The darkly colored caprine sighed as she leaned against the door of her apartment, freshly closed, two bags of newly purchased groceries clutched in her hands. That had been far more exhausting an experience than she’d ever have been able to predict. For the first time she’d left her family’s farm, and landed in the bustle of the city, something she had thought she had prepared herself for far better than she actually had. The myriad sights, smells, and ceaseless vibrations, a lively hum of the thriving metropolis were too much for her to keep up with in the moment. Certainly not her first full day in her new accommodations.
Allowing her head to fall backwards and contact the door with a single, short rap, Ophelia pushed away from the colored section of wood and metal before allowing the bags of food to touch the floor, freeing her hand to jiggle the slide latch into place. The small piece of silver metal had given her trouble every single time she’d tried to use it, clearly bent by a previous tenant. This time, however, it was merciful, scraping the housing mounted on the doorframe with relatively minimal resistance before allowing her to rotate it into the locked position. She never thought she’d be seeing something so familiar in an apartment, but apparently some things didn’t change anywhere you were.
Satisfied with her security as she was going to be, the goat gathered her foodstuffs before trudging to the kitchenette and divvying them up to the best of her ability with the significantly limited storage compared to what she’d grown up with, small hands deftly arranging a perishable form of tetris in one side of the sad excuse for a freezer she’d been supplied with. Though she’d have preferred more options for long term storage, it was more than sufficient for a single occupant, not that that admission stopped an agitated flick of her ear, the tag attached careening merrily between the folds of the drooping appendage. Her job done as the mottled black door shut, she could finally consider starting on the part she was most excited about and dreading.
She could actually cook, now, a thought that made her tail rattle in an excited 3-point wiggle, standing proud as the diminutive woman it clung to preened. Now it was as simple as figuring out what to actually make.
Leaning against the counter, her spare hand idly smoothed the front of her skirt and cable knit sweater as she flipped through her grocery list on her phone one last time, deciding what of the options she found most appetizing with a hum and press of the top of the device against her muzzle.
Bourguignon was certainly the most appetizing, though it would eat a significant portion of what she’d gathered… but she could easily store it for another day or two, and it wouldn’t hurt to celebrate, she decided with an excited bounce and another happy twitch of her tail.
The next three quarters of an hour passed in a flurry of activity, not least of which the harsh ring of a metal bowl as it slipped from her fingers, causing her to cringe at the thought that she might disturb some neighbors in the surrounding apartments. Luckily no harsh knockings came in answer, and she was free to continue a moment later with her gathering of everything she required. Hooved fingers carefully guided an uncooperative blade through a pile of cremini mushrooms one by one, diced roughly into palatable, squishy cubes.
Having gotten the bulk of the meal sliced away, she prepared her garlic cloves, leeks, carrots, and additional oyster mushrooms, separating them into bowls by how they were meant to be added to the pot. Now came the part she had looked forward to the least - actually starting the heating process. Two pots soon adorned the tired looking stove, slotted pupils inspecting it with some degree of trepidation before finally settling with continuing. As sad as it may have looked, she had tested it before going to gather all of this, after all - she at least knew it worked. Into one pot went a boxed set of mashed potatoes, while she prepared the other with oil, setting the first of the frontmost burners to warm the dull aluminum.
Ophelia couldn’t help but wring her hands idly as she waited, watching for any signs of activity in both pots with a practiced and attentive hover. She knew roughly how long these things took to happen, but that didn’t mean that she was willing to risk making a mistake. As soon as the porous handle of her spoon of choice collected bubbles, she hurriedly gathered the previously prepared bowl of creminis and onions, before adding roughly half of the mixture to the pot and stirring them for a moment. Waiting patiently for them to brown, she readjusted her menagerie of ingredients to allow for easier access for the rest of the preparation process before sniffing the air for a familiar sweet and earthen blend. Soon they had been flipped and browned on the other side, and the second half were taking their turn in the oil, leaving her to salt and pepper the freshly set aside cooked half, before moving to repeat the process.
That section complete, she lowered the heat a few detents before adding more oil to the pot, the leeks and carrots joining it soon after, before, with practiced familiarity she enjoyed the new scents the pot bellowed into the air for a few precious minutes. Soon those had softened, and it was once again time to work, her hands flicking minced garlic cloves into the sauté. She immediately moved to gather tomato paste and flour, before adding both a mere minute apart to the evolving concoction. Wine, mushroom broth, tamari, thyme, and bay leaf chased soon behind. Now that she’d established most of the base, her previously browned mixture and a grated garlic clove finally joined the simmering mass before she half-lidded the pot and set her kitchen timer, the vintage triangular form was something she’d learned to love as she aged, heavy and clunky as it were, it was filled with a significant bell and sizable hammers that would ring incessantly when the time ran out, shaking the housing visibly as they sang.
It was perfect. The timer set, she placed it gently on the floor beside her hooves, tucked beneath the overhang of cupboards before returning to her preparations. The second pot was soon warmed and filled with a mixture of potatoes and milk - she hadn’t ever cared for the boxed variety, but mashing her own would require space and time she didn’t have. She could handle one concession to reality, at least.
Potatoes finished, their pot was soon banished to an unused rear burner with little fanfare, a pan taking its’ place. Oil was poured into the pan and left to warm as she basked in the cloud of earthen tones of her work, only interrupted by the vibrations of the timer against her hooves.
The mechanical timer was soon placed gently back on the counter as she pressed the primary pot back out of the way, and started the final stage, her oyster mushroom slices taking longer to crisp than the entirety of the rest of the meal had to prepare in their exhausting few minutes as repeatedly swallowed hungry saliva away.
Spuds served as a base while Ophelia ladled a hefty spoonful of her reward over the rest of the plate in a meaty draping, her stomach growling in heated interest. She could wait to combine the servings and pack them away until after she ate, she decided, before crossing the apartment a final time with an excited bounciness. She’d done fairly well, all told - at least, if she said so herself. The kitchen was significantly smaller than she was used to and that had created multiple difficulties in arraying the needed components without spilling anything.
That said, as the caprine relished in the cushiony support of her reading chair, legs folded idly along her body, taking full advantage of the chair’s excessive cushion real-estate, she couldn’t help but lament the fact that tomorrow was her first day at work, likely to be spent cleaning… Only to come home and clean up the mess she’d made in her excitement for something meaty and filling.
She could deal with that as future Ophelia, for now her tail flicked wildly in its’ confines between leather and cotton as she raised a forkful to her maw with excitement, not caring at how rivulets of saliva stubbornly bridged the gap between her jaws before being pierced by the hearty meal. Her hooves curled and uncurled in over-dramatic relief and excitement as the familiar savory sweetness of her favorite dish flashed across her tongue.
