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A tale about a messy kitchen

This is a completely made-up tale I initially wrote for a few of my pals. Hope you enjoy it.

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom called Patchworkia. Let’s talk about how Patchworkia ran its royal kitchen.

Duplication without coordination #

In the royal kitchen, three chefs might chop the same onion in three different rooms. One used a rusty knife, another had a sharp one but no light, and the third had music but no onions. That’s how internal systems worked: fragmented, redundant, and disconnected.

Ingredients mislabeled, misplaced, or missing #

Cupboards held the same spices under different names. Salt was “seasoning” in one place, “white powder” in another, and “???” somewhere else. Some ingredients had no label at all. Rumors spread about a box of labelling stickers but no one had ever seen it.

No clear ownership #

Some tools dated back to recipes written in Latin. Others were new, but incompatible. No one knew if the kitchen had one head chef, or seven. One app claimed a dish was ready, another said it never left the oven. Notes didn’t exist. Accountability disappeared.

Lies and court politics #

The “smart oven” reported every soufflé had been served, though half were raw. Some recipes took three winters to prepare (only to be forgotten on a dusty shelf before anyone ever tasted them). Decisions on what to cook were driven not by diners but by court politics. If Lord Manuka liked sweet, everything was sweet, regardless of what citizens wanted or tolerated.

Trust collapse #

Then came a new wave of chefs. Some were fired before they’d even sharpened their knives. Some burned out after just a few shifts. And the ones who stayed? Many stayed only for the coin. The inns outside the royal palace paid less, so they endured the chaos, even if their hearts were no longer in the craft.

Cooks tiptoed around the chaos. Some ignored systems and brought their own forks. Others gave up and ordered takeout. Without clarity, anxiety grew. The system wasn’t malicious, but unmanaged complexity turned it into a forest: ivy over ovens, mushrooms in cracks. A few clever raccoons figured out how to survive. Multiple raccoons even tried to serve the dishes themselves, pretending to be cooks. Diners couldn’t always tell the difference.

What the cooks needed #

Healthy ecosystems depend on balance and clarity, meaning light, water, food chains. Healthy kitchens depend on clarity of flavor, balance, and trust in the recipe. Patchworkia had none of that. What was needed?

The cooks wanted to serve beautiful meals. The system didn’t let them.

Moral of the story #

A healthy system is not built on secret sauces, guesswork, and royal whims. It’s a well-lit, open kitchen where people know what they’re making, where to find ingredients, and how to listen to the diners. And just as important, the meals need to be priced reasonably. Because even the best recipe fails if citizens can’t afford to taste it.

Let’s build that kitchen.

P.S. There was, in fact, one sous-chef who stood apart. He wasn’t universally loved. His words were sharp, his tone too direct for many. At first, people rolled their eyes or bristled at his challenges. But he was clever, tireless, and far more competent than most. Where others gave up, he didn’t. Over time, cooks began to see that beneath his bluntness was something rare: someone who cared enough to fix the mess. Slowly but surely, he helped build a real kitchen table. A common place where everyone could finally chop their ingredients side by side.