[fic] Mideelian Cuisine Made (not so) E-Z

Title: Mideelian Cuisine Made (not so) E-Z
Author: joudama
Fandom: FF7
Rating: PG
Word count: 1000ish
Prompt: Genesis's last attempt (and that's last as in never again) at baking.
Summary: If you can't find a place that can make it for you, you'll just have to make it your own damned self.
AN: ...This was supposed to be a commentfic on my insanejournal when I asked from prompts. It ended up so long I just made it a fic of its own, especially after I caught some typos and a half-done sentence. >XD;; And milopita is a Greek apple "pastry"/pie/cake thing. :D


"...Shiva's tits, why can I not find ONE stupid bakery in this forsaken by the gods city that can actually bake?" Genesis said, dropping his fork after one bite.

"Language," Angeal said, his eyebrow going up.

"I'll language you," Genesis said, rolling his eyes. "How old are you again now, Mom?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"'Language'," Genesis said back in a prim voice, then grinned and ducked at the balled-up napkin Angeal threw at his head. "And come on now, tell me this is not the shittiest excuse for milopita on the planet," he said, looking at piece of milopita as if he had deeply offended him. "I haven't had decent milopita since we came to Midgar."

Genesis slouched in his chair and scowled, and Angeal had to fight down a grin at Gen looking the same as he had when he was six, covering it with a swing of coffee.

And then wished he hadn't.

"By the gods. This place is false advertising," he said, putting the cup down. "That is not Mideelian-style coffee. That is bitter brown water. If I want Mideelian coffee, I'll stick with making it my own damned self. Gods."

All of a sudden, Genesis's face lit up. "That's it! If I can't find a place that can make it for me, I'll just have to make it myself!" he yelled, and Angeal had very a bad feeling.


Things were quiet for about a week, and Angeal figured Genesis had forgotten about whatever mad plot he'd started hatching.

Angeal was forcefully reminded that Genesis never forgot whatever mad plot he was hatching, just kept sort-of quiet about it until he sprang it on you explosively. Which, in this case, was Genesis kicking his door and yelling, "Wake up and let me in!"

Angeal groaned and stumbled out of bed, knowing all too well how well--namely, badly--than Genesis took being kept waiting.

"Genesis, what in the Ferryman's--what the?" he said, stopping mid-phrase once he got a good look at Genesis after smacking the button to make the door open.

Well, now he knew why Genesis had been kicking the door--he was laden down with more bags than Angeal had ever seen him holding.

"MOVE!" Genesis yelled, and Angeal quickly got out of his way before Genesis dropped something. Gen scrambled over to the kitchen and dropped the bags. "Fuck, those were hard to balance."

"Gen, what in the Ferryman's way are you doing?" Angeal finally managed, not awake to process everything. "And why are you doing it here?"

"Your kitchen is bigger," Genesis said, digging through the bags. "And you actually have pots and pans and all that shit you need for cooking."

"...You're going to cook something?" Angeal said, his eyes bugging out slightly.

Genesis held up a cookbook with a smug grin. "If I can't find someone to make it for me, I'll do it myself," he said, and Angeal took a closer look at the book.

Mideelian Cuisine Made E-Z

Angeal felt a headache coming on.

"...I'm going back to bed. Don't blow up my room," Angeal said, and fled while the fleeing was good.


Angeal was awakened by the smell of something burning, followed quickly by curses.

"...fuck," he said, burying his head under his pillow and thudding his head against the bed a few times, then he got up and took off for the kitchen.

To say his kitchen looked like someone had hit it with Quake would have been an understatement; even Quake couldn't do that much damage.

"Genesis, what under the Heavens--?" he said, his jaw dropping as he surveyed the damage. Badly peeled apples--so badly it was like half the apple had been peeled off with peel, what looked like every single piece of cookware he had was dirty or used and stacked up, pieces of nutshells all over the floor and smashed into powder from having been stepped on, there was flour all over everything, including Genesis, and oh, heavens, he couldn't even tell what the congealing mass on the floor was. "My kitchen!" he yelped.

"Oh, shut up," Genesis said sourly, scraping at the pan where something had been almost burnt into it.

"Genesis, what did you do? How--?" Angeal said, not able to comprehend any of what he was seeing. "You couldn't have waited until I woke up?"

"I've never had to bake anything for myself before!" Genesis said grumpily. "I didn't think it was that hard," he finished with a scowl, and Angeal knew that scowl, and it was what made the anger bleed out.

That was the look Gen got on his face when he was disappointed at himself and trying to cover it by getting angry.

Angeal sighed and ran and hand through his hair. "Yeah, well. Cooking's not as easy as it looks. It takes practice before you can jump into something big." He sighed again. "OK. Let's get this cleaned up, OK? And then we'll make the milopita," he finished, and Gen looked grumpy, but Angeal knew that look, too.


And for all Angeal knew a lot of things about Genesis, he was constantly reminded of some things. Which was how "them" baking ended up "Angeal" baking and Gen telling him to hurry up already.

When it was finally done, Angeal shooed Genesis over to the table to keep him from hovering over Angeal's shoulder, and once he had pieces sliced and topped with the last of the vanilla ice cream Angeal had in his freezer, he all but plopped the plate down in front of Genesis.

"Here," Angeal said. "And not one word about how it looks funny. I'm new at baking milopita, too."

Genesis took a bite of the freshly-baked milopita and his face lit up. "You know...I don't miss Banora," he said. "But I kinda missed this," he said, and smiled. "This is great."

Angeal smiled back, softly. "Thanks." Then: "You're still cleaning my kitchen. How the fuck did you even get melted butter on the ceiling?!"

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........you know, I can entirely understand how he got melted butter on the ceiling. Especially if he didn't know the trick about turning the pan handles over the countertop as opposed to the stovetop or over empty space. Because if you don't turn the pan handles over the countertop, you either (a) have the pan handles (and their nice hot metal dongles) soaking up all the heat from the next burner over, or (b) have the pan handles sticking out into space where you knock them flying by accident when you forget that you need an oven glove to get the skillet out of the oven even though it's got what claims to be a heatproof handle. Lessons I learned while baking German-style apple pancakes! I don't know why I thought a heatproof handle that had been in the oven wouldn't be hot, but it looked like rubber and rubber's generally not hot and... er. yeah.

...that said, I clicked on that link of pictures and I WANT MILOPITA NOOOOOOW. Dang it's too bad our good Greek restaurant shut down last year.
*snicker* I am completely unsurprised that you would be able to understand how Gen got melted butter on the ceiling. >XD

And there were toooooons of milopita recipes. I found them when I did a search for "Greek apple pastry" when I was trying to find something for Gen to try to cook. >XD
XD XD XDDDDD Have I told you the Dagobah Swamp Ramen story? Or the How I Burned Kool-Aid story? Because ...yeah. My relationship with cooking is like my relationship with computers: it's really ironic a whole lot of people look at me and go "dude, you are awesome at that," whereas the entire reason I learned as many cooking/computer skills as I did was out of sheer panicked self defense since the hardware in question actively hates my guts. I can totally, completely understand melted butter on the ceiling. XDDDD

Assuming that Mom has a better time with this surgery round than with the last one (knocking on all the wood in reach), I'm going to have to find an excuse to bake her one of those. ...in HER kitchen, so that I don't have to worry about things going ballistic in my OWN kitchen. Mwahaha. ...Also, she has more than 18 square inches of countertop space, which would be the reason so many of the and_cupcakes photo shoots involve chopping or other prep work being done on top of my stove. But I like the mwahaha explanation better for sounding evil...
Wait wait wait...how does one burn Kool-Aid? And Dagobah Swamp Ramen? Oh, my. XD;;;

>XD And yes, taking over her kitchen sounds like an excellent plan. Everyone wins! (...unless the kitchen explodes or your baking is very akin to Genesis's way of doing things. XDDDDD )
*cough* see, back when I first realized "Japanese food in a restaurant is crazy expensive, whereas Japanese food cooked at home is nice and cheap AND doesn't require use of the oven that is older than I am with the broken internal thermostat", I started teaching myself to cook Japanese food based on what I could read on the packages in the Asian grocery stores. Since this was well before I knew any kanji (or even kana), this was ...not a whole lot. So I saw "nori" in Roman letters and saw "seaweed" in the fine print. And the ramen recipes called for cooking seaweed in the broth.

...mind you, the ramen recipes called for cooking KONBU in the broth. ^^;;;; And here's me (a foot taller than anyone else in the Asian market, the only redhead they've ever seen in the place, getting rubbernecked at, happily puttering along) thinking "hey, seaweed is seaweed, right? :D"

Nori disintegrates into something that bears a great deal of resemblance to Dagobah Swamp water when you try to use it to make dashi with. Doesn't taste half bad, but looks like something out of a horror show. ^^;;;;;;

And the burning Kool-aid... heh. Before I got my degree, back in college - our costume designer's concept for Midsummer Night's Dream apparently involved Dagobah Swamp as well, not that she called it this. But everyone was supposed to be green and dripping moss or seaweed or something, don't ask me what it was supposed to be. All I knew for sure was "splotchy green shreds."

So I went and shredded up some muslin (no prob, muslin tears nicely and has lots of dangly bits left after and takes dye like a dream).

...belated problem: I had no actual dye, and no actual car. But hey, Kool-aid stains EVERYTHING! And there's a little baby Walgreens two blocks away! The little baby Walgreens mostly stocked medicine and booze, on account of how it was sitting right on the edge of a dry campus, but hey! Three different shades of Kool-aid green for $1, how can you go wrong?

Well, for starters, you can get frustrated with how pale and not-splotchy the first dye lot is, do the second dye lot with a couple tablespoons of water, and end up with a thick green paste that you splatter over the muslin and heat up to set and it starts smoldering.

Promptly dealt with by putting the lid on the pot, so nothing burned down, and it was in the concrete laundry room in the basement with the big ol' sink right near by. But still. You would not BELIEVE how bad burning Kool-aid smells. XDDDD

...dang gotta run, meeting in 5, more chatter later on...