Who: Henry Townshend and Michael Guerin What: Cooking Lessons When: March 2, evening Where: Michael’s apartment Ratings/Warnings: Low - Talk of death and some angst Status: Complete!
Henry didn’t claim to be a world-class chef, but he enjoyed cooking. It was something his grandmother had really enjoyed and she had shared that with Henry. As he got older, she insisted that he learn the basics at least: how to boil an egg, make rice, cook a grilled cheese. She called it survival cooking, though Henry was pretty sure she said that as a way to keep his teenage interests from wandering.
Now Henry was passing those skills on to someone else. Hopefully.
Before heading to Michael’s, Henry stopped at the grocery store and grabbed a few things he thought they may need. They weren’t doing anything fancy (Henry didn’t really know how to make anything fancy anyway), just a simple casserole. Hopefully something easy enough for Michael to learn.
The bag containing ingredients in arm, Henry made his way up to Michael’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Michael had grown up in foster care. He had no parental figures to teach him how to cook. He knew how to heat things up in the microwave (which came in handy when he was in college) and that was pretty much it. After college he had gotten hired at Stark Industries and made enough money to live off take out. He did try to make things for himself on occasion. Sometimes it turned out fine. But not always. He figured it couldn’t hurt to get a few tips.
Michael heard the knock on the door and figured it was Henry. He wasn’t the best at making friends, or having friends, but again, couldn’t hurt. He made his way over to the door, pushing his curls out of his face. “Hey,” he greeted stepping back to let the other man in. “You want a beer?”
“Hi,” Henry greeted Michael with a casual smile as he entered the apartment. It was kind of weird being in someone else’s space, especially someone he didn’t know very well...or at all, really. Despite how he may have come across on the forum, Henry wasn’t really an outgoing person and once he was inside the apartment, he really wasn’t sure what to do next. So he appreciated when the other man offered him a beer. At least he’d be shown where the kitchen was, provided that was where Michael kept his beer. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
Not only did Michael drink beer like it was water, he also figured it would help to ease the tension. Not that things were tense exactly, but Michael wasn’t exactly in the habit of having people over for cooking lessons. And he didn’t think Henry did this often either.
“No problem,” Michael said, leading him over to the kitchen. Michael had a pretty decent apartment. The two bedrooms (one he used more as an office) were in the back. As well as the bathroom. There was a living space that was where Henry had first entered, and then the kitchen off to the side. “You can put the bags down there,” he nodded at the counter as he grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing one to Henry. “What did you bring anyway?”
Henry followed Michael into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. “I brought stuff to make chicken casserole,” he said as he pulled a folded up piece of paper out of the bag. He unfolded it and then hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Michael. “You like chicken, right?” Crap! He hadn’t even thought to ask. He’d just figured a casserole was quick and easy, a good recipe to learn on. “If you don’t...uh…” he glanced inside the bag. “We might be able to turn it into mac and cheese…”
“Yeah,” Michael replied, a laughing smile on his face. Not quite laughter but he was definitely on the verge. “I like chicken.” He popped the top off his beer taking a long swallow. “Casserole huh?” That sounded kind of fancy. “You sure a guy that burns grilled cheese can make that?”
“Sure,” Henry answered with a shrug. “Casseroles are actually really easy. They’re cheap too and you can get a couple of meals out of them.” Which for Henry, who often lived paycheck to paycheck, was the important part.
He handed Michael the paper. “That’s the recipe we’ll be following,” he said. “I printed it out in case you wanted to hang on to it.” While Michael looked over the recipe, Henry unloaded the bag, setting various items on the counter. Along with the ingredients, Henry had brought along a bowl and a baking dish, since he wasn’t sure if Michael had either. He assumed the other man had a frying pan they could cook the chicken on. What else had he used during his grilled cheese attempt?
The bag empty, Henry set it aside and opened his beer. He took a quick gulp before setting his mind onto the task at hand. “We’ll need to cook the chicken first,” he told Michael. “That can be the tricky part if you’re not used to cooking chicken. You got a pan?”
Michael wasn’t that concerned with money. There was definitely a time in his life where he was, and honestly Michael didn’t need much. But now that he had a decent job he could afford take out every night or whatever other meal he wanted to make.
He looked over the recipe brows furrowing. “I don’t know man, this looks pretty complicated,” Michael replied, taking another gulp from his bottle. “I’m used to just heating things up in the microwave,” he explained before setting his bottle down on the counter and grabbing a pan for Henry. “This work?” he asked handing it over.
“Yeah, that’ll work,” Henry said, taking the pan. He set it on the stove before picking up his beer and taking a sip. “That’s beauty about casseroles. Once you make it, all you have to do is heat it up again when you want leftovers.” He set his beer bottle down and went about washing his hands. “First thing we need to do is cut up the chicken breast and cook it. You got a knife and a cutting board?”
“Yeah but I still have to cook it the first time,” Michael replied with a smirk. He too, picked his beer back up and took a long swallow. “Uh, I have a knife,” Michael offered. He actually had one of those block things with a few knives in it, though he rarely used them. He nodded over at it. “But no cutting board.”
“That’s true,” Henry agreed. “But I’m here to show you how to make it, right. Once you know, you can make it again if you ever want to and then you’re set for meals for a few days.”
Michael didn’t have a cutting board, so Henry had to make do with finding something else, that something else ended up being a plate. While the oven preheated, he showed Michael how to cut up the chicken, showing him how to best use a knife. Then it was on to cooking the meat up in the pan. Henry showed Michael how to season the chicken and how to tell it was done. After that he had Michael measure out the other ingredients and put everything in the cooking dish and into the oven.
“Now all we do is set a timer for about 30 minutes and check on it.”
During the whole cooking process, Michael finished off his beer and grabbed another one. It still seemed like a lot of work to him, but he supposed it would be worth it if it made multiple meals. Michael nodded, setting a timer on his phone, before leading Henry out to the living room area and taking a seat on the couch, expecting Henry to do the same.
“You give a lot of cooking lessons?”
Henry’s beer was almost done and once the casserole was in the oven, he took the opportunity of chugging the rest of it down. He helped himself to another before following Michael into the living room. “No,” he admitted. “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve taught how to do anything.”
“Not sure if I should be honored or scared,” Michael said with a small laugh. “Guess I’ll find out in thirty minutes,” he added, taking another swallow of beer. Michael had never really taught anyone how to do anything either. Unless you counted the people under him at work. But they all at least were already engineers.
“I don’t know if you should be either,” Henry said with a shrug. “I don’t usually do this type of thing. Just wander into some dude’s home and help him make dinner.” He paused thoughtfully. “It’s kinda weird when I put it like that, huh?” But he shrugged. “But if you learned something, then awesome. If not, at least I get to eat.” He grinned.
“I’ve been learning to embrace weird lately,” Michael said, taking another swallow of beer. Not that he had much of a problem with it in general. What was normal anyway? Although some of what had happened lately was a little too much. But whatever at least it wasn’t just him.
“Though I gotta admit. You’re the first person who has ever offered to come teach me anything.”
“I am?” Henry asked. He remembered something Michael had said on the network, something that had given Henry the impression that Michael didn’t have a whole lot of people in his life and hadn’t for a while. “Oh, well. Uh, I hope that I was a good teacher, at least,” he said, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Remembering the beer in his hand, he quickly drank it down.
“Depends how the food turns out,” MIchael said, finishing off his own beer as well. He tossed it in the recycle and went over to the fridge, grabbing them each a fresh one. “Considering you once burned butter,” Michael began. “I take it you don’t cook for a living?”
“I told you that was years ago,” Henry said, but he smiled. It had been the first year he’d been out on his own and at that time he’d been used to cooking on a hotplate instead of an actual stove. He’d learned his lesson, that was for damn sure.
“No, I’m not a chef or anything like that,” he said. “ I’m a photographer.”
“Pretty sure a chef has gone more than a few years without burning food.” Michael replied. “Or at least they wouldn’t admit to it.” Maybe burning food wasn’t the best way of putting it. Chef’s probably burned things when they were trying out new recipes or something. But burning butter didn’t seem like something a chef would do. “I don’t know much about photography,” Michael admitted. Or cooking, obviously. For a genius, there were sure a lot of things he didn’t know.
“There’s that,” Henry agreed with a chuckle. “And I’m pretty sure a real chef would make chicken casserole a lot fancier than what I had you do tonight.” Feeling a little more comfortable, Henry had a seat. “I mostly taught myself photography,” he said. “There wasn’t a whole lot to do in the town I grew up in, so I had a lot of time to just sit and read and go outside and just wander around. I did a lot of wandering around.”
“Seemed pretty fancy to me,” Michael said with a shrug, sitting back down on the couch himself. “And the wandering around is where you started taking photos?”
Henry supposed if Michael was used to attempting to make grilled cheeses than anything more complicated than that would seem fancy. He smirked at the other man. “Well, now you know how to make something fancy.”
He took a quick chug of his beer. “I guess it was,” he answered. “There were -- I guess there still is -- a lot of woods behind my grandparents’ house. There weren’t a lot of other kids in the area and I don’t know if a lot of the other parents wanted their kids hanging out with me anyway. So I did a lot of wandering around alone in the woods. When I got my first camera the wandering was less wandering and more…” Henry paused. “Well, it was still wandering, but at least I could document where I was going.”
Michael could understand that. Kids didn’t really want to hang out with him either. Though he had managed to bond with some of his foster siblings. But he was never with them for long. “Your grandparents raised you?” That was what it sounded like at least.
Henry nodded. “My parents died when I was little. I don’t remember anything about them or what happened.” His tone turned bitter. “Not that the people in town weren’t full of ideas about it.” He glanced at Michael before taking another quick gulp of beer. “But, uh, yeah, photography. I’m a photographer.” He fell into an awkward silence for a moment before speaking again. “Have you lived in Vegas a long time?”
Michael caught the bitterness in his tone. Not that he could blame the guy. He didn’t remember shit about his parents. But he didn’t have anyone telling him stories about their parents either. He wasn’t sure if he would have preferred the random stories or not knowing. “Mine too,” Michael said. Or at least he assumed they did. All he knew was that he was found in the dessert.
“Yeah. Pretty much my whole life,” he replied with a shrug. “Except for when I was in college.” And those first seven years.
If Michael had heard the stories the townspeople told about Henry’s mother, his father and about Henry himself, he probably would have preferred to not hear anything at all. He took another gulp of beer as Michael spoke. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” he said with true empathy in his voice. Henry hadn’t gone through foster care, but he knew what it was like to grow up parentless. “Can I ask what happened?”
“No clue,” Michael replied, trying his best to sound casual as he took another swallow of beer, but there was definitely some bitterness in his voice. “Who knows, maybe they are actually alive. I was just found as a child. No memory of it.”
Henry heard the bitter tone in Michael’s voice, despite his attempt at being casual. “I’m sorry,” he said. He shifted in his seat a little and looked at his beer. He wondered if it was better or worse that Michael had no memories of his parents, or of being found. He figured it depended on the situation. Didn’t make anything easier for Michael, though. That was for damn sure. “It sucks being on your own,” he said. “And not having anyone you can really turn to. It kinda feels like it's you against the world.”
“That’s because it’s how it is,” Michael said with a shrug. “Better to find that out at an early age.” No one else was going to be there for him. Might as well learn how to fend for yourself early on. Which was why Michael still didn’t rely on anyone. Or get too close.
Henry picked at the label of his beer bottle with his thumbnail. He thought about his grandparents and what he’d gone through when they’d died. He hadn’t had anyone to help him through it. He didn’t have any other family. His college girlfriend had broken up with him and the friends he thought he had in his hometown weren’t much help either.
The corner of the label peeled away under his thumb. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” The smell of cooking chicken wafted into the living room from the kitchen. “But, maybe we aren’t always alone. I mean, I’m here now teaching you how to cook a casserole, right?”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “I guess so.” Though he didn’t think that really counted. And even if they did end up becoming friends or whatever, Michael would probably always keep him at a distance. It was just how he was.
The oven beeped. Michael was pretty sure that meant the food was ready. He walked back into the kitchen, opening up the oven. “Smells good at least.” He grabbed an oven mitt (he did actually have some things) and pulled the pan out of the oven.
Henry followed Michael into the kitchen and peered over his shoulder as the other man pulled the casserole out of the oven. It looked pretty good and smelled fantastic. “I’ll get us a couple of plates and we can try it,” Henry said. “Then we’ll know if I’m any good at teaching anyone how to cook.”
“Plates are over there,” Michael said nodding at one of the cupboards, while he placed the pan onto the counter. While Henry got the plates, Michael grabbed some utensils for them. Once they were all dished up he led them to the counter where he had stools pulled up, climbing onto one. “Moment of truth,” he said digging into his food.
After joining Michael at the counter, Henry dug in as well. Considering Michael had never made a casserole before, he thought it turned out pretty good. The most important thing being that neither one of them had set anything on fire. He grinned at Michael. “Pretty good, huh?”
Michael took a few bites and thought it over before responding to Henry. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess it was worth all that work.” Maybe he would start cooking for himself more often… like once a week. It was probably healthier than always getting take out.