Fudging the Recipe 2/?
anonymous
October 11 2009, 05:04:45 UTC
"It's good," he said, but Italy's skeptical expression told him that of course an infamously picky eater had also noticed that it wasn't the same taste as when Germany baked his own cakes. "Did you follow the recipe?"
"Exactly!" Italy said mournfully. "And I never do that, but I tried really hard this time so it'd taste like a German made it..."
And he laughed, because how could he not laugh at that? Italy gave him a reproachful look for it, though; clearly to him, not being able to cook something well was no laughing matter. Unfortunately, being pouted at by a cute country in a chef's hat with chocolate all over his face didn't do anything to make the situation less humorous. But he tried to stop himself from laughing and instead licked his thumb and index finger and began to wipe at the chocolate smear that had somehow gotten on the tip of Italy's nose.
"Yes, yes, normally. But not when I make kuchen." Italy had stopped pouting to giggle, presumably because he was always so easily ticklish. Germany shook his head and continued wiping at the little bits of chocolate on his cheek, on his chin, and most surprisingly, perhaps, on his left eyebrow. Italy's face now chocolate free (the rest of him was a lost cause), he let go and pat him on top of his stupid hat. "If you clean some of these pots and pans, I'll show you how to do it."
"You shouldn't have to make your own cake," Italy said, but he started picking up some of the pans from the floor. Germany busied himself with gathering some ingredients from the refrigerator while checking to make sure nothing had melted while Italy had left it open.
"It's no problem." He glanced over at Italy about to dump the contents of the most recent pot down the sink. "Put that in a tupperware, there's no reason to waste it. I enjoy making them."
He made sure the tupperwares of batter made it into the refrigerator, and made a mental note to cook them later; even if Italy would never be satisfied with them, perhaps Prussia, his boss, or some of the children at the festivities would be less picky. Italy halfhearted scrubbed away a little of the mess and filled the dirty pans with warm water, and Germany decided that was good enough for now. Even if his kitchen was still a disaster, if he tried to make Italy clean all of it, he'd only have to reclean after him anyway.
"Why don't you separate the egg whites, and I'll make the chocolate." He put out the eggs for Italy and tried to ignore him as soon as he saw him breaking the eggs on the counter and dripping gooey yolk everywhere. Instead, he began melting some blocks of chocolate he'd had in the refrigerator with butter. "You need to use the best kind of chocolate, and I always put in quite a bit more than called for..."
"Mm, I should have known," Italy chirped, picking yolk off the counter with his fingers and dumping it in a bowl before brushing some hair out of his eyes-- ah, so that was how he'd gotten it on his eyebrow. "You really like sweet things, huh?"
The first response Germany thought of was something too embarrassing to ever say, so instead he sighed, and wiped the yolk off Italy's face. "I do. You may add the yolks to the chocolate now, and stir."
Italy could follow the rest of the recipe now with only minimal guidance, so at first, he simply attempted to follow him around the kitchen and wipe up after him. But when Italy dropped an entire carton of milk, causing it to burst and flood all over the floor, with only an 'oops!' before moving on to the next carton, Germany only half-heartedly sponged it up before giving in. Italy seemed to be on a one-man kitchen destroying mission today, and Germany was somehow not as inclined as he might normally be to prevent it. Instead, he began stirring the mixture as Italy added ingredients and offering gentle corrections.
"Exactly!" Italy said mournfully. "And I never do that, but I tried really hard this time so it'd taste like a German made it..."
And he laughed, because how could he not laugh at that? Italy gave him a reproachful look for it, though; clearly to him, not being able to cook something well was no laughing matter. Unfortunately, being pouted at by a cute country in a chef's hat with chocolate all over his face didn't do anything to make the situation less humorous. But he tried to stop himself from laughing and instead licked his thumb and index finger and began to wipe at the chocolate smear that had somehow gotten on the tip of Italy's nose.
"Yes, yes, normally. But not when I make kuchen." Italy had stopped pouting to giggle, presumably because he was always so easily ticklish. Germany shook his head and continued wiping at the little bits of chocolate on his cheek, on his chin, and most surprisingly, perhaps, on his left eyebrow. Italy's face now chocolate free (the rest of him was a lost cause), he let go and pat him on top of his stupid hat. "If you clean some of these pots and pans, I'll show you how to do it."
"You shouldn't have to make your own cake," Italy said, but he started picking up some of the pans from the floor. Germany busied himself with gathering some ingredients from the refrigerator while checking to make sure nothing had melted while Italy had left it open.
"It's no problem." He glanced over at Italy about to dump the contents of the most recent pot down the sink. "Put that in a tupperware, there's no reason to waste it. I enjoy making them."
He made sure the tupperwares of batter made it into the refrigerator, and made a mental note to cook them later; even if Italy would never be satisfied with them, perhaps Prussia, his boss, or some of the children at the festivities would be less picky. Italy halfhearted scrubbed away a little of the mess and filled the dirty pans with warm water, and Germany decided that was good enough for now. Even if his kitchen was still a disaster, if he tried to make Italy clean all of it, he'd only have to reclean after him anyway.
"Why don't you separate the egg whites, and I'll make the chocolate." He put out the eggs for Italy and tried to ignore him as soon as he saw him breaking the eggs on the counter and dripping gooey yolk everywhere. Instead, he began melting some blocks of chocolate he'd had in the refrigerator with butter. "You need to use the best kind of chocolate, and I always put in quite a bit more than called for..."
"Mm, I should have known," Italy chirped, picking yolk off the counter with his fingers and dumping it in a bowl before brushing some hair out of his eyes-- ah, so that was how he'd gotten it on his eyebrow. "You really like sweet things, huh?"
The first response Germany thought of was something too embarrassing to ever say, so instead he sighed, and wiped the yolk off Italy's face. "I do. You may add the yolks to the chocolate now, and stir."
Italy could follow the rest of the recipe now with only minimal guidance, so at first, he simply attempted to follow him around the kitchen and wipe up after him. But when Italy dropped an entire carton of milk, causing it to burst and flood all over the floor, with only an 'oops!' before moving on to the next carton, Germany only half-heartedly sponged it up before giving in. Italy seemed to be on a one-man kitchen destroying mission today, and Germany was somehow not as inclined as he might normally be to prevent it. Instead, he began stirring the mixture as Italy added ingredients and offering gentle corrections.
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