Iron Ren
Disclaimer: Ray, Fraser, Frannie, Thatcher, and Turnbull belong to Alliance and the Pauls.  Iron Chef belongs to Fuji International TV.  Kaga, Sakai, Morimoto, Kinichi, Fukui, Hattori, and Ota all belong to themselves.
Notes: written for the flashfiction Recipe challenge.


Ren blinked as the spotlight hit him.  He looked around at the cheering crowd and all the shiny surfaces.  At the other end of the room, a man in a sparkling cape that Liberace would have been proud of was holding out his hand.  Ren stepped forward until he reached the center of the room. It was a kitchen, he realized.

“Oh! Oh! I see!” he said.

It was Kitchen Stadium.  He was the challenger and now it was time to pick the Iron Chef.  The lights dimmed as the chefs rose from up underneath the stage in front of their life-sized portraits. Renfield bit his lip and looked at the men.  Who would he choose?

Morimoto was too intimidating with his earring and smug look.  Kinichi, well to be quite honest, Ren had never done well with Chinese cuisine.  That left Sakai, and French food was Ren’s best area.

“Iron Chef French!” Ren said loudly and the crowd grew excited.

Fukui Kenji spoke, “The young challenger from Canada has spoken and he’s chosen Iron Chef French, Hiroyuki Sakai.  We’ll see if the Canadian ties to France are strong enough to overcome Sakai’s skill.”

Ren stood waiting across from Sakai as Kaga-san spoke.  He couldn’t understand a word of course, but that did not stop him from staring in awe.  He wasn’t quite sure why he could understand Fukui, Hattori, and Ota, but that was something to worry about later.  He had to concentrate on the upcoming battle.  The covered table rose as Kaga-san got excited.  He whipped back the covering to reveal… caribou meat.  Sakai frowned.  Ren giggled.  Where was Fraser when he needed him?  That man knew more uses for caribou than the Inuit.  (This in itself wasn’t too difficult because Ren was sure they’d never thought to use a frozen one as a bullet proof vest.)

He and Sakai-san quickly made their way to the front to gather the theme ingredient.  While they did this, he could hear Hattori and Fukui talking with the guests.  The voices were very familiar.

“While the chefs prepare I’d like to take a moment to introduce our guests.  A detective with the Chicago Police Department in the United States, I’d like to introduce Ray Vecchio.”

“Uh, hi.”

“Beside the detective is his lovely sister Francesca Vecchio.”

“Hello!” she said excitedly and Ren could just picture her mugging for the camera.

“And next to Ms. Vecchio is the esteemed Prime Minister of Canada…”

Ren twitched violently and told himself to ignore the commentator’s box.  If he didn’t, he’d likely end up cooking himself.

The match had begun.  Ren bustled around the kitchen chopping and stirring.  He didn’t have much time to think about what was happening just that he had to get it done.  Occasionally he’d hear voices in the background.

“Fukui-san!”

“Yes, Ota?”

“It appears that the challenger is using pineapple in that sauce!”

“Hm, that looks interesting.”

Hattori said, “Yes, it would appear that he’s doing a Hawaiian marinade for the caribou.  I’m curious about the flavor of that.”

Ray whined, “Just when I thought I wouldn’t have to hear about caribou… Frase is behind this, I just know it.”

“Go Rennie!” Frannie bellowed much too loudly.

“Oh!” Fukui broke in, “It looks like the challenger has turned on the rice cooker!”

“Fukui-san?”

“Go ahead, Ota.”

“The challenger has indeed turned on the rice cooker!  When I asked him what he had planned, he only said that he wished the Consulate had one of the cookers!  He said it was cool!  Back to you, Fukui-san!”

“Thank you, Ota.  Well looks like the challenger is enjoying cooking here at the Kitchen Stadium.”

“Yes, we’ll see how he incorporates the rice into his dishes,” Hattori replied.

Ren worked feverishly.  The stadium was very hot from the studio lights and all the cooking.  He wished he hadn’t worn his uniform.  His head was swimming and he fumbled a bit with his hands.  A booming voice announced the time left.  Ren hustled to get finished.

Suddenly, Sakai was standing in his way.  Ren looked around frantically.  The lights around the stadium had dimmed.  Only the kitchen was illuminated.  Sakai stepped forward and Ren stumbled back.  When he turned to look up in the commentator’s box to see if Ray could help him, he came face-to-face with Morimoto.  Ren yelped and backpedaled.  He was pinned in by the kitchen’s metal counters and the two chefs.  On the other side of one counter, Kinichi stood holding his meat cleaver menacingly.  Kaga-san was spotlighted above them all.  He held a samurai sword in his hands.  Ren looked at each man in turn ending with Morimoto.

“You have disgraced us by coming here.  You should die!” the Silver Chef said.

Ren blinked at the man’s lips.  He saw them move, but the words he heard were slightly delayed.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, or tried too.  Like Morimoto, for some reason he didn’t hear what he said until after he’d actually spoken.

“Did you think you could compete with me?” Sakai rumbled.

Ren raised one eyebrow and the men fell back dramatically as if they had been struck.  For no reason whatsoever white doves flew behind him in slow motion.  Curiously, Ren lowered his eyebrow and raised the other one.  A woman in a geisha outfit appeared out of nowhere carrying a tea tray.  The moment his eyebrow reached its peak she dropped the tray and fainted dead away.

Frannie appeared out of the gloom in a kimono with her hair pulled up.  She rushed past Sakai and latched herself to Ren’s arm.

“No!” she said, again in a bad dub, “do not fight them noble warrior!  They will kill you and I will never see my family again!”

“Fear not dear sister! I will fight with him!” Ray sort-of-said stepping up behind Morimoto.

The Iron Chef quickly moved back in defense.  The Detective was dressed in a dark blue kimono that looked quite fetching on him.  A samurai sword was slipped into sash belt at his waist.

“Huh?” Ren asked and was surprised that the word came out before he’d spoken this time.

“You are not my brother!  You are an impostor, blond gaijin!  You do not even look Japanese!” Frannie screamed.

Ray looked to the floor in dismay.  Then he looked up at Ren and Frannie with tear filled eyes and a clenched fist.

“It is true!  I have disgraced the Vecchio name by having sexual relations with your brother’s Canadian partner!  I must now commit seppuku!”

Ren watched in horror as Ray fell to his knees and pulled his samurai sword from its scabbard.  At that moment, the Iron Chefs attacked.  Ren pushed Frannie aside and grabbed the closest weapon, a long butcher’s knife.  He brandished it at Sakai because Kinichi and Morimoto had to climb over the counter and Ray respectively.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Prime Minister leap out and deck Kaga-san.  Ren gave a nasty grin and lunged at Sakai.  Suddenly, a shrill voice cut through the darkness.

“Constable!  Just what do you think you are doing?”

Ren looked around the brightly lit Consulate kitchen.  He looked up at Inspector Thatcher who was staring at him with her arms crossed.  Then, he looked down at the butcher’s knife he had pointed at her.  Renfield quickly stood at attention and saluted whacking himself in the eyebrow with the blunt side of the knife.

“Give me that before you put your eye out,” Thatcher snarled and grabbed the knife out of his hand.

Ren looked at the floor and blushed.

“I sent you in here to make sandwiches for Constable Fraser and I half an hour ago.  What on earth have you been doing?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Get to work and quit goofing around.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thatcher sighed and walked off mumbling something about insane asylums.  Renfield looked at the counter to see how much of lunch he had started before getting distracted.  He also made a mental note to buy Ray a kimono.  After all, it had looked quite good on him.


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