Thick yellow foam swelled into a shallow dome at the top of the pot and then burst, frothing down the sides, sizzling as it touched the flame. A moment later, Otacon smelled gas. The stub of the carrot he had been cutting slipped from his his hand, and he brought the knife down on his finger.
"Dammit, Snake!" he whispered, turning the knob on the stove and waving his hands over the pot to clear the air. "Can't you ever get a new starter on this thing?"
Otacon fumbled with the matchbox and took a step back before relighting the flame. The stove came to life again with a low whoosh. Cream of chicken soup shouldn't be this dangerous, Otacon thought.
Next ingredient… he ran his finger across the page, smearing blood over the line below.
Snake coughed in the next room, and Otacon heard his bed creak as he turned over.
Otacon sighed. The carrots should have gone in before the milk. No fixing it now. He wiped his hand on the grimy flower-print towel and vowed to wash it sometime soon.
Did that say two cups or two tablespoons of flour? A drop of blood had soaked through the letters. The soup was foaming again. Two cups should make it thick enough to keep it down. He measured carefully and dumped the flour into the seething broth. Each clump of flour hit the soup and congealed.
Hmmm… "Add flour gradually, stirring after each half tablespoon." Oh.

Otacon switched on the light by Snake's bed and set a steaming bowl on the bedside table.
"Go away," Snake said hoarsely. He coughed again and curled deeper into his blankets.
"It's alright, Snake. I made you chicken and dumplings."