Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. No silver has crossed my palm, either.
A/N: Written for the GeekFiction Halloween Fic-a-thon. TRICK: Someone strings up and gets stuck in fake spiderwebs as well as candy apple making gone awry. Dialogue references to CSI Season 2: You've Got Male.
"She did not so much cook as assassinate food."
Storm Jameson (1891-1986)
xxx
OK, so I'm not a cook. I never claimed to be. Honestly, I've never found it appealing. I'd rather read a book…a real book, not a cookbook…than whip up something in the kitchen.
I've lived on take-out for years…that and the occasional PBJ sandwich. Well, I did until that case with the victim who practically never left her house. Donna Marks. The parallels to my life were a little too creepy, but I didn't suddenly decide I should learn to cook; I threw away my take-out menus and went out to eat. Unfortunately that involved eating out and…uh…some other things…with Hank Peddigrew. Once that was over, it also involved having a few beers and…let's just say I stopped eating out for awhile.
It's pretty easy to not cook when you're a vegetarian. I eat lots of fresh fruits and vegetables. The dairy I eat requires no cooking. And those freshly prepared meals you can get at Whole Foods? I can reheat them to perfection. So, yeah, I'm not a cook.
Grissom, on the other hand, is.
He's not really a foodie; more like a man who learned to cook in self defense. The first time he fixed pancakes for me when I stayed over, I was so touched. My total experience with pancakes is at IHOP or out of the frozen food aisle. And he didn't use a mix either. He made them from scratch.
"When did you learn to cook?" I asked, pouring a little more heated (heated!) syrup on a bite of pancake.
"My mom taught me a little, but I really had to learn in college," he said, putting another pancake into the oven, which I later learned is how he kept them warm so you could have a stack of hot pancakes.
"I went to college, too, Griss. It's not a requirement."
"It was for me. I was on a pretty strict budget. Eating at home is cheaper than eating out," he said, finally joining me at the table.
I said, "Yeah, but I've known guys in college…home cooking for them was tuna fish sandwiches and beer," as I put a little more butter on my pancakes. Butter. Not margarine…real butter.
He grinned as he put syrup on his pancakes. "I like hot food, Sara. A sandwich just doesn't feel like a meal to me. I'm a product of my generation, I guess. Mom always cooked breakfast and dinner for me. When I left home, I really missed that. So, I learned to cook."
And it was as simple as that. A lot about Grissom is like that…he is presented with a need or choice and he makes a decision and that's that. No judgments, no prevaricating. Need. Decision. Let's move on.
As time went on, I found out there's depth to Grissom's culinary knowledge. The day I moved in, I ran across a bunch of his cookbooks when I was trying to find a place to put my favorite plastic take-out containers. He has The Silver Palate, The Joy of Cooking…that sort of thing. He even has this enormous book called Larousse Gastronomique which is kind of a food dictionary. When I asked him about it he said he bought it after watching Red Dragon and kept it because it was a good reference.
I've paged through his cookbooks. There are enough spatters on the pages of complicated recipes that I know he's actually used them. That impressed me – thinking of him assembling the ingredients for some exotic dish then going home, cooking it and eating it. There's a healthy self sufficiency about that.
The cooking thing doesn't come up all that often for us, but often enough that it makes me feel funny. Grissom does not expect me to cook…he has no preconceived notions about women's roles or anything like that…but there's a part of me that thinks I should give it a whirl. Sometimes I think those twinges are only the result of my female wiring, but it happens often enough and with enough real desire behind it to make me watch what Grissom does in the kitchen and imagine myself doing the same things.
I started watching the Food Network when I'm off and Grissom isn't. How to Boil Water seemed like a good place to start. It's a pretty good show. I've learned some things. Good Eats is very good. I like that it approaches cooking from the science end. I can understand that and frankly, it gives me hope. Alton Brown kind of reminds me of Greg…trying way too hard for the laugh…and it's a relief to see a show that isn't so serious. If I took this whole thing seriously, I would give up right now, because…I'm cooking retarded or something.
I've tried to slip my new knowledge into our meals…a little here…a little there…with varying success. Grissom is always very complimentary when I make something edible and wisely silent when I don't. He's stopped asking about my disasters that he stumbles across in the trash, which is good because it's just so embarrassing. Women have been doing this for millions of years. I am smart…I am very smart. I can learn to do this!
This latest round of…experiments…all started because of a little snatch of conversation I heard between Nick and Grissom. It was several weeks before Halloween and somehow they were talking about trick or treating and apples. They did the whole razor-blade-in-the-apple talk (we had a rash of those several years ago), and had gotten around to tales of bobbing for apples when Grissom said, "Did you ever have candy apples at Halloween, Nick?" Nick said no. Griss launched into the sweetest story about how his mom made candy apples for his class when he was eight and how he'd helped make them. Kind of an uncharacteristic story for Grissom…Nick looked at him sort of funny, actually. But it gave me an idea.
Now, you have to understand that Grissom is an apple lover. I have never seen anyone eat apples the way he does. We always have some in the fridge (and not in a bag either, as that makes them over ripen). He has dried apples in his desk. He eats applesauce like it's going of style. Apple butter…yep, we've got that, too. Cider, hard and soft. Apple pie, apple fritters. Check. Apple fucking candy (you don't want to know). If you want a dissertation on the different varieties of apples, ask Gil Grissom, but make sure there's a place to sit because you're going to be awhile.
So, I overheard this little story about candy apples and in a fit of domesticity, I thought, "I'll make him some candy apples for Halloween. How hard can that be?" I'd laugh if the whole thing wasn't so pathetic.
First rule. If you are a beginning cook, do not attempt to make candy. Just don't.
I rummaged around in Grissom's cookbooks until I found a recipe, went to the store and got the ingredients. I felt so…homespun…I actually had a Little House on the Prairie moment. But it was only a moment.
When I got back to the house, I carefully washed and dried the apples (Pippins, Grissom's favorite), greased a cookie sheet, set out the sticks and I was on my way. My first warning should have been when I read that 'boil until the soft crack stage' part of the recipe. And I did look it up before I started…if I know anything, I know what I don't know…but it's a trickier than the instructions led me to believe.
I got so involved with dropping boiling sugar into cool water that the whole mess boiled over. Fortunately I saw it go out of the corner of my eye and managed to turn the burner off, but still…hot red sugar syrup all over Grissom's stove. When that stuff hit the burner it started to smoke, filling the whole kitchen with the smell of burnt sugar and it was not crème brulée.
After I opened all the windows and pulled the battery out of the smoke detector, I assessed the damage. Did you know that burned-on sugar is almost impossible to remove from that to which it has attached itself? The burner was a total loss. As was the pan. I managed to get the stovetop clean using oven cleaner. I discovered my desire to make candy apples had waned considerably.
I was expecting the replacement element for the stove to be expensive and it was. The real shock came when I went to Williams Sonoma to replace the sauce pan. Excuse me…saucier. That's what the woman at the store told me when she examined the one I'd ruined… "I don't believe I've ever seen a Le Creuset saucier in quite this condition…however did you manage it?"
My expression made her drop that line of questioning…she just went to the back and brought out a new one. $130.00. One hundred and thirty dollars. For a pot. Apparently, Grissom likes good cookware, too.
My desire to make candy apples evaporated completely.
When I got home, I finished the bio-hazard cleanup, replaced the battery in the smoke detector, threw out the remains of my efforts, replaced the burner and the saucier, and pouted in the living room. Dammit.
Gil never noticed that I replaced one of his good pans or the element on his stove…at least, I don't think he did.
The next day it occurred to me that I could probably buy candy apples online. I'd so wanted to make that special treat for him, but the making part was more important to me than it was to him, so I caved and did a search. I found a place…Wild Orchards…that sells 'old fashioned candy apples,' though how genuine that claim is, I don't know, because they have flavors like Piña Colada and Orange Pineapple Mango. Still, they had Cherry (which I learned is the traditional flavor) and Cinnamon, so I bought four of each. He is the apple boy, after all.
I don't know why I was feeling so domestic after that. In spite of the Candy Apple Massacre, I still felt the urge to nest. There's this gal at the Lab who is a decorating fool…Judy, in reception. If there is a holiday, she has little themed knick knacks on display. I'd always thought it was a bit over the top (she even has something for Arbor Day…come on), but for some reason her Halloween stuff made me go all Martha Stewart.
It was still a few days before Halloween, so I decided to do one of those super fancy pumpkins…the kind where you don't cut all the way through, but leave some pulp inside to make a lantern effect? Since it involved no cooking, I figured I was safe. I went through a couple of Grissom's entomology texts until I found what I wanted…a big fat, juicy spider. A yellow garden spider to be exact or Argiope aurantia. No random spiders for me…and certainly not for Gil Grissom. I xeroxed the page, enlarged it until it was about the right size and went in search of just the right pumpkin.
The pumpkin carving went pretty well. Once I got the candle in it, I dimmed the lights and lit it up. It looked great! I was so pleased with myself, I decided I wanted to make a sort of display. There's this little alcove outside the front door. There's a planter there…I've never seen a plant in it, it's filled with gravel. I thought I'd put the pumpkin there and maybe add some of that fake spider webbing and a few plastic spiders. That was the theory, anyway.
There wasn't anything out on the porch to attach the web to. You kind of have to drape it for it to look like anything, so I went back into the house and rummaged through the utility cabinet by the back door. I needed something to stick the stuff up with, but nothing permanent. Duct tape was appealing but it would show, so I passed on that. I could have put up a few small nails and hung the web on them, but I didn't know how Grissom would feel about holes in his siding, so I passed on them, too.
There was a can in the back of the cabinet…spray adhesive. I read the instructions: a light movable adhesive that may be removed with acetone. I thought about it…maybe if I sprayed a little on the web, it would stick to the siding through Halloween. OK, I had a plan.
I do not recommend spray adhesive. For anything. Picture if you will a grown woman covered with fake spider webs. That 'light movable adhesive' claim…bullshit. I practically had to use steel wool to get it off and I had to cut some of it out of my hair. I should have gone with the duct tape.
My urge to nest went wherever my urge to cook went after the Candy Apple Massacre. I pouted some more on the couch.
I'd been managing all this homey stuff while Grissom was at the Lab or in court, so I was able to pull off my surprise Halloween night. When we got up that evening to go to work, I had his candy apples set in a semi-circle around the pumpkin on the kitchen table. Since I'm always up before he is, I had time to get everything just so, even including the plastic spiders I'd bought for my other idea. I was leaning casually against the kitchen counter when he rounded the corner from the hall. I wish I'd thought to bring my camera home because the look on his face was just priceless.
"Happy Halloween, Griss."
Gil doesn't smile much. Really smile. That happy-all-the-way-to-your-toes kind of smile. Well, he did then.
"Sara…what…did you carve this?" he said, sitting at the table to get a closer look. "This is an Argiope aurantia, isn't it? You did a wonderful job..."
He turned the pumpkin a little one way and then the other to see the design from different angles. He was still smiling when he looked up, "Did you do this for me?"
I kissed him then…I couldn't help myself, he was so adorable. I sat next to him at the table and leaned into his shoulder. "Just for you, Gil."
"And these…candy apples?" he said, examining one of the cellophane wrapped treats. "How did you…?"
"I found them online. There are two flavors…cherry and cinnamon…see? The plastic is different colors so you can tell the difference."
"Oh, Sara, I love candy apples. Thank you," he said, unwrapping one and taking a big bite. "Delicious! I haven't had a candy apple since I was eight."
"Since your mom made them for your whole class?"
He looked at me, "Yes…how did you know about that?"
"I overheard you and Nick a couple of weeks ago. You sounded so wistful, I thought I'd try to get some for you."
He looked back at the apple in his hand and said, "Yeah…it was quite an experience."
Something in his voice made me ask, "What do you mean?"
"I remember I had to wash and dry all these apples and get the sticks ready. We'd made them before, so I knew the drill. Well, Mom had never made that big a batch…she'd only ever made them for me. So we had this great big pot of sugar syrup going on the stove and it boiled over. That stuff went everywhere…all down the stove, on the floor…everywhere. It was a mess. She made me leave the kitchen because she was afraid that I'd burn myself, but I only went as far as the dining room. I watched as she cleaned up all that sticky burnt sugar…I think she had to throw the pot away."
"And after all that she had to make another batch? That's terrible," I said, really feeling her pain.
He grinned, "No, she never made candy apples again."
I was confused, "But you said…"
"She went down to the candy store on the corner and bought 27 candy apples…enough for every kid in my class. It came to something like 30 dollars. Those are the apples I took to school."
I have never laughed so hard in my life.
FIN