Trapped in the Closet

A Day in a Butler's Life

Third POV~

A good butler begins his day at 5am, Alfred starts his at 4am and preps for the day the night before. Taking the freshly washed towels out of the washing machine, the machine having already finished it's cycles in the middle of the night, he transfers the cotton sheets to the dryer, sending it off on a gentle trip towards fluffyness.

He makes his way to the kitchen, taking out the pre-cut vegetables from the fridge. Containers of scallions, spinach, shiitake mushrooms, and bell peppers meet the metal counter. He takes out a ball of homemade, low moisture mozzarella, a wedge of smoked cheddar, five knobs of garlic, truffle oil, a stick of truffle butter, churned and set the night before, thickened full fat cream and finally, nine free range, brown, organic eggs. Six for Bruce and three for his green haired guest. Bruce's vigilante lifestyle requires him to have such an enormous amount of protein, his training in the mountains conditioning him to only need two hours of sleep. This only adds on to the amount of energy he needs to function properly and healthily.

He begins mincing the garlic after smashing it with the flat side of his knife, the home-like aroma filling the kitchen, before slicing a pad of butter and placing it into the pre-heated pan. He swirls the melting butter around the pan, sliding forty percent of the garlic mince into the sizzling fat, the rich, earthy fungi accompanying the garlic in aromatic harmony. He proceeds to slide the rest of the garlic into a larger, pre-truffle oiled and heated pan. He dual wields both pans, tossing the garlic into the air, landing perfectly back into the pan. He shakes the pan slightly to sweat and toast the garlic on all sides to perfection, popping and crackling occasionally.

He checks the time on the clock, hanging on the wall. Batman came home around an hour and fifty minutes ago. He should be up in about fifteen minutes. Alfred nods to himself after doing some quick calculations in his head.

He puts both pans down, and reaches for the container of mushrooms, sprinkling a handfull in one pan, then a large fistfull in the other. He slides both pans back and forth, then adding the bell peppers, tossing the colourful melody for even browning. He turns both gas dials to low.

Alfred cracks six eggs into a large bowl, the other three plopping into a medium sized bowl, adding dollops of thick cream into each. He whisks each mixture until many bubbles form, before streaming each batch into their respective pans gently, creating curd-like structures with a small whisk. He shreds about a handful of each cheese into one pan, a lot less into the larger one, and sprinkles a good amount of spinach into each pan, covering them up with glass lids to steam the inside of the egg, to ensure it is cooked all the way through, but not so much till they become rubbery.

The whistling butler turns the heat back to medium-high, then sets a timer for exactly 1 minute. He watches as the eggs solidify, the air bubbles he worked in taking effect towards fluffyness. The smokeyness of the cheddar blends with the light, stretchy mozzarella with ease, bubbling away as the fats melt together. Alfred makes sure to turn off the gas for a saucepan off to the side, it was filled with his homemade tomato sauce that was simmering overnight. None of that bottled ketchup was ever going to be in his kitchen. His grandmother wouldn't approve of it, her family had spent generations perfecting that recipe.

It reminds him of the first time he had tasted it, his grandmother smug as she waited for his reaction. It was delectable, delicious, and extremely addictive. It would work its way into all of his family meals. She was delighted to hear that it was perfect, giving her grandson a hug. 'Finally' she would say, 'After generations of making this bloody sauce! I can finally retire and give you the recipe.' Little Alfred would try to replicate it the best he could, eventually getting the gist of it. He even tried to experiment with different acidity, sweetness and salt ratios, but they could never even hope to measure up to his grandmother's. So when she passed away, knowing that she slaved away her whole life making that sauce, because her great grandfather thought it was a bright idea to have a family tradition, which soon turned to obsession, they ate her favorite dish after the funeral with that sauce. A French Omelette. A simple dish, yet so fluffy and delicious.