Title: Bourbon Biscuits and Apple Crumble
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Being Human
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very mild for episode 3
Summary: Food plays an important part in their household.
Food plays an important part in their household. Food means something. Not just the consumption of a quick meal, but the food itself. The choosing of just what to buy. The preparation. The cooking. For Annie, it’s comfort; a routine that’s the same in death as it was in life. For George, it’s control; choosing what he wants, making it the way he wants, the whole kitchen at his command. For Mitchell, it’s distraction; flinging something together, or leaning over to critique the others, takes his mind, briefly, off the constant burning ache inside. Whatever their reasons, food is paramount.
The Book comes into their lives one cloudy, chilly day. George comes home from the hospital, clutching it in one hand, beaming happily. “I found it in the Friends of the Hospital shop,” he says. “Only 20p – can you believe it?!”
Mitchell stares at the book, and pulls a face. “I hate the shop. It smells like old people and death.”
“It’s a hospital!” says George, waving the book expansively. “It all smells of old people and death.”
“Not the neonatal unit.”
George stares at Mitchell as one might a lunatic from Bedlam. “Well, I don’t think they let babies run shops.”
Annie giggles. They look at her, and she waves a dismissive hands. “Just saw babies running shops,” she says, then nods at the book. “What is it, George?”
“The Be-Ro Cookery Book,” says George proudly. It’s tattered and pamphlet-sized. Annie grabs it.
“Oh my God! My gran had one of these! That’s so cool!”
“I thought I’d make Nina some biscuits. Bourbons, maybe.” He holds out his hand for the book.
Annie looked at him warily, and hands it over. “You can buy those, you know,” she says, and looks at Mitchell. “He does know you can buy them, right?”
Mitchell shrugs and wanders off. George heads for the kitchen, flicking through the book, and wondering aloud if they have any cocoa.
oOo
Bourbon Biscuits
8 oz self-raising flour
4 oz sugar
3 tbsp cocoa powder
4 oz margarine
5 tbsp milk
Few drops vanilla essence
Icing
“Are they bourbons?”
George glares at Mitchell. “Of course they’re bourbons! What else would they be?”
“It’s just… they look different in the shop.” He pokes one with a finger. George slaps his hand away.
“Hands off! These aren’t for you to-to poke and prod! They’re for Nina.” His voice is beatific, and Mitchell can’t help himself.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it? George and Nina, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I…”
George snatches the plate of biscuits, and blushes. “Shut up! Anyway, we did a lot more than kissing.”
“Ooooh!”
“And you know it, so shut up and leave me alone.” But he’s smiling as he holds the biscuits, and Mitchell grins back.
oOo
Apple Crumble
12 oz fruit
2 oz margarine
4 oz self-raising flour
2 oz sugar
It’s mundane, really, compared to the things they all face, but there’s an explosion at a chemical plant and the hospital goes to its major incident plan. George and Mitchell both work longer than usual, and even for them, the blood and fear and stench of chemical burns are overwhelming. They trudge home, to find Annie in the kitchen.
“I heard about it on the radio,” she says.
“I’m going to wash,” says George. “I need to wash.” He runs upstairs, and Annie looks at Mitchell.
“OK?”
He wipes a tired hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s not like I haven’t—but. Yeah.”
“I’m making dinner,” she says. “And I made crumble. Out of George’s book.”
“I like crumble,” says George, appearing in the doorway, scrubbed and flushed.
“I thought it would be nice,” she says. Then asks them to lay the table, and check the veg, and get some drinks, and find the custard powder (“Why isn’t it Bird’s?” demands George; “It should be Bird’s.”), and a dozen other little jobs that keep them busy, and the kitchen smells of baking apples, and they don’t think about the hospital.
oOo
Scones
8 oz self-raising flour
Pinch of salt
2 oz margarine
1 oz caster sugar
2 oz sultanas
1 medium egg, beaten with milk
“What is he doing?” George whispers piercingly.
“Trying to bond with the new neighbours,” whispers Annie. They’re both peering round the kitchen door. She points at the catastrophic mess behind them. “He made scones.”
“Why won’t he leave the neighbours alone!?” George is still whispering, but it’s getting pretty high-pitched. Mitchell jogs in, an empty plate in one hand, and gives them a cheesy thumbs up with the other.
“Scones are brilliant,” he says. “You should try some.”
George makes an inarticulate squeaking noise and Mitchell grins, chucking a few more scones on the plate and disappearing back into the living room.
“Actually,” says Annie, poking one, “they look OK. I think Mitchell might have been holding out on us.”
George makes another noise, and stamps upstairs, taking his floury Be-Ro Cookery Book with him.
oOo
Boozy Steak & Ale Pie
8 oz puff pastry
1 ½ lb stewing steak
3 tbsp plain flour
Salt and pepper
1 onion
1 clove garlic
½ pt brown ale
3 tsp dried thyme
4 oz button mushrooms
Milk to glaze
George comes in with a load of shopping bags, looking worked up. Mitchell comes in behind him, and Annie raises her eyebrows in silent interrogation.
“Girl trouble,” he says, and George pops up in the doorway.
“Women are…” He makes a complicated gesture with his hands. “I just don’t understand. I don’t… there’s… Mrgh.” He disappears back into the kitchen.
“I think discretion is the better part of valour,” says Mitchell, and Annie nods fervently. George in a pother is stressful for everyone. They sit in the living room and watch Hollyoaks on a low volume. After a while, the warm smell of steak pie starts to pervade the house.
“Least we get a good dinner out of it,” says Mitchell, twisting his head to try working out what position one of the McQueen sisters is in.
“Speak for yourself,” says Annie. “God, I’d love a bit of steak pie.” She looks disconsolate, and Mitchell slings an arm around her shoulder.
“Sucks being dead,” he says, and she laughs.
“There are so many inappropriate responses to that,” she says. “What with, you know, vampire and all.”
George reappears. He’s a wreck, but looks less uptight than before. “I’ve made some dinner,” he says, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious. “Come and eat.”
Mitchell and George eat, and Annie watches.
oOo
Chocolate Sponge Cake
3 oz self-raising flour
1 oz cocoa
4 oz caster sugar
4 oz margarine
2 eggs
Icing
The morning after the full moon, George turns up sorrowfully cradling a small plastic bag. He sits, silently, and holds it.
“You got the bloody crown jewels in there or what?” Mitchell asks. Without saying anything, George tips out the contents onto the coffee table. Scraps of paper fall like multi-coloured snow. There’s a glimpse of flapjack and Victoria sponge.
“I must have brought it in. I didn’t notice. I destroyed it. I destroy everything.” His voice is tragic, and Mitchell pats him heartily on the shoulder.
“Jesus, George, it’s just a book! We’ll get you another one.”
George turns on him. “It’s not just a book! It-it’s a perfect cookery book. It has the nicest recipes and they’re all quite straightforward, and… and… I really liked it.”
“Well,” said Mitchell. He purses his lips, tries to think of something positive that doesn’t involve calling George a wanker and telling him to get over it. “Annie made a cake,” he offers, and George looks up.
“Really?”
“Mmhmm. Chocolate.”
“I like chocolate.”
oOo
The three of them are sitting on the sofa, lights dim, telly showing Jonathan Ross employing a range of innuendo in the direction of Jennifer Aniston, when Mitchell says, “Oh, I forgot.” He rifles through his bag, pulls out an envelope, and chucks it at George. “I got this for you.”
George opens it, curious. He pulls out a brightly-coloured little book, pamphlet-shaped. “It-it’s the Be-Ro book!” He stares at Mitchell, open-mouthed. “How did you…?”
Mitchell, shrugged. “Found it on the internet. You can still get them. Not quite 20p, but I s’pose you’re worth it.”
George is nearly – though not quite – speechless. He glows from behind his glasses. “This is… I mean… Wow.” He jumps up, already flicking through the pages. “I’m going to do something. Right now. We’ve still got eggs, haven’t we? Yes, yes we do, I remember buying them…” He vanishes into the kitchen.
“Oi!” shouts Mitchell. “You’re going to miss Kelly Brook!” But the answer came there none. Mitchell and Annie watched TV as the smell of George baking gradually crept into the room.
oOo
Food plays an important part in their household. For Annie, it’s comfort; for George, control; for Mitchell, distraction. But mostly it makes them a family.
THE END
Author:
chaletianFandom: Being Human
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very mild for episode 3
Summary: Food plays an important part in their household.
Food plays an important part in their household. Food means something. Not just the consumption of a quick meal, but the food itself. The choosing of just what to buy. The preparation. The cooking. For Annie, it’s comfort; a routine that’s the same in death as it was in life. For George, it’s control; choosing what he wants, making it the way he wants, the whole kitchen at his command. For Mitchell, it’s distraction; flinging something together, or leaning over to critique the others, takes his mind, briefly, off the constant burning ache inside. Whatever their reasons, food is paramount.
The Book comes into their lives one cloudy, chilly day. George comes home from the hospital, clutching it in one hand, beaming happily. “I found it in the Friends of the Hospital shop,” he says. “Only 20p – can you believe it?!”
Mitchell stares at the book, and pulls a face. “I hate the shop. It smells like old people and death.”
“It’s a hospital!” says George, waving the book expansively. “It all smells of old people and death.”
“Not the neonatal unit.”
George stares at Mitchell as one might a lunatic from Bedlam. “Well, I don’t think they let babies run shops.”
Annie giggles. They look at her, and she waves a dismissive hands. “Just saw babies running shops,” she says, then nods at the book. “What is it, George?”
“The Be-Ro Cookery Book,” says George proudly. It’s tattered and pamphlet-sized. Annie grabs it.
“Oh my God! My gran had one of these! That’s so cool!”
“I thought I’d make Nina some biscuits. Bourbons, maybe.” He holds out his hand for the book.
Annie looked at him warily, and hands it over. “You can buy those, you know,” she says, and looks at Mitchell. “He does know you can buy them, right?”
Mitchell shrugs and wanders off. George heads for the kitchen, flicking through the book, and wondering aloud if they have any cocoa.
Bourbon Biscuits
8 oz self-raising flour
4 oz sugar
3 tbsp cocoa powder
4 oz margarine
5 tbsp milk
Few drops vanilla essence
Icing
“Are they bourbons?”
George glares at Mitchell. “Of course they’re bourbons! What else would they be?”
“It’s just… they look different in the shop.” He pokes one with a finger. George slaps his hand away.
“Hands off! These aren’t for you to-to poke and prod! They’re for Nina.” His voice is beatific, and Mitchell can’t help himself.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it? George and Nina, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I…”
George snatches the plate of biscuits, and blushes. “Shut up! Anyway, we did a lot more than kissing.”
“Ooooh!”
“And you know it, so shut up and leave me alone.” But he’s smiling as he holds the biscuits, and Mitchell grins back.
Apple Crumble
12 oz fruit
2 oz margarine
4 oz self-raising flour
2 oz sugar
It’s mundane, really, compared to the things they all face, but there’s an explosion at a chemical plant and the hospital goes to its major incident plan. George and Mitchell both work longer than usual, and even for them, the blood and fear and stench of chemical burns are overwhelming. They trudge home, to find Annie in the kitchen.
“I heard about it on the radio,” she says.
“I’m going to wash,” says George. “I need to wash.” He runs upstairs, and Annie looks at Mitchell.
“OK?”
He wipes a tired hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s not like I haven’t—but. Yeah.”
“I’m making dinner,” she says. “And I made crumble. Out of George’s book.”
“I like crumble,” says George, appearing in the doorway, scrubbed and flushed.
“I thought it would be nice,” she says. Then asks them to lay the table, and check the veg, and get some drinks, and find the custard powder (“Why isn’t it Bird’s?” demands George; “It should be Bird’s.”), and a dozen other little jobs that keep them busy, and the kitchen smells of baking apples, and they don’t think about the hospital.
Scones
8 oz self-raising flour
Pinch of salt
2 oz margarine
1 oz caster sugar
2 oz sultanas
1 medium egg, beaten with milk
“What is he doing?” George whispers piercingly.
“Trying to bond with the new neighbours,” whispers Annie. They’re both peering round the kitchen door. She points at the catastrophic mess behind them. “He made scones.”
“Why won’t he leave the neighbours alone!?” George is still whispering, but it’s getting pretty high-pitched. Mitchell jogs in, an empty plate in one hand, and gives them a cheesy thumbs up with the other.
“Scones are brilliant,” he says. “You should try some.”
George makes an inarticulate squeaking noise and Mitchell grins, chucking a few more scones on the plate and disappearing back into the living room.
“Actually,” says Annie, poking one, “they look OK. I think Mitchell might have been holding out on us.”
George makes another noise, and stamps upstairs, taking his floury Be-Ro Cookery Book with him.
Boozy Steak & Ale Pie
8 oz puff pastry
1 ½ lb stewing steak
3 tbsp plain flour
Salt and pepper
1 onion
1 clove garlic
½ pt brown ale
3 tsp dried thyme
4 oz button mushrooms
Milk to glaze
George comes in with a load of shopping bags, looking worked up. Mitchell comes in behind him, and Annie raises her eyebrows in silent interrogation.
“Girl trouble,” he says, and George pops up in the doorway.
“Women are…” He makes a complicated gesture with his hands. “I just don’t understand. I don’t… there’s… Mrgh.” He disappears back into the kitchen.
“I think discretion is the better part of valour,” says Mitchell, and Annie nods fervently. George in a pother is stressful for everyone. They sit in the living room and watch Hollyoaks on a low volume. After a while, the warm smell of steak pie starts to pervade the house.
“Least we get a good dinner out of it,” says Mitchell, twisting his head to try working out what position one of the McQueen sisters is in.
“Speak for yourself,” says Annie. “God, I’d love a bit of steak pie.” She looks disconsolate, and Mitchell slings an arm around her shoulder.
“Sucks being dead,” he says, and she laughs.
“There are so many inappropriate responses to that,” she says. “What with, you know, vampire and all.”
George reappears. He’s a wreck, but looks less uptight than before. “I’ve made some dinner,” he says, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious. “Come and eat.”
Mitchell and George eat, and Annie watches.
Chocolate Sponge Cake
3 oz self-raising flour
1 oz cocoa
4 oz caster sugar
4 oz margarine
2 eggs
Icing
The morning after the full moon, George turns up sorrowfully cradling a small plastic bag. He sits, silently, and holds it.
“You got the bloody crown jewels in there or what?” Mitchell asks. Without saying anything, George tips out the contents onto the coffee table. Scraps of paper fall like multi-coloured snow. There’s a glimpse of flapjack and Victoria sponge.
“I must have brought it in. I didn’t notice. I destroyed it. I destroy everything.” His voice is tragic, and Mitchell pats him heartily on the shoulder.
“Jesus, George, it’s just a book! We’ll get you another one.”
George turns on him. “It’s not just a book! It-it’s a perfect cookery book. It has the nicest recipes and they’re all quite straightforward, and… and… I really liked it.”
“Well,” said Mitchell. He purses his lips, tries to think of something positive that doesn’t involve calling George a wanker and telling him to get over it. “Annie made a cake,” he offers, and George looks up.
“Really?”
“Mmhmm. Chocolate.”
“I like chocolate.”
The three of them are sitting on the sofa, lights dim, telly showing Jonathan Ross employing a range of innuendo in the direction of Jennifer Aniston, when Mitchell says, “Oh, I forgot.” He rifles through his bag, pulls out an envelope, and chucks it at George. “I got this for you.”
George opens it, curious. He pulls out a brightly-coloured little book, pamphlet-shaped. “It-it’s the Be-Ro book!” He stares at Mitchell, open-mouthed. “How did you…?”
Mitchell, shrugged. “Found it on the internet. You can still get them. Not quite 20p, but I s’pose you’re worth it.”
George is nearly – though not quite – speechless. He glows from behind his glasses. “This is… I mean… Wow.” He jumps up, already flicking through the pages. “I’m going to do something. Right now. We’ve still got eggs, haven’t we? Yes, yes we do, I remember buying them…” He vanishes into the kitchen.
“Oi!” shouts Mitchell. “You’re going to miss Kelly Brook!” But the answer came there none. Mitchell and Annie watched TV as the smell of George baking gradually crept into the room.
Food plays an important part in their household. For Annie, it’s comfort; for George, control; for Mitchell, distraction. But mostly it makes them a family.
THE END
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