Cammie & Jean-Paul: Gods of Culinary II
Aug. 7th, 2009 03:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsCammie and Jean-Paul continue their culinary experiments.
Jean-Paul regarded the challenge set out before him. One box of Hamburger Helper Cheeseburger Macaroni. One pound of hamburger gone gray, slimy, and stinking. Bleach. Water. Dishwasher detergent. A pan that someone had abused well past the point of retirement to cook it in. And, of course, his student, making her first foray into the dark underbelly of convenience food. To be prepared in her own kitchen, even, so he could tell that her confidence was high.
"All set, then, Cammie?"
"All set," she said, cracking her knuckles, "I mean, how hard can this be? The directions are on the box and I just have to make the most toxic Hamburger helper known to man. This could be considered an act of war in some countries."
She was actually looking forward to it. Even when it tasted decent, she shouldn't have to eat out of a literal garbage can. And one thing about leaving home she had always missed had been the meals. Cammie doubted she could go back home though and get her mom to cook for her exactly how she wanted.
"You live in a house full of ferals," Jean-Paul pointed out. "While you are at the stove, I plan to draft several treaties in the hopes of convincing the other residents that what we are doing is not actually biowarfare." And to act as the canary in the mineshaft, but that was beside the point.
"Good plan," Cammie said, "So hamburger first, I can do that," she said, getting the hamburger ready. It smelled good to her but eating it now would be counter productive. So, into the pan it went, "Jesus, this thing must be older than the second world war," she said, referring to the pan.
"Not quite that bad, but I figured a little non-stick lining will not kill you."
"Yeah, you're right. Hell, I'd might eat it on my own given half a chance," Cammie said, laughing, "I am so fucked up," she added, as the hamburger started to fry.
"Everyone here is, in their own special way," Jean-Paul agreed, smirking.
"I suppose you're right, but still. It hit's pretty high on most people's Weird-Shit-O-Meter," she said, as the rotted meat started to brown, in the cooking sense, anyway. It smelled pungent, and it made her hungry, "So," she read the box, "After this I drain this stuff and start mixing the other stuff in. Bleach for milk? Since rotted milk is cheese."
"I was thinking the detergent, perhaps. It is thicker. Or maybe we should have used a habenero puree."
"Detergent should work," Cammie said, "But it's a bit thicker. Next time we'll try the peppers. Since we are doing this again."
"Most certainly. I am eager to see how this turns out though, texture and taste-wise." The Canadian snorted softly. "Well, I am at least eager to hear the report, at least."
"Yeah, I don't recommend eating the way I do," Cammie said, "Not if you want to live to see your next meal anyway."
All in all, it wasn't taking that long to cook the rancid meat, so she started to get ready the other parts of this concoction.
So far so good (relatively speaking), though Jean-Paul was wondering if Betty Crocker's claims of "one pan, no mess" could possibly stand up to this experiment.
"How goes progress on the GED?" he asked, partially looking to distract himself, but mostly genuinely curious as to Cammie's progress.
“Huh? Oh, it’s okay. I’m not going to take anything until I’m sure I can pass it,” Cammie said. “So I might be studying for years,” the last part was said dryly. “Funny how much you miss when you drop out.”
"Pfft." Jean-Paul waved to dismiss the concept -- or perhaps just the scent of the mess on the stove as Cammie stirred a cup of electric blue goop and a seasoning packet into the pan. "If I can do it, you certainly can."
“I don’t know, you’re actually smart,” she said, the smell of cooking laundry detergent was a new one. She liked it, but wasn’t sure she could say the same for Jean-Paul. “I just fake things really, really well.”
"I like to think that I got smart after many years of reading and university. At that age," he said with a grin, "I was mostly just a very pretty jock."
“Oh, a very pretty jock, huh? Not just a jock?” Cammie joked as she put the lid on the pan, as per the directions it was going to have to simmer awhile, “I don’t know, that sounds suspect.”
"Considering that this is the most innocent I have been since adulthood, and 'innocent' involves being an unaccredited teacher in an American school full of vigilantes, a suspect youth sounds just about right."
"Yeah, we're all firm breakers of the law here," Cammie said, stretching, "Teaching without a license, that's so a life sentence right there, isn't it?"
"Probably not quite in the way you mean," Jean-Paul said with a laugh. "Though I have already had fair warning that I will get my ass kicked if I try to leave."
"Yeah, I wouldn't be too happy either," Cammie said, stirring the boxed dinner. The substituted ingredients bubbling and popping almost like a tar pit.
"So much love in this room." Jean-Paul read the ingredient list on the box idly, already going over possible variations for next time. "Do not worry, I promise to tell no one. We do have our reputations to keep up, after all."
“So much love, really. And yep. We do. You’re hot for ballless, and I’m… well,” she titled her head to one side, “I guess I can’t say single, can I?”
Jean-Paul put the box down. He was really not in the mood to discuss the impending train-wreck that was his relationship with Jake in any depth. "You are more part of a couple than I am, I think. I am sleeping with the man I broke up with. At least you and Manuel have not gotten so far." A pause. "Have you?"
"I dunno. We don't really talk much," she said stirring the stuff again, "Likely best that way. I'm generally unlikable."
"Oh, yes? I had not noticed -- I like you very much, in fact. Or perhaps it is just that you let me warp your mind with mutated culinary knowledge."
"Yeah, that has to be it," Cammie said, taking a bite of the food. To her tastes, it was turning out pretty good, "That and the whole feed 'em and their yours forever. So you're stuck with me."
"I think I will live."
Jean-Paul regarded the challenge set out before him. One box of Hamburger Helper Cheeseburger Macaroni. One pound of hamburger gone gray, slimy, and stinking. Bleach. Water. Dishwasher detergent. A pan that someone had abused well past the point of retirement to cook it in. And, of course, his student, making her first foray into the dark underbelly of convenience food. To be prepared in her own kitchen, even, so he could tell that her confidence was high.
"All set, then, Cammie?"
"All set," she said, cracking her knuckles, "I mean, how hard can this be? The directions are on the box and I just have to make the most toxic Hamburger helper known to man. This could be considered an act of war in some countries."
She was actually looking forward to it. Even when it tasted decent, she shouldn't have to eat out of a literal garbage can. And one thing about leaving home she had always missed had been the meals. Cammie doubted she could go back home though and get her mom to cook for her exactly how she wanted.
"You live in a house full of ferals," Jean-Paul pointed out. "While you are at the stove, I plan to draft several treaties in the hopes of convincing the other residents that what we are doing is not actually biowarfare." And to act as the canary in the mineshaft, but that was beside the point.
"Good plan," Cammie said, "So hamburger first, I can do that," she said, getting the hamburger ready. It smelled good to her but eating it now would be counter productive. So, into the pan it went, "Jesus, this thing must be older than the second world war," she said, referring to the pan.
"Not quite that bad, but I figured a little non-stick lining will not kill you."
"Yeah, you're right. Hell, I'd might eat it on my own given half a chance," Cammie said, laughing, "I am so fucked up," she added, as the hamburger started to fry.
"Everyone here is, in their own special way," Jean-Paul agreed, smirking.
"I suppose you're right, but still. It hit's pretty high on most people's Weird-Shit-O-Meter," she said, as the rotted meat started to brown, in the cooking sense, anyway. It smelled pungent, and it made her hungry, "So," she read the box, "After this I drain this stuff and start mixing the other stuff in. Bleach for milk? Since rotted milk is cheese."
"I was thinking the detergent, perhaps. It is thicker. Or maybe we should have used a habenero puree."
"Detergent should work," Cammie said, "But it's a bit thicker. Next time we'll try the peppers. Since we are doing this again."
"Most certainly. I am eager to see how this turns out though, texture and taste-wise." The Canadian snorted softly. "Well, I am at least eager to hear the report, at least."
"Yeah, I don't recommend eating the way I do," Cammie said, "Not if you want to live to see your next meal anyway."
All in all, it wasn't taking that long to cook the rancid meat, so she started to get ready the other parts of this concoction.
So far so good (relatively speaking), though Jean-Paul was wondering if Betty Crocker's claims of "one pan, no mess" could possibly stand up to this experiment.
"How goes progress on the GED?" he asked, partially looking to distract himself, but mostly genuinely curious as to Cammie's progress.
“Huh? Oh, it’s okay. I’m not going to take anything until I’m sure I can pass it,” Cammie said. “So I might be studying for years,” the last part was said dryly. “Funny how much you miss when you drop out.”
"Pfft." Jean-Paul waved to dismiss the concept -- or perhaps just the scent of the mess on the stove as Cammie stirred a cup of electric blue goop and a seasoning packet into the pan. "If I can do it, you certainly can."
“I don’t know, you’re actually smart,” she said, the smell of cooking laundry detergent was a new one. She liked it, but wasn’t sure she could say the same for Jean-Paul. “I just fake things really, really well.”
"I like to think that I got smart after many years of reading and university. At that age," he said with a grin, "I was mostly just a very pretty jock."
“Oh, a very pretty jock, huh? Not just a jock?” Cammie joked as she put the lid on the pan, as per the directions it was going to have to simmer awhile, “I don’t know, that sounds suspect.”
"Considering that this is the most innocent I have been since adulthood, and 'innocent' involves being an unaccredited teacher in an American school full of vigilantes, a suspect youth sounds just about right."
"Yeah, we're all firm breakers of the law here," Cammie said, stretching, "Teaching without a license, that's so a life sentence right there, isn't it?"
"Probably not quite in the way you mean," Jean-Paul said with a laugh. "Though I have already had fair warning that I will get my ass kicked if I try to leave."
"Yeah, I wouldn't be too happy either," Cammie said, stirring the boxed dinner. The substituted ingredients bubbling and popping almost like a tar pit.
"So much love in this room." Jean-Paul read the ingredient list on the box idly, already going over possible variations for next time. "Do not worry, I promise to tell no one. We do have our reputations to keep up, after all."
“So much love, really. And yep. We do. You’re hot for ballless, and I’m… well,” she titled her head to one side, “I guess I can’t say single, can I?”
Jean-Paul put the box down. He was really not in the mood to discuss the impending train-wreck that was his relationship with Jake in any depth. "You are more part of a couple than I am, I think. I am sleeping with the man I broke up with. At least you and Manuel have not gotten so far." A pause. "Have you?"
"I dunno. We don't really talk much," she said stirring the stuff again, "Likely best that way. I'm generally unlikable."
"Oh, yes? I had not noticed -- I like you very much, in fact. Or perhaps it is just that you let me warp your mind with mutated culinary knowledge."
"Yeah, that has to be it," Cammie said, taking a bite of the food. To her tastes, it was turning out pretty good, "That and the whole feed 'em and their yours forever. So you're stuck with me."
"I think I will live."
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Date: 2009-08-07 08:41 pm (UTC)