Work Text:
———
Madison Hubbell liked pineapple on pizza. It was almost a divorceable offense—but Gabriella was won over by her adorable face. "Why?!"
"Let me explain." Madison held up a hand as she took a sip of coffee. They were at Percolation Park once again, this time in the early hours of the morning before practice. Conversation had turned to dinner, which was how they wound up talking about pizza toppings.
Gabriella preferred a supreme veggie, no olives. She had expected a normal American response—sausage & mushroom, bacon and spinach… not pineapple, bacon, onion, and jalapeño. A PBOJ, Madison had lovingly called it. She automatically recoiled at the thought of this combination. But Madison apparently had a good reason, so she leaned back and motioned for the other woman to continue.
"On paper, pineapple on pizza sounds gross. It's almost like putting mango or papaya on your pizza." Gabriella nodded. That was her mental block. "But, when it's cooked a little instead of raw, the sweetness balances out the salt from the bacon and the spicy from the jalapeño. The onions I throw in for the flavor and texture. I love caramelized onions," Madison sighed happily. "Don't knock it 'til you try it, Gabs."
Gabriella opened her mouth to retort, then quickly shut it again. She wasn't sure what to say. Maybe it was the early hour, but she was having trouble incorporating this new piece of information into her mental perception of Madison Hubbell. Madison, the girl who preferred Dutch braids to French ones; the girl who took her coffee black as fountain pen ink; who went to bed at ten on the dot every night… loved pineapple on pizza. There was some logic to her choice. Gabriella knew that Madison wasn't a contrarian for opposition's sake. But still.
She liked to think she was open-minded and she did like to try new things at least once, but she was touchy with food. Her relationship to food and eating was shaky to begin with, so she was very careful not to disturb the delicate balance she had only recently found. But Madison didn't know about her tumultuous relationship to food (yet), so Gabriella knew her comments were well-intentioned.
Honestly, the more Gabriella thought about it, the PBOJ intrigued her. There was something so seductively American about it. It wouldn't hurt to try. If she didn't like it, she knew someone who was willing to finish her slice. "Next time you order some, I'll try one bite."
Madison lit up. "Great! How 'bout tonight? I'll order half the pie my way, and the other half yours. We can watch The Golden Girls at my dorm."
"Sure—" Before Gabriella could say more, her phone blared. The alarm she had set at the beginning of their coffee date went off; it was time to head to the rink.
—
"Yo, Gabs. You want one?"
Gabriella looked up from her book. The older woman held out a piece of orange fruit, one corner dipped in— "Is that marinara??" She couldn't believe they were sitting in Milan and Madison was handing her a clementine wedge dipped in tomato sauce.
"Yep." Madison grinned as she withdrew her hand. She popped the fruit in her mouth and hummed in pleasure. Her eyes closed and she leaned into Gabriella's side. Here in their locker room, they were far from any onlookers or cameras—a good thing, too, because the citizens of this year's Worlds host country would probably flay Madison alive if they knew.
Gabriella could only stare. Was this a prank? There was no way this combination tasted good. "Madi, what the fuck?"
"It's really good, I swear. The sweet from the clementine marries well with the tart tomato. It's all about that balance, babe." Madison tore another section off the main bundles and dipped it into a plastic cup of sauce. "You want one?"
"No. Thank you." Gabriella watched in disgusted intrigue as Madison finished another slice. "How did you even start doing this?"
"I was eating cheese sticks in middle school one time, and I had some sauce left over. I had a clementine too. So I thought, 'Why not?' and decided to mix the two for shits and giggles. But then I actually liked it, so I kept doing it." Madison Hubbell, multiple-time World medalist, with her hair and makeup done, scooped up the thick sauce with a wedge of clementine and popped it in her mouth whole.
It was so absurd, Gabriella started to chuckle. Her book abandoned, she leaned over and peeled a segment of clementine away for herself. Maybe next time, she would try the sauce. For now, she ate it plain. "You're so lucky I'm not Italian."
—
"So, what do you think?" Madison said as she stowed her wallet in her bag.
They were at Culver's today, one of the few in Canada. According to Madison, they had the best beef burgers of any fast-food chain, and Gabriella had to find out for herself. She normally didn't like to eat meat, but she was willing to make an exception just this once. After watching Madison's hands move so much while she talked, her interest was piqued.
"It's…" Gabriella looked around the large establishment. The swarth of white and blue, the huge cups, the smell of meat and processed cheese coming from the kitchen… It was all— "Very… American?" There was certainly nothing French about their fries.
Madison threw her head back and laughed. "You bet. This is a United Statesian chain. They started in Wisconsin; y'know, the state that's famous for cheese." Madison pointed at the many pictures of cows plastered everywhere, along with one photo of several people wearing foam cheese on their head. Gabriella wasn't even going to ask about that.
What she did ask about, was what they had ordered. "What the hell is a 'butterburger'?"
"It's a Midwest thing. The beef patty, bun, and onions are all cooked and toasted with butter." Madison grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. "Unmatched method for making burgers."
"No wonder Americans have an obesity issue." The French were known for drinking wine and smoking after dinner, sure, but at least they seemed to have a semblance of self-control.
The older woman shrugged and gave her a crooked grin. "You're not wrong."
The buzzer in her hands came to life in an almost violent manner, almost escaping her loose grip. She was more than happy to trade it at the counter for a blue tray to carry back to the table. Two burgers, two malted milkshakes, two bags of fries. Everything looked to be included.
Gabriella watched in bemused silence as Madison picked up two fries and dunked them into her milkshake. The thick, malty substance clung to the potato like cement. The older woman leaned back against the vinyl booth and groaned. "Oh my god, how I've missed this."
"Madi, what—" She stopped herself and sighed. Might as well. Gabriella picked up one fry and dipped it into her shake like Madison had done. Surely it couldn't taste all that bad; potato was a forgiving food. She was more worried about the texture and temperature difference.
It was strange. The fluffy potato interior of the fry was at odds with the starchiness of the milkshake. The chocolate from the shake was not overbearing, and it mingled with the salt from the breaded surface. Cold and hot attacked her tongue at the same time. Her face screwed up at the conflict of stuff in her mouth. Never again, she decided, as she swallowed.
It was worth it to do it the one time; she got to see Madison's carefree laugh at her reaction. Sure, Madison's food combinations were weird, but that just made Gabriella's love for her deepen all the more. She kissed the other woman on the cheek and thanked her for the experience—and kept her food separate for the remainder of the meal.
———
