Annie rolls her eyes. Or at least it feels like she does. I’m not looking because I have pretend horse blinders on. “Only to dicks.”
“Like me and Tom?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Whatever. I can admit he’s kind of a douche. But he’s harmless. We’ve been friends since we were all kids.”
She shrugs. “Birds of a feather.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Cut from the same cloth?”
“Huh?”
“Like calls to like,” she tries.
“That makes even less sense.”
“Take it up with the romantasy girlies.”
I give up.
“Are you sure you can read?” She doesn’t drop it.
“I can write, too.”
“Your name? Impressive.”
“A one hundred and seventy-eight page dissertation on the science of umami.”
A subtle wince. “A dissertation?”
“Yeah, Annie Li. It’s Dr. Nico to you. And I’m doing my postdoc now,” I say with not a small amount of pride.
Annie takes a while to digest this, and I can almost hear the neurons firing and her jaw cracking under the effort. Finally she asks, “Umami? Like MSG?”
I’m not surprised this is what she brought up, but this is what most people associate with umami, the fifth basic taste after sweet and sour and salty and spicy. “That’s an example of umami, yeah. Other popular ones are parmesan, anchovies, and some dried mushrooms.” My interest in all this started when I was shaving parm in Ma’s kitchen, when I realized I couldn’t identify what parm actuallytastedlike. It was a little salty, yeah, but something more, something funkier than that.
“What’s the science of umami entail?” she demands to know, because she demands everything. Time, attention, answers. The last thread of my sanity.
“Investigating chemical interactions between…” I put myself inNakedReactionsmode, thinking of how to explain complex chemical concepts to lay people. “Between umami flavor compounds. Glutamates being one of them. MSG stands for monosodium glutamate. Also investigating things likefermentation, aging, and slow-cooking to naturally intensify flavor.”
“Like kimchi?”
I nod. “Exactly. Kimchi. Soy sauce. Miso. Fish sauce. They’re all loaded with umami.”
She pauses, chewing on that—mentally, not literally. Then, “You know, it’s wild how white people demonized MSG for decades while shoving parmesan into their mouths like it was nothing.”
I glance at her, and there’s something sharp in her gaze. Almost like a dare.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Whole campaigns built on junk science and yellow peril, racist, xenophobic bullshit. Made 'Chinese Restaurant Syndrome' a punchline while Western chefs were bathing in glutamates from truffle paste and dry-aged steaks.”
“Right,” she says. “And now it’s in every bougieBon Appétitvideo.”
“Every fancy New American tasting menu.”
“Every white dude who thinks fish sauce is edgy.”
