#or when they put the little miniature cake in their little miniature oven... i specifically am remembering the pancakes

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Nineteen

New Chapter. Thank you for your support xx

Masterlist

Summary: Party preparations go underway and Logan begins to ask the question. ‘Do I really belong here?’

Word Count: 7320

Warnings: Past child abuse, food mention (literally half of this chapter is just me talking about food), anxiety, self-deprecation, implied depression, injury mention, past physical abuse, past psychological abuse, implied nightmares, implied panic attack, disordered eating (if there is anything I have missed please let me know).

The following days were devoted almost entirely to Roman’s birthday preparations. From the presents Logan and Virgil had chosen arriving, which they hid in Virgil’s wardrobe. To Patton spending almost the entire of the day, whilst Roman and Virgil were attending school, preparing all of the food necessary for Roman’s birthday party; miniature cupcakes, a selection of fruits and vegetables, prepared sandwiches with a variety of fillings each suited to the preferences of each child and what Patton believed to be the most important element…the birthday cake.

Logan struggled to comprehend the purpose of a specific birthday cake, decorated in candles - which also seemed to be a fire hazard - but Patton informed him of its significance, especially within the Hart household. Patton would make a special personalised birthday cake for each of his family members on their birthday and this time was no different so whilst Patton prepared the ingredients and baked the cake, Logan read to him the recipe. A red velvet cake as it was Roman’s favourite flavour. The found the recipe much easier to decipher now he was wearing his new glasses but had to keep Declan occupied and out of the kitchen to prevent him from disturbing the process and potentially injuring himself. Baking appeared to be a relatively simple science, with clear instructions to follow and specific apparatus to ensure the correct measurements in order to produce the desired flavour profiles, but given his limited experience with baking he chose to instead defer to Patton’s expertise and read to him the recipe to avoid any potential mistakes. However, keeping Declan engaged in anything for longer than a few moments was proving to be incredibly difficult. The toddler had an extremely limited attention span and it was consistently being drawn to Patton’s actions in the kitchen, presumably also due to the heavenly smell now being emitted from the oven where the cake was currently baking.

“Oh, Dee-Dee, how about you help me decorate the cupcakes?” Patton said lifting Declan from the floor, balancing the toddler on his hip as he brought him over to the dining room table where several piping bags of different coloured frosting where laid out, among various other edible decorations. “Do you want to decorate a couple too Logan?”.

“Okay,” Logan responded taking a seat at the dining room table, studying each of the individual decorations and vibrant colours of the icing - presumably created by the addition of various food colourings - considering potential combinations of colours and flavours that Roman would enjoy.  

“Alright kiddo, go for it,” Patton said also taking a seat, balancing Declan on his lap so he could properly reach the table. “Now Dee-Dee, what colour do you want to make your cupcake?”.

“Lellow!” Declan exclaimed bouncing in Patton’s laps, slapping his mitten-cladded hands onto the table’s surface as Patton chuckled.

“That’s a great choice, Dee,” Patton responded picking up the piping bag containing the brightly coloured frosting, allowing Declan to squeeze it haphazardly onto the chocolate cake base, much of it splattering onto the table.

Logan looked to his own collection of undecorated miniature cakes, a selection of both chocolate and vanilla flavours. Initially, he thought of Roman - as it was for his birthday celebration - he decided on a vanilla base and the vivid crimson red frosting as from the vast amount of red he wore and decorated his room with, Logan made an educated guess that it was a colour he enjoyed. Logan found that controlling a piping bag was far more difficult than he expected, Patton had made it look simple, yet his first attempt was a sloppy mess. However, the more he practised and studied Patton’s technique the better his piping became and once he perfected the icing he ventured onto the decoration. Patton had provided a range of smaller confectionery to act as embellishments atop the cupcakes and Logan decided to continue with the ‘ornate’ motif for his cupcake - inspired by Roman - choosing a handful of multi-coloured circular candies and arranged them delicately atop the frosting, in addition to a strawberry slice acting as the centre piece. For Virgil’s specific cupcake, he selected a plain chocolate cake base and settled for the lilac coloured frosting as it was the closest in appearance to Virgil’s favourite shade of purple, evident from the frequent presence of it in his room and in his hoodie which he wore seemingly at all times. Logan’s spiral patterned piping work had significantly improved from his initial first attempt of ‘Roman themed’ cupcakes. The decorations he used were miniature pieces of different flavours of chocolate and topped with a single chocolate orange slice. He continued the process with Declan’s, using the limited amount of yellow coloured frosting remaining, topped with a significant quantity of multicoloured sprinkles, reminiscent of Declan’s own cupcakes he had decorated with Patton. Oh Patton. Logan had almost forget to make a cupcake for Patton. He considered his options very carefully. He desperately wanted Patton to like it. He chose a vanilla base and the lightest of the shades of blue frosting Patton had prepared, a pleasing sky blue. The piping work on the ‘Patton inspired’ cupcakes turned out the best in comparison to the rest of them, perhaps it was because of the particular care he put into making them perfect, as Patton was an avid baker he would surely notice any substandard work. Once the piping had been perfected, Logan selected simple tiny white chocolate stars as a decoration. As a finishing touch, he arranged each of the designs into their specific colour category, he had decorated three of each variety, giving him twelve cupcakes in total.  

“Wow, kiddo, those look amazing!” Patton exclaimed in the process of decorating his own batch of cupcakes. Logan’s face flushed at the compliment 

“Thank you, I took inspiration from Roman, Virgil, Declan…and you Patton, using your preferred colours and flavours in attempt to cater them to your specific tastes,” Logan explained his cheeks still coloured red from the praise.

“Aw Logan, that is precious. I’m sure everyone will love them,” Patton responded a blindingly bright smile stretched across his face. “How about you do one for yourself?”. He set the final chocolate cupcake down in front of Logan.

“That is unnecessary,” Logan stated quickly, this was an event for Roman and his family, he should be respectful and stay separate from the celebrations as much as possible. After all he didn’t wish to spoil Roman’s enjoyment. Logan got up and prepared to make his way over to the sink, where a pile of dirty dishes were building up.

“Why’s that?” Patton questioned and Logan found he didn’t have an answer. If he told Patton what he truly thought, he would immediately counter it, assuring him of his place within the family dynamic despite his short time spent with them. As that was the type of the person Patton was but Logan struggled to comprehend why so instead he chose to return to his seat. Perhaps one cupcake would be acceptable? And if it made Patton happy, he would do it.  

Logan’s design was the most simple out of the lot. The same chocolate cake base as Virgil and Declan’s, atop of which was a simple, neat frosting swirl, in the darkest shade of blue icing Patton had prepared as it was the most akin to his favourite colour. He added no additional decorations as he did not wish to waste any of what Patton had prepared on himself so decided the plain design was satisfactory. Next, the cupcakes were placed into containers and properly stored in the refrigerator along with the rest of the food, to protect them from the early Summer heat and the two cake layers had just come out of the oven. A marvellous smell was emitted as the oven doors opened, faints notes of chocolate and a pleasant sweetness reached his nostrils. After allowing the cake tiers to cool enough where the frosting and decorations wouldn’t melt from the heat. Logan again attempted to entertain Declan with a child-friendly book whilst Patton iced and decorated Roman’s cake.    

Preparations continued that night. Once Roman and Virgil had returned from school, they had all eaten dinner, ticked another Disney film off the list and Declan had gone to sleep, it was approaching nine in the evening. Roman had left for his room and just as Logan was planning to do do the same. Patton stopped him.

“Hey, Logan, I was wondering if you could distract Roman for a little while?” Patton asked in a hushed tone.

“Why is that necessary?” Logan questioned.

“Me and Virgil are going to decorate the living room and the kitchen for tomorrow and I want it to be a surprise for Roman,” Patton explained, that was when Logan noticed the container of brightly coloured streamers and a various other items, presumably for the purpose of decorating. He failed to comprehend why it was compulsory to embellish your surroundings dependant on the occasion, Maggie used to decorate her office for holidays such as Christmas or Halloween but birthdays were not considered to be national celebrations yet the same conditions seemed to apply.

“Alright, though how do you wish me to…distract him?” Logan inquired as far as he was aware he and Roman had very little in common, shared very few interests and had significantly conflicting personalities. How was he expected to entertain Roman for any length of time? Logan had rarely encountered Roman alone, unlike his several conversations with Virgil and Roman’s feelings towards Logan and his arrival remained undetermined.

“Get him to talk about himself, he loves that,” Virgil stated as he began to unpack his own box of decorations. Logan considered the suggestion, he would have to think of particular questions to pose but perhaps this task could be an opportunity to gain Roman’s favour and acquire more informations in regards to his specific likes and dislikes so too strengthen their bond.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Logan declared determined to assist in Patton and Virgil’s scheme wherever possible.

Logan found himself waiting outside Roman’s bedroom door. An all white door, embellished with a variety of brightly coloured stickers, depicting and referencing scenes and individuals he did not recognise, he noticed Virgil and Declan’s bedroom door contained similar appearing stickers which comparatively made his door appear far less interesting. He raised a fist to knock, questions prepared in his mind but the door burst open before he could, causing him to flinch back in surprise.

“Oh hey, specs,” Roman exclaimed as he opened the door, dressed rather strangely in what appeared to be a costume of sorts with a red sash draped across his chest. Perhaps this is what Virgil was referring to when he mentioned Roman liked to believe or pretend he was a prince? Logan noted the nickname Roman used, which appeared to be a common occurrence for both Roman and Virgil. He recognised the word used. ‘Specs’. It was an abbreviation of the word spectacles. So it may have been a reference to the fact he wore glasses. “Come in, welcome to mi habitación. That is Spanish for my room,”.

“You know Spanish?” Logan asked his surprise present in his tone as he entered.

“Yup, I want to become fluent,” Roman stated with a proud smirk. Foreign languages was a subject which has always interested Logan but due to the lack of resources available to him at the Orphanage, he never had the opportunity to learn, though he was surprised to discover Roman had a passion for the subject. “Now, I know you are here to distract me,”.

“Wh…I…I,” Logan stammered. Had he really been so obvious? Would Patton be disappointed? Was he so uninteresting that Roman couldn’t bare to be in his presence?

“I bet they are decorating for my birthday right now,” Roman stated collapsing onto his bed, laying on his back, glancing up towards the red fabric which hung over the dark wood bed frame as he spoke.

“How did you figure it out?” Logan questioned unsure of what else to say as he stood somewhat awkwardly in the centre of Roman’s bedroom.

“Last year, this was Virgil’s job. He was already mad at me for using some of his books to hold up my easel, so he just told me. He got really stressed out after, thinking I was going to tell on him,” Roman explained wildly gesturing to the air as he told his story. Logan certainly understood why Virgil would be upset by a complete violation of his personal property but thought it better not to voice this, allowing Roman to finish his tale. “But I didn’t, besides dad likes it to be a surprise so I let him think that I don���t know what he is doing,”.

So, Roman pretended to act surprised for Patton’s benefit. It was a kind sentiment. Patton evidently enjoyed the birthday preparations, as Logan noted from this heightened mood these past few days though particularly when doing an activity associated with the event of Roman’s birthday and perhaps Roman’s awareness or involvement would remove the joy from it?

“Now, as much as I enjoy your company microsoft nerd, you may leave now. I-I mean, if you wish,” Roman said sitting up and directing yet another dramatic arm movement towards his door but Logan did not failed to note the swift retraction of his previous statement.

“May I stay? It would help with the illusion, would it not?” Logan suggested after a moment of consideration. This was an opportunity for Logan and Roman to communicate and maybe it could lead to them having a better relationship.

“An excellent idea, if you left padre would surely notice,” Roman announced leaping up from his sitting position. “Now what can we do?”.

Roman continued to pace around his untidy room, experting weaving through the piles of his belongings which littered the floor, mumbling potential ideas for activities to do to maintain their façade. Logan watched him for a moment before focusing his attention onto the walls of the room. The majority of them were plastered with artwork, photographs, posters, pamphlets and tickets, some appeared to be well-worn and much loved while others were pristine in their condition, clearly only recently obtained. Logan suspected he could learn a lot about Roman’s identity and interests through studying his surrounding yet his limited knowledge of the world of the arts prevented him from gaining much.

“Roman, might I inquire about your posters?” Logan asked gesturing to the wall behind Roman’s desk which appeared to hold the largest quantity of them.

“Of course!” Roman exclaimed bounding over to where Logan was stood and immediately delved into an in depth and detailed explanation of the history of each individual piece. “They are mostly from shows I have been in or gone to see. That is the program of the first ever performance I did with my theatre group, it was Hairspray and I, of course, played the male lead. That is the poster for Wicked, that one is Les Miserables, Rent, Annie, The Lion King. I’ve also kept all of the signed programs of all the shows I have ever been in and the tickets too. Oh, here are the ones from when me and Elliott went to see Sister Act. It was incredible,”.

Roman’s rambling continued. Logan struggled to get a word in edgewise so he remained quiet, attempting to follow Roman’s constant stream of conciousness which he was finding incredibly difficult. He would jump from subject to subject, begin one sentence, then recall sometimes else and quickly switch to explaining that instead of the previous thought but Logan persisted. One musical in particular caught his attention. It was called Hamilton and tells the epic tale of one of America’s Founding Fathers Alexander Hamilton, in an unconventional manner and style. However, he did note the historical accuracy which surprised him as he expected it to be a work of over-dramatised fiction but Roman informed him otherwise. Roman also told him it was the musical he most wanted to see - among others - but the tickets were absurdly expensive and notorious for quickly selling out so he hadn’t gotten the opportunity too. So, he instead continuously played the musicals soundtrack, having listened to it so much he knew most of the lyrics of by heart and was able to perform them to a high-standard. Roman began to play the first couple of songs from the soundtrack and explained the different stylistic choices of the lyrics and and how they related to events which would occur later in the story. Logan was pleasantly surprised by Roman’s expansive knowledge of the history and story-telling tactics of the musicals he greatly enjoyed, he had yet to witness Roman so enamoured by anything but his enthusiasm when it came to his passions was admirable. He also noticed some distinct similarities between himself and Roman, particularly in the way he obsessed over certain topics. For Logan, it was science and literature and for Roman, it seemed it was his beloved musicals. Eventually Roman seemed to either run out of information to share or run out of air - which seemed to be the case considering the impressive speed of which he was talking - as he stopped talking to take several deep breaths before collapsing into the chair which sat by his desk.

“Sorry, I can talk a lot,” Roman said sheepishly as if embarrassed by his passion-fuelled outburst.

“It is quite alright, your passion it certainly commendable,” Logan said hoping to ease Roman’s worries somewhat but he only received a confused expression in response. “I-I mean…it is good you enjoy it so much,”.

“Oh, thanks. I know stuff like dancing and singing and acting are kind of girly but I really love it,” Roman admitted glancing towards the array of posters and memories upon his wall. The statement perplexed him, as far as Logan was aware specific activities were not gendered but perhaps it was a societal normality? He could recall several insentiences during his time spent in Orphanages were he and the other boys around him were expected to play and enjoy outdoor sports but he found he had no interest in doing so and was as such labelled as abnormal. Maybe, Roman had experienced something similar in the past which led to this thought-process?

“I do not believe specific activities are related to any one gender and if you find enjoyment in such a activity you should be allowed to participate despite your gender identity,” Logan stated as Roman stared at him for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter, so much so he nearly fell out of his chair. However, Logan could not conceive how what he had said would cause such a reaction.

“You’re such a nerd,” Roman responded after managing to compose himself, a small smile on his lips so Logan assumed the comment was not meant to be perceived as a insult and was perhaps a term of endearment? He did not know. “Dad and Virge will be done with decorating by now,”

“Yes, I should be returning to the…my own room now. Goodbye Roman,” Logan said before turning to leave but he was interrupted by Roman.

“Hey specs, thanks,” Roman said quietly, in a tone he hadn’t heard Roman use until now. Logan didn’t know exactly why Roman was thanking him, maybe for the company but he nodded nonetheless and exited, returning to his room for a much required break from the constant activities and stimulation.

Logan was exhausted but he didn’t receive any more than a minute of silence before he was disturbed once again. This time by Virgil, asking him if he wished to join himself and Patton downstairs to wrap Roman’s presents for tomorrow. Despite his desperate desire to refuse, he accepted, not wishing to appear ungrateful of their acceptance and treatment of him so far. Logan was terrified of doing anything wrong. What if he refused a request and Patton realised the mistake he made in allowing Logan into his home and family, just like the couple before him? So Logan followed Virgil downstairs, to see the living room and kitchen decorated in bright red balloons and streamers dangling from the ceiling. A large red banner decorated with small golden crowns, reading ‘Happy 13th Birthday Prince Roman’ stretched across the archway, separating the living room and kitchen and an elaborate centrepiece display on the dining room table. Patton sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by boxes, a variety of brightly coloured and patterned wrapping paper - the majority of which were in Roman’s favoured colour red, a couple pairs of scissors and cello tape. Patton face broke into a grin the moment he set his eyes on Logan.

“Hey kiddo, how was your talk with Roman?” Patton asked with a bright smile stretched across his face as Logan and Virgil also sat on the floor.

“It was very informative,” Logan responded unsure of how else to describe it while also maintaining the illusion that Roman was unaware of the work being done downstairs.

“Aw, I’m glad. Now, let’s wrap these presents!” Patton announced with a giggle.

They created efficient system, in which they each had their own job for optimum productivity. Logan, cut the paper - a shiny red one free of any patterns or designs -  as he could most accurately guess the amount of wrapping paper that would be required for each item and would produce the least amount of waste. The paper was a very satisfying texture, however, the potential danger surrounding the incredibly sharp scissors did made him feel uneasy but Patton demonstrated such a way in which the risk of Logan accidentally harming himself was greatly limited. Patton was responsible for the wrapping the presents as he was evidently superior at it compared to himself - who had never physically wrapped a present before - and Virgil - who was far to scared of possibly ruining it - Patton’s expert wrapping produced clean edges and smooth finish. Finally, Virgil added the finishing touches such as the addition of a gold ribbon securing each of the gifts and a personalised message detailing who the present was from. A short while later, they were completely finished and the pile of presents were added to the display on the table.

“All done, we are now completely ready for Roman’s birthday. Now, all that is left to do is wait,” Patton proclaimed raising his arms in a stretch. “Oh, I forgot to tell you Logan. Emile’s parents Dot and Larry are coming over for Roman’s party tomorrow. Do you think you will be okay to meet them?”.

Logan considered this for a moment. He was aware Patton had purposefully kept Roman, Virgil and Declan’s ‘grandparents’ from visiting to allow Logan time to adjust but he felt conflicted by the action. On my hand, he appreciated the act as moving into Patton’s house was an enormous change and the whole process had been extremely overwhelming so far, also he knew very little about them and as such could not speculate how they would react to him. What if they hated him? What if they wanted Patton to return him? Would he? But on the other hand, Patton had kept them from visiting their ‘grandchildren’ for Logan’s benefit and comfort. Would they resent him for that? Logan certainly wouldn’t blame them but his future in Patton’s family entirely depended on their opinion of him which depended on their first meeting tomorrow and the thought of that terrified him.              

“Yes, I-I would like to meet them,” Logan said a slight stutter to his word which if Patton noticed he did not mention it.

“Okay, I will let them know,” Patton said standing from the seated position on the floor and walking just out of ear-shot.

“You’ll get to meet Elliott tomorrow too,” Virgil stated he had moved to lean against the couch, whilst remaining sat on the floor, looking at something on his cellular device. “He’s Roman’s best friend but Roman also has a super obvious crush on him,”.

“A crush?” Logan repeated confusion present in his tone, having never have heard of the term being used in that particular context which seemed to be becoming a frequent theme when communicating with either Roman or Virgil.

“Yeah, you know, like he likes him,” Virgil said waving a hand absently for emphasis. “Like, like likes him,”.

“Oh, I think I understand,” Logan said. He didn’t. But perhaps, he could ask Patton later?

“Cool, so yeah, he keeps on denying it but I know he is lying,” Virgil said returning his attention once again to his phone. While Logan did not understand what exactly a ‘crush’ was, he knew it must trouble Roman and could perhaps be a risk to his friendship with Elliott, maybe it was for the best he didn’t press the subject to Roman himself.

Following their brief conversation Logan and Virgil fell into a comfortable silence. Logan discarded the minimal amount of scrap wrapping paper whilst Virgil put away the cello-tape and scissors in their correct location before Virgil decided to return to his room for the night. Logan was just about to do the same until Patton returned from his phone-call, sitting next to where Logan was sat on the couch.

“That is everything ready for tomorrow, Dot and Larry are so excited to finally meet you,” Patton said with a bright smile but Logan could not return it, the pit of anxiety developing in his abdomen only grew more impossible to ignore and a dangerous swirl of thoughts caused carnage within his head. He was going mess up. He was going to to ruin everything 

Why was Logan like this? Nothing was objectively wrong. Everything had been going fine but his treacherous brain immediately made him feel like he was going to die. But he couldn’t let Patton see. Tomorrow was supposed to a celebration for Roman. Logan would only ruin things with his complaints. Patton had already given him so much and he was so grateful, him acting selfishly would only lead to Patton witnessing his true self. The broken one. The unlovable one. Perhaps he could hold on a little longer? Remain quiet, avoid disturbing Patton’s family while he searched for a way to repay Patton for his kindness. And then…well he didn’t know. Logan hated not knowing.

“Hey Logan, are you alright? You look like you are million miles away,” Patton asked wearing an expression of concern across his face.

“I am quite alright, I am merely tired. I think I may retire for the night,” Logan responded hoping Patton wouldn’t press him any further.

“Okay kiddo, sleep well,” Patton said all manner of concern melting from his expression and forming into a smile.

“Goodnight,” Logan said before disappearing to his room, swiftly before all of the stress and anxiety burst out of him.

Logan, the second he entered his room, scoured his drawers for his jumper. He tore of his constrictive shirt replacing it with the soft material. He lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, digging his nails into his thighs, revelling in the pain this brought. Why? Why was Logan like this? He should be better. He should be over this. His mother and father were no longer watching over him and criticising his every move, denying him the most basic of necessities for failing to be any less than perfect. Madame Claire was no longer tormenting him mentally and physically for her own sick, twisted enjoyment. Patton had saved him from that yet the fear which gripped him was unyielding. The intrusive what ifs burrowed deep into his mind and grew like a parasite, torturing him, destroying all trust he had in those around him and even in himself. Logan was so terrified of Patton realising the colossal mistake he had made in ever choosing to approach Logan that day. He wondered where would he be now if Patton hadn’t been there? Another Orphanage likely or perhaps Madame Claire would have gotten tired of him and thrown him out on the search for being such a burden. It was moments like these where he desperately desired the sharp sting of his father knife or the dull ache of the bruises Madame Claire left behind, to drown out the racing of his mind, to remind him of his place.

Maybe he shouldn’t attend Roman’s celebration tomorrow. Logan’s absence surely wouldn’t be noted and it would probably please Roman. Why would he want a someone who was virtually a stranger to attend his personal celebration? 

Logan lay down on his side, reaching pitifully for the soft toy resting on his pillow and clutched it tight to his chest as if it could mend the hurt inside. He used its paw to wipe away the tears he had failed to hold in before slipping into a disturbed and restless slumber.  

Patton awoke bright and early. It was the day of Roman’s 13th birthday and he was determined to make it the best one yet, it was also Logan’s first official celebration with them as a family and despite it being Roman’s birthday, he wanted to make a special experience for Logan too. Emile would be arriving along with his parents Dot and Larry at around ten and then Thomas told him he would be dropping off Elliott at eleven just before the super awesome birthday lunch he had prepared, the reveal of the birthday cake and the various activities he had planned. It was also the day for Logan to meet Dot and Larry, the honorary grandparents as they dubbed themselves, Patton had wanted to allow Logan time to settle in before he was bombarded with more new faces but Logan agreed that he was finally ready to meet them and they were ecstatic. They had already heard all about Logan from their frequent phone calls and had fallen in love with him just as Patton had when he first met him. Speaking of Logan, he would surely already be awake and waiting for Patton at the breakfast table

Patton dressed quickly and made his way downstairs careful not to wake Roman, Virgil or Declan who were all still sleeping soundly. Patton journeyed downstairs but instead of Logan waiting at the dining table, book in hand, he was met with an empty kitchen. Logan didn’t appear to be up yet which took him a bit by surprise as he knew Logan adhered to a strict schedule no matter the day or occasion. Perhaps, all of the late nights had finally wore him down and he was sleeping in? Or maybe, he was waiting for Roman to awakened, Patton hadn’t told him of the scheduling for the day so he might have thought the days events wouldn’t begin until Roman awoke. They were all suitable explanations for Logan’s unusual absence, so he continued on as usual, preparing the mornings extra special breakfast specifically for Roman’s birthday. Super fluffy pancakes and every potential topping you could think of, it was Roman’s favourite food and he would always request it every birthday or special occasion. It was only a short while later when Roman, Virgil and Dee came bounding down the stairs to the heavenly smell of pancakes wafting throughout the house.

“Happy birthday, my darling prince,” Patton exclaimed wrapping Roman in the biggest and warmest dad hug he could muster, pressing kisses into his fluffy bed-head, evidently too excited for the days events ahead to do his daily hair care routine. “You are so big now, you are growing up too fast,”.

“Thank you, padre,” Roman responded allowing himself to melt into Patton’s arms, even though he was officially a teenager, dad hugs were never off limits. Roman, Virgil and Dee sat at the table, preparing to tuck into their extra special birthday breakfast but something or rather someone was missing.

“Where is Logan?” Patton asked attempting to mask the concern in his voice.

“I knocked on his door but he didn’t answer, think he might be still asleep,” Virgil answered his voice his still heavy from sleep as he yawned.

“Oh okay, well, let’s let him sleep for a little longer,” Patton said taking his own seat at the table. “I’ll wake him after breakfast,”.

The boys seemed to accept that answer as they quickly tucked into their pancake buffet. Patton selected a couple of smaller ones for Dee, allowing him complete reign of the decorations and jars of crofters jam. Usually he didn’t allow them to have this much sugar and encouraged a healthy and balanced diet but today was a special occasion so sweet treats were mandatory. Dee’s picky eating had certainly been a challenge in the beginning, as he refused nearly everything that was put in front of him but pancakes were a favourite of all of the Hart children. Virgil had gone simple with his pancake, a small drizzling of golden syrup, Patton knew he struggled to eat large quantities of food in the morning but was just happy he was eating, recalling a time when Virgil was considerably underweight and though he was still only the skinny side they had made a lot of progress. Roman’s pancake was the most elaborate; chopped strawberries, drizzled with syrup and decorated with spirals of whipped cream, while eyeing the pile of presents at the end of the table. Patton smiled at his children’s antics but couldn’t help but feel somewhat saddened by the fact that Logan was missing out but a healthy sleep schedule was more important. Once breakfast had been finished, Patton had managed to keep a few pancakes for Logan and the dishes were all cleaned and put away. Roman, Virgil and Dee had all settled on the couch to watch some cartoons while Patton went to fetch Logan.

Patton arrived at Logan’s door, a strange sense of nervousness washed over him. What if Logan wasn’t feeling well? What if Patton was pushing him too much and he recoiled into his shell again? He couldn’t hear any noise from behind the door so perhaps Logan really was still asleep and he was simply exhausted from yesterdays preparations. He knocked once and then once more. After a moment of silence, Patton tried the handle but the door was locked. Why was the door locked? When Patton had checked on Logan last night the door was unlocked, so he had to have purposefully locked it when he woke up this morning. But why would Logan do that? Unless something had happened and he was deliberately hiding.

“Logan, I know you’re awake. Can you let me in please?” Patton pleaded while debating how he could feasibly break down the door without alarming Logan, if he refused. After yet another moment of silence, Patton prepared to speak again but the locked clicked open before he could yet the door remained closed. “Oh thank god, okay kiddo, I am going to come in now,”.

Patton gingerly opened the door into the darkened room, the only light source being the desk lamp. He saw Logan sat at his desk, hunched over a stack of thick textbooks and was writing notes into one of his notebooks. Patton knew Maggie had given him a variety of textbooks to keep up with his studies while he wasn’t in school or regularly attending lessons, it was also evident that he enjoyed learning and working on new projects, Patton was happy Logan had something to do to keep himself occupied while Roman and Virgil were at school and Patton was working from home. But, he was surprised to find Logan studying this early and on Roman’s birthday, today was supposed to be a day of fun and celebration yet Logan was working. Clearly something was wrong.

“Are you alright kiddo, you weren’t at breakfast this morning?” Patton asked taking a seat on the edge of Logan’s bed so he could finally see his face. Logan’s unkempt hair was slick with sweat, his fringe almost entirely obscured his eyes but from the small section Patton could see it was evident he hadn’t slept well at all. A dark shadow played beneath his eyes which were swollen and bloodshot as if he had been crying. The sight made Patton’s heart cry out in pain.

“I am satisfactory, I also seem to not have much of an appetite this morning that is why I chose not to attend breakfast,” Logan answered nonchalantly, without removing his attention from his work in front of him but he was betrayed by his own stomach as it let out a well-timed growl, proving the contrary but it only worsened the pain Patton felt. Why was Logan purposefully hurting himself? He was clearly hungry so why was he pretending?

“You need to eat something Logan, I’m going to bring you something to eat. I promise I’ll be quick,” Patton said standing and leaning over to Logan to place a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving and returning with a plate of two slices of bread with crofters - as he knew it was something Logan liked - to find Logan had moved from his desk to sitting on the edge of his bed, all of his books and notes neatly put away. “Here, now eat up,”.

They spent the next few minutes in silence while Logan ate, meticulously tearing the bread into smaller pieces before eating. Patton hoped Logan’s evident hunger would encourage him to eat the entire sandwich but that was not the case as he set the plate aside with an entire slice remaining on his plate - albeit torn into tiny sections - Patton knew at some point they would need to have a discussion regarding Logan’s strange and at time worrisome eating habits but he decided to leave that conversation for another day.

“Will you be joining the party today?” Patton asked hoping to draw Logan out slowly.

“No, I wont,” Logan responded bluntly and without a moment of hesitation. Patton was confounded. Why? Logan had participated and shown in enjoyment in the entire preparation process but now he was choosing not to join? Had Patton perhaps missed something, some sign Logan had been uncomfortable at whole time and Patton had been simply to stupid and wrapped up in his own fantasy to notice?

“Can you tell me why?” Patton pressed.

“I-I…I do not wish to spoil Roman’s or anyone else’s enjoyment of the celebrations, I am still a stranger and I do not wish to be a disturbance to your family on this occasion so I decided to instead keep to myself though it appears my efforts have had the opposite affect and I am taking attention away from Roman,” Logan explained his voice barely audible but once Patton heard his reasoning his heart sank. Logan was purposefully isolating himself because he thought it would be for their benefit. He still believed himself to be an outsider or an intruder on their family and they wouldn’t want him to be apart of family events and celebrations. Tears stung Patton’s eyes but he refused to allow them to fall, he needed to remain strong for Longer right now.

“Can you look at me please Logan?” Patton pleaded which Logan did so willingly. He looked so exhausted. Patton cupped his cheeks gently while also giving him space to withdraw if he wished but he didn’t. “Logan, you are not a stranger, you are apart of this family. It doesn’t matter that you have only been here a couple of weeks, you are still my son and that won’t ever change. You aren’t spoiling or disturbing anything and you certainly aren’t taking away attention from anyone, it isn’t bad or wrong if you need a little reassurance sometimes and I promise I want you here and I know everyone else does too,”.

“B-but…,” Logan began preparing to attempt to counter Patton argument.

“Nope, no buts. You are my apart of my famILY, kiddo,” Patton said his serious tone washing away bursting into his fit of giggles, when Logan’s prior anxious expression changed into one of confusion at Patton’s statement. “How are you feeling now?”.

“Better, I am still experiencing some levels of anxiety but it has lessened somewhat,” Logan admitted raising a tentative hand to his chest and Patton noticed he was wearing the constellation sweater he had picked out on their shopping trip a few days prior and Patton felt his heart swell with pride.

“I’m glad kiddo, now everyone is waiting for you downstairs,” Patton said lowering his hands from Logan’s face and instead taking his hands into his own, giving them a light squeeze as Logan nodded allowing Patton to pull him up and lead him downstairs where the party could finally begin.

Taglist: @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @skylark-cain @amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @falseh0od @lovingcreatorstrawberry @gr3ml1n-loser @callboxkat @tacochippy @love-angel-03 @comicsimpson @harrypotternerdprincess @cobythinks @whatschooldoesntteachyou @fandomkitty8 @coloursintheblur @read-write-inspire-repeat @clinicalawesomeness @janus-sanders-deserves-better  @scared-ghosthunter @silverstarlinedart @winterrose42 @dumbgayemo @imthatgrace2 @glitchybina @quietwords-loudthoughts @altruistic-skittles

If you would like to be added to the taglist or have a question or request for the series please do not hesitate to ask.

#sander sides #sander sides au #Adoption AU #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #symapthetic deceit #thomas sanders #Emile Picani #cartoon therapy #elliott cartoon therapy #Dot and Larry cartoon therapy #my writing #my fic #original characters #found families #home is where the hart is

[perspective-series]

Thomas Perspective (17/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: fear

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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The timer dinged, and this seemed to set both humans back on track. They scurried about their jobs, Patton pulling the cupcakes out of the oven and Roman finishing the sandwiches. 

“Here you are, Thomas.” Roman proudly presented the miniature sandwich, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger.

 Thomas took is after a moment. It was still a little bigger than what a sandwich normally would be to a human but Thomas was still impressed he sent a smile up at Roman. “Thanks.” He hesitated for a moment before coming closer to where the two were and took a bite of his food. He grinned at the taste. 

“Do you like it?” Roman asked eagerly. 

Patton set down the tray to cool, coming over to see Thomas’ reaction as well.

 Thomas nodded and took another bite. “Yeah! It’s really good...how did you get it so small?” Thomas asked, once again looking at the size of the sandwich and then at the size of these humans. It seemed impossible from his point of view.

“A steady hand...and a lot of practice.” Roman grinned sheepishly, looking over at his scraps from earlier. He handed Patton a regular sized sandwich, and the two began to eat their own lunch.

 Thomas nodded and took another bite. He watched the two humans as he ate, looking mostly at Roman. Again, he was surprised at how good Roman was being, about not grabbing him or anything. A foggy memory came to his mind. “Roman? Did you...Were you the one who found me yesterday?”

Roman gave a surprised nod. “Do you... not remember? I mean, you did seem pretty out of it, I suppose.”

 “I...kind of. It’s a bit foggy but I...I do remember you being there.” Thomas said, looking down. He rubbed at the bruises on his torso. “Why did you...help me.”

“Why did I help you?” Roman set down the rest of his sandwich, concerned. “Thomas, you were hurt. It was the least I could do, especially given our- well, my- awful behavior before.”

 Thomas hummed and looked back up at Roman. “You weren’t there when I woke up, though.” Thomas remembered. “Logan and Patton let me go...would you have?” Thomas could see that Roman acted different now than before but he needed the extra confirmation. And with Patton right there, he felt braver trying to get it.

“Thomas, of course I would.” Roman insisted, placing a hand over his heart. “Though you may not remember it, I told you as much the moment I found you. Truly, I just didn’t want any further harm to befall you.”

 Thomas felt the tension ease in his shoulders. “Okay, I...I believe you. Especially considering you haven’t done anything while I’ve been out here.” Thomas smiled. “Thanks for helping me back there. I’d...probably be dead by now if no one had found me.” Thomas tried to cover up that sad thought with a chuckle but it didn’t really work.

“Oh, kiddo…” Patton looked at the borrower sympathetically.

“Well, I’m certainly happy I was able to be of service.” Roman stood a bit taller, looking pleased with his own heroic deed. “And it certainly worked out most favorably, I think we’d all agree.”

 “Yeah...yeah it did. Honestly, I didn’t even want to leave in the first place. This apartment has been my home for years now. I just...the rules and I was...scared to stay too…” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he didn’t meet the humans’ eyes.

“At least you don’t have to be scared anymore.” Patton smiled down at Thomas. “Instead you get to stay, and you made four new friends!”

 Thomas winced. “Um...three friends.” Thomas corrected Patton, biting his lip.

“Three?” Patton frowned, counting off on his fingers.

“I ah, think he’s not including Virgil, Padre.” Roman explained, catching on quicker.

 Thomas nodded. “I know I said before that Roman treated me the worst-sorry about that by the way-but it was clearly Virgil who treated me the worst. He...he locked me in a cage, called me a criminal and told me he was gonna help me despite me not wanting the help.” Thomas sighed. 

The humans looked at each other briefly. 

“Yes, his behavior was certainly criminal.” Roman nodded, recalling how he had rescued Thomas from captivity. He wasn’t about to try and defend Virgil’s actions, especially after he had just come into the clear himself.

Patton was a different story. “Well...I’d agree that his behavior...wasn’t great.” The human twiddled his thumbs. “But you can’t judge him too harshly, kiddo. We all did things we regret. Virgil’s really an angel once you get to know him.”

 It was true that Thomas had seen the soft side of Virgil multiple times when watching him through the walls. But…“Maybe to you guys and other humans...but he still sees me as a thief and spy and I-I don’t think that’s gonna change...”

“You never know unless you talk to him.” Patton urged. 

 Thomas’ eyes widened. “But if I come out and talk to him...th-then…” Thomas began to shake. Virgil still had that cage waiting for him after all. And he was sure if he got his hands on him after all of this there would be no compromise. The cage would become his home. “I-I can’t...not again.”

“Stop scaring him, Pat!” Roman insisted.

“But-!” Patton looked at Roman, feeling uncertain. After a few moments he let out a sigh.

Taking this as a sign of defeat, Roman smiled and clapped his hands together. “Let’s get back on track. Who’s ready for dessert?”

 Thomas flinched at the loud clap but nodded. “Um, yeah, dessert sounds great.” Anything to get away with not talking about Virgil anymore.

“Patton, want to help with the frosting?” Roman asked, pulling out the ingredients. 

“Sure.” Patton smiled, pulling himself out of his slight funk. “Thomas, do you want to help too?”

 “Oh, uh...how?” Thomas asked, looking at all the things that were so much bigger than him. 

“Indeed, I was thinking the same thing.” Roman admitted, eyes measuring Thomas’ height.

Patton hummed thoughtfully, watching Roman start up the mixer. “Well, we need a taste tester, don’t we?”

 Thomas blinked before smiling. “Heh, I can do that.”

Patton poured in some more sugar, watching it all fluff up. Once it was looking consistent, Roman pulled out a spoon and scooped some up before he held it out for Thomas.

 Thomas scooped some up with his hand and took a bite. His eyes widened at just how sweet it was. “That is really sweet, but also really good.” Thomas said, licking some more off his hand.

Roman stuck the rest in his mouth, giving a slight moan of approval.

“I think it’s ready!” Patton giggled. He turned off the mixer, then set about putting the cupcakes onto a plate. Roman was standing by, using a utensil to carefully scoop the frosting into a slightly rushed covering. 

“Here you are.” Roman served Thomas the most attractive-looking cake, wanting the borrower to enjoy it.

 “Whoa.” Thomas had seen cupcakes before but he had never even dreamed of being able to get one for himself. Human’s always seemed to gobble them up with little to no leftovers. And if there were, they were placed away in the fridge to be eaten soon after. But now, now he had one all to himself, made specifically for him. 

 Thomas could get used to this.

 He took a piece of the cupcake with frosting on it and took a bite, moaning at the taste just as Roman had. It was just as good as it looked.

“Success!” Patton squealed, high-fiving Roman before they each took their own cupcakes.

 Thomas chuckled as he continued to eat but had to stop once he was beginning to feel full. Looking at the cupcake, he realized he had barely even dented it. There was still practically a whole cupcake left. “Thanks you guys. That was so good.” Thomas said, turning his attention back to the humans.

“We’re so glad you enjoyed it.” Roman grinned. Perhaps his apology hadn’t been a complete flop after all. “You’re welcome to come back anytime for as many cupcakes as you like.” 

 “That...sounds great.” Thomas said with a smile. “I should probably get going now though. But I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

“Wonderful!” Roman seemed pleased with this response.

Patton looked thoughtful for a moment. “...hey Thomas?”

 “Yeah?” Thomas asked, turning to Patton.

“Would you...want to come back tomorrow?” Patton asked, ignoring the way Roman was looking at him. 

 “Oh! Uh...I mean...sure. I guess I could?” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck. If it meant more food he be more than willing. And...he could admit that the human’s were great company. He enjoyed talking with them.

“Great!” Patton seemed excited. “Roman has class but you can come have lunch with me. I can meet you by the hole in my room?”

 “Sure, sounds like a plan.” Thomas turned and headed towards his exit, not even even worried about the human’s knowing about this one. “See ya guys. Thanks again.” He said with a wave and then went back into the walls.

“Bye Thomas!” Patton waved, watching the borrower disappear. 

Roman merely raised an eyebrow, attention still focused on Patton.

“...don’t look at me like that.” Patton finally acknowledged his fellow human. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m not saying anything contrary.” Roman put his hands up in defense. “But if you’re planning what I think you’re planning, I just want to make it clear I have no part in this.”

“Deal.” Patton nodded, the two getting to work cleaning up the kitchen.

#thomas perspective #part 18 #perspective series #borrower!thomas #human!roman #human!patton #i mean #part 17 #nailed it

[perfectlyrose]

a cup of sugar, a pinch of magic (1/?)

Summary: It's just another night spent baking instead of sleeping for John Smith, owner of The Blue Box Bakery, when a mysterious blonde woman knocks on the bakery door hours before opening time. He never expected that letting her in would draw him into a world of magic and shadow organizations or be the start of a life-changing love.

Pairing: Nine x Rose ||  Word Count: 3850 || Rating: All Ages (for now)

Note: So I swore I wouldn't start a new WIP until I finished one but... well... here I am. Buckle in because I think this is going to be a long one. -- tagging @doctorroseprompts for Fantasy month and also the bread prompt

AO3

John pushed the heels of his hands into the dough, putting all his strength behind it as he worked to get it to the right consistency. Kneading bread dough was therapeutic in the way he could focus on doing just this one single thing, putting mind and body both towards a single goal and shutting out the rest of the world for a bit.

He was starting to get a reputation for his breads in the neighborhood, was starting to get people coming into the shop specifically looking for certain ones. No one had to know that the days he had the most variety were products of nights spent avoiding the nightmares that lived in his head.

Today there would be a lot of bread. Probably would be quite a few of the fussy little miniature cakes that sold well when he could find the time to make them. Detail work would be a good follow up to making bread.

He’d been working for a couple hours and his kitchen was covered in various breads and cakes and sweets in varying stages of baking, cooling, and being decorated when a sharp knocking cut through the quiet. John’s head whipped up, brows drawing together as he glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning on a Wednesday, not there weren’t usually many people wandering about looking for a bakery at this time.

John grabbed a towel to wipe his hands with and headed out into the bakery proper to see what the fuss was about. He had the lights in the shop low but it was just enough to make the glass cases shine and still leave the corners shadowed.

He turned his gaze to the front windows. A blonde woman was at the door, arms wrapped round her middle as she glanced up and down the dark, empty street. John frowned as he took in the fact that she was only wearing a vest top and jeans even though it was the middle of winter and the middle of the night on top of that.

His decision to let her in was made the second he laid eyes on her. At the very least, he could offer her a spot to sit in the warmth of the bakery for a bit. Maybe some food as well.

He strode over to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open and letting in a blast of cold air.

The woman hesitated as she looked up at John, fear apparent in her eyes.

John didn’t think he looked all that intimidating with an apron on and flour all over him but he was bigger than her. Years of working doughs and hauling sacks of flour and sugar and trays of food had maintained and built muscle that he belatedly realized was on display with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up. He offered her a disarming smile, trying to convey that he was not a threat.

He stepped back, pulling the door open wider and gesturing into the shop with one hand. “Come on, it’s a lot warmer in here and I’ve got a few croissants that should be about warm that I can share.”

She took a small step forward then stopped. “I don’t have any money.” Her voice was hoarse like she hadn’t spoken in a while or had spoken too much and too loud recently.

He shrugged. “Don’t need money to help someone out. Please come in.”

She pressed her lips together and then nodded stepping inside Blue Box Bakery.

John shut the door behind her and locked it back. She jumped at the sound of the lock.

“You can unlock and leave at anytime you want,” he reassured her. “It’s a deadbolt operated from the inside, no need for a key if you’re going out.”

“Thank you,” she said, quiet voice perfectly audible in the almost silence of the bakery. “You didn’t have to let me in.”

He snorted. “Wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold. Come on back to the kitchen, I think I promised you croissants.”

He led the way back behind the counter and then into the kitchen, pretending not to notice the way she stole a few glances back out the windows or the way some of her tension dissipated the moment the kitchen door swung shut.

“Oh my god, it smells amazing in here,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Is that cinnamon I smell?”

“Good nose. There’s cinnamon swirl bread in the oven.”

He opened one of the ovens and used the towel he’d slung over his shoulder to pull out a tray with three croissants on it. They were leftover from yesterday and he’d been warming them back up to eat but he thought she needed them more.

He slid the tray onto a clear spot on the counter before turning to grab a plate from a cabinet. John plucked the croissants off the baking tray and dropped them onto the plate, muttering as he burned his fingertips on the hot pastry. He shook his hand out as he set the plate down near the blonde, giving her a sheepish grin.

“You’d think after a year or so of baking professionally I’d have built up more heat tolerance,” he quipped.

The smile that broke over her face was wonderful to behold. “Might should invest in some tongs so you keep the feeling in your fingers.”

“Got some, just never remember to use the damn things,” he said easily, turning back to check on the breads and pull a sponge out of the oven that was probably already overbaked.

“I’m John Smith by the way.” He didn’t look behind him to see if her silence was due to a return of her hesitance or because she was in the middle of a bite. “I own this place.”

“Are most bakers already up and baking at three in the morning?” the blonde asked, ignoring the opportunity to share her own name.

John turned to face her, eyes flicking down to the crumbs on her plate, all that was left of the croissants. “Nah, I’m just an insomniac who lives above his shop so when I can’t sleep, I come get started on the day’s baking. No one’s complained about the extra pastries yet.”

“I certainly wouldn’t,” she said, another smile blooming. “Those were delicious.”

“You should try a fresh one when I get them going.”

“Might just do that.”

“I could get you a cuppa, if you’d like,” he offered.

“If you show me where the kettle and tea are, I can make us both one. Least I can do when you let me in from the cold and fed me the best croissants I’ve ever had.”

John showed her where the kettle had a tiny corner of counter space with tea and mugs in the cabinet above it and then left her to it. He pulled the cinnamon swirl bread and set it on a cooling rack before going to check on the doughs that were still rising. None of them looked ready yet so he turned his attention back to the blonde who was pouring boiling water into the mugs.

“You any good at baking?” he asked.

She snorted. “Pretty much anything I touch in a kitchen ends up burnt so…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Gonna have to ask you to stay away from the bread dough then.”

The blonde laughed and his heart tripped over itself. “Not a problem.”

John grabbed milk out of the fridge as she brought mugs over to a clear spot on the counter. He poured a splash in his before offering it to her. She added a dash of milk and then took the spoon he was using for sugar to add a spoonful and a half to her cup.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she took her first sip. “Mmm, s’been awhile since I had a proper cuppa.”

John mulled over his words for a moment before opening his mouth. “Look, I’m not going to ask why you were out on the street in the middle of the winter in a vest top and no jacket. Not any of my business. But like I told you earlier, I live above the shop. So if you need a place to sleep and take a shower, make a few more cuppas, you’re welcome to use my flat.”

She froze, mug halfway to her lips. “I don’t want to put you out.”

He shrugged. “I’m going to be down here baking and then running the shop. I can give you the key and then you can lock the door behind you and have full run of the place for the day and I won’t bother you. Might even have some frozen dinners you can microwave without burning the place down.”

She set her mug down with a quiet thunk, keeping her hands wrapped around it. “Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.”

“Because it seems like you need help. Know what it’s like to be looking for a hand to help you get on your feet, me. Nice to be able to try and do the helping this time.”

“The world doesn’t work this way,” she argued. “It’s not this kind.”

“Not saying that it is. I’m just saying you knocked on the right bakery door on the right night and sometimes, luck works that way.”

She was opening her mouth to say something else when a banging sound cut through the quiet. The blonde jumped, almost spilling her tea as her face drained of color. Her eyes - more gold than brown now - were wild with fear when they met his. “They found me. Oh god, I didn’t think they’d find me this fast.”

“Calm down. I’m not letting anyone else into this shop, you got that?” John dug in his pocket and pulled out a key, pressed it into her hand. “Go through the door in the back of the kitchen and straight up the stairs. My flat is the door on the left. I’ll let you know when we’re clear down here.”

She nodded and took off, mug of tea still in one hand, the key in the other.

John took a deep breath, counted to ten and then walked back out into the shop for his second late night visitor.

There were two men at the door. They were dressed in black and had military-straight posture. John felt his own spine straighten instinctively, old habits reasserting themselves.

The men stood with a tilt to their stance that, to John’s trained eye, said they were carrying weapons of some sort under their jackets on their left hip. One of the men was sweeping the street with his eyes, searching for any signs of movement while the other locked his gaze on John.

He took his time getting to the door. He flipped the lock and opened the door just enough to accommodate his shoulders, making it very clear that they were not welcome to enter. “We’re not open,” John said shortly.

“Have you seen a woman around here tonight? About five foot five, blonde?” The man in front and the shorter of the two asked.

“No. I’ve been in the kitchen for the last couple hours and you’re the only people I’ve seen.”

“What are you doing up at this hour, anyways?” The other man asked, turning narrowed eyes on John.

“Insomniac, me. Good quality for a baker.”

“Mind if we have a look around?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I do actually. Pretty sure you can see the whole shop from where you’re standing and I don’t let people back into my kitchen, especially not when I have things baking.”

“You’re certain no one else has been around here tonight?”

“Nobody in the shop but me. If someone was lingering about outside I wouldn’t know about it. Barely heard your knocking over the ruckus I was making back there.”

The men were still suspicious, he could see it in their eyes, but he knew they didn’t have any proof that he was lying. “If you see a blonde woman wandering around tonight, don’t let her in. She’s dangerous.”

John raised his eyebrows. The blonde had seemed more scared than anything but he knew well enough that scared could make you feral, make you dangerous. “Got a number I can call if I catch sight of this dangerous fugitive?”

The man in the back reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. John took it and put it into his apron pocket without reading it. He kept his gaze locked on the two men memorizing their faces in case they decided to come back. The taller one had a permanent pinched expression and a narrow face with slicked back dark hair. The shorter one had a muscled build that John didn’t particularly want to test himself against and a blonde buzzcut.

“Bread’s going to burn if I don’t get back to it. Night gentlemen,” he said, moving back so he could shut the door.

The blonde man stopped him, slamming his palm against the glass. “I think you need to rethink letting us see the kitchen.”

“I think you need to get your hand off my glass or I’m going to make you clean it yourself,” John shot back. “I have no reason to let you on my property.”

“I think avoiding trouble should be incentive enough,” he said with a sneer, not moving his hand.

“Seems to me that letting you in would be inviting the trouble in.”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide, let us look around,” the taller man said.

John’s mouth quirked up into a smile that had no warmth to it, only warning. “No, thanks. Goodnight.”

He reached out and knocked the blonde’s hand down with a quick motion and closed the door, locking it up once more. John waved at the men still standing outside of his bakery and then headed back into the kitchen.

John pulled his bread out of the oven and set it to cool and then finished his already cold tea sitting on the counter. When about ten minutes had passed, he poked his head back out to see if the men were still out front. Deciding it was all clear, he ducked back into the kitchen, made sure everything was out of the ovens, then walked out the back door.

John checked the back alley to make sure they weren’t lurking back there and then mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He knocked on the door to his flat softly. “It’s me,” he called out. “They’re gone, no sign of them still hanging about.”

He heard her moving on the other side of the door and stepped back so that she could see through the peephole that he was alone.

The deadbolt moved with a soft snick and the door swung open, revealing the blonde mystery woman. Her face was still pale, eyes still wide.

John stepped inside and closed and locked the door behind him, flipping on the lights as well.

“You got rid of them?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“Yup. Told them I hadn’t seen anyone of your description, refused to let them into my shop, generally didn’t make any new friends in the process.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle like she needed the extra support to stay upright. “Were they only looking for me?”

He nodded. “Did you have someone with you earlier?”

She looked away. “Yeah, couple people. We split up so it wouldn’t be as easy to track us but I guess they didn’t find a bakery to hide in.”

“Maybe they found somewhere else to lay low.”

“If Torchwood didn’t ask about them, they’ve already found ‘em.”

“Torchwood?”

She looked back up, brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s who came around looking for me, yeah?”

John dug in the pocket of his apron and pulled out the card he’d asked for. One side had a honeycomb T, the other side read “Torchwood: Scientific research for the betterment of Britain” along with a phone number.

“That’s cryptic,” he muttered. He looked back at the blonde. “You were right. Torchwood.”

“They gave you a card?” she asked.

John shrugged. “I asked for a way to contact them so that I knew who they were.”

“Clever.”

“Not just a pretty face,” he joked, mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Why don’t we move in to the couch? Could do with getting off my feet for a bit.”

He eased past her and walked towards his sofa. It was battered and a rather offensive shade of yellow but it was the comfiest thing he’d ever sat on and he was attached to it. John plopped down with a sigh and propped his feet up on the coffee table after tossing his apron on it.

“They don’t tell you when you decide to open a bakery that it’s hell on your feet,” he said.

The blonde carefully lowered herself down on the other end of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning back against the arm. “I would think it would be obvious. Gotta stand in the kitchen and then in the shop. Can’t sit when you’re in customer service.”

“Sounds like you know the drill.”

“Might’ve worked in a shop once upon a time,” she admitted. “Splurged on those gel inserts for my shoes and never regretted a single penny.”

“I’ll have to look into that.”

“You should.”

John let the silence stretch until some of the tension drained from the blonde’s shoulders.

“You know they tried to tell me that you’re dangerous,” he said.

“They would say that,” she scoffed. She propped her chin up on a fist, met his eyes. “I’m not dangerous to you.”

“I know.” He paused, trying to decide if he should say the rest of what was in his head. He’d promised not to press for her story but that was before a couple of military grunts from a research facility he’d never heard of had come knocking on his door. “But you might be dangerous for them.”

“Yes.”

“Why are they looking for you?”

“Because I escaped their lab and they hate losing a test subject.” Her gaze was unflinching and her voice was steady. “Usually when they lose one, it’s because they went to far and killed them or sent them into a nervous breakdown or a coma. We were the first ones that escaped, I think.”

“These people are experimenting on humans? Government approved?” John asked, a crease forming in his brow.

She laughed, harsh and bitter. “The government knows, they just don’t care. Not officially sanctioned, I don’t think, but they and Torchwood don’t exactly consider us human so it doesn’t matter.”

John outright frowned. “Not human?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “So, um, but there’s a certain percentage of people that seems to be growing that can do what most consider… magic. I’m one of those people.”

John blinked. “Alright.”

“You’re… okay with that? Just like that?” she asked, incredulous.

“Would you like me to freak out a bit more?”

“Not particularly, but I was expecting you to.”

“I heard some rumblings, rumors, about magic right before I left the army. It was something more than just the usual soldier superstition so, not surprised that there’s something to it. The world’s a strange enough place for it to be true,” John said.

“You were in the military?”

“Once upon a time,” he said, echoing her words from earlier. “I was a doctor.”

“Not anymore?”

He shook his head, mouth thinning into a hard, straight line. There were things he didn’t want to talk about either. “I’m a baker now.”

“Quite the shift in profession.”

“Needed a change.”

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. Before she could put voice to more words, she interrupted herself with a yawn.

John smiled. “Think you could use some sleep.”

“I think so too.” She uncurled herself, putting her feet on the floor. “Could I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course. Already said you could.”

“That was before you knew about the magic,” she wiggled her fingers at the word, “and before Torchwood came knocking.”

“Neither of those things changed my mind.”

She reached over and put a hand on his knee. “Thank you. I mean it. Not many people would be this kind.”

John put his hand over hers and squeezed gently before letting go. “Let’s get you set up for the night.”

“I promise I’ll tell you the rest of my story tomorrow, once my head’s not so fuzzy,” she said. She got to her feet and stretched, the crack of her spine audible to John.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I owe you that much for saving me.”

John didn’t argue. He didn’t think she owed him anything but he was keen to know what had happened to her before she showed up at his door.

He led her to his bedroom and got out an old tee shirt and a pair of flannel bottoms. “These will probably drown you but should do for the night. Sheets were washed a few days ago and I haven’t slept much lately so, should be serviceable enough.”

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“The bedroom door has a lock, loo is just here in the hall. You’re free to poke around and help yourself to any food you find. I’ll be down in the shop if you need me. If you decide to slip out, I’d appreciate you leaving a note so I know you left on your own,” he rattled off, uncharacteristically verbose. Her own reluctance to talk seemed to make him want to fill some of the silence.

“I’m not going to do a runner. At least not today,” she said with a smile.

John nodded. “Alright. I should get back to work then. Cakes are waiting and they aren’t patient things.”

He turned and walked towards the doorway, trying to figure out how he was going to focus on his baking when he knew she was up here sleeping in his bed, when he was busy wondering about her history with Torchwood. Already he could feel the urge to turn back around and continue their conversation, to give into whatever magnetic pull emanated from her.

He kept walking until her voice broke the quiet, just as he reached the door of his flat.

“Rose,” she said, and he turned around to look at her. She was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, the stack of clothes he’d given her clutched to her chest. “My name’s Rose Tyler.”

She flashed him a small smile before closing the bedroom door and engaging the lock.

Rose Tyler. John mouthed the name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue.

There was no one to see his smile as he walked back to his kitchen so he didn’t bother trying to dim it one single iota.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #nine x rose #special thanks to #sequencefairy #for listening to me talk about this and telling me it wasn't terrible #love you! #i wrote this #a cup of sugar a pinch of magic

[easyfoodnetwork]

King Arthur Flour’s Baking Hotline Has Never Been Busier — and the Questions Are Getting Personal

Efired/Shutterstock

During quarantine, the bakers who staff the hotline are providing baking — and emotional — support

On March 14, COVID-19 was declared a national emergency in the U.S., hand sanitizer profiteers made headlines, and states had yet to issue stay-at-home orders. It was also Pi Day — that is, the date 3/14, which is often cheekily observed by baking or eating pie. The date stands out to Martina Pochop because she’s a baker and because when she went to work the next day, she noticed a flood of new calls and emails. Popchop works as a baker support specialist at King Arthur Flour’s Norwich, Vermont headquarters, and part of her job is answering calls on the company’s Baker’s Hotline, a number anyone can call for advice on their doughs and batters. “It was literally overnight,” she says. “Everything just started tumbling down an endless path in search of flour.”

King Arthur Flour quietly launched its Baker’s Hotline in 1993. While it may not be as well known as the Butterball Turkey Talk Line, it displays a level of homespun commitment not seen in other culinary help lines. The Baker’s Hotline is staffed by 15 people who answer calls and emails for eight to 12 hours a day, 357 days a year. Most have culinary degrees and worked as professional bakers, chocolatiers, and chefs before coming to King Arthur, where they generally work in education, recipe-developing, or product-testing roles in addition to answering the hotline. They’ve picked up the phone so many times that many can recite their opening line as if in their sleep: baker support specialist Maggie Perry recently answered a call from her child’s pediatrician with, “Hi, this is Maggie at King Arthur.”

The holidays and summer (baking contest season) tend to be busy for the Baker’s Hotline, but those pale in comparison to the pandemic. In April, queries to the King Arthur hotline surpassed the four busiest weeks over the winter holidays, with a total of 10,406 calls and 7,740 emails, requiring six additional bakers working in other departments to step in and answer emails. It hasn’t let up: King Arthur’s staff has experienced unrelenting call volumes for three months, and during this time, the hotline has become a magnet for lonely, anxious human behavior and lots of questions about sourdough.

The baker support specialists have seen a few patterns emerge. Before the pandemic, most calls came from regular bakers on the older side, with some “frequent fliers” who called mostly just to chat. But in March, they started hearing from more beginner bakers who couldn’t easily ask family members for advice about old recipes or about the difference between all-purpose and bread flour — sometimes it was because they’d recently lost someone, other times because they lived far away and couldn’t reach them by phone. Perry also noticed that once schools shut down, parents started calling about homeschool baking projects. “[Baking is] one of those magical things. It’s science, it’s math,” she says. And more people were asking about finicky projects like pâte à choux or macarons, recipes whose long timelines newly appealed to those working from home or looking for weekend time-sucks.

As grocery store shortages went beyond sanitizer and toilet paper, calls about ingredient substitutions flooded the hotline. When grocery stores ran low on bread, people called in to ask for recipe suggestions, solutions to rising issues, and once, if it was possible to bake bread on a grill because it was too hot to turn on the oven. Callers looking for a challenge tried out sourdough, “which, for people who have never baked before, is quite an adventure, to say the least,” Pochop says. There were more calls about cookies, but ones baked with alternative flours, since all-purpose was scarce.

More time and fewer options at the grocery store have indeed made baking more popular than ever, and King Arthur’s sales have gone up as much as 600 percent accordingly (as have hits to its website). But it’s not the only thing driving thousands more callers to the Baker’s Hotline. According to Pochop, who has been with the company since 2017, “in the last couple of months, people have seemed the most lonely.”

Baked goods in particular are so often tied up with nostalgia and relationships; people seem especially anxious about messing up recipes that their loved ones usually made, or just want to talk to someone — anyone — about how much a recipe means to them. A caller may technically be asking about how to halve a recipe, but what they really want to talk about is how they’d usually make a full recipe to share with their grandchildren. “You can’t actually give them everything that they need,” Perry says. “You can just let them know that you’re there and that a lot of other people are calling with the same feelings.”

“We hear from people who just don’t know who else to call.”

King Arthur baker specialist and customer support shift lead Amanda Schlarbaum recently spoke to a woman who broke down crying after asking a yeast-related question. Her parents lived far away and she didn’t know when she’d see them again. “She was like, ‘I can’t even believe I’m crying over bread.’ And I’m like, you know, that’s where we all are right now.” The caller ended up spending $55 to send her parents a homemade loaf.

In retrospect, the Baker’s Hotline was primed to be a source of comfort during quarantine. King Arthur has a reputation for its teaching culture; its resources are notably beginner-friendly and easygoing. “If you have a process you’ve successfully followed before, then hey, stick with it. Or try this one and compare. All good,” PJ Hamel writes in the company’s oft-recommended primer on sourdough starter. On King Arthur’s social media platforms, bakers have always felt comfortable posting panicked photos of explosively large doughs or asking extremely specific questions. And when bakers tag @kingarthurflour in photos of their finished products, the company responds like an enthusiastic friend. “What a lovely bundt, Marilyn!” reads a reply to one user’s tweeted creation. “Pairing ingredients and recipes is like putting two partners together for a dance. Will they fluidly tango? Your stunning Kaiser Rolls clearly answer that question!” the company replied on Facebook when a baker paired King Arthur’s bread flour with a Cook’s Illustrated recipe.

Hotline staffers are armed with all of King Arthur’s online resources and cookbooks, as well as fat binders of their own creation filled with handwritten notes on questions that have been asked before. And they’re game for questions that extend outside the baking realm. In late April, Schlarbaum picked up the phone to a stranger who wanted to know how much extra sauce she should make if she’d bought an extra pound of oxtail. “She was so nonchalant about it,” Schlarbaum says. As Easter in quarantine approached, Pochop received a few questions about ham and potatoes.

Even non-baking questions are usually culinary in nature, so if they can, the staffers try to answer them. After all, imagine you can’t leave your house, see your more cooking-inclined family, or even get through to most customer service lines — but there is one line that promises, seven days a week, to connect you with an actual human who will earnestly try to help you out, no matter how specific your problem. “On a daily basis we hear from people who just don’t know who else to call and they saw our number on the bag of flour that they have in their hand,” says Popchop.

As unprecedented as the volume of calls has been recently, the questions are the same as they’ve always been, just modified by the constraints of a global crisis. People still call about wedding cakes, but they’re making a miniature version because the couple is celebrating without family and friends. Schlarbaum called fellow hotline staffers to discuss a mascarpone filling for her own quarantine birthday cake. People are baking to relieve stress, just as they always have done, only now the stress and the baking have increased tenfold: “You’re looking for something that you can accomplish,” Perry says. “You’re looking for something that feels good and can take care of other people.”

People are maybe a little more emotional if their buttercream isn’t mixing properly, but Schlarbaum jumps into therapist mode, advising deep breaths and walking away for 15 minutes. “I tell them when I make buttercream, I’ve ruined it every single time.” Most calls end with a relieved baker and sometimes a few extra minutes of chatting, just because the caller doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“Right now, people are bored and anxieties are running high,” Schlarbaum says, “and I think people just need someone to be like, ‘No, no, the bread will be fine. Just let it rise another half an hour. It’ll be okay.’”

Erin Berger is a freelance writer and former culture editor at Outside magazine, based in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/30LRITh https://ift.tt/2YBPpjg

Efired/Shutterstock

During quarantine, the bakers who staff the hotline are providing baking — and emotional — support

On March 14, COVID-19 was declared a national emergency in the U.S., hand sanitizer profiteers made headlines, and states had yet to issue stay-at-home orders. It was also Pi Day — that is, the date 3/14, which is often cheekily observed by baking or eating pie. The date stands out to Martina Pochop because she’s a baker and because when she went to work the next day, she noticed a flood of new calls and emails. Popchop works as a baker support specialist at King Arthur Flour’s Norwich, Vermont headquarters, and part of her job is answering calls on the company’s Baker’s Hotline, a number anyone can call for advice on their doughs and batters. “It was literally overnight,” she says. “Everything just started tumbling down an endless path in search of flour.”

King Arthur Flour quietly launched its Baker’s Hotline in 1993. While it may not be as well known as the Butterball Turkey Talk Line, it displays a level of homespun commitment not seen in other culinary help lines. The Baker’s Hotline is staffed by 15 people who answer calls and emails for eight to 12 hours a day, 357 days a year. Most have culinary degrees and worked as professional bakers, chocolatiers, and chefs before coming to King Arthur, where they generally work in education, recipe-developing, or product-testing roles in addition to answering the hotline. They’ve picked up the phone so many times that many can recite their opening line as if in their sleep: baker support specialist Maggie Perry recently answered a call from her child’s pediatrician with, “Hi, this is Maggie at King Arthur.”

The holidays and summer (baking contest season) tend to be busy for the Baker’s Hotline, but those pale in comparison to the pandemic. In April, queries to the King Arthur hotline surpassed the four busiest weeks over the winter holidays, with a total of 10,406 calls and 7,740 emails, requiring six additional bakers working in other departments to step in and answer emails. It hasn’t let up: King Arthur’s staff has experienced unrelenting call volumes for three months, and during this time, the hotline has become a magnet for lonely, anxious human behavior and lots of questions about sourdough.

The baker support specialists have seen a few patterns emerge. Before the pandemic, most calls came from regular bakers on the older side, with some “frequent fliers” who called mostly just to chat. But in March, they started hearing from more beginner bakers who couldn’t easily ask family members for advice about old recipes or about the difference between all-purpose and bread flour — sometimes it was because they’d recently lost someone, other times because they lived far away and couldn’t reach them by phone. Perry also noticed that once schools shut down, parents started calling about homeschool baking projects. “[Baking is] one of those magical things. It’s science, it’s math,” she says. And more people were asking about finicky projects like pâte à choux or macarons, recipes whose long timelines newly appealed to those working from home or looking for weekend time-sucks.

As grocery store shortages went beyond sanitizer and toilet paper, calls about ingredient substitutions flooded the hotline. When grocery stores ran low on bread, people called in to ask for recipe suggestions, solutions to rising issues, and once, if it was possible to bake bread on a grill because it was too hot to turn on the oven. Callers looking for a challenge tried out sourdough, “which, for people who have never baked before, is quite an adventure, to say the least,” Pochop says. There were more calls about cookies, but ones baked with alternative flours, since all-purpose was scarce.

More time and fewer options at the grocery store have indeed made baking more popular than ever, and King Arthur’s sales have gone up as much as 600 percent accordingly (as have hits to its website). But it’s not the only thing driving thousands more callers to the Baker’s Hotline. According to Pochop, who has been with the company since 2017, “in the last couple of months, people have seemed the most lonely.”

Baked goods in particular are so often tied up with nostalgia and relationships; people seem especially anxious about messing up recipes that their loved ones usually made, or just want to talk to someone — anyone — about how much a recipe means to them. A caller may technically be asking about how to halve a recipe, but what they really want to talk about is how they’d usually make a full recipe to share with their grandchildren. “You can’t actually give them everything that they need,” Perry says. “You can just let them know that you’re there and that a lot of other people are calling with the same feelings.”

“We hear from people who just don’t know who else to call.”

King Arthur baker specialist and customer support shift lead Amanda Schlarbaum recently spoke to a woman who broke down crying after asking a yeast-related question. Her parents lived far away and she didn’t know when she’d see them again. “She was like, ‘I can’t even believe I’m crying over bread.’ And I’m like, you know, that’s where we all are right now.” The caller ended up spending $55 to send her parents a homemade loaf.

In retrospect, the Baker’s Hotline was primed to be a source of comfort during quarantine. King Arthur has a reputation for its teaching culture; its resources are notably beginner-friendly and easygoing. “If you have a process you’ve successfully followed before, then hey, stick with it. Or try this one and compare. All good,” PJ Hamel writes in the company’s oft-recommended primer on sourdough starter. On King Arthur’s social media platforms, bakers have always felt comfortable posting panicked photos of explosively large doughs or asking extremely specific questions. And when bakers tag @kingarthurflour in photos of their finished products, the company responds like an enthusiastic friend. “What a lovely bundt, Marilyn!” reads a reply to one user’s tweeted creation. “Pairing ingredients and recipes is like putting two partners together for a dance. Will they fluidly tango? Your stunning Kaiser Rolls clearly answer that question!” the company replied on Facebook when a baker paired King Arthur’s bread flour with a Cook’s Illustrated recipe.

Hotline staffers are armed with all of King Arthur’s online resources and cookbooks, as well as fat binders of their own creation filled with handwritten notes on questions that have been asked before. And they’re game for questions that extend outside the baking realm. In late April, Schlarbaum picked up the phone to a stranger who wanted to know how much extra sauce she should make if she’d bought an extra pound of oxtail. “She was so nonchalant about it,” Schlarbaum says. As Easter in quarantine approached, Pochop received a few questions about ham and potatoes.

Even non-baking questions are usually culinary in nature, so if they can, the staffers try to answer them. After all, imagine you can’t leave your house, see your more cooking-inclined family, or even get through to most customer service lines — but there is one line that promises, seven days a week, to connect you with an actual human who will earnestly try to help you out, no matter how specific your problem. “On a daily basis we hear from people who just don’t know who else to call and they saw our number on the bag of flour that they have in their hand,” says Popchop.

As unprecedented as the volume of calls has been recently, the questions are the same as they’ve always been, just modified by the constraints of a global crisis. People still call about wedding cakes, but they’re making a miniature version because the couple is celebrating without family and friends. Schlarbaum called fellow hotline staffers to discuss a mascarpone filling for her own quarantine birthday cake. People are baking to relieve stress, just as they always have done, only now the stress and the baking have increased tenfold: “You’re looking for something that you can accomplish,” Perry says. “You’re looking for something that feels good and can take care of other people.”

People are maybe a little more emotional if their buttercream isn’t mixing properly, but Schlarbaum jumps into therapist mode, advising deep breaths and walking away for 15 minutes. “I tell them when I make buttercream, I’ve ruined it every single time.” Most calls end with a relieved baker and sometimes a few extra minutes of chatting, just because the caller doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“Right now, people are bored and anxieties are running high,” Schlarbaum says, “and I think people just need someone to be like, ‘No, no, the bread will be fine. Just let it rise another half an hour. It’ll be okay.’”

Erin Berger is a freelance writer and former culture editor at Outside magazine, based in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/30LRITh via Blogger https://ift.tt/3cYKRsk

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

[omegaling]

Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Six

Allez Cuisine! Chapter Six: Smoke and Tomatoes

Rating: Mild M

Warnings: Mentioned sexual actives

Chapter Six: Smoke and Tomatoes (read it on AO3 here)

“Team Dameron, you have five minutes to get on set before we start rolling!”

Rey pounded on the door of the men’s bathroom again.  “Did you hear that, Finn?  We have to get out there, now!”

The lock on the door clacked open and Finn finally emerged, his dark skin ashen and blotchy.  “I don’t know if I can even look at food right now, much less cook anything.” he grumbled, his voice raw from spending the better part of the last hour bowed over a toilet bowl.

“You can, and you will,” Rey said firmly as she passed him a few water crackers and a bottle of water so he could cleanse his palate.  “Poe’s counting on us.  Besides, you’re acting like we’re being shipped off to the beaches of Normandy or something. Time limit aside, we’re not doing anything different today than we do every single night.”

“You say that now,” Finn huffed, popping all three crackers in his mouth and then downing half the bottle in a single go.  “This is going to be both the shortest and longest hour of our lives.”

“We’ll be fine, Finn,” Rey said with a tone of finality.  “Poe wouldn’t have accepted the challenge if he didn’t think we didn’t have a chance of winning.  We’re going to slap Kylo Ren so hard up the side of his arrogant head he’ll be walking backwards for a week.”

That was the biggest difference between them, Rey supposed.  Finn had the tendency to picture all the possible outcomes at once, often catastrophizing them and putting those at the forefront of his mind, whereas Rey focused on a single goal and set out to achieve it at any cost.  Besides, there was no going back at this point.  They were here, ready to defend Leia Organa’s reputation and to show that they weren’t about to let some crusty old man intimidate them, damn this wealth or his connections.  That was their goal; everything else was of non-consequence.  

Poe wasted no time in getting them prepared after he made the announcement.  The day after he told them they were going on the show, he wrote rough draft menus for each of the potential secret theme ingredients they could be given, then the three of them ruthlessly practiced each dish every night over the course of the next week leading up to the day of the competition.  Sometimes they stayed at BB8 until three or four in the morning before Poe was satisfied with their final products.

“When we’re out there, timing is everything.  Mere seconds can make all the difference in the world,” Poe said during one of their first practice sessions, making Rey make her sofrito base all over again because she waited too long to apply it to the next step of her dish she was in charge of.  At times Rey thought he was being just as dramatic as Finn was being now, but she kept her comments to herself and did as she was told.

However…

She would be a fool to think that they didn’t have their work cut out for them.  During the little free time she had to spare, Rey had looked up everything she could find online about Kylo Ren to get an idea of what they would be up against.  

His restaurant, Vader, was rated one of the top ten in New York City and one of the top fifty in the world for the past seven years.  At first, she wasn’t impressed.  Compared to BB8’s warm, inviting interior, Ren’s choice of interior decoration was stark and harsh to the point of being unwelcoming, all black and chrome and metal chairs and starched tablecloths.  It was all incredibly pretentious, but Rey couldn’t summon the disdain she knew she should have felt toward him.  Not after seeing photographs of his food, in any case.

Rey didn’t want to admit it out loud, but Ren definitely deserved every iota of praise his food and culinary style earned him.  While his dining area was cold and devoid of emotion, his food was vibrantly, almost violently colorful by comparison.  She was also beginning to understand why people kept using a specific set of adjectives to describe it.   Sexy, provocative, and erotic were just a few that particularly stood out in her mind, especially when she looked at the foods that inspired such lavish descriptions.  Juices seeped from cuts of beautifully marbled, perfectly seared wagyu rib eye steaks, the meat looking ready to melt under the touch of a fork.  Edges of freshly shucked oysters curled around plump pillows of glazed foie gras.  Ren’s salads reminded her of miniature gardens, and multi-colored pastas swam in thick, rich sauces.  Pink, butter-poached fish fillets lay atop beds of jewel-bright vegetables, and almost everything seemed to be garnished with glistening piles of caviar or a snow of shaved white truffles.  Ren’s desserts looked like they should be hanging in the National Gallery, not set out on a dining table, the sorbets and glazes on cakes and drizzles as bright as swatches of paint.  Rey couldn’t describe it, but there was definitely something tantalizing about his food and the way it was laid out on the plates, almost as if each dish promised more sordid affairs following their consumption.

Then, in what ended up being a major lapse of judgement, Rey searched for images of the man himself.

Kylo Ren looked exactly as he did from when she first saw him two years ago: the same intense gaze, the inky black hair that curled tantalizingly around his ears and at the nape of his neck, the wrong-but-oh-so-right proportions of his facial features.  She could still remember the way her heart lurched against her ribs when he turned those eyes on her, the way her body hummed for hours afterwards and could only be soothed by her fingers between her legs.  Afterwards she felt awash with shame that a man who was so clearly despised by her friends could invoke such a reaction from her.  Fortunately, she became so obsessed with her new line of work that she didn’t have a lot of time to spare thinking about him.

Unfortunately, looking at the pictures of him brought that deeply-buried memory back.  What was even worse was that the feelings it brought with them were even worse than before, because now she was envisioning those impossibly large, long-fingered hands wielding a chef’s knife to slice through plump, juicy tomatoes, laying strips of meat into a pan to be seared in melted butter, or fluffing emulsified foam into frothy perfection.  Then her treacherous mind started to wander into uncharted waters, leading her to wonder what else those hands were good at.  If they could turn food into fine art, then what could they do to someone lay stretched out on a bed beneath him, completely at their mercy…

The fantasies got so bad that Rey snapped the top of her laptop closed and immediately took a shower, trying to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the dampness in her underwear.  She was not a religious person, but she prayed all things holy that the feelings Ren invoked her would not interfere with her performance once they were out there.  If Poe lost because she was lusting after his rival she’d have to hang herself by her apron strings.  That is, if she didn’t outright die of embarassment first.

The floor manager ushered Rey and Finn into the studio and directed them to where they needed to stand and wait for the battle to commence.  Kitchen Stadium was like BB8’s kitchen on steroids, and she took that time before the filming started to reorient herself with its layout.  Rey’s station was situated next to Poe’s so she could assist him with the savory dishes while Finn focused on desserts in the back.  She visually mapped out where all the major kitchen equipments was in relation to where she would be working - the stove tops and ovens, the deep fryer, the location of every pot, pan, tool, and small appliance at their disposal - to alleviate any unnecessary scrambling and wasted time.  As soon as the floor manager left her and Finn along Rey slid her rolled tool canvas into a small cubby beneath her cutting board, where it would be both out of the way and easily accessible.  She wasn’t planning on using them, but even after dropping out of school two years ago Rey discovered that she wasn’t able to go anywhere without her tools in tow.  It felt too much like abandoning a group of old, loyal friends.  If nothing else, their presence would help keep her grounded if things started to get too heated.

“Well, well.  Finn Trooper.  What a surprise.”

Rey and Finn turned simultaneously toward the source of the accented voice.  A man and a woman who could only be Ren’s sous chefs were now standing on his side of the stadium.  For those first few second Rey’s attention was fully arrested by the woman, whose short, platinum-blonde hair, smokey eyes and towering height made Rey think of the Valkyrie warriors from Norse mythology.  The ginger-haired man standing beside her was the least intimidating member of the opposite team, but there was something about him that Rey immediately didn’t like.  While Kylo Ren reminded her of an apex predator, there was something about this man that made him seem much more sinister and dangerous, like a viper waiting in the grass for the perfect opportunity the strike.

“Hux,” Finn said in return, his voice as rigid as his posture had gone.

“I wondered what became of you after you abandoned your post at Finalizer.  And so soon after Snoke recommended you for a James Beard Foundation nomination?  Such ingratitude.  We were all certain you’d never set foot in a professional kitchen again,  Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised that someone like Dameron took you under his wing.”

Finn took a stomping step in the other man’s direction, but Rey put a hand on his chest to stop him.  The motion was not lost on Hux; his ice-cold eyes turned on Rey, cocking one ginger eyebrow in lazy interest.  “And you are…?”

“I’m Rey,” she said, holding his glare defiantly.

“And what are your credentials, Rey?” He said her name like he didn’t like the way it felt in his mouth.  “Schooling?  Previous employers and internships?  Awards and recognitions?”

“I’ve been with BB8 for the last two years, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“And before that?”

“I was an engineering major at NYU.”

Hux narrowed his eyes, and Rey felt her hackles rise in response.  “What’s your usual station?”

Finn placed a hand on Rey’s arm and hissed something about Hux goading her, but she lifted her chin up and said, “I’m Poe’s prep cook.”

The blonde woman’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline.  Hux openly sneered at them.  “Is that really the best Dameron could come up with?  A disgraced pastry chef and a girl who’s only a step up from a dish washer to help him?  What does his think he’s playing at?”

“He probably wants to prove that intimidation can only get you so far when you’re up against real talent,” Rey shot back, taking Finn firmly by the elbow and steering him back to their side.

“Asshole.  Who the hell does he think he is?” Rey hissed, pulling a honing steel from a wooden block set and running it across the edge of her knife.  She had honed her knife last night before she went to bed, and then again before they left for the studio that morning, but she was in desperate need to give her hands something to do before she rushed back to the other side of the kitchen and wrung that skinny creep’s neck.

“That would be Armitage Hux, owner and executive chef of Finalizer on Carnegie Hill,” Finn explained.  “He’s the new hot shit when it comes to molecular gastronomy in the U.S., right up there with Grant Achatz and Homaro Cantu.  He’s also the most pretentious bastard you’ll ever meet.  He actually requires diners to complete an application before he’ll approve their reservation because he doesn’t want to waste his food on people who won’t fully appreciate it.  And yet his wait list is still eighteen months out.  I just don’t get it.”

“Jesus.  No wonder why you got out of there.”

Finn flinched.  “It doesn’t…bother you knowing that I worked for Snoke before Poe picked me up?”

“Not unless you’re really a double agent who’s been biding your time for a chance to sabotage our boss.”

That got a laugh out of him.  “Nah.  I was young and overeager when I got out of the CIA and agreed to Snoke’s terms before I knew what was getting into.  It only took me about a month before I regretted it.  Hux is right about one thing; had it not been for Poe, the only restaurants I could hope to work at again were places like Applebee’s and TGI Friday’s, so I kind of owe my continuing career to him.  Also the fact he’s my boyfriend makes double-crossing him a little awkward.”

“Just a smidge,” Rey agreed, replacing the honing knife in the block.  “And her?”

“That’s Phasma.  Don’t ask me if she has any other names.  If she does, I’ve never heard it, and I think people are too afraid to ask her outright.  To my knowledge she’s only ever been a sous for other chefs, but she runs a kitchen with military precision.  There was a rumor flying around a few years ago that broke a supplyer’s arm who tried to cheat her out on a fish delivery.  I don’t think anyone’s confirmed it, but I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.  I’ve seen her cleave a side of beef with a single chop once, so I’d stay out of her way just as much as Ren and Hux.”

“Duly noted,” Rey said grimly, wondering for the first time what exactly Poe had gotten them all into.

“Quiet on the set!” the floor manager barked.  The lights immediately dimmed, throwing everything except the center aisle into darkness.  Stage fog billowed across the floor and the camera crew and boom operators moved into position.  Bright spotlights swiveled toward the door at the back of the set where Poe would make his entrance.  Mark Dacascos - better knows as the infamous Chairman - had already taken his place at the end of the aisle, and Rey caught sight of Alton Brown and Kevin Brauch moving in the dim light at the far ends of Kitchen Stadium.  The director called out a few orders, and the filming of the episode began.

It all felt a bit ridiculous, if Rey was going to be perfectly honest.  Without the music, editing and other post-production TV magic she felt like she was part of a dress rehearsal for a school play.  Poe was cued to make his entrance, and after a brief exchange of clever words, the host and the chef strode to the front of the set where the Altar of the Secret Ingredient awaited them.

As did Kylo Ren.

Rey didn’t even seen him come onto the set, but there he was all the same, his black hair and chef’s jacket creating a void of darkness beside the altar.  Then the studio lights were thrown on again, revealing Ren in all his dark, imposing glory.  Fuck, he was massive.  Cooking skills aside, it was little wonder why other chefs - or anyone else - was so afraid of him.

Poe took his place opposite Ren in front of the show’s trademark Altar of the Secret Ingredient.  The whole studio seemed to become instantly saturated with tension, giving Rey the foreboding mental image of sharks being drawn to blood in the water.  The two chef exchanged brief glances, but Poe only smirked at Ren’s glower.  Ren’s full mouth suddenly seemed much less appealing to Rey, given that it did nothing but sit in a hard, straight line and occasionally sneer at other people.

The Chairman delivered another set of lines, then revealed the secret ingredient with a flourish.

Shit, Rey thought as her stomach dropped.  They went with the aphrodisiacs.

Technically, the variation of food they got to work with would make the battle easier since they had more choices of ingredients to work with rather than having to stretch out only one over five courses.  The meal that Poe planned for this particular battle was extremely solid and would showcase his style, his skill, and his mastery of techniques.  However, no amount of confidence on their part could overshadow the glaring fact that this was still Ren’s specialty; the man made his whole career on creating food that made people moan and pant for more.  They were on his home field in more ways than one, and the odds of coming out of this on top were getting smaller all the time.  Next to her, Finn looked like he wanted to do nothing more than run back to the bathroom.  Rey took his hand and gave it a squeeze.  Come hell or high water, they were all in this together.

A smattering of banter was exchanged between Poe and Ren, swift and biting, aimed to agitate the other before the Chairman cut them off.  Rey felt a small swell of pride for Poe for not quailing under Ren’s withering gaze; her boss still looked as cool and collected as she’d even known him to be.

Finally, the Chairman looked directly into the camera lenses to deliver his infamous lines: “So now, America.  With an open heart, and an empty stomach, I say unto you in the words of my uncle: Allez cuisine!”

They were off like runners at the crack of a starting pistol.  Rey sprinted to the altar to take the avocados and chilis Poe handed off to her before going back for more of the secret ingredients.  Finn gathered vegetables, dairy, and other basic ingredients from the pantry and refrigerators, turning on stoves and burners as he went.

“Talk to me, Rey.  What’s the plan?” Poe called out as he arranged the first of his ingredients at his station.

“Prep the smoker for the tomatoes for the cocktail sauce,” Rey responded even as she loaded the smoking pan with a combination of oak chips and dried seaweed.  “Peel and boil the potatoes for the third course.  Don’t start on the hollandaise until the final fifteen.”

“Excellent.  How about you, Finn?”

“I’m on the flan and the cake.  After those are going I’ll start on the ice cream.”

“Beautiful, beautiful!” Poe said jovially.  “Alright, guys, let’s do this thing!  Give it everything you got!”

Rey lay out some gorgeous gold and red heirloom tomatoes on her cutting board and began to slice away at them as she waited for her wood chips to start smoking.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ren converging with his own sous chefs on his side of the stadium.  Ren was moving aggravatingly slow compared to their hustle, he casualness mocking the seriousness in which Poe took the challenge.   Good, she thought.  The more reasons she had to not be attracted to him, the better.

Hux said one more thing to Ren before breaking away to his station.  Rey had a good suspicion of what it was, because an instant later Ren’s head whipped around to look directly at her.

Rey averted her eyes quickly, hoping he didn’t see the way her skin flushed around her neck.  So what if she only had two years experience?  The rules didn’t stipulate that a sous chef needed so many years working in a professional kitchen to participate in the battle.  Poe knew she was good enough, and evidently that was good enough for the producers.  Besides, growing up in the foster system had pre-conditioned her to know how to deal with people’s low expectations and judgemental glares.  Just because Ren and his sous were hot-shot, world-class chefs wasn’t going to change that.

Better watch out, Kitchen Prince, Rey thought fiercely as she placed her tomatoes over the smouldering wood chips.   We’re going to knock that crown right off your head and watch it melt in the flames.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo chef au #reylo iron chef au #iron chef america au #allez cuisine! #omegaling writes

[instantdeerlover]

King Arthur Flour’s Baking Hotline Has Never Been Busier — and the Questions Are Getting Personal added to Google Docs

King Arthur Flour’s Baking Hotline Has Never Been Busier — and the Questions Are Getting Personal

 Efired/Shutterstock

During quarantine, the bakers who staff the hotline are providing baking — and emotional — support

On March 14, COVID-19 was declared a national emergency in the U.S., hand sanitizer profiteers made headlines, and states had yet to issue stay-at-home orders. It was also Pi Day — that is, the date 3/14, which is often cheekily observed by baking or eating pie. The date stands out to Martina Pochop because she’s a baker and because when she went to work the next day, she noticed a flood of new calls and emails. Popchop works as a baker support specialist at King Arthur Flour’s Norwich, Vermont headquarters, and part of her job is answering calls on the company’s Baker’s Hotline, a number anyone can call for advice on their doughs and batters. “It was literally overnight,” she says. “Everything just started tumbling down an endless path in search of flour.”

King Arthur Flour quietly launched its Baker’s Hotline in 1993. While it may not be as well known as the https://www.eater.com/2016/11/21/13680626/butterball-turkey-hotline-behind-the-scenes" rel="nofollow">Butterball Turkey Talk Line, it displays a level of homespun commitment not seen in other culinary help lines. The Baker’s Hotline is staffed by 15 people who answer calls and emails for eight to 12 hours a day, 357 days a year. Most have culinary degrees and worked as professional bakers, chocolatiers, and chefs before coming to King Arthur, where they generally work in education, recipe-developing, or product-testing roles in addition to answering the hotline. They’ve picked up the phone so many times that many can recite their opening line as if in their sleep: baker support specialist Maggie Perry recently answered a call from her child’s pediatrician with, “Hi, this is Maggie at King Arthur.”

The holidays and summer (baking contest season) tend to be busy for the Baker’s Hotline, but those pale in comparison to the pandemic. In April, queries to the King Arthur hotline surpassed the four busiest weeks over the winter holidays, with a total of 10,406 calls and 7,740 emails, requiring six additional bakers working in other departments to step in and answer emails. It hasn’t let up: King Arthur’s staff has experienced unrelenting call volumes for three months, and during this time, the hotline has become a magnet for lonely, anxious human behavior and lots of questions about sourdough.

The baker support specialists have seen a few patterns emerge. Before the pandemic, most calls came from regular bakers on the older side, with some “frequent fliers” who called mostly just to chat. But in March, they started hearing from more beginner bakers who couldn’t easily ask family members for advice about old recipes or about the difference between all-purpose and bread flour — sometimes it was because they’d recently lost someone, other times because they lived far away and couldn’t reach them by phone. Perry also noticed that once schools shut down, parents started calling about homeschool baking projects. “[Baking is] one of those magical things. It’s science, it’s math,” she says. And more people were asking about finicky projects like pâte à choux or macarons, recipes whose long timelines newly appealed to those working from home or looking for weekend time-sucks.

As grocery store shortages went beyond sanitizer and toilet paper, calls about ingredient substitutions flooded the hotline. When grocery stores ran low on bread, people called in to ask for recipe suggestions, solutions to rising issues, and once, if it was possible to bake bread on a grill because it was too hot to turn on the oven. Callers looking for a challenge tried out sourdough, “which, for people who have never baked before, is quite an adventure, to say the least,” Pochop says. There were more calls about cookies, but ones baked with alternative flours, since all-purpose was scarce.

More time and fewer options at the grocery store have indeed made baking more popular than ever, and King Arthur’s sales have gone up as much as 600 percent accordingly (as have hits to its website). But it’s not the only thing driving thousands more callers to the Baker’s Hotline. According to Pochop, who has been with the company since 2017, “in the last couple of months, people have seemed the most lonely.”

Baked goods in particular are so often tied up with nostalgia and relationships; people seem especially anxious about messing up recipes that their loved ones usually made, or just want to talk to someone — anyone — about how much a recipe means to them. A caller may technically be asking about how to halve a recipe, but what they really want to talk about is how they’d usually make a full recipe to share with their grandchildren. “You can’t actually give them everything that they need,” Perry says. “You can just let them know that you’re there and that a lot of other people are calling with the same feelings.”

“We hear from people who just don’t know who else to call.”

King Arthur baker specialist and customer support shift lead Amanda Schlarbaum recently spoke to a woman who broke down crying after asking a yeast-related question. Her parents lived far away and she didn’t know when she’d see them again. “She was like, ‘I can’t even believe I’m crying over bread.’ And I’m like, you know, that’s where we all are right now.” The caller ended up spending $55 to send her parents a homemade loaf.

In retrospect, the Baker’s Hotline was primed to be a source of comfort during quarantine. King Arthur has a reputation for its teaching culture; its resources are notably beginner-friendly and easygoing. “If you have a process you’ve successfully followed before, then hey, stick with it. Or try this one and compare. All good,” PJ Hamel writes in the company’s oft-recommended primer on sourdough starter. On King Arthur’s social media platforms, bakers have always felt comfortable posting panicked photos of explosively large doughs or asking extremely specific questions. And when bakers tag @kingarthurflour in photos of their finished products, the company responds like an enthusiastic friend. “What a lovely bundt, Marilyn!” reads a reply to one user’s tweeted creation. “Pairing ingredients and recipes is like putting two partners together for a dance. Will they fluidly tango? Your stunning Kaiser Rolls clearly answer that question!” the company replied on Facebook when a baker paired King Arthur’s bread flour with a Cook’s Illustrated recipe.

Hotline staffers are armed with all of King Arthur’s online resources and cookbooks, as well as fat binders of their own creation filled with handwritten notes on questions that have been asked before. And they’re game for questions that extend outside the baking realm. In late April, Schlarbaum picked up the phone to a stranger who wanted to know how much extra sauce she should make if she’d bought an extra pound of oxtail. “She was so nonchalant about it,” Schlarbaum says. As Easter in quarantine approached, Pochop received a few questions about ham and potatoes.

Even non-baking questions are usually culinary in nature, so if they can, the staffers try to answer them. After all, imagine you can’t leave your house, see your more cooking-inclined family, or even get through to most customer service lines — but there is one line that promises, seven days a week, to connect you with an actual human who will earnestly try to help you out, no matter how specific your problem. “On a daily basis we hear from people who just don’t know who else to call and they saw our number on the bag of flour that they have in their hand,” says Popchop.

As unprecedented as the volume of calls has been recently, the questions are the same as they’ve always been, just modified by the constraints of a global crisis. People still call about wedding cakes, but they’re making a miniature version because the couple is celebrating without family and friends. Schlarbaum called fellow hotline staffers to discuss a mascarpone filling for her own quarantine birthday cake. People are baking to relieve stress, just as they always have done, only now the stress and the baking have increased tenfold: “You’re looking for something that you can accomplish,” Perry says. “You’re looking for something that feels good and can take care of other people.”

People are maybe a little more emotional if their buttercream isn’t mixing properly, but Schlarbaum jumps into therapist mode, advising deep breaths and walking away for 15 minutes. “I tell them when I make buttercream, I’ve ruined it every single time.” Most calls end with a relieved baker and sometimes a few extra minutes of chatting, just because the caller doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“Right now, people are bored and anxieties are running high,” Schlarbaum says, “and I think people just need someone to be like, ‘No, no, the bread will be fine. Just let it rise another half an hour. It’ll be okay.’”

Erin Berger is a freelance writer and former culture editor at Outside magazine, based in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/6/15/21289617/king-arthur-flour-baking-hotline-quarantine-sourdough-questions-comfort-support

Created June 16, 2020 at 01:26AM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

[easyfoodnetwork]

Efired/Shutterstock During quarantine, the bakers who staff the hotline are providing baking — and emotional — support On March 14, COVID-19 was declared a national emergency in the U.S., hand sanitizer profiteers made headlines, and states had yet to issue stay-at-home orders. It was also Pi Day — that is, the date 3/14, which is often cheekily observed by baking or eating pie. The date stands out to Martina Pochop because she’s a baker and because when she went to work the next day, she noticed a flood of new calls and emails. Popchop works as a baker support specialist at King Arthur Flour’s Norwich, Vermont headquarters, and part of her job is answering calls on the company’s Baker’s Hotline, a number anyone can call for advice on their doughs and batters. “It was literally overnight,” she says. “Everything just started tumbling down an endless path in search of flour.” King Arthur Flour quietly launched its Baker’s Hotline in 1993. While it may not be as well known as the Butterball Turkey Talk Line, it displays a level of homespun commitment not seen in other culinary help lines. The Baker’s Hotline is staffed by 15 people who answer calls and emails for eight to 12 hours a day, 357 days a year. Most have culinary degrees and worked as professional bakers, chocolatiers, and chefs before coming to King Arthur, where they generally work in education, recipe-developing, or product-testing roles in addition to answering the hotline. They’ve picked up the phone so many times that many can recite their opening line as if in their sleep: baker support specialist Maggie Perry recently answered a call from her child’s pediatrician with, “Hi, this is Maggie at King Arthur.” The holidays and summer (baking contest season) tend to be busy for the Baker’s Hotline, but those pale in comparison to the pandemic. In April, queries to the King Arthur hotline surpassed the four busiest weeks over the winter holidays, with a total of 10,406 calls and 7,740 emails, requiring six additional bakers working in other departments to step in and answer emails. It hasn’t let up: King Arthur’s staff has experienced unrelenting call volumes for three months, and during this time, the hotline has become a magnet for lonely, anxious human behavior and lots of questions about sourdough. The baker support specialists have seen a few patterns emerge. Before the pandemic, most calls came from regular bakers on the older side, with some “frequent fliers” who called mostly just to chat. But in March, they started hearing from more beginner bakers who couldn’t easily ask family members for advice about old recipes or about the difference between all-purpose and bread flour — sometimes it was because they’d recently lost someone, other times because they lived far away and couldn’t reach them by phone. Perry also noticed that once schools shut down, parents started calling about homeschool baking projects. “[Baking is] one of those magical things. It’s science, it’s math,” she says. And more people were asking about finicky projects like pâte à choux or macarons, recipes whose long timelines newly appealed to those working from home or looking for weekend time-sucks. As grocery store shortages went beyond sanitizer and toilet paper, calls about ingredient substitutions flooded the hotline. When grocery stores ran low on bread, people called in to ask for recipe suggestions, solutions to rising issues, and once, if it was possible to bake bread on a grill because it was too hot to turn on the oven. Callers looking for a challenge tried out sourdough, “which, for people who have never baked before, is quite an adventure, to say the least,” Pochop says. There were more calls about cookies, but ones baked with alternative flours, since all-purpose was scarce. More time and fewer options at the grocery store have indeed made baking more popular than ever, and King Arthur’s sales have gone up as much as 600 percent accordingly (as have hits to its website). But it’s not the only thing driving thousands more callers to the Baker’s Hotline. According to Pochop, who has been with the company since 2017, “in the last couple of months, people have seemed the most lonely.” Baked goods in particular are so often tied up with nostalgia and relationships; people seem especially anxious about messing up recipes that their loved ones usually made, or just want to talk to someone — anyone — about how much a recipe means to them. A caller may technically be asking about how to halve a recipe, but what they really want to talk about is how they’d usually make a full recipe to share with their grandchildren. “You can’t actually give them everything that they need,” Perry says. “You can just let them know that you’re there and that a lot of other people are calling with the same feelings.” “We hear from people who just don’t know who else to call.” King Arthur baker specialist and customer support shift lead Amanda Schlarbaum recently spoke to a woman who broke down crying after asking a yeast-related question. Her parents lived far away and she didn’t know when she’d see them again. “She was like, ‘I can’t even believe I’m crying over bread.’ And I’m like, you know, that’s where we all are right now.” The caller ended up spending $55 to send her parents a homemade loaf. In retrospect, the Baker’s Hotline was primed to be a source of comfort during quarantine. King Arthur has a reputation for its teaching culture; its resources are notably beginner-friendly and easygoing. “If you have a process you’ve successfully followed before, then hey, stick with it. Or try this one and compare. All good,” PJ Hamel writes in the company’s oft-recommended primer on sourdough starter. On King Arthur’s social media platforms, bakers have always felt comfortable posting panicked photos of explosively large doughs or asking extremely specific questions. And when bakers tag @kingarthurflour in photos of their finished products, the company responds like an enthusiastic friend. “What a lovely bundt, Marilyn!” reads a reply to one user’s tweeted creation. “Pairing ingredients and recipes is like putting two partners together for a dance. Will they fluidly tango? Your stunning Kaiser Rolls clearly answer that question!” the company replied on Facebook when a baker paired King Arthur’s bread flour with a Cook’s Illustrated recipe. Hotline staffers are armed with all of King Arthur’s online resources and cookbooks, as well as fat binders of their own creation filled with handwritten notes on questions that have been asked before. And they’re game for questions that extend outside the baking realm. In late April, Schlarbaum picked up the phone to a stranger who wanted to know how much extra sauce she should make if she’d bought an extra pound of oxtail. “She was so nonchalant about it,” Schlarbaum says. As Easter in quarantine approached, Pochop received a few questions about ham and potatoes. Even non-baking questions are usually culinary in nature, so if they can, the staffers try to answer them. After all, imagine you can’t leave your house, see your more cooking-inclined family, or even get through to most customer service lines — but there is one line that promises, seven days a week, to connect you with an actual human who will earnestly try to help you out, no matter how specific your problem. “On a daily basis we hear from people who just don’t know who else to call and they saw our number on the bag of flour that they have in their hand,” says Popchop. As unprecedented as the volume of calls has been recently, the questions are the same as they’ve always been, just modified by the constraints of a global crisis. People still call about wedding cakes, but they’re making a miniature version because the couple is celebrating without family and friends. Schlarbaum called fellow hotline staffers to discuss a mascarpone filling for her own quarantine birthday cake. People are baking to relieve stress, just as they always have done, only now the stress and the baking have increased tenfold: “You’re looking for something that you can accomplish,” Perry says. “You’re looking for something that feels good and can take care of other people.” People are maybe a little more emotional if their buttercream isn’t mixing properly, but Schlarbaum jumps into therapist mode, advising deep breaths and walking away for 15 minutes. “I tell them when I make buttercream, I’ve ruined it every single time.” Most calls end with a relieved baker and sometimes a few extra minutes of chatting, just because the caller doesn’t want to hang up yet. “Right now, people are bored and anxieties are running high,” Schlarbaum says, “and I think people just need someone to be like, ‘No, no, the bread will be fine. Just let it rise another half an hour. It’ll be okay.’” Erin Berger is a freelance writer and former culture editor at Outside magazine, based in Santa Fe, New Mexico. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/30LRITh

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/06/king-arthur-flours-baking-hotline-has.html

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