Donation fic request: foodie verse, steve/tony and Chicago deep dish pizza. Or whatever you feel like writing, its all good fun.
So I missed the “Stony” the first time around, and thus it is not the focus of the fic, but the Chicago Style Pizza part is very in evidence! :D
“Okay, but…what is it?” Steve asked, studying the object on the table curiously. The waiter, with a warning look, slid a pie server underneath a slice and lifted it out. Cheese dangled everywhere.
“It’s Chicago-style pizza,” Tony said, holding up his plate to be served.
“That’s not pizza,” Steve replied.
“Chicago style,” Tony emphasized.
“That’s not pizza,” Steve repeated.
“You’re adorable,” Tony told him, and Clint made a gagging noise.
“I lived next door to Italians. I served in Italy. I know American pizza doesn’t look like Italian pizza but this doesn’t look like any pizza I have ever seen anywh – why is it like that,” he asked, as another slice was lifted and basically drizzled onto his plate.
“Because it is delicious,” Natasha said, stealing a forkful of cheese from Tony’s pizza. He made to stab her with his fork, then thought better of it.
Steve picked up a fork and carefully separated the crust from the back of the slice. The cheese, incongruously given its earlier runniness, stayed stiff.
“If you’re chicken, I’ll eat your slice,” Bruce offered. Steve turned his glare on him.
“I’m not chicken, I ate c-rations,” Steve said. “I ate sausages made before the FDA existed. Are we sure the FDA has cleared this?”
Thor had already eaten his entire slice. He’d apparently twirled it around his fork and unhinged his jaw somehow. He was eyeballing Steve’s with intent.
“Look, we came all the way to Chicago to punch bad guys,” Clint said. “We might as well enjoy the local delicacies.”
“It’s okay,” Tony said. “I thought this might happen. I got you something else, Steve.”
The waiter, who had briefly vanished, returned with a pile of palm-sized, golden half-circles, gleaming with melted butter.
“Potato-cheese pierogies,” he announced, and deposited them at Steve’s elbow. Steve looked at the golden-brown pierogie crust, broke off a corner, and tasted it. Then, without speaking, he dumped half the platter of them onto his plate.
“Are you going to eat that?” Thor asked, pointing to his slice. Tony was battling off Natasha’s forays into his pizza.
“No, go for it,” Steve said, mouth already full of pierogie. “Now THIS is a delicacy,” he added to Clint, as Thor transferred the slice to his plate.