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The surprise is going…not well.
“Tell me again why we are doing this?” Jonas asks, surveying the chaos in the small space that passes for Isak’s kitchen. It looks like a small whirlwind has already passed through it and they haven’t even begun yet.
“Because Even has been pulling double shifts to make the most of the extra tips from the Christmas shoppers. I want to do something nice for him”
“And eggnog counts as nice?” Jonas’s scrunched up face suggests he has very different definition of nice to Isak.
“He saw it in a film we had on the other night. You know he’s all over that shit.”
"What sort of film were you watching that had eggnog in it?"
"Some Hallmark thing. Don't ask me which one because they're all the same to me. It was Even's choice. Something about needing some bubblegum Christmas romance to remind him of the magic after they ran out of peppermint syrup at work. Apparently the people of Oslo go feral if they are denied their peppermint hot chocolate."
“So now you're recreating Hallmark for him?"
“No. Not specifically. He just laps up all that Hollywood stuff and some eggnog while we decorate the tree later just felt like the right way to kick off the holiday.” Isak can see Jonas side-eyeing the small and rather wonky tree that they had picked up from the discount section at the tree seller on Alexander Kiellands Plass earlier in the day. “Look, you don’t have to be here. You can always go home and help your Mamma with the pre-Christmas deep clean.”
“Nah, you’re alright.” Jonas backtracks with a grimace.
“Yup. Watching you fuck up in the kitchen is much more fun,” Magnus chips in.
“I’m not going to fuck it up.” Isak gives Magnus a shove. “I’ll pull up a recipe and it’s just a drink, how fucking hard can it be?”
Apparently, the answer is ‘very hard’. The eggs are not a problem, he’d assumed the clue what in the name and picked up a new carton while they were out, even though the idea of eggs in a drink is just fucking grim. Unfortunately, the second line in what purports to be the best eggnog recipe in the world calls for half a cup of granulated sugar. Sugar, he has. The problem is the cup.
“Just how big is a cup anyway?” Isak groans as he grabs the sugar, dumping the bag heavily on the worktop so that a scattering of granules spills out of the open top.
“Vilde says that’s the joy of recipes like this,” says Magnus, holding up two wildly different sized mugs; the delicate one Sana brought round for when she wants mint tea during their study sessions, and a giant novelty one that is more of a bucket than a cup. “It’s all about the proportions so as long as you use the same cup for everything the recipe will work. You just have to decide how much you want to make.”
“That would be fine if everything was in cups, but the eggs are just eggs. Those aren’t proportional so if I use the wrong cup it’s going to fuck up.”
“It’s going to fuck up anyway. You are a disaster in the kitchen.” Isak just glares at Jonas for his less than helpful interjection. “Fine, fine. It’s not going to fuck up.” Jonas tries to placate the increasingly stressed out Isak, which is not a good sign seeing as they haven’t even started to make the eggnog yet.
“We’ll just google how big a standard baking cup is and then use a measuring jug.”
“That’s…actually a good idea.” Isak looks at Magnus with a mixture of relief and surprise; he sometimes forgets that Magnus can actually be pretty level headed and sensible when he wants to be.
“Right.” Jonas has his phone out. “Um, what country is your recipe from? Because apparently there isn’t a standard cup and each country sets their own size.”
“Fucking typical.” Isak mutters, half under his breath, before trying to work out which particular country with a vendetta against the SI units is responsible for the eggnog recipe he is trying to follow. “Um, the website is a .com so, America?”
Jonas does a bit more googling and then clears his throat in a way that does not fill Isak with confidence. “If it’s a legal cup it’s 240ml, but a metric cup is 250ml and a customary cup is 236.6ml and I don’t have a fucking clue what the difference between them is.”
“What is wrong with just using the metric system? How the hell did America become a global superpower when they just, make stuff up?" Isak’s rant increases in volume before he all but snatches the measuring jug off the shelf. “Right. Well. Knowing how much America hates using the metric system if it can use literally anything else we’ll rule out a metric cup, and like fuck am I trying to measure whatever a customary cup is, so 240ml it is.”
With the cup sized decided Isak starts working through the steps in the recipe, whisking egg yolks and sugar before moving on to the liquid ingredients and spices. Milk, salt, cardamom (okay, the recipe calls for nutmeg but everything is better with cardamom) and-
“Where is your heavy cream?” Magnus pulls his head out of the fridge where he has been rummaging unsuccessfully for the missing item.
“What is heavy cream?” Isak thuds his head against the nearest wall.
"Sounds like something from a dodgy porn film." Magnus snorts at his own joke.
“Wow. The wikipedia page on cream is surprisingly useful.” Jonas is already back on google, trying to stave off any impending kitchen related breakdowns from Isak. “So American heavy cream is the same as our kremfløte.”
“Yeah, I can’t see any of that either,” says Magnus, still investigating the contents of the fridge.
“That’s because I don’t have any kremfløte,” Isak groans. “And there isn’t any time to get some, Even will be leaving work soon.”
“Can’t you give him a call and get him to pick some up on his way home?”
Isak levels a death glare at Magnus, because honestly, asking Even to bring ingredients home really defeats the object of having a nice surprise ready from when he gets in through the door. “No. I’m going to get this done and I’m not going to let a bit of cream stop me. It’s just thick, fatty milk, right? I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the freezer. The recipe wants vanilla too so I’ll just melt the ice cream and use that.”
"I don't think that's-". Jonas's protests are swiftly cut off by Isak's death glare and he holds his hands up as though placating a wild beast. "Yes. Fine. Vanilla ice cream. They do say cooking is like chemistry and you always were the better scientist."
Isak is already scooping ice cream into the measuring jug, trying to press the hard, solid mass down so he can judge the volume better. With one last scoop and a satisfied nod he puts the jug in the microwave on low power and sets it off before going back to stir the pan on the stove.
Ice cream melts surprisingly quickly in the microwave and the pale liquid is lightly bubbling when Isak dumps it into the pan with the spiced milk.
"Um, Isak? Didn't the recipe say to add the milk to the eggs and then add the cream after?" Jonas is tentative in his query because Isak is looking like he is one small step away from murder. In between the every hurrying clock ticking down to Even's arrival and the stress of being well out of his comfort zone (meaning, actually in a kitchen), Isak looks like his last nerve is about to snap.
"Fuck!" The atmosphere goes tense until Isak visibly steels himself with a deep breath. "Too late now. Let's just do this."
Isak grabs the pan off the stove and pours the contents into the bowl of eggs, whisking as he does it, just like the recipe says. Except, instead of a smooth and silky drink his offering has little lumps of cooked egg running through it.
"It looks like sick." Magnus peers sceptically into the bowl.
"When does sick ever look like that?" Jonas asks, incredulously.
"Eh, I was once dared to chug two litres of milkshake." The boys can only nod, because, fair. The after effects of quickly guzzled milkshake probably does look like the mess currently sitting in the pan.
Just when Isak thinks the afternoon can’t get any worse, there is the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock and Even’s cheery “I’m home! Are the boys over?” called out from the cramped entryway where he has no doubt nearly stumbled over the extra shoes left by the door.
Isak doesn’t even have time to respond before Even is through to the kitchen, drawn to the crown now trying but failing to stand in front of the pan an shield it from view in a totally unsuspicious manner.
“Aww, did you make dinner?” Even stretches between Isak and Magnus to investigate the pan. Isak can see the moment his delighted smile falls to something closer to confusion. “Is this egg…soup?” The lumps of egg make little splashing noises as Even lifts up a spoonful and slowly tips the mix back into the pan; it is most definitely not the smooth and silky delight promised by the recipe.
“It’s meant to be fucking eggnog” Isak exclaims, throwing his hands up to his face and groaning dramatically through his fingers. “It was meant to be a nice surprise to celebrate you finishing your last shift and instead I’ve got a bucket of milk vomit that looks like shit.”
“Well it was a lovely thought.”
“You can’t drink a lovely thought, Even. We can’t put the tree up with a streaming mug of lovely thoughts.” Isak knows he’s sounding increasingly unhinged but it’s late, he’s trying to do something nice for Even and yet here Even is trying to comfort him when all he probably wants to do is eat something after yet another shitty serving the frantic and caffeine deprived shoppers of Oslo.
“No…” Magnus is slightly tentative, as though worried that sudden noises might tip Isak over the edge. He’s probably right about that one. “But you never got as far as adding the rum so you can still drink that.”
Even can only look on in bemusement as Isak grabs the bottle that Magnus is gently proffering, twisting off the cap as he slides down the cupboard and sinks to the floor, necking a large mouthful. “Yes. Rum. Merry fucking Christmas and fuck you, Hallmark.”