“Ten out of ten,” Dylan put in, as he dragged his chair out. “All my fine dining should come from a truck.”
We skimmed the menu.
“Share some appetizers?” I asked.
“Obviously,” she answered.
We picked a couple of starters and three mains, then I headed over to the truck window to order while Dylan went to the bar to get our drinks. A few people stood in line in front of me, studying the chalkboard that listed the night’s specials.
When it was my turn, I stepped up to the window. “Hey. Can I get an order of the oxtail appetizer, the fish, the pork, and the veggie plate?”
The guy at the window tapped it into the screen. “Got it. Here’s your number, and we’ll bring it out when it’s ready.” He handed me a small table number to keep propped up. “You’re all set.”
“You did good, J.” Faye smiled as I returned to my seat. “This beats those stuffy dinners I’ve had at the White House.”
“I can pick a place,” I replied.
“Sometimes that place has smoke alarms that go off mid-meal,” Dylan teased, putting our drinks down in front of us.
“That happened once.” I rolled my eyes and chuckled at the memory.
Faye’s brows lifted. “Okay, I need to hear this story.”
Dylan leaned back in his chair. “He found this new spot in downtown LA our last year at UCLA. The kitchen opened into the dining room, so you could see the cooks working the burners. Every so often, a pan flared when they added something, and everyone near us watched.”
“The food was good,” I cut in.
“It was,” he agreed. “We got our steaks, and everything tasted insane. Then one of the pans on the line flared a little too hard. Smoke hit the ceiling fast, the alarms started screaming, and before anyone could do much, the sprinklers kicked on.”
Faye’s eyes widened. “In the dining room?”
“Every single one,” he answered. “People started yelling, grabbing their shit, and slipping on the floor. Staff tried to help, but everyone rushed for the door.”
She laughed. “You got drenched during dinner?”
“Everyone did,” Dylan replied while I was laughing. “Most people left their plates. Our boy didn’t.”
“I wasn’t leaving a delicious steak on the table,” I argued. “I was hungry.”
She stared at me. “You carried it outside?”
“I finished it on the sidewalk,” I admitted.
Dylan shook his head. “There was water rushing out the front door, fire trucks pulling up, and he’s sitting on the curb with his plate in his lap, like nothing happened. I’ve got a picture.”
He unlocked his phone to find the pic, while Faye had to set her drink down, her shoulders shaking. “Damn. I bet you two have a lot of stories like this.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”
“Can’t wait to hear more.” She beamed.
“Here.” Dylan put the phone in front of her, showing a picture of me sitting on the curb, eating the steak I didn't have to pay for.
“Wow. That’s hilarious!”
A server walked over from the truck a few minutes later, arms full of plates. He set the food on the table.
“This all looks delicious,” Faye said.
