So, my flash drive is broken, so I'm writing one shots for now.
Inspired by THUG KITCHEN, an amazing website with amazing recipes. Absolutely all recipes, names, and meals belong to them and I take no credit for it. I just couldn't help up envision Puck saying the things written on that website as I looked through their astonishingly good food. Enjoy.
Okay, so maybe things didn't turn out the way she had planned them. When she said she wanted to be in show business, she wasn't exactly talking about shows as in television, and she certainly wasn't talking about working behind the scenes in television, and most of all, she one hundred percent, never in a thousand years wanted to be 'Coffee Girl'.
Yes, being the girl who has now mastered how to juggle four coffee trays, three boxes of donuts and two bags of bagels and cream cheese was what she had lowly become, but not what Rachel Berry had planned to do with her gap year in New York before she started at Julliard in 2014. In fact, the plan was to audition for an off-Broadway performance of Wicked, but when she got there, 'Coffee Girl' for a dinky, unknown, broken down place The Little Theater in downtown Manhattan was the best she got.
She supposed at this stage, 'Coffee Girl' for Wake Up, New York on Channel 10 was a step up from 'Coffee Girl' at a play house that no one knew about. Rachel now considered herself an executive 'Coffee Girl' and smirked in the direction of the people who work at The Little Theater.
Still, by October, Rachel had the balancing act down to a science and could make a coffee run in under twenty minutes, despite New York traffic in the morning. The thought of that, though, made her cry herself to sleep nearly every night as she watched re-runs of the TV show she worked for. To at least be 'Copy Girl' would be better then 'Coffee Girl'. At least 'Copy Girl', who Rachel new as Quinn, was able to interact more with the presenters on the screen. Quinn was able to go on the screen when she had messed up the copies and had to replace them. She got an introduction and everything.
"And here is Quinn, one of our wonderful editors!" Ken Tanaka had said from the television set, as Rachel's eyes remained glued to the floor. She was almost afraid to look around and make eye contact with anyone.
The thin, blonde girl with a perfect ponytail stepped onto the TV set with a confused smile on her face.
"Do you have the correct copies for us, Quinn?"Emma Pillsbury asked with a forced smile.
"I do, right here."
On the set, Quinn handed the two presenters their correct copies and then gave a small wave to the audience before stepping off the set and scurrying to Rachel's side for fear that someone would reprimand and then fire her.
"Editor?" Rachel had whispered into her friend's ear with a laugh.
"I guess they just forgot to tell me I was promoted."
The two girls stifled giggles because there was 'No talking on the set or you'll be fired faster then you can blink', and retreated to the back corner of the set. And the day carried on as it should have. Rachel had to clean up someone's spilled coffee and then had to run out go get him another one, the copy machine jammed and Rachel found herself being 'Copy Girl Number Two' for an hour as she and Quinn wrestled to fix it, and when she went home that night, ink stains on her new light blue cardigan, Rachel changed out of her work clothes and turned on the small, black and white TV in her kitchen as she made dinner. She liked to watch the daily segment of Thug Kitchen. Aside from the foul language that he was allowed to use, Chef Noah Puckerman was possibly the best TV that Rachel ever watched. He made her laugh, his recipes were amazing and healthy, and he wasn't at all terrible to look at. She mostly liked the way his bicep muscles moved as he cooked.
If Rachel had a soft spot for anything, it was men who cooked.
"Today on Thug Kitchen, we're going to be making salads. Yeah, that's right. You heard me. Salads, motherfucker. You should be eating one goddamned salad every day. Fuck it, eat ten, brag about it! They're like plant nachos."
Rachel smiled and pulled a bag of fresh lettuce out of her grocery bag.
"You might make some friends with this first salad here. Roasted strawberries and coconut flakes make this salad look classy as fuck but it's still a choice delivery method for all that fiber and antioxidants. Make some room on your plate for this nutritious motherfucker."
As he went into detail about the salad, Rachel followed every step he did, down the very second of roasting the coconut flakes. And when she ate it, along with the roasted chickpea and broccoli burrito, her taste buds were in heaven. Rachel took extra time to eat this meal because it was 'This burrito will knock your fucking socks off. None of that Chipotle shit. Stop supporting those punk bitches and their overpriced garbage rice. Fresh food my ass'.
When she finished and had washed her dishes in the sink and put them away, Rachel crossed her one room apartment to the double bed that was pushed into the corner. She set down a glass of blackberry bourbon fizz, minus the bourbon, on her nightstand and climbed into bed. She had left Chef Puckerman playing on the small TV in the kitchen area. Rachel hated to admit it to herself, but she had gotten used to falling asleep to his voice.
As she climbed into bed, Rachel felt the warmth of her hundreds of layers of blankets pull her into a lull. She hated that her heating was broken, but didn't mind it so much once she was tucked under her electric blanket. Her hands drummed on the soft skin of her stomach, where her tank top had ridden up. She traced small circles on her skin and closed her eyes as Chef Puckerman went into detail about how 'You motherfuckers shouldn't have your finger on the top of your knife. Julia Child knew how to use a knife and she didn't take cooking classes until she was in her forties. You can hold a Goddamn knife properly if she could.'
Her hands stopped at the waistline of her sweatpants and she pressed the pads of her fingers down slightly. "Oh, come on, Rachel," she whispered to herself. "Don't."
Carefully, Rachel lifted her hands from her stomach and flipped over onto her side, her eyes staring at the small screen on her counter top in the kitchen. She watched his muscles and jumped with him when the pan flamed as he poured a cooking alcohol into the mixture. Her eyelids felt heavy when he started telling how to prepare the dishes after all the food was cooked, chopped, and prepared.
And soon, Rachel was drifting off to the sound of the energetic banter between the man in the TV and the fantasies of her mind.
~*~
"Where the hell is my coffee?" Ken Tanaka bellowed from down the hall as Rachel pushed her legs just a little bit faster until her thighs felt like they were going to explode.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel said as she burst into the faculty lounge and set down the drinks and food. "There was a long line, I tried to push through, but it only got me bumped farther back."
Ken waved his hand. "Don't waste your breath telling me half-ass excuses. Late coffee is late coffee and now, thanks to you, I'm going to have to take a piss halfway through the news cast."
"I'm sorry," Rachel pushed out, trying to catch her breath before she passed out.
Ken just shoved past her, snatching his coffee cup out of Rachel's hand and grabbing two glazed donuts from the box. "His wife is holding out on him," Emma said, politely taking her tea from Rachel with a smile. "She caught him cheating with one of the makeup girls, so he's currently sleeping on the couch."
Rachel made a face. "Oh. Well, that doesn't give him an excuse to be angry at me."
"He never has excuses, darling," Emma said, spreading cream cheese over a bagel half and walking from the lounge.
"What's up with you, babe?" Quinn said, walking over to her friend and placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You look beat. And you're never late."
Rachel rubbed her eyes, not caring about the makeup that was lining her lids. "I was up late last night watching TV?"
Quinn grinned. "Ooh, still watching Noah Puckerman's re-runs, I see," she said with a teasing tone in her voice.
Rachel rolled her eyes and rubbed them again. "It was the tempeh episode," she said in defense, recalling the tempeh avocado rolls that she had made a couple days ago. They were more then heavenly.
"Is that the episode with the flaming pan?" Rachel nodded. "You only watch that episode because his face is framed in fire for about ten seconds."
"And it's the best ten seconds of my life."
"You're hopeless," Quinn said, touching her friend's cheek softly before grabbing the original copy of the script for that morning and heading out to make sixty five copies for everyone on the filming staff.
Rachel sank into one of the recliners that were decorating the incredibly fancy lounge and wiped the remaining sweat off her forehead. It was barely eight o'clock and she was already exhausted from the day.
"Oh, is this one mine?" a familiar, low voice said.
Rachel's head snapped up and she nearly fell off the chair when she saw Chef Noah Puckerman standing there in light wash jeans and a navy blue muscle-T shirt. His cooking apron was flung over his shoulder. A metal chain was connected from his front pocket to the back. Rachel watched as he leaned over the tray and smelled the caffeine filled cup, the muscles in his back showing through the shirt. She couldn't find her voice, and just nodded.
"Fuck yeah," he said in response, pulling the to-go cup from the tray and bringing it to his lips. "Didn't get much sleep last night, you know what I mean?"
Rachel swallowed hard and tried to push aside the fact that he blatantly implied he had a woman in his apartment last night, while Rachel's was empty, but full of his voice.
"I was tryna come up with a new recipe for today's lunch episode and it was all going to shit. I was up until three in the morning cooking fuckin' snap peas for nothing because I had a recipe sitting right in front of me."
"Oh," Rachel said, fixing her hair and patting her cheeks to get rid of the flaming feeling they had when she caught his eyes wandering over her body. "I'd- I'd better get back to work."
"You've got another job then gettin' coffee?" Rachel sneered at him but eventually shrugged her shoulders because she knew that she didn't have any other jobs. "It was nice talkin' to ya, kid," Noah said, striding from the office and allowing Rachel to finally be able to breathe.
She gasped for air and fixed her hair again because she was sure he saw that it was sticking out in ten different directions as he walked past the large window to the lounge and looked in at her before he disappeared around a corner. Rachel stared at the wall and tried to collect herself.
"Stop it, Rachel. You are an adult. A boy hasn't made you lose your breath since Jesse St. James kissed you for the first time." She stared at the place where Chef Puckerman had disappeared. "But, he isn't a boy," Rachel sighed to herself. "He's a man."
~*~
Rachel had gotten promoted. Because of her disaster with the coffee that day, her boss, Will, thought she needed a little bit more responsibility to keep her in check.
"Have a seat, Rachel," he said when she stepped gingerly into his office.
Rachel had never been called into Will's office before. She was sure she was going to get fired because they go through coffee girls like a sick person goes through tissues. She lowered herself into the uncomfortable wooden chair and, though she had never been called to the office in high school, she assumed this is what it felt like.
"I'm sure you've seen Ken's performance from this afternoon?" he said, taking a sip from the mug labeled 'You're Fired', which didn't give Rachel any ease at all. "He had to pee so badly during his presentation that he dashed off the set. Emma was left to her devices by herself and it was a disaster. So…I've been doing a little thinking since your incident this morning. And I've come to a conclusion."
Rachel gripped at the armrests of her chair. "Please, Will , please don't fire me. You don't understand how badly I need this job."
He waved his hands at her. "Rachel, I'm not firing you." She let out a breath of relief. "In fact, I'm doing the exact opposite. I'm promoting you."
Rachel looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You are?"
"I am. I've done some thinking. A lot of thinking. You need some more responsibility." She arched her eyebrows at him. "We're promoting you."
Rachel's hands gripped the armrests to her chair. "Promoting?" Her heart pounded in her chest. "Promoting me to what?"
"You'll be running the lunch errands."
Her shoulders fell and suddenly, the heart that was pounding in her chest, stopped beating all together. "Lunch Girl?"
"Well, I don't think that Lunch Girl is the appropriate term for it, but, theoretically, yes."
Rachel's heart sank into her chest. Lunch Girl. She was going to be Lunch Girl. A title that felt even more meaningless because people depended on her for their morning coffee. Most of the staff depended on Chef Puckerman for their lunch. The extent of her extra responsibility stretched out to the two oversized office men who answered the phones from TV watchers who tended to complain about Chef Puckerman's use of language.
"It's HBO," they always said. "He's allowed to say that. You don't like it, don't watch."
"Fine," Rachel said when Will cleared his throat and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I'll take it."
"Excellent, I'm so glad!" he said with a smile, clapping his hands loudly once. "Why don't you get back to work and at about eleven o'clock, you should go around and start asking people for their orders. Just focus on the TV room people. Most everyone else brings their lunches or takes it from the cafeteria."
Rachel shivered, but she wasn't sure if it was from the idea of the slimy food in the court below their filming floor, or because of the fact that she had to go around and take orders like a waitress, which she never wanted to be.
Then, again, she didn't exactly want to be Coffee and Lunch Girl either.
As she exited the office, someone snagged her arm and pulled her to the right. Rachel let out a yelp and regained her balance. Standing up straight and adjusting her sweater, Rachel looked up at Quinn.
"What happened? You never get called to Will's office. That's always me because I keep fucking up the copies."
Rachel bit her lip. "I got promoted."
Quinn squealed. "Really!? To what?"
The brunette's eyes flashed around as she tried to keep the tears from falling. "Lunch Girl. I'm now responsible for coffee in the morning and lunch in the afternoon. Will felt that I needed more responsibility after this mornings incident when Ken ran off the set screaming that he had to pee."
Rachel's voice broke at the end of her sentence and Quinn pulled her friend into a tight hug. "Oh, come on. That's not so bad."
"Yes, it is!" Rachel wailed into Quinn's shoulder. "I'm becoming a waitress!"
Quinn stroked Rachel's hair and shushed her quietly. "No, you're not. You're working hard and doing your best." Rachel sniffled a few times. "Hey, Rach?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"How did that audition go? For the off-Broadway version of RENT? You auditioned for Mimi, right?"
Rachel nodded. "Yes, I did. I haven't gotten the call back yet. They said the latest they would contact us would be tonight, so, I'll probably get the call when I get home."
Quinn pushed some hair out of Rachel's face and handed her a tissue. "Well, then just focus on that. Focus on the fact that you have a call to look forward to."
Rachel nodded again and dabbed at the tears around her eyes. "Okay, I will."
"Why don't we go sit in the lounge until lunch time. We can talk about singing and watch re-runs on the TV."
"Noah Puckerman re-runs?" Rachel asked with a hopeful smile.
Quinn grinned and nodded her head. "That's right. Noah Puckerman re-runs."
"Okay," Rachel said, her smile branching out even wider. "Let's do it."
~*~
When Rachel shoved her jammed door open with her shoulder, grocery bags in hand, she could hear the phone ringing from inside the apartment.
That's them, she said to herself, giving the door one last 'wham' and catapulting herself into the apartment. There was a final ring and Rachel nearly threw all the groceries onto the counter.
"Hello, this is Rachel Berry's phone. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now, but it you'd-"
"Hello?" Rachel said, clutching the phone in her hand and trying to catch her breath as the adrenaline rushed through her skin. "Oh… I- Thank you. Yes, I understand. Yes, you have a good day, too."
Rachel swallowed down the lump in her throat and hung up the phone and leaned against the counter. "How can they cut me? How could they cut me?"
She gripped at the ugly blue tile to her kitchen sink and steadied her choppy breathing. Her heart was pounding again in anger, frustration, and sadness. She looked at the groceries next to her gas stove and suddenly lost her appetite. However she still turned on her TV and switched the channel to Channel 7, where Chef Puckerman was getting interviewed on Late, Late Night with Craig Ferguson.
"And tonight's final guest is a hunk-a seasoned meat—Ladies—from Channel ten's special, Thug Kitchen. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the big man, himself, Chef Noah Puckerman!"
An applause erupted from the audience as Noah Puckerman came jogging onto the TV set. The two men exchanged handshakes and hugs before they moved to sit down in the chairs.
"So, Cheffie, tell me all about your show. Not that there's too much to tell. I must admit that I'm, well, I'm a little bit of a fangirl."
Noah laughed from the TV as Rachel crossed the apartment and began changing into her pajamas.
"Well, I can't say that I'm surprised, bro. But, I'll tell ya anyway. It started off as just a subpar cooking show. You know, the ones that air at eleven o'clock at night when no bros are watching TV for actual cooking advice. I got maybe ten, twenty viewers, tops. One night, my boy Will Schuster showed up at the studio. He'd been watching the show and wanted it on his channel. The rest is history."
Rachel sat down on the edge of her bed and crossed her legs like a child, a mug of honey tea to calm her aching throat from trying not to cry.
"And, tell me about the language. Now, I know it's HBO and if you don't like it, don't watch. But, what started it."
Chef Puckerman grinned. "I'm a bro by nature. The language just comes naturally." Craig raised his eyebrows and Noah Puckerman settled in more seriously. "It's for laughs. Being over enthusiastic with a little bit of adult theme thrown in is exactly what people are looking for. These recipes are easy. College kids and grad students fresh off the books in their new studio apartments can do this shit. If I can get them hooked in, they'll stay hooked in. They'll grow up on this."
"What about an assistant? You've always done this show by yourself. Have you ever thought of having a little friend on your show with you?"
"I have, but, Will keeps brushing off the idea. I don't think he understands the completely badass dynamic I would have if I had a feisty little thugette on my show."
Craig Ferguson laughed, as did the rest of the crowd. "Speaking of thugettes…" Chef Puckerman looked down at the floor with a slight smile because he knew the question was coming. As did Rachel. "Do you have a thugette in your life? A little lady?"
Rachel's breath caught. She'd never actually known if Noah Puckerman had a women in his life. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't have one. He was successful, attractive, and he could cook. Not to mention Rachel had heard him singing behind the scenes once or twice, and he had a voice. He had everything a woman could want.
"Well, um-" Noah cleared his throat. "I mean, I have women, obviously. Who could resist a bro? But, if we're narrowing it down and putting a label on it… No. I don't have a little lady."
"But, you're older now. Thug Kitchen has been on for nearly five years. There has never been a report of you with a certain someone. You're how old now? Twenty-five, twenty-six?"
"Twenty-nine."
"Twenty-nine. Jesus."
Chef Puckerman looked at the ground again. "Family has always been a dream. It's just one that I haven't gotten around to yet."
Craig nodded his head once and looked over at the cook. "Well, Cheffie, it's been wonderful having you on the show. Continue on with your straight thuggin' and good luck with your dream. Say good night to Cheffie everyone!"
The crown screamed and cheered as Chef Puckerman waved goodbye to them and crossed off the stage. Rachel set her now empty mug on her nightstand and changed the TV to Channel 10. Noah was making Tuscon tempeh pasta.
"Hamburger Helper ain't fucking helping. Get your ass some Tucson tempeh pasta because you should never trust a glove with a face. Have you ever seen the Hamburger Helper? That shit is terrifying. What's worse then that? The sodium content."
Chef Puckerman continued to talk. Rachel crawled into her bed and tucked the thick blankets around her shivering body. Noah started chopping up onions and Rachel fell asleep to the sound of his knife snapping against the cutting board.
~*~
Rachel made sure that she got the coffee to the building on time the next morning. Experiencing Ken's wrath twice in a row would not have been the ideal way to start off the day, so promptly at 7:30, Rachel was setting down the food and trays of coffee on the table in the staff lounge. William leered a 'Thank you' at her and stormed out of the room. Emma explained that he was now sleeping in a hotel room. Rachel laughed to herself at the anchorman's misfortune, mumbling that he deserved what he got.
Rachel settled herself in the same armchair she rested in the day before and waited for Noah Puckerman to walk in and take his coffee. It didn't take long for him to do so, his jeans hanging around his waist loosely as he stomped into the room. Rachel watched the muscles in his black t-shirt. The prominent ones by his shoulder blades moved as he reached to pick up his coffee and pop the plastic top off the cup. Steam wafted around his face and he sighed as he brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip.
"Shit, that's good."
Rachel closed her eyes and acted like she was relaxing in the chair as she said, "I asked for extra cream," as casually as she could, as if knowing that he liked extra cream in his coffee wasn't a big deal, even though he had never stated that fact to her directly.
She could feel his eyes on her and she fluttered her lids up and looked back. His brown eyes, which she just noticed had a green ring around the outside. His lips were pursed around his coffee cup and his eyes peered at her over the top, his thick eyebrows raised. The cup slowly left his lips and he looked like he was about to say something but suddenly, Matt, the camera operator, popped his head in.
"Yo, Puck. We're gonna start breakfast in about five minutes. Santana from makeup wants you."
The tall man with the unbearable muscles scoffed and ran a hand over his Mohawk. "Yeah, in more ways then one."
Rachel's ears followed the conversation down the hall as Matt said, "Have you got on that yet?"
Through the window, Rachel saw Noah Puckerman shrug his shoulders. "I don't know, man. She's got a great body but, there's nothing there, bro."
Rachel crept to the doorway and stuck her head out to listen more. "Yeah, but her body," Matt said, holding his hands out like he was supporting breasts.
Puck shrugged his shoulders once. "Yeah, I know, but…"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, I get it. You can't fuck a mannequin."
Rachel's body fell against the doorframe and she sighed loudly. "I'm not a mannequin," she said to herself as the two men rounded the corner and disappeared from her view.
"Who are you talking to?"
Rachel shrieked and jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound of the voice behind her. Turning around, she relaxed against the doorframe again when she saw Finn standing in front of her. Finn had piles of papers in his arms, a pencil behind each ear, and his glasses nearly falling off his nose. A pen was clamped between his teeth.
"No one," Rachel said through a sigh. "How's the editing coming?"
Finn nearly dropped everything on the floor. "Ken is driving me crazy. All he has to do is sit there are report the news. It's not his job to edit the damn words that he says. All he's gotta do is say them." Finn looked down at the ground for a moment, scuffing his Puma sneaker on the ground. "Have you talked to Quinn recently?"
Rachel's lips twitched in the corners and she reached up to push the editor's wayfarers up his nose. "I have."
"Has she talked about me at all?"
"She mentioned you on Wednesday when we were fixing the copier." Finn stepped closer to Rachel as he waited for her to continue. "She was talking about how you would know what you were doing if you were helping us. You're very smart and talented, apparently. She also thinks you have a nice smile," Rachel said casually, checking her nails, which were in desperate need of a manicure even though she couldn't afford it.
Finn grinned widely. "Does that mean that…"
"I think it's time you went in for the kill, Finn."
"Yes!" Finn said, banging his head forward like a rock star, as he could not do a full body dance. "Today is that day, Rachel. I'm asking Quinn out on a date!"
Rachel laughed and clapped her hands a few times. "Good, I'm glad. Finally."
"Is my coffee here?" he said, his ADD taking over him.
Rachel nodded once. "Yep." Turning on her heal, Rachel pulled the last coffee cup from the tray and placed it carefully on one of the stacks of paper in his hands. "Don't spill it!" she called after him as he retreated back down the hallway.
Finn laughed once and then cursed when the pen fell from his mouth. Rachel watched as he stiffened his back and slowly lowered himself to the ground, not moving at all as he reached down and tried to pick up the pen. He struggled for a few minutes, then managed to pinch the writing utensil between his pinky and ring finger.
"Ha! I got it!" he said, appraising himself as he strolled down the hallway with a different swagger then he had before. Rachel blamed it on the fact that he was finally going to ask Quinn out.
The brunette's eyes flashed to the clock. It was only 9 o'clock. "Three more hours," she said to herself, rubbing her hands together slowly and looked around the lounge.
Suddenly, the TV that was hung up on the wall turned on as they all do at 9, when the broadcasts start.
"Hello, everybody, I'm Emma Pillsbury."
"And I'm Ken Tanaka."
"And this… Is Channel Ten."
The introductions to the show, where the names of the broadcasters and reporters showed on the screens and had the person doing their signature move, which generally consisted of various points. Rachel flopped into her regular recliner and sat on the edge of the seat as she waited for Noah's intro card to flash by. It was of him pouring cooking alcohol into a pan, flames flashing in his face and him making a fake look of shock, before he pointed and winked at the camera.
Rachel smiled to herself and melted into the seat.
"Good morning, everybody. It's Friday morning and I hope you're all ready for the weekend," Emma said, her megawatt smile nearly blinding Rachel. "Now, before we get started, here's Sue Sylvester, with the weather."
The screen suddenly switched and the other woman with the short, light blonde hair stared at the camera with no expression. "Good morning, slackers. What are you doing watching TV at nine in the morning? Don't you have jobs? And don't give me that, 'Boo-hoo, I've been laid off' crap. You think life is hard? Try giving yourself a fleet enema! That's hard."
Suddenly, the women turned and pointed at the screen. "As you can see, we have some clouds coming in near lower Manhattan. Those should be cleared out by noon, and then it's sunny skies from there on out. Temperatures in the low thirties, high forties, so wear a scarf, you pansies. Ken and Emma, back to you."
The screen cut again and Ken and Emma were staring at the camera with smiles plastered on their faces. "Thanks, Sue! And now, here's the man of the hour, ready to blow your mind away with his brand new recipe-"
"Fresh off the griddle!" Ken chimed in.
"Chef Puckerman introducing Peach Pancakes!"
Rachel leaned back in her chair, tucking her legs underneath her and crossing her arms over her chest. On the screen, Chef Puckerman was tying a apron around his waist. He looked up at the camera.
"Oh, it's you sons of bitches again!" he said in fake surprise, something that he was good at. "I suppose you bros want some breakfast, huh? Well, I've fucking got breakfast!"
The audience in the studio clapped and cheered. "Shopping list! Peaches, brown sugar, whole wheat flour because you're a healthy mother fucker, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, and almond milk cause fuck whole milk. That shit is like drinking coffee cream."
Chef Puckerman took the two peaches and threw them over his shoulder. "You're supposed to chop these, but ain't no body got time for that. I don't need to show you how to hold a knife. You know how to chop, champ! At this point, you should have dice sized cubes of these little fuckers. Then, pureé them sons of bitches. Or use a food processor, a blender, or mash that shit manually. You should get just about one cup of liquefied peaches."
The Chef reached under the counter and pulled out a Purex measuring cup of pureéd peaches. "Throw all the dry ingredients into one bowl. Shake that shit. Or stir it. And once all that's mixed in, add the peaches. Mix that shit until combined. Then, pour a Mickey Mouse pancake. Hell, kids love that shit!"
Noah Puckerman picked up the pan and showed the audience a Mickey Mouse shaped pancake. But then, he smirked. "Pssht, no kids here. Just a camera crew." He took his spatula and dragged it across the pan until it was a replica of a drawing of male genitals that a fourth grader might sketch on his friend's homework.
"So classy."
Rachel felt her eyes dropping closed, the lack of sleep she had gotten the previous night finally catching up to her. The warmth from the heater behind her slowly radiated toward her body curled up on the chair, the rattling of the heater soothing her, along with Noah Puckerman's voice. Soon, Rachel was drifting into a half sleep, still aware of her surroundings, but her senses started to slip away one by one.
"What are you doing?" a voice shrieked, snapping Rachel from her lull a few hours later.
The brunette slowly opened her eyes and stared up at her blonde friend, who was frazzled and red in the face. "Will is going crazy."
"What? Why?" Rachel said, sitting up and rubbing her sleep filled eyes.
"Because he's been looking for you! You were supposed to start the lunch orders twenty minutes ago, but you failed to do so."
Rachel rolled her head around in a circle to stretch it out. "Is coffee and food really so important to these people that they start freaking out and having panic attacks when something isn't done about it."
Quinn shrugged and tugged her fingers through her hair. "Apparently. Now, get going, or Will actually will fire you!"
Rachel shoved herself off the recliner and snatched up her coffee order notepad and a pen that was lying on the table. "I'm going, I'm going," she said as she scurried from the office, scribbling down random orders in an attempt to make it look like she had actually been doing in job, in case she happened to run into the boss man.
Which she did.
"Rachel!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Taking orders," she said innocently, letting her inner actress slide out of her easily as she showed him the notepad with nonsense orders on it. "I'm going to Zaftigs this afternoon. What would you like?"
The man with the incredibly curly hair waved his hand. "I make my lunch. Well, Emma makes my lunch. I never order out."
Rachel smiled to herself and nodded once. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some more staff members to wait on," she said, dodging around him, and a bullet that could have possibly cost Rachel her job.
She scurried down the hallway and rounded the corner that Noah Puckerman and Matt the Camera Man had gone down a few hours prior and stepped into the filming studio. Camera operators and monitor runners and stage managers and technical crew were all standing around looking at a script, while others were running around frantically. When Rachel asked what they wanted for lunch, they all gave her an order, which she found strange, seeing as Chef Puckerman generally made lunch for the studio crew.
"Is there anyone else who needs a lunch order?" she said aloud, and everyone pointed to a door with NOAH PUCKERMAN painted on it in big black letters.
Rachel held her breath and poised her pencil on the pad of paper before knocking on the door a few times and stepping in. Inside the room, the chef was throwing around papers and mumbling to himself as he rifled through what looked like hand written recipes.
"Excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt," Rachel said with a nervous tremor in her voice because talking to him was not a casualty with him. "Do you know what you want for lunch?"
"I don't fucking need a lunch!" the man said, throwing papers into the air and letting them tumble around him. "What I need are some recipes for my lunch segment. One of the goddamn food suppliers forgot to pick up fucking chick peas, which was the main ingredient in the lunch shit!" he said with incredible frustration. "And the dumbass thing is, we don't have time to run down to Whole Foods and buy some. We needed to start filming, like, half an hour ago."
Rachel looked down at the floor. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"So, currently, all I have is a bunch of potatoes, black beans, and pasta."
The girl thought for a moment. "Well, what about a cookout lunch?" she offered, letting her arms drop form their poised lunch taking position. "Burgers, pasta salad, potato salad, sautéed veggies, iced tea or lemonade?"
Puck waved his hand once. "That's the dumbest thing that a brolette-" But then, he stopped. "No, go on…"
Her heart stopped beating for a moment, then began pounding against her ribcage. "Um- I- You could make black bean burgers," she said, her mouth dry as she forced the words from her throat. "Throw some tomatoes and spinach leaves on there. And almond milk cheese. The potato salad could have herbs and lemon juice in it. You could throw together a pasta salad with some vegetables in it, too."
The chef turned to her and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know a lot about cooking, huh?"
Rachel's cheeks flamed up in a bright red color that was probably deeper then the tomatoes on his show and looked at the floor. "I watch your segment a considerable amount," she admitted.
"Oh, do you?"
"Yes."
"Can you cook?"
"I follow your instructions step by step until I know them backwards. I guess you could say that I'm just about as skilled in the kitchen as you are. Chef," she added for good luck because she felt like she was about to throw up.
There was silence in the room for a while and she could feel his eyes boring into the top of her head, as her eyes were still on the ground. Finally, she looked up at him and a crooked smile was twisted on his lips.
"You're the Coffee Girl?"
"Yes. My name is Ra-"
"Rachel Berry," he interrupted. She looked up at him with astonished eyes. "What, you don't think a bro knows your name? When a brolette has long legs and a smile like yours, how could you not know her name?"
Rachel licked her lips and swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture back into her mouth. "I didn't know that-"
"That I noticed you?" She nodded. "You bring me my coffee every day. I see you every day. Thug ain't blind. I can see you. And, in fact… Since you know how to cook so well, I have an idea…"
~*~
"So, Cheffie, tell us about your new lady."
"She's chill. We've been working on the show for just over a year now and she's, whoo, she's something."
"How old is your lady?"
"She just had her twentieth birthday."
"Ten years younger?The age difference doesn't bother you?"
"Nah. I bro doesn't let a brolette's age effect his admiration for her."
"You admire her?"
"How can you help but not?"
~*~
One year later…
"And, with the one year anniversary of his barbeque lunch special, here's Chef Noah Puckerman in Thug Kitchen!" Emma Pillsbury said and the crowd cheered as the screen switched over to Chef Puckerman, who, for the ten thousandth time in his life, was tying his apron around his waist.
"I'm so glad you bitches stuck around long enough to get to witness this glorious day. Today, I am so proud to announce, is the barbeque lunch special's one year anniversary!" He picked up a tall glass of bubbling champagne with raspberries in it and held it up to the camera. "Clink, bitches." He took a small sip. "And, not only am I happy to announce that it is the one year anniversary of the barbeque lunch, but it is also the birthday of a brand new drink! Y'all like refreshing ass drinks? Have a glass of this! Thugette, take it away!"
From behind him, Rachel, in a black cooking apron all her own that had Thugette embroidered on the pocket, emerged with a glass in her hand. "Motherfucking lavender lemonade!" she said with as much enthusiasm as her partner. "Calm your bitch ass down like a boss! Drink some fucking flowers! Five simple ingredients in this bitch right here. This is some good shit to make when you are feeling bougie as fuck. High-fructose corn syrup? Naw, son, I don't play that. Hit this with some vodka, though, different story. Max relax."
"Lavender lemonade," the chef said from behind her, his hands on her hips, which still always made her heart beat in her chest. "Five cups of water. One and a half to three fourths cups of sugar. Yeah, you heard me. It's fucking lemonade. Without the sugar, it's just real sour fucking water. Then, y'all need three fourths cups of Meyer lemon juice, or about six lemons if you wanna get fancy. Also need the juice from half of a lime. Some fresh lavender will do you good, cause it's lavender fucking lemonade."
As Rachel dove into the steps of making the lemonade, her hands flew around the counter, cutting the citrus fruits and squeezing them into the pitcher. "Makes about one quart of chill the fuck out."
"And now, we're going to a commercial break, but, before we go, life tip from a thug." He reached down underneath the counter and pulled up a handful of cherry tomatoes, some bright red, others a faint orange. "Tiny ass fucking tomatoes. You ever get worried about dick cancer? Me, too, son. I need my shit intact," he said as his eyes flashed to Rachel for a moment, then back to the camera. "That's why I eat the fuck outta these little homies. Get you lycopene on!"
"And, commercial," Mike Chang said from his standing place behind the camera as he stared at the little monitor. "That was god, you guys. You have five minutes before we're back online. Make sure you have everything you need. We don't need a repeat of last year, now, do we?"
Chef Puckerman snorted. "Pfft, if Sam the Errand Boy had just got my motherfucking chick peas, then we wouldn't have had to improvise like badasses." He turned and looked at the brunette, who was currently getting her makeup touched up by Santana. "Although, I must say, I'm pretty fucking thankful for last year. If my bro hadn't forgotten the chick peas, my thugette wouldn't have surfaced."
Rachel smiled and turned to him, planting her hands on her hips. "I help in any way I can, Noah."
"Why don't you do a thug a solid, then, and come on over here. My tomato homies may keep me intact, but they sure as hell won't be affective if my girl doesn't kiss me."
She smiled wider and felt that all too familiar feeling in her chest as she took the necessary steps toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "And, by the way," he whispered in her ear, his big arms wrapping nearly all the way around her waist, "when we get back to the crib tonight, you're making dinner from scratch, no recipes allowed." Her eyebrow arched. "And all you're allowed to wear is this little square you like to call an apron."
A wicked grin settled on her lips and she tapped her nose against Noah's before standing up on her toes and whispering. "You're on."
I hope you all liked it. Please let me know! Review! :) And look at thugkitchen . com and make some of the awesome recipes! They're amazing.
Thank you!