round 04, challenge eight: entry #3
Title: Cooking? Cooking!
Fandom and Pairing: Super Junior, gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1765
Summary: They're idols, not chefs.
Warnings: none
When they flick the lights back on after a lengthy powerpoint littered with graphs and charts and exclamation marks, the room is stunned into an unnatural silence.
Finally, Leeteuk clears his throat and manages a weak “cooking?”
“Cooking!” The PD nods excitedly. “One hour, four teams of three, a panel of respected judges, and the cameras rolling all the while. It’s risky, but I’m confident in all of your abilities!”
Kyuhyun tries to shuffle unnoticed out of the room, but Donghae grabs him with his left hand and wraps his right around Henry’s wrist. “Team KyuHaeRy!” He crows, tugging their arms up into a lopsided “M.”
Their manager throws the PD a sidelong glance. “I hope you’re insured.”
-
“Why can’t I be down there? I’m the most competent of all of them.” Ryeowook protests as they push him into an unoccupied dining chair.
Zhou Mi pats his hand. “Yes, but putting you on any of the teams would be an unfair advantage, so you’re sitting this one out Ryeowook.”
“Oh.”
“But don’t worry, you’re still in the show! You’ll be one of the judges, and you can MC with me as well.”
Ryeowook’s eyes glaze over, as they always do when he’s thinking very hard. A crease appears between his eyebrows and, bit by bit, his polite smile makes a one-eighty degree turn. “That means I’ll have to taste all the dishes, won’t I?”
“Yes,” Zhou Mi beams, stashing away all of the sharp cutlery within reach. “Personally, I’m intrigued by what Kui Xian will come up with.”
Ryeowook looks at the solitary tea spoon despondently and wonders how he can off himself with it.
-
“Ok,” Han Geng exhales, running a finger down the list in his hand. “I guess we’ll stick to what we know. Fried rice, dumplings, and a stir fry of some sort, sounds good?”
Siwon and Yesung can only nod reverently, awed by Han Geng’s suave leadership.
“And I guess I’ll make the filling and make the fried rice. Siwon, check if there are thawed dumpling wrappers in the fridge. The vegetables need to be washed and julienned too.”
With a sharp “yes hyung,” Siwon sets off to his duties and leaves behind Yesung, who is rocking back and forth on his heels with barely contained excitement. “And me? What can I do?”
“Uh,” Han Geng looks over to the judge’s table and scratches his head. “you can go boil some water. That lady judge looks like she’s about to pop out a baby.”
En route to accomplishing his task, Yesung bangs into an oven door, trips over a blender cord from five feet away, and sets a tower of tupperware tumbling to the ground.
Han Geng mourns the untimely death of this architectural wonder of product placement and stops keeping track after that.
-
“So,” Kyuhyun begins, “I think it’s safe to assume that none of us can cook our way out of a wet paper bag.”
Henry nods, his mouth set in a grim line. “Then let’s not cook,” he suggests, “It’s probably a good idea if we stay away from any potential fire starting devices.”
“I see your point.” Kyuhyun says, “All cold dishes then?”
“Yeah. And I’ll think of some simple dessert item to make.”
Kyuhyun hums in agreement. “Salads are entrees, right?”
“Uh.” Henry scratches his chin. “I guess if you make a lot of it.”
Kyuhyun’s shoulder sags with relief. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Now we probably should fill Donghae in.”
Together, they look toward the seafood tank, filled with mollusks, live fish, and one topless Lee Donghae kicking his feet joyfully through the water.
Kyuhyun coughs. “We could probably afford to wait a while.”
-
“So I managed to get one before that brat jumped in.” Kangin says through an armful of wildly flopping fish.
Heechul rolls his eyes in disgust. “Excuse you, that brat is my favorite dongsaeng.”
“Blatant favoritism is to be kept behind closed doors.” Leeteuk hisses, mouth stretched into an uncomfortable smile, keeping mind of the six cameras that surround their tiny kitchen. “Now, Heechul, go help Kangin with that fish.”
With some difficulty, they manage to get it onto the wooden chopping block. Leeteuk takes out a large cleaver and passes it to Heechul, who passes it to Kangin. The fish stares at them with a large watery eye, mouth flapping as if begging for mercy.
Kangin clenches his eyes shut and raises the knife above his head. After several minutes of deep breathing and shaking shoulders, he finally lays it down and says tearfully, “I can’t do it, hyung, I just can’t.”
“Don’t worry.” Heechul points at the fish’s long asphyxiated form. “You won’t have to after all.”
-
Sungmin takes pride in his ability to take everything in stride. Like now, he’s doing his best to cook an edible meal that he would be proud to serve to the judges. Unfortunately, his teammates are making it difficult.
Think positive. He decides. Gotta think positive to get through this.
So he pretends that what Hyukjae added to the ddeokbokki was salt, not sugar, and that a little red food colouring is not dishonest at all. He thinks that Shindong’s coaxing-slash-threatening of the clams will make them taste better, even if the video footage will make them sound like murdering psychotic Satanists with a flair for culinary arts.
He adjusts the last piece of meat and stands back to admire his handiwork: a beautifully weaved square foot of delicious, uncooked bacon. With gentle fingers, he lovingly wraps it in foil and places on the counter.
“Hyukjae! Throw this in the oven for me when you’ve got a minute, ok?”
Hyukjae gives him a pained grin and a thumbs up over his shoulder. Sungmin pretends that Hyukjae was just extra messy with that food colouring and gives his bacon weave a final, affectionate pat.
-
Henry taps his chin with a spoon. “Orange creamsicle. That’s like, what, stirring orange juice and cream together and throwing it in the ice cream machine?”
Kyuhyun purses his lips in deep thought. “Sounds legit.” He finally says, and polishes the final cherry tomato into an unnatural shine.
-
Ryeowook gapes at the screen, disgust written clearly across his face. “I am not eating that,” he declares.
“Yes you are.” Zhou Mi says, although even he admits a trifle of fear at the sight of curdled milk proteins swimming in a pool of murky orange. “There’s a reason I left you your spoon.”
-
“Hey guys,” Eunhyuk asks thirty-five minutes in, “what’s that thing that you’re not supposed to put metal into again?”
“There are a lot of things you’re not supposed to put metal into, for future reference.” Sungmin replies, ripping open ramen packets with such violence that he sends seasoning packets skidding across the counter. “Like people. Especially people.” The past half hour has not been kind to his positing thinking.
“No, I mean like, for cooking.”
“Oh, like a microwave?”
As if on cue, the microwave begins to emit loud clanging noises and angry sparks.
“Like people.” Sungmin mutters darkly and takes a swig from his bottle of cooking wine. “Especially people.”
-
“Hey look,” Yesung points across the stage, “fireworks.”
-
“That’s ridiculous! How can you run out of soy sauce? We just stocked up. Have you been drinking it? I mean, I understand that the bottles look unfortunately similar, and I suppose they would taste the same if, oh, you’ve been swindling away your tastebuds on cheap liquor, but-”
“Um, excuse me chef,” a hesitant tap on his shoulder sparks the premature end of his tirade. Heechul whirls around with a look of utmost impatience on his face. “What?”
The coordi whimpers a little. This will only add to Heechul’s street cred as the harshest chef to ever grace the kitchen stadium. “The microwave on the other team just exploded,” he says, the tremors in his voice accentuated by the staccato of quivering fingernails against the counter. “They’re hoping to use one of yours.”
Heechul blinks, then huffs impatiently. “That’s it? Tell them yes, but only because we’ve got a real crisis on our hands.” He turns back and glowers Kangin's mutinous look into submission. “Now, about the soy sauce.”
-
Zhou Mi smiles when there’s nothing else he can do. He’s smiled through prejudice, anti fans, and unfortunate comments about earthquakes, but he’s beginning to think all those other times were just practice for this defining moment.
With kitchen number four halfway through its Winter Wonderland transformation and Sungmin running across the soundstage attempting to skewer Eunhyuk with a potato masher, Zhou Mi looks into the camera and puts a little extra sparkle into his smile.
-
With ten minutes left on the clock, most teams have given up on making their food edible and are instead concentrating on making it look presentable, at the very least. Cookie cutters are dug out from the depths of their supply drawers and vegetable slices of every shape make their way onto pristine white dishes.
Donghae finds Henry in front of a tray of half-congealed “working title: deconstructed orange creamsicle,” drawing tridents into each bowl with a red icing pen.
“They’re not tridents.” Henry says when he asks, “they’re maple leafs. Like the ones on the Canadian flag. See the little stalk and the three points and - nevermind.” He throws the pen into the sink and skulks away with all the subdued woe of a snubbed teenager.
Donghae tilts his head, hops on one foot, and squints at it again. Oh there it is.
-
When the hour’s up, Ryeowook feels like a death row convict finally meeting his executioner. All dishes lie on an oversized trolley, ready to be brought to him once the food photographers have had a go with it. Not for the first time, Ryeowook wishes he had never signed that contract.
You have to save me. He mouths at Yesung desperately. Please.
“What?” Yesung cups his ear, “I can’t hear you Wookie!”
Ryeowook covers his mic with both hands and whispers as loud as he can. “Save me.”
Yesung shakes his head. “I still can’t hear you Wookie, hold on, I’ll be right there.” He says, and promptly crashes into the food trolley.
-
“We’re still alive, Ryeowook is not on his way to the hospital, and Hyukjae doesn’t have to amputate his left hand.” Leeteuk begins cheerily, “So property damage and humiliation aside, I think this all went pretty well.”
Yesung scowls and flings a soapy sponge at him. “Speak for yourself.”
Fandom and Pairing: Super Junior, gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1765
Summary: They're idols, not chefs.
Warnings: none
When they flick the lights back on after a lengthy powerpoint littered with graphs and charts and exclamation marks, the room is stunned into an unnatural silence.
Finally, Leeteuk clears his throat and manages a weak “cooking?”
“Cooking!” The PD nods excitedly. “One hour, four teams of three, a panel of respected judges, and the cameras rolling all the while. It’s risky, but I’m confident in all of your abilities!”
Kyuhyun tries to shuffle unnoticed out of the room, but Donghae grabs him with his left hand and wraps his right around Henry’s wrist. “Team KyuHaeRy!” He crows, tugging their arms up into a lopsided “M.”
Their manager throws the PD a sidelong glance. “I hope you’re insured.”
-
“Why can’t I be down there? I’m the most competent of all of them.” Ryeowook protests as they push him into an unoccupied dining chair.
Zhou Mi pats his hand. “Yes, but putting you on any of the teams would be an unfair advantage, so you’re sitting this one out Ryeowook.”
“Oh.”
“But don’t worry, you’re still in the show! You’ll be one of the judges, and you can MC with me as well.”
Ryeowook’s eyes glaze over, as they always do when he’s thinking very hard. A crease appears between his eyebrows and, bit by bit, his polite smile makes a one-eighty degree turn. “That means I’ll have to taste all the dishes, won’t I?”
“Yes,” Zhou Mi beams, stashing away all of the sharp cutlery within reach. “Personally, I’m intrigued by what Kui Xian will come up with.”
Ryeowook looks at the solitary tea spoon despondently and wonders how he can off himself with it.
-
“Ok,” Han Geng exhales, running a finger down the list in his hand. “I guess we’ll stick to what we know. Fried rice, dumplings, and a stir fry of some sort, sounds good?”
Siwon and Yesung can only nod reverently, awed by Han Geng’s suave leadership.
“And I guess I’ll make the filling and make the fried rice. Siwon, check if there are thawed dumpling wrappers in the fridge. The vegetables need to be washed and julienned too.”
With a sharp “yes hyung,” Siwon sets off to his duties and leaves behind Yesung, who is rocking back and forth on his heels with barely contained excitement. “And me? What can I do?”
“Uh,” Han Geng looks over to the judge’s table and scratches his head. “you can go boil some water. That lady judge looks like she’s about to pop out a baby.”
En route to accomplishing his task, Yesung bangs into an oven door, trips over a blender cord from five feet away, and sets a tower of tupperware tumbling to the ground.
Han Geng mourns the untimely death of this architectural wonder of product placement and stops keeping track after that.
-
“So,” Kyuhyun begins, “I think it’s safe to assume that none of us can cook our way out of a wet paper bag.”
Henry nods, his mouth set in a grim line. “Then let’s not cook,” he suggests, “It’s probably a good idea if we stay away from any potential fire starting devices.”
“I see your point.” Kyuhyun says, “All cold dishes then?”
“Yeah. And I’ll think of some simple dessert item to make.”
Kyuhyun hums in agreement. “Salads are entrees, right?”
“Uh.” Henry scratches his chin. “I guess if you make a lot of it.”
Kyuhyun’s shoulder sags with relief. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Now we probably should fill Donghae in.”
Together, they look toward the seafood tank, filled with mollusks, live fish, and one topless Lee Donghae kicking his feet joyfully through the water.
Kyuhyun coughs. “We could probably afford to wait a while.”
-
“So I managed to get one before that brat jumped in.” Kangin says through an armful of wildly flopping fish.
Heechul rolls his eyes in disgust. “Excuse you, that brat is my favorite dongsaeng.”
“Blatant favoritism is to be kept behind closed doors.” Leeteuk hisses, mouth stretched into an uncomfortable smile, keeping mind of the six cameras that surround their tiny kitchen. “Now, Heechul, go help Kangin with that fish.”
With some difficulty, they manage to get it onto the wooden chopping block. Leeteuk takes out a large cleaver and passes it to Heechul, who passes it to Kangin. The fish stares at them with a large watery eye, mouth flapping as if begging for mercy.
Kangin clenches his eyes shut and raises the knife above his head. After several minutes of deep breathing and shaking shoulders, he finally lays it down and says tearfully, “I can’t do it, hyung, I just can’t.”
“Don’t worry.” Heechul points at the fish’s long asphyxiated form. “You won’t have to after all.”
-
Sungmin takes pride in his ability to take everything in stride. Like now, he’s doing his best to cook an edible meal that he would be proud to serve to the judges. Unfortunately, his teammates are making it difficult.
Think positive. He decides. Gotta think positive to get through this.
So he pretends that what Hyukjae added to the ddeokbokki was salt, not sugar, and that a little red food colouring is not dishonest at all. He thinks that Shindong’s coaxing-slash-threatening of the clams will make them taste better, even if the video footage will make them sound like murdering psychotic Satanists with a flair for culinary arts.
He adjusts the last piece of meat and stands back to admire his handiwork: a beautifully weaved square foot of delicious, uncooked bacon. With gentle fingers, he lovingly wraps it in foil and places on the counter.
“Hyukjae! Throw this in the oven for me when you’ve got a minute, ok?”
Hyukjae gives him a pained grin and a thumbs up over his shoulder. Sungmin pretends that Hyukjae was just extra messy with that food colouring and gives his bacon weave a final, affectionate pat.
-
Henry taps his chin with a spoon. “Orange creamsicle. That’s like, what, stirring orange juice and cream together and throwing it in the ice cream machine?”
Kyuhyun purses his lips in deep thought. “Sounds legit.” He finally says, and polishes the final cherry tomato into an unnatural shine.
-
Ryeowook gapes at the screen, disgust written clearly across his face. “I am not eating that,” he declares.
“Yes you are.” Zhou Mi says, although even he admits a trifle of fear at the sight of curdled milk proteins swimming in a pool of murky orange. “There’s a reason I left you your spoon.”
-
“Hey guys,” Eunhyuk asks thirty-five minutes in, “what’s that thing that you’re not supposed to put metal into again?”
“There are a lot of things you’re not supposed to put metal into, for future reference.” Sungmin replies, ripping open ramen packets with such violence that he sends seasoning packets skidding across the counter. “Like people. Especially people.” The past half hour has not been kind to his positing thinking.
“No, I mean like, for cooking.”
“Oh, like a microwave?”
As if on cue, the microwave begins to emit loud clanging noises and angry sparks.
“Like people.” Sungmin mutters darkly and takes a swig from his bottle of cooking wine. “Especially people.”
-
“Hey look,” Yesung points across the stage, “fireworks.”
-
“That’s ridiculous! How can you run out of soy sauce? We just stocked up. Have you been drinking it? I mean, I understand that the bottles look unfortunately similar, and I suppose they would taste the same if, oh, you’ve been swindling away your tastebuds on cheap liquor, but-”
“Um, excuse me chef,” a hesitant tap on his shoulder sparks the premature end of his tirade. Heechul whirls around with a look of utmost impatience on his face. “What?”
The coordi whimpers a little. This will only add to Heechul’s street cred as the harshest chef to ever grace the kitchen stadium. “The microwave on the other team just exploded,” he says, the tremors in his voice accentuated by the staccato of quivering fingernails against the counter. “They’re hoping to use one of yours.”
Heechul blinks, then huffs impatiently. “That’s it? Tell them yes, but only because we’ve got a real crisis on our hands.” He turns back and glowers Kangin's mutinous look into submission. “Now, about the soy sauce.”
-
Zhou Mi smiles when there’s nothing else he can do. He’s smiled through prejudice, anti fans, and unfortunate comments about earthquakes, but he’s beginning to think all those other times were just practice for this defining moment.
With kitchen number four halfway through its Winter Wonderland transformation and Sungmin running across the soundstage attempting to skewer Eunhyuk with a potato masher, Zhou Mi looks into the camera and puts a little extra sparkle into his smile.
-
With ten minutes left on the clock, most teams have given up on making their food edible and are instead concentrating on making it look presentable, at the very least. Cookie cutters are dug out from the depths of their supply drawers and vegetable slices of every shape make their way onto pristine white dishes.
Donghae finds Henry in front of a tray of half-congealed “working title: deconstructed orange creamsicle,” drawing tridents into each bowl with a red icing pen.
“They’re not tridents.” Henry says when he asks, “they’re maple leafs. Like the ones on the Canadian flag. See the little stalk and the three points and - nevermind.” He throws the pen into the sink and skulks away with all the subdued woe of a snubbed teenager.
Donghae tilts his head, hops on one foot, and squints at it again. Oh there it is.
-
When the hour’s up, Ryeowook feels like a death row convict finally meeting his executioner. All dishes lie on an oversized trolley, ready to be brought to him once the food photographers have had a go with it. Not for the first time, Ryeowook wishes he had never signed that contract.
You have to save me. He mouths at Yesung desperately. Please.
“What?” Yesung cups his ear, “I can’t hear you Wookie!”
Ryeowook covers his mic with both hands and whispers as loud as he can. “Save me.”
Yesung shakes his head. “I still can’t hear you Wookie, hold on, I’ll be right there.” He says, and promptly crashes into the food trolley.
-
“We’re still alive, Ryeowook is not on his way to the hospital, and Hyukjae doesn’t have to amputate his left hand.” Leeteuk begins cheerily, “So property damage and humiliation aside, I think this all went pretty well.”
Yesung scowls and flings a soapy sponge at him. “Speak for yourself.”