Logs:Not Heat Resistant

Not Heat Resistant
Dramatis Personae Ford, Nahida
In Absentia	2024-03-07 "My appetite is at your service."
Location <XAV> Kitchen - Xs First Floor
The kitchen staff at Xavier's tends well to the needs of its residents. Always cognizant of its students and faculty's dietary needs alike, the menu has a wide variety of choices, and the longtime cook works wonders in the kitchen. The pantry, too, is kept well stocked for those who want to come prepare themselves their own snacks. The shelf, fridge, and freezer space is ample, though if anyone wants to keep their own food there, they'd better make sure it's labeled clearly, and even that is no guarantee it'll last. In the kitchen, "Growing Season" is playing bright from a phone speaker over the sound of a rapidly chopping knife. Nahida is no Ryan Black, but her voice is pretty decent all the same as she sings along, head bopping quietly while she dices an onion; there's a carton of eggs beside, several bottles of herbs and spices, a sprig of fresh curry leaves. Today she's dressed in wide leg jeans, a white and black striped sweater worn open over a deep orange shirt, her headscarf layered in shades of orange and white. Her singing of the song is interrupted by occasional sniffles, her eyes a little red and teary; she turns her head to dab one very carefully against the tail of her scarf, taking some care not to smudge her neat eyeliner. Attracted by the sounds of bustle in the kitchen, Ford slides in with an overly familiar waggling of his pointing fingers, "Nahiiiida! You-- whoa hey, hey, did something happen?" He quickly searches himself for a handkerchief but, alas, the jumper he is wearing, an armani crew-neck decorated with geometric patterns in wool and viscose jacquard, lacks any manner of breast pocket. He is visibly flustered by misinterpreting the onion tears for real ones. "Do you want to talk about it? I can get you... a tissue?" "What?" Nahida's singing is interrupted by a puzzled (teary) blink. It's only on her next noticeable sniffle that she catches up with the question. She blinks again, and a small smile tugs at her mouth as her head wobbles side to side in acknowledgment. "Yes, an onion once killed my mother. They grow quite big where I come from. I have sworn a deep vengeance ever since. -- are you hungry?" "Oh! Ohhh..." says Ford, his eyes flicking down to see what Nahida is cooking, his brain catches up to what is going on. "So long as it was only once. I won't make you relive that past trauma, but if you need support in your vendetta," Ford's fist thumps against his chest, "My appetite is at your service." He takes a few more tentative steps forward to properly examine the ingredients. "What are you making? It looks complicated. So many ingredients you've got here." He picks up one of the bottles of spice to more closely study the contents. "I appreciate your sacrifice. There are so very many onion in the world, it's quite a Sisyphean battle." Nahida glances down at her assortment of spice jars -- cumin, coriander, chili powder, tumeric; the one Ford has picked up is fenugreek. "Oh, this is just for an omelette. I wanted something quick. Not fancy. You should see what goes into an average dal, it's ten times this ingredients. What do you --" She's abruptly considering her cutting board -- there's a green chili set to be chopped next -- and then considering Ford. "... how are you with spice?" "This is all... fenugreek to me," says Ford, and he puts the bottle down gingerly on the counter. He looks towards the green chili, and considers it. "I can take pretty spicy. Taco bell's fire sauce is pretty spicy, and I can eat that, so it's..." His eyes linger still on the pepper, like he is doing some serious soul searching. "It's probably okay. Make it however you like, I'm sure it will be fine. What's a dal?" For a moment Nahida looks a little bit blank, but once this wordplay has filtered through some amount of internal translation, her laugh is startled and genuine. "That's the unofficial food of my people here, you know." After a moment she is clarifying: "Taco Bell, not dal. Desi immigrants are obsessed." She is considering Ford's Long Look at the pepper with a considering look of her own, but after a moment shrugs and picks it up. For a moment, a pensive frown, she looks like she might be reconsidering, but relents only so far as to cut the seeds out of the pepper first and then chop it. "It's like a curry with lentils. There's lots of kinds. what sorts of foods do you like?" "Taco Bell? Really?" says Ford quizzically, though he is quick to add, "Not trash talking the tastes of your people, I get having a hankering for Taco Bell. After a practice, I could scarf down their whole menu, I just don't know how they relate. Is there a special connection? I never associated burritos with Desi? People?" He rolls his shoulder to loosen is after the last words, as if trying to shake off the uncertainty of his phrasing. "I think my favourite would be tenderloin. Medium rare. Salt, pepper, garlic. But," and here his voice lowers a bit like he is saying something much more conspiratorial than, "a grilled cheese, gruyère cheese with caramelized onions in there, fried in those onion juices and butter. Mm-mm! Sometimes that's just what a body needs." "Fast food options with even a single spice is limited here. If you want cheap and quick, with at least one flavor and without meat -- not so much options." Nahida opens up the egg carton, plucking -- well, she doesn't exactly pluck out any eggs; by the time she finishes breaking several into a bowl, there are exactly the same number in the carton as there were previously. She picks up a fork to start beating the eggs vigorously. "I don't think I've had a -- gruyère?" she sounds about as uncertain about this as Ford was about desi people, "but you already know my vendetta against onions. I would try that." There's a vague amusement in her eyes as she looks up from her bowl to Ford. "What do you associate with desis? -- I don't," she admits, "have even a little idea where you are from." Ford watches the eggs get broken open with interest, and he comments, "I always screw up and get some shell in there and have to fish it out. Anyway, I'll grill you some cheese sometime, you'll see what I mean." He grins at the last, leaned forward against the counter, before the edges of his grin fade in uncertainty. "Actually, I'm not sure what Desi means. Is it a region in India? 'Cause I would say curry and rice. Spicy foods. Beans? Everyone's got beans, so that is cheating some. Those flat breads, nom bread?" Ford thinks for a few moments before giving up on his list, "I'm from Wyoming." "It means --" Nahida hesitates, brows pinching before she finishes, "-- from the subcontinent. Not just India. We do have beans. And several flatbreads. Wyoming is..." Here there is a longer hesitation, and the best she comes up with is: "West? All I think of out there is cowboys. Mountains? There are mountains, yes?" She's adding the onions and chili to the egg together with a generous amount of seasoning. After an intent consideration of Ford, she judges, "You look like you could be one cowboy." "Oh, so it is more than India. That means probably even more kinds of different beans, breads and spices than I thought," Ford extrapolates. His eyebrows go up, and then he breaks out in a half grin, "Yes'm, kind a you to say so." The tip of his invisible hat and a quick wink accents his momentary performance as cowboy, though that is as long as he can sustain it before returning to his previous mannerisms. "There are mountains. Do you know Yellowstone? We've got that too. Hot springs and geysers out that way. Buffalos, too, just don't get too friendly with them. I heard stories, if they're having a bad day, they will make sure you have a real bad day." Nahida laughs again, quiet. "Just think of how much dirt herding cows would get on that fancy-fancy sweater, though." She's turning the stove on, adding a generous pat of ghee to it to heat. "Oh! Buffalo I know. We have many. All quite tamed, though. I suppose they might still give you a bad day, they leave," her voice is dropping just a little more hushed here, "such big dungs everywhere. Yellowstone --" Her head shakes, and she pours the omelette batter into the pan. "Sounds pretty. Maybe soon I will check it out. -- oh dear, do you mind to get a plates. Forks. I suppose if you are very heat-resistant you could eat straight out of the pan." Ford's pained expression at the jab to his ruggedness only lasts a moment as he actually looks down at his sweater. "Point taken," he says solemnly, "I would wear a dusty cowboy outfit if I was going to do that, though. I'd look more like in a western." He looks at the pan, when heat resistance is remarked upon, "I am," he pops into the upright position as he hustles to the helping position, "not. There are plenty of people around here who are, but I'm not part of that lucky little club." He starts to gather the forks and plates, then pauses before grabbing cups, "Anything you want to drink?" "The absolutely bizarre things I have seen people here survive -- there is one chap in my history class, all class long he is drinking bleach. I have no idea if he needs it to live on or if this is some kind of edgy statement. I think he badly wants someone to ask him about it so none of us have." Nahida flips the omelette, poking it lightly with the tip of her spatula to check its consistency. "Oh um! Water is good only." Ford fills one cup with water, watching the level rise contemplatively. "Oh, right, he smells like a freshly cleaned bathroom all the time. I've never asked either. I'm a little scared to." He places the glass on the counter nearest to Nahida, and his eyes widen slightly as he smells the omelette closer. "Smells nice! I think. I am going to have milk with this." He clears his throat. "To promote strong bones." Nahida uses the spatula edge to slice the omelette in -- a very lopsided sort of half, and when she pushes it out of the pan onto the plates, she slides the bigger serving you Ford. "To grow on," she says, and there's just a hint of amused smile when she tips her head back to look up at the considerably taller youth, "in case your bones are struggling."