october
make you banana pancakes, pretend like it's the weekend now, and we could pretend it all the time
- jack johnson.
"You do know I'm shít at cooking right?" Bella says as Harry hands her a whisk and an empty large pink bowl that Gemma and her purchased a few days before they totally roomed together.
Harry hums in understanding while he pulls out a few ingredients from the fridge, walks towards the fruit bowl on the counter and breaks two bananas from the bunch.
It's Sunday morning after a night in, and Harry apparently has decided that it's a good day to teach Bella how to cook banana pancakes. It is pancake day after all, so a bit of a healthy touch to the good ol' recipe won't matter, will it? Bella doesn't think so.
"And you are still letting me cook with you?" she asks, raising her eyebrows while observing the electric whisk. She wonders how it works.
Harry stands beside her and sighs, "Bella, how else do you want to learn how to cook?"
Maybe she didn't think about that. "By...watching you cook?"
He shakes his head with amusement, a smile pulling up at his lips. His hand reaches into his pocket as he extracts his bandana, wrapping it around the crown of his head to push his long hairs away. "Let's get to it, then. Chop, chop."
Bella looks at Harry confused, "Am I...supposed to chop?"
He laughs, throwing his head back at the same time he twists his body to get the scale from beside the sink. "It's a kitchen saying. Or any-place saying, I guess. Don't confuse me," he grins at her and places the scale in front of himself. "Flour," he demands.
She rolls her eyes, reaching for the flour that is right in front of him, "You know, you could've gotten that all on your own."
"Well you wouldn't be of any use if I did this on my own, would you?" he asks as he shakes some flour on the scale to measure 188 grams exactly.
"See? You don't need me. I could practically be sitting down, watching you make my beloved pancakes, and I would be as useless as I am right now."
"There is no way you are getting out of this, missy, go crack two eggs inside the bowl."
She huffs and walks to the fridge to snatch two eggs from the top shelf, "Fine." Carefully, she breaks them both into the bowl, managing to not let any shell fall too. (Amazing accomplishment. She is pretty proud of herself.)
"Good job," Harry congratulates her as he pours all the dry ingredients in along with some milk. "Want to melt some butter in the microwave too?"
"Alright," she groans like a little child, stomping towards the microwave and placing the small bowl in the centre before programming it.
"Now, when it dings, pour three tablespoons of the butter in the bowl and whisk it with the electric whisk at medium speed while I mash the bananas, understood?"
"Yes, chef," she says as she salutes him like the soldiers when they receive orders from their lieutenants.
He chuckles, "You better make it a good batter. It all lies on your hands."
"This isn't even teaching me how to cook," she complains, holding out the bowl with butter with the help of a kitchen towel, "This is so easy. How can you even teach someone how to cook? Recipes should be fine."
"But I'm showing you techniques. To make your cooking tastier and more eatable," the muscles on his arms flex as he pushes the fork onto the banana. Yummy.
