Taste
Page 9
“Are you working tomorrow?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“How about we meet up then? Have lunch or something? Not here, of course—somewhere not associated with work.”
Emilia looked genuinely surprised. And flattered. “Oh, sweetie, that’s so nice of you.” She patted my cheek. “Yeah, I’d like that. We can discuss the injustice of men and eat ten thousand calories.”
I laughed. “Sounds good. How about we meet at one o’clock at that corner café on Main Street?”
“Deal, girlfriend.” She high-fived me again.
I was getting good at this friendship thing. It was definitely time to branch out from just hanging with my sisters. And Emilia was older than the girls at school. She had life experience. She would probably understand me better than others. And she loved baking. Perfect.
• • •
We both ordered the same meal at the café (I didn’t copy her; she copied me), and before I started eating the beef burgundy pie with side salad. I took a photo of it.
Emilia laughed. “Do you always do that?”
I lowered my face. “Um, yep.”
“And let me guess, you post it to Facebook?”
“And Pinterest.”
“You really are meant to be in this industry, aren’t you?” She chuckled, and I shrugged. “Okay, looking at this meal, what would you do to improve the display?”
I studied it with my professional eye. “It looks pretty good. I don’t think—”
“Ah-ah,” said Emilia, shaking her finger at me. “There is always room for improvement. Have a closer look.” She crossed her forearms over the edge of the table and leaned forward in her chair.
“Well, maybe they could put some fresh parsley on top of the pie, instead of just the salad garnish.”
“Now you’re talking, what else?”
It seemed there were now two people who wanted to mentor me.
I tried to imagine I was serving this meal in my own restaurant. “Put a small bowl of extra balsamic dressing on the side, in case the customer wants more?”
“I’m not sure. Do you want more?”
“I won’t know till I taste it.”
She gestured to the meal and raised her eyebrows.
I cut off a piece of puff pastry, combined it with the beef, added some salad, and put it in my mouth. “Mmm,” I mumbled. Then after I’d swallowed, “It’s delicious.”
“But?”
“Um, maybe it could have a bit more spice in it, like more pepper or something. So I would ask the customer if they wanted me to provide some freshly ground black pepper.”
“Good idea.” Emilia ate some of hers and agreed with me.
I didn’t think I’d ever be able to eat out again without analyzing the meals. I’d be a horrible dinner guest.
“Have you ever noticed that most chefs are male?” Emilia asked, taking a sip of water.
I nodded. “Yeah, I wonder why that is?”
“Probably because they like food,” she said. “But in my opinion, female chefs are better. I’ve worked with a few.”
“Yeah? Well that’s good news for me, then.”
“It is. Not that men make bad chefs—it’s just that they don’t always take into account the little details. Women are so good at that. Men tend to forget stuff, and don’t always think about how something will affect someone else. But women, we think of everything. And we remember everything.”
I watched her as she spoke fast. “Are we still talking about chefs here?” I eyed her with a curious glance.
“Ha. Maybe not.” She shot me a snarky grin and took another bite. “I’ll probably feel better once this charity thing is over and done with and I don’t have to see Michael’s smug face ever again. I hope.”
“The night will go fast, I’m sure. And maybe Lachlan or Lucy can serve him anyway.”
“I guess we’ll just see what happens on the night,” she said. “Do you have family members coming? Your mom or dad?”
I did that thing I did whenever anyone mentioned my dad, not knowing that he wasn’t around. I clamped my lips together in a sort of resigned sad face. “Mom’s coming, yes, and my sisters, and my mom invited our neighbor Mr. Jenkins, but my dad disappeared nine years ago.”
“Oh. Sorry hun. He ran off?”
“No.” I said it with such force that I dropped my knife and fork and they clattered to the floor. “Oops.” I picked them up. “Sorry, it’s just that he actually disappeared, like there was foul play. Something bad happened to him, but we don’t know what, and he was never found.”
Emilia’s eyes widened. “Geez, that’s tough. Sorry Tamara.” She shook her head.
I explained a few more details and then ended with what I usually ended with when talking to people I didn’t know that well about it: “So we’ll just get on with life and see what happens.”
I gulped down my water and refilled it from the carafe.
“I hope you find out the truth,” she said. “It must be hard for your mom, too. I bet she’s protective of you and your sisters.”
“Yeah, she is, but she also lets us live our lives without interfering too much.”
“Does she own a gun?”
My eyes widened, and a queasy feeling simmered in my gut. “No.” Mom had never wanted anything to do with firearms.
“I would, if there’d been foul play. What if the culprit is still around and knows your family? Better safe than sorry.” Emilia took a sip of water, then her face softened as mine froze. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She shook her head in regret. “I have a big mouth. I just get so angry at the injustice in the world.”
I waved away her apology.
“I didn’t know my dad,” Emilia said quietly. “He was one of those ones that ran off.”
“Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. Better off without him. And my step-dad.”
“Your step-dad?”
“Yeah. I think my mom just hooked up with the next interested guy who was like my dad. Drunk idiot.”
“Sounds like growing up was tough for you.”
“Sounds like it was tough for you too,” she said, catching my eye. “It’s good to talk to someone who gets stuff, you know?” she said. “Someone who’s been through stuff.”
“It is,” I smiled. “It is.”
“So from now on I’m not taking any crap from men. Michael was the last straw. After my step-dad… after he… well let’s just say he wasn’t exactly the father type.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He got angry a lot,” she explained. “If it wasn’t my mom, it was me. We went through lots of furniture after he’d had his way with them. And Band-Aids. If only I’d been old enough to recognize the early signs, maybe something could have been done to stop him.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She took a deep breath and her eyes went distant. Then she gave a slight nod.
I put my hand on top of hers. I couldn’t think of any words that would help, so that’s all I did.
“But,” she piped up, putting what I knew was a fake smile on her face. “He’s not around anymore either, so that is all in my past.”
“He ran off too?”
“Nope. Died. Drank himself into an early grave.” She stuck her fork rather aggressively into a chunk of beef and devoured the morsel.
“Wow.” And I thought my life had been hard. At least I’d had a nice father, while he’d been around.
Emilia’s fork hovered above her plate as her eyes sharpened. “I might get one,” she whispered.
“Sorry?” I leaned closer. “Get what?”
She looked in my eyes. “A gun.”
I leaned back, not sure how to respond.
Emilia glanced around the café then reconnected with my gaze. “I’d feel safer. I’ve been living alone since my roommate moved out a few weeks ago; I haven’t found a new one yet. And if Michael is playing games….”
“You’re serious?”
I was trying to think of an appropriate reply, and was going to let her know she was welcome at our house if she was ever scared at home alone, when Emilia’s serious expression softened again. “Anyway, enough about me and my dramas. What about you?” She glanced around then leaned in close. “I noticed that you and Leo seem to be getting along very well.” She smiled.
Warmth crawled across my face. “Yeah. He’s nice.”
“Sorry about how I said he might be the thief. That probably made you all worried on your first day. It’s probably not him. I mean, it’s possible, but who knows. I just want someone to blame for taking my fifty bucks.”
“I would too.”
“So?”
“So? Oh yeah. Um, well, he’s been teaching me a lot about the food industry and stuff. He’s been…”
“Do you like him? In that way?”
Gee, she liked to get to the point.
I didn’t know how to answer.
“You do, don’t you? I can tell.”
I held onto my warm cheeks. “Oh man!”
“Haha!” She laughed.
“But we’re just friends. At least, right now. It does feel like there’s something between us, but I’m not sure.” I continued eating to avoid having to say anymore.
Emilia nodded, and a slight crease formed between her eyebrows.
“What?” I asked. “Do you think I’m wrong? Do you think he doesn’t really feel anything and I’m just caught up in the whole infatuation? Oh God, you’re probably right.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s okay.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
I leaned closer, my eyes trying to read her.
“It’s nothing, really. I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want it to feel awkward at work. But, I dated Leo briefly.”
Oh. Of course. The woman at work I’d heard about from Savannah, who’d heard about her from Riley. “That’s okay. And you both seem to work okay together now, so it doesn’t seem to be awkward.”
She gave a tight-lipped smile. Like she was withholding something else.
“Yeah, kinda. There’s still a bit of tension between us.”
“Tension?”
“Because it didn’t work out,” she said. “It just sort of fizzled out. And we weren’t really right for each other.” She took a sip.
I nodded. “I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”
Emilia twisted one side of her lips. “Be careful though. He can be a bit moody at times. Troubled. He’s nice and all, but sometimes when you get too close, he can retreat.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, it’s none of my business. I just thought I’d be honest.”
“Thanks.” Thanks? Was I supposed to avoid Leo now because he got bad moods sometimes and might retreat? He lived across the road from me; it wasn’t like he could completely ignore me if something went wrong. It was interesting that Leo never talked about Emilia, but maybe he didn’t want things to feel awkward either.
Maybe he just needed someone he could trust, and truly connect with. And maybe it was like Emilia had said: they weren’t right for each other. But who was to say I wasn’t right for him?
Chapter 13
Emilia seemed intent on keeping an eye on things between Leo and me during the following week. It was like she was a big sister, looking out for me. I couldn’t help wondering about what had happened between them, and imagined them together, which did make me feel awkward. It was weird knowing that she had probably kissed him, and I hadn’t.
“You ready to roll?” he asked, a glint in his eye. We were ready to start my third mentoring session.
We were about to roll the soft rectangle of cake I’d made after spreading it with a sweet mixed berry cream. He’d suggested putting a few small berries on the outer edge of the cream layer, so that when it was rolled up they could be seen, for competition display purposes. I was worried about it affecting the consistency of the roll and that maybe it wouldn’t sit right, but we were about to find out.
“Let’s roll.” I wriggled my fingers in preparation, and jiggled to the music he had playing on his sweet and fruity playlist (which he’d combined from his sweet list and his fruity list especially for the occasion). I’d joked that maybe it meant that I was sweet and he was fruity. But he’d said I was both. “Takes one to know one,” I’d replied.
Leo’s hands hovered near the cake. “Argh! It’s painful to not help you. How can I stand by and watch you—”
“Fail miserably?” The first time I’d made this, the cake had split open when I’d rolled it, so it was more like a cracked log roll with cream oozing out and turning it into a goopy mess.
“Absolutely not! A chef or baker must never allow the word ‘fail’ to enter their mind when about to do something.”
“Okay, how about… suck miserably?”
“Same goes for suck. Unless the food is something that needs to be… sucked.”
I giggled. “I guess you could suck this log roll. The cream, anyway.”
“I’d like to see that.”
I quickly diverted my gaze from his so I could concentrate on what I was about to do, and not on how much I’d prefer my lips to touch his instead of this cake.
“Okay, here goes.” I delicately but firmly held the edge of the cake, then tilted it, allowing the cake edge to meet the first bit of cream, then carefully began rolling. Once it had come full circle, I paused to make sure the roll was even, not favoring one side. I didn’t want it looking like a cone. I rolled again, trying to visualize the cake turning out perfectly, without splits or cracks, until I reached the end and held it in place for a moment so it would “take.” I rolled the whole thing over, so the edge sat underneath and the weight would help it stay in place, and kept my hands on it until it settled and softened into position. Carefully, I released my hands, lifting them slowly up as though I was doing some kind of energetic healing therapy.
“You did it, chef,” said Leo. He clapped.
“Thank you, chef.” I curtsied. Curtsied. I was officially weird.
I liked how he called me chef even though I wasn’t one. It made me feel like he had confidence in me and believed in me. It was so nice to have someone likeminded around while I cooked, offering tips and letting me do my thing, even when that meant letting me make mistakes. Letting me roam free in the zone of my passion.
“Do we really have to eat it?” I asked. “Can’t we just look at it and admire it?”
“We can do both.” He got his phone and took some photos of it. “I should have filmed you rolling it. Sam has been thinking of doing some tutorials on YouTube to show people how to make a few things, and to give Harborside some exposure.”
“Oh that’s a great idea! Hey, maybe I could do something like that—start my own channel!”
“You could. Tamara’s cooking tips.” He leaned closer to me. “After all, you do look good on camera.”
I held my hands to my face. “I’m still embarrassed about that video of Savannah’s.”
“I’m not.”
“Um, clearly. You weren’t in it.”
“Maybe we should do one together then. Once I decide which recipe I think would be best for the contest, maybe you can make another practice one here before the big day, and I’ll film some of it and comment on each step, and that way if you win you’ll have some footage they might be able to use to give you some publicity. And if not, you can put it up on your channel.”
I grinned. “I’ll feel nervous, but that sounds like so much fun. You’re full of ideas.”
“There’s more going on up here than meets the eye.” He tapped his head.
Hm, I bet there is.
“So, unfortunately, it’s time to cut this baby up and try some.�
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“Unfortunately, huh? Like, it’s going to taste so terrible.” I exaggerated my tone.
He gave me a light whack on the arm. “You know what I mean.”
I grabbed a knife and carefully sliced off the end, transferring it to a plate and putting it aside.
I went to slice the next bit and he said, “You’ll miss the bits with the berries. Maybe cut the other end.”
“Who says I’m going to miss it? Did you think I was going to give you the first slice?” I raised my eyebrows with a smile and slid the plate away from him. Then I sighed. “Oh all right.” I sliced off the other end and placed it on a plate.
We both got our forks ready. “Ready, set go!” I said.
He dug in, and so did I.
Oh my God. It was heavenly. Best one I’d made. My only concern was that maybe the edges were a little more browned than they should be, but it was a small price to pay.
We stood there, in the kitchen, eating like we’d been starved for a whole week.
“I’m going to need a visit to the dentist after all this,” Leo said. “And maybe the doctor, to get a diabetes check. And I might need some more workout sessions.” He patted his stomach. Which was lean, flat, and (looked) hard.
“Same goes for me. I better start researching healthy recipes soon.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I laughed. “You’re right. This is so much more fun.” I scooped up the remaining piece of log roll on my plate and devoured it without any concern for whether I looked like a greedy sloth. I probably had cream on my face, but I didn’t care. In fact, Leo had cream on his face, and I didn’t care, and he probably didn’t care, and I wasn’t even going to tell him.
“I think I need to recover.” He flopped on the couch and patted his belly with a groan. Then he patted the spot next to him.
I sat, exhaling slowly. “So, you’ve tasted my three creations. Which is the best?”
“Hmm.” He stroked his shadow of a beard. “I might need some time to think on it. They are all worthy.”
“Maybe I could make a chocolate ganache butterfly log roll.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”