(no subject)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Date: January 15, 2000
Setting: Kitchen
Status: Private - Snape and Crowley
Summary: Crowley speaks to the chef

Crowley eyed the remains of the pot roast, steamed vegetables, and mashed potatoes and pushed his plate away, disgusted. He was glad now that Aziraphale had been busy with some kind of top secret angel business and hadn't been able to join him in exploring the Manor's restaurant.

Scraping his chair backwards, he stood up and stormed into the kitchen.

"All right," he said to the room at large. "Who here is responsible for that bloody awful travesty of a meal?"

Comments

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"Is there a problem?" Snape asked in a low, irritated tone, the knife he'd been sharpening still in hand as he turned around.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"You're a man?" asked Crowley in surprise. "I thought you were a 1940s housewife on rationing coupons. What on earth made you think that swill was an acceptable dinner selection?"

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"Swill?" Snape's eyes narrowed, and he clutched the handle of the knife tighter. "The ingredients were the finest quality, and I know my skills aren't lacking. Perhaps over-processed convenience foods have damaged your tastebuds?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"Hardly," said Crowley dryly. "I am accustomed to eating at the Ritz Carlton, not bloody Thompson's Cafeteria in Leeds. This is supposed to be a well-regarded establishment and yet you make people stagger away from their table like they've eaten a bowling ball. What do you do in here? Boil everything? There's not a famine going on, you know."

He thought about that for a moment. "Well, probably not. I don't think Adam would allow one anyway."

Afraid he was losing the thrust of his argument, Crowley returned to the point. "I'm sure your great-grandmother did a fine job in teaching you how to survive a depression, but it's time to expand your horizons. Ever heard of a little place called France where they prepare something called food?"

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"If you want to eat snails and frogs, the Channel is that way." He waved a hand vaguely. "Slimy things don't belong on the table, no matter how much garlic butter you pour over them."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

For the first time since he came into the room, Crowley actually looked at the man in front of him. He was tall, well-proportioned, not good looking in any conceivable way, but imposing, and Crowley couldn't help but admire his fashion sense. The nose and hair were unfortunate but oddly appropriate. It occurred to him suddenly, that apart from John and Adam, this was the first mortal he'd seen in months. It was an odd feeling once he realized that he'd missed it.

"I'm not talking about snails and frogs. What about rabbit, veal, venison, quail, squab, any of this ringing a bell?" He called a menu (http://www.theritzlondon.com/pdfmenus/winter05.pdf) to his hand and passed it to Snape.

"Here. This is what food is supposed to be like. And if your talents aren't up to it at least make something from another country. Indian, Chinese, Greek, I don't care, but I don't want to see another helpless food item boiled unless it's pasta."

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"Venison? Squab? Are you offering to provide me with a steady stream of wild game?" Snape rolled his eyes, the knife in his hand quivering slightly. "Do you have an issue with honest, nourishing food that you don't have to drown in pungent spices to stand the taste of?" Shaking his head, he smiled unpleasantly. "If you want Indian I'll make you Indian." His vindaloo, in fact, had been banned from Hogwarts as a hazardous substance and could strip the varnish off a polished wooden table.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley gave the man a cold stare that projected somehow through his dark glasses.

"I certainly am not offering anything. You are the chef here, though I hesitate to use the term so inaccurately, and it is your responsibility to procure something edible for the restaurant."

Most people that Crowley had talked to in such a way over the centuries would have been in tears or a towering fury right now. This man was clearly annoyed and proud, but no more than that. Puzzled with his attitude, and unable to read his surface desires, which was also unusual, he continued to try and get a reaction.

"I don't have an issue with honest food. I do have an issue with what you're trying to masquerade as honest food. I'll try your Indian, though, provided you stop cooking with horse meat or dog or whatever it is that you just tried to give me. Where did you learn to cook anyway? A foetid back alley in Bangladesh?"

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"It's hardly my concern that you've assaulted your tongue with so many spices that you can no longer taste the difference between poodle and prime rib. There's more to cooking than finding the most exotic-sounding meat you can find and throwing all of the East Indies at it. I suppose you'd prefer lark's tongues in aspic and swan stewed in garum?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"There is nothing wrong with my palette," snarled Crowley. "If used properly, spices add flavour to a dish. Something you clearly wouldn't know anything about."

He took an intimidating step forward.

"I don't eat things only because they're rare or spicy. I eat when I choose to and at those times I expect quality and taste. It's a simple concept. Have you no pride in your work, man?"

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"If you respected quality and taste you wouldn't be squalling for fussy dainties suitable only for jaded imbeciles with more money than sense. Finding fault with a good roast of the best English beef doesn't make you discerning, it makes you cranky. Like..." he smirked a little, refusing to be cowed, "a child who'd rather have brightly-coloured sweets than a proper meal."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"Do not condescend to me. Your job is just to heat up ingredients without destroying them. I'm sure that even you could manage after a couple of tries," said Crowley scathingly.

"I don't need to eat proper meals. Therefore I can afford to be choosy. And if people are trying to live on roasts like that it's no wonder that Famine is doing so well in this country lately. I am truly amazed at your ability to take what you call the best English beef and mutilate it by making it charred on the outside and nearly raw on the inside. You know, if your skill level is inadequate, I could show you a couple of simple techniques. Purely for my own sake, you understand."

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"Are you quite/i> finished with your little display of insulting hyperbole? It makes it entirely impossible to take you seriously." As aggravated as Snape was, he couldn't help but admire the other man's grasp of the English language. And of psychology as well; all too many people would have given up impugning his skill by this point and resorted to criticising his appearance, which would have been immediately dismissable as the act of an imbecile grasping at straws.

He could admire focus.

"If you're going to throw a tantrum over it, I could do an Indian Cuisine night." His voice lowereed to a near-purr. "Especially for you."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley smiled suddenly. He hadn't been able to successfully tempt anyone in ages, except for Aziraphale who didn't count anymore, and in his victory, he backed down. Perhaps now that he'd worn the man down, his pride could accept some grudging flattery.

"Oh, I could go on quite a while longer, but if you're willing to be reasonable, then I'll stop. Indian Cuisine night sounds tolerable. I just can't stand typical English food, no matter how well cooked it is. Tell me, in all honesty, why do you make it? You don't look like a standard issue hash slinger. A man like you must have been around. Why limit yourself to meat, potatoes, and mushy peas?"

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I'm not a standard issue anything." Snape couldn't help smirking, already mentally going over recipes for dishes spicy enough to blister tongues. "And there's rather more satisfaction in preparing a simple dish perfectly than mucking about with something with so many so-called 'nuances' that the diner isn't certain what they ought to be tasting to begin with and therefore won't notice if you haven't gotten it right."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"I'm beginning to see that," said Crowley. "What's your name, anyway? Mine's Anthony. Anthony Crowley."

He could tell that every desire in the man's head was to scald his tastebuds off come Indian Cuisine night, but Crowley decided he'd deal with that when the time came.

"You know, if the diner is sophisticated enough to notice those nuances then there is no harm in preparing a complicated dish. However, if you prefer to not challenge yourself or your patrons, or if you don't want to risk failure, then by all means prepare simple dishes. There's a whole world of cuisines out there, though. Don't just fling a hunk of British beef at us. Impress us with your pasta skills or something."

[mortarandpestle.livejournal.com]

"My name is Severus Snape, if that's of any importance to you, Mr. Crowley." He was growing increasing... bored? Irritated? Weary? Whatever the right word was for 'sick of being needled by an arrogant would-be gourmet'. "You seem to overestimate people's culinary sophistication. Jamie Oliver is hailed as brilliant and there's a McDonald's on every corner. That's what people want."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"You may just call me Crowley if you like."

He peered at the dark man in front of him.

"You do know where you are, don't you, Mr. Snape? Half the people here have probably never heard of Jamie Oliver. Or McDonald's for that matter. Hell, half of them don't eat at all. But those who do could probably tell you the difference between Mexican and Madagascan vanilla by scent alone. Because they were probably there when it was first cultivated. What I'm getting at is that you are not cooking for regular people and I trust you'll keep that in mind."