Posted by Cadet P’Mala Dawes (Doctor) in Mess Kitchen - Cadet Dawes Is Hungry on USS Challenger
Though she was thankful that the NC let her into the mess kitchen, P’Mala Dawes felt somewhat out of place in the space. It was pin-clean and gleaming stainless, everything in its place as though it was rarely used. She brushed one hand through her short hair. Hopefully nobody would mind.

P’Mala laid the brown paper bag she’d brought on one spotless surface. She’d stowed the bag with her personal items, and was surprised it hadn’t been jostled into mush in the cargo bay–the bag contained several plomeek. She quickly located a too-big stockpot, a cutting board, and a knife, and began chopping the flowering Vulcan plant into chunks.

Though most Starfleet ship replicators carried a passable plomeek soup, P’Mala preferred the taste of grown-in-the-ground vegetables to replicated ones, though, she supposed, atom for atom, they were the same. She poured enough water in the pot to cover the plomeek and began to root around for an onion. A leek. A shallot? A human ship must have an allium somewhere…

Aha! She found a little bin meant for storing root vegetables underneath one of the counters. A couple loose beets, a load of Peruvian, Idaho, and Andorian potatoes, some withered-looking gourd… and a blessed bulb of garlic.

She threw the bulb, skin and all, into the pot. By now, the mixture was barely simmering, just as it should be. P’Mala stirred it, briefly watched the plomeek swirl around the pan, becoming broth.

Cadet P’Mala Dawes

While the broth simmered in its stockpot, P’Mala read and responded to some messages on her PADD: one from an old colleague at the hospital she’d briefly worked at in Kentucky and a longer update from her mother.

P’Mala’s parents were currently interviewing a sect of Vulcan apostates who worshipped an ancient water God in a compound on the shores of Lake Yuron–the subject of their next book. She let them know that she was settling in somewhat–that she’d send another message soon.

By this point, the broth was almost done. The plomeek broth had a delicate, almost floral smell. She decided to strain the garlic bulb and chopped plomeek, and began looking for a colander.

Cadet P’Mala Dawes