btw in the restaurant au. if you even care. jack goes to culinary school because growing up, his dad always made incredible food, and he started puttering around the kitchen with him when he was like 5 years old. he always wanted to try better recipes and newer things, and his dad- though they didnt have much money- would always save up for good ingredients so jack could cook whatever his little heart desired. cooking was their time; i imagine his dad was a line cook or something, not at a fancy restaurant or anything but at a little diner, and cooking was Their thing. jack would spend all day with his mom, and as soon as his dad came home- no matter how tired he was of cooking, no matter how much he wanted to just go lay down- they would go to the kitchen and he would supervise jack as jack made dinner for everyone.
when jack’s mom gets sick, he’s 10 years old, and his dad has to cut back his time at the diner to take care of her, since jack is in school and can’t be there. this means they bring in less money, so they can’t really afford to pay for the fresh ingredients now; most of their meals at home are dollar store staples. hanburger helper, microwavable TV dinners, sandwiches- they genuinely don’t have the money to spend on fresh produce anymore, and even buying ground beef and chicken breasts is splurging that they can’t often afford.
they live on a shoestring budget until jack can get his first job at age 14. his mom beats cancer the first time, but they’re drowning in medical debt, so jack finds a job that will actually hire him despite not being 15 yet, and his first real job is working as a dishwasher at a restaurant down the street. he works nearly every day, and all of his money is given to his father, despite his father insisting that he doesn’t need a job, he shouldn’t have a job, he’s just a kid and his money should be going toward kid stuff and not paying his parent’s medical bills.
but jack refuses, so they keep it up. i think the only non-mom-related expenses jack has are food related,, sometimes he’ll stop in the little grocery store he would go to with his dad when they were younger and buy fresh vegetables and a little two pound roll of hamburger meat, just so they can at least have one meal that isn’t ready from a box. jack continues this until he’s fifteen, and by the time he turns 15, his mother’s cancer is back, even after only been beaten for a year, and it’s a lot worse.
jack drops out at 15, after having long conversations with his father, and though it breaks his father’s heart to see jack doing this, it’s unfortunately what needs to be done. jack drops out and gets another job on top of the dishwashing, and he ends up as a line cook at a fast food place. they’re able to pay the bills on jack’s paychecks, and get groceries with the little that jack’s dad makes from the days he’s able to work.
jack’s mom passes when he’s 16, leaving jack and his dad to cover both funeral and medical expenses. they’re drowning after that, both grieving in their own ways. jack’s father can barely get out of bed for weeks, but jack is back at work the day after his mother’s funeral because he knows they can’t risk falling behind on bills.
jack’s dad loved his mom so much. they were such a happy family before she got sick, which wasn’t her fault, none of this was ever her fault, but after she passes he’s completely out of commission. he can’t keep a job, he barely talks anymore, he drinks and drinks until jack can’t recognize him. it’s terrifying to watch, but jack gives him his time- he knows that eventually, his father is going to get back on his feet, and he’s going to be okay, and he’s going to go back to work and they’re going to get to relax and things will be fine again.
jack’s dad dies a few days after jack’s 18th birthday. they didn’t see it coming. the paramedics say it was a heart attack. jack likes to think of it as his mom needing his dad. it’s easier to stomach that way.
but that’s fine. everything is fine. jack, freshly 18, plans his second funeral and again, he’s back at work the day after putting his dad in the ground. he sells most of the furniture to have some extra cash. he finds a cheaper apartment in the bad part of town because he can’t afford a two bedroom when he’s just one kid. he has a bed, he has photos of his parents, and he has a kitchen. that’s all he needs.
the next few years pass with jack climbing the ranks in whatever restaurants he can get his hands on. he’s finally in a place where he can save for school, culinary school, and he has more restaurant experience under his belt by the time he’s 21 than most of his older coworkers do. he busts his ass and works so hard to put himself through school, and when he finally gets his certificate after everything, he can rest. he starts applying to different high end restaurants, and he works as a cook in a nice steakhouse for a while, but he doesn’t like his coworkers and knows he deserves more than being miserable.
when he hears about a new restaurant opening in the area, some “high end” burger joint called Pulitzer’s, he throws his hat in the ring with an application and is hired on as the lead chef at the age of 25.
he’s 26 when a new server named David Jacobs is hired, and things start looking up.
109 notes
·
View notes
a little test !
muse(s) : pa1nter, v01d, c0ffee
tw(s): none
xxxxxxxxxx
synopsis : the three great, mighty and witty operatives of the D3M1SE department have been ordered to.. work at a local fast-food chain?
painter grinned, and rather obnoxious it was. “cheer up, will you? it’s just some cooking and junk. we’ll be fine,” he assured his co-workers, coffee and void, albeit they did not seem very pleased or assured at all by his words.
“i really don’t understand why boss would want us to work at this.. fast-food restaurant, or so they call it,” coffee responds, crossing his arms, only to let one of them move up and fix the hat on his head- not the one he was always so humbly clad with, but rather one part of his new, (hopefully) temporary uniform. “it doesn’t tie in to our work. at all.”
painter only shakes his head, a crooked smile on his face as he leans against one of the counters, his posture erect, unlike void who was slumping against a different counter. “well, that’s boss for ya’! he does odd things, for odd reasons- and sometimes, there isn’t a reason at all. but i’m sure he means something by it this time,” he says, closing his eyes as he says all these things, only to be cut off rather brutish way, or so he’d say. “whenever you’re sure of something, it means no-one else should be sure about it,” finally spoke up void, eyeing painter sharply from his peripheral vision, not bothering to even look at the man properly.
“oh, how you wound me!” says painter, ever the dramatic as he poses in such a way as well. “you’ll live,” void responds, rather monotonous and fully vexed. painter rolls his eyes at this, but shakes his head and continues anyway. “what i mean to say is,”
“he probably has a reason. he usually does, right? and if he doesn’t, it’s just ta’shit on us. i mean, so what? a little manual labour never hurt anyo--“
xxxxx three hours later xxxxx
“oh my god, i can’t do this anymore.” painter collapsed onto one of the many counters, once pristine yet now stained with various ingredients used to make burgers- that included ketchup. loads of ketchup.
void huffs at the boy, cleaning off his hands with a napkin. “your words a few hours ago were obnoxious, and precarious as well.”
“yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, void. you didn’t do anything save for cookin’ the patties!” painter shot back in a snarky fashion, lips curved into a scowl at the words that made him more than displeased.
coffee only shook his head at the two’s constant, consistent banter- a chain of stupidly thrown insults that wouldn’t stop til someone cut in, or in the case which that hadn’t happened; it wouldn’t stop til one began strangling the other (that would be void, choking painter with his threads of ink. appendages? don’t know). til it got physical. even so, it wouldn’t stop, and it’d become something the sort of second nature for coffee to be the one to break these little fights, that would soon sprout into something not so little. “gentlemen, stop arguing at once. we have far more significant matters to attend to.”
painter groaned, childish in manner. “well, why don’t ya’ tell mr. ‘i’m so stoic and grumpy’ over here to get off my dick?” coffee averted his stern gaze to the other man. “void,” he warned. “i am merely stating what is factual,” responded said man, his stare mirroring that of the second-in-command.
the second-in-command in question shook his head, sighing wearily. “you both know very well that quarrelling won’t get us anywhere--by now, you should know it better than anyone,” he said, referencing to the many times their disputes had gotten the trio into loads of trouble. “we’re still not done working, so void, get back on that grill, and painter, get out there and take their orders. oh, and stop trying to flirt with everything that breathes, will you?” painter only shrugged, “i can’t make any promises.” “slimy whelp.” “i’m sorry- what the actual fuck did you just call me? square up, you bitch!” “oh-ho, so you believe you are able to beat me in a battle? think again.” “i swear to all things good, you guys, stop fighting for five seconds!”
…
“five seconds have passed.” “oh hell yeah, come here, grandpa!”
xxxxxxx
coffee had managed to break the two up a few minutes ago, and business was just about teetering on the edge of “booming”. there were just enough customers, and just enough ill-mannered abominations from hell who had come clad in the cloak of a customer. needless to say, painter was not very good at dealing with them (if trying to seduce them meant that he was good at dealing with them, then he was very, very good at dealing with them), so coffee had to step in many-a times, but it’d been going smoothly so far.
“hey, void, pass me the lettuce, will you?” coffee said, in the midst of preparing a burger. he had the bun down, the tomatoes, too. “lettuce?” asked void, and coffee replied- “yeah, err, the lettuce.”
“oh.”
“that doesn’t sound good. what is it?”
“we’re out of lettuce.”
.
.
.
“HOLY SHIT, HOW FAR IS THE NEAREST CONVENIENCE STORE?”
“approximately two hundred and ninety metr--“ “NO, SCREW THAT, HIT THE BUTTON!! ORDER THE LETTUCE, SHIT, QUICK!!”
here enters painter, holding the door with a perplexed expression on his face. “and just what are you guys babbling about?” “we are having a scarcity of--“ “WE’VE RUN OUT OF LETTUCE, OHMYGOD—!”
needless to say, coffee had gotten his lettuce in the end and this had all proved to be a necessary situation to put themselves in, and significantly pertaining to their future missions.
that would be, if they’d a boss who didn’t like messing with them.
xxxxxx
“i still can’t believe he made us do all that just cause he wanted us to cook breakfast. we’re the operatives, why’s he makin’ us do shit like that? ‘s not fair!”
xxxxxx
this was so much fun!!!!1!!1! void belongs to my friend caroline/kijo, coffee belongs to my friend with the same name (coffee), and painter belongs to me!! (cccan u tell he’s my main oc and i named this blog after him??)
i’m def gonna write more about them, and fandoms that i like (twst, obey me perhaps.. i haven’t written for om yet) on here. :)
5 notes
·
View notes
Chalex - ‘taste’ 👀
Charles, unlike a lot of chefs that Alex knows, likes to keep cooking outside of work too.
It says something else about him, Alex thinks, about how he loves it for the art of it. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the industrial kitchen of his Michelin star restaurant, or their cramped apartment countertop with a gas stove that takes about 30 seconds to decide whether it’ll work on any given day. Charles will pull every drop of spirit he has out of himself to put on a plate.
Alex has had one of the best Steak au Poivre’s in his life just standing by their benchtop in a ratty pair of boxers and a too-big shirt.
Alex likes to cook at home too but— not like Charles does. He doesn’t think he could do it like Charles does, how he goes into a completely different zone in the kitchen. Alex is always so aware of himself, of what he’s doing and has to do next and everything that he’s probably fucking up that he has to work on the next time.
That’s what made him a good sous chef, he guesses, what makes him a good critic now. He thinks it takes something else to be a visionary.
“Alex.”
He blinks.
Charles is holding out a spoon towards him, expectantly. He’s wearing his reading glasses, that he’s had to put on more and more lately. Alex had noticed him squinting, and then surreptitiously bought him a nice pair for his birthday from a local bookstore. The bottoms of the lenses are still fogged up from opening the oven to check on the potatoes.
“Tell me what you think,” Charles prompts, as Alex leans forward to taste, closing his mouth carefully around the spoon and letting the sauce sit in his mouth, licking it clean.
He closes his eyes to savour it: the salt and umami of miso; a rich depth from the seaweed; the fatty satisfying taste of beef. He licks his lips at the last hint of it, and opens his eyes.
Charles is looking at him slightly dazed, red spots high on his cheeks. His eyes drop and linger on Alex’s mouth, and he feels suddenly self conscious.
“I liked it,” he says, talking just to talk, “great umami flavour, and it went through the layers really well. I think you could stand to add some spice but—“
Charles leans forward, and kisses him; long and slow and deep, tongue licking into his mouth. Alex almost talks through the first part of it, when his brain is still short-circuiting until he gets with the programme, tilting his head and breathing in shallow through his nose.
Charles’ mouth tastes like bitter tannins; the glass of red wine that he’s slowly been sipping at while making their dinner, staining the bottom of his glass, his mouth. Alex can feel Charles’ fingers curl in the soft material of his shirt. The air hangs heavy with the smell of well loved food, the ambient whirr of the exhaust fan going.
“You promise you like it,” Charles pulls away to ask, just barely, lips moving in a buzz against Alex’s.
“I promise.”
30 notes
·
View notes