Page 68 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Gerard: check your email

Sitting up in bed, he swiped over to his email. There was an email there from Gerard, with the subject line: translations.

He clicked the email open, practically holding his breath.

Meredith had reached out a few days ago to say that her contact in Russia had been able to locate an ancient, handwritten cookbook in Nikolai’s father’s attic.

It had been fragile and falling apart, but he’d been able to carefully photograph the intact pages and send them to Meredith.

No one had been any the wiser, Meredith said, so there wouldn’t be an issue with Nikolai’s father.

Meredith had sent Elliot the pictures, and Elliot had thought that they looked like recipes, but they were in handwritten Russian. So Elliot had tentatively reached out to Gerard, to ask him if he wouldn’t mind translating.

Gerard had been more than happy to help. And now it looked like he might have done it.

Elliot opened the attached document and grinned wide to read them. Ten translated pages of Nikolai’s grandmother’s recipes. He’d gotten them. Thanks to Meredith and Gerard, Elliot now had a way to give Nikolai a true taste of home.

He scrambled out of the bed, hurrying to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

As he read through a recipe while brushing his teeth, Elliot realized there was more work to do before he could actually use the recipes.

The units of measure in the recipes were majority metric, but occasionally there would be an instruction like ‘brush with a layer of cottage cheese paste,’ or ‘as much flour as the dough will take,’ or ‘1 stick of oleo.’ It would require some research to figure out what those instructions meant .

Which also probably meant some testing.

Since the recipes were so old, Elliot would need to double check what was translated. He trusted Gerard of course, but the USSR likely had some specific food manufacturing that might not have equivalencies today.

A brief sidebar Internet search provided the ‘1 stick of oleo’ was definitely margarine. Soviet Union margarine. Should Elliot go with margarine for the recipe, or switch to butter? How would that affect the taste, the consistency?

He’d need to spend some time looking things up and cross-referencing with other translated recipes from that time period.

Elliot glanced up from his phone and realized that he’d managed to finish getting ready, get dressed, and wander into the kitchen on autopilot.

Well, okay. He smiled, feeling light and bubbly and excited. First he’d make breakfast. Then he’d get to work.

***

Two days later, after some kitchen testing and much research, Elliot had a grocery order delivered and everything prepared to make one of Nikolai’s grandmother’s recipes.

Chanakhi for dinner and kuchen for dessert.

At breakfast, barely able to tamp down his excitement, Elliot requested Nikolai to stay out of the kitchen since he was working in his home office.

“Is surprise?” Nikolai asked with interest.

“Maybe,” Elliot said, unable to help his smile.

Nikolai smiled back at him. “Is good thing to look forward to, special surprise from best chef.”

“And I’ll bring you lunch,” Elliot said, handing Nikolai another of the banana nut muffins he’d made for breakfast. “So don’t worry about going hungry.”

“This is never my worry,” Nikolai said, sounding all over fond. “Have fun time cooking.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said, looking up at him. “I hope work goes easily.”

Once Nikolai had left with his coffee and muffins, Elliot turned and got to work. Preparation for dinner and dessert took him most of the morning, and he paused only to make lunch for Nikolai and himself, bringing Nikolai’s to his office on a tray.

In the afternoon, while the lamb stewed, Elliot passed the time working on more of the Russian recipes, planning future meals, and doing puzzles.

Toward the end of the lamb’s stew time, Elliot went and set the table. He did so with more effort than usual, finding candles, proper cloth napkins, and a nicer set of silverware tucked away in the kitchen pantry.

He wanted tonight to be special. Nikolai deserved something nice.

When the lamb was done, Elliot turned off the heat and went back to his room to change. He’d been in the kitchen all day and his shirt was rumpled and there was a flour stain on his pants where he’d pressed up against the counter.

He had about twenty minutes before Nikolai normally finished work, so Elliot hopped in the shower to rinse himself off and then grabbed a new set of clothing. He dressed slightly nicer than what he normally wore around the house.

So maybe it wasn’t just the table Elliot was dressing up tonight.

When Elliot got back to the kitchen, he texted Nikolai that dinner would be ready in five and then took down the nicest bowls in the cabinet to start ladling in meat, vegetables, and broth.

The chanakhi was piping hot and smelled amazing. He hoped— hoped this was a fair reproduction of Nikolai’s grandmother’s food. Elliot had nothing to taste test it against, so he could only hope he’d done it justice.

As he brought the steaming bowls to the kitchen table, he heard the sound of Nikolai’s heavy tread coming closer.

Anxiety warred with excitement in his chest. Time for the moment of truth.

“Surprise time?” Nikolai asked as he strode into the room. “Smells very good.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said, nerves getting the better of him as he took his seat. Nikolai sat across from him as usual, and Elliot watched Nikolai’s brows rise in interest as he saw the bowl of stew.

Elliot licked his lips, and when their eyes met, he forced the words out.

“S-so, um. I kind of maybe messaged Meredith, and asked her if it was possible to check your grandmother’s things for recipes.

Only if it was safe!” Elliot added the last part quickly.

“And, um, there was a recipe book. Which is being mailed here, but it’s going to take a while.

But I-I got pictures of the recipes and Gerard translated them and, um, it’s a little difficult because we don’t have her exact butcher or brand of margarine, but I…

I did my best to recreate her chanakhi.”

He was winded when he finished. Elliot was proud of what he’d done, but uncertainty was creeping in now. He wanted Nikolai to like this, but Elliot had taken a risk, both in asking for the recipes and then going ahead and creating one.

Nikolai stared at him when he finished. And stared at him, and stared at him .

“If… if you don’t like it–” Elliot wavered. “Then—”

“Don’t like it?” Nikolai cut in incredulously. “I–” he stopped, swallowed hard. “You make бабушкин recipe?”

There was a tenderness to the way he asked the question, like even putting it into words was hard. Like Nikolai couldn’t believe someone would do something of such magnitude for him.

“Yeah,” Elliot said softly. “I… I wanted to do this for you.”

He watched Nikolai swallow, the hard lump moving down his throat.

“You…” Nikolai looked back down at the bowl in front of him, like he couldn’t believe it. “How did you… there were recipes?”

“Yeah,” Elliot said. “Meredith’s… contact found a recipe book.”

Nikolai blinked down at the bowl and then back up Elliot. “This is… I’m sorry I’m not having words. I’m…” Nikolai took a deep breath. “This means very much to me. Thank you.”

Elliot’s mouth was dry, his own hands clasped tightly in his lap. “I hope it’s… good,” he said.

Nikolai nodded and picked up the spoon.

Elliot held his breath as Nikolai dipped the spoon in, scooping up vegetables and lamb and broth, and brought it to his mouth. He watched, attention rapt, as Nikolai’s eyes slipped shut.

There was a hanging pause. Elliot bit his lip so he wouldn’t speak, so he wouldn’t ask. He wanted to know, but this was for Nikolai, and he didn’t want to badger him. He wanted to give Nikolai this moment.

Nikolai chewed and swallowed and then set the spoon back in the bowl, his eyes opening. They found Elliot’s immediately, and Elliot didn’t think it was his imagination there was more glossiness there.

“чанахи моей бабушки,” Nikolai said, voice rough.

Elliot didn’t understand the Russian, but he did recognize the word that Nikolai used for his grandmother.

“Is it okay?” He asked hesitantly.

“Is perfect,” Nikolai said, voice rough. “Like бабушки. I can’t believe… how?”

Perfect .

The giddy excitement fully took the place of Elliot’s usual anxiety.

“It was a group effort,” Elliot said. “Meredith got me the recipes and then Gerard translated them for me.”

“Oh,” Nikolai said, looking as though he’d been bowled over.

“There’s… there’s also dessert.” Elliot tried not to sound too proud of that, but he couldn’t help it. He’d done it, and Nikolai liked it , and–

“What is dessert?” Nikolai asked.

“Kuchen,” Elliot said. “Dessert might taste different from the original recipe just because of margarine differences. I tried to get it as close as possible, but I’ve never had her kuchen so it’s hard to gauge if what I was doing was right—”

He was babbling. He shut his mouth.

Nikolai blinked at him once, then twice. Then a smile spread across his features and he laughed suddenly, the sound coming deep from his belly. A hand came up to wipe at his face, across his eyes.

“I cannot believe… you would give me such gift.” Nikolai’s voice was rough.

“I’m—I’m glad you like it,” Elliot said, the butterflies in his stomach flapping faster. “I wasn’t sure–I don’t want to disrespect your grandmother’s memory.”

Nikolai was already shaking his head. “No, she would love you making her recipes. She was always trying to teach me. She loved cooking and–Ничего себе. ”

Then Nikolai was picking up the spoon again.

“I’m glad,” Elliot said, cheeks aching from smiling, and he picked up his own spoon.