Macey pressed down with the knife and squished the plantain instead of slicing it.
I snorted. “Impressive technique.”
She shot me a glare. “Let’s see you do it, then.”
“Okay.” I took my turn, slicing through mine, albeit unevenly. Some pieces were paper-thin, others way too thick.
Macey started on the mango, attempting to scoop the flesh into a bowl. Instead, a chunk of it slipped from her fingers, bounced off the counter, and plopped onto the floor with an unceremoniousthud.
She bent down and picked it up with an exasperated sigh. “Five-second rule?”
I arched a brow. “Go ahead. You eat it.”
She huffed and threw it into the trash.
A few minutes later, we had all the ingredients in a bowl, attempting to mix the mango sauce. Macey reached for a spoon and gave it a determined stir?—
And somehow, defying all logic, a thick glob of sauce catapulted out of the bowl, landing on her white dress. Conveniently, the one bit of dress her apron didn’t cover.
Her jaw dropped as she stared down at the bright orange stain spreading across the fabric. A snort escaped me.
“Don’t laugh!” she said, dabbing at the area with a paper towel. An orange mark was left behind. “Britney is going to kill me.”
I couldn’t stop the laughter now. When it appeared the stain wasn’t going away anytime soon, she crumpled the paper towel and threw it at my head. “Noah!”
“I can’t be blamed for this,” I said, taking the bowl out of her reach.
The glare slid off her face as she chuckled too.
Despite our shortcomings, our appetizer came out pretty tasty. It may not look aesthetic by today’s standards, but it tasted great.
Chef Luca clapped his hands again, drawing our attention back to him. “Now that you’ve mastered the appetizer,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “it’s time for the main course. A traditional island seafood dish: coconut-crusted mahi-mahi with a citrus salsa.”
Macey and I exchanged a look. She still had a mango stain on her dress, and I was pretty sure one of my plantains had been charcoal by the time I got it out of the pan.
“Not another sauce,” she muttered.
“Try not to spill this one on yourself,” I said, grabbing a filletof mahi-mahi and inspecting it like I actually knew what I was doing.
Macey mimicked me, holding hers up between her fingers. “Looks…fishy.”
“Excellent observation.”
“Shut up.”
Luca continued explaining the steps, demonstrating how to coat the fish in a coconut and panko mixture before pan-frying it to crispy perfection. Seemed simple enough.
I dunked my fish into the beaten eggs and transferred it to the coconut mixture, making sure to coat it thoroughly. Macey, meanwhile, hesitated.
“You just gonna stare at it?” I asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s slimy.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s supposed to be.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“It’s a fish, Macey, not a criminal.”
