Family. I smiled and followed, taking the only empty seat remaining—across from Fia. Whatever the animosity between her and Dolly, it didn’t extend to me because Fia smiled warmly and introduced herself.
“Pan-fried Barbounia and Naxian potatoes on a bed of wilted greens,” Hannah said, as she placed a gold-rimmed plate before Thomas’s mother.
I had no idea what Barbounia was—it sounded like a harpoon-wielding pirate who shouldn’t be allowed on board. But the way Kassia beamed, I couldn’t wait for mine.
“Is mine gluten-free?” Isabelle asked.
“It certainly is,” Hannah replied, serving the rest of the table.
“I asked for organic,” said Nikos.
“All your preferences have been taken into account,” Hannah said. “Enjoy.”
I was looking forward to my first real meal of the day. Prepared to order by an executive chef. On a private yacht. If the appetizers were anything to go by, I was in for a real treat. My anticipation turned into disbelief, then shock, then downright despair as everyone started digging in. I stared at the beautifully presented dish before me and gagged. Three small, red-skinned fish, their tails pinched together stared back at me. Atop a pyramid of three potatoes. Three was turning out to be the theme for the evening.
“Hannah?” I called. “Could I have a word with the chef, please?”
“He’s busy preparing the next course, but I can relay your message.”
“Maybe I can send a note?” It seemed like the more diplomatic thing to do.
“Sure.” Hannah handed me a pen and notepad. The table seemed eerily quiet. I looked up, expecting all eyes on me, but they were all focused on their dinner.
No fish heads,sheep heads oranyheads, I wrote.Or tails. Could you please substitute something else? I also requested no potatoes.
Hannah left with my note, and I wondered what could’ve gone wrong. Alex had reeled off my likes and dislikes as if he knew them inside out. Isabelle had her gluten-free meal. Nikos was enjoying his organic stuff. How could Alex have forgotten my preferences in the span of a few short hours? I could just shut my trap and eat the greens, but this was not a onetime thing. The only meals I was going to get for the next two weeks would be prepared by Alex. If he thought I was acting spoiled and entitled, so be it. Besides, having my dinner stare back at me was giving me the creeps.
I turned the plate around so the barbounia looked at Fia instead. She’d put aside her fork and was eating the rosy fish with her hands. Thomas’s father was doing the same. Rachel Auntie waslickingher fingers. Nikos had his eyes closed. His lips glistened as he chewed. Teri stared at the line of his throat while sucking on a cleanly picked line of thin, delicate fish bones. Thomas stroked Isabelle’s wrist absently, a sated, glazed look in his eyes.
What the hell is going on?I glanced at Dolly. Given her recent agitated state, I was sure she hadn’t succumbed to whatever weird spell everyone else seemed to be under.
“Chef Alexandros asked me to give you this.” Hannah handed me a piece of paper before I could appraise Dolly.
I unfolded the note and read:
This morning, as the sun rose over the water, I saw fishermen pull a net full of barbounia from the sea—red and pink with flashes of gold. I thought, What better meal to serve on the first night than this fine, fresh delicacy? They are sweet from their diet of minuscule shrimp, with an earthy, buttery texture. I prepared them with a simple dusting of flour—fried crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and still smelling of the sea. A dash of salt and a squeeze of lemon are all they need. I thought about serving yours headless, without the bones, but it would take away from the experience. And it would be a shame if you didn’t taste the potatoes at least once while you’re in Greece. They are sourced from a small farm in Naxos. I know food. I know how to cook it. I know how to serve it. Try it. If you don’t like it, I have rice cakes.
Great. A chef with an attitude. He hadn’t forgotten my requests. He’d chosen to ignore them.
I crumpled up the note and thanked Hannah.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Fine.” I managed to muster up a smile.
Not only was I stuck with Alex’s culinary whims, I was also stuck as his roommate. It didn’t help that everyone around me was intent on licking their plates clean. So much ooh-ing and aah-ing, you’d think they were at an orgy. I picked up my fork and speared a potato with an eye roll.
It’s just dinner, folks. Fried fish and a bunch of…
Potatoes. Naxian. From the island of Naxos. Maybe that’s why they were melting in my mouth like sweet, sweet heaven. I tasted herbs, olive oil, the kick of something tart and the grit of coarsely ground salt and pepper. So simple yet so divine. Curse Chef Alexandros for reminding me how much I loved potatoes. I speared the wilted greens next. They were wilted. They’d already given up. Theyhadto taste like shit, right? Wrong. They complemented the potatoes perfectly with their earthy texture and dusky bitterness.
I fought the urge to close my eyes and savor each bite. No way was I falling under Chef Alexandros’ spell. His magic was turning us all into putty and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit. I might’ve finished everything on my plate, but I didn’t touch the fish-that-still-looked-like-fish. I was sending a message, clear as a marine flare on a dark, empty night.
You can serve it, Chef Alexandros, but I don’t have to eat it.
I would’ve loved to see the look on his face when Hannah took my plate back to the kitchen.
Return to sender.
