La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 039. Taste.
Title: A Matter of Good Taste
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Elena, Michael; Madeline mentioned
Prompt: 039. Taste.
Word count: 791
Rating: G
Summary: Michael misses Watson. A lot.
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between He, She, and Thee and The Tree Huggers.*
A Matter of Good Taste
Elena ladled a steaming mass of vegetables held together with stringy cheese and dark red sauce on Adam’s plate.
He considered his dinner for a nanosecond before announcing, “I don’t like it.”
“You haven’t tried it. Michael, hand me your plate. Adam, you can’t say you don’t like something until you try it.”
Michael eyed his own dinner suspiciously. “What is it?” he asked conversationally, moving the casserole around with his fork.
“’Surprise d'Aubergine.’ I found it in a cookbook last week and I’ve been dying to try it out.” This was not a good thing. On familiar territory, Elena was actually quite a good cook. But when she joined forces with a cookbook to create a new specialty, all bets were off.
She and Adam watched closely as Michael scooped up a small portion with his fork. He blew on it. “Hot,” he explained, stalling. Eggplant was not his vegetable of choice, but he could eat it if he had to. He also recognized morel mushrooms, but what were the red bits?
“It’s not bad,” he lied. “Try some, Adam.” The casserole had, in addition to the eggplant and mushrooms, something very hot-red peppers, perhaps-a syrupy kind of sugar, something crunchy he couldn’t identify, and goat cheese.
Obediently, Adam lifted an even smaller portion to this mouth, blew on it like Michael, opened his mouth and began to chew. Within seconds he was leaning over his plate, spitting out the “Surprise.”
“Adam!” Elena scolded.
“Now Adam, that’s not very polite.” Michael backed up his wife in chastising their son for his table manners. He also wished he were 30 years younger so he could do the same thing. God, he missed Watson. That dog had a cast-iron stomach and would eat anything Michael “accidentally” dropped on the floor when Elena discovered something new and, well…unique to cook.
“It’s gross,” Adam informed his mother. “I tasted it. I don’t like it. I want ice cream.”
Elena was irritated. She’d spent the better part of the afternoon putting this dinner together. She wouldn’t be put off so easily.
“One big bite,” she instructed Adam. “Chew it and swallow, and if you still don’t like it I’ll fix you a sandwich.” Adam shot a despairing glance at his father, who merely shrugged. Actually, Michael was thinking that a sandwich sounded like an excellent idea as he watched his son take a “big enough” bite, chew, panic, and spit out his food again. Adam’s little face was drawn. He was hungry, but he just couldn’t eat that stuff.
“Adam!” Elena scolded again, exasperated. No back-up from Michael this time. In fact, other than that first bite, Michael hadn’t touched his own dinner. He had almost decided he’s rather go a round with Madeline and her mental gymnastics than clean his plate.
“You’re setting a fine example,” she admonished him. “You’ve hardly eaten any of it yourself. Please finish your dinner.”
Giving up the game, Michael challenged her. “I will if you will.” Elena’s eyes widened in surprise.
Elena’s eyes had nothing on Adam’s, who watched the interplay between his parents; transfixed.
Silently berating Michael for his own immature behavior, Elena ate a large forkful of her own casserole. She chewed, an odd expression flitting across her face. She finally swallowed, staring at the casserole in dismay.
“I don’t understand,” she said, confused. “I like everything in it: the aubergine, Morels, pimentos, chili sauce, cashews…” Her voice trailed off.
Cashews. That was the crunchy part.
“Maybe those things weren’t meant to be mixed together,” Michael suggested helpfully. Morels and chili sauce? Blasphemy.
“Is that why it tastes so bad? Is that the ‘surprise’ part, Mommy?” Elena looked at her son, whose face was deadly serious. She couldn’t help it. Her smile became a chuckle, than a genuine laugh.
“Who wants a toasted cheese sandwich and tomato soup?” she polled her family members. Both of the Samuelle men raised their right hands high. “Then cheese sandwiches it is.” Elena stood and began to clear the table, and Michael helped, carrying the casserole dish over to the counter.
“Not goat cheese sandwiches?” he teased.
“Oh, very funny. Go sit down.” Elena didn’t tell him that the goat cheese had been her idea. The recipe had called for mozzarella, but that sounded boring. The brown sugar had been her idea as well, to temper the chili sauce when she realized she’d bought extra-hot instead of mild.
Elena wasn’t giving up on her Surprise d'Aubergine. She would follow the recipe more closely the next time. Then they would love it. Or eat it, anyway. She excused her husband and son. They just didn’t have her sophisticated palate. Gourmet food was really just a matter of good taste.
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Elena, Michael; Madeline mentioned
Prompt: 039. Taste.
Word count: 791
Rating: G
Summary: Michael misses Watson. A lot.
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between He, She, and Thee and The Tree Huggers.*
A Matter of Good Taste
Elena ladled a steaming mass of vegetables held together with stringy cheese and dark red sauce on Adam’s plate.
He considered his dinner for a nanosecond before announcing, “I don’t like it.”
“You haven’t tried it. Michael, hand me your plate. Adam, you can’t say you don’t like something until you try it.”
Michael eyed his own dinner suspiciously. “What is it?” he asked conversationally, moving the casserole around with his fork.
“’Surprise d'Aubergine.’ I found it in a cookbook last week and I’ve been dying to try it out.” This was not a good thing. On familiar territory, Elena was actually quite a good cook. But when she joined forces with a cookbook to create a new specialty, all bets were off.
She and Adam watched closely as Michael scooped up a small portion with his fork. He blew on it. “Hot,” he explained, stalling. Eggplant was not his vegetable of choice, but he could eat it if he had to. He also recognized morel mushrooms, but what were the red bits?
“It’s not bad,” he lied. “Try some, Adam.” The casserole had, in addition to the eggplant and mushrooms, something very hot-red peppers, perhaps-a syrupy kind of sugar, something crunchy he couldn’t identify, and goat cheese.
Obediently, Adam lifted an even smaller portion to this mouth, blew on it like Michael, opened his mouth and began to chew. Within seconds he was leaning over his plate, spitting out the “Surprise.”
“Adam!” Elena scolded.
“Now Adam, that’s not very polite.” Michael backed up his wife in chastising their son for his table manners. He also wished he were 30 years younger so he could do the same thing. God, he missed Watson. That dog had a cast-iron stomach and would eat anything Michael “accidentally” dropped on the floor when Elena discovered something new and, well…unique to cook.
“It’s gross,” Adam informed his mother. “I tasted it. I don’t like it. I want ice cream.”
Elena was irritated. She’d spent the better part of the afternoon putting this dinner together. She wouldn’t be put off so easily.
“One big bite,” she instructed Adam. “Chew it and swallow, and if you still don’t like it I’ll fix you a sandwich.” Adam shot a despairing glance at his father, who merely shrugged. Actually, Michael was thinking that a sandwich sounded like an excellent idea as he watched his son take a “big enough” bite, chew, panic, and spit out his food again. Adam’s little face was drawn. He was hungry, but he just couldn’t eat that stuff.
“Adam!” Elena scolded again, exasperated. No back-up from Michael this time. In fact, other than that first bite, Michael hadn’t touched his own dinner. He had almost decided he’s rather go a round with Madeline and her mental gymnastics than clean his plate.
“You’re setting a fine example,” she admonished him. “You’ve hardly eaten any of it yourself. Please finish your dinner.”
Giving up the game, Michael challenged her. “I will if you will.” Elena’s eyes widened in surprise.
Elena’s eyes had nothing on Adam’s, who watched the interplay between his parents; transfixed.
Silently berating Michael for his own immature behavior, Elena ate a large forkful of her own casserole. She chewed, an odd expression flitting across her face. She finally swallowed, staring at the casserole in dismay.
“I don’t understand,” she said, confused. “I like everything in it: the aubergine, Morels, pimentos, chili sauce, cashews…” Her voice trailed off.
Cashews. That was the crunchy part.
“Maybe those things weren’t meant to be mixed together,” Michael suggested helpfully. Morels and chili sauce? Blasphemy.
“Is that why it tastes so bad? Is that the ‘surprise’ part, Mommy?” Elena looked at her son, whose face was deadly serious. She couldn’t help it. Her smile became a chuckle, than a genuine laugh.
“Who wants a toasted cheese sandwich and tomato soup?” she polled her family members. Both of the Samuelle men raised their right hands high. “Then cheese sandwiches it is.” Elena stood and began to clear the table, and Michael helped, carrying the casserole dish over to the counter.
“Not goat cheese sandwiches?” he teased.
“Oh, very funny. Go sit down.” Elena didn’t tell him that the goat cheese had been her idea. The recipe had called for mozzarella, but that sounded boring. The brown sugar had been her idea as well, to temper the chili sauce when she realized she’d bought extra-hot instead of mild.
Elena wasn’t giving up on her Surprise d'Aubergine. She would follow the recipe more closely the next time. Then they would love it. Or eat it, anyway. She excused her husband and son. They just didn’t have her sophisticated palate. Gourmet food was really just a matter of good taste.
My prompt table is here.