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Week 1 | Saturday
[Where else is a chef going to find solace if not in the kitchen?
He's not even hungry, to be honest, but that doesn't stop him from pacing around and letting his hands distract him -- probably tea or some shit. Maybe a few biscuits on the side. Comfort food he won't take much comfort in.
It'd been a long day, okay?]
He's not even hungry, to be honest, but that doesn't stop him from pacing around and letting his hands distract him -- probably tea or some shit. Maybe a few biscuits on the side. Comfort food he won't take much comfort in.
It'd been a long day, okay?]
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Suddenly shifting over, closer to the counter. He points to the spot he was just standing in]
Well, get over here then.
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Ion slides off the stool and plants himself where directed, too confused to ask questions.]
What do I do next?
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Casually hands him the bowl of whipped eggs]
Pour it into the pan.
[CHOP CHOP, LET'S GET TO IT.]
After that, grab a spatula and wait for the eggs to solidify.
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Oh!
[He takes and regards the bowl with gentle hands, careful to pour without spilling, and then continues to follow instructions, finding a spatula and holding it in both hands as he stares at the pan, transfixed.]
Is it time? Now?
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[he points to the outer circle of the egg, which has cooked faster than the rest.]
I want you to gently scoot the spatula under a side, then lift it up. After that, tilt the pan in its direction. That way the liquid in the middle can hit the pan and cook. Otherwise you're gonna have an omelette that's soggy in the middle and overcooked at the edges.
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[Everything they'd talked about, all the pain and the heartache and the bad memories all seem to recede as Ion timidly tilts the pan and watches the uncooked egg rolls to the bottom. His face lights up, happy and warm, every bit the child that he hides behind that practiced softness, and he laughs.]