Happy New Year, dear Exchangelings!
Jan. 1st, 2021 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: “Chopped: Celestial Edition”
Author: (redacted)
Rating: General-ish
Word Count: 1500, or thereabouts
Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley, Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Madame Tracy, Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell
Warnings: N/A
Notes: For those who are unfamiliar with Chopped, this is an American cooking competition, in which four participants are given 3 successive baskets of mystery ingredients and have to create three courses featuring those ingredients. One participant is eliminated (ie, “Chopped”) in each round.
Summary: Aziraphale thinks it would be rather fun to be a contestant in an at-home version of Chopped. Crowley thinks it would be something other than fun, but he did promise a holiday gift to Aziraphale, so Chopped, it is.
Chopped: Celestial Edition
***
How it Began
“Oh, please say yes, Crowley...it will be ever so fun.”
“It will not be fun, Aziraphale. Can't we just stay in, terrorize the plants, and drink? I think I've got a bottle of 1869 Chateau Lafite Rothschild hidden away in the cupboard somewhere.”
“Very tempting, my dear, but I've wanted to be a contestant on Chopped for years now, and....”
“How have you even seen an episode of that show, Angel? You don't even have a telly.”
Aziraphale purses his lips. “That's neither here nor there. You said I could choose whatever I wanted for my holiday gift, and this is what I choose.”
“Fine, fine...whatever you want, Aziraphale.”
“Thank you so much, my dear. You won't regret it.”
Crowley is certain he knows a good deal more about regretting things than does his unfallen former counter-part, but as a nod to the season, he decides to let Aziraphale have the last word.
Setting the Stage
"Think of it like a Christmas pantomime, Mr Shadwell,” says Madame Tracy. “But instead of Cinderella, we'll all be acting out a variant of a television show called Chopped.”
"And you're sure I don't have to dress up in a frock with a doily hanging 'round my neck and wear an old wig? Done that before, back when I was still a Witchfinder, and didn't fancy it.”
"We're not going to be that sort of judge, dear. We'll just sit here comfortably at the table, while the gentlemen do a bit of cookery, and then we get to sample what they've prepared. It'll be like we're guests at an episode of the Great British Bake Off , but more...American.”
“Hmm,” Shadwell grumbled. “Too late to back out, is it?”
Off We Go!
“Oh sh...oot.”
“My goodness, Newton” says Madame Tracy. “Do you have any idea where our two other contestants got off to? We haven't even announced the results of the starter round.”
“I'm afraid...well, it looks like Mr Crowley's associate and Mr Aziraphale's colleague won't be returning after their dispute. Something about flames and water and...discorporating? At least that's the word I think I heard Mr Crowley use.”
“Goodness, these chefs take their work so seriously, don't they?”
“Almost as if it was a matter of life and death.”
And now, a word from our sponsor...
Ladies, Gentlemen, and Others, if you should find yourself wishing to purchase a book whilst paying a visit to London, the staff at A.Z. FELL & Co., Antiquarian and Unusual Books would like to direct your attention to Sotheran's (founded in 1761, established in London in 1815).
Like us, they “welcome regular clients and passers-by alike to wander in and browse [the] stock in a relaxing and convivial atmosphere." Unlike us, they are enthused by the prospect of actually selling their wares.
Sotheran's: just off Piccadilly in the heart of London's West End.
The Next Stage
Reading off the fourth of her notecards, Anathema says, "Four celestial beings started out with the goal of wowing our judges using the mystery ingredients in their baskets. Now, two have been sent to - well, the less said about where they might have been sent, the better - and only two remain, Aziraphale and Crowley. Who will be crowned Chopped Champion?”
Aziraphale does not clap his hands in gleeful anticipation, but it is a near thing.
“Because we seem to have...misplaced two of our contestants, we're going to make a small change to our challenge. Instead of two more rounds tonight, we'll have just a single round with seventy minutes total for each contestant to create both a main dish and a dessert from eight ingredients.
“Contestants, open up your baskets please. You have two courses to prepare in seventy minutes with the following ingredients:”
~ Châteauneuf-du-Pape
~ Gravlax & Dill Sauce
~ Oysters
~ Strawberry Ice Lollies
~ Brioche
~ Gourmet Hickory Smoked Sausages
~ Pears
~ Gluten-Free Microwave Oatmeal
Aziraphale looks at Crowley in alarm. Crowley shrugs his shoulders in the universal sign for Don't blame me, sunshine...you asked for this.
“And your time starts...now.”
Overheard During the Cooking Portion of the Night's Festivities
“Oh dear.”
*
“Not an authority, Angel, but did you just add three tablespoons of salt to the pear sauce?”
“It was sugar!”
“Taste it.”
“You're just trying to distract me,” Aziraphale says as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “but...oh dear.”
“Are we having fun yet?”
“Be quiet!”
*
“It appears that you might have burnt your brioche.”
Crowley narrows his already narrowed eyes. “Nothing wrong with adding a bit of crunch.”
“It's charcoal, Crowley.”
“Crunch.”
“But....”
“Keh-runch.”
*
“Oh dear.”
*
“What are you making now, Crowley?”
“Star shaped holiday biscuits. Why?”
“Those are not star shaped.”
“They are!”
“Crowley, I don't want to insult your biscuit making, but they're blobs.”
“Listen, mate...I helped build the stars; I know what stars are supposed to look like.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
*
“Oh dear, my oysters appear to be on fire!”
“How's that even possible, Angel? Okay, you know what? I don't need to know. Let me just help put out the flames and then....”
“Crowley, you can't put a fire out with wine! The flames are spreading...do something!”
*
“Oh dear.”
The Judges Deliberate
"Well," Madame Tracy says with a sigh, "They certainly tried their best, didn't they?"
"If that's their best,” mutters Shadwell, “I'd hate to see them try to muck it up on purpose.”
“Anathema, dear....where's Newton?”
“He's off to the WC again. I'm afraid something didn't agree with him.”
“Southerners,” Shadwell says, shaking his head. “Weak stomachs, the lot of them.”
And the winner is...
Anathema, who has now fully embraced her role as an American reality show host, smiles unctuously and says perkily, "All right, so whose dish is on the chopping block?" She gestures expansively toward Aziraphale and Crowley, then frowns as she realizes that neither they, nor the meals they prepared, are anywhere to be seen.
"I suppose this means we're not getting any supper," Shadwell grumbles.
"Don't worry," Tracy says, patting Shadwell's hand comfortingly. "I'll bring you a nice cuppa and some biscuits in a bit."
"Well, that's all right, then."
The Aftermath
Aziraphale smiles nervously as he waits for the judges' decision, but his smile swiftly turns to an expression of alarm as he looks first to the left and then to the right. "Crowley," he says. "It looks as if my bookshop has disappeared."
"More like we've disappeared, Angel." Crowley sniffs at the air. "Definitely not in London anymore."
"Where are we, apart from sitting on the ground in the middle of nowhere?"
"We're not on the ground," Crowley says. "We appear to be sitting on... a picnic blanket."
Aziraphale frowns. "A picnic...?"
"Picnic blanket. Seen them in films. Anyway," Crowley says, "I don't think we're in the middle of nowhere, either. Looks like we're on the cricket pitch in Lower Tadfield."
"Then why is nobody playing cricket?"
"It's the middle of December."
“Ah, yes...so it is.” Aziraphale sighs. “Still...it's a nice day, isn't it? Quite sunny. And it's not as if we're going to feel the cold if we don't want to.”
“True,” Crowley says. “And apparently whoever transported us here, also sent along our entrees and desserts, so thanks for that, whichever mysterious teenage boy you might be."
“To be honest, I'm a bit frightened to take the lid off my two presentation plates. I have a feeling I'm not meant to be a cook.”
“Ah, go on, Angel. Worse comes to worst, we can always pop back to London, and I'll take you to the Ritz.”
“Thank you my dear.”
Slowly - and not without a little trepidation - Aziraphale lifts off the first lid.
His eyes go wide.
There, on the plate between them on the blanket are Crêpes Suzette, Bresse duck with mixed greens and pommes soufflé, Celeriac Velouté, Scottish Smoked Salmon with Lemon Butter on Sourdough Bread, and what looks suspiciously like Crowley's own bottle of 1869 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.
Crowley takes the lid off the second plate: Scones, clotted cream, strawberry preserves, a beautiful assortment of cakes and pastries, and – somehow – a steaming pot of freshly made tea.
“I definitely didn't make any of this,” Aziraphale says, although he absolutely knows Crowley doesn't need to be told this.
“Same,” says Crowley. “Closest I came to making anything edible was sticking a cold smoked sausage onto a piece of brioche with some nutella.”
“It appears,” says Aziraphale, " that we didn't have to go to the Ritz; the Ritz came to us.”
“So how was it today, Angel. Did you have fun?”
“It was, as I'd hoped, ever so fun.”
“Even though everything went wrong?”
“Oh, but my dear,” Aziraphale says quietly, “today was perfect...because I spent it with you.”
Crowley doesn't reply, just prepares a raisin scone, with cream first and then jam, just as Aziraphale prefers it.
Perfect.
Author: (redacted)
Rating: General-ish
Word Count: 1500, or thereabouts
Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley, Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Madame Tracy, Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell
Warnings: N/A
Notes: For those who are unfamiliar with Chopped, this is an American cooking competition, in which four participants are given 3 successive baskets of mystery ingredients and have to create three courses featuring those ingredients. One participant is eliminated (ie, “Chopped”) in each round.
Summary: Aziraphale thinks it would be rather fun to be a contestant in an at-home version of Chopped. Crowley thinks it would be something other than fun, but he did promise a holiday gift to Aziraphale, so Chopped, it is.
Chopped: Celestial Edition
***
How it Began
“Oh, please say yes, Crowley...it will be ever so fun.”
“It will not be fun, Aziraphale. Can't we just stay in, terrorize the plants, and drink? I think I've got a bottle of 1869 Chateau Lafite Rothschild hidden away in the cupboard somewhere.”
“Very tempting, my dear, but I've wanted to be a contestant on Chopped for years now, and....”
“How have you even seen an episode of that show, Angel? You don't even have a telly.”
Aziraphale purses his lips. “That's neither here nor there. You said I could choose whatever I wanted for my holiday gift, and this is what I choose.”
“Fine, fine...whatever you want, Aziraphale.”
“Thank you so much, my dear. You won't regret it.”
Crowley is certain he knows a good deal more about regretting things than does his unfallen former counter-part, but as a nod to the season, he decides to let Aziraphale have the last word.
Setting the Stage
"Think of it like a Christmas pantomime, Mr Shadwell,” says Madame Tracy. “But instead of Cinderella, we'll all be acting out a variant of a television show called Chopped.”
"And you're sure I don't have to dress up in a frock with a doily hanging 'round my neck and wear an old wig? Done that before, back when I was still a Witchfinder, and didn't fancy it.”
"We're not going to be that sort of judge, dear. We'll just sit here comfortably at the table, while the gentlemen do a bit of cookery, and then we get to sample what they've prepared. It'll be like we're guests at an episode of the Great British Bake Off , but more...American.”
“Hmm,” Shadwell grumbled. “Too late to back out, is it?”
Off We Go!
“Oh sh...oot.”
“My goodness, Newton” says Madame Tracy. “Do you have any idea where our two other contestants got off to? We haven't even announced the results of the starter round.”
“I'm afraid...well, it looks like Mr Crowley's associate and Mr Aziraphale's colleague won't be returning after their dispute. Something about flames and water and...discorporating? At least that's the word I think I heard Mr Crowley use.”
“Goodness, these chefs take their work so seriously, don't they?”
“Almost as if it was a matter of life and death.”
And now, a word from our sponsor...
Ladies, Gentlemen, and Others, if you should find yourself wishing to purchase a book whilst paying a visit to London, the staff at A.Z. FELL & Co., Antiquarian and Unusual Books would like to direct your attention to Sotheran's (founded in 1761, established in London in 1815).
Like us, they “welcome regular clients and passers-by alike to wander in and browse [the] stock in a relaxing and convivial atmosphere." Unlike us, they are enthused by the prospect of actually selling their wares.
Sotheran's: just off Piccadilly in the heart of London's West End.
The Next Stage
Reading off the fourth of her notecards, Anathema says, "Four celestial beings started out with the goal of wowing our judges using the mystery ingredients in their baskets. Now, two have been sent to - well, the less said about where they might have been sent, the better - and only two remain, Aziraphale and Crowley. Who will be crowned Chopped Champion?”
Aziraphale does not clap his hands in gleeful anticipation, but it is a near thing.
“Because we seem to have...misplaced two of our contestants, we're going to make a small change to our challenge. Instead of two more rounds tonight, we'll have just a single round with seventy minutes total for each contestant to create both a main dish and a dessert from eight ingredients.
“Contestants, open up your baskets please. You have two courses to prepare in seventy minutes with the following ingredients:”
~ Châteauneuf-du-Pape
~ Gravlax & Dill Sauce
~ Oysters
~ Strawberry Ice Lollies
~ Brioche
~ Gourmet Hickory Smoked Sausages
~ Pears
~ Gluten-Free Microwave Oatmeal
Aziraphale looks at Crowley in alarm. Crowley shrugs his shoulders in the universal sign for Don't blame me, sunshine...you asked for this.
“And your time starts...now.”
Overheard During the Cooking Portion of the Night's Festivities
“Oh dear.”
*
“Not an authority, Angel, but did you just add three tablespoons of salt to the pear sauce?”
“It was sugar!”
“Taste it.”
“You're just trying to distract me,” Aziraphale says as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “but...oh dear.”
“Are we having fun yet?”
“Be quiet!”
*
“It appears that you might have burnt your brioche.”
Crowley narrows his already narrowed eyes. “Nothing wrong with adding a bit of crunch.”
“It's charcoal, Crowley.”
“Crunch.”
“But....”
“Keh-runch.”
*
“Oh dear.”
*
“What are you making now, Crowley?”
“Star shaped holiday biscuits. Why?”
“Those are not star shaped.”
“They are!”
“Crowley, I don't want to insult your biscuit making, but they're blobs.”
“Listen, mate...I helped build the stars; I know what stars are supposed to look like.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
*
“Oh dear, my oysters appear to be on fire!”
“How's that even possible, Angel? Okay, you know what? I don't need to know. Let me just help put out the flames and then....”
“Crowley, you can't put a fire out with wine! The flames are spreading...do something!”
*
“Oh dear.”
The Judges Deliberate
"Well," Madame Tracy says with a sigh, "They certainly tried their best, didn't they?"
"If that's their best,” mutters Shadwell, “I'd hate to see them try to muck it up on purpose.”
“Anathema, dear....where's Newton?”
“He's off to the WC again. I'm afraid something didn't agree with him.”
“Southerners,” Shadwell says, shaking his head. “Weak stomachs, the lot of them.”
And the winner is...
Anathema, who has now fully embraced her role as an American reality show host, smiles unctuously and says perkily, "All right, so whose dish is on the chopping block?" She gestures expansively toward Aziraphale and Crowley, then frowns as she realizes that neither they, nor the meals they prepared, are anywhere to be seen.
"I suppose this means we're not getting any supper," Shadwell grumbles.
"Don't worry," Tracy says, patting Shadwell's hand comfortingly. "I'll bring you a nice cuppa and some biscuits in a bit."
"Well, that's all right, then."
The Aftermath
Aziraphale smiles nervously as he waits for the judges' decision, but his smile swiftly turns to an expression of alarm as he looks first to the left and then to the right. "Crowley," he says. "It looks as if my bookshop has disappeared."
"More like we've disappeared, Angel." Crowley sniffs at the air. "Definitely not in London anymore."
"Where are we, apart from sitting on the ground in the middle of nowhere?"
"We're not on the ground," Crowley says. "We appear to be sitting on... a picnic blanket."
Aziraphale frowns. "A picnic...?"
"Picnic blanket. Seen them in films. Anyway," Crowley says, "I don't think we're in the middle of nowhere, either. Looks like we're on the cricket pitch in Lower Tadfield."
"Then why is nobody playing cricket?"
"It's the middle of December."
“Ah, yes...so it is.” Aziraphale sighs. “Still...it's a nice day, isn't it? Quite sunny. And it's not as if we're going to feel the cold if we don't want to.”
“True,” Crowley says. “And apparently whoever transported us here, also sent along our entrees and desserts, so thanks for that, whichever mysterious teenage boy you might be."
“To be honest, I'm a bit frightened to take the lid off my two presentation plates. I have a feeling I'm not meant to be a cook.”
“Ah, go on, Angel. Worse comes to worst, we can always pop back to London, and I'll take you to the Ritz.”
“Thank you my dear.”
Slowly - and not without a little trepidation - Aziraphale lifts off the first lid.
His eyes go wide.
There, on the plate between them on the blanket are Crêpes Suzette, Bresse duck with mixed greens and pommes soufflé, Celeriac Velouté, Scottish Smoked Salmon with Lemon Butter on Sourdough Bread, and what looks suspiciously like Crowley's own bottle of 1869 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.
Crowley takes the lid off the second plate: Scones, clotted cream, strawberry preserves, a beautiful assortment of cakes and pastries, and – somehow – a steaming pot of freshly made tea.
“I definitely didn't make any of this,” Aziraphale says, although he absolutely knows Crowley doesn't need to be told this.
“Same,” says Crowley. “Closest I came to making anything edible was sticking a cold smoked sausage onto a piece of brioche with some nutella.”
“It appears,” says Aziraphale, " that we didn't have to go to the Ritz; the Ritz came to us.”
“So how was it today, Angel. Did you have fun?”
“It was, as I'd hoped, ever so fun.”
“Even though everything went wrong?”
“Oh, but my dear,” Aziraphale says quietly, “today was perfect...because I spent it with you.”
Crowley doesn't reply, just prepares a raisin scone, with cream first and then jam, just as Aziraphale prefers it.
Perfect.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-01 04:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-04 07:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-02 04:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-04 07:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-02 05:04 pm (UTC)As a fan of Chopped you certainly ticked all the boxes! Also loved the tip of the hat to Sotheran's.
Great job!!
(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-04 07:16 pm (UTC)Meanwhile, Sotheran's is great (and their social media person is fantastic :D)
(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-03 03:53 am (UTC)Aziraphale WOULD advertise for another store
OOF those INGREDIENTS
"“Listen, mate...I helped build the stars; I know what stars are supposed to look like.”" I hope I think of this every year my Christmas cookies expand and lose their shape in the oven
My favorite part is all of the "Oh dear"s, which are 100% in character AND relatable :D
(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-04 07:17 pm (UTC)(so glad you liked it!!)
(no subject)
Date: 2021-01-04 10:38 pm (UTC)