A Difference of Opinion (Over Cooking)

Marc left his dorm and headed towards the mess hall kitchens. He had under his arm a very expensive bottle of wine, Bruno Giacosa Collina Rionda, as well as a bottle of cooking wine, Marsala. Marc arrived in the kitchen and began to prepare for his meal. the first thing he did was place a large portion of pasta into a pot of boiling water. He then started chopping onions, peppers, and chives and began to sautee them, pouring in a nice portion of his cooking wine. In another pan he placed several pieces of thinly sliced salmon filets and salmon skins. At this point the smell began to envelop the kitchen, this was the part that Marc loved the most.

In a small bowl Marc began to mix together a wonderful concoction of mayonaise, mustard, oil, and vineger with an array of different spices, as well as a wine sauce that would be going with the pasta. He also washed a big bowl of dulse seaweed, and then added the sauteed vegetables and the vinegar dressing. Marc drained the pasta, and threw a cube of spiced butter into the pot while adding his wine sauce, and then returning the pasta into the mix. he set out three plates, scooping a helping of seaweed onto one, the salmon filets and salmon skin onto another, while pouring some wine over the mix, and then the vino pasta parmigiana onto the final plate.

"Now how in the world is that teeny baby food going to fill you up. Ya'll need some tators and pork." A blond girl, with braided pigtails and a black cowpoke hat on was leaning on the door, watching him cook. It all looked way too fancy, and non-filling at all to the southern girl. Thumbs looped into her jean-loops, she shivered. "It's too cold up here. Can't they put camp someplace that's warm?" she huffed, walking into the kitchen, looking around.

At once, she started working on her own meal, peeling potatoes faster than you would think safe for her fingers, washing and cutting them and putting them on to boil. She put green beans into another pot, with a hunk of bacon, and leaned on the wall, waiting.

Marc looked up when he heard someone else had arrived at the kitchen. He could tell instantly by the way she was dressed and how she talked that she was a southern girl. She was wearing a black cowboy hat, blue jeans and a plaid shirt tucked in with a belt buckle. Her drawl and rude language also gave great indication.

He watched as she began to peel potatoes at a very fast speed, he was a little worried for her safety. But he could see by her speed, that she was indeed a skilled cook. "I see you have talent in the kitchen, even if it is with simple southern foods." Marc replied as he poured himself a glass of his wine, and made his way to the dinning table to eat.

"Well, when you're in a house full o' farmers, you gotta learn to cook big, cook fast, and make it taste good, or else you ain't never gonna hear the end o' it." she laughed, shrugging. "Just cause it looks simple, don't mean it actually is. Can't overcook the tators, or undercook the beans. Everything's gotta be just right, or it ain't worth doin." Bobby shrugged, getting to work on a...chicken... It had been marinading in the fridge all day, and she now...stuck a half-can of coke up it's rear and stuck it in the oven. The southern girl hummed a country song as she worked, setting timers and waiting nearby, seeming to judge by smell.

Marc sat down, and started to eat. "Well if you think your food is good, we can always trade portions. I would love to sample you talent with food. Cooking, after all is an art, and art can be expressed in different ways." He stated. Marc poured another glass of wine, and portioned a second plate for the girl. He placed the plates on the table and indicated for the girl to sit down.

"Well, I guess it couldn't hurt." The southern girl sat down, flopping into the chair and began stuffing her face. She had decent enough table manners, other than putting more into her mouth than most people would deem necessary. Nodding, she shrugged. "It's good. Still think it could use more tators... And maybe less of that vinegar." she stood, stretching. "How do you like yer chicken? Plain or do you like barbecue sauce?"

"Food must always be accompanied by a sauce or glaze of some kind. How about making a wine sauce, it goes good with every type of meat." Marc explained, walking over to his dishes, he poured a cup of wine into a bowl, and added milk and flour. He then poured all of it into a frying pan, and sprinkled a variety of spices into the pan.

"I ain't usin a wine sauce on chicken." she said, frowning. "Now I didn't take over your fancy dinner, don't be tryin to butt into mine. I didn't ask you to make no sauce for me, so don't." Bobby did not like one bit this guy coming in and trying to make a sauce for her meal without asking. "I'm makin barbecue sauce. If you don't want it, don't eat it. Simple as that." She would get to work, mixing tomatoe sauce, brown sugar, and other spices in a saucepan and cooking it down.

Marc was taken aback, no body had ever refused his wine sauce. "Well... Uh... OK." He stuttered, trying to find his words again. He the proceeded to pour the sauce he had made over the salmon filet and salmon skin, as well at the pasta, and then placed the left overs into a bowl to cool down. Marc walked over to the girl who was now working on her own sauce. The aroma was very interesting, not something he had ever smelled before. "Mind if I try it?" He asked, struggling to refrain from butting in and give his own opinion.

Blinking over at him, Bobby offered him a tasting spoon with a little of the sauce on it. It had obvious hints of Tabasco, tomato, soy sauce, as well as some garlic and onion, among the sweetness of the brown sugar. It was a good barbecue sauce. Shrugging, the southern chef checked the potatoes. Finding them soft, she took them out to blend them with...a blender? Adding butter, sour cream, canned milk, and salt and pepper, she put the lid on them to let them steam for a moment, without losing their heat. Pulling the chicken out, she began plating two plates of shredded chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Adding the barbecue sauce, she offered one to the other. "Tada."

Marc took the spoon, and tasted the sauce, it was like nothing he had ever tasted before. A perfect combination of Tabasco, tomato, and soy, with garlic, onion, and a hint of sweet; which Marc figured was from the brown sugar. "This is incredible." He replied. The girl handed Marc a plate with mashed potatoes, green beans, and shredded chicken, covered in barbecue sauce. He made his way back to the table, and sat down at his spot. He began to eat the food on his plate, enjoying every bite.

"Well I ain't gonna bother cookin if it don't taste good!" she laughed, sitting down across from him, eating slowly. She didn't need to scarf it down. "I'm Bobby. What's your name, Mister Wine sauce." she smirked, forking up some chicken and eating it. Stretching back, she watched him enjoy it.

Marc stopped eating when the girl introduced herself. He couldnt believe that he had forgotten to do that. "My name is Marc, son of Zeus." He replied. Marc chuckled at the name that she had given him. "So, how do you like my food?" He asked, continuing the conversation.

"Your food was good, though weren't very fillin." she shrugged, blinking at him. "Tasted good, though I don't like wine sauces." she leaned back, watching him. "Nice t'meetcha cousin." she chuckled. "Daughter o' Hades." She pointed at herself with her thumb. Flicking her hat back, she went back to her food.

Marc looked at Bobby, very surprised. "There is no way you are a child of Hades." he said sounding shocked. "I dont believe you." He added. Marc looked Bobby over again. If she was telling the truth, there was nothing stereotypically Hades about her at all, which made believing her very difficult.

"Welp, I ain't lyin. My ma was a medical examiner. Yah know... They do autopsies." She shrugged. "I don't know how they ended up... constortin, but I was born, and Hades is my pa." Shuffling her boots, she frowned. "How ain't there a way he's my pa?" The blond girl looked more than a little offended, her eyes narrowed, and her nose scrunched in frustration.

"Well, you are just not what I pictured a Hades child to look like. Im sorry if I offended you." Marc replied. "So what kind of powers do you have, as a child of Hades?" He asked. Marc finished eating his meal, and started collecting the dished and brought the, to the sink. Marc poured himself a glass of wine, and offered Billy one as well.

"Well, I've only know for a short time who I am. Just got to camp and all... but I can talk to wanderin spirits. I've done that since I was little. Didn't know why I could til the whole 'child o' Hades' thing came up." She looked at him, smiling. "Some of them can't talk back, though. Don't know they're dead, or they just don't wanna. I ain't able to control them or nothin. Just talk at them. Sometimes they help if they're in a good mood." She shrugged, finishing her food and standing. "You can have anything left. I leave it out for anyone who's hungry."