“Only half?” Midge replies. “That’s a fun Russian Roulette.”
The mood is a bit awkward when Jaskier leaves. Her last interaction with Geralt, before hosing him down that morning, had been running into him outside the club with a drunk Jaskier over her shoulder. That was when she’d accused Jaskier of only wanting her for sex. Jaskier has forgiven her, but the larger man is harder to read.
It’s a surprise when he ask about the ingredients. Most men don’t care about cooking. “Sure,” she replies. “Can you get some knives and a peeler, if you have one, while I wash my hands?”
Geralt happens to be the main cook in this house - Yennefer can't cook for shit, and Jaskier knows the basics. He's been trying to teach Ciri, but it's not like he knows a lot, either. Witchers consume very rustic meals - abundant, but sticking to the basics. Grilled meat, boiled vegetables. Condiments aren't a good friend of sensitive tongues.
And now that they've become very domestic, Geralt has discovered he likes cooking and how his family enjoys what he does. Pleasing people without having to kill shit is good for the soul. Navigating all the ingredients in this world has been quite a task, though.
"Do I want to know what Russian roulette is?" he asks as he takes out the requested tools. They're fucking good knives, all perfectly sharpened.
“A very dangerous game that I’m not convinced anyone actually plays unless they have a death wish.
Anyway…” Midge unwraps the paper around the packaged meat that she bought at the butcher’s. “Brisket. A beautiful cut of beef. First we need to season it, then start braising it on the stove. Got salt?” Midge had presumed that they had some of the kitchen basics. “Put some salt on there and rub it in while I get the oven preheated.”
Geralt raises an eyebrow at Midge's explanation - that didn't tell him much. He makes a mental note to search for more information later. If people are doing stupid, deadly things, he wants to be aware.
They indeed have salt, and Geralt follows Midge's instructions without hesitation. At that moment, Cirilla enters the kitchen, wearing one of the dresses sent by Moishe. Her hair is up in intricate braids.
"Hello! I didn't do this right earlier." And she doesn't want to be scolded by Jaskier. "I'm Cirilla, it's nice to finally meet you. Jas talked a lot about you." She offers her hand. "Thank you for the dresses, by the way. They're all lovely." She looks at the one Midge's wearing, too. "I love yours, too."
Cirilla is a beautiful girl, which shows even more when she’s cleaned up and dressed nicely.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Midge says with a smile, shaking the girl’s hand. “You’re welcome. It looks great on you.” She does a little twirl at the mention of the dress she’s wearing. “Thank you. I picked it to match your uncle’s eyes.” Hopefully the teenager won’t find that to be too gross.
Midge oversees what Geralt is doing and nods. “Good. Apparently he’s my helper today.” That part is directed at Ciri.
Midge puts a large pot on the stove and some oil in the bottom of it. “Once that’s hot, we’ll put the meat in to braise. Then, we’ll start peeling and chopping vegetables.” There are onions, carrots and potatoes.
"Thank you," she says at the compliment. Her smile is wide: it feels pretty damn good to be complimented by someone with such great style as Midge. When Jaskier is called 'her uncle', Ciri can't help but giggle, and even a little smile appears on Geralt's lips. The whole family deal is still strange to think about, but it's still nice that outsiders see it that way. The fact that Jaskier has referred to himself like that even when Ciri isn't around makes her feel extra loved. "That's actually very sweet. And thoughtful."
Midge truly cares about every detail when it comes to styling, huh? Ciri can see why she gets along so well with Jaskier. Midge calling Geralt her helper makes her giggle again. "Well, he is our cook..." she teases.
"Mmh." He hands Ciri the peeler. "You can help too."
She gasps. "But I'm all dressed up!"
"So is she," Geralt replies as he points at Midge with the peeler. "If she can cook while looking fancy, so can you."
"Fine," Ciri replies with a sigh and a pout that she's definitely picked from Jaskier. Geralt lets her have the carrots, since they're the easiest, and he shows great skill with the knife when he tackles the potatoes.
The fact that Midge cooks in a fancy dress has given Geralt ammo against the three fancy arses in this house, and he'll forever be grateful. Congrats on starting a war, Midge.
Midge knows that Jaskier isn’t blood related to them, but he’s referred to himself as Ciri’s uncle before, so Midge didn’t think she was saying anything out of turn.
“Is he?” Midge asks with a surprised raise of a brow. “Not Yennefer?” This family really breaks every tradition, and it’s kind of refreshing.
“Here,” she says, reaching for some aprons hanging nearby. “We probably ought to have started with these.” She ties one around Ciri before tying one around herself. Her dress is mostly white and she doesn’t want it to get stained. Midge chops the onions by default, then puts them in the pot with the meat so that they’ll soften. When she’s happy with the cut up vegetables, and the way the meat is coming along, she moves to the next step.
“Now the meat needs to simmer in the sauce for a bit.” She puts a bottle of beef bouillon on the counter and turns to Ciri. Fill up a measuring cup with four cups of water and dissolve four of the cubes in it.” Then, she pulls out some red wine. “We need two cups of this.” Once she pours it into a cup, she knocks it back. “I have to taste test it first,” she explains.
The idea of Yennefer cooking makes both Geralt and Ciri laugh.
"You are funny," Ciri says while letting Midge put the apron on her. It's a cute moment, and she internally can't help but wonder if she may be getting a new aunt out of this.
Geralt pays attention to every step and when Midge introduces the beef bouillon, he raises it to his nose to take a sniff. He reads the label, too, but there are so many fucking words that he doesn't understand. Ciri follows the instructions while Geralt snorts at Midge saying she had to taste it first. He's skeptical.
His isn't the only snort, though. Jaskier enters the kitchen, dressed to match his girlfriend. He'll get a jacket before they leave.
"Is that the excuse we're using to drink now?" He puts his chin on Midge's shoulder to peek at all the preparations. "Because if we're sharing this meal, I think it's only fair that we all taste test."
Geralt already knows where this is going before Jaskier finishes talking, so he takes out more glasses from the cupboard. He gives Ciri just the bottom of a cup because he wants her to learn slowly to respect alcohol. He fills a glass for Jaskier and another for himself, and they clink their cups before they knock them back.
“Women do most of the cooking here, but Yennefer does seem unconventional.” She probably ought to be careful. This country isn’t always favorable to unconventional women, particularly not literal witches.
Midge watches Geralt squint at the label and wonders for the first time if he can’t read. She never would have suspected that. Then Jaskier enters the kitchen and she’s distracted by his handsomeness.
“Hello, darling,” she says, giving him a soft kiss. “You smell much better now.”
Midge pours herself a little bit more wine. “This is Manischewitz, Kosher wine,” she says. “It’s very sweet.” She glances at Ciri. “In moderation, okay?”
When Jaskier catches up to the Yennefer conversation, he laughs as well. "Darling, I doubt that high-end ladies do any cooking in this world either. Sorceresses are advisors for kings, remember?"
Of course, Yennefer's life is more complicated than that, but it's not his story to tell. Besides, it quickly summarizes the point: Yennefer doesn't cook because she's a lady above that stuff.
Geralt snorts when Midge says that Jaskier is smelling better - they both started to stink of horniness as soon as they saw each other. Jaskier playfully slaps him on the arm and tells him be nice.
Ciri rolls her eyes at the moderation comment. "That's what they always say, and look." She makes a gesture to indicate that Geralt and Jaskier are having a second cup, too. Geralt decides to reward her for helping and lets her have another tiny sip. "What does 'Kosher' mean?" Cirilla asks, not noticing Jaskier wincing.
“Fair enough,” Midge replies. She hadn’t remembered that bit about the sorceresses being part of the royal court. This brownstone must be really down market for her.
Midge would like to point out that it’s not her fault that Geralt can smell hormones, nor can she contain hers when Jaskier is around. At least he can have no doubt about how sexually attracted to each other they are.
“Kosher is a way of eating,” Midge tells Ciri, sure that Jaskier is hating this conversation. “It’s part of my religion. I’m Jewish. Kosher basically means that there are things we aren’t supposed to eat, or things we aren’t supposed to eat together, or that animals should be slaughtered in a certain way.”
Geralt frowns at the explanation - there are many religions back in their world with all kinds of crazy habits, but controlling what someone eats is new. At least, not counting holiday food or fasting. He arches an eyebrow at Jaskier, who shakes his head to stop him from saying anything. Luckily, it's easy for Geralt to keep his mouth shut. He's spent many decades just ignoring what humans say and staying in his line.
"So you can't eat whatever you want? That sounds annoying," Ciri comments with a cute little frown of her own.
"Well," Jaskier cuts in with a clap of his hands, eager to redirect the conversation. "Luckily for us, Midge is spoiling us with her best dish! And let me tell you, it's absolutely delicious. What's the next step, darling?"
“I mostly eat whatever I want,” Midge replies, “even bacon sometimes, which I’m not supposed to.” She generally doesn't feel limited by eating Kosher. It probably also helps that she’s not absolutely militant about it.
Jaskier is very pointedly changing the subject, and that’s fine with her. “The secret ingredient,” Midge says. With the wine and beef broth in, Midge holds up the next item. “Ketchup. A lot of people use tomato paste, but ketchup is better.”
That little admission of rebellion actually earns her some points with the whole family, including Jaskier. It almost makes him wish it wasn't such a complicated subject, because he'd love to tease her for it.
Geralt takes the bottle of ketchup and repeats the process: he gives it a sniff, then he reads the label. Once again, a bunch of words that he doesn't understand. High fructose? Natural flavoring? Calories? This is why he wants to learn; he often feels so lost in the market.
"Why not just use mashed tomatoes?" he genuinely asks.
"Oh, I remember this! It was on the hot dog," Cirilla says, excited to know something her father doesn't. "It's good, but it doesn't taste like tomatoes."
“I think it tastes like tomatoes,” Midge says with a shrug. Maybe she’s been living in the city too long. She gets out a quarter measuring cup and starts to pour the ketchup into it. “Anyway, it’s got sugar, vinegar and some other things in there which mix very nicely with the meat, better than just plain tomato paste.”
Ketchup in the pot, Midge calls for the rest of the vegetables to be put in. “Once this is simmering we’ll move all of it to a casserole dish to put in the oven. Do you have any dried herbs, like rosemary or thyme?”
It's a very innocent question, but Jaskier and Ciri end up laughing anyway. Geralt rolls his eyes at them before opening a cupboard to proudly show Midge his collection of herbs. The glass jars don't have lids; they're covered by a piece of fabric that is tied with string. The homemade labels were clearly written by Jaskier's fine penmanship because he hates Geralt's handwriting.
"Told you it was only half the garden," Jaskier teases, but he's proud of Geralt and his little hobby too.
“Oh, lovely,” Midge says with a grin. So quaint. She easily finds rosemary and thyme and starts to measure some of them out. “Amazing that you grew all this in that little plot of land.” Midge looks at the jars. “This is your handwriting,” she says to Jaskier. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”
It occurs to her that she’d love to get a handwritten love note from Jaskier someday. Maybe she’ll leave him one and get the ball rolling.
She stirs the vegetables around the meat. “Casserole dish with lid?” she asks hopefully.
"Herbs don't require much space," Geralt explains. He still doesn't know what to do with compliments, but they do feel nice. "You can even grow some of them in jars."
Jaskier grins when Midge recognizes his handwriting, feeling all warm and fuzzy by such a silly but loving thing. "Of course. Someone had to make things legible in this house. Did you know that when you depend on your nose to find things, your handwriting becomes absolute crap?"
Geralt playfully slaps Jaskier's arm and the bard sticks his tongue out at him, so it's up to Ciri to bring the casserole dish out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The mood is a bit awkward when Jaskier leaves. Her last interaction with Geralt, before hosing him down that morning, had been running into him outside the club with a drunk Jaskier over her shoulder. That was when she’d accused Jaskier of only wanting her for sex. Jaskier has forgiven her, but the larger man is harder to read.
It’s a surprise when he ask about the ingredients. Most men don’t care about cooking. “Sure,” she replies. “Can you get some knives and a peeler, if you have one, while I wash my hands?”
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And now that they've become very domestic, Geralt has discovered he likes cooking and how his family enjoys what he does. Pleasing people without having to kill shit is good for the soul. Navigating all the ingredients in this world has been quite a task, though.
"Do I want to know what Russian roulette is?" he asks as he takes out the requested tools. They're fucking good knives, all perfectly sharpened.
no subject
Anyway…” Midge unwraps the paper around the packaged meat that she bought at the butcher’s. “Brisket. A beautiful cut of beef. First we need to season it, then start braising it on the stove. Got salt?” Midge had presumed that they had some of the kitchen basics. “Put some salt on there and rub it in while I get the oven preheated.”
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They indeed have salt, and Geralt follows Midge's instructions without hesitation. At that moment, Cirilla enters the kitchen, wearing one of the dresses sent by Moishe. Her hair is up in intricate braids.
"Hello! I didn't do this right earlier." And she doesn't want to be scolded by Jaskier. "I'm Cirilla, it's nice to finally meet you. Jas talked a lot about you." She offers her hand. "Thank you for the dresses, by the way. They're all lovely." She looks at the one Midge's wearing, too. "I love yours, too."
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“It’s nice to meet you too,” Midge says with a smile, shaking the girl’s hand. “You’re welcome. It looks great on you.” She does a little twirl at the mention of the dress she’s wearing. “Thank you. I picked it to match your uncle’s eyes.” Hopefully the teenager won’t find that to be too gross.
Midge oversees what Geralt is doing and nods. “Good. Apparently he’s my helper today.” That part is directed at Ciri.
Midge puts a large pot on the stove and some oil in the bottom of it. “Once that’s hot, we’ll put the meat in to braise. Then, we’ll start peeling and chopping vegetables.” There are onions, carrots and potatoes.
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Midge truly cares about every detail when it comes to styling, huh? Ciri can see why she gets along so well with Jaskier. Midge calling Geralt her helper makes her giggle again. "Well, he is our cook..." she teases.
"Mmh." He hands Ciri the peeler. "You can help too."
She gasps. "But I'm all dressed up!"
"So is she," Geralt replies as he points at Midge with the peeler. "If she can cook while looking fancy, so can you."
"Fine," Ciri replies with a sigh and a pout that she's definitely picked from Jaskier. Geralt lets her have the carrots, since they're the easiest, and he shows great skill with the knife when he tackles the potatoes.
The fact that Midge cooks in a fancy dress has given Geralt ammo against the three fancy arses in this house, and he'll forever be grateful. Congrats on starting a war, Midge.
Decided to pick out a dress
“Is he?” Midge asks with a surprised raise of a brow. “Not Yennefer?” This family really breaks every tradition, and it’s kind of refreshing.
“Here,” she says, reaching for some aprons hanging nearby. “We probably ought to have started with these.” She ties one around Ciri before tying one around herself. Her dress is mostly white and she doesn’t want it to get stained. Midge chops the onions by default, then puts them in the pot with the meat so that they’ll soften. When she’s happy with the cut up vegetables, and the way the meat is coming along, she moves to the next step.
“Now the meat needs to simmer in the sauce for a bit.” She puts a bottle of beef bouillon on the counter and turns to Ciri. Fill up a measuring cup with four cups of water and dissolve four of the cubes in it.” Then, she pulls out some red wine. “We need two cups of this.” Once she pours it into a cup, she knocks it back. “I have to taste test it first,” she explains.
oooh that's so pretty
"You are funny," Ciri says while letting Midge put the apron on her. It's a cute moment, and she internally can't help but wonder if she may be getting a new aunt out of this.
Geralt pays attention to every step and when Midge introduces the beef bouillon, he raises it to his nose to take a sniff. He reads the label, too, but there are so many fucking words that he doesn't understand. Ciri follows the instructions while Geralt snorts at Midge saying she had to taste it first. He's skeptical.
His isn't the only snort, though. Jaskier enters the kitchen, dressed to match his girlfriend. He'll get a jacket before they leave.
"Is that the excuse we're using to drink now?" He puts his chin on Midge's shoulder to peek at all the preparations. "Because if we're sharing this meal, I think it's only fair that we all taste test."
Geralt already knows where this is going before Jaskier finishes talking, so he takes out more glasses from the cupboard. He gives Ciri just the bottom of a cup because he wants her to learn slowly to respect alcohol. He fills a glass for Jaskier and another for himself, and they clink their cups before they knock them back.
Thanks! Also aww Ciri
Midge watches Geralt squint at the label and wonders for the first time if he can’t read. She never would have suspected that. Then Jaskier enters the kitchen and she’s distracted by his handsomeness.
“Hello, darling,” she says, giving him a soft kiss. “You smell much better now.”
Midge pours herself a little bit more wine. “This is Manischewitz, Kosher wine,” she says. “It’s very sweet.” She glances at Ciri. “In moderation, okay?”
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Of course, Yennefer's life is more complicated than that, but it's not his story to tell. Besides, it quickly summarizes the point: Yennefer doesn't cook because she's a lady above that stuff.
Geralt snorts when Midge says that Jaskier is smelling better - they both started to stink of horniness as soon as they saw each other. Jaskier playfully slaps him on the arm and tells him be nice.
Ciri rolls her eyes at the moderation comment. "That's what they always say, and look." She makes a gesture to indicate that Geralt and Jaskier are having a second cup, too. Geralt decides to reward her for helping and lets her have another tiny sip. "What does 'Kosher' mean?" Cirilla asks, not noticing Jaskier wincing.
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Midge would like to point out that it’s not her fault that Geralt can smell hormones, nor can she contain hers when Jaskier is around. At least he can have no doubt about how sexually attracted to each other they are.
“Kosher is a way of eating,” Midge tells Ciri, sure that Jaskier is hating this conversation. “It’s part of my religion. I’m Jewish. Kosher basically means that there are things we aren’t supposed to eat, or things we aren’t supposed to eat together, or that animals should be slaughtered in a certain way.”
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"So you can't eat whatever you want? That sounds annoying," Ciri comments with a cute little frown of her own.
"Well," Jaskier cuts in with a clap of his hands, eager to redirect the conversation. "Luckily for us, Midge is spoiling us with her best dish! And let me tell you, it's absolutely delicious. What's the next step, darling?"
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Jaskier is very pointedly changing the subject, and that’s fine with her. “The secret ingredient,” Midge says. With the wine and beef broth in, Midge holds up the next item. “Ketchup. A lot of people use tomato paste, but ketchup is better.”
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Geralt takes the bottle of ketchup and repeats the process: he gives it a sniff, then he reads the label. Once again, a bunch of words that he doesn't understand. High fructose? Natural flavoring? Calories? This is why he wants to learn; he often feels so lost in the market.
"Why not just use mashed tomatoes?" he genuinely asks.
"Oh, I remember this! It was on the hot dog," Cirilla says, excited to know something her father doesn't. "It's good, but it doesn't taste like tomatoes."
That only confuses Geralt more.
no subject
Ketchup in the pot, Midge calls for the rest of the vegetables to be put in. “Once this is simmering
we’ll move all of it to a casserole dish to put in the oven. Do you have any dried herbs, like rosemary or thyme?”
More kitchen essentials she presumed they’d have.
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"Told you it was only half the garden," Jaskier teases, but he's proud of Geralt and his little hobby too.
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It occurs to her that she’d love to get a handwritten love note from Jaskier someday. Maybe she’ll leave him one and get the ball rolling.
She stirs the vegetables around the meat. “Casserole dish with lid?” she asks hopefully.
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Jaskier grins when Midge recognizes his handwriting, feeling all warm and fuzzy by such a silly but loving thing. "Of course. Someone had to make things legible in this house. Did you know that when you depend on your nose to find things, your handwriting becomes absolute crap?"
Geralt playfully slaps Jaskier's arm and the bard sticks his tongue out at him, so it's up to Ciri to bring the casserole dish out.