Mary's story.

Kudos to Mary Rice, author of a fantasy story based around the food-world of Fantasty. Here's an excerpt:

The land of Fantasty is a wonder, a birthday cake-shaped planet whirling deliciously in the middle of space. This cake, baked golden by time long, long ago, is divided into three layer-realms, each distinct and separated by a layer of frosting. Fantasty itself thrives on the topmost layer, a confection of a realm, with mountains of ice cream, rivers of milk and maple syrup, jungles of twisted spaghetti, and wide open deserts of soft white flour, light as a dream. Far below it, on the bottommost layer, lies the wretched realm of Fanasty, cursed with artificial flavoring, food coloring, and high-fructose corn syrup. Between these two layers, as different as night and day, lie the Doldrums, the Blandlands, a wasteland of stale water crackers, surrounded by frosting swamps on its edges.

Three birthday candles stand tall and proud on this marvel of a planet, thrusting up over Fantasty and giving sailors on the Fruit Punch Sea a beacon to guide them in their travels. The Fasntastians, be they Veggitopians, Sugarlandians, or Karbs, pride themselves on their exceptional culinary skills, and the highest honor a young Fantastian can hope for is to become a high chef, master of food and its preparation. And thus our story begins.

* * * *

"Filth," said Elias, knocking the bowl of mushroom pate aside. He had been working on it for hours now, and still he could not find the correct flavor he desired. He was about to dump the grey-brown paste into the bin under the sink when a voice stilled his hand.
"Why so agitated, Elias? You have an excellent start there."
Elias turned to meet the gaze of Highchef Fiorenzo, who was standing there, short and squat in his bright white chef's hat.
"Uncle Fio, I cannot create the flavor I seek. It is flat and ordinary." Elias ran his hands through his thick head of chestnut hair in frustration.
"Ahhh," said the chef wisely, "Look to your herbs and spices, my boy! There must be something here to give your dish the pizzazz you so desire. Go on, experiment! You are more talented than you realize."
Fiorenzo watched his foster child walk hopefully to the spice rack, where he perused the rows of tiny glass bottles, sniffing the fragrances. Sixteen years had passed since Fio had found the boy as an abandoned infant, deep in the Enchanted Broccoli Forest in Fiberland. He had been on an expedition for wild mushrooms at the time, and had heard the baby's cries echo through the forest. He had assumed the child had come from the nearby village of Leef, on the banks of the Water River. Fio looked musingly at the pile of mushroom beside Elias' cooking station, remembering. Though the chef had looked far and wide for the boys' parents, no one had ever come forward to claim the lost child.
Fio had brought the boy back to Veggitopia, where he ran the most renowned culinary institute in Fantasty: the School of the Chefs. The school sat on one of the farthest corners of Fiberland, looking out over Nutshell Bay. There, Fio had begun the boys' training when he reached the age of six. He had shown remarkable skill from the start, and Fiorenzo knew he would be great: he could feel it. He could see it in the way Elias handled the food, how he gave loving attention to every element, how he looked for ways to make things better than they already were. Elias had completed his tenth year of training only last month, an important milestone, for this was the age that the budding chef received his or her Magic Utensil, a cooking utensil suited to serve that chef's needs and create the most glorious food when it was used. Elias had received the Golden Whisk, and he treasured it greatly. He used it wisely and carefully, for though a chef has a Magic Utensil, true skill will prevail over the stove. And Elias had this true skill. He was the top of his class by far, and knew as much or more than some of those in the highest form. Yet Fiorenzo felt it was prudent to let the Elias remain in his own age class, where he would hopefully make friends with people his own age.
Chef Fiorenzo sometimes worried that Elias was not becoming socialized as he ought to be. He was a sullen boy, who could usually be found taking long walks alone. Fio had once asked Elias if he felt lonely, and he had replied with a shrug, "I dunno, Uncle Fio, I never really thought about it." Then he had switched the discussion abruptly to the souffle he was making. He was caught up in his craft, and often became angry with himself when he made an error. Fio knew the boy had talent, but Elias seemed under-confident and modest to the extreme. For a lad who had grown up in the kitchen, he was awfully unsure of his skills.
The cooking classes offered at the school were various and consumed nearly all of Elias's time. He was currently studying with the Chef of Sauces, the Chef of the Knives, the Chef of Herbs, the Chef of Baking, and many others besides. In the evenings Elias and Fiorenzo would retreat to the school's highest tower where they lived, and Fio would tell Elias of his travels through distant lands. He told him of the steep, jagged peaks of the Tortilla Chip Moutains that divided Fiberland, and the Flour Desert beyond that. He told him of the sweet, flat expanses of the Pancake Plains, where the ground is soft and golden and steams under one's feet. He told him of the sheer, icy blocks that made up the Popsicle Glaciers in Sugarland, and the Hot Fudge Springs that bubbled up from under the surface. One day, Fio promised, he would take Elias on an expedition through the rich lands of Fiberland, Dairyland, the Carbohydrate Kingdom, and Sugarland, across the red Fruit Punch Sea. Elias was most eager to go. "When you are finished with your training and are a true High Chef, you will see all of this delicious land," Fio said time and time again, when Elias pressed him. "I promise, one way or another, you will."