sharp_as_knives | Hannibal's house, Sunday

So, Hannibal had half as many children himself this weekend as he had last time, but that hadn't made it any less hectic or full of cooking. And he wouldn't even pretend that he minded. At least this time he had his own kitchen.

So, he was up early again today, getting started on breakfast for the crowd. He was one carafe of coffee and a set of recipe cards into it when Angela stumbled down, yawning, and grinned at him. "I thought I could sous-chef again, if you like." She kissed his cheek.

Hannibal smiled back. "That would be lovely; thank you. What do you think?" He fanned the recipe cards out for her to see.

"I like it," she decided. "I'll start cutting."

Breakfast menu:
Crepes with honeyed oranges
Apple, brie, and prosciutto crepes
Crepes with pears, gouda, and fresh thyme
Leek, apple, fennel sausage, and goat cheese crepes
Peanut butter and jam crepes (Shush, there were bound to be young ones around.)
Maple-espresso bacon
Blood pudding
Creamy French scrambled eggs
Pancetta and gruyere strata
Fresh orange juice
Organic milk
An assortment of teas
As much coffee as Hannibal can possibly brew

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"Precisely," Karla said. "I fail to believe that calling someone a cabbage is somehow more dignified than calling them Nommy, save for the fanciness of a foreign language."

"As far as that goes," Hannibal said, "'nommy' is a diminutive of an onomatopoetic description used in Internet slang which I had to look up - you could argue it's a foreign language all its own."

Edited 2015-04-16 22:03 (UTC)

"I refuse to believe you don't use 'om nom nom nom' all the time while you're cooking," Karla said, grin growing wide. "In fact, that's my new headcanon for you. It's glorious."

"...I'm uncertain whether I should insist you watch me cook to disprove that, or refuse to ever cook for you again on principle," Hannibal said.

"You stop cooking for me and I'll start telling people that it's true," Karla threatened.

"Ah, but I won't stop cooking for them," Hannibal countered. "Besides, Ermengarde would never believe you. She might even protest the smearing of my good name, and then where would you be?"

"Sad," Karla admitted. "And hungry. And then I'd be here all the time, trying to convince Jono to make me steak and potatoes because otherwise I'll staaaaaaaaaaaaarve."

Hannibal heaved a theatrical sigh. "There, you see - you've brought others into it. In the interest of preserving the remainder of Jono's sanity, I suppose I shall have to allow you to watch me cook, then. Only watch."

He loved a challenge, but his kitchen was flammable.

"I could help! I'm very good at helping!"

Funny how your AU children were less trouble than your technically-adult friend, Hannibal.

"Perhaps when I'm not cooking for anyone else, and we've fire-proofed everything," Hannibal said. He had no doubt she probably could help, with cutting if nothing else, but he wasn't taking chances.

Karla was very good with a knife. That much she'd be able to do with no ill-effects. It was when she decided to start improvising that things got tricky.

"You're no fun," Karla declared, pouting at him. "Don't you need more help when you have a lot of guests?"

"Of course," Hannibal answered. "And I would be very grateful if you were to set the table."

Karla narrowed her eyes at him. "...Isn't that the job you normally hand off to the children?" She was pretty sure he had Kayla setting the table last year. "My Queenly dignity feels threatened."

That wasn't stopping her from heading over to get the plates. Because, HA! Queenly dignity.

"No," Hannibal answered easily, "it's the job I normally hand off to whomever is prone to make the most trouble when they have no job."

Go on, Karla; try to deny that one!

"Well, that explains why it's always me or my offspring who end up doing it," Karla said.

Deny it? On the contrary, Karla looked pleased.

"I assume it's normally Jono's job, then?"

"I would give it to Joni, but there's the lack of opposable thumbs to contend with," Hannibal said, "so he does it on her behalf."

"Joni is never any trouble," Karla said, defending the kitten staunchly. "She's tiny and perfect and so there."

"Beethoven would beg to differ," Hannibal said, shaking his head.

"Beethoven's an old grouch," Karla declared. She hadn't been able to make friends with him yet, even after attempts at bribery, so clearly he had no emotions. "And just jealous of how adorable Joni is."

"Actually I think he prefers his ears to remain unchewed," Hannibal said. "But yes, he is an old grouch."

"Pffft," Karla said, waving her hand. Fortunately, it was not the one currently holding cutlery to lay on the table. "Everyone knows that's what ears are for. It's a sign of love and affection."

Hannibal's house, Sunday

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