Interesting tales of the Bat Family ventures to the kitchen. Some of which I have attempted myself and paid the price. Also this one time my Mum cooked for me a few years ago. I'll remember that experience. I missed school for three days. (shudder) (and I'm not exaggerating) Never ask me to cook either; it's a bad, bad, idea. Fun to write about though ;) Unless it's pasta. I make excellent pasta. That's enough rambling about my lack of cooking skills. Enjoy and please let me know if you like.
Disclaimer: They're all mine or I'll threaten to feed you the Treacle Tart I attempted to make in Cookery (a.k.a. Design and Technology: Food) in Secondary School. My teacher forced me to put lard in the pastry.
Attempt one.
Bruce decided to make himself some pasta. It was a good dish, full of carbohydrates. Not bad for the Dark Knight, resident vigilante of Gotham.
He had to compensate somehow for all that exercise when catching crooks.
Carefully studying the recipe books he had laid out everything he needed.
He could be methodical about this.
Logic could overcome all problems.
He had the precise amount of ingredients.
The pasta spirals.
The tomato sauce and the cheese.
Alfred would be proud of him.
He poured in already boiled water from the kettle (a handy trick to speed things up) and then put the pasta in a waited the necessary ten minutes stirring when required.
However,
He found out there was a slight problem.
He had overlooked something.
It was an insignificant gnat in the general scheme of things, unless you happened to be the vigilante hovering over the stove at the present moment.
It was only one tiny small detail.
Tiny but vital.
He had forgotten to turn the gas on for the hob.
I plead guilty for doing that. Not the cleverest thing, I grant you… I tried to reheat it but it didn't turn out very well… Attempt two.
Tim eyed the plate full of baked beans and toast nervously before giving Dick a suspicious glare. 'You sure this is what Alfred left out?'
'Yep, here's the note.' Dick waved the small post-it in front of Tim. The youngster scrutinised the note and recognised the neat, flowing writing of the major domo. It seemed authentic, and truth be told, no member of their family would dare imitate Alfred's writing.
'But…' Tim didn't have a logical reason to object. He could just call it a gut feeling. And his gut was not something that let him down. He later would regret thinking that choice of words.
'Trust me bro, Alfred left it out here for you to eat.' Dick spoke earnestly, but he always had an honest face, it came in handy when protecting his identity.
'What about you?' Tim raised an eyebrow suspiciously, normally if it was that good Dick would have eaten it by himself by now.
Dick produced a packet of crisps from his pocket and happily started munching. 'I'm getting Chinese later for me and Babs after patrol. Relax little bro, I'm not going to poison you…' Tim breathed a sigh of relief but then looked up sharply as Dick continued thoughtfully. 'I would get myself an alibi first.' He then glared at the present boy wonder 'Timmy, just eat your dinner,'
Tim grumbled before hesitantly raising the fork to his mouth and tentatively taking a bite. A little dry, but it tasted fine. He quickly finished the rest whilst Dick rolled his eyes at him. 'Alright, it was ok,'
'See? No harm done. Told you so,' Dick smirked, victorious. Tim scowled before following his brother out of the room.
Sometime the next day…
'How long has he been sick for?' Dick asked curiously as he wondered in on Bruce and Alfred dealing with a grumpy Tim sat in the cave. There was a discarded bucket that the former boy wonder would have preferred not to have seen the contents of set nearby.
'Last night.' Bruce answered gruffly.
'I am here, you know' Tim growled before coughing.
'Nothing serious, I hope?' Dick asked with a smile, a smile that was a little too bright for Tim's opinion.
'It was you, wasn't it?' Tim accused his elder brother.
Dick coughed, spluttering 'what? No, I didn't do anything… I was at Bab's… aw crap' He trailed off as all three glared hardily at him, he really wasn't that great at lying to the other professional liars present. Bruce stood up and crossed his arms, silently demanding answers. He shifted defensively 'Well, Alfred did leave them out in the first place.'
'Good Lord, you fed him the baked beans I left out four days ago?' Alfred exclaimed before Bruce's eyes narrowed into his deadliest glare.
'Four days?' Tim cried out aghast, his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought.
'Actually it was three, you ate them yesterday.' Dick quipped before realising exactly how dead he was at the present time. 'Sooo…. I'm just going to go back upstairs…' He legged it back to the manor hoping to make it back to his bike before Bruce caught up. He was optimistic he could at least make it to the garage. He didn't.
I was a victim of three days old baked beans. It wasn't pleasant. My Mum only told me they were three days old after I ate them and I have a feeling they were older.
Attempt 3
'Good Lord, what's that smell?' Alfred wondered to himself as he arrived back at the manor from his trip to Leslie's surgery. He walked around into the main hall as he heard scurrying footsteps and was unsurprised to see Tim hurtling down the corridor. He surmised it must have been a practical joke between him and his elder brother until Tim stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the butler.
'Alf!' The major domo raised an eyebrow. Tim gulped. 'Uh… hey Alfred.'
'Is there anything I should know about Master Timothy?' He politely inquired.
'Uhh… nope.' Tim tried and failed to smile convincingly.
'Where is Master Bruce?' Alfred sighed.
'Umm, in the cave, I'm sure he's in the cave,' Tim winced under the original bat glare. No one lied to Alfred. 'he might also be in the… kitchen.'
Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, praying for patience with his boys, before looking back to Tim who continued to shuffle and glance back nervously towards the door. 'What might he be doing in the kitchen?'
'Well uh…'
'TIM, THE TOWELS, NOW!' Bruce bellowed from the far distant kitchens at the end of the manor. Dick's grinning head appeared at the door at the end of the corridor surrounded by wisps of pearl grey smoke.
'Hey Tim, hurry up! He's getting kind of cranky- uh oh.' Dick paled considerably and smiled weakly at his grandfather figure who gave him a disapproving stare. There was a muffled sound behind Dick to which the former boy wonder answered his mentor with 'Alfred.'
There was then also a noise which might have sounded like Bruce breaking something. Dick peered into the kitchen, wincing as he witnessed one of Bruce's foulest moods before poking his head back into the hall. Dick turned back to Alfred and Tim with his best flashing grin. 'It's ok, he's put the fire out now.'
Alfred blinked before asking the trillion (as millions didn't matter much in a billionaire's household) dollar question. 'A fire which was started by what exactly, Master Dick?'
There was a low grumble sounding from the kitchen which suspiciously sounded like a death threat but Dick continued to grin triumphantly. 'Bruce just happened to be trying to cook some chips and set fire to the baking gloves by trapping them in the oven door.'
There was a large thud as Bruce threw the singed gloves in question, very accurately, at his surrogate son's head. Dick grimaced, shaking the ashes from his hair, as the gloves fell to the carpet beside him.
'Master Bruce I thought I taught you better than to leave soot on the floor after the last time you failed to cook.' Alfred called out in a reprimanding tone.
He was answered only by another loud, angry sounding, crash.
My Mum mentioned to me the other day she accidentally set fire to the oven gloves, I think only a bit, but it was too good an opportunity to miss writing about. Just to let you know, these aren't frequent occurrences in the kitchen and I'm not a gung ho chef that blows stuff up or poisons people. They're accidental! Well, I hope you enjoyed. Please review!