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Garak would have never expected to hear the sizzle of a pan in exile. A space station was not a typical place for handmade food when replicators existed. There was never time despite obvious spaces for a furnished kitchen and little to do depending on the station. Ships roaming the galaxy were even scarcer in cooking when anyone could attack suddenly. Why take the time to create a nutritious meal? Why waste expenses on fresh meat and vegetables? Not Garak, that was for sure, not as shipments of cloth costed extra to get near a Federation station; it was a delicacy to even obtain sweets on or off it!
So as he watched Sisko go about his little self-invented kitchen in his apron and civvies, Garak was left in awe. It was not unknown for men on Cardassia to know how to cook, yet even that was far and in-between as the military called on whoever to defend their home. Women were no different in both respects either; thinking on it after so long, Garak found he could say there were hardly any self-made meals in the past few decades. And if there were it was cooked by Bajorans forced to clean the houses to keep alive. The Cardassian housekeepers were little better in their circumstances, additionally hit with shame for being ‘the help’.
Mila was never shamed though as she cared for Tain’s estate. Garak always remembered her pride as the floors shined, going as far as threatening even Tain to remove his shoes or stay away from her recently cleaned worked. The labor it took to keep a house looking brand new was as tiring as going off into space and conquering lands. If only Mila’s cooking could be considered one of her talents in home-keeping. Stars knew how terrible it could be, but Garak could not be picky as a child, and somehow Tain did not complain either. Being cooked for by someone close to you was a gift, sharing the meals together was core to Cardassian lifestyle.
In exile though, Garak allowed some slack to be given. His mother’s cooking never smelt so enticing as this ‘burger’ Sisko was cooking. A full patty of red-meat turned a lovely brown with glistening juices on it. Grease was not something Garak enjoyed as it put weight on him, stained everywhere, and had such a sensation that disgusted him. But it never looked as it did now, especially when he had watched the captain sprinkle spices Garak knew of and that which he didn’t (Terran perhaps, unless Sisko dabbled in other alien recipes).
Off to the side were bowls of toppings and additions to put on one’s burgers apparently. Garak didn’t realize he was staring at those until Julian sidled up beside him to explain.
“The green leaves are Terran lettuce, the captain cleaned it and then peeled them all off.” Oh yes, they still glimmered with little spots of water.
“The small green slices are cut pickles, he knows his way with a knife because those are the most perfectly cut pickled I’d expect from a gourmet restaurant!” Garak had been there when Sisko was cutting the oblong thing into pieces, the crunch so soothing. He knew the captain’s family owned a restaurant and grew up there, so of course he Sisko was skilled in cutting up vegetables and fruits so well.
“The red slices are tomatoes, which when not cut up can be made into ketchup which is right next to it.”
“You use the…vegetable? In two different ways?” Was the stuff that good?
“Tomatoes can technically be deemed a fruit in some cases, but yes, it’s that good it can be used in different ways of eating. Next to it though is mustard, don’t ask me what makes that or how. I’m a doctor, not a chef.”
Garak nodded and continued to listen as Julian informed him on what was to be had with their meal. “French fries? There’s a language on Earth called ‘French’, right?”
“Yes, but it’s just a name when it comes to the food. It’s potatoes fried in oil with salt added on top. They’re also called ‘chips’ from where I hail on Terra.”
“But those are the crispy snacks too, aren’t they?”
Julian smiled as he nodded. “Yes, that’s the main use of that term for Americans. And because it’d be confusing I would call those ‘crisps’, thus a difference is made.”
It was useless information for him, but Garak found pleasure in learning when his dear doctor went on his long talks. Cardassia was not below these sort of foods either, yet the translator liked to use what he was learning was the ‘American’ way. “Most fascinating, doctor. Now I must ask: is it all close to being done?” A hand hovered his stomach.
As if on cue Sisko turned away from his stations of pans, pots, electric stoves, and stove-burners. With a grin he spread out his arms and regarded his dinner partners. “Food’s done, let’s dig in!”
Taking the lead Julian reached a hand back to hold Garak’s and pull him along. He knew how anxious Garak got when invited to senior staff dinner nights. There weren’t many of them, but he knew they all held him in low-regard being not only a Cardassian, but ex-spy and assassin. Julian could attempt all he liked in reassuring Garak that the others were okay with him being there, yet that could only go far. Having his partner there by his side did the most work, just having Julian in eyesight comforted a part of his mind that had to know he was not alone. With Julian taking charge so Garak could mimic him so not to do something uncouth culturally, Garak took his place and let Julian point out what to do.
Ziyal was right beside him as well, Kira doing as Julian was but from behind the young girl. “Try the tomatoes, Ziyal, they’re really good!”
Garak watched with a cautious pull at his chest as Ziyal took a slice with her hand instead of the tongs on the table. She popped the slice in her mouth and gave it a few chews before quickly nabbing another to lay on her patty. Mouth still a bit full she nodded to Kira. “It is! You think there is enough to put more on my ber-gir?”
Kira chuckled. “You can get grab another one for seconds if you like. I’m sure Keiko will be more than happy to give you a few tomatoes from the garden.”
Gleefully Ziyal turned back to the table and added more toppings to her burger, then glanced up at Garak. “Garak did you try a slice of the red stuff?”
Unable to keep himself from softening around the girl, Garak shook his head, but did not frown or look blankly on her. “No, my dear, I think I’ll try it on the food than just alone. I do have to say though, using your hands to touch the food may be frowned on as it is with most species.”
“Oh, you’re right, sorry about that. I guess I got too excited and forgot my manners.” Her shy little smile as sweet as could be.
Garak found himself feeling guilty for embarrassing her. It wasn’t Ziyal’s fault she had been taken and put to work on no better than a labor camp. She was a victim and innocent, left cruelly behind by her horrid father. “Fortunately you are with friends, they won’t hold it against you. Just be careful amongst other people who can be so critical even when the atmosphere doesn’t call for it.”
Then he found his nearest hand reaching for Ziyal’s head and gently brushed the pad of his thumb to trace her faint chufa. The scales were buried under flesh of an odd mammal-gray color that was softer than the leathery sort Cardassians had. Each scute was there nonetheless, made to appeared like a permanent crown on Ziyal’s brow and around her eyes; he knew more rested below the rest of her body, having taken her measurements and judging if his clothes for her met her sensitive skin’s standards. Affectionately pressing on her chufa was commonplace for family members, soothing a Cardassian’s senses, sharing the bio-electrical thrum between their bodies. Garak was doing no less than a relative would.
Ziyal’s eyes softened as she pressed forward in the touch like she was starved. She might as well have been when she had no tenderness in those caves she slaved away in, and a father who came once in a blue-moon to visit for a few hours. It was up for the senior staff of Deep Space Nine to care for her like their own — Garak included.
Pulling away so they could continue gathering their plates, Garak gave a glance to Kira as she was the main guardian for Ziyal, and he found her nodding in approval. Good. Less to worry about now.
Once seated between Julian and Odo, Garak watched as Julian showed both him and the constable how to eat their hamburger. Eating with both hands would have never gone well on planets like Vulkan. Had he not washed his hands nor saw everyone go to the refresher to wash their own, Garak would have had to agree with the Vulcans in this matter. Yet, here he was, wary not to hold the two buns and patty too loosely, lest it fall apart. Napkin tucked into his collar for protection, Garak took his first bite.
Then another. And another. Finding it came naturally to bring a thumb quickly to the corner of his mouth and wipe some of the stray sauces back into the mouth. Anything that fell back on his plate was picked up to either be pressed back between patty and top bun, or popped into his mouth to eat with his next bite.
“Mhhmm, Garak, don’t forget to drink something. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are going to choke.” Julian spoke right after swallowing a large bite — a humorous tone in his voice.
There was no embarrassed flush of blue over his cheeks as he may have done before. Garak set his attention instead on taking his cup of fruity red drink to have a gulp. It tasted like a mixture of sweet fruits that hit his palate for a refreshing intake.
“It’s fruit juice.” Came Worf’s gruff voice.
“What kinds of fruit?” Garak asked as he patted his lips clean with the napkin in his collar, as if he wasn’t going to go back to eating a moment later.
Worf’s own burger was tall with twice as many toppings. Having seen the Klingon assemble it with confidence it reminded Garak that the warrior had been raised on Earth as a child. Worf knew the food well and showed with how he put together his plate. “I do not know, I never saw my Human-mother mix it, but she used fresh fruit from the local market. I’m happy Jake did not add sugar to the batch, I never enjoyed the overly sweet pitchers my neighbors put in theirs.”
Sugar sounded like overkill for the drink. Garak had to agree with a sip now before he went back to eating. With only a few more bites before he finished, Garak’s eyes shot to Julian as he rose. In his hand was an empty plate with only grease and splotches of ketchup on it.
“Seconds already, my dear?”
“You know me, darling — I have to keep this body fed so my big brain can keep charged.” Julian moved to push his seat back in.
Garak couldn’t tell if it was fear or anxiety (what really was the difference) that rushed through him. Either way he knew this would be the only chance he had to make a second burger without being embarrassed to ask his mate to escort him to do so. So he took the last two big bites to finish off what was left and stood up with his own plate.
Julian rolled his eyes as he waited for Garak to join in the assembling line. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go for seconds.”
Mouth full, Garak sent a glare to the doctor, receiving a snicker in return. What Julian said was typically true, even when Garak was younger. The reasoning was needing to stay in shape as a spy, and now as an exile just not having the appetite when so depressed. When it came to their lunch dates though, Garak felt a need to impress Julian, wanting to keep his form as thin as possible when his body was at an age that did not burn the calories like before. Julian was not one to care for all of that though. He told Garak more than once that everything about him was healthy for a mature Cardassian. Garak needn’t lose weight, diet, or worry about his appearance with him.
“Just make sure to take in vegetables and fruits when you can. If you would like, you can add more muscle to what you have with exercise. You’re body won’t really lose the fat, but it’ll be stronger. Either way, I find you the most attractive person on this station, so don’t fret about it.”
If their nights of Julian doing no better than worshiping every inch of him was to say something, then truly Garak could believe his mate’s words. Really, Garak was overthinking it, because how could he forget the society he had been raised in. Cardassians took pride in not being so thin, especially as they got older. A show of power and wealth to be able to eat comfortably. Tain had always been an impressive man to young Elim who got to live under the same roof as the successful man; it would have been appealing in how Garak now showed the resemblance to Tain in his old age, but now it only was a distressful reminder that the spy-master was his father.
Second plate on the table, Garak reached over for the pitcher of juice and poured himself another cup, then leaned over and topped off Julian’s. A dutiful mate through hand through Garak was satisfied to be thanked and smiled so lovingly at. He helped himself to a few fries dipped in the ketchup since he hadn’t taken a lot in his first plate.
“Put the fries in your burger, Garak.” Jake called from across the table. “It’s really good, I love to do it whenever dad makes them.”
Looking up to the young man to make sure he was sincere, Garak found only excitement in those dark eyes. He took a chance on the new idea. Jake Sisko was not wrong at all, though Garak would have liked it a bit more if there hadn’t been so much salt. He must have pulled a face, because Jake sheepishly chuckled.
“The salt, huh? I added that this time, I really like salty fries.”
“That does not take away from how right you were in this combination. Next time, if you add to much, I’ll merely wipe some off with a napkin.” No sense in chastising the child when it was his own species’ food. Not only that, it was still very delicious and enjoyable.
“I hear Humans dip their fries in their frozen treats.” Jadzia said, her own plate finished for the third time.
“Oh yeah, not all of us though. I’m not keen to it myself.” Miles was standing, turning to go for a fourth plate himself; he asked Molly if she’d like another, but she declined and held her cup of juice in both her small hands for a loud gulp as children did.
Keiko was turned to Kirayoshi in his high-chair. She wiped his mouth with a napkin, mushy food a mess around his lips and cheeks. “I do it, I roomed with this guy who was raised in the Bay Area about a hour from the academy. We got ‘frosties’, which is just frozen icecream in a cup, but the chocolate kind! And he had me try it out one day. Best decision honestly, the mixtures of flavors, calm and sweet, really balance out.”
Garak knew of such desserts from Terra. Quark put them on his menu when his first go at them for his customers went splendid. Garak was not immune to sweets so perfectly smooth, definitely when a Delavian Chocolate flavor was on the list. But to dip this new thing called a ‘fry’ into it? That felt like it was too soon for him to try. It’d be put away for later consumption once he found the french fries recipe in the replicator.
As dinner continued with conversations that warranted laughter, Garak found himself at ease — finishing off a third plate in the process. As a born carnivore he was happy to tear into the patty with his sharp teeth. When it finally came to clean up Garak was struck with confidence to not think on whether he should put on a mask. He stood and pleasantly took to grabbing the three empty pitchers of juice to recycle at the replicator. Once the tables were cleared, the table-clothes folded for reuse, and tables folded up, everyone picked up their conversations at the sofa and coffee table.
Finding himself beside Sisko, Garak offered help in cleaning the pots and pans as he once did as child with Mila. Sleeves pushed up his elbows he took to drying and setting them on a rack. “Captain dinner was wonderful. I hardly find a greasy meal so satisfying as I did your ber-girs.” What an odd word the translator continued to have trouble with his Kardasi accent — just as it did with Ziyal’s own that was more Bajoran.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Garak!” Sisko was exuberant as he spoke. There was pride in the man’s cooking Garak agreed with. “Do Cardassians not use cooking oil?”
“We do, but it’s not like Terra’s. Our planet’s resources are thicker, and since the turn in our land, it is harder to obtain. So we don’t have a lot of meals with oil used.”
“Ah, I see,” Sisko nodded, handing the last skillet over for drying, “Well, if you ever would like to try Terran cooking oil, I’ll be happy to supply.”
That deserved an honest little smile and bow of his head. “I would be honored…and, if you ever find the time, I would enjoy learning how to cook a Terran meal or two. My mother was a housekeeper yet never cooked a tasteful meal, but I learned what I could from her, then improved as one does when living alone.”
“Obsidian Order doesn’t pay their spies to buy a meal everyday, huh?” The captain chuckled.
“No, can’t look too suspicious when the cover-up job could not afford many meals out.”
Dishes put away to dry further, Sisko dried his hands on a small towel, then handed it to Garak to do the same. “Alright then, Garak, I’ll be in touch when an afternoon is open and invite you over for our first cooking lesson.”
“Much obliged, captain.”
Together they walked to join the others — Sisko going to sit with Jake, while Garak took his place by Julian — and only a few curious looks were sent their way. Julian wrapped an arm around Garak’s shoulders to bring him closer, the Cardassian settling in comfortably. He was so pleasantly full he could doze off right there were he trusting enough with everyone else.
“What did you and the captain talk about?” Julian’s lips pressed gently against Garak’s ear. The sound and vibrations on his voice tickled the ridged shell, breath hot on the sensitive spot.
Garak felt his scales flush softly. “Oh nothing important, you’ll find out soon enough.” He’d cook up something nice for his mate and watch pridefully as Julian would eat it with enthusiasm.