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eugene ben woods

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Who: Eugene Woods and all would-be and actual cooks of the fleet
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Vanquish galley
When: November 30th

Hey again, everybody. Eugene, back with you from my galley sweet galley above the Vanquish.

[He has a little look around, which honestly doesn't take much more than some pointed glancing.]

You know, for a walk-in closet with a few appliances and a protein paste dispenser, it really does grow on you. And, speaking of growing-

[Right on cue, he lifts a large jar that had been resting in his lap, setting it down on the galley table. It's mostly full of something that looks like paste. Off-white, faintly bubbly paste.]

I'm proud to announce that this little guy is surviving the perils of space travel just fine, and has produced a nice batch of rolls that I'm just praying the oven doesn't try to burn while I'm recording this and distracted. In anyone wants their own sourdough starter, I'll be happy to share the secrets of fresh, homemade bread with anyone who has a clean jar and a kitchen capable of giving them at least some flour, salt, and oil. I'll be in the Vanquish . . . more or less for the forseeable future. So come by if you've been missing your leavened, carby delights, and I'll get you set up.

[The oven does seem to be cooperating today, and within minutes of the broadcast, crewmates aboard the Vanquish should start noticing the aroma of fresh bread baking.]

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[He doesn't see the face at first, but that voice--]

Eugene?

[Surprising. He doesn't expect this to be a problem as such, but is this another person he knows?]

[The voice is obliquely familiar, and Eugene flips modes to return the reply in kind, pulse picking up in anticipation. Is this someone who knows him? Someone from home, even?]

Yeah, Eugene Woods, from- well. Formerly from Abel Township. I lived in Vancouver before that. Who's this?

[Well, that doesn't sound like recognition at all, for all that the details are definitely right. He knew Eugene well enough that he would have known the sound of his voice.]

Wrong number, it would seem.

. . . oh.

[Damn.]

Different Eugene?

Can't say I'm surprised. They call beer liquid bread for a reason.

[He pauses, rubs at his nose.]

Say, Eugene. How much do you like cooking? Be honest.

Edited 2015-12-01 06:38 (UTC)

Different time and place, at the least.

Uh. Enough that I'm treating a sourdough starter like a pet.

[He smirks lopsidedly.]

So a decent amount. I'd definitely have some more impressive accomplishments under my belt if we got any fresh ingredients, but what are you gonna do.

I'm . . . afraid I don't follow.

You can grow bread ingredients!?

[OH PLEASE, OH PLEASE, HE MISSES BREAD A LOT]

TImelines are very mutable when one's dealing with a multiverse. Perhaps I do know you, but you haven't yet me.

Good, good. [He clears his throat.] How'd you like a job? I'm about to open a bar on the Iskaulit. I got a bartender or two in the wings, but we're lacking food. Food's important: keeps the drunks happy and quiet.

Give me a list of what you need and I'll see what strings I can pull.

[There is a sign of a real desperation or boredom that even makes him consider this.]

Let me preface this by saying that although my augment designates me as a cook I have only a hair more than the faintest idea of what I am doing. That said, my kitchen is outfitted with the necessary ingredients.

. . . huh.

[Eugene's met plenty of the people in the fleet, from different worlds, so different points in the timeline . . . makes sense, he guesses. Weird as that kind of dynamic is to think of.]

Well, uh. I'm sorry I don't know your name yet. For what it's worth.

A job? Sounds great.

[Why the heck not. It's something to get him out of the kitchen-bunk-kitchen-bunk slump he's fallen into.]

In terms of bar foods? I can definitely manage all your bread-based things with this, so . . . here, let me show you what we have in our kitchen.

[He pushes himself to his feet and grabs the camera, taking it on a tour around the Vanquish galley, lifting the items as he narrates them.]

This is our setup. If I'm going to be doing food prep I'd need a bigger refrigerator and more counter space. More than one frying pan and burner. If you want soups or stews, a pot like this would be good. And some containers with lids for storage - stuff that fits in the refrigerator. Seasonings - definitely a must. The more of these you can get, the better. Protein paste - good for flavor, texture, faking meat in a pinch. And in all the dry goods in the pantry here, I'd have to say what I use the most of is the flour, sugar, oil, powdered milk, canned meat, dried fish, dried veggies, and . . . yeah, dried beans. The bread ingredients, meat, spices, and protein alone could make for a decent bar menu, but that's the bare minimum.

Edited 2015-12-06 18:12 (UTC)

Uh- yeah. Historically, this is how a lot of bread was made. Instead of using yeast out of a packet or jar to make the bread rise, you'd keep . . . starter. [He gestures at the starter.] It's just yeast and a little bit of friendly bacteria. If you have a refrigerator to store it in, you only need to feed it every couple of days, too.

Definitely a start. So you've never made bread before?

Oh, wow... that's really cool. So you've got some to spare...?

[Cooking is definitely still not his forte, but he will damn well learn how to grow bread if he has to.]

Hah. [How odd this feels. He's tempted to just hang up, but it isn't as if he can avoid this forever. Might as well be in control of the introduction.]

Loki. Son of Frigga.

[Varric seems to be taking notes.]

I have some of that on my own ship-- and we're lacking a cook-- but I'd be more comfortable getting separate things, just in case we get a new chef and they're really attached to the... dried potato flakes.

Do you want a separate kitchen or can I just cordon off some space in the back for you?

I haven't done a lot of cooking-related things before. Least of all bread.

As long as I can keep it clean, have a place to sit, and there isn't a ton of foot traffic wandering through? I'm not exactly picky.

[He could go into details, but he doesn't want to bargain himself down by admitting that he's eaten food cooked, say, in the dry space under a parked van.]

Where are you sourcing your drinks from?

Huh. And that probably doesn't fall under the mysteriously acquired protein paste knowledge bank, huh.

[He's quiet a thoughtful moment, itching at the corner of his jaw.]

Maybe you could just . . . come by one day and I'll show you how it's done? Bread isn't exactly particle physics, but it is easier to learn in person than from a book.

[From how quiet the line goes, it might be tempting to think that it cut out. Except the communication lines don't, ever, and besides. Eugene's breath does something funny - hitches, stops for a few beats too long, then comes back a little deeper.

He's well-read. He is well-read and a huge nerd, no matter how cosmopolitan he can look in the interest of landing a date or delivering a polished piece for the lifestyle pages, and those names aren't so obscure that a kid who grew up on cartoons and fantasy literature wouldn't recognize them.]

. . . the Loki.

[Only the fact that this place is so insane that he hedges his bets, and that one doesn't say no way, no fucking way to an actual divinity, keeps it at that.]

[He laughed]

To be quite fair, I don't know anything about particle physics either, so it might be all the same from my perspective.

Oh, yeah. Part of the care and feeding and taking out some of the starter so it has room to grow. You can use the part you take out to make bread or whatever, or you can give it to someone so they can start growing their own.

Tastier results, at least.

Though, uh. You might want to bring a book or something. Unless you want to spend the few hours of waiting time learning to cook something else.

I'd love one for the Paisley, if you're willing. Could I give you anything for it?

[If this devolves into another you can't possibly be a god, blah blah blah, he's hanging up. He's tired of humans try to negotiate him into a smaller box with their words.]

Yes.

Huh.

[It's not exactly a laugh. Or bewilderment. or awe. It's somewhere floating between those and a few other reactions besides, and he finds himself grinning without meaning to, glancing around the kitchen.]

Well, uh- I'm gonna guess the appropriate mere mortal response here is offerings, but . . . the best I have at the moment is bread and moonshine. That I've already offered to all the other mortals already.

Then I'll have it as a feature. It might be good to have people be able to talk to the cook, too. Especially if you're good. [He's assuming the man is good, but if there had been any complaints, he would've heard them by now.] And I'll make sure you can get privacy if you need it. All my bartenders will be the bouncer types, just in case.

Where am I not sourcing my drinks from? That's a better question. I pick up stuff here and there as we go along. Most of it is from the dust moon, but I inherited some kelp shit and then there's the usual waystation fare.

How's your homebrew setup coming?

[For once a mortal that doesn't argue with him. He's almost not certain how to deal with it.]

Acceptable for now, but I trust you shall be more creative in the future.

Oh. Uh. You don't have to give anything, but I'm always happy to accept kitchen goods. I know some people have herb gardens, stuff like that. Heck, I'd take a few more jars for storage, if you have anything that'll hold a seal.

Well! I'm glad to announce that we're now reliably putting out a clear spirit with pretty minimal aftertaste! At least, considering we're making it in a salvaged rig out of straight-up sugar mash.

[He gives a rueful look at that, because oh, his kingdom for actual fruit or aromatics or heck, even some acceptable wood to fake a barrel-aged liquor.]

We'll have something that tastes better once we find a planet with fruit, but for right now it does the job pretty well.

[This is one of two things. It is either an actual god, who somehow knows him through some inexplicable circumstance - or it's someone who's saying he's a god to fuck with him.

Given that Occam's Razor goes right out the window around here, and he's just fine with possibly jollying along some random weirdo who's pranking him if it eliminates the risk of getting on the wrong side of an actual god-? Yeah. He can suspend disbelief.]

I'll do my best. Do you have any preferences?

I'm sure we've got something we can spare. I'll check with the rest of my crew and will let you know ASAP. The trade off for bread is too great to pass up.

Come now, Eugene. I like clever fellows best of all.

Well...perhaps. Do you have any other specialties?

As long as it doesn't kill people immediately, we can serve it.

[He rubs his stubbly chin.]

Fruit, huh? I think Sprout-- er, Asteffiel-- has some kind of apple tree growing in the lab. I haven't looked in a while. It might be the ornamental kind, it might not. I'm no expert.

Oh, man. I don't know if I have anything to barter that's worth space-fruit. I think we're okay just bottling stuff and waiting for a planet where we can buy the rest.

[It's not really a bother to him, and he gives an idle shrug. He's had worse, definitely.]

I can bring a jar of it with me, see what magic the bartenders can work with it in the meantime.

I guess I have one or two.

[He doesn't want to brag, but he does spend a lot of time experimenting with dispensed Mystery Protein.]

I figured out how to make decent noodles out of the stuff they give us, and they dry and store pretty well. Otherwise you can hack the protein into fried chicken, meatloaf, imitation ice cream . . . honestly, it's a lot more than you'd think, as long as you have some pantry staples to help it along.

Imaginative. Were you an actual chef before being forced to be one on television?

Don't worry about that. He approached me all eager to help. He just loves plants.

[Varric doesn't know the first thing about actually making beer, so he had been waiting for this kinda thing.]

Can't be any worse than moonshine made in some guy's dirty bathtub.

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