The realization that the world won’t fall apart just because she doesn’t have her phone on her for an hour releases a tension that she didn’t realize existed inside of her. She looks around her and takes in a deep, slow breath. The houses are still as gray and gloomy as the day she arrived, but now, she notices the plants. She notices how one house on this street has a huge rosemary bush in their front yard that has grown so large that it hangs heavy over their fence. Mebel reaches out and snaps off a tiny sprig, and as she walks, she brings it to her nose andinhales. The spicy scent of rosemary fills her nostrils and soothes her mind, and she smiles to herself. How had she not noticed this house before?
Another house has a gorgeous hydrangea bush growing in their front yard. Mebel doesn’t snap any off, but she pauses for a second to admire the purplish-blue flowers, marveling at their simple beauty. By the time she reaches Cowley Road, she’s in a far better mood than when she first left the school. She steps inside a casual Taiwanese restaurant and is seated at a booth. The place is only half-full, and after ordering herself a bowl of spicy beef noodle soup and a boba milk tea, Mebel looks around, taking in her surroundings.
Taiwanese pop music plays softly in the background, and the decor in here reminds Mebel not of Indonesia but of LA, particularly San Gabriel Valley. When she moved to LA for college, she’d sometimes get homesick, so she and her other Chindo friends would make the drive east to SGV, where they’d get dim sum and then hang out at a local boba tea place. It’s been decades since Mebel has thought of LA, and she smiles at the nostalgic feeling it’s bringing back. A couple tables over, one of the patrons, dining on her own, happens to glance up from her phone and meet Mebel’s eye. The girl, who looks about in her early twenties, studies Mebel for a moment, probably feeling sorry for her. She gives Mebel a small smile, then she goes back to staring at her phone. The moment is over, just like that. But there is a newfound peace in Mebel. Being out here without her phone is a whole new experience that she hadn’t thought she’d be able to go through, but here she is, doing exactly that.
The food arrives and Mebel slurps up her noodles, marveling at how good they taste. She hasn’t realized just how muchshe’s missed Asian food after weeks of cooking creamy, rich French food and eating heavy British fare. She’s missed spice, and clear broths that are not cream-based, and springy thick noodles that can be slurped up easily. The boba milk tea is strong and sweet and comforting, and without her phone, Mebel is forced to pay attention to every bite, every slurp of her food and drink. She can’t remember the last time she’s been so aware of what she is eating. Every mouthful is a revelation of flavors, and the classes at Saint Honoré have made Mebel more appreciative of how chefs use different methods to bring out the best flavor profiles from each ingredient.
When she finishes, she feels like she has nourished not just her body but her soul as well. She’s just had a meal with nothing else to distract her from her food and the pleasure of her own company, and Mebel is delighted to find that, in fact, her mind isn’t as intrusive as she’d thought it would be. When she gives it the time and space to revel in its own thoughts, the usual frantic anxiety quiets down and mellows out into a steady stream of thoughts that are actually bearable and not always self-destructive.
You’re not so bad, Mebel tells herself.
Thank you, her mind responds,neither are you.
The next few days, Mebeldives into doing the research necessary for her to come up with a duck course that would blow everyone’s mind away. She likes the idea of a Peking duck–inspired dish, but by now, after hearing bits and pieces from her fellow classmates, she also knows that she needsto do something truly special to ensure that her dish lives up to expectations.
It isn’t that Mebel wants to steal the prize away from her more deserving classmates, but for once in her life, it’s no longer enough to simply get by. She wants to excel. In between classes, she goes to Chef Clarke’s office and runs her ideas by him.
“I have decide the duck needs to be aged,” she announces one day.
Chef Clarke smiles and nods. “Excellent idea. I quite agree. Duck meat is absolutely divine when it’s aged. Now, have you thought of what spices or herbs you might want to age it with?”
Beaming from his enthusiastic response, Mebel says, “I am thinking maybe orange peel and ginger.”
Chef Clarke tilts his head to one side and ponders this. “I fear the ginger might be overpowering. Ginger is something that strengthens over time. No, it will ruin the duck.”
Mebel sighs. She was so close. She tries asking him for a suggestion of what to use instead of ginger, but Chef Clarke gently reminds her that this is something she needs to think up on her own. They end the discussion with her agreeing to put more thought into the aging process. She spends the rest of the day walking aimlessly, muttering to herself and rejecting various ingredients.
The answer comes to her as she sips yet another boba milk tea from the Taiwanese restaurant on Cowley Road, which has become her favorite haunt now that her friends have all become fully absorbed in their tasks. The next day, she hurries into Chef Clarke’s office beaming with excitement. “Orange peel and brown sugar syrup. The sweetness will be very subtle,more aroma than actual taste. It go perfectly well with the savory spiced brine.”
“Brown sugar syrup?” Chef Clarke says with a frown.
“You know, like the one we are using in boba milk tea.”
“Ah.” Chef Clarke frowns for a while, then he raises his eyebrows. “Well, maybe. Yes, I can see that working. And how will you be cooking it?”
“So after I dry-age it with the orange peel and brown sugar syrup, I will do it in a confit style, cook it in its own fat. That way the meat becomes so tender and falling off the bone.”
Chef Clarke nods. “That sounds good to me. Good work, Mebel. I will arrange for some duck to be delivered here, and you can start practicing once it arrives.”
Mebel can’t remember the last time she felt so proud of herself. She walks all the way back to her room with a huge smile, and once inside, she notices that she hasn’t even put her makeup on today. She looks a frightful mess, but for once, she doesn’t care. She’s designed her own dish all by herself, and none of this process involved her blow-drying her hair in a meticulous fashion. There’s something so incredibly satisfying about that knowledge.
Alain, who has returned from London, takes her out that night, and listens with a look of quiet amusement on his face as she walks him through her duck dish.
“I like the sound of this dish,” he says.
“You do?” Mebel says, her eyes lighting up. Then she stops herself. Of course he would say that he likes the sound of it. He’s her—well, not boyfriend, it seems ridiculous to refer to someone as one’s “boyfriend” when one is in her sixties.Goodness, what is he? Her lover? Her paramour? Mebel bats the question away. Doesn’t matter. What matters right now is the fact that he is kind of obliged to like her dish because they are sleeping with each other.
The thought makes Mebel uneasy. Is she cheating on this competition because she’s sleeping with Alain?
“Is it okay that we are talking about this? I don’t want to cheat the competition and win just because you have the sex with me.”
Alain’s eyes dance with laughter. “Do you think that’s what I’d do? Have you win the competition and start working at my highest-rated restaurant just because we are lovers?”
Mebel blushes at the word “lovers” coming out of Alain’s mouth. Despite the intimacy of their relationship, she still hasn’t quite come to terms with the fact that she is the sort of woman to have a “lover.” “I don’t know. Men always think with their penises, not their brains.”
“Well, that’s not incorrect. But, no, Mebel, to put your mind at ease, you are not behaving in an unethical way, and I can guarantee that, because I won’t be the one judging the competition. The students at Pemberton College will cast a vote for the best dish at the end of the meal.”
“Ah.” Mebel sags with relief. “I am glad.”
