The moment her teeth sank into the meat my heart stopped. 

On the outside the chicken was light brown and looked like it was covered in something. That something was crunchy and just a bit spicy, but the meat under it was sweet and tender. It wasn't nearly as good as the ones you could get in a bucket for $3, but for better of for worse, mine wasn't the opinion that mattered. 

While the princess was chewing her chicken leg, I found myself staring at her without blinking. For a while she seemed like she might have been enjoying the food, but then constrained herself.

"It is..." she began. "Not very good."

My heart sank. I've prepared for that to happen and yet I was still caught off guard once it did. 

"No," I've heard a voice rung out. My voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Um..."

To my massive terror, just for a moment I've lost control and said something I probably shouldn't have.

"No, I mean, it's not very good," I tried to look for the right words, but they were not coming. "You are completely right."

What was I saying?! Did I secretly have a death wish or something? Even though it felt like half a year, it was less than a day since I was appointed a head chef. What was worse, it felt like I've dedicated half of my life to becoming one. Of course that wasn't true. But failing just now, even though I most definitely deserved it, felt horrible. There was still something to do here.

"Please," I offered a makeshift saucer we've prepared before hand. "Try it with the sauce."

I saw confusion flash in her eyes, so I added:

"It's a dipping sauce."

"A dipping sauce?"

"Yes. It means that you don't put it on the chicken, but dip the chicken itself into it, instead."

An interest appeared on her face and she willingly dipped the chicken in without arguing. It was quite astonishing, to be honest. When I previously instructed her on proper etiquette on eating deep fried chicken, she didn't question it even once. Even though her first instinct was to use a fork and a knife, she immediately agreed on a least princess-like eating method without even acknowledging my existence. Too worked up, too much absorbed in the food in front of her, she did not care anymore. 

"Sir Cuisiner, you are full of mysteries."

"I am, Your Highness?"

"Of course. Say, what would you do, if I were to tell you this was not to my liking, either?" I just stood there, with a dumb look on my face. Since I've failed to produce an answer, she went on. "What else do you have up your sleeve, I wonder. Would you offer me something again that should make the chicken better? Or a new dish, perhaps? Maybe if I were to complain enough, you would bring the potatoes that I had asked for, in the first place?"

"You don't like the chicken, Your Highness."

For the tinniest of moments a small smile flashed on her face, but she remained silent, looking at me, challenging me with her eyes. I was baffled. I had no idea what was going on, but it seemed there was only one thing for me to do. 

"Then," I pushed another plate towards her. "Potatoes."