fandomtownies | Luke's, Wednesday

So. Things in Eliot's personal life had gotten -- let's say "weird" -- since the whole "lured into the woods and forced to reckon with your past misdeeds" thing. Hardison was off getting some space (after getting a little bit of an attitude about Eliot doing exactly the same thing), leaving Eliot and Parker home to pretend none of it had even happened, and Eliot still hadn't managed to touch base with his damn kid, save for a few simple texts letting the other know when they were heading out of town.

So yeah. Eliot was just a little bit of a mess right now. And since hitting and breaking things was part of why he was a mess, he was dealing the only other way he knew how: by taking over the kitchen and cooking the hell out of some food.

Much to his staff's dismay.

"I need three more pounds of ground lamb and four more onions, stat!" he ordered. "And someone get that damned mynock back into the freezer!"

"Yes, chef!" The busboy yelled, running back and forth across the kitchen with a butterfly net. "On it, chef!" said the dishwasher, heading into the dry storage for the onions. "I'm not calling you 'chef'," said the cook. Then shrank back when Eliot shot him a glare. "But I'll get the lamb."

And he fled into the cooler.

Today's specials
Fresh-made manti
Poğaça
Halva

Luke's was open.

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Try the kebab!

He's the grumpy man in the kitchen covered in flour.

Dammit, I made myself hungry again.

"Bit of a Master Chef theme today?" Tony called out after a moment studying the general mood of the place.

"That's redundant," Eliot said. "'Chef' literally means 'guy in charge'."

He was in one of his "I'm pretending I don't own a television" moods, sorry Tony.

Tony did live with a guy who regularly pretended to be more olde timey than he actually was, so that wasn't too bad.

"Do you cringe when I say 'shrimp scampi'?" he asked.

Eliot sighed. "You just here to irritate me, or what?"

Tony laughed and shook his head. "Looking for lunch, actually. And then a to-go order so large I'll probably need a cart to get it home so Steve doesn't starve to death."

"That, I can help you with," Eliot said. "You into the Turkish theme, or you prefer something a little more mainstream?"

"Turkish sounds good to me," Tony replied with a wave of his hand. "It has been ages since I last had any."

Eliot nodded, signalling to the cook to take over where he was working at the counter. "Me neither," he admitted. "And I had a hankerin' to make some pasta." Hence putting in the time to make little tiny lamb dumplings, yes. "Next batch of manti should be ready in a minute or two, or I can get some kebabs on the grill. Or I guess both for your take-out."

"I'll have the manti, for the rest... honestly whatever you feel like making," Tony said, watching him work with interest. "I have no idea how you manage. I always end up getting distracted when I try to cook."

Eliot shrugged. "It's meditative. 'Specially the really complicated stuff." Like making his own fresh pasta from scratch, for instance. "Whatever else I got going on, I can put it into the cooking, make it turn out nice."

Not a lot of Eliot's life when he'd started cooking turned out nice.

And tiny, tiny dumplings. God help him.

"That makes sense," Tony replied, nodding along with it. "I tend to lose myself in coding or designing."

"Everyone's got their thing," Eliot said with a nod. "Assumin' they're lucky enough to find it."

"Coping mechanisms," he added with a sardonic little smile. "You don't get to our age without one or two. Well, you don't if they're the bad sort."

"I usually go with 'art', but sure. Cooking's a whole lot more socially acceptable than punching people."

"Ask to Steve if you want to discuss either of those things," Tony replied with a laugh. "Just don't get him involved in some weird, underground fight club, please."

"So the run-of-the-mill underground fight clubs are okay, then."

"I'd prefer underground art clubs, but I don't really think those exist," Tony admitted. "Try avoid his home and mine for those, will you? Might end up dealing with aliens or megalomaniacs."

Or, more likely, Daredevil.

"Well, we wouldn't use either of them more than once, anyway. That's all part of the underground mystique."

"You have this pretty well planned out, should I be concerned?" he teased.

"No more'n anyone else ever is around me." Which admittedly was more than usual these days, what with the ghostly reproductions of him killing people in the woods and all. "We're on an island being stalked by squirrels, man, nothing's gonna stay underground long around here."

It was like this place just enjoyed all that trauma or something! "I'm used to actual paparazzi, so the squirrels are pretty nice if you ask me."

Nah, that couldn't be it!

Eliot was all set to make a comment about how at least paparazzi you could hit, but then he remembered his brief stint as a country music star and shook his head. "Yeah, okay, I'll give you that. Still, havin' to bribe 'em if you want anything to actually stay secret is a pain in the ass."

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Luke's, Wednesday

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