greatoldjohn | TLV Inbox

I'm in the mood to chop vegetables. If you bring in whatever protein they're serving in the dining room, that should be fine.

[ She's keeping her voice even, but it's honestly pretty damn clear she's unhappy^TM. ]

I'll get us some vegetables. And there's chicken or beef. Do you have a preference?

[ It should be pretty obvious from the fact that he's blithely discussing dinner options that he Doesn't Give a Shit^TM

...it's helpful to have 'constantly pissed off at you' as a baseline you're used to in your partner sometimes. ]

[ She KNOWS and she HATES IT. ]

Chicken.

Chicken it is. I'll be there soon.

[ And there will be a knock in about fifteen minutes. ]

[ Despite not looking terribly angry, she is the living embodiment of this face as she holds the door open for John and his little cart. ]

Kitchen's set up.

[ He'll find a frying pan on the stove, a cutting board and knife nearby, and bowls to put the chopped vegetables in. There's a bottle of cooking oil too, because they're taking this cooking for Arthur thing seriously, and angry or not, she does think he deserves at least that much from her. ]

What am I working with tonight.

[ John floats in with his bag in hand, and he'll head right for the kitchen to start laying out the ingredients: several vegetables, some chicken breasts, and a quantity of rice. ]

They recommended a 'stir fry'.

[ She has learned that it is surprisingly easy to overcook just about anything. But stir fry at least she can keep fussing with in the frying pan and maybe guess when it's ready to go. ]

Yeah? Wouldn't have guessed.

[ She puts the rice in a pot, grabs the vegetables, and washes them off one by one. Then it's chopping time, and she is definitely using more force than necessary at first, until she finds a rhythm and becomes absorbed in the task. ]

[ John is going to wash the rice, add a little oil, a little salt, and carefully measure the water. He sticks his finger in and squints, since it's hard to see the knuckle with his shadow hand. Then he's heading for the stove to put the rice on the back burner. ]

[ Red pepper, green pepper, onion, carrot, broccoli. Each gets dumped in a bowl as she goes through them. A clove of garlic gets as close to minced as she can get it without injury to her fingers.

She swears under her breath, remembering too late she should have gotten the oil heated up by now. That sets her back a little, pouring it in the pan, turning on the stove, waiting a while, finally guessing when is good. Garlic first, then each of the vegetables, not caring what order they go in or how long they should each be there. ]

Shit. [ Yes, again. She glances at the chicken and sighs sharply, staying with the vegetables for now, because dear god does she hate overcooked vegetables. ]

Here.

[ He's gotten a bowl, something for her to put the vegetables in so that they don't get overcooked. ]

We'll put them back in after the meat cookes. I prepped the chicken.

[ Properly 'velveted' according to the book he read about: cooking wine, cornstarch, white pepper, salt, and soy sauce. ]

[ This mistake has at least redirected her grumpiness at herself-- because it's her own fault she's here learning to cook anyway. When she takes the bowl from John there's no attitude to it, nor to the "thanks" she mumbles, even if it's not the most effusive show of gratitude she's ever made.

The vegetables go in the bowl, and she cuts up the chicken into thin strips before putting them in the pan to cook. ]

It smells good, at least.

[ Please let it not turn out overcooked. ]

It does. But it needs a little more oil. The oil acts as a contact to transfer the heat; if you don't have enough oil, one side cooks too quickly while the other side doesn't cook enough and it ends up partially overcooked eventually.

[ A pause. ]

There's a book by a man named Alton Brown. I'll take it out of the library and bring it for you tomorrow.

[ Her grip on the rubber spatula she's holding tightens. Why is this so fucking esoteric and arcane.

She puts the spatula down and pours more oil into the pan. ]

That look like enough?

[ He watches and- ]

Yes, that's enough. No more. Now it's sizzling all around. Some of it looked dry before. It's browning nicely now.

How are you already so good at this, while I'm here trying not to make vegetable stir-mush.

[ Said as she keeps her eye on the chicken, pushing it around on the pan so nothing burns. ]

You're the one doing it. I'm just keeping an eye on it.

[ Very mild and gently encouraging. ]

I'm sure it smells good. You got the vegetables out just in time. The bright greens are still bright even now, meaning they'll still have some snap when you're eating.

I've got the sauce mix here and the cornflour slurry next to it. Sauce first, then slurry. You might need to mix it again.

[ There's enough strength back in her left hand that she can hold the spatula while she pours in the sauce. It's annoying to have to pass the thing back and forth, but it gets the job done. She does the same when it's time for the slurry, then she's mixing it up. The vegetables are last, constantly moving them around so they don't become too mushy, then she moves the pan off the heat, turns off the burner, and goes to peek at the rice.

She keeps quiet throughout because this requires all her attention not to completely fuck up, and also because she will get snippy with him for just moving on to dinner instead of just telling her what he wants her to learn from this stupid forced sobriety shit. ]

Edited 2022-12-06 11:40 (UTC)

[ He does his best to stay out of her way, but he'll do all the little tasks she might have forgotten about or the bit she didn't think to do. He actually lays out a plate and a bowl and a fork and a spoon and a glass and he pulls a soft drink from the commissary out and puts it besides the glass. ]

[ Rice, despite being the just rice, is difficult to get right. She'd much rather cheat and get a rice cooker, but this is John's kitchen, and it's frustrating enough to be a good punishment. (Well. "Good." It does its job.) Overcooked rice she can deal with. Undercooked rice makes her hate rice for being so difficult.

It looks... okay to her? She takes a fork to it, and it seems to fluff up okay? The grains aren't falling from it like undercooked noodles, so that's a plus. ]

Looks done to me. [ Or done enough, anyway.

Serves herself a bowl of rice and tops it with stir-fry. ]

Look edible to you?

Very much so. You did a lovely job, Natalie.

[ He floats to the opposite of the table. ]

Would you care for me to join you or should I let you eat in peace?

[ Yay thanks she feels like a child getting a pat on the head. ]

Might as well stay. [ She takes a seat. ] I have a lesson to think about that I'd rather figure out before it gets stale.

[ Grump grump grump. ]

[ He'll stay where he is then. ]

Of course. Let me know how that is. I added a little more oyster sauce this time, since you mentioned it feeling 'light'.

[ She stabs a piece of chicken with a little too much force. ]

So. I can't getintoxicated. [ She pops the piece of chicken in her mouth, chewing as she thinks, though she has to interrupt herself in that to report on the chicken. ] It's better, yeah.

[ Anyway. ]

My security blankets don't work anymore. [ She's less aggressive with a bit of red pepper. ] Trying to get me out of my comfort zone?

[ He looks over at Nat. ]

You think I'm trying to make you uncomfortable? Or take your means of comfort from you?

The second one.

[ Because that's how punishment works. ]

Make me think while I'm locked up.

[ The red pepper is not crispy enough, but it's not soggy, so that's good. ]

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