souffle_girlek | (no subject)

(no subject)

Early in the morning, before most of the bar is awake, a tiny time traveler visits the kitchen. She would stay at home for a late-night snack, usually, but...

Well.

Ace already knows way too much about the Wells' romantic life, and about one picosecond downstairs at the farm let her know that sticking around would only teach her more. And since Bar was getting a break in the quiet hours of the night, Ace decides to fetch a snack herself. It's really too bad she left her current project on top of the microwave when she left.

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"Well, you see, it's not as easy as going 'yay, souffle'... well, actually, that's pretty much the whole plan, but you have to make it a flavor first, and there's all sorts of flavors." Oswin explain, her nerves translating to babble as she leads them into the kitchen.

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Autor nods, and opens the flour she presents him. He carefully spoons three tablespoons in to the butter concoction, and then adds the milk. "And we need seven eggs whites, right?"

"Yeah, and the yolks go in your base. Hang on, I'll get some separated for you - I've done this so many times I think I can do that part in my sleep. I probably have, actually." She snorts, pulling out the crate of eggs and a couple bowls.

Autor concentrates on making his béchamel as smooth as it can possibly be while she separates eggs. "And after you separate them, you whip them, right? When do we add the grapefruit and ginger?"

"You whip the whites - the grapefruit and ginger should go into the base. Here, I'll take care of the whites, you squeeze grapefruits." Oswin orders, cracking eggs neatly and quickly.

Autor nods, and heads over to the grapefruits. He slices one open carefully so he doesn't get any juice in his eyes, thanking his lucky stars that he healed his split knuckles with healing herbs before they started cooking. He picks up a juicer and starts going to town.

"How many grapefruits do we need?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"A few tablespoons? Enough to make the flavor present." Oswin is so precise about her baking, yes.

Autor gives her a side-eye. He's incredibly precise about his own baking, so to go with a pinch here and an unspecified-measurement-that-fits-in-the-fist there just drives him bonkers. He juices more than enough grapefruit and then measure them out carefully into a bowl--four tablespoons exactly.

"Here," he says, carrying the bowl to her, on ceremony. "Your grapefruit juice."

"Oh, thank you - and we'll need a bit less ginger than that." Look, you just do it until it... feels right. It's an art, and for Oswin art is all about getting messy.

Of all the things Autor knows about cooking, that it's an art is not one of them. It's a science, and it is with that precise and exacting nature that he chops the ginger into fine, similarly sized pieces. He measures three and a half tablespoons into a bowl and presents them to Oswin--after snacking on a couple.

"Your ginger, m'lady," he says, with pomp.

"So kind, good sir." She grins, folding the ginger into the base, following that with the fluffy beaten whites. "Do you have the souffle pan?"

"I don't, only because I have no idea what a soufflé plan looks like," Autor says, shrugging helplessly. "Please correct this oversight, Oswin. It's clearly your fault that my education in this matter is lacking."

He nudges her.

"What, no extracurricular coursework done? I begin to doubt your commitment." She sniffs, digging through the storage shelves until she can find a proper souffle pan.

Autor snorts. "I would have done the extra coursework if I'd known there was extra coursework to be done," the boy explains, leaning on the counter. "As such I'll have to lean on you to show me what a soufflé pan looks like."

"And here we have the souffle pan in its natural habitat." She shows off the pan, adopting a documentary voice. "See how it preens in hopes of being chosen to create a new souffle - very shiny, very... panesque."

"Panesque!" Autor says, covering his mouth to prevent his giggles from being too loud. He snorts again for good measure.

"You're ridiculous," he says fondly.

"Much better than being too serious." Oswin declares, preparing the pan and dumping the batter in. "Is the oven set?"

"No," Autor says, and meanders over there, straightening his blazer. "How high do I set it for?"

"Three hundred and seventy-five degrees." Oswin orders, smoothing out the top of the souffle. "Nice and toasty."

Click. Autor sets the oven and meanders over to her after plucking up the oven mitts. He toys with them, but soon settles in to watch her technique. "Thank you for teaching me this."

"Everyone should know how to make souffles." After the souffle is safely in the oven and the timer set, Oswin digs around in the catch-all drawer and pulls out a pack of cards.

"Wanna play Canasta?"

"You're going to have to teach me," Autor says, with a grin. "But yes, absolutely, let's play cards."

Between explaining all of the rules of Canasta and getting a game going, they only have time for a hand before the timer goes off. Oswin practically vibrates in place, waiting to see if it came out correctly.

It's a good thing her enthusiasm is infectious, because Autor finds he's terrible at Canasta. His hand is a disaster, and he gladly gives it up to take the soufflé out of the oven. It doesn't fall, and he shoots a grin at Oswin.

"Should we wait for this to cool or just dig in?"

Oswin holds up two spoons, not even looking a little bit sheepish.

What? It smells awesome.

Autor laughs and takes a spoon. He break the top, and blows carefully before taking a bite. "Mmm," he says, closing his eyes. The citrus and ginger burst on his tongue, and the texture is unlike anything he's ever tasted before. Truly a successful venture.

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