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So...
Midoriya can't cook. He zones out and misses timers, or overthinks, panics and pulls thinks from the fire too soon. His food is edible, mostly, if bland and either slightly burnt or underdone. Inko tried to teach him but he just doesn't connect with it. He lacks the confidence in himself to throw ingredients and seasonings together and the intuitive way she moves around the stove.
Back when the boys were young and nearly inseparable Inko and Mitski would trade off watching the two. When it was Inkos turn all three would be in the kitchen, the woman doing her best to share her passion for cooking with them. Midoriya would watch hanging on her words, eyes wide with excitement more for the end product than the steps to get there. Bakugo, always wanting to be the best, would watch and copy her, a little slower and a bit messier in the process. As the boys got older, Bakugo would still come over to show Inko new recipes or tricks he had learned. Most of his cooking mirrored him, he used spices everywhere possible, tongue numbing amounts if it were just for him and Mitsuki. He loved to watch the flames shoot up with stir-fry and had no fear of hot oil with his natural burn resistance. But he could also be surprisingly gentle with other dishes, stopping his usual stomping when light cakes were in the oven, never knocking the air out of beaten eggs. Bakugo thrived in a kitchen.
On the nights Mitsuki watches them, she takes the time to pull out her embroidery while the tiny terrors watch movies or hero shows on TV. Bakugo lost all interest in needle work long ago, nitroglycerin on his fingers making it hard to control the needle, too rough with the thread making the fabric pull and bunch. He had no patience to wait for the small stitches to become the flowers she was so fond of or the fantasy scenes her husband adored.
Midoriya however loved to watch, needle gliding through fabric, to try and guess what she was making. He would ask questions about the different stitches and how it worked. When he asked about about sewing to make his own hero costume Mitsuki turned him over to Masaru. As good as she was and as much as she enjoyed embroidery, her husband was the fashion designer. After that first weekend midoriya always brought his newest project, usually replicas of pro hero costumes, over for Masaru to look at and help when he got stuck.
So it hardly fazed Midoriya when, on one of the nights he was assigned to make dinner for Class 2-A, Bakugo threw a pile of clothes down next to him and stalked to the kitchen. Yelling all the way that he was going to make katsudon instead of whatever garbage the useless Deku had planned. Midoriya just sighed fondly and retrieved a sewing kit from his room.
Sounds of chopping cut through the stunned silence left in the common room. Midoriya just starts colormatching the clothes to the thread he has on hand, and if the spool of Kevlar matched the orange of bakugos hero uniform, he couldn't say.
By the time Midoriya is mostly through the pile, little holes and frays mended with neat rows of tiny stitches, Bakugo is banging around the kitchen plating a serving for everyone.
Midoriya startles the class and yells into the kitchen, "I can't fix the skull shirt again, there isn't enough fabric left" with out looking up from the needle. Eyes flit from one boy to another, most expecting the usual argument to start, even it it was a far from normal so far.
"I didn't think you could nerd, but I threw it in anyway." Is the gruff reply from the kitchen.
"Its spicy katsudon right?"
"If the extras can't handle it they don't deserve my cooking, Deku."
"Thanks Kachan!"
And Class 2-A short circuits.