Michael loved to cook. With the boys, he'd been cooking far more mushy veggies than he liked, but since they 19 months now, they had teeth. He was starting to actually be able to get solid veggies again, and he loved it. The boys had an amazingly wide palate, and Michael wasn't sure if that was inherited or whether it was because he'd never held back from exposing them to all sorts of things. Sometimes that went well, and sometimes, it led to fits of food throwing, angry tantruming, and, well, spewing.
They were also into every bloody thing that wasn't nailed down, no thanks to Snidely, who was insistent they learn to pickpocket as early as they could scoot and crawl. It was almost scary the precision they were already starting to develop. Michael had been rescuing some of his favorite things, taken out of pockets, drawers, books, hidey holes, and everywhere else they were kept. When he caught Scott with a cigarette lighter, he decided he had to do something different.
He'd actually fashioned them each an elegant little activity box that allowed them to swipe things out of socks, pockets, drawers, little coin purses, wallets, and whatever else he could think of . The boards were each different so he could trade them off. Maddie would have been infuriated that her sons were learning to be burglars from almost day 1. It was the only way to keep his sanity. It had made Robert convulse with laughter. Michael didn't think it was quite so funny. And it certainly wasn't socially acceptable behavior for toddlers. The boards did keep them safe, though, and that was the whole idea. Plus, since he'd created the boards, he had more time to cook the foods he loved again.
Tonight was one of those nights. He needed to make amends to Rookwood for being part of a debacle that had gotten entirely out of hand. He'd sent an owl to Rookwood inviting him for a quiet dinner. The weather was still nice outside, and this evening was lovely--warm, with clear skies glittering with stars. He'd decided they could eat out on the brick patio outside the kitchen door. The flowers were still blooming, and the garden hadn't looked better. Nap time for the boys gave him time to go burn off some frustration of two lightning fast holy terrors by going outside to garden. He preferred some dim lighting in order to enjoy the night sky, so he'd used some tiny enchanted lights in the bushes and a low three wick jar candle on the table. His menu did deserve better than paper plates, after all.
He'd prepared one of his own favorites--a beef wellington with a lovely bearnaise, hasselbeck potatoes with a compound butter of fresh herbs and just a slight touch of garlic and scallion, and some grilled broccolini with lardons and toasted slivered almonds. For dessert, he'd made a zuccotto from scratch. He'd paired it with a 1962 Bellgrave medoc. The bottle was something he'd acquired in hopes of opening it with Maddie for a special occasion. Well, that hadn't happened, so he figured tonight was as good as any for opening the bottle that was now valued at over two thousand pounds. The dessert wine was an equally rare Cremant de Bourgogne. He liked sparkling wines with dessert.
The boys had been fed, bathed, and put into their footed onesies earlier, and now they were busy with their boxes on the floor, with Snidely unable to help himself--he had to be coaching them. The boys were getting sleepy, though. There was a new aperitif recipe Michael had come up with. It was a variation of a ciderhouse punch made with port, spiced cider, orange, and a slight bit of a ginger simple syrup. It was in a small pitcher, with paper thin orange slices floating in it, appropriately chilling in an ice bucket with another ice bucket for putting into the glasses. It was one of his new favorites.
"Snidely, I need to get the boys to bed. Answer the door if our guest comes, and don't scare him shitless, would you? And for Merlin's sake, don't steal anything! Just this once! I'll put set you up a date with the mailbox if you just behave this one time," Michael said, figuring the bribe regarding the mailbox would certainly do the trick, since Snidely had been seeing the mailbox on the sly as it was. He picked up the boys, put them on the sofa, and got their favorite bedtime storybook. It never failed to put them to sleep within just a moment or two. He sat down between them, and they cuddled against him. Their eyes were already heavy, and they were quietly sipping on sippy cups of warm milk, trying hard not to nod off, but he could feel them getting heavy against him. He figured another moment, and they'd be out like a light.
@ Theodore Rookwood
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