Who: Jack and Jerome Where: The Kitchen When: Mid-afternoon
Jack had been having a bit of a love/hate relationship with the idea of cooking since he'd gotten back. He wanted to do it. It felt normal. It felt like a piece of home. He knew that if he wanted to he could set up a group dinner and people would show up and help, but he also knew that if he did his second-in-command wasn't going to be there. No little sister from another mister. No Juno. It felt wrong to go on without her, even though realistically he knew he didn't have it in him to just not do the things he loved. Maybe that feeling would eventually go away. Maybe she'd be back before it did. The day before had been a success, but the whole time there had been this tiny, niggling hope that someone would message and say they had started finding some of the other people who had gone missing. But their phones hadn't been in the foyer, and their rooms were still empty.
He'd woken up feeling weirdly worn out, but wanting to cook. He showered, he groomed, he dressed, he thought about messaging Kate. He didn't, deciding that he could just bring her something later. He still felt a bit off, and not particularly good company right now, but maybe that would change once he actually felt like he was doing something useful and familiar.
He'd settled into the kitchen after what he generally could call the Zenith Lunch Rush. People would probably still be in and out, and true to form he did have a pleasant conversation with Felix for a bit early on before the guy wandered out with some lunch and the promise to be back to steal something for dinner. It was kind of a relief that the guy had come and gone, and as much as Jack liked everyone, he didn't really want to see them all right now. He felt like kind of an asshole for thinking that, but decided that considering he was making community food it was allowed.
He'd been at it for a little over an hour, making up savory pie crusts and leaving them to set in the fridge while he prepped other things and sipped at a couple beers. Now all four crusts were blind baking in the oven, and two large skillets with ingredients waited on the stove range with the heat now turned off. One had a pile onions and leaks sauteed in leftover bacon grease, with the bacon itself hanging out on a plate on the counter beside a plate with already cooked chicken, onions and mushrooms. A second skillet was still on a low heat, with swiss chard, mushrooms, zucchini and spinach, with a lid on so the vegetables had an opportunity to reduce. He'd been careful to keep the kosher and non elements separated, though he realized he no longer had any idea who actually ate kosher and who didn't. That stung too, exhaling a sigh as he expertly diced a few stalks of green onion and tried to focus on whether or not he wanted to use a young gruyere in both quiches or switch it up. Something he could actually control. Maybe gruyere and gouda?