Horatio and Archie’s Kitchen Attempt

By Emma

Author’s note: This was written from the prompt challenge, "Write a story that is 'Horatio and Archie's kitchen adventure." Dr. Sebastian is used with permission.

 

“Well, Archie,” said Horatio as they stood on the quarterdeck of the Indy, “Today is the captain’s birthday.”

“A special day indeed,” agreed his friend.

“I think we should do something for him to express our undying appreciation and gratitude for everything he has done for this ship and its men.  What do you think?”

“Sounds excellent.  But what exactly did you have in mind, Horatio?”  For a man whose mind usually functioned on reason and logic, Archie knew that Horatio could still come up with real doozies of ideas sometimes. 

“I think we should surprise him with a meal,” said Horatio with conviction.

Archie’s heart sank.  “A meal?”

“Yes,” said Horatio, warming to the subject, “a meal.  We could make a soup, a main, and a special dessert.  He’ll love it!” he enthused.

He might, thought Archie glumly, but I don’t.  “If you think so, Horatio…”

“It’ll be awesome!” burbled Horatio.  “Let’s go!”

**************************************************

“Right then, Mr. Brainy, how do we get him out of the way?”

“I’m working on that.”

Horatio and Archie crouched outside the doorway to the galley, watching the lean and pugnacious steward of the Indy stump about.

“We have to think of how we can keep him out of the galley until after dinner,” muttered Horatio.  “Hmmm…”

Then he got an idea.  While the steward’s back was turned, he walked though the doorway towards him.  Archie winced and flattened himself on the other side of the door.

“Ah, hello, Mr. Simms,” Horatio said briskly.  “How are you this morning?”

“Fine enough, Sir,” said the steward grudgingly. 

“Excellent!  Unfortunately, I have some news for you.”

The steward looked at him suspiciously.

“Captain Pellew has asked me to inform you that he wishes you to spend the day inventorying our ration supply.”

“But I just did!” the steward protested.  “Last week!”

“Of course you did, apparently there are some weevils that were unaccounted for last time.  You are to do it again, but count more thoroughly this time.”

“As if I don’t have enough to do around here!  All these men to feed, Himself bein’ so persnickety about ‘is food…”

The steward grabbed his inventory supplies and stormed out, not noticing Archie cowering behind the door.

“Are you sure about this, Horatio?” he asked querulously as he peeked around the doorframe.  His friend was already tying on an apron while looking about him with interest.

“’Course I am, Archie!  Aren’t you?”

“Ye-e-ess…” said Archie slowly, “I think so.”  Of course I’m not, but what else can I do?

By now, Horatio was opening barrels and peering inside them.  “Ooo, look, Archie!  Mixed peel!  We can make a cake of some kind!  Are there any caraway seeds in here?”

Archie heard more scraping while he had his back turned, looking for another apron, then heard a “Who-oo-aa..!” followed by a BOOF! 

He turned quickly to find Horatio crumbled disgruntledly on the ground beside an overturned stool with half a sack of flour emptied over his head.  Archie snorted despite himself.

“Damn, Horatio, isn’t it awful how cooking can age you?” he giggled.

“Stuff it,” said his friend belligerently, flour poofing off his face as he spoke.  “Make yourself useful and see what else we have down here.”

Twenty minutes later, they had assembled the ingredients for a cake, as well as Yorkshire puddings, a pot roast, and gazpacho – Archie’s idea.

“Gaz-what?” demanded Horatio.

“Gazpacho.  It’s a sort of tomato soup served chilled,” explained Archie eagerly.  “I remember Don Massaredo mentioning it while I was in prison.   It’s quite good—or so I’ve heard.”

“All right, Archie,” said Horatio indulgently, “We’ll try it.  Let’s get started.”

“Shall we start the oven first?”

“I believe that would be the best idea, Archie.”

Archie retreated to the woodpile by the door, then took an armful and loaded it into the oven.  He frowned at it for a bit, then took a large bottle of brandy that was on a nearby shelf and dumped over the wood.

“Doing all right, Archie?”

“Of course.  Nothing to it!”

Horatio heard him happily humming “Heart of Oak” as he fumbled with the matches, and smiled.  He knew Archie would get into the swing of things once he started, even if he didn’t like the idea at fir—

WHOOMPH!!!

Up in his cabin, Pellew didn’t even look up from his Sunday copy of the Times when he heard the muffled boom.  “Hmm,” he muttered absently as he sipped his Kahlua-laced coffee.  “Mr. Kennedy’s Gunnery practice.  Excellent.  Good lad.  Must get him a promotion one of these days.”

Down in the galley, Horatio had toppled over with the impact of the blast, and on standing up again turned quickly to see Archie sitting with a scorched and soot-blackened face in front of a proper, merrily burning fire in the stove, blinking dazedly.  Horatio put his fists on his hips, arms akimbo.

“Archie, for heaven’s sake, stop fooling about!  We have work to do!  And be careful around that stove; as a gunnery officer you know more than anyone how dangerous it is to play with fire.”

He turned back to his prepping, and Archie got up, muttering darkly.  If thou more murmur’st, I will rend a mainmast / And peg thee in his knotty entrails till…

Soon the two were mixing busily, a copy of Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy propped up against a canister of sugar.  Archie prepped the roast and gazpacho, and Horatio worked on the Yorkshire puddings.

“Two cups flour…”, he muttered as he peered at the small print, then picked up a measuring cup and promptly dusted a cup of it out of his now powdered dark curls.  Behind him, Archie loaded the pot roast into the oven and the gazpacho into a cool ceramic jar, then after washing his hands set to looking for a good cake recipe. 

“How about this one, Horatio?” he asked.  “ ‘A fine seed or saffron cake.’”

“Hmmm?” Horatio looked over distractedly.  He might have stirred the pudding batter too much…

“A seed cake,” repeated Archie patiently.  “And we could ice it?  For his birthday…?”

“Yes, yes, Archie, of course,” said Horatio absently.  Maybe he could still save the puddings…

“Goody!”  Archie quickly took a bowl and started dumping flour, butter, and sugar into it.

Soon Horatio had his precious puddings in the oven with the roast, then he turned to Archie, who was now happily covered in cake batter and was garnering more as he stirred the mix with much more happy vigour than was necessary, his sweet face beaming with pleasure.  Horatio grinned.

“I’ll be right back, Archie—I’m just going to check and see if we have birthday candles about the place somewhere.  Try not to make too much of a mess while I’m gone!”

“All right!”

When Horatio returned, Archie was filling a tub with water and beginning on doing some dishes.

“Well,” said Horatio reflectively, “I couldn’t find any proper birthday candles, but I borrowed this off of Dr. Sebastian.  D’you think it’ll do?”

He held up a large, fat pillar candle painted with an image of the Virgin Mary holding a baby Jesus.  Archie surveyed it critically.

“It’ll do.  It’s still birthday-themed, anyway.”

Horatio nodded triumphantly and set it aside.  “Now, let’s get a handle on these dishes, shall we?”  he looked around him at the floury, batter-y galley.  “We want Mr. Simms to come back suspecting nothing.”

***************************************************

An hour later, Horatio and Archie were sitting in the galley playing Old Maid and waiting for the food to finish.

“D’you think it’ll be done in time?” asked Archie.

“Of course,” said Horatio positively, waving a dismissive hand.  “Everything’s always done on time and at the same time.”

They played for a bit longer, then something that had been bothering Archie at the back of his mind finally got too much.

“Horatio—what’s that smell?”

They paused, sniffing.

“Something’s burning, I think,” said Horatio ponderously. 

“Burning?” demanded Archie.  They stared at each other, then made a collective dash for the stove.  They opened the door, and a billow of smoke hit them in the face.  Coughing, Archie retrieved the hot mitts and pulled out a pan of what looked like a blackened mooge of volcano lava, and Horatio managed to rescue the puddings and roast in time; although they did look a bit brown.

“What the bloody hell?!” demanded Archie as  he looked at the mess in his hands.

“Is that the cake?” asked Horatio incredulously.

“Yes!” said Archie indignantly.  “Look, you can’t even see the pink frosting I put on it!  And after all that work too!”

Horatio stared at his friend as if he’d just declared he’d seen little green men from outer space.  “Wait—you frosted it?  Before you baked it?”

“Yes.”

Horatio made a swipe at his friend’s head with a rolling pin.  “Archie!!  You frost a cake AFTER you bake it, not before, you dimwit!”

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea!” his friend retorted.  “Maybe you can do better, Mr. Brainypants!”

“Perhaps I shall!  We can’t use this cake, certain sure.”

“Ha!”

“Well, I suppose we’d better get rid of it.  Dump it overboard, Archie.  NO, Archie, it’s not a sailor we scraped off the deck, put that Prayer Book back!”

********************************************************

“Well, that worked out well,” said Archie bitingly as he and Horatio observed the poor mockery of a cake before them.

“Maybe I missed something…” mused Horatio.

The cake was slightly underdone-looking, and there was a certain unevenness to its top that indicated a missing ingredient.  As for the frosting—there was decidedly too much of it, and it had been put on too soon after the cake had come out so was pooling on the plate in a mass of pink.

“Yes, I would think so, Horatio.”

“Oh, well.  Well, what happens if we put the candle…on…”  Horatio did so as he spoke, firmly pushing the pillar into the sloppy icing right in the middle of the cake.  It teetered and sunk down on one side, like the leaning tower of Pisa.  He frowned.

“Damn, that looks like crap,” said Archie.

“But it’s something, anyway!” protested Horatio, not yet willing to admit defeat, as usual.  “At least the candle gives it a nice touch!”

“Oh, whoopee-doo-oo,” said Archie sardonically, rolling his eyes and waving a finger in a circle. 

“I’m sure the captain’ll love it,” said Horatio firmly.  “Now, let’s clean up once and for all.”

They finished just in time—the four bells signalling the end of the first dog watch sounded above them, and it was high time for the Captain’s dinner.  Archie dished the gazpacho and Horatio carved the roast, and leaving the galley behind managed to sneak the meal into Pellew’s cabin while the Captain was roving the fo’c’sle.  They sent word that his meal was ready, and Pellew was soon sitting down to dinner.  He made his way hungrily through the cold soup, then mooned over the roast and side dishes; then just as he was about to call for the last course there was a shout of

“SURPRISE!!”

Pellew started, as Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Kennedy burst in, covered in flour and Lord knew what and wearing soiled aprons.

“Gentlemen, what is the meaning of this commotion?!” the Captain demanded.

“Happy Birthday, Sir!” beamed Hornblower, placing a pink mound in front of him.  Pellew stared.

“Is… is… is this a birthday cake?” he asked, taking a wild stab in the dark.  Honestly he had no idea what it was.

“YESSS!!” cheered his two junior officers.

“Did you make it yourselves?”

“YESSS!”

Pellew blinked rapidly.  “Gentlemen, I—I am touched.  I am surprised anyone even remembered.”

“How could anyone forget, Sir?” asked Archie, winking at Horatio.

Pellew beamed at the rapidly melting Virgin and Son, then blew it out.  “It looks lovely!  I insist you join me!”

Instantly Horatio and Archie started backing towards the door.  “No, no thank you, Sir.  You’re most kind, but we have a mess to tidy.”

“Very well.  Thank you, gentlemen—I shall never forget it!”

*********************************************************

“No, he most certainly won’t,” agreed Archie.  “I keep telling you, Horatio, you have these ideas that start well but they never work out.  Give it up.”

“Maybe I should,” sighed Horatio as the two of them looked out over the ship from the shrouds where they were tied.  “When did Mr. Bracegirdle say he would be getting out of Sick Berth?”

“Next week, if the salmonella clears up properly.”

“I just don’t see where we went wrong,” mourned Horatio.

I can, thought Archie.  Right from the start.  I told you so…