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It wasn't until Hill walked into the tower, with the intention of warning them about an impending attack, that she really noticed the main problem in the Avengers' lifestyle. You see, as long as there were 12 people living there, three of which had a heightened metabolism and ate about as much in one sitting as most people did in a day, the easiest way of giving everyone food that they liked was ordering. Which meant that the Avengers were practically living on pizza and Chinese takeout.
"This can't be healthy," she pointed at the pile of pizza boxes, which had to involve at least 30 of them stacked precariously. The team, who were all watching The Flash and yelling at the characters that they weren't acting as a true superhero would, grunted in agreement. Hill wondered whether they knew what she was talking about or just assumed that everything in their tower was unhealthy, and then decided that she didn't want to know.
In the end, it was Bruce who turned around to see what she was fuming about. He raised his eyes at the pizza boxes, more in amazement that they had managed not to topple over than at the sheer number of them, and, quite reasonably, pointed out, "We fight evil on a weekly basis and nearly die on a daily one, and we're eating too many pizzas to live healthily?"
"It's very likely that we'll all die before we get the chance to develop diabetes or heart problems," Tony joined in. Steve looked faintly annoyed about the pessimistic attitude, but then one of the supporting cast in The Flash decided to run the whole length of a falling pillar rather than taking two steps to the side, and he appeared to decide that yelling angrily at fictional characters was far more important than making sure his team ate healthily. Go figure.
Having delivered the warning of impending doom to New York, pretty much the only city that was ever in danger of impending doom, she left, plans in her mind to force the Avengers to be healthy. This would be easier if she could get Fury on her side, though, so she changed her destination to convince Fury that cooking together would be a good team building exercise.
Because Stark was involved, and he had to make everything as flashy as possible, the cook that was hired to teach them to cook had the poshest menu ever.
"Starter - chicken liver and pineau pate, main meal - crab stuffed lobster tail, and dessert - chocolate liqueur souffles?" read Steve, confused, "What even are half of those?"
"Dunno, but the liqueur sounds promising," Clint grinned, holding a knife dangerously, looking around the room as though searching for a victim to throw it at and scare half to death. The twelve of them were gathered in the stupidly big kitchen, so that they got a workspace between two, with ingredients between them that were obscure enough that they could have come from a now-extinct animal for all they knew.
"It's very fancy," Bruce acknowledged the obvious, shrugging a little, "and complicated."
"Nonsense!" the chef clapped his hands, and they all snapped to attention, very obviously military trained, "We will have you culinary experts in no time!"
The look on everyone's face said that they doubted that very much.
"Now, can anyone here cook?" asked the chef, looking disappointed at the lack of response, and then delighted when Peter raised his hand.
"Um, I can make ramen. And crackers with cheese. And sometimes even toast!" Peter smiled so innocently that it was impossible to tell if he was kidding or he really found that a feat worthy of praise, and Pietro next to him snorted with laughter.
Peter's input only served to prove to the chef that they were all completely useless at cooking, so the instructions were far simpler than they suspected it would have been, but still they struggled with even the easiest of tasks. Thor used the whisks a little too enthusiastically, spilling whatever-the-hell these ingredients were all over Bucky and Bruce. Bruce just smiled in an obviously faked way and assured everyone that if the food tasted as good cooked as it did raw, this would be a delicious meal. He politely declined being told what exactly it was that he was now wearing on his shirt, which was probably for the best. Bucky glowered silently, but did nothing about it.
For a little while, it was quiet, peaceful even, as everyone concentrated on making food that would be close to edible. Until, that is, Clint gave up on cooking.
"I could do it," he mused, with a handful of flour, "but where's the fun in that?" Before anyone could react to the obvious warning in his voice, the flour had shot across the room and dusted Tony's shoulder and arm.
In a moment, the kitchen was an uproar. Ingredients thrown everywhere, those not willing to get involved diving under tables with the reactions of someone who had had to do this far too many times, and utensils abandoned in the desperate scramble for glory. It took the chef's angry yelling for about five minutes before it returned to normal, with everyone covered in what could once have been food except Pietro, who had sped out of the way of the flying missiles, and Peter, whom he had dragged behind him.
Due to this unforeseen obstacle, no-one's starters had even half of the ingredients that they should have had, and none of them were close to edible.
"This is why I stick to machinery," Tony announced, staring morosely at the stack of ruined foodstuffs in the bin, "no-one dies if you fuck that up."
"Do you even remember Ultron, you piece of shit?" spat Wanda, but without venom. It was an age-old argument which was, by now, more for show than anything else.
Everyone's hopes were significantly lowered for the main meal, and yet they still managed to fail them. Vision, having lived with the Avengers long enough to know their complete inability to do most simple tasks, threatened, "None of you go near the oven, okay?" They agreed, showing a rare sign of self-preservation (out of fear of both the oven and Vision, not knowing how far they had already pushed him considering he was covered in eggs). He muttered about their stupidity for a few more minutes, only stopping to ask Natasha, with complete sincerity, "How do you sieve eggs?"
"How are any of you still alive," sighed Bruce, after Food War II, thankfully less dramatic since Steve had seen it coming and moved most of the food, was over and done with (I would say done and dusted, but with the amount of flour that had been thrown about the entire kitchen was more dusted than the food fight). How they were going to stay alive if they kept on messing about like this, seeing as the chef was already going a vivid shade of red, was an unspoken question.
Pietro, munching his way through most of the ingredients raw, looked up and shrugged. He seemed to have given up on cooking, and, when told that he had to put the ingredients in the oven before eating them, nodded nonchalantly, shoved the box of eggs, bags of flour and sugar, and slabs of fish on a tray and shoving the tray in the oven, turning the heat up as high as it would go. By the time they got the tray out, the eggs had exploded and the bags were on fire.
"He's only alive because of me," Wanda sighed. Everyone agreed with her, although they saw the truth in her words when she and Natasha were the only two able to pull out near-perfect meals from the oven.
The dessert followed the trend of 'ridiculously bad and laughably stupid'. Bucky started it, revealing his evil plan ever since Thor had splashed him when he broke three eggs over Thor's head in quick succession. Only the threat of Bruce turning into the Hulk if one more grain of sugar moved even an inch across the kitchen prevented anarchy for the third time. It was, apparently, a good thing that no sugar was thrown, since there was not any left after Thor decided that there wasn't enough liqueur or sugar in the souffle, pouring in all that was left and laughing at everyone's fears as he pushed it in to be cooked. When there was a loud explosion from inside the oven, he acknowledged that they may have been right.
"I hate you," Natasha declared, as Clint hit her on the bum with his whisk, "I hate you, and you will die." Clint clearly had the instincts of an ant, or maybe a worm, since he just grinned foolishly and returned to his souffle, whistling.
Steve was too busy trying to stop Tony from stealing his eggs, having broken his already, to try and prevent any showdowns in the kitchen, so it was left to Sam to do so.
"You're all incompetent," Sam proclaimed, looking round at each and every Avenger in turn, save for Natasha and Wanda because he was smarter than Clint, "I'm pretty incompetent too, but you just take the biscuit!" At this statement he glared very pointedly at Pietro and Peter, who had indeed found a packet of biscuits and were eating it with relish. They didn't have the good grace to look ashamed, either.
A couple more explosions and some broken bowls later, the cooking class was done. Tony paid the chef an obscene amount of money, and they turned to the tiny, posh portions that had been made for them. Steve sighed, shrugged and made for the phone.
"Who wants pizza?" he asked resignedly, although with a note of happiness, as everyone cheered.