7. The Secret

7 The Secret Chef Lillou burst into La Abuela's cottage, dropping his climbing harness and his scuba tank in the middle of the floor. He looked around the dim room. "Where is she, you little crêpe?" Stanley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. The chef walked over to the lumpy bed. "You cannot fool Chef Lillou," he said. "She is hiding beneath these covers!" He whisked the blankets off. Nothing.

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He held a finger in the air. "She is in the closet!" He bounded over to a wardrobe and threw it open. Empty. "She's gone," Stanley said. "I came all this way just like you, and she's not even here." He pointed to the scrape on his leg and frowned. "Now I can barely walk." "Do not look for sympathy from moi," Chef Lillou waved his hand in the air. "After that woman on the pyramid, I have more bruises than an overripe tomato." He scanned the room one more time.

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"I do not care," he said, sticking his nose in the air. "Outside is an entire field of La Abuela's secret ingredient. I have spent nine years seeking perfection, and now I have found it. I will be the greatest chef in history!" He marched into the field, leaving the door wide open. Stanley leaned forward to see. Chef Lillou bent down, plucked a green leaf, and held it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Chef," called Patrice the saucier, "do you smell what I smell?" The chef furrowed his brow. "This smells like common coriander." "No, not coriander," said Reynaldo. "It is cilantro, I think."

"Coriander and cilantro are the same thing, you fool!" Chef Lillou cried. "It is the most common spice in all of Mexican cooking! "This isn't the secret ingredient," he choked. And with that, the great Chef Lillou of Bourgogne burst into tears. "No, no, no, no, no," he whimpered. "No, no, no, no." "Do not cry, chef," Patrice said as he patted Lillou's shoulder. "We can still make a unique pesto." "I just want to go home to my restaurant," the chef blubbered. "That sounds like a good idea," said Reynaldo gently.