Midnight

"So, what are we making tonight?"

Midnight's question brings a drawn-out hum from Starla as she scans my kitchen layout – and the mass of utensils she's laid out on the island countertop. Almost half the space here where I've taken a seat has been covered by her stash of tools, yet she assures us that's not everything she brought in her bag, or possesses at home. That's hard to believe – how big is the kitchen at her place?

Nevertheless, what she has fished out of her bags runs the full gamut from the ordinary to the... more curious. There are ordinary spoons, spatulas, and knives that show nicks on the handles from pony usage, while some other pieces have handles modified to be a bit longer, or have more surface area to grip.

And then there's the real oddity – the band that Starla has already put on around her right foreleg near the hoof. At first glance, it sort of looks like an oversized cheap wristwatch in black – minus the watch face. Instead, a circular area that's turned to the inside of her leg has some sort of prongs or grips that look like they move as a mechanism.

"What do you think, John?" Starla asks as I pull myself away from that specific distraction. "Since you're the spectator and the taste-tester – lasagna or enchiladas tonight?"

While I had already pegged lasagna being a dish for this stay just based on the noodles, enchiladas are a bit surprising. While I remember buying a can of sauce as requested on her list, the beans, rice, and flour tortillas had me convinced burritos were in the works. Did Midnight make a mistake or two in remembering the list?

Whether my lack of response or a face I've made, Starla chuckles, bowing her head. "I thought I might confuse you a bit on that – no, they aren't your typical enchiladas. I suppose my recipe is sort of a hybrid," she remarks, raising her head back up and flicking her hair back in a swift motion. "I prefer flour tortillas over traditional corn, and I like to really load them up."

"Well you've got me intrigued – but the rice is going to take a while to cook, isn't it? My stomach is already starting to growl."

"Yeah, we might be better off leaving the rice out for tonight," Starla concedes, her grin faltering just a bit. "Well, I suppose as far as this recipe goes, if you want to make it on your own down the road, adding the rice should be straightforward. It's not a big deal to omit that."

"Alright, I guess I'm the only one that's in the dark here – what's an enchilada?" Midnight butts in.

"Oh, you poor thing," Starla gasps, bringing a hoof to her muzzle in mock horror. "Don't worry, you'll find out, and I bet you'll love them. We'll start with two pounds of ground beef if you wanna get that for us."

To the amusement of Starla and me, Midnight offers a silent salute before marching over to the fridge. With the amount of food packed in there, Midnight practically climbs into the appliance to search for the request, shuffling items around the shelves. It makes for an... interesting scene as Midnight's rear pokes out of the fridge, swishing her tail back and forth idly. I'm entertained by the scene until Starla catches me looking – I suddenly feel very warm. But she turns her head and pretends not to have seen me, though the smirk that's formed on her face gives away the facade.

"Man, we bought more shit than I realized when we last went to the grocery store," Midnight pipes up from the fridge, oblivious to other minor events.

"I might have gone a little overboard, but I figured better safe than sorry," I admit.

"Yeah, sure. But you aren't the one trying to find— oh, they were right here. Dammit." Midnight backs out of the fridge and pivots, wielding two packaged tubes of ground beef in triumph.

Starla nods her approval at the sight. "Good, we'll get that browning very shortly once we get the oven preheated and fetch a few more ingredients. We still need an onion, black beans, and a can of sauce."

With a new scavenger hunt assigned, Midnight scrambles around the kitchen to retrieve everything requested. Meanwhile, Starla gazes at the oven, studying it in deep concentration as she slowly tilts her head at an increasing angle.

"Is something the matter?" I ask, concerned by her sudden odd behavior.

"Hm?" Starla turns her head, perplexed. But having to level out in order for a proper view of me, she recognizes the reason for my inquiry and emits a short laugh. "Sorry, I forgot I do that. Just trying to figure out where I need to turn the knob to set the temp of the oven."

That's... I don't understand the explanation. With a lack of response, Starla just chuckles and resumes her mysterious objective for a moment. A few more head cocks, and Starla gently nips the temperature knob and turns her head, letting go at the exact angle she had settled on. "And just like that, the oven is set to three seventy-five," Starla announces confidently. "That should be up to temp once we're ready for that step."

Meanwhile, Midnight has completed her quest, adding the can of enchilada sauce to the little collection on the counter. "That's everything. What's next?"

"Time to actually get to cooking. The ground beef has to be browned before anything else, so we'll get that going and the onion cut up."

Despite the explanation, Midnight hesitates, glancing around the kitchen. I don't think she understands what's needed to really begin, so I take the moment to speak up. "Skillet is in the top right corner of the cupboards, Middie – door right next to the fridge," I direct, pointing in that direction.

"Yeah, I know. I kinda live here," she responds. Surprisingly, her tone isn't particularly barbed. Considering she makes a beeline straight for that door and finds the cooking pan to set on the stovetop, I think she's happy to receive the thinly-veiled guidance. I wasn't sure how much Midnight had paid attention to my cooking in the past – it would appear she's not had an interest in the process until now.

"Now Midnight – go ahead and brown the beef in the skillet while I get this onion minced up," Starla instructs her.

It's the latter note that spurs Midnight to abruptly turn her head. Starla drags over a cutting board with her teeth, then dribbles the onion like a soccer ball onto it with her front hooves. It's a well-rehearsed set of movements that I can't help but feel impressed to see.

"Uh, you sure you don't want me to cut that up?" Midnight suggests, wary of the difficulties not just in using a knife, but cutting something spherical.

But Starla laughs off the idea. "No, I have this under control. You're seeing me in my element now."

Both Midnight and I watch as Starla raises her banded hoof up to hover over the countertop, finding a suitable chopping knife for her task. "This little contraption Teddy cooked up – pun intended by the way," she pauses, giggling as she sets her hoof and the device onto the handle of the knife. "Anyway, this makes it a lot easier for me to do things like chopping or handling other utensils. Believe me, mincing stuff up using a knife clutched between your teeth gets dizzying very quickly."

In those few brief seconds, beyond Starla's voice, I can hear a mechanical clicking noise, followed by a slight hum of an electronic motor. When she lifts up her hoof again, the knife comes with it, the handle enveloped in a few metallic bands. As I watch, those bands flex and slowly rotate the blade into a position that allows Starla to use the tool with a simple up-and-down motion with her foreleg.

"Oh god, now she's armed and dangerous, Midnight," I exclaim, putting my hands up as I try to sell the mock shock and terror.

However, Midnight doesn't find much humor in my stupidity; her focus is on the little gadget that Starla now uses to half the onion in one easy motion. "Damn, that's pretty neat. Teddy created that?"

"Mhm. Years of fiddling with robots and other mechanicals – he has a real knack for useful tools like this," Starla confirms as she starts to dice with practiced precision. "How is the beef coming along?"

Midnight grimaces at the question. "Well, I... how are you supposed to take these damn metal clips off of the end?" she replies with her own question, shame tainting her voice as she rotates one of the packages in the air. "Surely you don't just tear them off – it would just go flying ev—"

"Mid, just cut it open with a knife," I interrupt, awestruck by her absurd little predicament. "I know you've seen me do that before."

"Yes, but I want to do it the right way – not just half-ass it," she belts back with a dollop of snobbishness that even forces Starla to do a double-take.

"That is the right way," Starla confirms after an awkward pause. "Those clips just seal the packaging in a quick convenient way – we're not reusing them or the plastic."

"...right. that makes sense," Midnight mutters, shrinking down a bit. "I might be trying a bit too hard to impress."

"Aww, no need for that. You showed me a lot today," Starla consoles her. "Let me return the favor."

The encouragement brings Midnight back from her self-doubt, but as she turns back to the stove, she halts and locks a cold set of eyes upon me. I shrug my shoulders at her, trying to display my lack of understanding of the look.

"Figured we were gonna get a comment from the peanut gallery," she notes, shrugging it off as well.

"Nah, I'm having fun watching tonight."

"I bet you are," Starla chimes in with a knowing smirk.

Thanks, Starla. Glad to see Midnight is now eyeing us with a queer suspicion. Luckily no questions are asked before she returns to fumbling with her assigned task at the stove, unwrapping the meat. One after the other, she splits open the plastic with the knife and plops it into the skillet with a sizzle.

Concurrently, Starla breezes through the onion at a lightning pace, demonstrating she truly is in her element now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was more machine than mare at this point with how fluidly she's able to mince it all up.

Before anything else, Starla sets the blade of the knife onto the cutting board for a few seconds, apparently waiting for a mechanical clicking that signals her to raise it back up. The knife slowly rotates into a sideways position, and Starla sets it down on the counter, where it once again releases from the device. "Alright, we're ready to add the onions – would you like to do the honors, Midnight? It will be easier for yo— Midnight, that's not cooked!"

Starla's frantic exclamation as she turns her head freezes Midnight in her tracks. It's a bizarrely amusing scene as she's buried her snout in a piece of the ground beef wrapper, trying to get the last bits of raw meat out with her tongue.

"It's fine, Star," I try to calm her as I chuckle. "This is unfortunately kind of a normal thing for her."

Starla glances at me with concern for a brief moment before her eyes flash back to Midnight. It's that second bout of attention that breaks Middie from her little snack with a frustrated sigh. "It's fine, I'm not gonna get sick from it. Until John forced me to eat what he cooked, I usually just ate this sort of stuff raw. And... well, I'm pretty sure I've told you that I used to hunt out back. That's rarer than this stuff."

"I... yeah, you did tell me that," Starla sighs with relief. "Sorry, just a shock to the system to see that."

"To be fair, she shouldn't be eating it raw, because it ends up making her breath stink," I add.

"Aww, poor baby," Midnight coos mockingly, pouting briefly for added effect as she tossed the wrappers in the trash. "You'll live."

"Maybe try watching the pan more. I'd like my food to not be charred tonight."

"You mean like you often serve?"

"That's a lie and you know it."

Midnight mutters something else under her breath, but caves to my request and tends to the sizzling pan with a wooden spoon, followed by the quick addition of diced onion from Starla's cutting board.

Left with occasionally stirring the cooking meat and onions in the pan, Starla gives Midnight a brief rundown of the various utensils and tools laid out on the counter. One by one, she points a hoof, names it, and describes what it is used for, as well as little tips to save time. Brief as it may be, even I find some useful information – as well as a sense of being overwhelmed by the different kinds of knives.

Midnight is also set wide-eyed by the wealth of info she clearly didn't anticipate to exist in the realm of cooking. There's a sense of relief emanating from her as she takes another glance at the skillet. "I think this is about done. It's... uh, well, it's brown. No pink left."

"Excellent," Starla croons, clapping her front hooves together. "Go ahead and turn off the burner for now. We'll add the beans, sauce, and a bit of the cheese and let it all simmer on a lower heat for a bit."

Starla takes a moment to slide the can of sauce over to me. "Figured you'd like to help out at least a little bit," she teases as I grab a handheld can opener lying on the countertop.

"Yay, I'm helping!" I cheer, bouncing up and down in my chair. Mission accomplished – both mares pause what they're doing to laugh at my stupid display.

As Midnight ventures back into the fridge and I start working open the can of enchilada sauce, Starla bats the can of beans in front of her on the counter. At first, I figure she wants me to open that next, being a pull-tab tin can. Instead, she holds the can between her hooves and works the tab up off the top of the can using her teeth and tongue. Before long, she's pulling open the can with the tab clenched in her teeth.

"Damn, that's a neat party trick," I wisecrack.

"Sorry, I'm already taken."

"Uh..."

Starla bursts out into laughter at my lack of response, coinciding with Midnight finishing her escapades in the fridge. As she closes the door, her eyes scan the giggly Starla and my dumbfounded self with a healthy dose of suspicion.

"What the hell did I miss?" she finally asks once Starla settles down.

"John found out he's not the only one that can be a smartass tonight," she answers.

"Why, what did he try to make perverted?"

"Can opening." Starla pushes said can off to the side, directing Midnight's attention to it.

Midnight glances at it, then at me. It's a look bordering pity before she shakes her head. "I don't want to know. You're sick," she mutters.

"Shut up and make my food, mare," I demand, pointing her off toward the stove.

"Spit in your food? Sure, I can do that," she shoots back, pretending to hawk up a loogie.

"Anyway – Midnight, drain off the grease from that beef in the strainer as I described earlier, then we'll continue on with the cooking," Starla redirects Midnight, who firmly nods and gets to it.

"You don't put the cheese on top of the enchiladas before baking?" I ask, surprised to see the bag out on the counter already as Starla bats over a measuring cup.

"Oh, that's where most of the cheese goes. I just like to mix a bit into the filling," she explains. "I do... maybe half a cup? I don't really measure that out. I go by sight – but for Midnight's first time, we will get a bit more precise."

"You want me to set the pan back on the stove, or bring it to the counter?"

"Go ahead and put it back on the stove – what we're throwing in is pretty simple. Just these two cans, and then I'll have you measure out the shredded cheese."

Both the can of sauce and can of beans ease their way into the air and hover over to the stove, where they empty their contents under Midnight's careful watch. With that done and the cans tossed into the trash, Midnight pads back over to the kitchen island, glancing over the measuring cups laid out in front of her.

"We'll go with a half cup – go ahead and pull that out, and just scoop it from the bag, level it off, and dump it in."

"Alright. Then we're... letting it simmer?"

"Mhm. Just letting it slowly come together until it starts bubbling. Low heat."

"Got it."

As Midnight goes forth with her new tasks, Starla watches and nods with approval when Mid glances back at her for confirmation. It's quite odd to see Midnight this unsure of her abilities after months of seeing her day in and day out brimming with borderline overconfidence. Maybe it is a good little reality check for her, especially having someone who knows about the craft she's only beginning to dabble in.

"How did you get started in cooking, Star?" I speak up, my sudden curiosity taking hold.

Starla turns around with an eager grin as Midnight gets to stirring and combining everything in the pan. "Well, truth be told, Teddy is a bit lost in the kitchen," she initially answers with a chuckle for good measure. "I never really had a plan or desire to get into cooking at first. It was more of me suggesting things to add to liven up whatever Teddy was making at the time. I guess it sort of grew from there, between experimenting and wanting to expand what was on the menu at home. Once I got a good handle on reading, I really took off and started to get my hooves into proper dishes from scratch. And it really helped out Teddy, who was still working at that time."

"Wait – he didn't quit after sneaking you out?"

Starla shakes her head, that smile not diminishing in the slightest. "Nope. We lived in Georgia for – oh, I guess it was a few years after that, with Teddy still working in the lab. It didn't bother me any – but his work started weighing on him more and more. I think having a reminder at home was some of the reason behind that – not that I blame myself, mind you."

"How long did it take you to get a grip on reading?" Midnight interjects. While it was mentioned in Starla's roots of cooking, it still feels a bit out of place at this point in time.

"We doing a comparison sort of thing here?" I cautiously inquire.

Midnight frowns a bit at my question. "No, it's genuine curiosity. I'm well aware my views on ponies other than me has been heavily skewed and biased for some time now – and my eyes continue to be opened by Starla," she explains.

That... was not at all what I expected to hear. Suddenly, I feel like an ass for heaping suspicion on her. Midnight is legitimately trying to be more open-minded here – and I'm on the verge of squashing that out. "My bad, Midnight. That came out – you know what, it was just a really stupid question on my part. Not doing too well this evening, am I?"

"It's been a long day. Don't worry about it," she replies, a small smile forming from that disappointed face.

However, Starla's face has dimmed this time, her muzzle scrunched up as she thinks. "I'm not really sure how to answer your question Midnight – as I mentioned to John earlier, judging time or lengths of time is a bit of a challenge for me – and what are we considering a good understanding of how to read?"

"Well – how about the first recipe you cooked from start to finish, reading the directions? That should work, right?"

"Yeah..." Starla trails off, her brow furrowed as she runs through her memories. "We still lived in Georgia when I started cooking from scratch, I know that. And we lived there for a few years, but I want to say I didn't actually start cooking from recipes until... maybe toward the end of the last year? I'd say it took the better part of three years to start understanding recipes – to be on the conservative side."

"I don't think that's bad at all. Oh, food is starting to bubble, by the way."

"Well, we're almost done, " Starla gushes with a quick burst of renewed excitement as she prances about. "We'll just ladle that into the tortillas, roll them, put them in the pan, and sprinkle cheese on top. Then they'll get baked for twenty minutes."

"That sounds pretty simple. This really hasn't been as complicated as I expected."

"There are many different things out there that are quite simple to make like this. You've been a very good student tonight," Starla encourages Midnight. "Now, we'll do a pan of these, and John will do a pan."

Starla skitters about getting the pans ready, leaving Midnight to eye me with a thin, sheepish smile. "Maybe I start dabbling a little bit in cooking so you aren't doing it all the time. Something different to try, you know?"

"Sounds good to me. I'm fine with whatever you decide, Mid. I think you'd look good in an apron, if that helps."

Midnight scoffs at the idea but doesn't try to play it off as anything other than amusing. "Yeah, I think you need to stop there with that thought."

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport."