quatre: they will put away the sword

[untamedantinous]

There are a number of kitchens to be found in the mansion, as most people know. Enjolras is in one of them, flour speckling his flannel shirt and black jeans. There is a recipe book open on the counter near him, open to a page on baguettes. The young man in question is currently absorbed in kneading some dough: once again, something new to concentrate on. (Yes, he had known that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were only here for a day, but that does not really make it much better.) So, inspired by Laertes -- and, perhaps, the underwhelming boeuf bourguignon the mansion had provided the other day -- he is attempting a French classic. Perhaps a homemade baguette will taste better than mansion-provided food.

Comments

[futaille]

"That depends on if you see him as a necessary step in the recipe."

[untamedantinous]

"I mean, he did put an end to the uprisings." He taps his chin, looking amused. "I shouldn't like to eat an unbaked baguette. But I also shouldn't like to subject my dough to Louis-Phillipe, so perhaps he is not the oven."

[futaille]

He laughs a little. "As kings go..." But he shrugs. "But surely not the fire you'd want for your bread, no."

[untamedantinous]

"No. Apparently baguettes like to be difficult, one must make steam in the oven when putting them in to get them properly crispy."

[futaille]

He laughs, a fond smile blooming. "You do like to make things difficult for yourself sometimes."

[untamedantinous]

“Oh, come, you know you would like a proper baguette as much as I would. Nina would probably like them too.” But he’s returning the smile.

[futaille]

"Oh, I'm hardly denying I would enjoy a proper fresh-baked baguette. Or an improper one if that's all you can manage to produce."

[untamedantinous]

"Very well, we shall get first tasting rights. Simply because we will know what to look for."

[futaille]

"Of course. It takes someone of discerning taste who knows a baguette to judge a baguette."

[untamedantinous]

"Yes. I will come and find you when they are done, unless you're still here, of course."

[futaille]

"I have nowhere else to be, and I do not anticipate having somewhere else to be before it's finished, so that makes me much easier to find."

[untamedantinous]

"Well, it will need another 45 minutes of rising before anything else happens." So saying, he gets up and prods at the dough, picking it up once it's deflated and turning it over again. "And then perhaps another 15 minutes after that."

[futaille]

"And of course I've never stayed in one place for an hour before." He hops down from the counter and goes to the fridge.

[untamedantinous]

"Well, of course you have, but it is hardly stimulating, watching bread rise. ...Unless you are Combeferre, I suppose."

[futaille]

He pulls a bottle of beer from the fridge. "And that is why I will not be leaving you here to watch bread rise by yourself. Because that is what conversation is for."

[untamedantinous]

"Alright then," agreeably. "What shall we talk of?"

[futaille]

He hops back up onto the counter and opens his bottle, taking a sip. "So, how bad was the boeuf bourguignon to inspire you to bake?"

[untamedantinous]

He wrinkles his nose. “Truly terrible. It was barely seasoned, the wine wasn’t even good.”

[futaille]

Observe a dramatic recoil. "Oh! The tragedy!"

[untamedantinous]

“Well, perhaps some things do not translate well to the house-provided food.”

[futaille]

"Still. Truly awful for you to have to experience."

[untamedantinous]

"Yes," solemnly. "It was life-shattering."

[futaille]

"Or at least stomach-shattering, I would assume."

[untamedantinous]

"I wouldn't go quite that far. Suffice to say, it was not the best introduction to French food for Little John."

[futaille]

"An insult to both our cuisine and him, in that case. Good to see you trying to rectify it."