decorating dinner with delicious(?) dressings
Linhardt nods, looking through the collection of ingredients for the grape leaves. While he was not a chef by any means and thus was not familiar with them that way, he’d studied various different things in the past and that led him to be familiar with plants such as these. He has to double-check, but he finds them easily enough.
“Found them,” and he prepares his knife to cut them into shape. (One thing he knew about cooking was to use separate utensils between meat and veggies, or to wash them at the very minimum. It was a basic precaution to avoid spending ages in the infirmary later, undoubtedly against his own will.) With a freshly cleaned blade, he sets to slicing.
The leaves are cut with ease—he was getting better at this, he could tell. While still careful to avoid hurting himself, measuring and cutting where it seemed about right was becoming slightly more effortless each time. It was actually rather satisfying. (Definitely, Lin was improving.)
In the corner of his eye, he spots the other eyeing the crust and pizza stone, seemingly deep in thought about something. He imagines that if he could hear Shigure’s thoughts, they’d likely be filled with thoughts as to what to do next—several steps ahead, of course. This was his recipe after all.
Careful and calculating, but not in a cold fashion. Observational skills and rational thinking were useful regardless of tradition or demeanor. It was like a science experiment—follow the procedure closely, to make latter modifications easier. The experiment was simply food, and cooking is chemistry, isn’t it?
But all that iterating would come in due time. Instead, Linhardt asks, “What’s next after this?”
“Hmm?” Linhardt’s question pulls him from his reverie, and the bluenette takes a moment to recall what he had decided for the different steps in the recipe. “Let me see... ah, yes, let me drizzle oil on the crust first before we start putting the toppings on. Fish, leaves, tofu—right, next we’ll dice the olives. Here,” taking the container of feta cheese, he hands it to the verdette, “why don’t you make sure this is nice and finely crumbled so we can sprinkle it on the pizza? I’ll get started with the olives after I do the crust.” The duo has prepared most of the ingredients now anyway, so it probably won’t hurt for the crust to sit with the olive oil a bit.
Shigure drizzles the oil with a critical eye, leaving space for the border at the edge that is, purportedly, meant to act as a handhold once the dish has been sliced up. After some thought, he turns to dig through one of the utensil drawers and comes upon a basting brush. Ah, perfect. New tool in hand, the Blue Lion spreads the oil out into a thin, even layer across the crust and smiles in satisfaction when he finishes. Setting the brush aside, he puts the tofu on a plate separate from the fish and goes off to re-clean his implements. As he starts in on the olives, he hums, a happy little tune his caretakers used to sing about making good food.
I wonder what they would think about this dish, he wonders. Certainly they’d be curious as to the origin of the non-Hoshidan cuisine... maybe they’d be happy I finally got the chance to connect with my mother’s heritage? Hmmm... No doubt Minato would be ecstatic to try something new, especially a dish from his old friend. I hope he gets to enjoy incredible food in the afterlife... and that my new recipe will find its way there for him to taste, too.
