Everyone thinks you’re the best cook, Alfred disagrees.…
(non-serious short imagine)
The culinary creations withheld in the kitchen were always eaten in one sitting, as the flavours were so divine, the cooking to exquisite.
You owned the kitchen.
You were the master of the Kitchen.
You were a God in the kitchen.
Every vegetable or ingredient you touched, turned into a delectable dish that would call hungry mouths for miles.
You could turn anything into a masterpiece; a potato, into a Mona Lisa.
When you cut into the onions, the onions didn’t make you cry.
You made the onions cry.
The funny thing was, you didn’t even try. Maybe it was just talent of the touch, or possibly a culinary calling, but your food made even Bruce fall to his knees.
After a long night out, the boys would flock into the manor, the smell of warm soup, or roast vegetables with fresh crispy bread controlling their senses. Even with the same energy as a sloth, they would run to the table, ready to eat.
You would all sit down, passing each other dishes to share and glasses to fill, whilst talking about the night and possible future missions. But in the corner of the kitchen, Alfred would watch.
His eyes eyeing the food. He spotted a piece of spare toast on the counter in front of him.
He could toast it better he thought.
But as you looked up, you spotted the jealous man, and you swiftly invited him to sit and eat, a look of confliction on his wrinkled face. Alfred would sit, the boys would keep talking, and passing food to one another, too refill their plates.
You would assemble a plate of food for him, a plate fitting of every dish you made that night. He picked up his spoon and filled it with soup. You watched, as he slowly blew on the soup, taking his sweet, sweet time to finally eat.
The boys were almost done, the dishes almost completely empty of every scrap.
As his lips touched the liquid, his taste buds fell into a blackhole of flavour, each savoy tastebud dancing on salt and warmth, a constellation of flavour.
“Good?” You would ask. Alfred would look to you, conflicting denial on his face. He would clear his throat, and get his spoon ready for more,
“I suppose it’s okay, Mrs. Wayne.”
“Could do with a little more salt.” He would mutter, “And maybe stock.” You would smile, looking back at the boys who were fighting over the last piece of bread,
“Then i guess next time you’ll have to help me,” Alfred would quickly smile, a laugh escaping his lips,
“You could do with the extra help.” He would remark, causing you to gasp a little, you smirked,
“Are you calling me a hopeless cook Alfred?”
“I am saying no such words Mrs. Wayne.” Alfred continued to sip his soup.
“Step carefully Alfred,” You would joke, “If you’re not cautious you might find a toe nail in your food someday.”
Bruce would watch you two. Eyes darting back and forth, moving with every sarcastic comment you two made. He would tap Jason on his shoulder, stopping the bickering between him and Damian.
All the boys would look at Bruce, Bruce’s eyes watching his wife.
“I think if we value our lives, we’d best go somewhere else.” The boys looked to were Bruce’s eyes were traced. They watched as you and Alfred bickerd over food, and who was the better cook.
“The toe nail would indeed possibly make it better than this soup if you ask me.” Alfred said, causing Tim to spit out his soup in shock as he watched the old butler say words he would never dare to say.
“Let’s go.” Jason said quickly.
And as swiftly as the the wind, they were gone, leaving you and Alfred behind at the table. You stopped and looked around to find your surroundings empty. You smiled at Alfred,
“That was easy,” You whisper, “There’s a slice of cake in the fridge i saved for when no one is here, want to share with me before the kids steal it?”
Alfred would smile, placing the napkin on his lap to the table,
“It would be my pleasure.”
–Okay, so not the most serious imagine i’ve written, but this was just a little fun inspired by a lovely friend.
–Feel free to send me requests or scenarios! But be warned i may or may not write each and everyone as i do have a lot, but it’s nice to get different and fresh inspiration from you guys!
The college newspaper pointed to the traditional Banh Mi Vietnamese
sandwich as an example. The campus dinning services used ciabatta bread,
pulled pork and coleslaw. Typically, the traditional Vietnamese dish is
served on crispy baguette bread with grilled pork, pate, pickled
vegetables and fresh herbs.
So for non-Americans, there are three things you need to know about Olive Garden breadsticks
One, they are large and soft, more like dinner rolls than the crispy biscotti-like bread you are used to. They are painted with a garlic butter and then baked (or baked and then painted with a garlic butter, one of the two)
Two, they are unlimited - your server keeps bringing more and more. The breadsticks are unlimited. You finish the basket but two more baskets rise in its place. There cannot possibly be that many breadsticks in that kitchen, but they keep bringing more baskets out. Where do they get so many baskets of breadsticks from
Three, and this is the most important part, they are basically crack cocaine. Moreso even than Red Lobster’s cheddar biscuits.