New story: Taste
Starsky and Hutch fanfiction
Challenge by Marcy on Meandthee, April, 2007: Write something including the word liver, min. 2000 words
Type: Slash, committed relationship
Rating: G
Beta: KimberlyFDR, to whom I owe much thanks. All mistakes are mine alone. Also thanks to Monika and Pepper, for their support and suggestions.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, this is written for entertainment only and not for profit, etc. Feedback/Critique: Yes please, it's very welcome.
A/N: The restaurant incident was inspired by something a friend of my parents and his daughter experienced once when they were on holiday in Poland. Timeline is post-SR, around 1983-84 or so. I imagine Hutch looking much like David Soul did around that time. Classically 'clean-cut', with shorter hair and no moustache.
Taste
“Where are you're taking me? Hutch, you got to tell,” said Starsky, as he was changing into a fresh set of clothes. He wondered whether he should bother with a tie or not. Or go the whole way and put on a suit?
“It's supposed to be a surprise, Starsk. It wouldn't be as much fun if I told you now.” Hutch smiled. All week Starsky had tried to get him to tell about the restaurant where they were going tonight. He'd managed to keep it secret until now, but it hadn't been easy. He was looking forward to Starsky's reaction.
“Yeah. But, Hutch, should I wear a tie? Or a suit? How would I know if I gotta wear one, if you don't tell me where we're going? You're wearing a tie. Hutch?”
“Oh, I just felt like it. I don't think you need a tie-or a suit. Just a nice shirt. Here, what about this blue one?”
“So you don't think I need more than a shirt? No pants? Feeling a little kinky tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking meaningfully at Hutch.
“No, of course you don't need to wear pants,” Hutch said ironically and rolled his eyes. Really, Starsky was too much. “And the pants you're wearing already are fine. Just keep 'em on. And hurry up. We're late.”
“Hutch!” Starsky called out after Hutch's retreating form.
Starsky was feeling a little exasperated by now. Hutch wouldn't budge. All week, when Starsky asked about the place they were having their “mystery dinner”, Hutch just kept smiling and told Starsky he'd like it. After all, Hutch said, he was taking him for a nice evening out. Wasn't that enough? They both deserved it, and Starsky especially, for putting up with Hutch when they finished the renovations on their new house. Hutch felt like giving Starsky a treat, he said. Why not just relax and enjoy it?
Hutch had acted just a little bit too smug the past week, Starsky felt. Sure, yeah, it was nice to be given a treat like this, and he knew Hutch liked doing it, so Starsky usually went with it. But sometimes you could get too much of a good thing. Wouldn't hurt Hutch to be taken down a peg or two, just for fun. But not too much, he reminded himself. He was still looking forward to tonight and Hutch deserved a nice time, too. He had put so much work into their house, and it had become really nice.
But the best thing about the house was that they could live together. It had taken Starsky quite some time to learn to live with the fact that he couldn't go back to police work. And on top of that, he had to deal with his feelings about them becoming lovers at the same time, too. His photography hobby had seemed a good way to distance himself when everything became too much. There was something about looking at the world through a lens that put it all into perspective. To his surprise, it also turned out to be a good way to support himself financially. He began to gain clients and a good reputation for professional-level work. Lately, their lives had finally become more settled, comfortable. It was really rather nice to be loved like that.
So he'd supported Hutch all the way since they bought the house, though Starsky sometimes still caught himself being surprised with how nice it had turned out. It hadn't looked promising the first time he saw it.
The house had looked like the mother of all fixer-uppers, and the first thing that came out of Starsky's mouth had been, “Geez, Hutch, 'ya trying to pull a fast one on me? That thing's even worse than the first house we bought together. I mean, this one doesn't even have a front porch. Look here, it's all rotted away!”
He'd been sure that he'd take down the roof when he tried to probe what remained of the front porch. But the beams had held, unfortunately. And so did Hutch's insistence on buying the house.
“Starsk, if you could only see! It's a great place. Nice neighborhood, and the yard's been kept in good condition. It just needs a bit more attention to become really great again. Isn't that great, Starsk?” Hutch smiled.
It was then Hutch noticed Starsky's skeptical impression and hurried to add; “Sure, the house needs a little fixing, but we can do it ourselves. We'll work on it in our spare time.” Hutch gestured excitedly as if he was fixing up the house right at that moment.
“The kitchen and bathroom are good enough, and if we space it out a little, it won't be more expensive than having separate apartments. We'll manage, Starsk. It's a great house and we can be together, fixing it up. And we'll set up a studio for you immediately,” Hutch said finally, looking happy.
In the end, it was the look of happiness on Hutch's face that won Starsky over; not the studio or the greenhouse out back, though that may have added to Hutch's love of the house.
Starsky went with it, and with Hutch. In the beginning, he sometimes felt left out because Hutch worked on the yard and the house all the time. But then, Starsky decided to throw himself into it as well. The sooner the first hard work was over, the sooner he would have the old Hutch back.
And it did turn out well in the end. The large room off the kitchen was turned into a professional photographer's studio and there was enough room for a nice, small office, too. Eventually, Starsky decided to cancel his office downtown. This place was no further away from most of his clients, and he really liked the fact that he didn't have very far to go to work in the morning.
*
Coming back to the present, Starsky cleared his head of the memories. What did he feel this grouchy about? He was happy with his photography work, Hutch was happy with his new position in the re-furbished missing persons division, and they were both happy in a house that was now finally fit to live in. But it would still be fun to put a quite different look on Hutch's face than the smug one he'd worn a little too often this week. Starsky would just have to wait for the right opportunity. He could always think of some way to make it up to Hutch later. Starsky changed quickly into the blue shirt Hutch had suggested, and followed him out the door.
*
They were lucky to find a parking spot right outside the restaurant, and Starsky looked out, curiously.
“Polish, huh?”
“Yep. Real, Polish cuisine. Read about it in the paper; it got a nice review. 'A genuine Polish experience.' Thought you'd like it.” Hutch smiled.
“My grandmother used to cook food like that. But you sure you're up to it? It's kinda heavy. Lots of meat and potatoes.”
“I'm sure I can find something I like,” said Hutch, and pulled out a tie from the glove compartment. “Here. You'll need this,” he grinned, and winked at Starsky, hurrying out of the car just before Starsky could get ahold of him.
“Hutch! You said I didn't need one.” Starsky grumbled, and put on the tie, but couldn't help smiling, too. He'd been suckered right into this one with the shirt remark, making him forget all about ties. You've done it now, Hutch, he thought to himself; it's open season-and it's going to be fun.
*
The restaurant turned out to be a cozy, little place with small tables and low lighting. There were old paintings and small shelves with knick-knacks on the walls, and it had a comfortable and easy atmosphere.
They were seated by an older and distinguished-looking waiter who welcomed them with what sounded like a greeting in Polish. When he had brought them a beer, Starsky said, smiling, “This is nice, Hutch. Really nice. Not the worst surprise I've gotten.”
Hutch smiled back, but Starsky couldn't help noticing the slightly relieved expression that flitted over Hutch's face, too. “It's okay, buddy. Really is. Good choice for a celebration,” said Starsky.
“Thanks, Starsk. I wanted this to be a really nice evening for us, so I'm glad I picked right.”
“Why wouldn't I like it? It's dinner, isn't it? And you're paying,” Starsky said, with a straight face. “This isn't the Pits, but I'm sure I can find something I like on the menu.” Starsky had trouble containing the grin that spread on his lips and tried to hide it by taking a drink.
Hutch didn't notice, though. He just looked flabbergasted. “Starsk,” he said, “If you…”
“Hah. Got you. You look kinda cute with that look on your face. Suits you.” He winked at Hutch.
“Starsky, I…!”
Starsky just smiled innocently and took another drink of his beer.
*
As they pored over the menu, Starsky glanced over at Hutch and whispered, “This is real genuine, Hutch. Even the menu's in Polish.”
“Yeah. I guess we could ask the waiter.” Hutch looked even more puzzled than Starsky, as he tried to make sense of the menu.
“Are you sure he speaks enough English?” asked Starsky.
“Of course. He'd have to, wouldn't he? He understood what we wanted for drinks.”
“This is beer, Hutch. Everyone knows what beer is.”
Hutch conceded. “Yeah, that's true.” Hutch took drink of his beer. “Do you feel like having appetizer?” he asked.
“Dunno. What about you? The appetizers might have funny things in them. And I mean weird, funny things.” said Starsky.
“Point taken. I don't know if I feel that adventurous right now. But maybe Iater?” Hutch's grin was almost a leer, but he couldn't quite pull it off, thought Starsky. Looked more cute than anything.
“I think I'll go for the dessert,” Starsky said, keeping a straight face, “You can't go wrong with dessert.”
“Think I'll skip the appetizer, too, then.” Hutch peered at the menu again. He looked a little distracted for a moment, and then suddenly looked up and said, “Would you mind if I order for us both?”
“No. Yeah, sure, Hutch,” Starsky said. “But why?”
“Oh, I don't know. It was just something my grandfather used to do when he took me and my sister out. Said, as he was the host, it was his job to order for the table. And then he would ask us what we wanted and order it. I just thought it would be kind of nice to do that now.”
“Sure, Hutch. I don't mind.” The waiter's broken English, when they had ordered the beer, had given Starsky an inkling of what Hutch could be in for. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But it did feel kind of nice, too, to be taken care of like this.
“Great. So, what would you like, you think?” Hutch said.
“Hutch, it's all in Polish. I really don't know.”
“No. But I think this section must be the appetizers,” he said, pointing it out to Starsky. “And this must be the entrees. Are you sure your grandmother didn't teach you a few words?”
“If she did, I've forgotten now. I'm guessing and taking a chance, but maybe number 18 or 21. Hutch, let's just ask the waiter.”
Their waiter approached the table right at that moment, ready to take their order. He was a heavyset man, with a genuinely cheerful smile under his neat moustache, and a spring in his step. “So,” he said, with a heavy accent, leaning in over their table with a slight bow, “what gentlemen be having?”
Starsky just looked over at Hutch, smiling.
Hutch's looked slightly startled for a moment, but then pulled himself together and ordered.
Or tried to, at least. As it turned out, their waiter wasn't that fluent in English after all. Hutch and he stumbled their way through Starsky's choices, but finally settled on something Hutch thought he might like. If he just knew what it was.
Starsky just smiled beatifically all through their conversation.
Then Hutch had to choose something for himself. He pointed at random to a dish in the menu.
“Meat,” the waiter said. “From pig. Fried very nice with crust around it. And fried potato on side.”
“Ah,” said Hutch. He didn't really want pork, and, looking a little desperate, he glanced around to see what the other guests were having. On the table beside them, he spotted what looked like a very nice piece of beef, with a nice, red center. And what looked like some kind of vegetable stew to go with it. No fried potatoes, and beef would be nice.
Urging the waiter a little closer, he gestured discreetly towards that table, and whispered, “I'm having that.”
“Ah!” said the waiter loudly, and stood up straight. “You have what this gentleman have?” and gestured towards the other table.
“Yes, please,” said Hutch, and slunk down into his chair. The waiter had managed to catch not only the attention of the table beside them, but most of the other guests as well.
“Very good choice,” the waiter said. “Meat from calf. Only little fried. Nice and red inside. Fried fungus stew with carrot on side. You will like.”
“Fungus stew…” Hutch said, in a dazed voice, hypnotized by the waiter's authoritative manner.
“Oh, yes. Only fine, very small fungus, with sour cream and butter. Very nice!” the waiter said, smiling benevolently.
“Yes. Yes, I think I'll have that,” Hutch managed to get out.
“Very good. More drink, gentlemen?”
“No. No, I think we'll wait a little. Thank you,” Hutch said.
*
“I wonder what I'll get,” Starsky mused. “Going to be a real surprise, I think.”
Starsky didn't tell Hutch that he had a good idea about what it was. That would be for later, when Hutch figured out what he had ordered for himself. For now, he settled for relaxed expression, and to distract Hutch, he started to discuss their choice of color scheme for the bathroom. To be honest, he didn't care much, but Hutch had been very set on getting everything in white. It seemed a little bland to Starsky, but he could live with it. Especially if they put up that red shower curtain with the white stripe. He still missed the Torino. And a little of their usual friendly arguing would make Hutch more comfortable.
And it paid off, as Hutch was soon back to his old self, arguing against the red-with-white-stripe shower curtain and red towels that Starsky had bought the other day.
“No. Starsky, the blue ones are much better. More calm. And I like them. They'd be much nicer than red.”
Yeah, Hutch was back to his old self, Starsky thought, as he leaned in, cheek in hand and what he feared was a goofy smile on his face.
Far too soon for his taste-he really loved that agitated look on Hutch's face-their dishes were served. On his own plate was what looked like a couple of giant potato dumplings, but nothing really scary; he'd had those kinds of things before. If the gravy was good, he was all set, he figured. The cabbage on the side didn't look bad either.
Hutch was looking at his own dish with relish. The cutlet looked nice, and the “fried fungus” turned out to be tiny mushrooms and carrots in a cream sauce. Not as bad as he'd feared. No, not at all.
“So, what do you think?” asked Starsky.
“Looking good. Real good. Think I figured out how to communicate with the waiter.” Hutch grinned.
Starsky dug in. Yep, tasted just like grandma's potato dumplings with meat filling. Nice gravy, too, even if it could be spicier. The cabbage wasn't half bad, either. Then he looked over at Hutch, who had just taken a bite of his cutlet and had a very strange expression on his face.
“Hutch? You all right?” Starsky asked. Hutch wasn't looking too well. “Is something wrong?”
“Starsk. This is… liver. I really don't like whole liver,” Hutch said in a small voice.
Starsky thought Hutch looked almost pitiful, as he picked at the liver on his plate. Almost. But not quite. It was, after all, quite funny too, with all the trouble Hutch had gone through with the waiter, and he couldn't keep back a smile.
Hutch spotted it immediately. “Don't tell me you knew. You did, didn't you? I, well… I'm going to get… Starsky! Could you please control yourself?”
“Oh, you're going to get me. Will that be a bad thing?” Starsky had trouble containing his mirth and almost doubled over with laughter. Even if he felt a little sorry for Hutch, who looked quite upset, it was hard to hold back.
“Starsk… Okay, I give in, you won.” Hutch raised his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry about the tie. Really. Happy?”
“I really thought you might like it.” Starsky wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “I mean, you like to put that dedicated liver stuff in your health shakes. I wasn't even sure it would be liver. Sure enough looked like a nice veal cutlet to me.”
“You're sure?”
“Yeah, I am. Hutch, we can switch plates if you like. I've had liver before, didn't hurt. And this won't hurt you either. The gravy's really nice. And we can share the fungus stew.”
The last thing was what really did it for Hutch. Yeah, they could share the “fungus stew”, and he could eat the weird looking dumplings. The gravy turned out to be really good, and Starsky seemed to enjoy the liver. Not that Hutch would ever understand.
*
A few days later…
“Hutch, are you really sure about the shower curtain?”
“Yep. I think red goes really well with all the white.”
“I always knew you had good taste.”
“Good enough taste to want to keep you around,” said Hutch.
Challenge by Marcy on Meandthee, April, 2007: Write something including the word liver, min. 2000 words
Type: Slash, committed relationship
Rating: G
Beta: KimberlyFDR, to whom I owe much thanks. All mistakes are mine alone. Also thanks to Monika and Pepper, for their support and suggestions.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, this is written for entertainment only and not for profit, etc. Feedback/Critique: Yes please, it's very welcome.
A/N: The restaurant incident was inspired by something a friend of my parents and his daughter experienced once when they were on holiday in Poland. Timeline is post-SR, around 1983-84 or so. I imagine Hutch looking much like David Soul did around that time. Classically 'clean-cut', with shorter hair and no moustache.
Taste
“Where are you're taking me? Hutch, you got to tell,” said Starsky, as he was changing into a fresh set of clothes. He wondered whether he should bother with a tie or not. Or go the whole way and put on a suit?
“It's supposed to be a surprise, Starsk. It wouldn't be as much fun if I told you now.” Hutch smiled. All week Starsky had tried to get him to tell about the restaurant where they were going tonight. He'd managed to keep it secret until now, but it hadn't been easy. He was looking forward to Starsky's reaction.
“Yeah. But, Hutch, should I wear a tie? Or a suit? How would I know if I gotta wear one, if you don't tell me where we're going? You're wearing a tie. Hutch?”
“Oh, I just felt like it. I don't think you need a tie-or a suit. Just a nice shirt. Here, what about this blue one?”
“So you don't think I need more than a shirt? No pants? Feeling a little kinky tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking meaningfully at Hutch.
“No, of course you don't need to wear pants,” Hutch said ironically and rolled his eyes. Really, Starsky was too much. “And the pants you're wearing already are fine. Just keep 'em on. And hurry up. We're late.”
“Hutch!” Starsky called out after Hutch's retreating form.
Starsky was feeling a little exasperated by now. Hutch wouldn't budge. All week, when Starsky asked about the place they were having their “mystery dinner”, Hutch just kept smiling and told Starsky he'd like it. After all, Hutch said, he was taking him for a nice evening out. Wasn't that enough? They both deserved it, and Starsky especially, for putting up with Hutch when they finished the renovations on their new house. Hutch felt like giving Starsky a treat, he said. Why not just relax and enjoy it?
Hutch had acted just a little bit too smug the past week, Starsky felt. Sure, yeah, it was nice to be given a treat like this, and he knew Hutch liked doing it, so Starsky usually went with it. But sometimes you could get too much of a good thing. Wouldn't hurt Hutch to be taken down a peg or two, just for fun. But not too much, he reminded himself. He was still looking forward to tonight and Hutch deserved a nice time, too. He had put so much work into their house, and it had become really nice.
But the best thing about the house was that they could live together. It had taken Starsky quite some time to learn to live with the fact that he couldn't go back to police work. And on top of that, he had to deal with his feelings about them becoming lovers at the same time, too. His photography hobby had seemed a good way to distance himself when everything became too much. There was something about looking at the world through a lens that put it all into perspective. To his surprise, it also turned out to be a good way to support himself financially. He began to gain clients and a good reputation for professional-level work. Lately, their lives had finally become more settled, comfortable. It was really rather nice to be loved like that.
So he'd supported Hutch all the way since they bought the house, though Starsky sometimes still caught himself being surprised with how nice it had turned out. It hadn't looked promising the first time he saw it.
The house had looked like the mother of all fixer-uppers, and the first thing that came out of Starsky's mouth had been, “Geez, Hutch, 'ya trying to pull a fast one on me? That thing's even worse than the first house we bought together. I mean, this one doesn't even have a front porch. Look here, it's all rotted away!”
He'd been sure that he'd take down the roof when he tried to probe what remained of the front porch. But the beams had held, unfortunately. And so did Hutch's insistence on buying the house.
“Starsk, if you could only see! It's a great place. Nice neighborhood, and the yard's been kept in good condition. It just needs a bit more attention to become really great again. Isn't that great, Starsk?” Hutch smiled.
It was then Hutch noticed Starsky's skeptical impression and hurried to add; “Sure, the house needs a little fixing, but we can do it ourselves. We'll work on it in our spare time.” Hutch gestured excitedly as if he was fixing up the house right at that moment.
“The kitchen and bathroom are good enough, and if we space it out a little, it won't be more expensive than having separate apartments. We'll manage, Starsk. It's a great house and we can be together, fixing it up. And we'll set up a studio for you immediately,” Hutch said finally, looking happy.
In the end, it was the look of happiness on Hutch's face that won Starsky over; not the studio or the greenhouse out back, though that may have added to Hutch's love of the house.
Starsky went with it, and with Hutch. In the beginning, he sometimes felt left out because Hutch worked on the yard and the house all the time. But then, Starsky decided to throw himself into it as well. The sooner the first hard work was over, the sooner he would have the old Hutch back.
And it did turn out well in the end. The large room off the kitchen was turned into a professional photographer's studio and there was enough room for a nice, small office, too. Eventually, Starsky decided to cancel his office downtown. This place was no further away from most of his clients, and he really liked the fact that he didn't have very far to go to work in the morning.
*
Coming back to the present, Starsky cleared his head of the memories. What did he feel this grouchy about? He was happy with his photography work, Hutch was happy with his new position in the re-furbished missing persons division, and they were both happy in a house that was now finally fit to live in. But it would still be fun to put a quite different look on Hutch's face than the smug one he'd worn a little too often this week. Starsky would just have to wait for the right opportunity. He could always think of some way to make it up to Hutch later. Starsky changed quickly into the blue shirt Hutch had suggested, and followed him out the door.
*
They were lucky to find a parking spot right outside the restaurant, and Starsky looked out, curiously.
“Polish, huh?”
“Yep. Real, Polish cuisine. Read about it in the paper; it got a nice review. 'A genuine Polish experience.' Thought you'd like it.” Hutch smiled.
“My grandmother used to cook food like that. But you sure you're up to it? It's kinda heavy. Lots of meat and potatoes.”
“I'm sure I can find something I like,” said Hutch, and pulled out a tie from the glove compartment. “Here. You'll need this,” he grinned, and winked at Starsky, hurrying out of the car just before Starsky could get ahold of him.
“Hutch! You said I didn't need one.” Starsky grumbled, and put on the tie, but couldn't help smiling, too. He'd been suckered right into this one with the shirt remark, making him forget all about ties. You've done it now, Hutch, he thought to himself; it's open season-and it's going to be fun.
*
The restaurant turned out to be a cozy, little place with small tables and low lighting. There were old paintings and small shelves with knick-knacks on the walls, and it had a comfortable and easy atmosphere.
They were seated by an older and distinguished-looking waiter who welcomed them with what sounded like a greeting in Polish. When he had brought them a beer, Starsky said, smiling, “This is nice, Hutch. Really nice. Not the worst surprise I've gotten.”
Hutch smiled back, but Starsky couldn't help noticing the slightly relieved expression that flitted over Hutch's face, too. “It's okay, buddy. Really is. Good choice for a celebration,” said Starsky.
“Thanks, Starsk. I wanted this to be a really nice evening for us, so I'm glad I picked right.”
“Why wouldn't I like it? It's dinner, isn't it? And you're paying,” Starsky said, with a straight face. “This isn't the Pits, but I'm sure I can find something I like on the menu.” Starsky had trouble containing the grin that spread on his lips and tried to hide it by taking a drink.
Hutch didn't notice, though. He just looked flabbergasted. “Starsk,” he said, “If you…”
“Hah. Got you. You look kinda cute with that look on your face. Suits you.” He winked at Hutch.
“Starsky, I…!”
Starsky just smiled innocently and took another drink of his beer.
*
As they pored over the menu, Starsky glanced over at Hutch and whispered, “This is real genuine, Hutch. Even the menu's in Polish.”
“Yeah. I guess we could ask the waiter.” Hutch looked even more puzzled than Starsky, as he tried to make sense of the menu.
“Are you sure he speaks enough English?” asked Starsky.
“Of course. He'd have to, wouldn't he? He understood what we wanted for drinks.”
“This is beer, Hutch. Everyone knows what beer is.”
Hutch conceded. “Yeah, that's true.” Hutch took drink of his beer. “Do you feel like having appetizer?” he asked.
“Dunno. What about you? The appetizers might have funny things in them. And I mean weird, funny things.” said Starsky.
“Point taken. I don't know if I feel that adventurous right now. But maybe Iater?” Hutch's grin was almost a leer, but he couldn't quite pull it off, thought Starsky. Looked more cute than anything.
“I think I'll go for the dessert,” Starsky said, keeping a straight face, “You can't go wrong with dessert.”
“Think I'll skip the appetizer, too, then.” Hutch peered at the menu again. He looked a little distracted for a moment, and then suddenly looked up and said, “Would you mind if I order for us both?”
“No. Yeah, sure, Hutch,” Starsky said. “But why?”
“Oh, I don't know. It was just something my grandfather used to do when he took me and my sister out. Said, as he was the host, it was his job to order for the table. And then he would ask us what we wanted and order it. I just thought it would be kind of nice to do that now.”
“Sure, Hutch. I don't mind.” The waiter's broken English, when they had ordered the beer, had given Starsky an inkling of what Hutch could be in for. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But it did feel kind of nice, too, to be taken care of like this.
“Great. So, what would you like, you think?” Hutch said.
“Hutch, it's all in Polish. I really don't know.”
“No. But I think this section must be the appetizers,” he said, pointing it out to Starsky. “And this must be the entrees. Are you sure your grandmother didn't teach you a few words?”
“If she did, I've forgotten now. I'm guessing and taking a chance, but maybe number 18 or 21. Hutch, let's just ask the waiter.”
Their waiter approached the table right at that moment, ready to take their order. He was a heavyset man, with a genuinely cheerful smile under his neat moustache, and a spring in his step. “So,” he said, with a heavy accent, leaning in over their table with a slight bow, “what gentlemen be having?”
Starsky just looked over at Hutch, smiling.
Hutch's looked slightly startled for a moment, but then pulled himself together and ordered.
Or tried to, at least. As it turned out, their waiter wasn't that fluent in English after all. Hutch and he stumbled their way through Starsky's choices, but finally settled on something Hutch thought he might like. If he just knew what it was.
Starsky just smiled beatifically all through their conversation.
Then Hutch had to choose something for himself. He pointed at random to a dish in the menu.
“Meat,” the waiter said. “From pig. Fried very nice with crust around it. And fried potato on side.”
“Ah,” said Hutch. He didn't really want pork, and, looking a little desperate, he glanced around to see what the other guests were having. On the table beside them, he spotted what looked like a very nice piece of beef, with a nice, red center. And what looked like some kind of vegetable stew to go with it. No fried potatoes, and beef would be nice.
Urging the waiter a little closer, he gestured discreetly towards that table, and whispered, “I'm having that.”
“Ah!” said the waiter loudly, and stood up straight. “You have what this gentleman have?” and gestured towards the other table.
“Yes, please,” said Hutch, and slunk down into his chair. The waiter had managed to catch not only the attention of the table beside them, but most of the other guests as well.
“Very good choice,” the waiter said. “Meat from calf. Only little fried. Nice and red inside. Fried fungus stew with carrot on side. You will like.”
“Fungus stew…” Hutch said, in a dazed voice, hypnotized by the waiter's authoritative manner.
“Oh, yes. Only fine, very small fungus, with sour cream and butter. Very nice!” the waiter said, smiling benevolently.
“Yes. Yes, I think I'll have that,” Hutch managed to get out.
“Very good. More drink, gentlemen?”
“No. No, I think we'll wait a little. Thank you,” Hutch said.
*
“I wonder what I'll get,” Starsky mused. “Going to be a real surprise, I think.”
Starsky didn't tell Hutch that he had a good idea about what it was. That would be for later, when Hutch figured out what he had ordered for himself. For now, he settled for relaxed expression, and to distract Hutch, he started to discuss their choice of color scheme for the bathroom. To be honest, he didn't care much, but Hutch had been very set on getting everything in white. It seemed a little bland to Starsky, but he could live with it. Especially if they put up that red shower curtain with the white stripe. He still missed the Torino. And a little of their usual friendly arguing would make Hutch more comfortable.
And it paid off, as Hutch was soon back to his old self, arguing against the red-with-white-stripe shower curtain and red towels that Starsky had bought the other day.
“No. Starsky, the blue ones are much better. More calm. And I like them. They'd be much nicer than red.”
Yeah, Hutch was back to his old self, Starsky thought, as he leaned in, cheek in hand and what he feared was a goofy smile on his face.
Far too soon for his taste-he really loved that agitated look on Hutch's face-their dishes were served. On his own plate was what looked like a couple of giant potato dumplings, but nothing really scary; he'd had those kinds of things before. If the gravy was good, he was all set, he figured. The cabbage on the side didn't look bad either.
Hutch was looking at his own dish with relish. The cutlet looked nice, and the “fried fungus” turned out to be tiny mushrooms and carrots in a cream sauce. Not as bad as he'd feared. No, not at all.
“So, what do you think?” asked Starsky.
“Looking good. Real good. Think I figured out how to communicate with the waiter.” Hutch grinned.
Starsky dug in. Yep, tasted just like grandma's potato dumplings with meat filling. Nice gravy, too, even if it could be spicier. The cabbage wasn't half bad, either. Then he looked over at Hutch, who had just taken a bite of his cutlet and had a very strange expression on his face.
“Hutch? You all right?” Starsky asked. Hutch wasn't looking too well. “Is something wrong?”
“Starsk. This is… liver. I really don't like whole liver,” Hutch said in a small voice.
Starsky thought Hutch looked almost pitiful, as he picked at the liver on his plate. Almost. But not quite. It was, after all, quite funny too, with all the trouble Hutch had gone through with the waiter, and he couldn't keep back a smile.
Hutch spotted it immediately. “Don't tell me you knew. You did, didn't you? I, well… I'm going to get… Starsky! Could you please control yourself?”
“Oh, you're going to get me. Will that be a bad thing?” Starsky had trouble containing his mirth and almost doubled over with laughter. Even if he felt a little sorry for Hutch, who looked quite upset, it was hard to hold back.
“Starsk… Okay, I give in, you won.” Hutch raised his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry about the tie. Really. Happy?”
“I really thought you might like it.” Starsky wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “I mean, you like to put that dedicated liver stuff in your health shakes. I wasn't even sure it would be liver. Sure enough looked like a nice veal cutlet to me.”
“You're sure?”
“Yeah, I am. Hutch, we can switch plates if you like. I've had liver before, didn't hurt. And this won't hurt you either. The gravy's really nice. And we can share the fungus stew.”
The last thing was what really did it for Hutch. Yeah, they could share the “fungus stew”, and he could eat the weird looking dumplings. The gravy turned out to be really good, and Starsky seemed to enjoy the liver. Not that Hutch would ever understand.
*
A few days later…
“Hutch, are you really sure about the shower curtain?”
“Yep. I think red goes really well with all the white.”
“I always knew you had good taste.”
“Good enough taste to want to keep you around,” said Hutch.