Sorry For The Length I Just Felt I Needed To Go Into Detail Just How Terrible He's In The Kitchen - Blog Posts

zccming·:

WHO: max mayfield & @eddiemcnson·

WHERE: mayfield residence

sure, max was just about as grounded as her mom could get her, but she still valued tradition. it wasn’t like there were many of those in the mayfield household anymore, so the ones max did have were gripped and guarded with the utmost care. every time eddie came into town, they’d have their semblance of a “family” dinner. it had been this way since max was in high school, and if she had it her way, it would be this way until the day she died. it took some shuffling to actually figure out when the best time would be, but when susan picked up a graveyard shift, max set the plans into motion. 

she was a touch skeptical when eddie said he wanted to actually cook verses ordering takeout or the ever reliable heating up of a frozen dinner. but hey, maybe he started up with cooking classes in chicago. max laid on her couch, flipping through the three channels they got, repetitive and impatient. filling the role of whiny younger sister well, she called to the kitchen to complain, “there’s nothing good on!” max sighed, then turned, and continued cycling through the channels anyhow. sitting up, she now peered into the kitchen, “what’s taking so long?” she glanced at the mess surrounding eddie, then let him know, “i’m not helping you clean up.”

+++

see, it wasn’t as if eddie was a horrible cook. there was that batch of cookies he’d made in ‘75 for the middle school bakesale that had not turned out terrible. and sometimes when his roomates in chicago - one of them a cookery student - were out, he cooked his own meals, too. in fact, eddie was really, really decent at cooking rice or frying eggs for just the right amount of time. 

but, like, actually...nutritious dinners that involved preperation and recipes? not really his forte. what was a recipe, anyway, if not a bunch of rules to disobey, as was in his nature? still, coming back to hawkins meant mayfield-munson family dinners in front of the tv and this time he was actually going to make an effort. he’d watched his roommate cook - figured how hard could it be, anyway ? - and with both of them embarking on their own seperate life journeys who knew when they’d get the opportunity to do this next? besides, they’d both been through so fucking much in that hellhole of a town, eddie thought as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead, they deserved something nice.

so probably the opposite of what eddie was currently prepearing. the kitchen was a mess, bits of chopped vegetables had fallen the floor, he had three pots and one pan on the tiny stove. this was enitrely too fucking difficult. eddie cursed under his breath, quickly took one of the pots threatening to overcook off the stove - and then held it in his hands for a moment, unsure of where to put it down. “ow, fuck, son of a bitch!” naturally, the handles started to heat up - he distantly recalled himself from an hour ago saying something along the lines of ‘fuck oven mitts,do i look like a grandma, i can handle this’ - and he rushed to put it down on a coaster. eddie  went back to check on the other things on the stovetop - he turned off the stove completely - and stirred everything aimlessly. 

“fuck off.”, he shouted back, rushed to throw the chopped vegetables that hadn’t fallen to the ground into what...could be considered a sauce. stirred again. they’d have to order take out, he thought with a sigh. he drained the pasta, stirred it again, then carried both the pot and the pan over to the dining table. “voila. “ eddie wiped his hands on his jeans, then looked over at max. wondered if it was going to be edible. “now stop complaining and eat. “ - he made a welcoming gesture with his arm, inviting her to dig in first - “ after you, of course.”