Last Friday was, in theory, my birthday and along with that comes the wonder of my family. A story today with scheming, fun and… poutine. But then dear Justin knows me so very, very well…
The Harlita Hat Trick
By Justin Bedard
The Quest for the Ultimate Poutine
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Makin’ poutine.”
I giggled and smooched Tina’s precious little nose when she screwed her face up in disgust. It was just the thing I needed after ten minutes in the kitchen with nothing to show for it. Would be a great shame on me as the chef of the family, but I’ll bet you fifty bucks even Gordon Ramsey wouldn’t toss me out if he knew what some nut had just ordered.
Fries? Sweet. Love ‘em, especially when they’re all crispy. Gravy? I mean…you can put it on mashed potatoes, and fries are basically sliced potatoes cooked in oil, so it makes sense. Doesn’t make it good. Cheese curds? Your culinary experiment is officially a Frankenstein monster, and honey? I’m Monica effin’ Harlita. If there’s one thing I’ve got a knack for, it’s experimenting in life and love. I make it my goal to bed and befriend any and all genders and orientations. I aspire to new reaches of pleasure that sometimes border on S&M! I seek to purge all false purity from religious establishments across the globe!!!
…but I draw the line at poutine. The only thing worse in my mind was haggis, and that’s a pretty low bar, babe. Like, you can’t even limbo under that.
“Okay, but why, though?” Tina asked. “Like…I thought we were all in agreement that poutine is friggin’ gross.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t, hon,” I answered. “…I mean, it’s just the curds that really ruin the whole thing, right?”
“Curds? More like turds. Hashtag middle school humour. Still haven’t told me why. Are there any panfingers left?”
“Fresh plate by the stove. C’mon, don’t ya know me at all?”
Her favourite breakfast treat that wasn’t Pop Tarts, even though they were more or less just pancake sticks. Happened the first time I tried to make pancakes and ended up making them too small. Super crispy on the outside but fluffy on the inside. The perfect finger food to start your day, as it turns out, and they kept Tina company for a solid thirty seconds before she zeroed back in on me. Guess the cat wanted out of the bag.
“Well,” I started. “It’s Auntie Tera’s birthday soon…”
“So you’ve chosen spanks, dear sister,” she cut in without batting an eye.
“Mmm-hmmm…”
“And I didn’t see the incoming reversal. I have officially learned nothing.”
Don’t play the naughty game with me, ladies and germs, ‘cause I can play it better. But she was right on the money. She may have laid her roots in Canada and loved everything about it, but offering her the Great White North’s “signature dish”? That’s how you earn our fair Queen’s wrath, babe. And as tempting as that sounded, I wouldn’t be giving it a second thought if someone hadn’t triple dog dared me and every other succubus from here to the Realm to whip up our own batches.
“…so he wants to get shot with the Linen-nator, is that it?” Tina asked when I showed her the offending text.
Still haven’t forgiven her and Lance for making that thing without me.
“Well, it’s a triple dog dare,” I said. “That means I gotta do it, like it or not…not like I’d back down from a challenge, anyway.”
“I smell shenanigans!” Tina said with an adorable grin. “We gonna get the drop on ‘em? Please say we’re gettin’ the drop on ‘em.”
“Lil’ sis? We’re gettin’ the drop on ‘em.”
Cue the diabolical laughter with a little bit of sexy! …and learn it’s not nearly as fun when it’s just one person listening in on you.
…and you have no idea what you’re laughing about.
“Get the drop on them…how, exactly?” I asked.
“Swap it out with good stuff?” Tina said all smug. “French class extraordinaire comin’ through. Poutine is derived from the word pouding, which is a slang term meaning a bunch of random crap. It just so happened that the original random crap was two things that can go together along with one that oughta be flushed down the toilet.”
“You are just the cutest thing ever sometimes,” I gushed.
“Sometimes? Honey, I’m Nuwa’s gift to the succubus race! …is what I’d say if I was a total jerk.”
Or me…huh. Not my favourite way of finding out I’m a bad influence.
“Authentic Canadian cuisine,” I said to myself once or twice. “So what sort of doodads were we thinking?”
“I dunno…like, maybe lobster instead of cheese curds?”
Hey, I feel you judging her back there! It’s Nova Scotia, baby! We got lobster for just about everything! You sprinkle some crusty claw boys in your meal and we’ll be runnin’ red lights to get to you!
Yummy as that sounded, though, the gears in my head were already pointing me toward something sweet. I figured there’d be more than enough of the girls playing the whole thing straight, so there was no doubt in my mind Auntie Tera would be in dire need of a palate cleanse after, say…five seconds?
“Well, we can just break it down to three basic ingredients, right?” Tina said when I mused aloud for a bit. “Just think about what would be a good substitute for each of them. Like, what could you switch the fries out…with…”
I guess I’d looked at her plate of panfingers a little longer than I should’ve. They really were perfect. They tasted great, they were the same shape and consistency as the fries we wanted to swap out, they were invented by yours truly which is totally the most important factoid of the bunch. Plus it also gave us a replacement for the gravy ‘cause…c’mon, ya’ll. Pancakes and syrup? That’s proper Canadian right there.
Of course, you don’t deny a Canadian girl her pancakes and syrup, and now that one girl in particular knew what I was thinking, I was getting the biggest death glare ever as she circled her arms around the plate like a shield. My baby sister. Sharp as a tack, cute as a button, but still finding the time to get a little bratty.
“Hey, Tina?” I said all soft as I reached over and nearly got my nails snapped off.
“Nope. My panfingers.”
“Right, but who makes ‘em for ya?”
“Jesus.”
Reason? On Tina Harlita? Was I born yesterday?
“I’ll make you a fresh batch when we’re done.”
“Or you can make ‘em now and leave my panfingers alone.”
Okay, so promising doesn’t work. Threats?
“Girl, don’t make me tickle you.”
“I’ll scream. And then I’ll puke. And then you’ll have to make me more panfingers.”
And suddenly poutine done quick and easy (and good) got a helluva lot harder. Just as good a time as any to bust out the puppy dog pout. My last resort: pleading.
“Pleeeeeease.”
She got in real close without blinking or so much as cracking a smile, and…
“My. Pan. Fingerrrrrsssssssssssss…”
Well, when all else failed…
“Urrrrrrrgh…”
“Urrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.”
“Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!”
“Urrr NOT THE TAIL! NOT THE TAIL!!!”
It’s the golden rule, lovelies. You never touch a succubus’s tail, lest you
- Get ravished from the shock of pleasure you just gave her.
OR
- Get stuck on her shit list when she comes down from the seizure.
I, in particular, sit pretty in Camp A. You get me going and we’re gonna have a lotta fun together, don’t you worry. Tina? First time I did it, I really thought I’d gone and killed her and she’s never let me hear the end of it. But you know how sisters operate. We always know which tails to yank on.
Including Sandra, apparently. The queen of all ice queens that just so happened to be our big sister.
“Thought I smelled two goofs,” she said in that dry voice that always irked me, even if she was smiling. “Can you keep it down? I just got done my workout.”
And boy howdy, did she smell like it.
“Don’t bully the baby!” Tina whined and pulled her tail free. “Did you seriously come all the way across the house just for that?!”
“Been here the whole time, actually.”
Figures. We always had to watch our shadows and make sure they were really ours. Honestly, I was surprised Sandra was even at home at all. She was one of those girls that kept finding reasons to spend time away from her family. One of the perks of being Tenebra’s most popular/powerful agent, I guess.
Yeah, I don’t have a very high opinion of her. I used to, but time does even us sexy immortals dirty.
“Making your own poutine?” she asked. “Are all of you actually getting into that?”
“Putting our own special twist on it,” I said. “Making it a little sweeter.”
“Yeah, with my freakin’ panfingers…” Tina grumbled.
I almost snickered at my littleun’s over-the-top moping, but I caught my biggun’s apathy first. She looked at everything spread out in the kitchen, looked at us, looked at the door like she couldn’t wait to leave her two loser sisters in the dust. Leave it to the bodacious bombshell that is my good self to lighten things up.
“Don’t tell us you actually like it how it is,” I asked.
“Hell no,” Sandra snarked back. “All that fat and cholesterol? You know what that stuff does to your body?”
“You’re grossed out by the cheese curds, too, aren’t ya?”
“Keep that up and I’ll be yanking your tail next.”
“Oh, honey, do it and see if I don’t pin you down.”
“You? Pin me down?”
Tina slid the panfingers into my hands and gave me all the reason I needed to cap the spat there. And so I slipped into Sexy Chef mode. I tied my hair into a ponytail and slung it over my shoulder with one hand, then started the stove up with the other. Tina scurried around behind me and scooped up everything I needed. Mixing bowl, whisk, fancy plate to sculpt the prototype. My hands arranged the goods and my tail stirred, and just like magic, our kitchen exploded with all the sweet smells that’ll make you wanna kiss the cook.
…that’s not a joke. Gimme kiss!
I think I’d gotten halfway through pouring the batter into the pan before I noticed Sandra was still there. Not gawking at us this time, just watching us work. Biting her lips and flipping her sweaty hair out of her eyes every little while, and though I certainly welcome stares depending on who’s giving them, she still had that same intensity that made my skin crawl a bit. It was like she was waiting for permission to leave.
Then she finally spoke.
“Can I help?”
Otherwise known as How to Make the Whole Room Stop in Two Seconds.
“Well,” she said when I apparently looked a little wigged out. “I haven’t really talked to Tera in a long time and…y’know, this might make it a little less awkward?”
Why, my lovelies around the world, I think we’re seeing history in the making. Here stood my big sister, Sandra Harlita, getting mushy? Not since the birth of our fair Tina have I born witness to such splendour! Break out the champagne and caviar!
“This is a good look for you, Sis,” I said with the warmest smile I had, then giggled when I got the most cynical of eye rolls in return. “Relax, I’m just teasing you. Towel yourself off and give us a hand.”
Then she smiled back. An honest to gods genuine smile, and I think my heart melted a little. Moreso when her first act as my deputy chef was hoisting Tina up onto her shoulders to help get the syrup…oh, excuse me. She hoisted Tina up on her one bicep to help get the syrup. So she was a sweetheart and a show-off? Darlings here and everywhere, I think the three of us were starting to look like a family.
“Sure she wouldn’t prefer Reddi-Whip?” Sandra asked.
“Hey, no backseat baking,” I joked.
“I’m just sayin’.”
And so we finished the batches in record time. Fluffy panfingers, crispy panfingers. Thin syrup, thick syrup. Chocolate chips, blueberries, all the good stuff. Us three should’ve been standing in a kiddie pool, that’s how mouth-wateringly sweet we’d made our home.
“We’re so gonna got diabetes,” Sandra said.
“And it’ll be totally worth it!” Tina cheered.
My thoughts exactly, but we weren’t quite done yet.
“Oookay, and now for the dreaded cheese curds…” I said. “How shall we replace such an atrocity, my fair sisters?”
I was expecting an epic brainstorming session where the three of us arrived at the same conclusion at the exact same time, permanently cementing us as the three best nieces that any auntie could have. But y’know…Sandra pulling a box of Timbits out and plopping it in front of us works just fine.
“Sooooo what was that about fat and cholesterol again?” I asked.
“What, I can’t like Tim’s?”
Chocolate glazed, honey dipped, sour cream, the works. We chopped ‘em up, sprinkled ‘em on, looked back and admired our handiwork, then took one bowl and dug in. And then…
Fade to black! We flash forward to our Queen’s big day! Cut to Palace Dining Room as her Majesty sits giving everyone before her the bemused smirk she’s known across the universe for! Her subjects thus far have abided by the challenge, deliberately so to incur her “wrath”! Indeed, the Queen herself has her dominant arm resting on the softest of pillows, poised to lovingly strike at her Dearest Brother the moment he comes within range of her lovely emerald eyes!
At last cut to these sexy bitches (and their adorable kid sister) magically appearing before her with their magnum opus in tow! AND SO WE HAVE WON THE DAAAAAAAY!!!
Aaaaaand breathe. Takes a lot of energy to be this goofy.
“Your Majesty!” I hollered. “On this glorious day of your birth, we bestow upon you our finest of creations!!!”
“Or, as we like to call it, the Harlita Hat Trick!” Tina beamed.
“Go, team…” Sandra mumbled. “…yeah!”
Bad news: the pillow stayed where it was. Good news: Auntie Tera instead smothered us with one of her goddess-like huggles (a snuggle and a hug rolled into one, for those just joining the class). Tina gave one right back, I settled into it, and Sandra…well, she wasn’t that into it, but she had a cute smile going so I reckon she was all good.
“Sorry we’re late,” I said. “Just wanted to make sure we had it perfect.”
“It’s already perfect,” Auntie Tera cooed in my ear. “All my dear ones are here.”
Tina gave me a hug from up on my shoulders and Sandra gave me a sly wink, and then Auntie Tera sat back down to take the first bite. Collective breath held, fingers and tails crossed. The moment of truth. Team Harlita’s offense taking up position. From Sandra to Tina, from Tina to Monica! She shoots…
…
…
…SCORES!!!