Out of the frying pan (Ferris)

[Abe Milton]

It wasn’t…quite the Sabbath. But given the hour it was getting closer than Abe was usually comfortable with. However, it was summer, which meant the days lasted longer and there was a longer time to wait before sunset. Besides, he tended not to practice with anyone anymore, so there was no rush to get to the temple. Although in the interests of ever remarrying, perhaps he--

No. He was better as an old widower. He’d leave it alone from there. He was going to turn fifty this year. He knew he technically wasn’t that old, especially in this town where most men seemed to be his age or older, but he could definitely feel it.

He’d met Ferris…oh, he couldn’t remember. Probably ordering supplies or something along those lines. But the men had gotten to chatting, one professional cook to another, and Ferris had asked about traditional foods. Well, they were Abe’s specialty and one of his favorite things to make, so he’d offered to have the other man come to his kitchen to learn. It was around three o’clock, before the dinner rush, so there was only one other cook there, and he looked…bored. Abe told him to get some of the easier to prepare and preserve meals ready, and then got out the ingredients required. He was there in the kitchen, sleeves of his dark red top rolled back and flour on his black slacks, when Ferris entered. He offered the man a grin.

“Glad you found it back here,” he said. “Sometimes it can get a little confusing. Now what did you want to cook? I got a little bit of everything here for anything else you’d like to try, too. I keep my kitchen well-stocked.” As Abe could and did decide the menu, he made sure it wasn’t difficult to change things up.

((hope this is okay!))

[Ferris Macklin]

((ooc: awesome))

While Ferris's eagerness to learn and ability to soak up knowledge quickly had given him a wider repertoire of techniques than the average chef (fish in aspic!), there were still large gaps in his training he ached to fill. For instance, he had almost no experience with Eastern European cuisine past the ubiquitous borscht, knew nothing about the native dishes of Africa, and only had a bare-bones understanding of what went on in the kitchens of India.

Jewish food was something he'd run into in little pockets - a neighborhood stumbled upon here, a tiny cluster of Kosher restaurants there - and enjoyed. But had never been able to learn, either due to time commitments at whatever job he had or a lack of a common language. Ferris especially liked challah, latkes, cheese blintzes, Hamantaschen, and what he was going to learn today, hopefully. He'd been so excited he'd had to take a longer route to Abe's restaurant to blow out all his excess energy. Securing his bike out front, he took his package in, chef's coat tied about his waist, and was directed to the back.

Grinning easily back, Ferris handed him the box. "For you. Chocolate croissants." There were half a dozen wrapped in paper nestled snugly within, all freshly made that morning. Three of them had writing on them in grease pencil.

"The ones with a D on them have dark chocolate," he added.

Untying his chef's coat, he slung it on and did up the large white buttons. The canvas coat might've been a French conceit and a bit pretentious, but it served as a combination apron/heat shield and never came untied at odd moments or had trailing ends that caught on things. He'd already taken some flack for it at Hammel, but some of his minions had also seen how useful it was and now wore them too.

As to what he wanted to cook - "Kreplach!" It was all but cheered. "I love that stuff. I don't know why it's not more popular. Little meat packages swimming in your soup? Seriously."

Proving he was a veteran line cook, Ferris kept his baseball hat on but turned the bill to face backwards so he could see better. Sanitary standards! He knew there were kitchens where the line jockeys weren't chased after to wear hats or kerchiefs, but if there was anything less appealing than finding a hair in your plate, he didn't know what. Except that it wasn't going to be his hair.

"Where do I wash up?"

[Abe Milton]

“Ah, kreplach.” He laughed. “Now there is something I don’t get asked for a lot. I haven’t made it in a while—my wife went for the plant-based diet, you see. But I think I have a recipe…ah. Here.” He fetched an old book from a shelf above his head and flipped through the yellowed and flour-caked pages until he found it. “This was my grandmother’s,” he explained. “It’s about as traditional you can get. I’ll make you a copy. They aren’t too popular because it is much easier to just make pot stickers. This is definitely more challenging. I’ll get the ingredients together. Staff bathroom is back there.” He nodded to a small door and smiled at him. “See you in a few.” With that, he began pulling the ingredients out of the fridge and the rest from the shelves. The bathroom he’d sent Ferris to was nice, clean, and done in warm colors—quite unlike most staff bathrooms, which weren’t the friendliest. But Abe preferred for his staff to be content with their working environment. When Ferris returned, everything was out on the counter, and Abe was studying the recipe thoughtfully. A half-eaten croissant was by his elbow, and Abe offered him a smile before turning back to the recipe.

“I forgot the religious meaning of this,” he murmured. “Silly of me. Haven’t been studying as I should’ve, perhaps. Now, we need to make a potato and meat filling first over a pan. Some include cheese, but as I keep kosher we won’t for this round. Will you fetch me…the corn oil?” He glanced up. “And a cut onion. There’s some gum in the drawer if you need it.”

[Ferris Macklin]

Ferris made a slightly disappointed face when Abe said there was no great call for kreplach. He thought they were better than ravioli and dumplings. Less complicated than mandu or potstickers, but slightly more involved than standard one-ingredient pierogi. How could anyone not love them?

His expression turned to an impressed one when Abe took down the well-used cookbook and removed the recipe. "Oooo. Grandma recipe. Those're always the best." Then he wrinkled his nose and brow. "...Pot stickers." Ferris gave a long-suffering sigh. "In place of kreplach. When will people learn."

With a wave, he was off to scrub. Ferris liked pot stickers, but as a sub for little meat and potato filled noodles? Seriously?

The washroom was something of a surprise, but a nice one. It was like a bathroom in someone's home (except with more sinks and toilets). Ferris washed up like a surgeon, shoving his coat sleeves up to soap almost to his elbows. He dried thoroughly, and then made his way back.

Immediately he scanned for the corn oil and took it down, bring it over. "What is the religious meaning? I didn't know they had one."

Ferris found and onion and diced it finely with a chef's knife he found. He didn't bother the mise en place, but just borrowed the cutting surface and the knife. Scraping the onion's papery outside and thready end into a pail he saw other vegetable waste in, he said, "You keep kosher? That's fascinating. I don't know much about it. What is it about cheese that's objectionable, if you don't mind my asking?"

Growing up without any dietary restraints made Ferris naturally curious about people who did. Plus, it was only a few days till Ramadan, and he'd been submerged in how to deal with that and what to serve the kids who were taking part in it. Most of what he made was already halal, but for the two meals he was making for the Ramadan observers he was making a point of it.

[Abe Milton]

He laughed. “It’s not the best substitute, I agree.” Abe was amused. Normally, it was someone else trying to defend new traditions to him. “But if you use the wrappers instead of making your own mixture, it goes a lot faster. Or wonton wrappers are used, I think. It’s good if you’re in a hurry And I am too, if it means keeping the traditions alive.” Besides, there wasn’t actually much wrong with the potsticker wrappers. You could even get them kosher certified these days.

He was also pleased that the other man had asked about their meaning. “They’re slightly triangle-shaped,” he explained. “And that represents the Jewish patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Guess who Abe had been named after.

“Cheese by itself isn’t objectionable.” He was tossing and mixing the contents on the pan with the idle mild attention of a man who spent a lot of time in the kitchen. “Mixing cheese and meat isn’t allowed in kosher policies. My grandmother didn’t keep it, I think, or she just thought it tasted better. I forget.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know her all that well.” She’d passed away fairly early on in his life, as it happened. The memories he had of her were blurred and more consisted of feelings, smells and impressions than clear pictures and words. “I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with Kosher?”

Abe recognized he was not as conservative as some. Sure, he tended to wear things that covered his ankles and wrists, covered his head and went to the Orthodox temple, but some traditions he just shrugged off. He rarely wore the prayer shawl, didn’t wear the wide-brimmed hat that others did, and didn’t keep a beard (mostly because his wife had said it was too scratchy, and when did a sane man argue with his wife?). Still, keeping Kosher was an important tradition, and he wished others did the same. The fact that a cook for Hammel didn’t know how to cook Kosher foods in this day and age was…sad to him. But he was polite and wasn't going to say that. Besides, it wasn't really any of his business.

"We'll alternate with the potato and meat fillings so you know how to make both," he added. "And I'll give you the cheese filling later, if you'd like. It's very good, and a lot of times people eat it during Purim, which is a...well, think of it like a festival. The children love it."

[Ferris Macklin]

Shrugging, he grinned as he diced. "If you're already going to the bother of making the rest, I guess I don't see how making the wrapper is too much more work. It's easier than pasta. Much easier than wonton wrappers."

“They’re slightly triangle-shaped. And that represents the Jewish patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

"Huh. Interesting," he said sincerely. Stories behind dishes fascinated him. That pretzels (supposedly) had been given to children for learning prayers, that mincemeat had once included lamb and ingredients that had had Advent significance, and that ganache, Bakewell tarts, and tarte tatin had all been mistakes tickled him to no end.

“Cheese by itself isn’t objectionable. Mixing cheese and meat isn’t allowed in kosher policies..."

Ferris's eyes made circuits from Abe, to the recipe, to the pan, and back, watching everything with the studiousness that had been so duly noted overseas. "I'll have to look it up when I get home. Is it just cheese and meat or is more general like... dairy and meat or... aged food and meat?"

“...I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with Kosher?”

"No. When I was at Kocher I was a line cook and didn't have to deal with it. Here I have so many other restrictions that there's automatically something that falls into Kosher every time I make the menu. Not the meat, of course, but I serve fish a lot. My head minion helps me keep everything straight. Once you account for the gluten, dairy, and nut allergies and make a vegetarian/vegan option, a lot of the other dietary restrictions fall into place. There's a few kids who have special needs past that, but..." he shrugged helplessly. "Institutional cooking. Eight hundred kids, three times a day, plus staff at lunch."

If Ferris had known that Abe had been concerned over the fact he didn't know how to cook Kosher, he would've agreed. For someone who had to learn how to get around so many other food restrictions, not knowing Kosher would've been unpardonable if he hadn't been cooking in an institutional setting. But the kids who kept Kosher had the same problems as the kids who were Muslim, kept Lent, diabetic, vegetarian or vegan, or had celiac disease, in that they were in the minority and that Ferris and his crew had only so much money and time and could only go so far. But it was true that once he'd figured for the kids who would have medical problems (rather than religious ones) and then the vegans, that there was something left for everyone else. And he was sorry he couldn't provide better than options.

"We'll alternate with the potato and meat fillings so you know how to make both. And I'll give you the cheese filling later, if you'd like. It's very good, and a lot of times people eat it during Purim, which is a... well, think of it like a festival. The children love it."

"I'd love the cheese one," he said. "Is it savory? Or like what's in blintzes?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure the adults love it too. Or. I will."

Not that Ferris thought he counted as an adult.

"What else can I do?" he scrutinized the recipe. "Can you put potato and meat in the same one or is that not Kosher too?"

[Abe Milton]

Abe’s lips curved up. “I like your attitude, Ferris. Anyone who doesn’t mind putting in the work to do things properly is good in my books.” Abe wasn’t really the kind of guy who spoke affectionately. His wife had teased him that had she ever told him he had to do poetry to win her over, instead of plying her with food and by doing her books as he had done, she probably would’ve married the lawyer her mother had been pushing her to date. But once you were good in Abe’s books, you had no need to fear. He was a good friend.

If a bit of a brusque one.

Ferris also endeared himself to Abe by being interested in the religious meaning. “It is,” he agreed, pleased despite himself. He could tell that Ferris was watching what he was doing, and so out of habit—and because he did this a lot for his cooks—he shifted back to give him a better view and told him what he was doing for some of the more complicated steps to it. “I can give you the cheese recipe as well, if you want it. But just meat and dairy can’t be served in a meal together. It’s a rule. And the meat must come from an animal killed humanly.” He sighed. “It’s a good thing we’re in a liberal area or I’d be out of a job. Kosher food sells great in New York, but here there’s not enough Jews in Pilot Ridge that practice kosher to keep up my business by themselves.” But as people were beginning to look into different dietary options, kosher was now popular. It was weird, but he wasn’t going to analyze it. He was just grateful for the business. His knee was starting to pain him, though, and he grimaced a little and glanced around. No cane. Damn.

“It’s more…sweet than savory,” he said as to the cheese option. “Light. And I love it, but I’m no judge.” He smiled again, then nudged the recipe in Ferris’s direction. He had enough information to know what to do now. “It’s just dairy and meat that’s limited. We can give it a try if you want to get the potato filling prepared.”

[Ferris Macklin]

“I like your attitude, Ferris. Anyone who doesn’t mind putting in the work to do things properly is good in my books.”

Laughing a little, Ferris shook his head. "It's cooking. It's already work, so going a little further doesn't cost anything. And homemade is always so much better."

When Abe shifted Ferris knew exactly what he was doing, and angled himself in for a better view. The older man moved with the economy Ferris so admired in longtime chefs, and he listened with an attentive ear. The only thing Ferris really knew about religious diets was that so far no one (amongst the diets that allowed meat) had outlawed fish. When he really thought about it, it was peculiar, but since Ferris didn't often delve too deeply into the imponderables of life he usually left it alone. "Sure, I'll take the cheese version too. Anything you care to throw at me."

As a newcomer, Ferris had no idea of Pilot Ridge's demographics beyond having a much higher meta population due to the school, but guessed as a small New England state it would have a bigger concentration of Jewish people than say, an area of similar size in Virginia. "You serve good food. I think quality trumps specialization any day. It being Kosher is just an added plus."

He caught the change of expression but didn't quite know what it meant. Still, he said, "Something I can do?"

“It’s more… sweet than savory. Light. And I love it, but I’m no judge.”

At that Ferris laughed again. "If you can't be, who can?"

Taking the recipe, he procured a pot and put water to boil with a bit of salt. He peeled potatoes and diced them to expedite the cooking time, and found and prepped the other ingredients while still keeping an eye on what Abe was doing. "So. Is there anything I can show you how to make? It's only fair."

[Abe Milton]

Abe had to nod in agreement to that particular statement. “Yeah. I’ve always enjoyed homemade. But I grew up in a bakery, so I didn’t even know you could buy a lot of the stuff that I learned to make when I was younger.” And he still did. His wife had loved that he would wake her up with pancakes.

Abe hadn’t really thought about the aspect that no one had banned fish, but he would’ve presented a reason for it. Religions, especially ones with rules like kosher, were eminently practical in context. Pork, for example, was poisonous if it wasn’t cooked properly. Fish was good for you, so there was no reason to ban it.

“Fine by me.” He smiled at him. He still wouldn’t make it now—as this was going to make up his dinner, he had no desire to make the cheese. But later. And if Ferris had any questions, he could invite him over again to learn to make the cheese ones properly.

He looked pleased by the compliment. “Good. I want to make sure that people enjoy my food whether they are Jewish or not. Vegetarian or not.” And his options were healthy, too. That was what he’d learned to cook for his wife, and he figured he might as well share that too.

“Mm.” Abe debated pride over need. Need won. “My knee is acting up. There should be a cane over there.” Abe had quite a bit of experience doing things one-handed in any case. “Do you mind fetching it for me?”

“Children.” He smiled wryly. “They’re who it’s supposed to go to anyways.”

He lifted his head from the pan to study him for a moment. “You said you’d spent time in Europe. Why don’t you show me some of your favorites from your time there? Never been out of the states, and I’d like to learn some.”

[Ferris Macklin]

Ferris had had the opposite sort of childhood, knowing intellectually that bread and other things did not just appear fully formed but never having seen the process in person. He didn't say so though, because his mom had done her best.

If handled or cooked incorrectly, all animal products could poison, and fish in particular could be nasty. Besides that, the benefits of seafood had not been known back during the creation of most religions. Ferris was mostly confused about why the definition of 'meat' when it seemed to encompass 'living animals' tended to bypass fish, when, to him, fish fell squarely into that category. It was the same thing with vegetarians who ate seafood, how they justified one sort of life over another when life was still lost, which seemed to be the entire point of it.

Ponderances.

"I enjoy it," he said. "I make enough sweet stuff for the staff lounge, I need something to balance it out."

Though, Ferris made a lot but didn't eat much of it himself. It was the creation of it that mattered, the exercise of cooking, that relaxed him and got out his fidgets.

"No, I got it." Finding the cane with his eyes, Ferris walked to it and delivered it to Abe. He was curious but didn't ask. It wasn't his business.

“Children. They’re who it’s supposed to go to anyways.”

Ferris sighed loudly and shook his head as he kneaded the kreplach dough. "I see I'm going to have to hide my action figures if you come over, Mr. Milton. When they are decor."

He chewed his lower lip as he thought about what Abe said, and finally admitted, "You'll have to tell me exactly what kosher lets you do, because just the whole no meat and dairy in the same place nixes... a lot." He laughed, realizing just how much it did. Even dishes that didn't have an overt dairy element, like liver and onions. Knowledgeable chefs soaked the liver in milk before they cooked it to get rid of the metallic taste. "Do you have a preference, like... desserts or meat or vegetable? Bread? Soup?"

[Abe Milton]

Abe nodded. He understood this. When he’d been a child, he alone of the other children hadn’t been excited by the treats being brought for birthdays or by cookies and candies meant as bribes. When you went home to a bakery and a mother constantly stuffing sweet things into your mouth to try, you tended to get a little, well…numb. “I get that,” he said, then smiled. “I’ll stop badgering you, Ferris. Think you can get the potato filling started once you’re done with the dough? They should be put in around the same time, and the meat's almost done."

Abe murmured his thanks for the cane and took it, pausing for a moment, thinking. Eventually, he gave up. He leaned against the cane with one hand and gripped the pan's handle with the other, tossing the contents of the pan one-handed with the practice of a professional cook. “Gunshot,” he explained to Ferris’s curious look. He didn’t mind telling people. “Not here, of course. It acts up sometimes, that’s all.”

His lips twitched up slightly at his statement. “Décor, huh? I didn’t get action figures when I was a kid. Too busy in the bakery. My parents believed in a working childhood.” But he hadn’t minded. He’d been useful and serious, even then. Besides, it was just what he did. When he wanted to play, he’d go over to a friend’s house.

“That’s…the main difficulty,” he said. “No pork, certain kinds of salt, meat has to be butchered humanely—it’s not as bad as all that.” He shook his head. “So how about dessert? That way we can avoid the worst of the rules.” And not make anything more complicated for Ferris. The other man looked like he was chewing too much over already.

[Ferris Macklin]

"Love to." Ferris finished up with the dough and set it aside, covering it with a towel. Draining the potatoes, he rinsed them under warm water to cool but not chill them and set them aside as he finished prepping the rest of the filling. Ferris moved easily, smiling a little as his body remembered all the bends and dips and twists inherent in working in a restaurant kitchen. Some of his dancer's training showed a little in the fluidity and grace of his movement, something his minions only really ever got a glimpse of but had never caught.

“Gunshot.”

Ferris looked up, surprised, and then winced when he realized what Abe was talking about.

“Not here, of course. It acts up sometimes, that’s all.”

"No, that's..." Well, it wasn't fine, was it. "It is what it is," he finally said. For just a moment the barest brush of a memory. The feel of crutches in his hands, of Ace and gauze and medical tape. Just before it could solidify, his Repression Security Team swept in and with relief, it passed. A small part of it showed on his face, a furrow of brow, a squint of the eyes. And then it passed, and Ferris went back to mashing potato. It was more than weird not to add cream or butter to the potato, but the egg yolk seemed to do the trick. He folded in the onions and other ingredients, and his lips quirked when Abe spoke again.

“Décor, huh? I didn’t get action figures when I was a kid. Too busy in the bakery. My parents believed in a working childhood.”

Ferris had been too busy with school to play very much, but he didn't say so. "Few of them. A little Super Mario. Bike. Skateboard. Nothing exotic. I think I have more toys now that I can afford them."

He didn't say either what sort of childhood his mother had wanted for him, since he didn't know and figured as long as it bore as little resemblance to hers as possible it was all good.

“That’s… the main difficulty. No pork, certain kinds of salt, meat has to be butchered humanely—it’s not as bad as all that.”

Thinking of all the cheese-based or cream-sauced foods he'd run into in Europe, Ferris wondered if Abe really understood how big a 'difficulty' he was talking about.

"Wouldn't plan any trips to Italy 'f I were you," he said, only half-joking.

“So how about dessert? That way we can avoid the worst of the rules.”

"Doable," he agreed. "What do you like? Fruit stuff, chocolate, cake, pie, cookies...?"

[Abe Milton]

Abe watched him, mostly because he was always curious what other professional cooks did, but partially to admire his movements. He had a certain grace to him that Abe envied. He could move quickly and efficiently. Gracefully? Never. Not even before he’d managed to bust his knee. “I know this is an awkward question, but did you used to dance? You have a certain…way of moving.” His lips twitched up. “And I’m not trying to flirt or hit on you, I promise. Just curious. And as for the gunshot wound, it was a long time ago. But yeah, it is what it is. Thank you for not saying ‘sorry’ or ‘did it hurt.’ I’ve gotten it all in my time.” He tilted his head, wondering at the…expression on his face, but decided to let it go for now. If the man wanted to talk about it, he would. If not, he didn’t have to. That was the rule he had for himself. He didn’t push confessions out of people anymore.

Abe nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I have toys too. They’re just…” He gestured around and smiled again. “All in the kitchen. I like it that way better. More opportunities for experimenting, and I wasn’t ever one for playing much anyways.” So they were a little similar in that respect, at least.

Abe had always eaten that way and cooked that way, but he did get it a little. Going to restaurants was usually pretty difficult. But he liked to cook, so he didn’t think about it. His brows climbed at Ferris’s statement, and he smiled. “Never been out of the states, and not likely to. But I’ll keep that in mind. A lot of dairy and meat in Italian fare, then? I usually make the vegetarian dishes.”

This was a serious question, and Abe tilted his head to the side to think about it. “Fruit things, I think would be best. Less risk that way, right?”

[Ferris Macklin]

“I know this is an awkward question, but did you used to dance? You have a certain… way of moving.”

It was so unconscious and Ferris was so unprepared for the observation that for a moment he froze, surprise on his face.

“And I’m not trying to flirt or hit on you, I promise... I’ve gotten it all in my time.”

The idea that Abe might flirt was something else that got a pause, not because Ferris thought Abe was incapable of romantic overtures, but because no one had even admitted doing something that might be mistaken for it in many years. So he addressed the easiest subject first, brow wrinkling. "People have asked you if a gunshot hurt? Did you offer to shoot them so they could see for themselves?"

He looked at Abe for a moment and then smiled ruefully. "You're not attached to the school, so I might as well." He shrugged, still grinning a little. "I did some ballet." Ferris exhaled as he mashed, rolling his eyes. "I try to keep that from getting out with the kids. You would not believe some of the questions they ask."

Then he thought about 'did it hurt' and he snorted. "Or maybe you would."

Tights formed the base for one set, and questions of an even more personal nature formed the other. There were usually also insinuations (or blatant accusations) that he was gay, which did not offend on the one hand (being homosexual wasn't something to be ashamed of) but did on the other (not all male dancers were gay, geez).

Ferris was still very much for playing, but he smiled back because he knew all about kitchen toys. "If I weren't a chef I could never justify the port tongs or champagne saber."

Ironic, since he didn't drink. But seriously, what amounted to a branding iron and a sword.

“Never been out of the states, and not likely to. But I’ll keep that in mind. A lot of dairy and meat in Italian fare, then? I usually make the vegetarian dishes.”

"The Italians have an unusual propensity towards dousing their meat... and, well, almost everything else... with sauces that have a cheese or cream element somewhere in them. And most of the time if you have a marinara it comes with a pile of parm on it." Ferris chuckled as he finished the potato filling. "And if it's not cheese or cream, it's half a bottle of wine."

Oh Europe.

"Fruit things... hm." Ferris thought about fruit desserts that had a lot of applications. Galettes? Hand pies? Then he thought of something. "Do you know how to make cheesecake? It's not exactly exotic, but it's really customizable and I know there's not only vegetarian versions but vegan ones."

[Abe Milton]

Mm. Bad question. Abe grimaced. He had been trying very, very hard not to turn this into an interrogation—a difficult thing for a man who had done that for the majority of his adult life, and spent a lot of time interviewing new employees (turnover in restaurants was always very high). But apparently he’d distressed the man with his question. And now he was trying to turn the topic away from it. And because this was a friendly conversation and not an interrogation, Abe let him. His lips twitched up. “As I was actually armed at the time, no. I thought it’d be a bad idea. And even afterward…” He shrugged. “People just don’t know how to incorporate ‘gunshot’ into normal conversation. They freak out instead and things blurt out of their mouth. I’m used to it.”

Ballet, huh? His brows climbed, but he hid his smile behind his hand as it was obvious that Ferris was…painstakingly earnest about the whole thing. “I would believe it,” he admitted. “One of my partners did ballet. Ah, FBI partners. I was usually jealous of his flexibility. We’d get into tough situations and he would just—“ He shook his head. “I’m guessing you don’t want word getting ‘round to the school for fear of mockery? No worries. Your, uh, secret is safe with me.” He flashed him a smile, then laughed. “Exactly. Or my extremely expensive and extraordinarily oversized Kitchenaid mixer.” Well, he had one large one, and then one smaller. But he refused to apologize for it, as he used both of them a lot.

“Mm.” Abe looked thoughtful. “That’s going to make me a lot more careful with what I eat in Italian restaurants, so thank you for the advice.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin, then thanked Ferris for the filling and dumped the meat filling into a bowl. He stepped over. “Now you roll it into the dough, like so.” He demonstrated, then tilted his head to the side to listen.

“Vegan cheesecake?” he laughed. “Isn’t that a bit of a contradiction? But it doesn’t sound like it would be too difficult to change. But for the record, I don’t. We baked a lot, sure, but I never found a good recipe for cheesecake.”