Story description: When Alexis arranges for Moira to appear on a cooking show, Patrick and Stevie convince David to be her sous chef. Cue the wine.

Content warnings: canon-typical consumption of excessive wine

Enchiladas

David slid into the booth next to Patrick, across from Stevie.

"You're late," Patrick said.

"I think you mean glowing," David corrected. "Thanks to an amazing facial. Perfection takes time."

"You are glowing," Stevie agreed.

Twyla brought an additional glass of water and a menu. "David, I heard about your mom being on Celebrity Chef. That's so exciting! I never realized she could cook."

"Because she can't," David said. "And what is Celebrity Chef?"

"Oh, it's this new show on the Food Network," Twyla explained. "Celebrities make their favorite recipe and share the story behind it. Alexis called last night and told me about it. She signed your mom up to make her enchiladas." The restaurant door opened, and Twyla turned to see who had entered. "I'll be back for your orders," she promised before leaving to greet the new arrivals.

"Would this be the enchiladas recipe your mother gave me before the wedding?" Patrick asked. "Because if so, I have concerns."

"You absolutely cannot have more concerns than I do," David said. He paused. "But what are your concerns?"

Stevie propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Yes. Do tell."

Patrick grimaced. "It's just that the title of the recipe is 'Bobby Flay's Enchiladas.'"

"Now there's a celebrity chef," Stevie said. "Even I've heard of him."

David nodded. "Hmm. Yes, I remember his restaurants were all the rage in New York."

"Do you think anyone will notice that the recipe is really his?" Stevie asked.

Patrick was looking something up on his phone. "Yes. Given that he's the executive producer of the show, I think it's safe to say they'll notice."

Twyla returned to the table. "Do you know what you want to order?"

"We're still obsessing about enchiladas," Stevie told her.

"Well, it's not on the menu yet, but I've been working on something. You can be the first to try it!" Twyla took their menus and walked away.

"Did you just order an experimental enchiladas recipe?" Patrick asked.

"Apparently so," Stevie said.

"When she comes back, tell her we want wine to go with that," David instructed. Then he pulled out his phone. A moment later Alexis answered, and he placed the phone on the table, in speaker mode. "Why would you arrange for Mom to go on a cooking show?" he demanded.

"Well, duh, David. Because it's brilliant publicity," Alexis said. "And she made those enchiladas for us once and they weren't terrible. I mean, we ate them, and none of us died."

"That's because I made them!" David complained, conveniently forgetting the part about storming out of the kitchen halfway through the process.

"And because it's Bobby Flay's recipe," Stevie added.

"And he's the executive producer of the show, so plagiarizing his recipe wouldn't look good," Patrick added.

"Oh my god!" Alexis exclaimed. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me these things? And Mom said it was her mother's recipe."

"It was Adelina's recipe," David said.

"Which apparently came from Bobby Flay's cookbook," Stevie added.

"There's no need to be pedantic," David complained.

"Oh, there is every need," Stevie said. "This is turning into the most entertainment I've had all week."

Turning his attention back to the phone, David asked, "Can you cancel Mom's appearance on the show?"

"Maybe say she got food poisoning," Stevie suggested. When David glared at her she added, "What, do you have a better idea?"

"I might have one," Patrick said.

"Well?" Alexis demanded. "What is it?"

"David, do you think your mother would notice if you substituted a different recipe?" Patrick asked.

He scoffed. "As long as it includes the words fold in the cheese, she absolutely would not notice."

Patrick nodded. "Well, my family has a recipe for enchiladas. And it's really good."

"If I were there I would kiss you!" Alexis said, making kissy noises over the phone.

"But that doesn't change the fact that Mrs. Rose can't cook," Stevie pointed out.

"What if I taught David the recipe?" Patrick said. He turned to his husband. "And you could go on the show as her sous chef. Basically, let her read the recipe to you while you do the cooking."

"Sous chef?" Alexis asked, sounding confused.

"It's French for... a kitchen helper," Patrick said.

"Under chef," Stevie supplied.

"Oooooh," Alexis said. "That's what she meant. I thought it was weird that she introduced herself as Sue when the name embroidered on her chef's coat said Barbara."

"What are you talking about?" David insisted. "And why did the subject change from me being on television?"

"It was just this one time when I was on a yacht for a party, and it turned out the yacht belonged to a drug lord, and this other drug lord attacked the boat, and one of the cooks was getting away on a jet ski and offered me a lift, and when I asked who she was, I thought she said Sue. It was loud, you know, with all of the shooting going on, so I couldn't hear everything she said. And for the next week I kept calling her Sue, and she laughed each time I said it, and I thought it was like a thing, you know, like a cute little nickname just between us. Because, like, everyone else called her Barb."

"And the moral is," Stevie said, "that we should simply introduce you as David, and not as a sous chef."

"Here are the enchiladas!" Twyla announced, bringing three plates to the table.

"Hey, Twy!" called Alexis through the phone.

"Oh, hi, Alexis," Twyla said. "We're trying my new recipe."

"These are enchiladas?" Stevie asked, sounding skeptical.

"Well, I wanted to put my own spin on it," Twyla explained. "So I decided to make a poutine-inspired version. Enjoy!" She left to check on another table.

"Poutine enchiladas," David said, sounding less than enthused.

"Enchi-tine?" Patrick suggested.

"Pou-chiladas?" Stevie countered.

"I need wine," David declared. "I distinctly remember telling you that I needed wine. I'm not eating anything called pou-chiladas unless I'm at least a little tipsy."

"That gives me an idea," Stevie said.

###

Two months later, in a studio in New York, Moira sipped a glass of wine, commented on the best pairings with enchiladas, and occasionally remembered to read the recipe aloud to her son.

"Fold in the cheese!" she announced. Then she glanced in David's direction. "No!" She strode to the stove. "Stand aside! I must exhort you to refrain from this soporific pace!"

"Give me that." David reached for the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He took a sip and looked thoughtful. "You know, this is a very nice pairing with enchiladas."

"Out of the bazoo of bébés!" Moira exclaimed. "An adroit wine selection is the very pinnacle of our repast. Allow me to regale you with this varietal." She slid another bottle toward her son, and he opened it with a sense of flair matched only by his sweater.

###

When the episode aired, Patrick and David watched it together, snuggled on their couch.

"You should know that after this goes viral, I expect to have groupies," David warned.

"That's fine," Patrick said with a remarkably straight face. "But I draw the line at bringing any of them home."

"Only you," David promised.

"Oh, I'm going to be a groupie?"

"Well, you kind of already are. I thought you realized. Hush!" David said as the show's intro ended.

At the first commercial break, Patrick said, "I'm really proud of you. You didn't get flustered at all when your mother started criticizing your technique."

"By that point we'd already tried four different wines. I was very mellow."

"Then Stevie was right. After all, the wine was her idea."

David's phone dinged with a text message. He looked at it, frowned, and then set it down without answering.

A few seconds later, Patrick's phone dinged. He looked at it and grinned. "Stevie says she was right, and that ignoring her doesn't change that fact."

"Just wait until she sees what happens next. That's the part that will go viral. Mom and I sing a duet."

"Awww," Patrick said. "What a great mother-son moment. What's the song?"

"We called it 'The Egg Song.' It was extemporaneous."

"Wait." Patrick sounded worried. "There aren't any eggs in my family's enchiladas recipe. Why do you sing about eggs?"

"Because we decided to make eggnog."

"Why..." Patrick was temporarily at a loss for words. "Why would you make eggnog to go with enchiladas?"

"Because they both start with E, obviously." When Patrick simply stared at him, David added, "We were very mellow."

A few minutes later, more texts flooded Patrick's phone from Stevie:

eggnog?

the egg song?

OMG!

did that really happen?!

...followed by a string of emojis that included an egg, a wine bottle, and raucous laughter.

Then Alexis called David. "We need to get Mom in a commercial for eggnog!"

"Whatever. As long as she's doing it solo. I'm not singing that song again," he insisted.

"What? David!" she wheedled.

Meanwhile, Patrick texted back to Stevie:

I need eggnog

Stevie called, announcing, "I have never craved eggnog so much in my entire life! I'm not even sure I like eggnog."

"It's summer," Patrick said sadly. "None of the stores stock it."

"How hard can it be to make?" she insisted. "It's just eggs and... nog? What is nog?"

"Rum, I think." Patrick ran a search. "I found a recipe online." He walked over to the kitchen, checking for ingredients. "We've got everything we need here at the house, except for heavy cream."

"I'll buy some on my way," Stevie promised. "I'm leaving now."

"I'll get David to sing 'The Egg Song' for us," Patrick promised.

"Not singing the song again!" David yelled, his attention pulled away from his argument with Alexis.

"Not even if we make you eggnog?" Patrick offered. "One of your groupies is coming by to help."

"I'm not comfortable with calling myself a groupie," Stevie said over the sound of her car starting. "Let's go with aficionado."

"You said I couldn't bring any groupies home," David objected.

"Yes, but we didn't say anything about me bringing one of them home."

"Fine," David huffed. "I will teach you and one groupie the song. Then it will never pass my lips again."

"David!" his sister protested, still listening. "If you sing it for them, you have to sing it for the commercial."

"Money from a commercial wouldn't hurt," Patrick said. "It could pay for some of the upgrades we want to make at the store. And maybe you'd collect even more groupies and they'd come to the store to buy stuff from us."

"Fine!" David said again. He flopped down on the sofa and sighed dramatically. "Revive me when the eggnog is ready."