Chapter Text
Damian al Ghul knew one thing, if he had to live in America, Bruce Wayne was NOT taking his culture.
He's seen it with Richard, the man rarely remembered how to speak his first language.
Jason was better, he knew how to cook the recipes his mother cooked, Damian had experienced Todds cooking.
Drake… well he was an american white male raised by white parents, even if they were never there. He was basically the perfect son for bruce.
Damian had grown up traveling the world, on missions eating the food native to the country their target was in. But at nanda parbat his mothers Persian and Arab foods were staples, especially in childhood.
So now he was forced to live in a manor which food was cooked by a british man and the only other adult was a jewish man who knew none of his food, and a white teenager (who he maybe still has to kill?)
So with all of that information Damian stood in the kitchen, usually off limits for anyone to cook besides Pennyworth and Todd. He knew how to cook, he wouldn't have survived otherwise, besides tahdig was easy, rice, oil, saffron, salt, butter water.
The real challenge would be reaching the shelves.
Daal was a recipe known by heart, in nanda parbat the only time he could refuse meat was during breakfast and lunch when he could make food himself, the same was said for wayne manor. His grandfather had made it known that refusing to eat meat was not allowed, no mercy for the weak. But when he cooked for himself he would make food with no meats or animal fats. His version of daal was as easy to think of as his own name. He climbed the counter quietly to reach the pots and pans that he needed. Making sure to grab all the spices at the same time so he caused the least amount of noise.He had set his rice to soak an hour before so there was little he needed to do for the tahdig. He was making a large amount of daal, so he could freeze it and store it in case he was banned from the kitchen. While Pennyworth had learned how to season food after Richard and Todd had been adopted it was still rather bland, a sentiment shared by both of his fathers oldest adopted sons, timothy prefered bland food.
He quickly set a pot on the stove and lit the flame, placing the rice to start cooking. Grabbing another pan he poured some olive oil in and waited for it to heat. While the pot heated he poured his spices into a small bowl, he didn't need to measure since the recipe was known by heart. He chopped an onion and stopped for a second.
Pennyworth did not have saffron, so turmeric would have to substitute, nor did he stock ginger and garlic paste like the kind Talia had painstakingly shown him how to make when he was younger. Dried ginger and chopped garlic cloves would have to suffice. He poured the onions and dried spices and tomato into the pot to simmer and stired it. It smelled like home already.
He set the lentils to boil, since they had no pressure cooker here. And he got up and pulled the rice off the stove, trying to be quiet as he rinsed it. He got a pan and poured the rice in over the tumeric water and oil and put it to cook again. Damian moved to wash the dishes as quietly as possible.
As much as he missed nanda parbat and his mother he also enjoyed the manor. Here for some reason Richard wanted to spend time with him, he didn't spend all of his day training and leaving him so exhausted he couldn't move and there was no corporal punishment… or being forced to punish others. But still, being a creature of habit change is hard and his father had such different standards than his mother and grandfather.
One of the many standards was family. Here family was not just blood but anyone father claims. Pennyworth is bruce's father in everything but blood, and bruce had adopted so many children legally and emotionally it was hard to remember who was to be counted as a sibling and who isn't. Another standard,punishments here at the manor were never physical, father simply sent Damian to his room, he never whipped him, restricted his food or water, nor any other punishments Damian had come to normalize in the league. At first he had thought his father was simply going easy on him, by the end of the first month he’d observed that drake also never received punishments that would have been normal in the league, Damian had yet to ask what punishments besides isolation to sleeping quarters bruce would employ.
Damian got up and took the rice off to let it cool finally and checked the daal before shutting the heat off. He looked at the rice, he knew it would be perfect tahdig having made it so many times before. He got a bowl out of the cupboard and a spoon, he also grabbed a glass of water. He waited for the tahdig to cool before grabbing a plate and flipping it, perfect golden crust at the top and fluffy rice inside, he cut a serving listening to the satisfying crunch and ladeled some of the finished daal onto the side of the rice sitting down to eat.
Damian stiffened as he heard light even footsteps approaching the kitchen, he hurried to try and hide the food when Pennyworth stepped into the kitchen.
“Ah master Damian,” Pennyworth raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the kitchen almost silently, “oh dear it seems you burnt your rice.”
Damian internally scoffed, how british. “i didn't burn it, its meant to be like that, its tahdig, it's a very common food in other countries.” He relaxed a bit, he didn't give away that this was a bit of home, he made it seem like it was something he simply learned on his journeys, they wouldn't deprive him of it if he could help it.
Pennyworth hummed and turned to him “would you mind if i sampled a bit of it?”
“Go right ahead Pennyworth”
He watched as the older man grabbed a small plate and scooped a small portion of rice. Pennyworth sat across from him. The man carefully ate a small bite and he seemed satisfied.
“How delightful, i was unaware you knew how to cook,” Pennyworth raised an eyebrow “what country is this from?”
Damian knew what to say and how to phrase it. “Tahdig is persian, my mother often cooks recipes that are local to where we are stationed for missions, to blend in, though many varieties of this dish occur throughout the world”
“How lovely, it is very good, and turmeric is such a delightful flavor, if master Bruce and young master Tim weren't so finicky about seasonings i would add much more flavor to our daily meals” Pennyworth sighs. “as i'm sure it is obvious being british many seasonings arent used in our cooking besides salt, garlic and pepper, though im elated to say that once master bruce brought home master dick and master jason they certainly brought an array of new spices to the cupboards of this old manor”
Damian was… surprised to say the least, that grayson and Todd had influenced Pennyworths cooking, Pennyworth started again before Damian could think of a response
“That is to say if you'd like any spices to be added just allow me or tim to add it to the shopping list and you will have it within the week”
Damian hesitated, if he told Pennyworth the worst he could do was ignore Damians request. “... saffron, we have the funds so it shouldn't be a problem, whole threads not the powdered kind”
Pennyworth hummed and responded “well that should be no problem, i'll order some this evening”
Damain hummed in response and drank from his water.
The next day in the evening Pennyworth found Damian in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water. The man handed him a full jar of saffron, almost too big to fit in Damians palm. Damian's eyes almost watered and this throat felt suspiciously closed.
With flowers in his hand he looked at the older man.
“Thank you… Alfred”