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Ficlet onna card
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fabulous_papaya. Written after a Friday that ended with abuse of raw fish and alcohol. I quite like it, it's like a cheerful little ditty with lyrics that are impossible to grasp.
Yoruichi's culinary specialty was fish-onna-stick: it was exactly what it sounded like. When they trained in the lake district she would rub the inside of the fish with salt from a little tin she carried, but if it was fatty salt-water tuna she would make the fire with dry driftwood and splash it with a bit of sea water as it roasted. She always cleaned the fish, since it tasted bitter cooked otherwise, but left the head and tail on.
"The cheeks are the tenderest part," she said.
"Perhaps you were a cat in your previous life," said Urahara.
"Perhaps I'll try it again sometime," she said. Those were the early days.
(In moments of self-importance he fancied that the roasting was for his benefit. It seemed to him that she would like the fish just as well filleted and raw; he imagined her consuming it daintily, pulling glistening flesh from bone with her fingers and making it disappear with a swipe of pink tongue.
Cooked fish versus raw fish: therein lay the difference between a princess and a cat. A great deal of the genius in his work consisted of identifying the shortest distance between two points, and thus he would ponder this fact.)
She helped him rig up the first incarnation of his shop, as a favour. That night he made her tempura on the porch, heating the oil with the same portable burner he used in his experiments with unstable chemicals, in order to ensure a stable flame. The neighbourhood was filled with the scent of hot sesame seed oil. Little children approached the mouth of the alley, stared, giggled, and ran away again.
In fact this type of cuisine was not so different from laboratory work, dependent as it was on timing. The yam, marrow, lotus root, eel and shrimp had to be washed, sliced and dried in advance, then thinly coated with batter before frying. Knowing when to pull it out of the oil was the hard part. Even a well-executed piece of tempura had to be eaten immediately, or the lacy golden coating would turn soggy on its own.
She accepted his complexity with good humour, complained when the piping hot shrimp burned her tongue and drank a good deal of cold sake. He finished up the rest.
The stars were particularly bright that night. When it had grown late he said, "I apologize."
"No need," she said carelessly, not sounding as drunk as she should have been. "I am still I, and you are still you."
It was the crux of the matter to her. So he left it at that.
fabulous_papaya. Written after a Friday that ended with abuse of raw fish and alcohol. I quite like it, it's like a cheerful little ditty with lyrics that are impossible to grasp.Yoruichi's culinary specialty was fish-onna-stick: it was exactly what it sounded like. When they trained in the lake district she would rub the inside of the fish with salt from a little tin she carried, but if it was fatty salt-water tuna she would make the fire with dry driftwood and splash it with a bit of sea water as it roasted. She always cleaned the fish, since it tasted bitter cooked otherwise, but left the head and tail on.
"The cheeks are the tenderest part," she said.
"Perhaps you were a cat in your previous life," said Urahara.
"Perhaps I'll try it again sometime," she said. Those were the early days.
(In moments of self-importance he fancied that the roasting was for his benefit. It seemed to him that she would like the fish just as well filleted and raw; he imagined her consuming it daintily, pulling glistening flesh from bone with her fingers and making it disappear with a swipe of pink tongue.
Cooked fish versus raw fish: therein lay the difference between a princess and a cat. A great deal of the genius in his work consisted of identifying the shortest distance between two points, and thus he would ponder this fact.)
She helped him rig up the first incarnation of his shop, as a favour. That night he made her tempura on the porch, heating the oil with the same portable burner he used in his experiments with unstable chemicals, in order to ensure a stable flame. The neighbourhood was filled with the scent of hot sesame seed oil. Little children approached the mouth of the alley, stared, giggled, and ran away again.
In fact this type of cuisine was not so different from laboratory work, dependent as it was on timing. The yam, marrow, lotus root, eel and shrimp had to be washed, sliced and dried in advance, then thinly coated with batter before frying. Knowing when to pull it out of the oil was the hard part. Even a well-executed piece of tempura had to be eaten immediately, or the lacy golden coating would turn soggy on its own.
She accepted his complexity with good humour, complained when the piping hot shrimp burned her tongue and drank a good deal of cold sake. He finished up the rest.
The stars were particularly bright that night. When it had grown late he said, "I apologize."
"No need," she said carelessly, not sounding as drunk as she should have been. "I am still I, and you are still you."
It was the crux of the matter to her. So he left it at that.
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Having a huge fondness for Urahara + Yoruichi (though being too afraid to actually go looking for it myself), this was lovely♥ I'm glad you're posting the ficlets onna card, if we get these. :D
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