Double double toil and trouble [Sybil - November 18]

[plaguedrat]

He's still uncertain of how he let himself be convinced to do this, but it puts money in his wallet and it keeps him from being smoked out of his own apartment. That doesn't mean Rat has to play nice; hell, he's hoping that Sybil will even tire of him if he plays it cranky. So far though, it's done little to dissuade her from showing up.

Maybe he's getting soft on people. Shion's fault, he thinks. Once you've let someone in, it's all to hell after that.

Sighing and forcing those thoughts aside, he sets out the ingredients on his counter. A raw chicken, onions, garlic, thyme, plus a box of chicken stock and risotto. To him, they're idiot proof dishes.

Also it uses up some of the several dozen boxes of chicken stock that he looted from the grocery stores.

Comments

[adifferentlife]

Sybil has no idea what to expect of her lesson with Rat. She only knows that he's agreed to help her, but where that help may take them she isn't entirely sure. She's prompt at least, knocking on his door at precisely the time they agreed upon, even though it meant standing in the hall for a few minutes with her eyes on her watch.

"Hello," she says with a warm but nervous smile, her hands folded politely together in front of her. "Were you still wanting to do this?"

[plaguedrat]

"The chicken on my counter is getting cooked one way or another," Rat says, shrugging. "And it's going to be delicious."

He gestures inside, giving less than a damn that his apartment is basically a rabbit warren of books.

[adifferentlife]

It seems to be as much of an invitation as she is going to get. She nods, and enters, picking her way carefully through the books and toward what she assumes is the kitchen. When she sees everything laid out, she tells herself that this isn't daunting. She can manage this. "Then where do we begin?"

[plaguedrat]

"By washing your hands," Rat says, going to the sink to do the same. "Everything the raw chicken touches will need to be washed too."

[adifferentlife]

She flushes, and and resists from telling him that she knows that from working at the hospital and being a nurse. Sybil manages to bit her tongue, going to wash her hands obediently. "Of course."

[plaguedrat]

Sybil would be amazed and appalled at how many people don't know that. He tears off a paper towel and looks at the chicken. "We need to pat it dry and then we'll put onion, garlic, and lemon in the cavity and herbs on the skin. Then we cook it in the oven. Easy."

[adifferentlife]

"How do you know how much? To put inside, that is." It's a serious question, so many things that people just seem to know without any real reason for it. "Why lemon and onion?"

[plaguedrat]

"Because aromatics like that are fragrant. Putting them in the cavity steam cooks them, adding flavor," Rat says. Honestly, he has to think about it. For a long time he's just known that it tastes god.

"As for how much, with cooking it's not too important, as long as you get a lot of flavor."

[adifferentlife]

Sybil nods, and wonders if it will ever seem less like magic, and more like science to her. "Mrs Patmore taught me how to do a few things. Boil eggs, make a simple soup and a few sauces. How to bake a cake," she adds the last proudly. "It all seemed so mysterious."

[plaguedrat]

"Baking is more scientific," he says, nodding. "That's when the quantities have to be right. If you can bake a cake, the rest should come easily." He'd had to learn to feed himself on trial and error, scamming old cookbooks when he could.

"Cooking is easier."

[adifferentlife]

Perhaps it's that freedom from direction she finds intimidating. When there is a receipt to follow Sybil finds less tends to go wrong. At least it has until she set her kitchen on fire.

"Very well. Need I chop the onions first?"

[plaguedrat]

"Peel them, then quarter them," he says, unwrapping a few cloves of garlic. "How much garlic do you like?"

He looks up abruptly, cursing. "...I forgot the actual first step. Oven at 425."

[adifferentlife]

In a way it's a relief that he can forget things too, though she hides her smile as she goes to turn the oven on, before returning to the onions. "And then with the lemons? Do they need to be peeled too?"

[plaguedrat]

He shakes his head, "Just slice one into wedges." Is five cloves enough? He's probably not the one to ask.

[adifferentlife]

Garlic isn't something that she has any experience, leaving it to him to decide. Instead Sybil peels and chops the onions, pausing to push them away when she starts to tear up. "Does everyone cry when we do this?"

[plaguedrat]

"Yup," he says, setting the garlic aside so that he can show her how he's stripping the thyme leaves off their sprigs. "Heard all kinds of tricks and tips. None of them have worked for me."

[adifferentlife]

"I was hoping that you wouldn't say that," she admits, chopping methodically. Sybil isn't skilled with a knife in this manner, taking her time, her movements precise. Each piece is nearly an identical size, and she continues on no matter the tears.

[plaguedrat]

"Crack the window and stand by it. The air will help. Wash it off your hands too." He doesn't say it with any disdain; he knows too how much it stings.

"When your eyes are clear, we'll put butter and herbs on the chicken."

[adifferentlife]

Sybil nods and does as he says, washing her hands and opening the window some. Whether it's that which helps or simply moving away from the pile of onions, she doesn't know.

"Does that help cook the skin?" The chicken is a very pale beige now, nothing like the birds she has seen on her table.

[plaguedrat]

"Yeah. Salt, fat, herbs? They all add flavor, help it cook into something good. With salt or fat? You'd cry from how boring it is," Rat says

"The butter should be room temperature now, mix those thyme leaves into it."

[adifferentlife]

Sybil listens, filing away what he tells her. It's more useful than learning simply from a book, she realises, his explanations sitting with her in a way that the words from the page don't always.

"Is that enough?" She asks, showing him the bowl. "Or should I do more?"

[plaguedrat]

"If it's not enough, you make more," Rat says, shrugging. "Try and get some of the herbed butter between the skin and the breast."

[adifferentlife]

"Between the skin?" Sybil plucks at it, but the skin seems rather well connected to the flesh. "Should I cut it?"

[plaguedrat]

"Yeah, like this." It's a step he's more comfortable showing her, separating the skin just enough that Sybil can do the rest.

"Easy."

[adifferentlife]

She does as he's demonstrated, thinking that it is not so dissimilar to methods she learned in her classes. The butter goes beneath easily enough and when she finishes she looks up at him proudly. "What do I do next?"