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It was a normal day at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Students were in class, learning about the world in the safe bubble of the mansion. The gaps between missions have gotten longer from each other and overall, life has become more peaceful.
And Wolverine has grown more restless.
Without missions or some existential threat, Logan didn’t have much of a purpose. His sole contribution at the school was to the combat-oriented missions as an X-Man.
Scott had vehemently expressed discomfort with having Logan teach any classes, even if it was as low stakes as physical education. He’s dangerous. He doesn’t know how to be around the kids. He doesn’t have the teaching credentials. Logan had scoffed at Scott’s protestations, but ultimately Charles relented that Logan would need to get credentials if he wanted to teach. Something about accreditation. At most, he could be a substitute teacher when either Jean, Charles, Scott, or Ororo were unwell. Even when Logan was tasked with leading combat training, Scott protested whenever Logan veered off from any of the strategies that Scott had. It pissed Logan off enough that he had quit attending combat training altogether.
Feeling othered by the adult X-Men and feeling protective yet out of place among the children, Logan mostly kept to himself. He was fine being alone… but being surrounded by people who were all engaging with one another in ways that he couldn’t was just irritating. Perhaps, deep down he could admit to himself that it was depressing.
He was considering leaving again as he aimlessly stalked the halls of the mansion.
He hears the adults talk in the kitchen and chooses to walk in on their conversation. Each of them has their planners out and must be having some ad hoc faculty meeting over some morning coffee.
“Should we then order in for that day?” Scott asked.
“Logan - good morning,” Ororo greeted pleasantly. In the background, Scott seems visibly annoyed by Logan’s intrusion, as if he didn’t need Jean and Ororo to be distracted from the planning at hand.
Noticing Scott’s irritation only encouraged Logan to take up a bit more space in the public area. It was fun getting the boy scout riled up. “Mornin’… What’s up?”
“We are just planning out the meals for the week. It’s been challenging though with trying to grade midterms and with some of the field trips we have planned. We were thinking about catering food,” Jean elaborated.
In the few months he’s taken up residency in the mansion, Logan has had some time to observe how the school was run. It was increasingly clear to him how much was put on the faculty to manage not just the teaching plans but also cover necessities like cooking, cleaning, and planning recreational activities. For the past month, he has essentially been freeloading off of the good graces of the Professor. And to some extent, the rest of the faculty. With his mobile home destroyed, no job, and no family to speak of, it wasn’t like there was any place for him to go back to. Charles also didn’t insist on Logan’s departure. It was the opposite - the professor was quite keen on keeping Logan nearby for some reason that Logan couldn’t quite understand.
It must have been exhausting to run the school. And then on top of that, be an X-Man.
Logan’s life before the X-Men were so empty in comparison. He spent most of his days alone in the quiet, rarely with any company. No purpose. No responsibilities or obligations holding him down. Occasionally he would enter in a rowdy fight but it was out of his own volition and partially out of boredom.
The fact that he’s been self-reliant and now suddenly dependent at the school weighed enough on Logan. Enough for him to make the following statement:
“I can cook for that day if you need me to.”
Jean brightened. “That’d be a huge help.”
Scott on the other hand had to be convinced. “Can you even cook?”
“Scott!”
“Seriously - it’s not like we’ve seen him cook. What if he poisons the kids?”
“By that logic, we shouldn’t have you cook. I’m surprised that you haven’t poisoned the kids,” Logan said with a smirk. Scott immediately gets up hand ready at his glasses to blast that smug look off of Logan’s face.
Jean’s mouth is agape, eyes wide in shock at the threat of a fight but also with a strange eagerness to see where this goes. Ororo on the other hand immediately goes to lower Scott’s arm. “Let’s calm down.”
Scott brushes off Ororo and sits down. His glare is enough to burn holes at Logan, even without his powers. Logan can hear Jean’s heart racing - excited by the infighting even if she would deny it upon confrontation. That only encourages him more.
Ororo sighs audibly for everyone to hear. “That’d be a huge help, Logan,” She repeated as if trying to turn back time. “What did you have in mind?”
Logan scratched his chin. He thinks about all of the food that he’s had at the X-Mansion. It was all pretty standard American fare. Hamburgers. Mac n’ cheese. Hot dogs. Spaghetti and meatballs. Salads. Fruit cups. “Honestly, I’ll just make what we made last week. It’s not hard to make mac n’ cheese or pasta. Especially if Slim can do it. Could probably just put something on the grill. ”
It’s Scott’s turn to scoff.
“That sounds great.” Ororo looks at both Scott and Logan silently ordering them to obey. She then writes it into the planner. “Actually, Logan, if you’d be interested in helping, could you pick up groceries later this week?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a mutant-ran grocer in town. They have a pretty diverse array of produce and can usually get more specific items on order upon request. Though since they’re a smaller business, we sometimes will go further out to a big box store to get more processed things for the pickier kids,” Ororo explains.
“Sounds great. Just give me the address.”
—
Later that week, Logan takes the keys to Scott’s car into town. It’s funny to Logan when he takes one of Scott’s car’s from the estate’s garage. On one hand, Scott is clearly irritated when his things are taken. On the other hand, Scott can never be too mad because he feels guilty that Logan doesn’t have a car. It’s even funnier to Logan that Scott assumes that Logan doesn’t have the means to buy his vehicle. Logan has actually done enough contract work, wet jobs, and cage fights in his 15 years since his escape from the Weapon X facility. He could cover much more than the cost of a car. He just chose not to spend the money, really. Nor did he want to advertise that he had any.
One of these days, he considered just getting a bike with a custom body work, rims, and a paint job, rolling in without so much as an announcement, just to see the look on Scott’s face. It made Logan chuckle just to think about it.
He adjusts the mirrors and the seat and then rolls out into the driveway. The address Ororo provides is a bit of a ways, but he can understand the need to support a mutant business over the convenience. It gave him time to think.
Now that Logan was actually going out to get groceries, he started trying to recall the last time he actually cooked. But the more he tried to remember, the more he realized that at least for the past 15 years, he hasn’t really cooked for himself. He ate raw meat when he was learning to fend for himself right out of the Weapon X facility. Then when he started entering society again, he would just scrounge enough money to feed himself on dive bar food. Scott might have been right to assume that he wouldn’t know how to cook. But when he thought about preparing a meal, he could think about all of the steps. Getting the protein and cleaning it. How to clean different types of protein. Lists of vegetables and what seasonings would go with what… types of dishes and their names. Some didn’t even sound like they were in the English language. The thoughts would just trickle in. But there was no context. How did he know all of this? Who taught him? Who did he eat these meals with? What occasions?
He swallowed a bitter feeling down, gripping the wheel as he continued to drive.
—-
Logan pulled into the grocer’s parking lot. The place was pretty unassuming but already smelled promising to the mutant’s enhanced senses. Unlike most chain grocery stores that tried to sanitize the smell of raw meats and ripening produce, here all of the food smelled natural. A portly Asian woman with a perm and rubber gloves peers at Logan curiously. When he returned her gaze, she called out for her son in Korean. “정원씨 선님이 있는데, 쫌 도와줘.”
He could hear the son’s footsteps descending. She smiled awkwardly, staring, and Logan’s body instinctively bent in a short bow in front of this elderly asian woman. Before he can really process what he’s doing, he muttered, “안영하세요.“
”오호! 한곡어를 알아들일수 있어요?” The woman got excited realizing that Logan could speak Korean. Logan wasn’t sure if he was startled by the woman or startled by the fact that he just knew to spoke Korean when he had no memories of ever learning the language… “어떡해 한국어를 알게습니까?“
She was asking how Logan knew Korean. How was he supposed to answer that? He opened his mouth and again the words just flowed out: “저는 군대에…서는 좀 배웠어요” He explained that he had learned when he was a soldier. Both the old woman and Logan seemed satisfied with the answer. It would fit, for the old woman since Logan did look like ex-military. It would fit Logan’s own expectations, given that Logan had combat experience and had at least vague nightmares of wars under military service. He might have been stationed there, if he were a soldier before he lost his memories. Something he could look into in the future.
“아! 혹씨 이태원에서 살으실님까?“
Logan paused. She had asked if Logan had lived in Itaewon…? Did he? Before he could respond, her son makes it down to greet Logan. “Hello! I’m sorry for the wait - how can I help you?”
“정원아! 그백인이 한국어를 아주 짤 말할수있다!” The mom was still excited about this new Korean speaker that randomly entered her little shop. She must not be able to talk to many other people who spoke her language. She didn’t seem like she spoke English.
Logan interupted, trying to steer the conversation back. “I’m a new guy at Xavier’s, picking up groceries.”
“Ah, gotcha! I did get a call from Ororo. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Jeongwon. This is my mom, Kyung-ju.”
“I’m Logan. I’m a…” he paused. He wasn’t really a teacher. Nor was he really a student. “… new staff at Xavier’s.”
“Cool!” Jeongwon nodded, seemingly fine with that explanation. “Well, let me know if you need anything. And don’t mind my mom. She’s really nosy, but she means well.” Jeongwon seemed to have detected Logan’s discomfort and perhaps that’s why he didn’t pry about how Logan, some white guy with blue eyes, could speak Korean out of nowhere. Jeongwon headed back and occupies his mom’s attention by asking her a few questions.
Silently thankful for being left alone, Logan looked around. There are standard groceries like onions, potatoes, bell peppers, meat, etc. Logan’s eyes were drawn to the smaller produce section that had surprised him. Perilla leaves. Napa cabbage. Daikon radish. Miso. It all smelled and looked familiar. He gives the produce a sniff. There’s something about the aroma that felt familiar. He had no recollection, yet something in his subconscious was drawn to it. Maybe if he made something with this and followed his instincts, he’d find another clue to his memories.
He bagged some of the ingredients that felt familiar and again let his instincts guide him.
—
By the time Logan was unloading the groceries, fifth period was starting. There was still plenty of time for him to get ready for dinner. Now, what to actually make. After he put away all of the perishables, he had a few of the ingredients laid out on the countertop. He hoped that he’s not actually in over his head, having midway changed the recipe for a meal he’ll have to cook for an entire school.
He looked up at the clock. If he started now, he can at least try to make something and if it didn’t taste any good, he could just throw in some pasta in spaghetti sauce and just leave it at that.
Logan doesn’t really know what to expect, but he starts with what feels right. The rice needs to be washed. Logan sniffed around the cabinets and finds a large pot to dump the rice in. He ran the water through it, rubbed the water a bit to draw out the starch into the ever-increasing cloudy water, and then carefully draws the water without spilling the rice. As he does this, he imagined how he would have learned how to do this.
Itaewon. It was a district in the capitol of Korea near the Yongsan Garrison. The area serviced American soldiers that would be stationed there. But that’s not right. Logan’s Canadian, wasn’t he? Or did he just appear in Canada and really was American. Damn, this was making his head hurt… Itaewon was just a thought brought up by that old woman at the grocer. There are plenty of places in the world that make rice, just like this.
Logan thought about what to do now that the rice is steaming in the pot. Scott would probably complain about giving the kids enough veggies. Logan looks back in the fridge. There were some green beans that were normally just steamed and served, but because they were so unpopular, it was hard to go through them without them growing moldy in the bag. These were still good, so he picked them up. He also picked up the burdock root from the store and a carrot from the crisper.
Logan looked at the selection of knives. Again, his accessible, recent memories never had him pick up kitchen knives. If he needed to skin an animal, he would just use one of his claws. He pulled out each knife curiously and then put them back. He tried not to think too hard and decides to just stick to the big chef knife. It’ll do.
He took the knife and used its side to crush the garlic. He peeled the skins and then goes about mincing the garlic. The garlic was overpowering, especially to his sensitive nose, but it wasn’t so unbearable. He lifted the cutting board and swiped the garlic into a bowl. He goes on to julienne the burdock root and carrots. It would make sense that Logan would know his way around a knife. It felt comfortable in his hand. His cuts were even and precise.
The burdock root seemed stiff so he placed them in some water. Seeing soak in the water looked right, for some reason.
He added oil to a deep frying pan and let it heat up. It’s so easy with a stove. Not like how it was before. Before? Logan pauses.
His age is impossible to determine. He could very well be older than you, Professor.
… did Logan not always use a stove to cook? He recalled when he barely left the Weapon X facility and was practically just an animal. When he was cold, his hands, similarly to what they were doing now, would just move as he needed them to. In the freezing Canadian wilderness, he would just know to collect dry sticks. He would just know to find shelter. He would just know to create a fire.
It wasn’t until he saw the kids at the institute during a camping trip that he realized it wasn’t just a skill everyone knew. The students - hell even the teachers - were impressed by how quickly Logan would just set up a fire with next to no equipment. It made Logan feel a little sick, knowing that he had assumed yet again that he was just like everyone else. But really, he was different, even within this group of misfits.
The oil felt hot enough. Logan threw in green beans and watched them blister. Not too long. He took a sieve to take the green beans out and put them atop a paper towel to cool. With the oil still hot, he threw in the garlic. It smelt fantastic. The sound felt familiar too. Logan tried to really dig deep and think about what this reminded him of.
Late nights. Already drunk and starving for food. Along alleyways would be small food carts that would smell like this. The crisp night air and the steam from the warm food.
He put the fried garlic with the green beans in a bowl and added some salt, red pepper flakes, and pepper. He tasted it and thought again about those late nights in Lowtown of Mandripoor. It could use some more salt though.
Moving along, he pulled out the burdock from the water and tried to drain out the water with a cheesecloth. Once he felt like there wasn’t too much water that would splatter in the oil, he put it in with the julienned carrots. It’d be easier to do this with a wok and with some long chopsticks than with this wooden spoon, he thought. Maybe Logan wasted his time looking around for his past in Canada. Maybe he should really go to Korea, Mandripoor, China, or maybe Japan…
Logan added the sesame oil, mirin, soy sauce, and red pepper flakes that he had picked up while at the grocer. Added the top to let it braise. All of those seasonings smelled right.
Now that he had the vegetables going, he moved onto the meat. He bought chicken since he figured that the kids probably aren’t that adventurous with their food. Honestly, it might be selfish of him to have done this much. Something approachable for kids in Westchester, New York would be teriyaki chicken.
He pulled out the chicken and cuts it up into bite-size pieces. He washed his hands before he prepared a marinade with soy sauce, freshly grated ginger, remaining minced garlic, honey, and mirin. He considered putting sake in it, but felt like even if it would burn off that someone would complain. He’ll just drink it later.
He put the chicken aside, tending to the burdock roots which have softened considerably. He took a bite and it tasted right. The flavor isn’t too much, but for Logan’s heightened senses, it’s what he liked about it. It’s hard for him to tolerate things that were overpowering in any flavor. But this was just subtle but flavorful enough to go well with the rice that’s in the pot.
He packaged the burdock root and the now cooler green beans in separate large containers, ready to serve once it drew closer to dinner time.
He looked at the clock. He could still fit in one side if he wanted to. He rummaged around for a pot and was satisfied to find one that wasn’t too big. Again, despite how much he seemed to enjoy this food, he found himself struggling to imagine the student body being so willing to try something new. He didn’t want to make too much. So he boils some water, tosses some kombu, and waits for the water to smell right.
The dashi has a faint aroma of the sea. When he had seen it in the market, he had taken it without thinking, but having opened the packaging and smelling it as the flavors were imbuing itself into the water, Logan couldn’t help but feel like he had known this smell but hadn’t come across it in a long time. The smell of the ocean. Fukuyama, in Hiroshima. The sound of cicadas. A vision of a woman’s back, with thick black hair carefully twisted back in a bun, in a kimono patterned with red spider lilies. Humming as she cooked on stoneware. Face just slightly out of view.
Logan only blinked out of his daydream when he realized that the kombu was starting to burn a little. He pulled it out, added some katsubushi, and then moved on to get some tofu. He drained it, diced it quickly, and set it aside. He also quickly cuts some scallions. Logan pulled out the miso and placed it directly in the pot, stirring it so that the paste could melt into the water. He didn’t mind if chunks of beans ended up in the soup. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. He took a sip for taste. It was warm and that warmth felt like it could spread from his chest to his metal bones. He throws in the tofu and scallions and then figures he could keep it at a very low simmer.
He could still give the chicken some time, so Logan washes the dishes and starts putting things away. He could hear the students all clamoring as the fifth period ended and them running around the halls to get to their next classes.
Since Logan had some time before he had to finish dinner, he walked out into the lawn. He lit a cigar, knowing that the faculty and student body were occupied. And he sat there, brooding in his thoughts and fractured memories.
—
The kids were all really happy with the meal. Rogue later filled him in on the rumors about what the Wolverine would cook. Some students bet that it’d just be rare steak. Another student said that they would just throw some beef jerky on the table. They were surprised but not disappointed. Most of them did just throw on some teriyaki chicken and rice. But Logan was surprised when the students did seem to at least try everything else.
The staff were also quite pleasantly surprised. They attempted to make small talk about how Logan knew how to make Asian food, but when Logan responded vaguely, they all knew to not push too hard on the questions.
Perhaps in a week or so, he’d make preparations to leave. He wasn’t needed at the Institute. And it seemed like he had an out-of-the-blue lead from this surprising foray into cooking. He could spend a few months in Asia and see where things would go.
One particular student went up to Logan after the meal. He could sense how nervous she was as she inched closer, rubbing her hands, and biting her lower lip. “Somethin’ I can do for ya, kid?”
She opened her mouth and spoke quietly. “... thank you for the meal. I haven’t had food like that since I moved here. I really missed it. I-I didn’t realize how much I needed it. So thank you.”
“No worries, kid.”
She looked up at Logan, gathering some courage to make eye contact. “... Hisako. My name is Hisako.”
“No worries, Hisako.”
“Will you be making dinner again sometime?”
Logan glanced over at Scott, who nodded. “I’d be great if you could do this again for us sometime.”
“... yeah, sure,” Logan shrugged. He was a bit uncomfortable, but at the same time, he could understand what Hisako had meant. Even if she didn’t have the memories that she had.
Hisako smiled. “Cool. Alright, well I’ll see you around then, Mr. Logan. Thanks again for the meal.”