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The first time Isak actually put effort into cooking something was for Even. Before then, he cooked to survive. Instant noodles, oatmeal, basically anything that only required hot water was the extent of his skill set. He was a feral cat who scrounged whatever he could to survive. Despite Eskild’s goading, Isak was fine with this situation.
Until Even.
When Even came crashing into Isak’s life, Isak found himself wanting to be domesticated - to be a house cat. The sheer relief he felt when he found Even at Nissen that terrifying night triggered this new feeling – Isak wanted to comfort this person whose needs became paramount to his own. And while he could wrap Even in duvets and blankets, give him Isak’s favorite pillow and snuggle tight next to him, eventually they would have to eat something.
As Even lay deep asleep while Isak watched over him, he cast back for happy memories of meals from his life. Not surprisingly, the most recent ones were with Even – cheese toasties with too many spices, scrambled eggs with sour cream mixed in, mini burgers and champagne. Isak listened to Even’s deep breaths and let himself think further back, something he tried not to do too often. Before his Dad and Lea each left and his Mamma grew more agitated, there were good times. Summer picnics in the park, birthday parties, a trip to Amsterdam when he was seven and ate his body weight in crepes. Isak didn’t feel capable of figuring out crepes, but he smiled remembering his Mamma making French Toast.
There was no rhyme or reason to when this special treat would occur, but waking up to the scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and maple syrup always filled Isak with joy. He closed his eyes now, trying to recall how Marianne made French Toast. The bread, obviously, but there were eggs and butter and the spices. Did she add fruit? Sometimes, yes. Berries in Summer, sauteed apples and pears in the colder months. Isak wasn’t sure he was brave enough to try more than the basic recipe. And, as much as he knew Eskild, or even Linn, would make this for Even if he asked, Isak wanted to do this on his own. For this to be a gift that he made for Even with his own hands.
Sitting up in bed, with one hand on Even’s back, Isak scrolled IG for recipes. It didn’t look too difficult. His favorite was by a user based in France who called it Pain Perdu, which he translated as Lost Bread because people took their stale bread and made it into something not only usable, but delicious. Isak liked that idea. He wanted to take this situation where Even felt like a burden into one where he felt cared for, loved.
Isak write Even a note and left it on the unused pillow. Went shopping, back soon – I. He checked that they had the right kind of pan and bowls, then slipped out to the REMA 1000. He closely examined all of the bread options before choosing sliced brioche, bought eggs, milk, butter, vanilla, cinnamon, and maple syrup. Should he think ahead and shop for other meals? He decided to also throw cheese for toasties and a few apples into his basket. He didn’t want to be away too long, so opted to wait to get any more groceries. Luckily, his monthly allowance from his Dad came through recently, so Isak wasn’t stressed about money.
Returning, he quietly opened the door and listened for any movement in the kollektiv. Not a sound. Exhaling, Isak took off his coat and shoes and dropped his bags onto the kitchen counter. He tiptoed to his ajar door and peeped inside. Even was just how he had left him, curled on his side under the covers.
Isak proceeded to get out the large bowl, frying pan, whisk and spatula. He put his headphones in to follow along with the recipe, pausing when the instructions went too fast. He cracked four eggs into the bowl, fishing out bits of shell when they found their way in. Next, he added a splash of milk, a capful of vanilla, cinnamon and stole a pinch of cardamom Linn had on her shelf. The smell took him back to his family kitchen. He felt as if he could turn his head and his Mamma would be at the stove, humming as she often did while cooking. A rush of happiness warmed him through and through, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in too long.
Whisking the mixture was harder than it looked in the video, but Isak took his time and it eventually looked like it should. All this measuring and stirring reminded him of chemistry lab. After turning on the burner under the frying pan, he watched the bread to egg mixture to pan process several times on repeat to make sure he knew the steps. This was the crucial part – if he left the bread in too long, it would be soggy and inedible. He added a pat of butter to the hot pan, then dropped the first slice of bread into the custard. After a few seconds, he flipped the bread, counted a few more seconds, then placed it into the pan. It made a satisfying sizzle. He sighed in contentment.
He turned the French Toast after a few minutes to see it had caramelized into a glossy brown. Working in batches, Isak finished four decent pieces. Not too bad. He put the dirty dishes into the sink and went into his room. Even had rolled onto his back, his hair flopping over his forehead, chapped lips slightly parted. Isak sighed, his belly fluttering. With everything Even was experiencing, he was still so beautiful.
Kneeling on the edge of the bed, Isak brushed a kiss over Even’s forehead. He whispered, “Even…time to eat. I made French Toast for you.”
Even’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, as if trying to focus on Isak’s face. After a long moment, Even yawned, his long arms stretching above his head. Isak hoped they wouldn’t have a repeat of their previous conversation where he had to convince Even that he wasn’t going to leave him. That had been heartbreaking.
Instead, Even looked at Isak with clear eyes. “French Toast?”
“Mmhmm.”
“That you cooked?” Even’s eyebrows rose up high.
“Yep”
An eternity seemed to pass, Isak smiling softly and stroking Even’s hair back from his forehead while Even reacclimated to being awake.
Finally, Even smiled. “That’s my favorite.”
Isak returned the smile. “Good. Come and eat.”