"It's just common sense."
"Best kind of truth."
I keep typing.
—it's not about Instagram-perfect plating. It's about feeding people with what you've got. Tonight we served 50+ dinners with no oven, improvised sides, and a fiddler who thought volume = enthusiasm. Was it perfect? No. Was it real? Absolutely.
I add a photo from tonight. Not a plated dish. The kitchen mid-service. Maya balancing three plates. Ivy at the vegetable station, concentration etched on her face. Steam and motion and honest chaos.
PS: That bread you didn't like? Made by a baker who's been feeding this town for 30 years. Maybe give her the same grace you'd want if your equipment failed mid-service.
I hit post before I can second-guess myself.
"There," I say. "Done."
"That's your strategy?" Ivy asks. "Confrontation and sentiment?"
"It's honesty." I pocket my phone. "Either it works or it doesn't."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we're exactly where we were five minutes ago. Screwed, but at least authentic about it."
Maya's phone vibrates. Then buzzes again. She looks down, eyes widening. "Oh."
"Oh what?"
"People are responding. A lot of people." She scrolls rapidly. "Locals are defending you. Someone posted a photo of their meal with 'best dinner I've had in months.' Farmer Hank.Wait, Farmer Hank has Twitter? He just said 'FoodieWanderer wouldn't know good food if it bit her fancy ass.'"
Despite everything, I laugh. "He actually wrote that?"
"With three typos, but yes." Maya keeps scrolling. "This is spreading. The whole town is piling on."
Ivy moves to look over Maya's shoulder. Her expression shifts from skeptical to something softer. "Mrs. Chen from the library just posted a paragraph about community resilience and supporting local businesses."
"The fiddler posted too," Maya says. "He's apologizing for being too loud and offering to play quieter next time. It's actually kind of sweet."
My phone shakes. I pull it out.
@FoodieWanderer has replied to your tweet.
I open it, bracing for impact.
@PineHollowBistro: You know what? Fair. I was having a bad day and took it out on you. The food was actually pretty good once I stopped being precious about it. Revising to 3/5. Good luck with that oven.
"She changed her review," I say, reading it twice to make sure I'm not hallucinating.
"She what?" Maya grabs my phone. "Oh my god. She actually changed it."
Ivy's still looking at Maya's phone, scrolling through the flood of local support. "The town showed up for you."
"They showed up for the bistro," I correct. "For what it represents."
"Same thing."
"Not yet. But maybe it could be."
The adrenaline is fading now, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. I look around the kitchen. Still a disaster. Still so much work to do.
