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“It definitely has to be flour next,”
“No,”
“But that’s what-”
“No,”
“Then what does go in next?”
“Eggs,”
“Eggs?”
“Eggs,”
“But…”
“Will you be quiet? I’m concentrating.”
The Spine watched as Hatchworth threw an egg into the mixing bowl, not bothering to crack it first. Still, he kept quiet. The recipe in front of them was telling him that what they were doing was all wrong…but Hatchworth was part oven. He must have some idea of how to bake.
The two of them were wearing aprons over their clothes – The Spine didn’t want his ruined. Hatchworth’s was a plain white one with ‘Kiss the Cook’ printed on the front, whereas The Spine had to deal with a more…pink and frilly number. God only knew why they had these in the mansion anyway. It was probably Rabbit’s fault.
“Should we mix it now?” He asked, and Hatchworth nodded, picking up a whisk.
He began mixing the batter with gusto, sending sugar and butter and eggs flying around the kitchen. Still, he kept quiet…even when some of it landed on his face. The Spine wiped it off discreetly.
He wanted desperately to ask him if he was sure he knew what he was doing…but he just seemed really happy, and The Spine didn’t want to ruin that.
“Now is it time for the flour?” The Spine asked, glancing at the recipe once again.
“Yes,” Hatchworth picked up the bag of flour, bypassed the scales entirely, and emptied it into the mixing bowl. The Spine frowned. Still, he kept quiet.
More mixing ensued, and the batter soon turned into a thick, unappetizing paste. Hatchworth was even beginning to have trouble mixing it.
“Are you sure we did this right?” The Spine asked, sure to make it seem like a joint mistake, rather than Hatchworth’s own. That would just be mean.
“Almost positive,” Hatchworth replied with a nod. The Spine nodded too, slowly, unsure.
Almost?
Still, he kept quiet.
The cakes were loaded into the oven – no casing for the cakes needed…apparently – and then the timer was set. For forty minutes.
“The recipe said around fifteen would do it,” The Spine tries, urging Hatchworth silently to not burn the mansion down.
“We used more flour. We need more time.” Hatchworth shrugged and started cleaning up after them. At least he wasn’t hopeless at that.
“Wait, more flour? But if you knew we were putting in too much flour, why did we do that?” The Spine asked.
“Flowers are nice, so flour must be the best part of the cake,” Hatchworth explained as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
At around the twenty-minute mark, the fire alarm went off.
“Again?” Hatchworth sighed, heading over to the oven and pulling it open, smoke billowing in his face.
“Again?” The Spine asked, incredulous.
“Yes, this happened when I made cakes before, too. I don’t understand what I did wrong.”
“Really?” The Spine was going to unleash some harsh truths. Tell him, ‘Hey Hatchy. Your cakes always burn because you’re baking them wrong. You don’t follow the recipe, which is the most important part. All of the food you make is going to taste awful because you aren’t. Doing. It. Right.’
But what came out was:
“It’s probably just the oven.”
“Do you think so? I thought that too,” he took out the burnt cakes and then kicked the oven. “Piece of junk.”
“You got that right!” The Spine added, knocking the oven himself gently. He didn’t want to damage a perfectly good oven.
The Spine smiled, placing a hand on Hatchworth’s shoulder.
“We’ll get it right next time.”
“Yes,” Hatchworth smile, copper moustache brushing his cheeks, “I believe we will.”