[ It's a thing he's conditioned to see as feminine, cookingβeven in the progressive households of the Soviet Union, it's always been the woman who does such things; he'd grown up with a Bolshevik mother who still stood in front of the stove in the evenings. The girlfriend he'd lived with for more than a year had cooked for them around her technical education. As a grown man living on his own in Moscow, he'd eaten in cafeterias; after his death and subsequent undeath, he'd been introduced to all manner of ready-to-eat products, things that only required heating in a microwave for 90 seconds or a few minutes on the stove.
So Vasiliy never really learned how to cook, not truly, although he had been able to do a very rudimentary job here.
The suggestion that Konstantin take over those duties and cook for him, as his mother and Nadya had both done, doesn't make him any less masculineβhe's a cosmonaut, a commander, a Hero of the Soviet Union, built like a Soviet G.I. Joe doll. He could never be anything other than the very image of ideal Russian manhood, at least as far as Vasiliy's concerned. But he's aware of how it might be difficult, why he might have kept the suggestion close until now, even though it's noble, the desire to contribute in his own ways to their two-man collective.
His eyes crinkle at the edges as his smile widens. ]
You're firing me. β...You should, though. If you want to. Nobody ever taught me to cook. You're lucky to know how.
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So Vasiliy never really learned how to cook, not truly, although he had been able to do a very rudimentary job here.
The suggestion that Konstantin take over those duties and cook for him, as his mother and Nadya had both done, doesn't make him any less masculineβhe's a cosmonaut, a commander, a Hero of the Soviet Union, built like a Soviet G.I. Joe doll. He could never be anything other than the very image of ideal Russian manhood, at least as far as Vasiliy's concerned. But he's aware of how it might be difficult, why he might have kept the suggestion close until now, even though it's noble, the desire to contribute in his own ways to their two-man collective.
His eyes crinkle at the edges as his smile widens. ]
You're firing me. β...You should, though. If you want to. Nobody ever taught me to cook. You're lucky to know how.