Laughter bursts out of him as he shakes a finger at me.“¡Picante!I can see why Matty likes you.”
Not anymore he doesn’t,I think bitterly, moving down the narrow space between the counters toward the welcome heat and mouth-watering sizzle radiating from the grill.
“You can have my apron.We don’t want grease splattering that nice sweater,” he says, untying the strings of his faded black apron.
“No need, thank you,” I reply quickly, holding up my hand.“I’ll be careful.Don’t worry.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Alright,” he shrugs easily.“I’ll get some fries going for us.”
He moves to the fridge, pulling out a bag of hand-cut fries and tipping a generous amount into the deep-fryer basket.He lowers it into the hot oil with a practiced hand.The immediate sizzle and pop join the steady hiss from the flat-top grill where I stand.
The air inside the truck grows thick with the tantalizing scents of grilling beef and frying potatoes.For a moment, focusing only on the two patties browning before me, the world outside feels blessedly distant.
Beside me, Sal moves with ease, humming a tune as he checks the temperature gauge on the fryer.
“Looking good,jefa,” he says, glancing over at the patties.“Ready for a flip, I think.Nice and easy now.”
Nodding, I slide the spatula carefully under the edge of the first patty.I flip it over smoothly, revealing a perfectly seared, dark brown crust.I do the same with the second.
“A natural,” Sal declares, shaking the fryer basket gently.“Way better than Matty the first time he worked here.Nearly sent a patty flying straight out the window, that one.”He laughs fondly at the memory.
I laugh despite myself at the image of a younger, less composed Matthew flipping burgers and almost flinging one out the window.“Matthew actually worked here?”
“Oh yeah,” Sal confirms, expertly lifting the basket of golden fries, letting them drain over the hot oil.“Helped me out a lot back in the day.Good kid.Hard worker.”He dumps the fries onto a paper-towel-lined tray with a satisfying rustle, shaking them lightly.“Bueno, these beauties are done.”He points his tongs at me.“And I think your burgers are just about perfect too.Dinner is served,chica!”
With swift, practiced movements, he turns off the grill and the fryer.He grabs two paper-lined cardboard boxes and slides the perfectly cooked patties onto fresh buns.
“¿Queso?” he asks, pulling a slice of cheese out of its packaging.
“Not for me, thanks.”
“Just like my wife,” he says, adding the cheese to his burger.“She doesn’t like cheese on her burger.Says it ruins the taste of the meat.She’s very particular.But hey, that’s my Angie.”
“You really love her,” I say with a soft smile.
“Oh, I’m a very lucky man,” he declares, wiping his hands on a towel.
The undisguised contentment on his face is so genuine it sends an unexpected pang right through my chest.
Lucky, indeed.
A love like that feels like a universe away.
Sal reaches under the counter near the serving window and pulls out two low metal stools with round, padded tops.
He sets them side-by-side, facing the main prep counter.“Best seats in the house.”
As I slide onto the surprisingly comfortable stool, he grabs two soda cans from the fridge and hands one to me.“I hope you like Pepsi.It’s all I have left for today.”
“It’s perfect, thank you,” I reply, popping it open.
He settles onto the stool next to me and pops his own open.“Salud y buen provecho,” he says, raising his can.
“Salud,” I echo, clinking my can with his.
