“All you have to worry about is yourself. Dinner whenever you want. Travel whenever you want. No one to answer to,” Andrew said dreamily. “Spontaneity is an underrated luxury.”
John made an incredulous face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
The table laughed at this, and Andrew gave John a kiss on the cheek, John obviously not upset by the larger point his husband was trying to make.
“Well,” Cierra started, surprised to be opening up like this, “it’s new. Like, really new. I was in a relationship for six years, and it ended just a few months ago. So, I’m fresh to this whole single-woman-big-city thing.” And then there it was: initial looks of jealousy were being replaced with sympathetic frowns, even Erik looked invested, so Cierra stepped in fast. “No, no, it wasn’t that bad. We got together in our early twenties, and wejust grew apart. It’s a lot to adjust to, but I’m excited about . . . I don’t know . . . life on my own terms?” She prayed her words were more believable than her internal state.
“I’ll toast to that!” John said, raising his glass along with the others on their side of the table. “To life on your own damn terms!”
By now, everyone had loosened up and joined in. Cierra felt her cheeks redden, blushing at all the positive attention. She even clinked glasses with Erik, despite him still being on her shit list. Her eyes met Mia’s, who scrunched her eyebrows in a proud but inquisitive manner. Cierra just smiled and shrugged in response, ready for the meal to begin.
“What did you say you did for work, again?” the woman to Cierra’s right asked, in a tone as no-nonsense as her severe hairstyle.
“I’m in-between jobs right now, but I’m a chef by training.” Her new friends expressed intrigue with a collective gasp. Erik looked like he was eating crow.
“Anywhere we’d be familiar with?” John’s husband asked. Cierra did her usual fake-humble nose scrunch when saying it was Terra — there was no way this crowd wasn’t aware of it.
“Shut. Up. Are you freaking kidding me? You’re like . . . achefchef,” Andrew said in awe. “Oh, now I’m self-conscious,” he said, eyeing the food coming out. Currently, they were being served a roasted red pepper soup with a cool, pale-green dollop of basil cream swirling atop the vibrant red liquid.
“What? No, no, please don’t be. By the way, this smells and looks amazing.”
“And isn’t ninety percent of taste, smell?” Andrew remarked.
“Exactly,” Cierra said, greedily admiring the Christmas-colored appetizer.
It was then that its creator, Viktor, came out. Viktor was a tall man with dark hair and light eyes; he could’ve been a long-lost cousin of Mia’s. He had a slightly pudgy midsection and multicolored tattoo sleeves covering his hairy arms.
“Good evening, folks,” he said. He introduced himself and began walking the group through the menu, which everyone listened to as attentively as if they were in class.
Eventually, after he had finished, he walked over to her end of the table to speak to John.
“Vik, this is Cierra — she’s one of you, so you’ve got your work cut out tonight.” John raised his eyebrow at Cierra, who automatically put her hands up to signify peace. “She was a chef at Terra.”
“Is that so?” Viktor said teasingly. “That place is okay, I guess.”
“Oh, he’s impossible,” said John, and patted him on the arm.
“You’re lucky to have me,” Viktor said, playing with the host.
“Don’t I know it?” John said back, taking another spoonful of soup with his eyes closed.
Mimicking the action, Cierra tasted the peppers — their rich, earthy sweetness — and the basil, its aroma a burst of freshness. She looked to her left, and saw Erik enjoying his portion, nodding in appreciation.
“It’s good,” he said. And then, a moment later, “Sorry about what I said earlier. What I meant was—”
“It’s alright,” she said, cutting him off. There were plenty of fine dining experiences that had left Cierra feeling disillusioned; like she overpaid to feel uncomfortable and unsatisfied. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had to get McDonald’s on the way home from a supposed five-star dinner. But, some of us do care about creating meals people actually want to eat.”
“I can see that,” he said, getting back to the bowl in front of him.
The soup’s texture was smooth as velvet. It was absolutely delicious, and opening her eyes again, she observed John and Viktor as they continued to chat like old buddies.
What she witnessed was in such contrast to the interactions she had become accustomed to with the clientele at Terra. Here, Viktor was in complete control of what he prepared. His passion for what he created showed through his smile while he enjoyed the enraptured looks on everyone’s faces. He also got to interact, even joke, with the dinner party guests. It was so intimate — and could not have been further from the environment of sweating your ass off behind a counter, cut off from those enjoying your work at a distance.
You’re lucky to have me.
It reminded Cierra of what had inspired her to become a chef in the first place, that sweet duet of creating something wonderful, paired with the satisfaction of enjoying it with others in harmony. She thought of Kitchen Sink meals in her childhood home, with her proud, eager parents trying her various creations.
“So,” Viktor asked with a mischievous smirk, “what does the Michelin-starred chef think?”
