2019-09-01 - Profiteroles in the Park

It is a bright and beautiful Sunday afternoon; warm rather than sweltering, the sky a bright blue with fluffy little clouds scudding here and there across it. People are enjoying the open space in pairs and groups, walking or picnic-ing or sitting in the shade talking - and then there is Corey.

Rather than sitting with friends or whatever, he's meandering from group to group with a large plastic food container in hand, inviting people to sample and give feedback on whatever is inside it. Should one be in a position to look, it appears he's got a couple dozen little profiteroles in there, with chocolate dabbed on top, and a tiny piece of mango stuck to each one.

Ignacio is in the park because it's somehow... sort of quieter. For as boisterous and loud and boisterous as the showman is? He's here, in the park, with his notebook, old school means and writing in it, back up to a tree and sneakers in the grass. Who writes in books anymore? Hippies, Spaniards, and the middle of that Venn diagram: Ignacio deSantos. Hearing footsteps coming towards him the author stops and looks up curious.

Moving on to his next vic-.. er, target, Corey does indeed approach Ignacio. He even drops to a crouch next to the Spaniard, offering a cheerful smile. "Hey, man. Do me a favour and try one of these, would you? I'm experimenting with a new flavour combo and I'm looking for feedback. It doesn't contain peanuts, soy or sesame seeds; if you're allergic to anything else, let me know first, yeah?"

Ignacio pauses and looks up eyebrow arching. The look isn't wary but curious as hell. Sure, find the guy that technically cooks for a living or, well, ran away from it to foist food upon. "Shit, yeah totally." He should ask really what it is first but one of those bites is pretty much in his mouth before he considers it. "Happy to help. This personal or work related or student, oooor?" He pauses realizing he's throwing eight questions at him, stops, and eats the damn thing.

"Awesome, thanks man," Corey chirps to the enthusiastic agreement, watching Iggy eat the damn thing, his expression curious. "All of the above, as it happens. But I don't trust my housemates to give me useful feedback." So obviously, the next best thing to do is consult the wild world of Joe Public.

Ignacio widened an uneven, lopsided grin and nods seeming to get this. "Well... if you wanna park your culo for a hot minute I'll see what I can do." His brow furrows his brow sitting and really considering it. While he's thinking his mouth is running beeeecause that's Ignacio for you. "Opposite problem in my house. Pops? He's a chef. Mi mama? She cooks. I was supposed to open a second restaurant with em, but eeeeeveryone's got an opinion and mi hermano will have no part of it. Still? he cooks. It's kinda hysterical." He asks though curiously, "How much lemon are you using?" He would ask that question. he pauses, brushes his hand off on his jeans and offers it up. "Ignacio. Who the ehll are you cause this is pretty damn good."

Parking his culo, Corey closes the container so that the treats inside remain shaded, watching and waiting for Ignacio's feedback. "No lemon, in this one. Figured the mango would be tart enough, but. You think it needs a little zest, maybe in the creme?" he muses, cogs turning in his brain as Iggy makes reference to a little citrus. "Corey," he adds, shaking the offered hand firmly, his grin lazy and genuine. "Cul-sci student and trainee patisserie chef."

Ignacio considers this and shakes his head no. thoughtfully he wonders, "I like it. I'm wondering it you actually hi it with the smallest amount of lime though? It'll really push up the mango. Or ginger. but seriously not a lot of either at all. If you're playing with it though I'd say try it out and see what you think because if you're not in love with it then it's no t the way to go. This is damn good though." He shakes the hand with an ease that comes natural to him. "Oh you work for the guy that looks so fucking intense he makes Gordon Ramsay look like he's on quaaludes?" This is where that eyebrow goes up. "Damn, you're on a path man. You been here a while or like you move here too?"

There's a brief, wry snort from Corey as Ignacio describes the head chef he works under, and he nods. "Yeah. He's intense, but also a good teacher." Well, inasmuch as any head chef is. "Lime might be better, I'll give it a try," he decides at the suggestion, offering Iggy another one, before snaffling one for himself. It may not be perfect, but he's happy enough with the result to eat it. "Lived here most of my life, 'cept for a year out in Canada. You new to the town?"

Ignacio glances around and sums up the afternoon. Yup. Pretty damn good. "Eeeh moved here like two months ago from Queens. Lived in Toledo on and off." He rolls his finger clearing up, "Espana not Ohio." Taking a deep breath he muses like yup. This place is this place. "Still getin used to Gray Harbor. Its, eeeeeh, it's got it's character it seems." Wow this guy can be nice about anything. It might be a super power.

"It's home," is Corey's simple response to that. For better or for worse, it's where he feels he belongs. "So why'd you move out here?" he then wonders, head cocking slightly. Another pastry is offered to the Spanish guy, culinary research given up in the name of good conversation.

Ignacio listens with all those curious expressions authors get. Ignacio can't help but like people. Not always, but in general. How to answer that question. iIt amuses him enough that he mumbles the truth, "My brother needed me and... I think i needed him too. We're kinda workin some shit out. THat... is why I'm not behind a grill right now." The short truth. Shrugging a shoulder he guesses, "I have no fucking idea why he chose here to tell you teh truth buuuuut he's datin someone now so I imagine there is at least a reason that retroactivly exists, ya know?"

"Yeah, if he's dating then I figure that's as good a reason as any to stay, and it sounds like you've got his back." Corey shifts over, leaning back against the same tree trunk, a few degrees around from Ignacio so they're sort-of at right-angles. "Do you want to be behind a grill? There's plenty places hiring, like the pizza joint and the diner. Not the best places, but a paycheck is a paycheck."

While Ignacio has been busy writing, Finch has been doing some work on her thesis. Her spot at Cornell may be on hold, but she can still work on her project. She has a notebook in hand, a pen behind her ear, and a camera on a strap around her neck as she scribbles down her tallies of how many Western Bluebird nests she was able to locate.

With her bluebird hunting complete, she now begins her search for the not-so-elusive Spanish Peacock. Aka Ignacio. Spotting him sitting under a tree with company, she heads that way.

Ignacio has been stepping out to clear his head and try to get a grip on things that seem to be coming and going like a sand storm. Fine! Every fine. Right now he's sitting under that tree eating something out of Corey's plastic Tupperware box and genuinely seeming to enjoy whatever is going on.

A slow, enthusiastic nod of agreement follows, "Yeeah. And to be honest I like the guy too. I really hope this one works out for him. I mean es mi hermano buuuuut he's my best friend too. and..." and that's a damn good question. His jaw offsets thoughtfully looking up at the clouds making odd patterns murmuring, "I don't honestly know... what I want anymore. It's been kinda a really... weird time for me and it's something I'm still working out, ya know?" His eye catches the local, if not famed, fuchsia plumed murderbird sauntering over looking like punk rock and a thrift store had a badass love child. That half smile flickers back to 'on' "Corey, you know Finch? Inch, Corey. Here. try this, but- if you like it you have to promise me you'll tell him why." He pauses with that look that he gives serious business. Srs. "It's important."

Offering up the tupperware towards Finch as Ignacio solicits her opinion, Corey voices, "Yeah, hey Finch. Uh, this contains dairy, but no peanuts, soy or sesame. If you're allergic to anything else, lemme know first." Inside the box are what look like little choux profiteroles, a thick blob of chocolate atop each, and a small piece of mango anchored in that chocolate. For those who actually eat them, the filling tastes cream cheese/vanilla cheesecake-y. He directs a grin towards Ignacio, the expression one of thanks, while adding, "Yeah, I get you. Taking the time to figure it out can be hard, but hopefully you'll get to something you enjoy."

"Hey Jones," Finch greets. Granted, when she was a senior and he was a freshman in high school, she looked a lot different. Less colorful, lots more like a goddamned perfect cheerleader with straight As. She plucks out a profiterole and pops it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She swallows it down. "Nice, the mango keeps it from being too sweet. Goes nice with the filling too. What kinda chocolate is that because Figgy here needs to buy me some for Christmas, if it won't require he take out a loan." She slides down to sit next to Ignacio and plants a kiss on his cheek. "How's the writing going?"

Ignacio watches for the assessment. When asked where he got the chocolate from Iggy points. "Frooooom Corey. he made it." Curiously he resigns to his lot in life. "I accept my fate to owe you money." He does, however accept teh kiss on teh cheek without comment or complaint. Looking at the book he tries to assess an answer, "Right now? I dunno. I'm unfocused this week. I'm really just doing it to keep my pencil moving and I talked to this Jessica gal, mut intelligente, friend of Harper's turns out. Wants me to work up a column for the paper. Thinks my name might get me in teh door on that one so I might...try that. nervous about it though."

"Lindt 99%, mixed with heavy whipping cream," Corey supplies, setting the tub of pastries down within everyone's reach and then pushing upright to his feet, taking out his smokes and lighting one, standing downwind. "Not sure if it's the best for eating, other than in ganache form, but." There's a lazy shrug, and he then grins at Iggy. "Gotta start somewhere, man."

"I think you'd be great at a newspaper column, Figgy!" Finch insists. She leans against the man with a small smile. "What kind of column is she asking you to write? You know I'll help if I can." She listens to Corey's explanation and nods. "Yeah, it'd need a crapton of sugar to be edible. That's pretty much baking chocolate. I remember eating a brick of that as a kid thinking I was getting away with a candy bar. I will never, ever, forget that horror." She chuckles.

Ignacio can't help but snicers and that erupts to a laugh that fills his chest as he imagines it. "Awwww man that's... that's a bad day without the sugar. Whooo, Thats a, um, that's a different experience right there. Also ya know the difference between confection, baking, and cooking cannot be overstated. Stove top? Locked down. Pan? Bread? Actually? yeah. I can yell at some yeast all damn day. Desert? Eeeeeh it's got a different art to it. Not something I can say I'm fluent in yet. Eh, maybe I should practce or leave it to you." WHich he seems just fine in doing. His tongue traces his lower lip thoughtfully. Arching an eyebrow he asks Finch, "You ever poke at any my books, Pajarito? It's um... Jess was tlakin about me doing a satire column. I was thinking yeah, maybe. Comedy's good, but ya know maybe I should do the self-help column. It'd be hilarious. As. Hell."

"Yelling at yeast while kneading the shit out of some bread dough is actually super therapeutic," Corey muses, finishing his smoke and then reaching down for his tub of experiments. "Right. Time to go find some more people to get opinions from. Good talk, Iggy. Finch." With a lazy motion somewhere between a wave and a salute, he then turns to head off out of the park, to find some pedestrians to terrorise with pastries.

"Oh hell, Ig, satire is right up your alley, right down your street, and parked in your garage," Finch points out. "I think that'd be great." She waves to Corey, "Take it easy, Jones. Keep making stuff like that and you'll be a star."

Ignacio considers and tells Corey, "I'll have to come by the shop and see what you're up to later. Dude, really good to meet you." He rolls a look to Finch wrinkling his nose, "If I promise to try to write a column will you not make me burn sugar and ruin desert" He sighs and murmurs, "Suppose I can hop on Friendzone and see what's up in local candor and take a bash at it." He pauses and muses idly, "If I accidentally actually help someone that'd be something."

"You got a deal," Finch tells Ignacio with a grin. "I think you can at least make people laugh, and if someone gets real advice out of it, all the better." She leans her head on his shoulder. "Jones is a good guy from what I remember. I think he was a freshman when I was a senior."