Characters: Marina and Bobby Setting: Friday after classes in the student kitchen Rating: Probably worksafe Summary: Bobby tries to teach Marina how to cook. She's not very good at it.
The kitchen was unbelievably clean considering that it was used primarily by students. The cooking club held their meetings here every week. Marina often wondered what they did during their meetings. Was it like little old ladies swapping cookies? Did they exchange recipe cards?
She never bothered to go to a meeting because, frankly she couldn't cook.
Bobby kept encouraging her to try though. She finally let him persuade her into cooking lessons. She had some spare time this afternoon before having to get ready to cheer for the match between House Beau and Rienzi. It was always kind of amusing to be cheering against her brother's team.
She pushed that out of her head and smoothed the apron she borrowed from the kitchen closet. "It's about time, Bobby," she grinned as he came in. "I thought you'd forgotten about our little rendezvous!"
"And stand you up? I am not that kind of boy." Bobby put his hands on his hips and made a girlish bitchface at her, as he had seen Sunny do to Stas on multiple occasions. He had a beat up book tucked under his arm. "I was looking for this," he said, proudly presenting it to her. "My first cookbook; it's got all the easy ones in it."
He hadn't believed Sam when he'd told him that his sister was a terrible cook. But five minutes in the kitchen with her before the new year's party and he saw exactly how bad she was. Too much salt and not enough sugar, one ruined batch of shortbread later and he had made her promise to let him teach her something. At least the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon.
With that look on his face she wasn't sure she was any kind of boy. She giggled at him and hopped off the counter she was sitting on. "Oooo. It looks awesome." She reached out to take the book and waited while Bobby decided whether or not he could trust her with it.
"I dunno. Let's make something delicious. Something snacky!" She didn't know what sort of things they had in the kitchen to cook with, or what recipes he might have in his book.
"Breakfast cupcakes are a winner. Or spicy egg rolls! They're kinda just deep fried mini enchiladas." He turned the book on it's side and started flipping through it, looking for a particular picture he'd cut out of one of his mom's magazines and stuck in there.
"Jalapeño Pumpkin Pie?" He found the picture, and turned the book around to show Marina. "We can make snack size ones if we use a muffin tray?"
His favourite! They weren't spicy, but they had bacon and that was just as good. "Okay so they're like french toast, but cupcakes, and maple syrup frosting with candied bacon on top." He was getting hungry just thinking about it.
"Here," he flipped to the back of the book, having nearly memorized where all the recipes fell in it. "We need butter, sugar, flour..." He trailed off and started hunting in the industrial fridge. "Are there eggs in the basket?"
It sounded good even if it wasn't breakfast time. "You're going to own your own restaurant someday," she asserted. She made herself busy puttering about the kitchen gathering up ingredients and depositing them on the counter.
She peered in the basket and found a few eggs. "They're brown. Is that okay?" She really had no idea; she only ever ate the end product of eggs.
"I watched Ratatouille, and decided that if I'm a cartoon character I am that rat." He poked his head out of the fridge and grinned at Marina. "Once I grow whiskers, I'm all good. Brown's good." He grabbed a pitcher of milk.
"We should make chocolate milkshakes to go with them. Or iced coffee!" Make a proper breakfast of it.
"I saw that one too. I'm Linguini. Completely hopeless." She sighed dramatically. Then stepped over to him and brushed her finger along his upper lip. "Thought you were getting whiskers," she teased with a bright giggle.
"Brown is good! she repeated and picked out a few brown eggs to set on the counter. "Chocolate coffee milkshakes!" she demanded. "Need my pep for the game tonight! Are you coming to watch us cheer, or what?"
He almost dropped the milk when she touched his face, and grabbed it tight to his chest, flustered. "Well, yeah, but..." He blinked like deer in headlights. "I said. I have to cheer for Sam... 's cheering."
Great. At least he'd pre-squished the butter? "Can you put the oven on 375?"
She didn't think he'd talk about eating anything off her. "Bobby we are beyond absurd." She giggled again now that she'd had a proper look at him covered in flour. "Might need a shower before you do anything else," she teased.
Slipping down from the stool she crossed the room back to the mixer and checked the ingredients. "I think this is all set," she said with a little grin in his direction. She turned off the power and waited for his next instructions.
Bobby shook his head like a wet dog, puffing flour out everywhere. "I can't decide if I should try dust it off first. If it gets wet it'll be all goopy and gross. I don't wanna have to scrape myself off in the shower." He pouted. Flour was such a pain in the ass when it got in your hair. Not as bad as cornflour, he supposed, but still irritating.
"Okay." He looked over the recipe book again, pulling the bowl with the egg yolks closer. "Milk and vanilla in here, beat until mixed." He pulled the bowl with the egg whites out from the mixer and set it aside. "Then when that's done, we mix it into the flour bowl."
"You can try doing it all in the one bowl. Usually it's better to mix the wet stuff and the dry stuff separately though, or it doesn't set right." He eyed off the egg whites. "And no one knows if they're wet or dry so they get their own bowl. I think."
They started mixing the wets and drys together in the mixer stand. Bobby didn't think it was necessary to change the beaters; the egg white mix was going in there anyway. When it was time, he handed her a spatula. "You want to fold it in?"
"We are going to have a mound of dishes," she said. She didn't know a charm for cleaning dishes either. Her parents insisted that some things should be done by hand, no magic, just to learn the value of work.
She goggled her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue and while making a goofy arrangement of her lips. "And just how does one fold eggs?"
"Carefully," he sassed back, snatching the spatula away from her and pulling a face like hers. "Just think, we haven't even messed up bowls for the frosting yet."
He began to fold in the egg whites. "See, it's folding because you kind of... put the mix on top of itself. Not stirring. Try it." The spatula went back to her as he dumped a pile of sugar into yet another bowl.
She started with a hybrid of stirring and folded as she tried to figure it out. "I don't get it," she commented as she finally managed to fold it without stirring. "What's the difference?"
Bobby grinned at the sugar at her question. "I don't get it either. But it makes a difference." He didn't know how to explain it, exactly. It just made the texture of the finished product better. Less rubbery.
"Okay, let's get that into the muffin tin, and then we'll do the frosting!" The best part though, came after the cupcakes were out of the oven.
"Ooo. We're not waiting?" She cocked her head to the side. "Let's make shakes now!" She emphasized this with a shake of her booty and happy bounce in her shoulders.
Then he'd distracted her again. "CHAMPIONS!" she bellowed with a fist thrown in the air. "That's us!"
"I can see why you're a cheerleader," he laughed. Even cooking was a cheerable sport now!
Some milk, chocolate sauce and coffee later, they were sitting on the countertop drinking shakes. Unlike Marina, Bobby had learned a dishwashing spell, and had set them washing themselves on the other side of the kitchen while they waited for the bacon to finish.
"Do you get scared they won't catch you when they throw you in the air sometimes?"
"I have too much extra spirit. If I didn't channel it I'd overflow." That and she loved gymnastics. It was the best outlet she had for it at CCI. She could do more in the gym on the weekends to keep in shape, but she wasn't as practiced as she used to be.
"I'm not really afraid of falling. I mean, I used to smack the mats all the time. Can't do gymnastics if you're not prepared to fall." She shrugged and made a loud slurping sound through her straw as she sipped her shake. "It's kind of exhilarating."
She smiled at him happily. She was glad to be friends with Bobby. He was nice and entertaining, very easy to tease. "You ever afraid a recipe isn't going to turn out right?"
"Nope!" He answered with no hesitation. "If the food's good on it's own, it'll be good in a recipe. Not always fantastic, but always food." And he loved food. He shrugged. "I don't always follow the recipe. Sometimes you just know that something else will go better."
Like the Jalapeño Pumpkin Pies he suggested earlier. They were originally a plain pumpkin pie, but he knew a little chili would knock those boring little pies right out of the park.
His breakfast cupcakes though? He never deviated from that recipe. There is no need to mess with complete perfection.
"It's a little bit like gymnastics. Sometimes you're in the middle of the move and you know it's not going right. You can feel your way out of it. Just twist a bit and move the other way." She rolled her eyes. "Of course, my coaches would tell me not to do that. Stick with the moves, Marina." She imitated her old coach's voice.
She slurped some more shake and kicked her legs back and forth underneath the counter. "I don't see the point of sticking with a planned jump if you're going to end up flat on your ass. Ever do souffles?" she asked, thinking of how they always deflated in the movies.
"Sometimes. I don't like that it looks like a whole lot of cake and then you eat it and it's actually a tiny cloud of cream. Where's the substance? Dark ganache is much better. A single bite of that and you're in a food coma for days." He liked food comas. Thanksgiving and Christmas were especially good for that.
He shrugged, poking the dregs of his shake with his straw. "I saw a recipe for ganache covered bacon on the internet the other day; I was thinking of trying it but with milk chocolate and salt. Recipes aren't always right, and neither are your coaches." He grinned out the side of his mouth.
"That sounds like an eating experience. A tiny cloud of cream." She said in such a dreamy voice. "You're getting me hungry and there's an oven full of cupcakes. This is not going to end well."
"Well, to be fair, most of the time they were. I almost broke my neck once changing jumps at the last minute." That was one of the few things she didn't miss about intensive training. She was constantly being yelled at for striking out in her own direction.
The bacon was ready, so he went to fetch it from the oven, setting it out to drain any excess fat while they frosted the cupcakes. "Well, I'll make you a souffle sometime. Any flavour you like."
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