The fourth Sunday of Advent was the day Austria usually spent in his kitchen, making biscuits for Christmas. Softly humming the melody of the "Grandfather Waltz" from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, he cut butter cookies from his rolled out pastry dough. Kugelmugel was sitting on the worktop, pastry brush in hand, and watched him with a smile. As soon as Austria had cut out the first vertical row, Kugelmugel would put the cookies on a baking sheet. Then he would dip the brush in the small bowl next to him and overcoat them with egg yolk.
They had perfected this work routine over the last couple of years, combining a peaceful atmosphere with a certain degree of efficiency. This day, they had already filled two baking sheets with butter cookies, and the third was already half-full.
"There's not much dough left," Kugelmugel observed after a while.
"Indeed," Austria said, kneading and rolling the leftover dough. "I suppose we're going to have three plates full of butter cookies in the end, not more." The micronation nodded in approval.
"So, what's next?" Kugelmugel asked. "The Vanillekipferl?" Vanillekipferl were small, crescent-shaped, crumbly biscuits. Both brothers loved them and made them all year long, but they were still among Austria's most traditional choices for Christmastime.
"Yes," Austria replied, routinely cutting more butter cookies with his favourite biscuit cutters: Crescent moon, star, heart; crescent moon, star, heart; and so on. When he rolled the dough for another time, a pair of arms wrapped around his hips and he was pulled into a hug.
"Mmh…" Prussia hummed close to his ear. "Your cookies smell delicious. I can't wait to taste some of them." He pressed a kiss to Austria's collarbone, taking advantage of the fact that Austria didn't wear his jabot during his baking session.
"Hm… I hope the taste will be able to meet your expectations," Austria said. He leaned back into Prussia's embrace, relaxing and closing his eyes for a moment. Kugelmugel, on his part, took advantage of the time Austria was distracted and put the rest of the dough into his mouth.
"I'm sure they will." Prussia proceeded to kiss the crook of Austria's neck.
"Well, they won't if I don't finish making them," Austria said sedulously, gracefully twisting himself free from Prussia's embrace. He reached for the dough … but it wasn't there anymore. Austria turned to Kugelmugel with raised eyebrows.
"Friedl," he chided. It was unnecessary to ask what had happened to the dough; Kugelmugel was still chewing.
"Well, the taste of the dough sure meets my expectations," the culprit said with his mouth full. He was as cool as a cucumber when he put the three baking sheets in the preheated oven and set the timer.
"Okay, Rodi, I'm done for now. Gil can help you with the Kipferl, I guess." He dropped the pastry brush into the small bowl, causing some yolk to splash out of it. Then he jumped down from the worktop and waltzed off. Austria stared after Kugelmugel open-mouthed.
"I suppose I have to work on my authority," he commented dryly when he had regained his composure.
"Which authority?"
Austria stepped on Prussia's foot.
"Ouch!" Prussia protested. "What I meant was: Since when does Friedrich listen to any kind of authority?"
"Ah yes?" Austria shot him an inquiring glance, then decided to let Prussia get away with this explanation. "Fair enough." He had better things to do than starting an argument. Making Vanillekipferl, for example. "All right, Gilbert, if you like, you can take the dough out of the refrigerator and roll it to a cylinder that's about five centimetres thick."
Austria watched Prussia follow his instruction in minute detail, an amused smile on his lips. He never ceased to be amazed at the effect detailed instructions had on his boyfriend. The diameter of Austria's dough had probably never been this regular.
"Very good," Austria said with a curt nod when Prussia seemed satisfied with his own work. "Then take a knife"—he took one from his knife block—"and cut off slices that are about half a centimetre thick. Roll them with your hands in the same way you'd do when making Mohnnudeln and Schupfnudeln"—he demonstrated the action—"place them on a baking sheet and form them to crescent moons. All right?"
When he had finished forming one Kipferl, Austria turned to Prussia in order to watch his first attempts at making them. Prussia cut off some dough from the other end of the cylinder, rolling it between his fingers with a frown.
"Like this?" He showed Austria the piece of rolled dough in his palm.
"No, no, no, no, no," Austria chided softly, taking the dough out of Prussia's hands. "The ends have to be thinner and the middle has to be a little thicker. Look." He demonstrated rolling the dough once more, then handed it back to Prussia. "And now put the Kipferl on the plate."
"Yeah, sorry, I've never made Schupfnudeln," Prussia grumbled. "That's not a dish we're used to making in Northern Germany."
"It's actually not that difficult. You're soon going to get the knack of it," Austria reassured him.
In fact, he needed to reshape the first six or so of Prussia's attempts at rolling Vanillekipferl. As soon as Prussia had realised how to make them, however, his kitchen work picked up speed. He became faster than Austria who was used to shaping this kind of biscuit for decades, centuries even.
They rolled and shaped their dough in silence, almost filling two baking sheets. It was a pleasant silence; not one born of having nothing to say to each other, but one born of working together in order to complete the same task.
When there was only little dough left to form, the oven clock timer announced that the butter cookies were ready. Austria washed the dough off his hands in the sink, leaving it to Prussia to make the rest of the Kipferl. He opened the kitchen window as well as the lid of the oven because he didn't want to heat the room up even more. Then he put on a pair of potholders, pulled the baking sheets out of the oven one after another, and placed them on trivets. When he turned around, Prussia had used up all of the dough.
"Very good," Austria complimented his boyfriend once more. He placed the potholders back on the hook from which he had taken them. Then he took the two baking sheets full of Vanillekipferl one after the other, putting them in the oven and setting the timer.
"We're done now, aren't we?" Prussia asked, looking at his hands as if he was debating with himself if he should eat the dough that was still on his fingers or simply rinse it off like Austria had done.
"Well, almost," Austria corrected him. "You dip them in a mixture of vanilla sugar and icing sugar when they're ready." He pointed to a flat bowl, taking one of Prussia's hands in his at the same time. "Let me just check if this dough also meets the expectations of the natives in this house." Watching Prussia's expression carefully, he ate some of it that had stuck in between his index and middle finger.
"Uh…" Prussia said sheepishly. "Roddy, I don't know if that's such a good idea…"
"We have ten minutes until the Kipferl are ready," Austria said. "Plenty of time to kiss, don't you think?" He interlaced his fingers with Prussia's, not caring they now became sticky again. "Just be careful not to get any dough on my hair and on my clothing." With a smile, Austria leaned in for a quick kiss.
"That's mean!" Prussia protested. "That means I can't touch you right now!"
Austria laughed, sliding his hands around Prussia's waist. "Let me have my way. Just for a few minutes, okay?" He leaned his chest against Prussia's, placing kisses on his jaw.
Kugelmugel stood in the doorway to the kitchen and crossed his arms. I don't think I'll ever understand how they work as a couple, he thought, but they actually do.
Notes:
The Nutcracker (Щелкунчик, Shchelkunchik) is a ballet by Russian composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (Пётр Ильи́ч Чайко́вский, 1840-1893). It adapts Alexandre Dumas' (1802-1870) version of the story The Nutcracker and the Mouse King (Nußknacker und Mausekönig,1816) by Prussian Romantic fantasy and horror author E.T.A. Hoffmann (1776-1822). It's a very popular choice among ballet companies during the Christmas season because it is set at Christmas Eve.
My human name for Kugelmugel is "Friedrich" ("Friedl" is an Austrian/Bavarian German nickname for "Friedrich"). The name alludes to Austrian artist and architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser (1928-2000) who was born Friedrich Stowasser. Another common name for Kugelmugel in the German-language fandom is "Leopold", an allusion to Leopold I (c.940-994) of the Babenberg dynasty, the first margrave of Austria.
And now we're delving deep into the vast expanse of Austrian/Southern German Food with Untranslatable Names:
Butter cookies (Butterplätzchen) are the Christmas biscuits (Austrian German standard: Weihnachtsbäckerei; Federal German standard: Weihnachtsgebäck) my grandma traditionally makes, and Vanillekipferl ("vanilla crescents") are a traditional Austrian/Southern German Christmas biscuit. Vanillekipferl are often said to have been made in Vienna first in reaction to the Turks unsuccessfully besieging the city in 1683, but there is no actual proof for this story. In fact, Kipferl ("Kipfen"), in an unbent shape, are already mentioned in a charter dating from 1221 (see: Kerstin Tomenendal, 2002. Auf den Spuren der Osmanen in der österreichischen Geschichte [Tracing the Ottomans in Austrian History], Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. 23f.). In case you want to make Vanillekipferl yourself, try the recipe from Wikibooks. Seems pretty decent to me.
Schupfnudeln ("rolled noodles") are a kind of finger-shaped potato dumplings; they're a typical dish of the Southern German/Swabian cuisine. Schupfnudeln are either made of rye flour or of potato dough and are typically served with pickled cabbage (Sauerkraut) as well as smoked bacon. Mohnnudeln ("poppy noodles") are a sweet dish typical of the Austrian and Bohemian/Czech cuisine similar to Schupfnudeln. Unlike those, they get tossed in both melted butter and poppy seeds, and they're dredged with icing sugar.