Jason untied his apron and tossed it to Dick as he sidled over, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Stay away from me. Don't get those filthy, unwashed clothes anywhere near the food."
Dick wasn't offended. He caught the apron with a grin.
Damian speared a piece of tomato and paused slightly after putting it in his mouth, then added with a stern face, "Barely edible. It only just passed."
His tongue was merciless, but his hands never stopped. The pasta on his plate dwindled at a visible pace.
Tim ate his pasta while muttering and taking notes in his little notebook. "Judging by the ingredient proportions, Jason used a tomato-to-bacon ratio of 1.5:1. The sauce simmered for about eight minutes, and the salt and sugar measurements were precise to 0.3 grams. To replicate it, this kind of quantitative approach would be necessary to ensure consistent flavor..."
Dick burst out laughing and patted Tim's shoulder. "Give it up, Little Red. Just admit it. So what if we don't have any talent for cooking? At least we know how to eat."
At Dick's utterly shameless declaration, Tim silently turned away and ate his pasta faster.
Dick had been too busy pestering everyone to sit still. Only when Jason came out did he settle down and take a bite, and his eyes immediately lit up.
"Not bad at all. Red Hood-brand pasta." Dick stuffed another bite into his mouth and said indistinctly, "Way better than instant oatmeal."
Jason scoffed. "Please. With your oatmeal-making 'culinary skills,' even a random slice of toast would be miles better."
"At least my oatmeal is edible, right?" Dick tilted his chin toward the head of the household, Master Wayne, who was busy eating at the table. Bruce shot him a sharp look, and Dick quickly grinned as though nothing had