'Crowley!' Aziraphale chirped excitedly as his poked his head around the heavy oak-framed door of the cottage's kitchen and into the cosy living room adjacent. 'I think I've managed it, this time!'

Crowley glanced up from his magazine. 'Oh, have you? Congrats.'

'Well, come on! I need you to taste it, dear boy. This is all on your behalf, after all…'

'Angel, I did say you didn't have to worry about it. Honestly, I'm not even that much of a fan of-'

'Nonsense, Crowley. It's traditional.'

'Since when?'

'Seventeen hundreds, I think.'

'Yeah, in America, maybe. Last time I checked, we were still in England.'

'Well, I've made it now, so do come and try it. I think this one has finally cracked it .'

With a sigh Crowley peeled himself up from the comfortable sofa and sauntered, dragging his feet, into the kitchen.

He was being unbelievably ungrateful, he did know that. And he did feel quite guilty over it, really. Aziraphale had always been fairly critical of Crowley's vegetarianism , never quite trusting it (and rightly so, as Crowley had always emphatically insisted that his dietary preferences had firm origins in the infernal, and definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he was a soft-hearted, overly-sentimental old fool who spent far too many of his formative years on earth hanging around with shepherds).

But ever since Crowley had taken the further step of going almost completely vegan after the whole Buggering Up The Great Plan debacle, the angel had been weirdly accepting. It was a bit disconcerting. Crowley had had a whole defensive speech prepared, and had been slightly put out when his had work hard proven utterly unneeded. Aziraphale had been faultlessly supportive.

Unfortunately a great deal of that supportiveness came in the form of culinary experimentation .

Aziraphale was a great connoisseur of fine dining. He had throughout his life enjoyed (and critiqued…) meals prepared by the greatest chefs the world had ever seen. His tastes were refined, particular, and expensive, and his palate was second to none. When it came to wine-tasting, no one could tell their Le Pin's from their Petrus' as expertly as the angel. He knew what he was talking about when it came to good food and good drink, was the point.

And yet, somehow, Aziraphale was a catastrophically abysmal cook.

Enthusiastic, though. Crowley had to give him that.

That was a new development. Before the Apocafuckup (Crowley's preferred term for the event, mostly because of how it made Aziraphale wince - less for the cursing, more for the cavalier bastardisation of the English language), Aziraphale had never been at all inclined to step foot in a kitchen, except to make a cup of tea or to have words with the new chef at the Ritz.

But since they day the world hadn't quite exploded, Aziraphale had started getting keen on being a bit more hands on . And when they bought the holiday cottage on the South Downs, well, that was the end of it. The kitchen had an aga . It also had a newly fitted top-of-the-range electric hob, and one of those excessively large and expensive American refrigerators (Crowley had purchased that one. It had an ice dispenser that did ice cubes, tiny ice cubes, and crushed ice. Really upped the demon's cocktail game, that).

And, now, it also had a blender, a slow cooker, a food processor, a waffle iron, an ice cream machine, and a weird thing with worryingly ominous metal hooks on it that Crowley still couldn't figure out the purpose of.

Yet, with all of this dark gadgetry at his disposal, Aziraphale still seemed incapable of producing anything in any way edible . Thankfully he was at least self-aware enough to recognise this ( most of the time, anyway…), and so Crowley hadn't had to try to eat the blackened, over-salted, misshapen monstrosities that the angel pulled out from, apparently, the portal to Hell situated behind the doors of the aga.

Aziraphale could, however, make an excellent eggnog.

He'd always been good at that, even right back in the day before it was associated with Christmas, and was still called posset. He was quite proud of his egg-nog creating abilities, and even had quite the creative flair - his Peppermint Schnapps version had gone down remarkably well with the Lost Generation .

And so, when Crowley had, with put-on bravado, announced that he was going plant-based , Aziraphale found himself facing a bit of a roadblock.

But he was never one to be so easily defeated, as Heaven and Hell had both learned, back in that fateful summer. After all, if the Antichrist couldn't stop the angel, a vegan eggnog recipe had no chance .

It was certainly putting up a bloody good fight though.

Crowley stalked into the kitchen and eyed the slightly off-coloured glass of whatever it was warily. Granted, it did look more like eggnog than the earlier attempts had. It was certainly in the ballpark.

'What's in it?' Crowley asked tentatively as Aziraphale pushed a glass of the stuff into his unwilling hand.

' Well ,' the angel began, 'after having, erm, limited success using tofu-'

'Bit of an understatement…' the demon muttered.

'And after the interesting, but not quite right bananas and coconut cream attempt-'

'That actually wasn't bad,' Crowley cut in. 'Definitely not eggnog, but very drinkable. Add some pineapple juice and some Malibu and you'd have been onto a winner with that one.'

' As I was saying …' Aziraphale continued with a pointed look, 'I have learned from my mistakes. This version is made with cashew nuts, dates, almond milk, maple syrup, various spices, and a generous shot of bourbon. I think it tastes rather authentic. Or, at least, as authentic as a vegan eggnog can be, in any case. Go on then, dear boy, try it!'

Crowley took a deep breath. 'Right. Okay. Bottom's up…'

Taking a sip of the sticky liquid, he swished it around his mouth experimentally and frowned.

Aziraphale waited with clasped hands, baited breath, and an endearingly hopeful expression.

'Wow,' Crowley said after finally swallowing the drink. 'That's actually good, angel! Properly good. I'm impressed.'

Aziraphale beamed .

'Oh, really? You're not just saying it?'

'When have I ever lied to you? Anyway, if I lied about that then I'd have to keep drinking something I hated, because you'd keep making it for me. As much as I hate to say it, in this scenario honesty is the best policy . Remember the aubergine spaghetti disaster?'

'How could I forget…' the angel murmured. Then he brightened once more. 'Well, that's wonderful to hear, my dear. I am so glad that you like it. And now I have the base, I can begin experimenting… '

Crowley held up a hand. 'No, honestly Aziraphale, I like this. Just plain . Simple. You don't have to start adding stuff…'

'That's the fun bit, Crowley! Now, I have been thinking for a while of doing a xocolatl iteration, and adding some of those ghost chilis you've been growing…'

'Aziraphale, if you think I'm going to drink-'

'Just try it, my dear, that's all I ask. It's that or I go back to shortbread again.'

'All right, all right. No need to threaten torture , angel!'