hackthis_archive | KC - That Manly, Kiwi Kind of Love

I have R/D and C/V on deck, just so people don't think I'm punking out, but the thing about Kitchen Confidential that I love is that once you get going, you can't stop. This show is 30 minutes of snarky should-be-gay banter. How can you not love a show that's 30 minutes of snarky should-be-gay banter?

Dedicated to

serialkarma

Kitchen Confidential
Jack, Steven, Seth, Jim
That Manly, Kiwi Kind of Love

Jack loves Steven. Not in the fussy, bitchy girl and diamond ring way, but in the "I've seen you naked, and you've seen me naked, and we will never talk about it again upon pain of death" type of love.

Jack loves Steven like he loves the twenty-one Chilean sea bass that magically appeared in the meat locker this morning.

However, the fact that there are now only eighteen sea bass in the meat locker diminishes his love significantly.

"STEVEN!"

Jim is not supposed to turn around when Jack calls Steven's name; that is not how this game works.

"Okay, kid, did you change your name to Steven?" Jack asks this because he's in charge and is required to give people shit. "Because I distinctly remember screaming for Steven, so when you turn around and look at me like that's your name, you confuse me, and I've done too many drugs to be confused when I'm sober."

Jim's mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out, which is definitely a first. "I, uh, uh."

"Kid, don't say 'uh' unless the cops are asking you if you've taken any drugs tonight, and you're still swallowing. Then you say 'uh', otherwise, just nod your head and look pretty."

"You think I'm pretty?" Jim flushes, and Jack rolls his eyes.

"Don't get hung-up on looks, they're the first thing to go."

"Yeah, your looks and your drug connections," Seth corrects from somewhere behind Jim. "And then you have to work in your girlfriend's poor excuse for an Italian restaurant because you spent all your money on rehab."

"Hey, that was just a stepping stone to greater things."

Seth snorts. "Like working for the mob."

"I wouldn't say that too loud if I were you." Jack lets the door of the walk-in close behind him as he moves through the kitchen, brushing too close to Jim just because he's a troublemaker, and the kid has this really nice mouth. "I've never seen a pastry chef without thumbs before."

Seth is making something with tarts and strawberries. And kiwis.

Jack loves kiwis.

Seth bats Jack's hand away when he grabs for a kiwi slice, and Jack slaps him back. "My kitchen, my fruit."

"Pino's kitchen," Seth corrects as Jack chews happily. "Not your fruit."

When Jack takes another kiwi slice, Seth swings back, and this descends into some sort of slap-happy fest that two six year-old girls might take part in. Jack gave up the drugs and the drinking; he never said anything about giving up his immaturity, too.

"My fruit!" he protests.

"My fruit!" Seth mocks.

"I'll be your fruit," Cameron calls, swinging into the kitchen to pick up the bloody rare prime rib and asparagus risotto for 23.

"That's my job." Steven's voice projects from somewhere over Jack's right shoulder, and Jack stops swinging at Seth long enough to turn around and slap a kiwi slice right on Steven's face.

The only thing better than kiwi slices is a kiwi food fight -– or it would be if kiwis weren't so expensive right now -- but Steven gives Jack this huge grin like Jack just announced he was drinking again, and then it's every man for himself.

Flour, sugar, vichyssoise, foie gras that Steven stuffs in Seth's ears, margarine, butter, steak, chicken, asparagus down Jim's pants, and a really nice reduction that Jack almost regrets flinging in Lee's general direction, shiitake mushrooms, the last of the roe, bitter chocolate powder that gets up Jack's nose and gives him a bad head rush like the time they snorted nutmeg at Mr Chow's.

Jack doesn't even know where the crème brulee came from, because Seth was doing something with tarts, but there's butter and cream, and Steven's smearing kiwis in his hair while Jim is slipping all over the olive oil that someone spilled all over the floor.

It all comes to a head when Chloe comes flying through the door looking for the Chilean sea bass with baby carrots and snow peas for Table 16.

Jack supposes it says a lot about his kitchen that she doesn't even bat an eyelash at the mess, but raises merry hell about the fish that's not ready. "What the hell do you expect me to serve them?" she snaps, adjusting her shirt so that Jack gets zero cleavage. "Fish sticks and peas?"

Steven clears his throat next to Jack, and Jack exhales sharply through his nose. This is all Steven's fault in the first place. The things Jack does for love... like shoving his hand down Steven's pants in the middle of the kitchen and pulling out a half-defrosted fish.

"Give me eight minutes," he says, tossing the fish to Jim, who fumbles it with oily fingers. "Nine minutes if you don't want it tasting like Steven."

-end-

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