The chore jar had been Giles' idea. When you have a houseful of teenage girls, a vampire, two young adult males; both of which can be slightly clueless at times, and a vengeance demon with a severe case of bunny phobia to look after, there has to be a better way to ensure that the vital chores get done and the household runs as smoothly as possible. So, enter the chore jar.
It was a simple enough process, just write down everyone's names on index cards and stick them into a jar. Then you list the required weekly chores on a large piece of poster board. You draw out names and affix the cards to the poster board, thus ensuring that all the chores are divided evenly and fairly each week.
For the first week of using the chore jar, Spike's name was drawn for the task of cooking dinner for the week. As usual, when faced with any task he didn't want to do, which was most of them, Spike protested and claimed that cooking would turn him into a poof. Buffy who was already having a difficult day simply told him to shut his yap and that he'd either do as he was told, or he could find himself getting acquainted with Mr. Pointy.
Mumbling several curses under his breath and shooting several dirty looks at Giles and Buffy, Spike stomped off to the kitchen. He hated this! He didn't even know how to cook for God's sake! Screwing up his forehead, he thought hard as he tried to remember anything his Mum might have said or done about cooking. All he could remember was his Mum saying "Wash your hands before you handle any food."
He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, and then opened the refrigerator. Inside was a large package of chicken meant for the night's dinner. Spike figured he shouldn't have too much problem with it. It was only chicken after all, how hard could it be? He took the package of chicken out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. On a shelf above the counter were several of Joyce's cookbooks. Spike smiled at the sight of them. They would be most useful. He pulled the one down that seemed to have been used the most and flipped to the section on "Poultry".
Instead of just one simple recipe about how to cook chicken, Spike was bombarded with several different recipes. Boiled chicken, baked chicken, fried chicken...and that was just the beginning! The recipes ran the gamut from the simple fried chicken to the more exotic roast pheasant. Finally Spike settled on making fried chicken. He figured it would be simple enough, and most people liked fried chicken.
He flipped back to one of the more easy sounding recipes for fried chicken he had seen and read the recipe. It instructed that he was to heat up some oil in a deep pan, then dip the chicken in milk and then either roll or shake the chicken pieces in flour or breadcrumbs. After that he was to fry the chicken in the oil, turning the pieces every so often so they would brown evenly, and that the chicken would be done when the juices ran clear.
Spike fumbled around the kitchen for a moment as he tried to remember which cabinet Joyce stored her pots and pans in. After finally locating the right one, Spike rummaged around in the cabinet until he found a very large and deep frying pan that seemed to fit the cookbook's description of a proper chicken frying pan. He pulled on the handle and Crash! An avalanche of pots and pans came spilling out of the cabinet to land on his head.
"Aw bloody hell!" Spike whined, rubbing his head. He was sure to have a lump there later. He gave one of the pots on the floor a kick and sent it clattering across the linoleum.
"Spike! Keep it down in there! We can't hear ourselves think!" Faith snapped at him from the living room.
Sneering and sticking out his tongue at the direction of the living room, Spike picked up the scattered pots and pans and placed most of them back into the cabinet. The chicken pan he placed on the stove. Now he just needed to find the oil. Finding the oil required another search, then Spike remembered that Joyce had stored most of her cooking ingredients in the pantry. He opened the pantry's door and walked in.
The pantry was a long, narrow room lined with shelves from top to bottom. The shelves were stocked with canned goods, bottles, and boxes, all neatly organized and alphabetized. Spike remembered too that the chicken needed something to go with it, some sort of starch, and some sort of vegetable. He found a box of mashed potato flakes, a jar of gravy, and a large can of green beans. Then he found himself slightly bewildered at the selection of oils the pantry offered. There was peanut oil, vegetable oil, grape seed, olive; both extra virgin and regular, plus cans of lard and Crisco. Which was the right one to use? Spike figured one was just as good as the next, so he grabbed the peanut oil.
Back in the kitchen, Spike started to pour the peanut oil into the pan when Dawn came in to get a glass of juice. When she spotted the bottle he had in his hand, she shrieked!
"Spike! What are you doing?! Are you trying to kill Violet?!"
"Jesus Nibblet! You want to give me a heart attack?! What do you mean do I want to kill Violet?"
"That's peanut oil! Violet is deathly allergic to peanuts! If she comes anywhere near anything that has even the slightest trace of anything peanut related in it, she'll go into anaphylactic shock!"
"Oh well, in that case, umm you know which one I should use to fry the chicken in?"
"Use the vegetable oil, it's made from soybeans, so it's safe, or you could use the Crisco."
"Alright, thanks Nibblet."
Dawn nodded, got her juice, and left.
Spike put the peanut oil back in the pantry and poured a generous dollop of the vegetable oil into the pan. He turned on the burner. Turning back around to put away the vegetable oil, he accidently bumped the bottle with his hand and knocked it over. Oil gurgled out of the open bottle and ran all down the counter to puddle on the floor.
"Bugger!" Spike snapped. He quickly righted the bottle before any more could spill, and then grabbed a roll of paper towels to mop up the mess. After putting the oil back into the pantry, it was time to start prepping the chicken.
Spike checked the cookbook again. The cookbook suggested using a paper bag to shake the chicken in to coat it with the desired coating. Spike found an empty paper grocery bag next to the breadbox. It would do nicely. Buffy didn't have any bread crumbs, but there was a large canister of flour sitting on one of the counter tops. Spike walked over to get it.
As he was coming back with the canister, his foot slipped on the oily linoleum and his feet went out from under him, sending him and the canister crashing to the floor. The canister's lid, which was already rather loose, fell off, and Spike was soon covered in flour. Spike got to his feet snarling and sneezing, and rubbing his sore backside. After putting the canister down on the counter, he fetched the broom and dustpan to clean up the spilled flour.
At last some of the flour ended up in the paper bag along with some salt and pepper. Spike put the canister back, and started adding the chicken pieces to the bag.
"Urgggh! Gross!" Spike exclaimed to himself as he picked up another piece of raw chicken. He hated the slimy, bumpy texture of it. He was going to scrub his hands extra good after he was done with this.
When the last piece of chicken was in the bag, Spike gave it a couple of good shakes to ensure that all the pieces were fully coated. The oil was soon hot and Spike began to add the chicken to the pan. He must have put the first piece in a little too roughly, because the hot oil sputtered angrily and hot oil jumped out of the pan onto his hand.
"Ouchhdammit!" Spike snapped. He was more careful with the rest of the chicken. Once it was in the pan and frying, there wasn't really anything to do except for watch it and give it a turn with the tongs now and then. Spike had already scrubbed the raw chicken and flour gunk off of his hands.
Watching the chicken was a very dull occupation, so naturally Spike's mind started to wander. Soon the acrid smell of smoke and a shrill ringing noise snapped Spike out of his daydream. The chicken was burning! The kitchen was filling with smoke and the fire alarm was going off. The alarm's shrill screams hurt Spike's sensitive ears dreadfully. He quickly turned the chicken over, opened the kitchen's windows to let out the smoke, and picked up the broom again to poke at the alarm to try to turn it off. After a few good pokes with the broom handle, the alarm fell silent again. Spike shook his fist at it. He hated the infernal contraption.
Spike thought the chicken looked done enough, though not very appetizing as most of it was burned black. "No matter. I'll just tell everyone it's Cajun!" He said to himself. He stuck the chicken on a platter and gave it a few generous shakes of Cajun seasoning from a green and white can he had found. After covering the platter with a sheet of aluminum foil to keep the meat hot, he went to work on the side dishes.
The mashed potatoes didn't seem to be too much trouble. The box was printed with some very concise instructions along with some very handy illustrations. Spike didn't know if the dusty little flakes of dried potato could be very tasty, but then again, it didn't matter since he wasn't going to be eating it. He also wasn't sure what the little black specks in the potatoes could be. Since he had never seen dried mashed potatoes before, he figured the specks were just part of the potato, or maybe they were some sort of seasoning.
Spike was able to get a couple of saucepans down without getting hit on the head. He got water, butter, and salt boiling away in one for the potatoes, and used the other one for the gravy. Spike didn't like the looks of the gravy. The gloppy brown mess reminded him of sewage, and the sickening plop it made as it slid out of the jar into the pan was rather nauseating. Again, Spike muttered a silent prayer of thanks that he wouldn't be eating this meal.
The green beans weren't too bad, although opening the can was a bit of a problem. The large can wouldn't fit under the electric opener, so Spike had to use the manual one. This took a bit of time and effort, and when he finally got it open, he cut his finger on the can's sharp edge as he tried to remove the lid from the opened can to dispose of it. At last the green beans were in a bowl and were heating in the microwave.
Finally everything was done. Spike plopped the mashed potatoes into a bowl and poured the gravy into the gravy boat. The mashed potatoes looked lumpy and were still covered with those odd, black specks. The gravy looked even nastier to Spike as it seemed to have developed a thin skin on top. The green beans had withered a bit from being in the microwave a little too long. Spike stuck a bit of butter and some salt on them to try to improve them a bit.
It was Willow's turn to set the table, so Spike called her in and told her that everything was ready. When Willow got a good look at Spike when she came in to get the plates, she laughed. Poor Spike was utterly exhausted and was covered from head to toe with sweat, oil, flour, and chicken drippings. There were even clumps of flour in his hair and in his ears.
Willow set the table and Spike helped her carry in the food. While the others were starting to eat, Spike went to get a shower and change clothes.
Everyone was rather hungry, so at first they dug into the food eagerly. Kennedy took a large bite of chicken but quickly spat it out. The outside was burned and far too spicy, and the meat inside was still bloody.
"What are those black things on the potatoes? Pepper?" Buffy asked.
Giles took a closer look at his portion. Upon realizing what they were, he wrinkled up his face in disgust.
"No Buffy. That is not pepper. I'm afraid those are weevils."
"You mean bugs?! Yuck!" Buffy and Dawn squealed.
The weevily mashed potatoes went untasted as did the gravy. In the end everyone ended up eating bread and butter and green beans for supper.
Dawn and Rona cleared the table and did the dishes. When Spike came back down stairs he was not in the least bit surprised to see a bunch of glum slayers sitting around the dinner table and Xander ordering pizza. To spare him hurt feelings, Dawn and Buffy told him that for his first time cooking, it wasn't too bad. All he would need would be a few lessons and some more practice. Buffy then got him situated in his favorite armchair and brought him his favorite snack of warm blood and weetabix.