fandomhighdorms | Second Floor Common Room, Wednesday Afternoon

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Second Floor Common Room, Wednesday Afternoon

Gert's hands were washed. Her hair was tied back. There was a steady stream of Black Friday sale ads playing in the background, courtesy of a radio that wouldn't turn off. (They still made radios?) And Gert was standing at the kitchen counter with a printed-out recipe and all the ingredients she needed for potato pancakes, plus a few extra spices and definitely a few extra potatoes.

"So, here's my question," she said, swiveling around to face Evan. "Do you have any experience chopping onions? I have no idea how brutal this is gonna be."

[[open common room for thanksgiving cooking or watching everyone else cook! all are welcome!]]

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Evan had his cranberry sauce ingredients on standby. First thing was first, after all. They were going to figure out Gert's latkes today if it killed them.

"I'm kind of made for cutting onions," he announced, and then grinned a little. "They're pretty brutal if you stay close to them, but I don't have to."

The joys of shapeshifting noodly arms!

"That might be the most useful power I've heard of yet," Gert decided. "Which raises the question of why of the two of us, I'm the one working at a food place."

She shook her head. "The recipe calls for four tablespoons," she said, squinting, "so I'm guessing that's... one onion?"

Maybe?

"... Who measures onions in tablespoons?" Even Evan was a little confused by that one. But he shrugged and reached for one of the onions, and then set it down on the cutting board. "I mean, I guess I can just start cutting until four tablespoons are full up. How finely do they need to be chopped, does it say?"

She scanned the page, and, finding nothing, flipped it over as though the answer might be on the back. No such luck. "Nope," she said. "Uh, use your judgment?"

She looked apologetic about how helpful that wasn't, at least.

"Anything you want me to do for the cranberry sauce while you're working on that?" Because teamwork!

"If you can wash the cranberries, that would be great," Evan decided, glancing back at the ingredients he had set out. "And then I'm going to want to boil the sugar water before adding them to it. Um... should I just stick with nutmeg and cinnamon for spices, or should we add some orange zest, too? Because that'll need to be grated."

As he talked, he took a few steps back, stretching his arms long enough to reach the counter as he cut the ends off (yes, with his hand shifted into a sharp edge) and then began to peel the onion.

Gert had to stare at him for a minute. "Yeah, I think rumors of my cooking expertise may have been exaggerated just a touch," she decided. "Any chance you were on that Masterchef Junior show before you came here? Because the comparative effects of nutmeg and cinnamon and orange zest on cranberry sauce are way over my head, sorry to say. This is basically the first time I'm actually cooking something that didn't just need to be boiled and drained."

Edited 2013-11-27 15:51 (UTC)

"No, I'd just... um... pay attention a lot when Ma was... I mean, you know," Evan replied, chopping merrily away. "Nutmeg and cinnamon goes in pretty much anything sweet this time of year, doesn't it? Even coffee."

Evan spent enough time at the Perk to know that much, at least.

"Maybe I'll worry about the orange zest myself after I'm done chopping the onions."

"No idea," Gert said, shaking her head. "Never been a coffee drinker. Or a seasonal spirit-haver. But I know cinnamon tastes good, so... go for it, I guess?"

She carried the cranberries over to the sink to wash them, adding over her shoulder, "I mean, don't get me wrong. It's a good thing one of us knows what they're doing."

"Not necessarily," Evan replied, taking another step back as his eyes started to water, and dicing the onions a little more finely still. "I'm just going by the recipe now, you know? These might not be anything like I remember them being at all. But I've got to find out, you know? It's... kind of a relief when things in real life turn out the way I expect them to."

"I guess the flip side is that they don't always," Gert said as she turned on the sink, one hand holding down the cranberries at the bottom of the bowl as the water ran. Behold the joys of talking to a major pessimist, Evan. "Are you going to be okay if this culinary experiment winds up being a disaster?"

"I... I think I will," Evan decided, glancing up from his chopping and letting his hands shift back to normal. "I've had time to wrap my head around the fact that nothing's really... right. This wouldn't really be the first disappointment since."

And it most definitely wouldn't be the last, either.

"That's good." She nodded. "Not about the prior disappointments, but you know. I'm not sure how great mine are gonna come out either, but at least I'm not that attached to this."

Keep telling yourself that, Gert.

"I guess we can't really afford to be, huh?" Evan chewed his lip, and then made a reach for a measuring spoon. "But we'll try our best, at least. So long as we don't stray too far from the recipes, I don't think we'll end up too surprised. It's just chemistry, right?"

"My worst subject," Gert muttered. "This'll be good."

She lightly patted the cranberries dry with a folded-up paper towel, then set the bowl to the side. "All ready for you, Chef Sabahnur."

"Perfect," Evan replied, smiling at the cranberries, and then at Gert, before offering the diced and measured onion her way. "And your onions are ready, too! Or, um, they've been cut up, at least. I made them really fine, because pancakes are pretty flat and that just seemed to make more sense."

Chemistry was possibly slightly easier for him to grasp than kitchen prep. Once he was applying heat to things, he'd do just fine.

"Thanks," Gert said, mildly amused by his enthusiasm. She surveyed what she had so far, ticking things off on her fingers. "Okay, got the onions, got the potatoes, got the flour... now all I need is to crack an egg and then toss this around in a pan for a few minutes and hope nothing catches fire. Yay."

She paused. "There's at least a chance, given what we know about Fandom, that this kitchen is fireproof, right?"

"If it's not, I think there's an extinguisher around the corner," Evan offered thoughtfully. "And that's only if we let the fire get away from us. And... that's only if we manage to light a fire."

A beat.

"Please don't light a fire?"

"I smell free food," Cade said hopefully. "Right?"

"Right and wrong," Gert said. "It's tomorrow's free food. But you can taste-test if you're willing to come up with constructive comments."

"So 'needs more salt' yes, 'tastes like ass' no?" Cade ventured.

"Maybe Evan will be cool with 'tastes like ass' in relation to his cranberry sauce, but for the potato things, definitely not," Gert confirmed.

She scooped a couple of very slightly charred, but perfectly edible potato pancakes onto a plate and passed it to Cade. "Bon appetit. I hope."

"Make them less black," Cade offered immediately before digging in.

"Thanks," Gert said, very dryly. "The burning them was definitely an intentional presentation choice."

"Because the Pilgrims wore black or something?" Cade teased.

"And carried the black plague," Gert volunteered. And then, "Look at you, all up on Earth history. Did you accidentally catch a glimpse of a textbook?"

"I caught that cartoon with the dog that serves all of the bald kids' ungrateful friends toast," Cade said.

"It's good that you got your information from a reliable source," Gert said, nodding.

"Well, the dog didn't talk or anything," Cade said, "because that would be stupid."

"You know there's a horse on this island who teaches a class, right?" Gert checked. "You have interesting standards for what you'll believe."

Edited 2013-11-27 20:17 (UTC)

Cade shrugged. "Back home we call talking dogs Bothans and they lie a lot."

"Okaaaay." Gert was definitely going to make use of that information somehow. "Well, here we put them in cartoons as a widely recognized symbol for something cute that can't be killed off without people sending angry letters to the writers."

She shrugged, then clarified, "That's an actual news item today, not a random example."

Cade blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Some talking cartoon dog was killed off and there's a petition with twenty thousand signatures to undo it." Democracy in action!

Edited 2013-11-27 21:07 (UTC)

"...that's stupid," Cade said. "Why would they care what they think?"

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Second Floor Common Room, Wednesday Afternoon

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