In reality, he was actually cooking pretty safely. Throwing together the vegetables and apples wasn't altogether sickening, and using non-expired lowfat milk (it'd go bad in a few days anyway) was a fair method. The milk would heat as fast as water, but it wouldn't boil out of the pot nearly as fast, so it would help keep everything tender. The only thing that was actually flavoring the chicken, veggies, and fruit was whatever natural juices would be retained inside for cooking (being surrounded by milk, fluid displacement would not occur and everything would remain fresh and moist). And then there was the brown sugar, which wouldn't do too much as Provenzano didn't add enough to substantially alter the original palette of the ingredients. All of this was accidental, of course; by serendipital happenstance, Provenzano had lucked upon creating something that would be edible and fairly tasty (not comparable to fancy restaurants and high-class trained chefs but respectable all things considered). He couldn't claim, truthfully, to have known what he was doing when throwing everything together.

The X-Men would have to get used to Paulie's mundanely-unorthodox way of doing things; he liked the finer things in life just like Emma Frost but lacked any kind of refinement other than whatever act he might have put on had he the resources to dress sharp. That aside, he was in an odd place among the Euro-X team (of which he was still not an official member; circumstances didn't lend themselves to giving him a set of keys or anything yet, but they weren't kicking him out either). He was a "regular" guy from the streets in terms of his growing up. Paulie's powers only granted him limited invulnerability, which was somewhat blase compared to the other more fantastic abilities that the rest of the team had. Still, he did things that raised eyebrows from the others; one would think it wasn't possible but Provenzano pulled it off.

"Provenzano. Penance." Hark, the herald demoness sings. Monet St. Croix entered the room as if she owned the place. To be fair, she enters every room like she owns the place. The exception would be in the event that she actually did own the place, then she'd enter quietly and respectfully. The chateau was hosting her, however, so the air of superiority had to be maintained. She was like a more versatile Emma Frost, with less flirtacious goodness and a higher propensity for murder. With Penance still entranced by his concoction, Paulie stirred at the quickly-heating food and picked out one of the artichoke hearts, chewing it a few times while stirring. The chicken was cooking through pretty fast; good thing it was already defrosted.

"Well hello, princess,"

Course, that was all general conversational-catcalling; Provenzano might find her decidedly less attractive once her personality came out around him. Paulie was better than to concentrate the verbal subject matter entirely on hitting on various women. He wasn't a genius but he learned a while back that girls liked it when he talked to them about something else besides how sexy they might've been. You hear that, every mainstream rapper ever (not counting Tupac) in the U.S. since 1986? "You all holding up okay after that ruckus with the space invaders?" He still didn't know about Penance's leg. Monet seemed alright. Paulie himself was okay, nearly being eaten notwithstanding. Addressing M directly, he said, "Pull up a chair, if one's still standing. Pen here, and me, are just about to get some kinda lunch. You can join her in a fruit salad, or get in on whatever insult to God's creation that I'm heating up in this pot." Penance would likely agree with that description of that Paulie's dish.