"Mom doesn't eat red meat," Blossom volunteered.
"What a surprise," Jamison said.
Did I hear sarcasm? His response sounded like sarcasm, as if a detail he already suspected had been confirmed.
Now he was looking at me as if I were a being from another planet. Guessing the question coming next, I answered before he asked.
"I didn't give up red meat for religious reasons or because I have any ethical concerns about those animals—though that's a conversation we should be having. It's purely for health reasons. I cut out red meat and processed meat years ago because they've been linked to a greater increase in heart disease, arecarcinogenic to humans, and cause inflammation, which creates all kinds of problems in the body. Food is medicine, as they say, and I take that very seriously."
"She's very conscientious about what she puts into her body," Blossom said.
I smiled at her. "I'm not as good as I should be, but I try to do my part."
"Too much of anything is bad for you, isn't it?" Jamison sipped his wine.
"Sure. But too much of certain things is worse," I said.
He mulled my statement for a while. "Is red meat the only food you won't eat?"
"I eliminated pork a while back, so mostly I eat seafood and all sorts of fruits and vegetables."
"You're pescatarian," Manuel said.
"Not really. I enjoy an occasional piece of chicken, and I always have turkey at Thanksgiving," I said with a laugh. "But for the most part, yes."
The waiter returned, placing a basket of warm bread in the middle of the table and then taking our orders. Jamison ordered the ribeye, medium-rare. Absolutely unsurprising considering how he praised the steaks here. I went with the salmon salad, as planned, while Manuel and Blossom also ordered steaks and asked for wine with their meals.
They seemed to be in tune with each other. Both ordered waters to start. Both ordered steaks and wine with their meals.
Jamison took a piece of bread and passed the basket around the table. By the time our food arrived, conversation was flowing easily as we got to know each other.
"How did you two meet? Blossom mentioned something about food trucks, but I don't know the details." I ate some of my yummy salmon.
The kids put down their forks and looked at each other.
"Do you want to tell the story?" Blossom asked.
"You start. I'll jump in if you say anything wrong," Manuel teased.
Blossom laughed, as if he were a stand-up comedian delivering the best line of the night.
"Okay, so there was a food truck rally near campus, and a few of my friends and I decided to go—to eat something different from the usual dreck they gave us on campus." She wrinkled her nose.
Blossom made it sound as if they didn't have good choices. There were literal chain restaurants on campus, giving them delicious options in addition to the food offered in the dining halls, which were also very good. Dreck? I could tell her about dreck. That's what we were served when I was a college student, and we certainly didn't have as many amenities. I'll never forget jealously touring the campus with her and seriously considering re-enrolling because of all the improvements.
"Everyone who knows me knows I love a good taco, so of course I made a beeline for the taco truck," Blossom continued.
"I saw her in line," Manuel continued, his eyes on my daughter. "I was over at the pizza truck and couldn't take my eyes off her."
Blossom blushed. Okay, they were cute.
"I had to meet her, so I left my line and went to the taco truck."
"Even though he wanted pizza!" Blossom exclaimed, throwing up her hands. She often spoke with her hands, which was amusing to watch.
"I no longer cared about pizza." Manuel shrugged. "After working up the nerve, I struck up a conversation with her and asked about the menu."
"As if he couldn't read," Blossom said.
