a transparent packet crammed with raw carrot sticks. After giving them a cross-eyed glance, he promptly tossed them back in. Sneering, he complained, "All I got are my beers." He held up one of the bottles and pressed it against his cheek. "Well, at least it's cold. I can't believe Chef let me down like this. I was countin' on him."

T'Pol seemed to recall a recent conversation with the captain concerning the visitors who refused to eat with her. "The visiting dignitaries share something in common with you."

"Yeah...and what would that be?" Trip had seated himself cross-legged style on the rumpled survival blanket.

"Their dietary requirements call for meat. Captain Archer stipulated that it is their only staple. It may not be beyond the scope of possibility that Chef, owing to Enterprise's current power contingencies, used your dietary request to compensate for the limited high protein-based menu. It is a logical scenario."

Trip's mouth dropped open. "He could have told me. I was standing right there in front of him, and he never mentioned anything like havin' to swipe *my* ribs to make those snobs happy--damn. And I had my mouth all set for 'em too. How fair is that, I ask ya?"

"All is fair in the protocol of successful first contacts." Stooping, T'Pol reclaimed the packet of carrots. She opened it and offered the disgruntled Chief Engineer a slender stick.

"Uh, no thanks. Tryin' to cut down. Think I'll just stick with this." He opened the beer and knocked back some of the full-bodied brew. "Ah--that hits the spot."

T'Pol looked on impassively as the Commander drank half the beer. She removed the lid and stopper from the thermos, then poured the clear, steaming broth that had minced mushrooms in it, into the thermos' clear lid. "There is plenty of soup. Would you care for some?"

Trip thought her offer over, not wanting any, but also not wanting to put a damper on their having a nice time together. "Sure, why the hell not? I've got this new rule..." T'Pol arched the eyebrow nearest to him. "What I've never had, or done, I try a grand total of once so at least I can say I have."

She handed the cup to him, and he angled it up to his lips. He blew on the liquid a little before doing any tasting. "You will find it soothing, with a pungency I thoroughly enjoy."

"Thanks for offering. I know how much you like this stuff." He didn't say a thing about how rancid her favorite food smelled; he'd never noticed before, whenever she'd had it for dinner in the captain's and his company. "No coaching, now..." All the while, he thought about how much he wanted his ribs. Once satisfied that he had cooled it off enough, he sipped haltingly.

T'Pol looked minimally expectant. "Well? Is it to your liking?"

Trip pursed his lips, then sampled a little more. He didn't think it was his imagination, feeling the tip of his nose curl. This stuff she generously called soup had a lot in common with paint thinner, with a lot more bite. He searched his mind for something diplomatic to say. He certainly wasn't going to spoil their first picnic together by telling her how nauseating he thought her favorite taste treat was.

"It needs somethin'..."

"What is deficient about it?"

"Can't quite place it." Scrunching up his face for only a moment, he sighed, thinking until...his eyes widened as the germ of a great idea sprouted. "I know. Just the thing." And he agreed hands down with the old adage, 'Necessity is the mother of invention.'

T'Pol, having been amazed by the Commanders eyes, noticed that they had slight flecks of amber in them, reflective of the incandescence of the sunset as they had widened. She had never considered their aesthetic appeal before, but she was drawn to them now. She was startled, in spite of her discipline when she saw what he had just done. "You cannot possibly think that--"

He spilled another shot of beer into the lid. "Here's mud in your eye--bottom's up." He slurped the soup down. Once finished, he was all smiles. Eyeing the thermos, he coaxed, "Hit me again, darlin'. Your stuff's not half bad doctored with my special ingredient. The beer lends a peppy little kick. You should give it a try."

"I will not."

"Suit yourself." He clinked the nearly drained cup with the thermos. "You stick with the virgin version; I'll take it my way." He breathed deeply, his chest fully expanded. "Like I said before...there's nothin' like eating food outdoors."

Stiffly, T'Pol retorted, "And does that hold true for drinking, Commander?"

"Hell no. Drinkin's good any ol' time." Chuckling, he invited, "I tried yours, now you try mine." He offered her his bottle, thought better of it, and opened a fresh one to keep things sanitary. "For me?"

"I do not imbibe alcoholic beverages."

"Aw, come on--we're off duty, and I'm asking nice. I'm not trying to get you drunk if that's--"

"That is not a concern. Vulcans are capable of tolerating beverages of high alcoholic content."

"Then you're home free. Beer's alcoholic content is tame; it's practically zilch. Hops, the dried ripe flowers of the plant is used to give it its bitter taste; man, I'm crazy about beer's taste. G'head. You might really go for it."

Giving herself a moment to decide, T'Pol hesitantly fitted the bottle into her hand under his watchful eyes. His expectations were running high, as hers had when she'd waited for his verdict about her soup. Following her third sampling, he smiled, knowing that the beer was a hit with her.

"Its flavor bears a faint semblance to 'tu'lakai.'"

"Great. What's that?"

"A Vulcan...your equivalent would be a sauce, usually served over muvv' opni."

"So you like it."

Holding Trip's gaze a moment longer than she normally would, T'Pol drank a little more beer. She chose to ignore the smugness she saw in his eyes; although, he didn't seem as smug for once. "It is acceptable." She finished her brew, and shied away from over analyzing the moment. She challenged herself to experience it and not pass judgment.

Snickering, the Commander poured the remainder of his beer into the thermos after T'Pol gave him permission to. Casting another thoughtful look her way, he inquired, "Can I have one of your salads?"

"Certainly, Mister Tucker, by all means. I only require one."

==**==**==
END

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Three people have made comments

I liked this very much. Poor old Trip having to forgo his tasty ribs in the cause of diplomacy. I did chuckle over the exchange with T'Pol. Very nicely done! Thank you, Ali D :~)

*snicker* good story. got me wanting ribs too.

Sue here: Thanks for the great feedback, guys. It's always appreciated. Trip an' T'Pol!