xp_logs | Jean-Paul and Victor, Sunday evening

Jean-Paul gives Vic his first real cooking lesson, while Vic introduces Jean-Paul to the concept of Midwestern Comfort Food. They both emerge only slightly traumatized from the event.

Once again, Victor was standing nervously outside of Mr. Beaubier's door. This time, however, he held a precious relic in his sticky fingers--a battered, slightly rusted tin box with Snoopy cartoons printed on it, just large enough to hold a stack of notecards. He hesitated for a second, tongue flicking against his teeth, then knocked on the door in front of him--no need to be nervous; Mr. Beaubier was expecting him. He wasn't imposing or anything.

The door opened and Victor's teacher greeted him with a pleasant nod.

"Right on time. Come in." Unlike the last time Victor had been in the older mutant's suite, there were papers, pens, and open books covering almost every surface; the kitchen counters and dining table stood out simply for being surfaces that weren't being used to support writing materials. "I apologize for the mess. The closer we get to the start of class, the more my brain insists on throwing ideas at me."

"It's okay, I know how this works," Vic said with a small laugh, following Jean-Paul through the suite. "My parents are the same way. Our dining room table disappears and we eat out on the porch for, like, the whole month of August. At least you're not teaching little kids. Then you've got to cut out all of the stuff for your bulletin board, and there are stickers and glitter everywhere. My mom used to teach second grade." He pretended to shudder. "You wouldn't believe how much of an improvement fourth grade is as far as that goes."

"Do not even think such things," the speedster protested with a mock-shudder. "The next thing you know, someone will drop a crate of early-manifesting eight-year-olds on our porch." Jean-Paul lead the way to the kitchen. "All the same, I am glad that this is familiar enough to be routine. Hopefully it means you will be forgiving as certain adults in the house become distinctly flake-like with the progression of the month. Now then, you said these were all basic recipes, non?"

"I think so?" He held out the small box reluctantly. "I mean, my mom doesn't make anything with, like," he reached for the most exotic-sounding food word he could, "arugula or anything like that. It's pretty straightforward. Except the pierogies. I have no idea if those are hard or not."

Jean-Paul made a notation in his mental file on the newest arrival: "fancy food" was to Victor what "exotic locale" was to Johnny.

"I think dough and filling might be a bit ambitious for a first outing, so we will save the pierogies for another time, I think." Jean-Paul set the box on the counter and began flipping though the neatly-filed recipe cards. "But I suppose the best place to start would be to ask what you would like to try. What are you in the mood for?"

"Um, I don't know. Meatloaf might be good, or some mashed potatoes, or maybe mac n'cheese? So I guess you could start at the Ms," he said with a startled laugh as he realized what his list items all had in common.

Jean-Paul started to caution against mixing dough as a first outing again, but he managed to skim the recipe before opening his mouth. While he had everything he needed to make macaroni from scratch, he didn't think he had elbow macaroni in his pantry. Velveeta was right out. "Meatloaf it is." He plucked the card out of its place and read the ingredient list. One eyebrow rose. "Cornflakes?"

Vic gave him a dubious smile, not sure if he was being made fun of or not. "Noooo," he protested. "It's meatloaf. It's, like, meat. And onions, I think."

"I am serious." Jean-Paul handed Victor the card. "I suppose it is not so different from breadcrumbs so far as holding the loaf together," he admitted, albeit a bit grudgingly. "I just was not expecting it, and I think it would be more noticeable."

Vic's eyebrows lifted to a point just under his foremost spike as he read the careful teacher's script. "I wasn't either," he admitted as he gave the card back. He bit his lip, looking the tiniest bit worried. "Do you think it'll be really different if we use breadcrumbs?"

Jean-Paul rubbed the back of his neck, wrestling with his answer for a moment. "Either way," he sighed finally, "it serves no one any good to change the recipe, does it? It is what you are used to and it would be...rude of me to start switching out ingredients before I have even tried to prepare the original. So cornflakes it is. I do not have any up here, but I know for certain there are some in the downstairs kitchen."

"I'll go get them," the boy offered, heading for the door. "We'll do it your way next time. We can have Johnny do a blind head-to-head taste test or something."

"I should have things set up by the time you return." Jean-Paul glanced back down at the recipe box, its cheerful characters, and its cargo of not-quite-familiar recipes. This was going to take some getting used to.

Victor returned within moments, carrying one of the industrial-sized boxes of cornflakes that were necessary to feed a house full of mutant metabolisms. "You didn't start without me, right?" he called out as he re-entered the kitchen.

"I wouldn't dare," Jean-Paul deadpanned. "I am adrift in foreign waters." Well, perhaps not entirely; he'd managed to assemble most of the ingredients from his fridge. "The only thing I do not think we have is canned mushrooms; we will have to make do with fresh."

"This isn't the blind leading the visually challenged, is it?" Vic teased. "I'm supposed to be learning something, you know." He surveyed the assembled ingredients on the counter. "I think fresh will be okay. You can blame the mushrooms if it doesn't turn out like you want. So. What do we do?"

Jean-Paul produced a pair of thin gloves made of transparent plastic, the kind usually seen on lunch-ladies and cafeteria workers, and held them out to Victor. "First, we neutralize your natural adhesive. I cannot imagine that crushed cornflakes sticking to your fingertips would be comfortable. So first we preheat the oven, which I have started. Next..." He glanced at the card again. "...we crush one cup of cornflakes." Without ado, he pointed Victor to a measuring cup. "Just pour the cereal into the mixing bowl and use your knuckles to lightly crush it." The recipe really was simple, to the point that Jean-Paul wondered about Victor's lack of confidence in his ability to prepare it on his own. "You did not have an interest in the kitchen when you were younger?"

The gloves felt strange against his finger pads, smooth and soft. He looked at the mixing bowl curiously but said nothing; maybe next time he'd introduce his teacher to the 'pour it in a ziplock bag and smash it' approach. He shrugged at the question as he broke cornflakes up with light pressure from his fist. "I helped my mom make cookies sometimes, but that was about it. Plus I thought I had a couple more years to learn." He frowned at the cornflake bits, smashing a little more intently.

Victor's train of thought was not difficult to follow -- Jean-Paul doubted the boy's plans for this year had included leaving home and family for the country's oddest boarding school. "Ah. You thought there would be time to pick up a few more survival skills before heading off to university." He skinned the plastic wrap off of the pound of ground beef he had sitting out before the subject reminded him of another topic Victor might have interest in. "Have you heard back from home? I did give your father my contact information before they left, and I have yet to wake up to fewer than three new questions sitting in my inbox since. At this rate, I may have enough material for a book by the end of the year."

Vic groaned in utter embarrassment; the presence of the gloves stuck to his fingertips was the only thing that kept him from burying his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry," he said sincerely, if a touch miserably. "I'll try to remind him that he's not allowed to give my teachers homework."

"I do not mind so much. It is good to get an outside perspective. And besides, he makes me think about what I am doing." Jean-Paul had begun dicing mushrooms and onions as they spoke; as he liked having students in possession of all their fingers, he wasn't going to leave that task to a kitchen novice wearing slick gloves. A moment later, he pushed the cutting board with its piles of vegetables toward Victor. "Here, measure these out and add them to the bowl. Have you selected your classes yet?"

"Still, let me know if he's driving you crazy. Or let him know. He gets excited sometimes and nerds out." He peered at the recipe, then carefully selected a measuring cup and began to scoop up the onions. "I think so. I mean, the basic stuff was already figured out, and I took French back home, so I figured I'd take it again here. And I'm going to take Lit--it looks good, even if we do have to read Hawthorne," he teased shyly. "And I was hoping to take a drama class, if that's possible?"

"Not as such," Jean-Paul admitted. "I believe that Monsieur Cunningham includes a drama section in his English courses, and the students have pursued it as an extracurricular activity. They had a joint production with one of the local schools back in the spring. But no, we do not have a drama class as such. Perhaps you could put together a club? Or petition to have it added to the curriculum."

"Yeah." The boy fell silent then, frowning at the ingredients as he mixed them together.

"Here, add these, then knead the whole thing together." Jean-Paul passed over the ground beef and an egg. "This is a disappointment, I take it?"

Vic did as told, squishing the contents of the bowl into a gooey mess between his fingers. "I was just hoping there would be something a little more, well, organized, I guess." He shrugged. "It's not a big deal." The tone of his voice said otherwise, however.

"It is different from your old classes, I am sure." He had seen Victor's file - top marks in his drama class, head of his school's amateur theater group, involved in community theater. It was not hard to see where the boy's passion lay. Now he was in a strange place full of stranger people and did not even have that. "Time tends to pass quickly here; you'll be able to go home before you know it. Or perhaps your parents could come visit in the meantime."

"Yeah, I guess. But I don't just want to spin my wheels while I'm here, you know? Plus, two years is a pretty long time." He held up a handful of proto-meatloaf. "This is kind of disgusting."

"It will look better once we apply fire to it. It always does." Jean-Paul regarded his new student thoughtfully. "If you would like to set up a more organized drama department here or a class, there is no reason you could not discuss it with the other students." The speedster quirked a smile. "If we are setting up a curriculum for a freshman class of one, having a drama department of three would not necessarily be an impediment. There is no reason for you to stop doing what you love just because the scenery has changed."

Vic dropped the goop back into the bowl, then poked at it absently. "I know," he said, not quite sullenly. "Everything's just different here. I guess I'm not used to it yet."

"'Different' is the word for it," Jean-Paul agreed quietly. "It does not matter where the residents come from, this place is always first-rate culture shock. I think everyone has to figure out how to cope with it, but it is not all bad. At least rarely boring." He paused a moment, then cleared his throat lightly and held up the ketchup bottle. "I...do not suppose you know what the liquid measurement for a 'healthy dollop' would be?"

Green eyes widened as Vic looked first at the bottle, then at his teacher. "I have no idea," he said in consternation. "I could call my mom and ask her, I guess?"

"That seems like it would be violating the spirit of this expedition." Jean-Paul glanced at the recipe, then the bowl, then the bottle again and finally upended the ketchup bottle over the mess in the mixing bowl. "Say when."

"Um." Exactly how big was a dollop, anyway? He erred on the side of caution, holding up a gloved hand after only a second. "When? And we could add more if it doesn't look right once it's mixed?"

"Right. We will play it by ear." Jean-Paul was proud of himself, really. That had come out in a neutral tone. "We can try the pierogies next time, if you like. With enough flour, you will not need the gloves."

"Let's see how the meatloaf turns out first," Vic said with a tentative smile.

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For those wondering, Vic's recipe box looks like this:

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Back: http://creature57.com/~ursaminor/blog/wp-content/upload/back.jpg