((Roman Jackson continued from Art for Art's Sake))
As usual, the Foods and Nutrition classroom was a sea of (mostly) controlled chaos. Several students were raiding the refrigerators tucked into the alcove at the back of the room. They battled each other for the best pieces of fresh produce before heading back to their groups. Others were collecting cans and dry ingredients from the pantry area under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hannah, the F&N teacher. A handful of boys were milling about near the storage lockers, still fishing out their aprons and grousing about the day's workload. The remaining students manned the cooking stations, getting out pans and various implements, awaiting the arrival of the ingredients.
The big project for the week was making a (mostly) homemade pizza. Since the creation of the dough, sauce, and actual baking would take place over several days, none of the groups were in a terrible hurry. Roman smiled as he set out a cutting board and began to select the tomatoes he would use. The usual clatter of moving pots, pans, and knives combined with the steady chatter of the groups working at their stations might have distracted some, but he found it very soothing. Class with Mrs. Hannah was one of the highlights of his day. She was always encouraging and managed to maintain an even keel no matter what minor domestic disaster was unfolding in her room.
The only downside to taking F&N was the temperature. What normally made the F&N room so comfortable in the winter also made it a bit sweltering during the spring. With half a dozen stoves going full blast each period, the pleasant warmth of spring was quickly turning the Food and Nutrition room into a sweat box.
Roman swiped at his brow with his elbow then absently pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose as he contentedly began dicing tomatoes. "Nothing tastes as good as when you've made it fresh and from scratch," he said off-handedly.
Cook Until Done
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BetaKnight
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selphie_trabia†
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((Sarah Tan continued from White noise and Titration))
((Note for Betaknight: Stir fry can be replaced by any other food that Roman is good at cooking.))
Sarah watched in awe as Roman diced his tomatoes, turning out evenly-sized slices and cubes from the red fruit. She was always impressed by the fact that he could cut things so quickly without lopping off his fingertips. Her pathetic attempts at handling the knife seemed childlike in comparison.
In Sarah's mind, Roman was an expert at making savoury foods. The Chinese stir fry he did for the last class was something absolutely delicious while hers burned on one side while the egg dribbled over the other. She was reassured by the thought that Roman probably couldn't decorate a cake quite as well as she could. That, and she was almost sure that his desserts could never touch hers in terms of quality and taste. So there.
"Yah." She said, nodding in agreement to Roman's statement.
Roman did speak the truth. There was something spiritual about cooking that Sarah always enjoyed. The way each person made food and the resulting taste of the food afterwards always showed something about what that person was inside. There was definitely something about a woman's touch, Sarah thought, which made cakes and cookies easier for women to make. Yes, women were definitely better than men in that respect.
Completely neglecting to use cup measures, Sarah absent-mindedly picked up the sieve and poured an estimated amount of flour on it. She shook the sieve with her right hand, knocking it against her left. The method was inefficient, but Sarah had sieved flour like this all her life just like her mother had done it all her life and probably her grandmother before her.
As the flour mounted up on the left of the sieve, Sarah pondered the philosophy of food. Someone who was caring would make kind-tasting food. Sarah wondered for a moment about what kind tasting food might taste like. Probably well-made and with love. Love was definitely an ingredient that people put into food. It couldn't be seen but it was there and it made food taste better.
Sarah frowned as the flour mounted on the left side of the sieve. She switched hands on the sieve, knocking it against her right hand this time and shaking it with her left.
There were people who couldn't cook though. Was that because they weren't loving? Unlikely. If you couldn't cook, it was probably because you had too many conflicting taste preferences? Perhaps it was more of an issue of practice.
Sarah pondered the question of the appetites of people who were unable to cook as she continued to sieve flour long after she had finished.
((Note for Betaknight: Stir fry can be replaced by any other food that Roman is good at cooking.))
Sarah watched in awe as Roman diced his tomatoes, turning out evenly-sized slices and cubes from the red fruit. She was always impressed by the fact that he could cut things so quickly without lopping off his fingertips. Her pathetic attempts at handling the knife seemed childlike in comparison.
In Sarah's mind, Roman was an expert at making savoury foods. The Chinese stir fry he did for the last class was something absolutely delicious while hers burned on one side while the egg dribbled over the other. She was reassured by the thought that Roman probably couldn't decorate a cake quite as well as she could. That, and she was almost sure that his desserts could never touch hers in terms of quality and taste. So there.
"Yah." She said, nodding in agreement to Roman's statement.
Roman did speak the truth. There was something spiritual about cooking that Sarah always enjoyed. The way each person made food and the resulting taste of the food afterwards always showed something about what that person was inside. There was definitely something about a woman's touch, Sarah thought, which made cakes and cookies easier for women to make. Yes, women were definitely better than men in that respect.
Completely neglecting to use cup measures, Sarah absent-mindedly picked up the sieve and poured an estimated amount of flour on it. She shook the sieve with her right hand, knocking it against her left. The method was inefficient, but Sarah had sieved flour like this all her life just like her mother had done it all her life and probably her grandmother before her.
As the flour mounted up on the left of the sieve, Sarah pondered the philosophy of food. Someone who was caring would make kind-tasting food. Sarah wondered for a moment about what kind tasting food might taste like. Probably well-made and with love. Love was definitely an ingredient that people put into food. It couldn't be seen but it was there and it made food taste better.
Sarah frowned as the flour mounted on the left side of the sieve. She switched hands on the sieve, knocking it against her right hand this time and shaking it with her left.
There were people who couldn't cook though. Was that because they weren't loving? Unlikely. If you couldn't cook, it was probably because you had too many conflicting taste preferences? Perhaps it was more of an issue of practice.
Sarah pondered the question of the appetites of people who were unable to cook as she continued to sieve flour long after she had finished.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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BetaKnight
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At home, when he was cooking, there was almost something Zen-like about the activity. His equipment in his kitchen; his own personal little fiefdom of order and perfection. Everything in its place and a place for everything.
As Roman watched Sarah play with the sieve, absently knocking flour all over the counter and giving the front of her apron a light dusting, he fought back the urge to sigh. There really is no point getting frustrated with Sarah for being Sarah, he reminded himself as she continuously smacked the sieve against her hand. After all, she had been an absent-minded mess for as long as he'd known her. Which was precisely why Mrs. Hannah had assigned them to the same group since the start of the second semester. That way, Sarah's special brand of kitchen disasters were often headed off by Roman's hyper vigilance.
When she noticed the mess she was making and stopped, he smiled in relief. Right up until she switched hands and continued making the mess. Now she's doing it on purpose, he silently howled. At least when Alex 'helps' me and makes a mess, something gets accomplished. She's just playing the in the flour, wasting it. And she didn't even measure it so it's not like we can just sweep it into a bowl and use it. It'll have to go back into the container and get sifted again. Damn it.
"Hey, Sarah," he said, trying to keep his tone friendly as he got her attention. He quickly swept the cut tomato pieces into a waiting bowl and reached for a dish towel. As he wiped his hands, he eyed the sieve and contemplated yanking it out of her hands.
"You know, I think that's plenty of flour. Why don't you do me a favor. Grab the knife and cutting board, and take care of the onion for me, okay? Just half it and dice it up nice and fine. I'm gonna take care of the garlic and get the oil going so we can get this sauce started. We don't want to be the only group who falls behind schedule, do we?"
As Roman watched Sarah play with the sieve, absently knocking flour all over the counter and giving the front of her apron a light dusting, he fought back the urge to sigh. There really is no point getting frustrated with Sarah for being Sarah, he reminded himself as she continuously smacked the sieve against her hand. After all, she had been an absent-minded mess for as long as he'd known her. Which was precisely why Mrs. Hannah had assigned them to the same group since the start of the second semester. That way, Sarah's special brand of kitchen disasters were often headed off by Roman's hyper vigilance.
When she noticed the mess she was making and stopped, he smiled in relief. Right up until she switched hands and continued making the mess. Now she's doing it on purpose, he silently howled. At least when Alex 'helps' me and makes a mess, something gets accomplished. She's just playing the in the flour, wasting it. And she didn't even measure it so it's not like we can just sweep it into a bowl and use it. It'll have to go back into the container and get sifted again. Damn it.
"Hey, Sarah," he said, trying to keep his tone friendly as he got her attention. He quickly swept the cut tomato pieces into a waiting bowl and reached for a dish towel. As he wiped his hands, he eyed the sieve and contemplated yanking it out of her hands.
"You know, I think that's plenty of flour. Why don't you do me a favor. Grab the knife and cutting board, and take care of the onion for me, okay? Just half it and dice it up nice and fine. I'm gonna take care of the garlic and get the oil going so we can get this sauce started. We don't want to be the only group who falls behind schedule, do we?"
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selphie_trabia†
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Sarah finished up the sieving and banged the sieve on the inside of the kitchen sink to release whatever flour stuck between the cracks - whatever flour there was floated neatly inside the sink. She put the bowl of sieved flour aside.
"Oh, okay! Onions. Right. Sure!" She said in that panicked voice she always used in the kitchen. "That's for the dough."
More likely than not, Sarah would forget all about the flour by the time Roman finished cleaning it up. Unmedicated, she was more scatterbrained than usual.
She moved swiftly over to the cutting board, pulling an onion towards her and peeling it expertly with her fingers. The skins were tossed into the trash. Sarah washed the onion quickly, rubbing dirt off the edges, then neatly chopped the roots and top off. Balancing the onion on one of the flat edges, she pushed the blunt kitchen knife through the vegetable, only to find that the blade had slowed and stopped halfway.
Sarah grumbled to herself. She knew she didn't have much in the way of strong arms but this was ridiculous. She moved her left hand from the onion and put it on the top of the knife, pushing down with both hands until the onion was sliced through. She flipped one side of it over and began to dice it, tears starting to form in her eyes from the miasma.
By the time she was halfway done with the first onion, she found that she was quite unable to see. She could feel the onion under her fingers. Squinting at it, she began to slice the other quarter of the onion, producing very uneven chunks before she had to put down the knife altogether.
Sniffing loudly, Sarah rubbed her eyes with her palms, making her situation worse as she rubbed more onion juice into them.
"Oh, okay! Onions. Right. Sure!" She said in that panicked voice she always used in the kitchen. "That's for the dough."
More likely than not, Sarah would forget all about the flour by the time Roman finished cleaning it up. Unmedicated, she was more scatterbrained than usual.
She moved swiftly over to the cutting board, pulling an onion towards her and peeling it expertly with her fingers. The skins were tossed into the trash. Sarah washed the onion quickly, rubbing dirt off the edges, then neatly chopped the roots and top off. Balancing the onion on one of the flat edges, she pushed the blunt kitchen knife through the vegetable, only to find that the blade had slowed and stopped halfway.
Sarah grumbled to herself. She knew she didn't have much in the way of strong arms but this was ridiculous. She moved her left hand from the onion and put it on the top of the knife, pushing down with both hands until the onion was sliced through. She flipped one side of it over and began to dice it, tears starting to form in her eyes from the miasma.
By the time she was halfway done with the first onion, she found that she was quite unable to see. She could feel the onion under her fingers. Squinting at it, she began to slice the other quarter of the onion, producing very uneven chunks before she had to put down the knife altogether.
Sniffing loudly, Sarah rubbed her eyes with her palms, making her situation worse as she rubbed more onion juice into them.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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BetaKnight
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Watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye, Roman walked over to the utensil drawer and grabbed a new knife. Satisfied that she had the onion under control, he fished out the pressure cooker they would be using, set it on the stove, and then added a liberal amount of oil to the bottom of the pan. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the stove's burner up to a high-medium heat.
That taken care of, he picked up the bulb of fresh garlic and popped three of the cloves off. Setting them on a fresh cutting board, he lay the flat of the chef knife across them before slamming his hand down on the blade. The parchment-like skin of the garlic split, allowing him to quickly peel them off. Picking up the knife again, he expertly chopped off the woody root ends off of each clove. Using the blade of the knife, he gathered them together and set about thinly slicing them.
The small pile of pungent garlic slices quickly grew. Roman scooped them up and turned back to the stove, still watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at the floury mess on that was still on the counter and sighed. At least all they had to focus on was the sauce, since the dough had successfully risen and was resting. Giving his full attention to the hot oil in front of him, he dropped one of the garlic slices into the pot.
As the garlic hit the oil, Roman heard the soft sizzle that let him know it was time to add the rest of the garlic and the onion. Dumping in his handful, he stepped back over to Sarah. Noticing for the first time how much her eyes were watering, he put a hand on her shoulder.
"That should be plenty of onion. You only had to do half of that one," he reminded her as he reached out to take her cutting board. He eyeballed what Sarah had cut up and decided to use it all.
"If I had known you liked doing the onion so much that you'd cut up extra, I would have let you take over slicing duty long time ago," he joked.
Roman felt a twinge of concern as Sarah ground her palms into her eyes. Brow wrinkling, he tilted his head left and right to try and get a better view of her eyes. "Hey, are you okay? Why don't you go to the sink and rinse your eyes while I add the onion to the pot and sauté this stuff up?"
That taken care of, he picked up the bulb of fresh garlic and popped three of the cloves off. Setting them on a fresh cutting board, he lay the flat of the chef knife across them before slamming his hand down on the blade. The parchment-like skin of the garlic split, allowing him to quickly peel them off. Picking up the knife again, he expertly chopped off the woody root ends off of each clove. Using the blade of the knife, he gathered them together and set about thinly slicing them.
The small pile of pungent garlic slices quickly grew. Roman scooped them up and turned back to the stove, still watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at the floury mess on that was still on the counter and sighed. At least all they had to focus on was the sauce, since the dough had successfully risen and was resting. Giving his full attention to the hot oil in front of him, he dropped one of the garlic slices into the pot.
As the garlic hit the oil, Roman heard the soft sizzle that let him know it was time to add the rest of the garlic and the onion. Dumping in his handful, he stepped back over to Sarah. Noticing for the first time how much her eyes were watering, he put a hand on her shoulder.
"That should be plenty of onion. You only had to do half of that one," he reminded her as he reached out to take her cutting board. He eyeballed what Sarah had cut up and decided to use it all.
"If I had known you liked doing the onion so much that you'd cut up extra, I would have let you take over slicing duty long time ago," he joked.
Roman felt a twinge of concern as Sarah ground her palms into her eyes. Brow wrinkling, he tilted his head left and right to try and get a better view of her eyes. "Hey, are you okay? Why don't you go to the sink and rinse your eyes while I add the onion to the pot and sauté this stuff up?"
((Alice Boucher continued from Lonely Soup))
Alice Boucher was not a team player.
Back in France, she had the luxury of working with friends in cooking class, and even if she didn't see them as nearly half as skilled as she was around a stove, they were smart enough to do what she said in class, whether they liked it or not. Usually the deal was that they'd prepare the ingredients, and she'd turn it into something delicious, and everyone would get marked just fine for her culinary triumphs.
But here? Oh no, nothing like that. Here, she had to co-operate with these American morons, who were probably just looking for the fastest way out of class, or the quickest way to shove fat into the meal. Frankly, she would be surprised if they could tell a fork from a spoon. Unfortunately though, as much as she hated it, she had no choice if she wanted to keep learning cooking, and so she grudged through her days trying her best not to flip out and give everyone a well deserved tongue lashing.
Today's lesson in American fattening was, to Alice's displeasure, making pizzas. God forbid they go for something adventurous: someone might have a heart attack if a dish came anywhere near a vegetable, after all! The stuffy and uncomfortable temperature of the classroom didn't help Alice's mood, and to top it all off pizzas were one of the few things she couldn't prepare with undeniable perfection!
Of course, she'd be able to make one far better than anyone else in the class; she didn't have any doubts in that. However, no matter how much she denied it, pizza was never a dish she'd had much practice in, and now she had to learn fast before the rest of her group screwed it all up without her guidance and ruined her marks!
Looking around, she scowled as she saw the rest of the people in her team preparing the ingredients for the sauce; she had been able to understand between their idiot slang that they had left her to take charge of the sauce when the ingredients were ready, so for now she was standing around waiting for the rabble to finish cutting up as slowly as possibly whilst the dough waited restlessly to the side.
As she stood there doing nothing, occasionally glancing around the others in her group to see if they were any closer to being done, she took the opportunity to watch the other teams to stave off her boredom. Finding problems with her merciless criticisms in every group she looked at, she found herself particularly entertained as a tiny girl struggled to even cut an onion properly. The fact that the table was covered in flour as well did not serve to impress Alice in one little bit, and she couldn't help but let out a cold, cruel laugh as she watched her onion induced tears, continuing to mock her even as another member of her group came and saved the day.
((Alice Boucher continued in The Dance Must go on!))
Alice Boucher was not a team player.
Back in France, she had the luxury of working with friends in cooking class, and even if she didn't see them as nearly half as skilled as she was around a stove, they were smart enough to do what she said in class, whether they liked it or not. Usually the deal was that they'd prepare the ingredients, and she'd turn it into something delicious, and everyone would get marked just fine for her culinary triumphs.
But here? Oh no, nothing like that. Here, she had to co-operate with these American morons, who were probably just looking for the fastest way out of class, or the quickest way to shove fat into the meal. Frankly, she would be surprised if they could tell a fork from a spoon. Unfortunately though, as much as she hated it, she had no choice if she wanted to keep learning cooking, and so she grudged through her days trying her best not to flip out and give everyone a well deserved tongue lashing.
Today's lesson in American fattening was, to Alice's displeasure, making pizzas. God forbid they go for something adventurous: someone might have a heart attack if a dish came anywhere near a vegetable, after all! The stuffy and uncomfortable temperature of the classroom didn't help Alice's mood, and to top it all off pizzas were one of the few things she couldn't prepare with undeniable perfection!
Of course, she'd be able to make one far better than anyone else in the class; she didn't have any doubts in that. However, no matter how much she denied it, pizza was never a dish she'd had much practice in, and now she had to learn fast before the rest of her group screwed it all up without her guidance and ruined her marks!
Looking around, she scowled as she saw the rest of the people in her team preparing the ingredients for the sauce; she had been able to understand between their idiot slang that they had left her to take charge of the sauce when the ingredients were ready, so for now she was standing around waiting for the rabble to finish cutting up as slowly as possibly whilst the dough waited restlessly to the side.
As she stood there doing nothing, occasionally glancing around the others in her group to see if they were any closer to being done, she took the opportunity to watch the other teams to stave off her boredom. Finding problems with her merciless criticisms in every group she looked at, she found herself particularly entertained as a tiny girl struggled to even cut an onion properly. The fact that the table was covered in flour as well did not serve to impress Alice in one little bit, and she couldn't help but let out a cold, cruel laugh as she watched her onion induced tears, continuing to mock her even as another member of her group came and saved the day.
((Alice Boucher continued in The Dance Must go on!))
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selphie_trabia†
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"Nooooo~...." Sarah protested, "No more onions.... Please don't make me"
Sarah's sense of humour was somewhat non-existent in high-stress situations. It seemed that she'd believed Roman word for word. She looked at him helplessly, still squeezing out tears.
Her eyes stung terribly, she really could barely see at all. Tears had squeezed out and stuck to the lens of her glasses, trapped there by the frames. As soon as he indicated the sink, Sarah nodded and washed her hands before using a dampened handkerchief to wipe her dripping eyes.
"'nk you." she whispered to him.
She took off her spectacles to wipe her glasses clean of salt and water. When that was done, she smiled at him, her misery over the concept of more onion chopping now behind her.
"What are your orders, sir?" she asked cheerfully.
((Sarah Tan continued in Let the Dance Begin!))
Sarah's sense of humour was somewhat non-existent in high-stress situations. It seemed that she'd believed Roman word for word. She looked at him helplessly, still squeezing out tears.
Her eyes stung terribly, she really could barely see at all. Tears had squeezed out and stuck to the lens of her glasses, trapped there by the frames. As soon as he indicated the sink, Sarah nodded and washed her hands before using a dampened handkerchief to wipe her dripping eyes.
"'nk you." she whispered to him.
She took off her spectacles to wipe her glasses clean of salt and water. When that was done, she smiled at him, her misery over the concept of more onion chopping now behind her.
"What are your orders, sir?" she asked cheerfully.
((Sarah Tan continued in Let the Dance Begin!))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler selphie_trabia. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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BetaKnight
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Roman couldn't help but sigh as headed for the sink. Chopping onions was supposed to be a simple job, but Sarah and onions...apparently, not so much. At least that part of the recipe is done, he thought as he grabbed a damp cloth and swept up most of the flour. The sound of laughter caught his attention.
It wasn't the sound of merriment but complete derision. Looking over the top of his glasses, Roman spotted the source. Surprise, surprise. It was Alice Boucher, who was lounging about in her group's kitchen, doing nothing but being a spiteful bitch, as usual. Alice liked to live the stereotype, behaving as if all French people were born master chefs. So rather than attempting to help her less skilled classmates, she just bitched people out and made everyone around her miserable. While Sarah wasn't the most graceful or productive group member, Roman did have to give her props for at least trying.
Letting out a single, sharp bark of a cough, Roman put down his cloth and moved his hand towards the bridge of his nose. Once he was sure Alice was looking in his direction, he slowly and deliberately folded down all of his fingers except for his middle finger. He used that finger to push he glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose, allowing the gesture to linger for just a second as Sarah turned the water off.
Dropping his hand, he turned back towards his groupmate as she cheerfully inquired about the next step. "Okay, next, we need to get our cans of tomato paste open and into the pot with the onions. We'll need to add three cans of water for every one can of paste we add. Then we're on to seasoning and spices. Do you know where our can opener has disappeared to? I can't find it anywhere."
((Roman Jackson continued in The Dance Must go on!))
It wasn't the sound of merriment but complete derision. Looking over the top of his glasses, Roman spotted the source. Surprise, surprise. It was Alice Boucher, who was lounging about in her group's kitchen, doing nothing but being a spiteful bitch, as usual. Alice liked to live the stereotype, behaving as if all French people were born master chefs. So rather than attempting to help her less skilled classmates, she just bitched people out and made everyone around her miserable. While Sarah wasn't the most graceful or productive group member, Roman did have to give her props for at least trying.
Letting out a single, sharp bark of a cough, Roman put down his cloth and moved his hand towards the bridge of his nose. Once he was sure Alice was looking in his direction, he slowly and deliberately folded down all of his fingers except for his middle finger. He used that finger to push he glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose, allowing the gesture to linger for just a second as Sarah turned the water off.
Dropping his hand, he turned back towards his groupmate as she cheerfully inquired about the next step. "Okay, next, we need to get our cans of tomato paste open and into the pot with the onions. We'll need to add three cans of water for every one can of paste we add. Then we're on to seasoning and spices. Do you know where our can opener has disappeared to? I can't find it anywhere."
((Roman Jackson continued in The Dance Must go on!))