ππ΄ π·π°π π΄ π° π²π°π»π»π΄π: @essurios, how do you like our guest?
β why, but lightly oiled and plenty seasoned, of course! β a kitchen is not unlike a gallery, a theatre of the senses. the table of a lavish dinner ought not to go unappreciated β after all, a meal is the way to the heart, and at the heart of it, a dish is an exhibit to be enjoyed. alastor always intends to woo! the bottle of red wine procured from wrath, aged, sits atop the counter, awaiting its turn next to the still-wrapped tenderloin, courtesy of the darling miss rosie. the meat is fresh, still, soaking through its paper and into the wood beneath, splayed in an intricate pattern, art upon a canvas. ( the mark of a well-loved and used kitchen is a few stains and wears here and there. )
πΏπ»π°ππΈπ½πΆ: βͺ 'round midnight. β«
β steak au poivre is a timeless classic, indeed! in the 19th century, it was a favoured choice for a late-night rendezvous with one's darling, all thanks to the rumoured aphrodisiac properties of the crusted peppercorns coating the meat. β he explains as he unwraps the package and nods in gnarled appreciation, ears twitching. she spoils him with fresh ingredients, as always, and he feels he simply must oblige her in turn by preparing dinner. he so enjoys these little gatherings they hold, whenever the opportunity for one presents itself β when one keeps the company of tortured souls lines upon racks, it is a pleasant change of pace to engage a dear friend for once and enjoy conversation of the intellectual variety in lieu of screams.
β tsk, distasteful, if you ask me. β two glasses of wine, one offered toward his companion, the other grasped betwixt red claws, β nevertheless, it shall certainly be a marvellous addition to our evening menu. β