Migs stared at Jun-Jun, then at the pristine, spaceship-like kitchen, then back at Jun-Jun who was now attempting to interface with a smart refrigerator that displayed holographic nutritional information. "Himalayan monk butter? Moon-harvested chocolate? Jun-Jun, we're making cookies, not summoning an ancient deity."
"Quality ingredients are paramount, Migs!" Jun-Jun declared, momentarily distracted by the fridge offering him recipes for molecular gastronomy foams. "Think of the flavour profile! The textural nuances!"
Mang George, standing by with the impassive calm of a bomb disposal expert, consulted his ever-present tablet. "Sir, our pantry is stocked with several varieties of imported French and Irish butter, renowned for their high butterfat content. We have single-origin organic chocolate from Madagascar and Venezuela. The flour is artisanal stone-ground from a reputable local miller. The Tahitian vanilla beans are currently in stock." He paused. "Procuring butter churned by Himalayan monks, chocolate harvested under specific lunar conditions, and Dutch wind-milled flour would require coordination with our international sourcing agents and may involve significant lead times, potentially impacting afternoon tea."
Jun-Jun looked momentarily disappointed. "No monk butter today?"
"Regrettably not available for immediate use, sir," Mang George confirmed. "However, I can initiate the sourcing process for future baking requirements, along with the vanilla R&D project you mentioned."
"Fine," Jun-Jun sighed dramatically, turning away from the smart fridge. "We'll make do with the... inferior French butter and Venezuelan chocolate, I suppose." He clapped his hands together, suddenly energized again. "Right! Cookies! Migs, find a recipe! Something classic. Chocolate chip!"
Migs sighed in relief. A normal recipe. He pulled out his phone and quickly found a standard, highly-rated chocolate chip cookie recipe online. "Okay, got one. Says we need flour, butter, sugar – white and brown, eggs, vanilla, baking soda, salt, and chocolate chips."
"Excellent!" Jun-Jun rubbed his hands together. "Mang George, assemble the ingredients! The best versions you have of those standard items!"
Mang George nodded and gestured towards a section of the counter where, with uncanny speed, various bowls containing perfectly measured ingredients appeared, seemingly rising from hidden compartments. Gleaming copper measuring cups and spoons lay beside them. The butter was softened to precisely room temperature. The eggs were large, organic, brown-speckled things that probably cost more per dozen than Migs' entire lunch budget.
"Okay," Migs read from his phone. "First, cream the butter and sugars together until light and fluffy."
"Creaming! Got it!" Jun-Jun grabbed a large, intimidatingly complex stand mixer that looked like it could double as a jet engine component. He dumped the butter and both types of sugar into the bowl. "Now... fluffy!" He peered at the mixer's control panel, which featured numerous symbols and speed settings. He selected one marked with what looked like a tornado icon.
He hit 'start'. The mixer whirred to life with astonishing speed and power. Butter and sugar instantly flew out of the bowl, splattering the chrome backsplash, Jun-Jun's shirt, and Migs, who yelped and jumped back.
"Whoa! Powerful!" Jun-Jun exclaimed, fumbling to reduce the speed. He eventually found a gentler setting, and the mixture began to combine more sedately. "See? Minor turbulence, now we're cruising."
"Cruising towards a major cleanup," Migs muttered, wiping butter off his cheek. He consulted the recipe again. "Okay, now beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla."
Jun-Jun grabbed the bowl of expensive-looking eggs. Instead of cracking them carefully, he attempted a one-handed crack directly over the spinning mixer bowl. Predictably, eggshell fragments went flying along with the egg white and yolk.
"Oops," Jun-Jun said nonchalantly as Mang George instantly materialized with tweezers to expertly fish out the shell pieces from the mixture without even stopping the machine. "Good catch, Mang George!"
He poured in the vanilla extract – likely extracted from those premium Tahitian beans – with similar abandon, sloshing a fair amount onto the counter. Mang George was already there with a microfiber cloth.
"Next!" Jun-Jun commanded.
"Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt in a separate bowl," Migs read.
Jun-Jun located the pre-measured dry ingredients. "Combine!" He promptly dumped the entire contents of the flour bowl directly into the wet mixture in the stand mixer.
"No, separate bowl first!" Migs protested, but it was too late.
Jun-Jun hit the 'on' switch again, perhaps forgetting he'd left it on a medium-high setting. A plume of flour erupted from the mixer bowl like a volcanic ash cloud, coating everything in a fine white powder. Jun-Jun emerged from the cloud, blinking, looking like a friendly ghost.
"Note to self," Jun-Jun coughed, wiping flour from his eyebrows. "Incorporate dry ingredients... more gently."
Mang George, seemingly unfazed by the flour blizzard, calmly wiped down the surfaces and Jun-Jun himself with preternatural speed and efficiency.
"Okay," Migs sighed, resigning himself to the chaos. "Now stir in the chocolate chips."
"The best part!" Jun-Jun located the bowl of Venezuelan single-origin chocolate chunks. He didn't just stir them in. He decided to use his hands, plunging them into the dough and kneading the chocolate in with messy enthusiasm. "Tactile! Like making mud pies, but potentially more delicious!"
Finally, they had something resembling cookie dough, albeit with dubious eggshell content and an uneven distribution of flour.
"Drop rounded tablespoons onto a baking sheet," Migs instructed, pointing towards sleek, non-stick baking sheets Mang George had laid out.
Jun-Jun eschewed the offered spoons. He grabbed handfuls of dough, shaping them into giant, irregular blobs and plopping them onto the sheet far too close together. "Go big or go home!" he declared.
Migs tried to make smaller, more reasonably spaced cookies on a separate sheet, acting as the voice of baking sanity.
"Into the oven!" Jun-Jun announced, grabbing his overloaded baking sheet. He opened the oven – a sleek, multi-function device with a touch screen displaying various convection, steam, and traditional baking modes. He squinted at the options. "Okay... 'Volcanic Rock Emulation'? 'Artisan Bread Crust Enhancer'? Or just... 'Cookie'?"
"Maybe just 'bake'?" Migs suggested.
Jun-Jun found a standard 'bake' setting, slid his tray in, then slid Migs' tray in beside it. He set the timer according to the recipe.
They stood back, watching the cookies through the oven's brightly lit interior window. The kitchen, despite Mang George's constant ministrations, bore subtle signs of the recent chaos – a faint dusting of flour on a distant counter, a smear of butter on a cabinet handle.
"See?" Jun-Jun said proudly. "Baking! Normal domestic activity!"
Migs looked at Jun-Jun, lightly coated in flour and dough, then at the high-tech, slightly splattered kitchen, then at the irregular blobs melting in the expensive oven. He thought about the monk butter currently being sourced, the vanilla R&D project likely being initiated, the Alpine glacier ice procured for brunch.
"Normal," Migs echoed, shaking his head with a weary smile. "Absolutely, Jun-Jun. Perfectly normal."
The oven timer beeped mockingly. Smoke began to curl faintly from inside. Jun-Jun's giant cookies seemed to be merging into one enormous, slightly charred mega-cookie. Migs' smaller ones looked okay, but perhaps a bit lonely on their side of the oven. Phase one of the cookie calamity was complete; phase two – extraction and tasting – was about to begin.