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You swing open the fridge door to retrieve the cooking sheet and are hit with a wave of rotting vegetable stench. You have to stop yourself from cleaning out the neglected icebox right then and there. You can pester someone to do it later. You have something more important going on.
"Now, after an hour of chilling, the dish is properly cooled and only needs a garnish."
Your cooking and narrating skills have improved since you started putting on these little cooking shows for Goose. It all started after she joked about not seeing you for a while, but it made you realize how much you'd been neglecting your feathered friend. Since then, you've been making up for the lost time the best way you know how. Food.
You set the tray on the counter and hear your studio audience of one quietly clap her wings, followed by an overly enthusiastic "whoop" that makes you smile.
"Ooo~, say more cooking terms, master chef Mikey~" She leans forward, forcing her shirt downwards and revealing her cleavage. You're sure she knows what she's doing, but you still blush and politely avert your gaze.
"I'm no professional, but these are looking pretty good," you reply, relieved that the dish is set correctly.
Goose huffs, giving the sink you were standing in front of a moment ago a withering look. "You need some new teasing material; ableism is very unattractive," she says, making you feel a pang of guilt for not thinking more carefully. But before you can apologize, she starts snickering quietly. "I can hear you fretting. I'll forgive you if you hurry up and hand me whatever you made."
"Ha. Haha." You say in mock annoyance, making her cackle harder, but oblige her request by placing the makeshift ramekin in front of her with a deliberately audible thud. "It's a new recipe. I thought you'd like it since it's… interesting. I haven't tried it yet, so I hope you don't mind playing test subject."
I put the spoon in the wing that was making the grabby gesture. She's become much less sheepish (you haven't checked to see if that's a speciest term) about her disability of late which makes you extremely happy. It does mean you have to cater to a much more demanding Goose, but you don't mind in the slightest.
"If there's a job I can handle, it's a taste tester," She declares, her grey eyes shining with excitement.
She feels around gently and grabs the stem of the glass. "Oh! Margarita glass, very fancy Mike, very fancy." Giving it a testing sniff, she raises a brow. "Not that I have any idea what's in it. Cream, milk, and vanilla made me think ice cream, but then you added eggs, cheese, and butter."
You feel a deep sadness in your soul as she carelessly mixes up your hard work. Now you know how those baristas feel when people stir their latte art. Not that Goose can appreciate plating so you'll forgive her. This time.
"It's too soft to be quiche... unless that's just your plan to throw me off..." She finally takes a spoonful of the light-yellow concoction and puts it in her beak. She immediately gasps in surprise, tracks you down by the sound of stifled laughter, and looks up at you with a mixture of delight and indignation. "No fair! You withheld info! I could have guessed it was custard an hour ago if you told me there was sugar in here."
She takes another large spoonful, unwittingly dropping a bit on the table. "You're lucky it's good. Otherwise, I might actually be mad… what's that fruity bit? Peach?"
"Close. I put apricots in there," you feel particularly clever for that bit.
"You know, because you're the same color?" you add, unable to resist explaining the joke.
"I'm apricot colored? What does that even mean, Mike?" You sputter as she looks and sounds genuinely confused until she starts smiling. "You're too easy. Though..." Goose stirs the dessert thoughtfully, "I've been called a lot of things. Apricot's new… I like it."
You're about to pursue her comment until the resident couch potato wanders in.
"Oh, hey Mike…." Peanut says, rubbing the sleep out of his eye until they lock onto the desserts. "Oh! Hey Mike! What'd you make today!" The bear doesn't wait for you to answer before digging in.
Way to kill the mood, Peanut.