042. Custard Pie

[samson]

[Brock's at his cabin like he usually is, and he assumes Molotov is in her office like she usually is. So he opens his journal and pens a filter to her, quickly jotting down a note.]

Hey baby. Do you want to learn to cook?

Comments

[molotov]

Okay, da. Should I come back now?

[samson]

I need to buy some stuff. Cabin or house?

[He has oregano and basil outside the cabin, but he could always bring it to the house.]

[molotov]

Hmm, I know that I wished for a pizza stone when I redid the kitchen. Do you have one at the cabin?

[samson]

[He doesn't ... think so .........

A pause as he looks around the cabin. She might hear him banging around in the background before he comes back to the journal.]

No.

[molotov]

Then probably we should go home.

[samson]

OK. Be there soon.

[And off he goes to buy shit in town before the shops all close!!]

[molotov]

Da, okay.

[She closes up her journal and heads back to the castle!]

[samson]

[Brock's in town for awhile, picking up perishables that he knows they don't have in their apartment -- or he doesn't think they do, anyway. He had no fucking clue they even had a pizza stone, so maybe he wasn't right about everything.

Eventually, he comes to the door, sort of finagling it open since his arms are full of groceries.] Babe?

[molotov]

[Molotov has already cracked into a bottle of wine. She's waiting in the kitchen.]

Da?

[samson]

I didn't know if you were home.

[He closes the door behind him and brings all the stuff into the kitchen, where he starts unpacking the bags.]

I got a lot of stuff, but let me know if you want something special on your pizza and I'll run back to town before everything closes.

[molotov]

Did you get proscuitto? I like proscuitto.

[samson]

[He smiles and pulls out a packet of ~something~ wrapped in butcher paper.]

What do you think?

[molotov]

[She beams.]

Do you want some wine?

[samson]

Wine with pizza? Why, Mrs. Samson, you're a fucking trendsetter.

[molotov]

[She snorts, then pours him a glass and takes it to him, pinching him on the way.]

Beer is for Brooklyn takeout, Mr. Samson. Wine is for special pizza that we make ourselves.

[samson]

Special pizza, huh? [He takes the glass, leaning down to quickly kiss her before she can get away. Sneak attack kisses!!]

What's so special about it?

[molotov]

We are making it, I just said that.

[samson]

Oh, I didn't know I was special to you. [smile smile smile, but he takes out the yeast from the grocery bag and two bowls from the cabinet, bringing one over to the sink.]

Get the flour out, baby?

[molotov]

[Molotov goes over to the pantry, where she pauses for a moment before coming back with three different flours. Why did she wish for all of this? She doesn't even know. That's how bad her addiction to wishing is.]

[samson]

[Brock has put the yeast into the water and looks up from it with a blink.]

Baby ... [Okay okay okay, he doesn't want to make her feel bad. He points at the bread flour.]

That one will make it crispier, I think. What kind of pizza do you want?

[molotov]

How do you make the kind that you get in Naples?

[She means a thin crust, wood-fired pizza. MOLOTOV YOU GUYS DON'T EVEN HAVE A WOOD-FIRED STOVE.]

[samson]

Oh, like ... well, it won't be the same. We don't have the right kind of stove. But we can put the same stuff on it, I got some fresh mozzarella in town.

[molotov]

Okay.

[She kisses him, then goes back to get her wine.]

[samson]

[Pffft, not helpful! He decides on the bread flour, because he wants a crispy pizza goddammit, and starts measuring stuff out as the yeast dissolves.]

So right now, the yeast is in with the water ... then we're going to add flour and this other stuff.

[molotov]

[She comes back with her glass and also the bottle, because why not]

Why does the yeast go in water?