Chef part 1
Chef
by Aleta G. O'Brien
Chapter One
Elias had cleaned the bathroom twice. He knew this because the second time he cleaned it, he found himself wiping a faucet that was already shining and wondering what, exactly, he expected his friends to do in there.
Inspect it?
June might.
Not intentionally. June simply noticed things. She could walk into a room, sit down for twenty minutes, and somehow leave knowing that you needed a new lampshade and had recently changed brands of coffee.
Elias tossed the paper towel into the trash and looked around. Fresh hand towel. Full soap dispenser. Toilet paper on the holder with a spare roll within obvious reach. Wastebasket emptied.
Good.
Wait. He turned back around, found the candle and sniffed it. Vanilla. That should be ok and lit it. People like candles lit in the bathroom he recalled. He walked out.
Then walked back in and straightened the hand towel.
“Stop it.”
The man in the mirror appeared unconvinced.
Elias pointed at him.
“They’re coming for dinner. Not an inspection.”
The man in the mirror still looked nervous. Elias turned off the light.
The living room was next. It didn’t need cleaning either, which had not prevented him from vacuuming it that morning and then vacuuming it again after lunch because he’d found something on the rug. He wasn’t entirely sure what the something had been. Possibly lint.
Possibly evidence that people lived on Earth.
Whatever it was, it was gone now.
He picked up one of the couch pillows, fluffed it, put it back and immediately decided it looked ridiculous. He turned it around.
Worse.
He put it the way it had been.
There.
Natural.
He stepped back. It looked like a pillow.
“Excellent.” This was getting stupid.
Elias checked the clock. Forty-three minutes. June, Marcus, Clara and Ben would be there in forty-three minutes. His friends.. well..that was perhaps generous. They were becoming his friends. He had known them long enough to be invited when they did things together, but not long enough to stop wondering whether the invitations were permanent.
That was the problem with joining an already established group. There was history everywhere. They had stories that began with Remember when— They knew who was chronically late and who would steal French fries after saying they didn’t want any. They knew whose mother called too often, whose boyfriend shouldn’t be trusted with directions, and which subjects required only a particular look across the table before everyone started laughing.
Elias was still learning the looks. Tonight had seemed like a good idea when he’d suggested it. Why don’t y’all come to my place next time? I’ll cook.
Marcus had immediately said yes. Ben had asked what he was making. June had asked what she should bring. Clara had smiled and said, “Look at Elias volunteering.” It had felt easy then.
Now four people were coming to his house, and he had cleaned a faucet twice.
He walked into the dining room. The table was wrong. Elias stopped.
It was a perfectly good round table. He ate at it every day. Four chairs fit comfortably around it, and on most evenings only one of them was occupied. Tonight there would be five people. He had known this. He had apparently forgotten how numbers worked.
“All right.”
The table had a leaf. Somewhere.
Elias crouched and looked underneath as though the missing section might be hiding there out of shame.
Nothing.
He checked the hall closet. Umbrella. Vacuum attachments. Lightbulbs. A folding chair he had forgotten he owned.
No table leaf.
Bedroom closet.
No.
Laundry room.
Why would it be in the laundry room?
It wasn’t. He stood in the hallway trying to remember the day he’d moved in. Boxes. Sweat. A friend with a truck. Somebody dropping one end of the dresser. Pizza eaten sitting on the floor. The leaf.
“Closet.”
He opened the guest-room closet and found it leaning against the wall behind an old suitcase. “There you are.” He carried it to the dining room with the satisfaction of a man who had solved a considerably more important problem.
The satisfaction lasted approximately four minutes. He pulled the two halves of the table apart. They moved three inches and stopped. He pulled harder. Nothing. He walked around and pulled from the other side. The table resisted.
“You have one job.” The table remained indifferent. Elias crouched beneath it, found the latch he had forgotten existed, released it and stood.
“Fine. Two jobs.” This time the table opened. He fitted the leaf into the center, pushed the halves together and stepped back.
Five chairs. He went for the folding chair from the hall closet, wiped it down, then stared at the collection. Four matching wooden chairs and one metal folding chair.
“No.”
He moved the folding chair away. Then brought it back. Then moved one wooden chair to the wall and put the folding chair in its place to see whether that somehow improved things. It did not.
Now it looked as though someone had been demoted.
Elias sighed.
“Ben.” Ben could have the folding chair. Ben would not care. Actually, Ben would care enough to turn it into a fifteen-minute discussion about why he had been assigned “the children’s table chair.”
Elias smiled despite himself.
Maybe Marcus. No. Marcus would lean back in it. Clara was out of the question. June would notice. Of course June would notice.
He put the four wooden chairs around the table, added the folding chair, and decided everybody was grown. They could survive mismatched furniture.
Thirty-one minutes. He set out plates. Then picked them up. Too early. No, it wasn’t. He put them back. Forks. Napkins. Glasses. He adjusted one place setting, then another. The table looked like he was expecting company. That should have made him feel better, instead, his stomach tightened.
He looked at the five chairs. What if conversation stalled? What if they were bored?
What if the food wasn’t as good as he thought it was? That one irritated him. The food would be good. He knew food. People were unpredictable. Onions were not.
He checked the clock again. Twenty-seven minutes.
Elias walked into the kitchen and everything changed. Not literally. The same clock ticked above the doorway. The same four people were coming. The same ridiculous folding chair waited at the table, but the kitchen made sense.
A cutting board rested beside the sink. His good knife lay on top of it. A Dutch oven waited on the stove. A smaller pot sat on the back burner. Bowls were stacked where he wanted them.
Ingredients covered the counter.
Elias exhaled.
There.
This he understood.
He took the folded sheet of paper from beside the refrigerator.
At the top, in his handwriting:
DINNER
Underneath was the checklist. He uncapped a pen.
Rice.
Check.
Butter.
Check.
Flour.
Check.
Onion.
He looked toward the counter.
Check.
Bell pepper.
Check.
Celery.
Check.
Garlic.
Check.
Stock.
Check.
Seasoning.
Check.
Green onions.
Check.
Parsley.
Check.
Green beans.
Check.
He paused.
Eggs.
Elias opened the refrigerator. A carton sat on the middle shelf.
“Check.”
He made the mark. Then he reached the final item.
Shrimp.
He opened the refrigerator again, although he knew perfectly well they were there.
The container sat on the bottom shelf, cold and ready, waiting for the very end.
Elias smiled. He had told them he wanted to make them a little bit of home, that was all. Nothing fancy. Nothing to prove. Just dinner.
He looked through the kitchen doorway at the table. Five places. One ridiculous chair. For the first time all afternoon, the sight didn’t bother him.
He rolled up his sleeves.
“Okay.”
Onion first.
The knife hit the cutting board.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
A rhythm.
Onion became neat pieces beneath his hand. Bell pepper followed. Then celery.
The tension in his shoulders loosened. He put butter into the Dutch oven. It began to melt.
The kitchen filled with the soft sound of it bubbling against the bottom of the pot.
Elias reached for the flour. This was his territory. No wondering where to stand. No trying to figure out whether a joke included him. No worrying about what people thought.
Heat.
Butter.
Flour.
Time.
Pay attention and things told you what they needed.
He stirred.
The roux began its slow change.
Pale.
Gold.
Darker.
The smell rose around him, warm and familiar.
Elias smiled.
Then the doorbell rang. He froze, wooden spoon in hand. For one ridiculous second, every bit of nervousness came rushing back.
The doorbell rang again. Elias looked at the roux. Then toward the front door.
“Here we go.”
Chapter Two
Elias opened the door.
“Come in.”
June blinked.
“Hello to you too.”
“Hi. Come in.”
Marcus looked past him. “Are we late?”
“No.”
“Then why are you talking like the house is on fire?”
“The roux.”
“The what?”
“The roux. Get in.”
Clara stepped through the doorway. “Should we call somebody?”
“Just close the door.”
Ben was last inside. He had barely cleared the threshold before Elias shut the door behind him and headed toward the kitchen.
“Make yourselves at home.”
They followed him, of course they followed him.
Elias reached the stove and grabbed the wooden spoon. The roux was fine. He stirred. June appeared beside him. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Making roux.”
She peered into the Dutch oven. “That?”
“Yes.”
Marcus leaned over her shoulder.
“Don’t crowd the roux.”
Marcus stepped back. “I didn’t know roux required personal space.”
“It does when I’m making it.”
Ben looked into the pot. “Why don’t you just buy it?”
The spoon stopped. Elias slowly turned his head.
Ben continued. “You know they sell roux in a box, right?”
Silence. Clara looked at Ben. June looked at Elias. Marcus took one deliberate step backward.
Elias stared at Ben. “I’m aware.”
“It’s already made.”
“I know what it is.”
“You just open it.”
“I understand how boxes work, Ben.”
June covered her mouth.
Ben shrugged. “I’m just saying. Seems easier.”
Elias turned back to the stove and resumed stirring. “Some things aren’t supposed to be easier.”
Marcus nodded solemnly. “I think you’ve offended him.”
“I asked a question.”
“You insulted his ancestors.”
“I did not.”
“You suggested boxed roux.”
“Millions of people use boxed roux.”
Elias made a small sound.
Clara heard it. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
Elias kept stirring.
June leaned against the counter. “I think he said eww.”
“I did not say eww.”
“You absolutely said eww.”
“I breathed.”
“You breathed judgment.”
Marcus laughed.
Ben folded his arms. “I’d like it noted that if this takes two hours and the boxed stuff takes thirty seconds, I’m on the side of technology.”
“Noted,” Elias said.
“Thank you.”
“And disregarded.”
Clara laughed, something loosened in Elias’s chest. Five minutes ago he’d been standing alone in this kitchen wondering whether these people would have a good time. Now four of them were crowded around his stove arguing about roux.
June picked up the folded paper beside the refrigerator.
“What’s this?”
Elias looked over.
“My checklist.”
She unfolded it.
“You made a dinner checklist?”
“Give me that.”
June moved it out of reach.
“Rice. Butter. Flour. Onion. Bell pepper—”
“June.”
“Celery. Garlic. Stock…”
Marcus leaned over to read with her.
“You checked everything off?”
“I like to know I have everything before I start.”
Ben nodded toward the stove.
“Except boxed roux.”
Elias pointed the wooden spoon at him. “Keep it up.”
Ben grinned. There it was.
Elias recognized it. Not the joke. The feeling. He’d seen the four of them do this to one another dozens of times—take some insignificant thing and worry it to death until everyone was laughing.
Apparently tonight it was his turn.
He looked back into the pot. The roux had deepened another shade.
Good.
“Anybody want something to drink?”
“I’ll get it,” June said.
“You don’t know where anything is.”
“I can identify a refrigerator.”
“Apparently we’re all very good with basic appliances tonight,” Ben said.
Elias looked at him.
Ben raised both hands.
“I’m done.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
“You’re really not.”
“No.”
Elias smiled despite himself and kept stirring. Behind him, June opened the refrigerator. Clara asked where she should put her purse. Marcus wanted to know what smelled so good. Ben began explaining, to absolutely no one who had asked, that boxed roux was a perfectly respectable product. Four voices overlapped in Elias’s kitchen.
The house wasn’t quiet anymore. And the roux hadn’t burned. So far, the evening was going just fine.
Marcus leaned closer to the stove again.
“So what are you actually making?”
Elias looked at him.
“I told you.”
“You said dinner.”
“I said étouffée.”
“I thought that was the dinner.”
“That is the dinner.”
“No, I mean I thought étouffée was—” Marcus made a vague motion with one hand. “The whole thing.”
“It is the whole thing.”
“Then what’s the roux?”
Elias stared at him.
June closed the refrigerator. “I think we’re about to get a lesson.”
“You are not getting a lesson.”
“You have a wooden spoon in your hand and an offended expression on your face. We’re getting a lesson.”
Elias turned back to the pot. “The roux is the base.”
“For the étouffée,” Clara said.
“Yes.”
“And what exactly is étouffée?” Ben asked.
Elias stopped stirring long enough to look at all four of them. “Wait. Have none of you ever had it?”
“I haven’t,” Clara said.
June shook her head.
Ben said, “Does it have anything weird in it?”
Marcus laughed. “Define weird.”
“I don’t know. Things that shouldn’t be together.”
“That describes almost every recipe.”
“Not hamburgers.”
“Pickles are cucumbers soaked in vinegar and then put on beef.”
Ben frowned. “Don’t ruin hamburgers for me.”
Elias laughed.
Étouffée isn’t weird,” Elias said. “It’s a Louisiana dish. You start with the roux, then you’ve got your vegetables, stock, seasonings—”
“A little bit of home,” June said.
Elias smiled. “Exactly.”
“Well, now I’m glad I’ve never had it.”
He looked at her.
“That didn’t come out right.”
“No, it did not.”
“I mean I’ve never had it, so yours gets to be my first.”
“Better.”
“Much.”
Marcus pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down.
“I’ll eat just about anything once.”
Ben looked at him.
“Anything?”
“Pretty much.”
“There has to be a limit.”
“There probably is. I just haven’t found it yet.”
Clara took the chair beside him. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”
Marcus thought about it for a quick second, “Oh. Easy. Balut.”
Elias’s spoon slowed.
June looked suspicious. “What’s balut?”
Marcus grinned. “That depends. Do you want to know before dinner or after?”
“Before.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ben said.
“It’s a fertilized duck egg.”
Ben’s face changed.
Marcus continued. “It’s incubated so it develops inside the shell—”
“No.”
“Then they cook it—”
“No.”
“And you eat it.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t need to see it. I have received sufficient information.”
June stared at Marcus. “You ate that?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I was in the Philippines. Somebody offered it to me.”
Clara waited, “And?”
“And what?”
“What did it taste like?”
Marcus considered the question. “The yolk part tasted rich. The broth inside was actually good.”
Ben pushed his chair slightly away from Marcus.
“And the rest?”
Marcus smiled. “Textural.”
“That’s not a flavor.”
“I know.”
“What does textural mean?”
“It means I’m trying to be respectful.”
Elias laughed so suddenly he almost splashed the roux.
Ben pointed at Marcus. “See? That’s exactly why I don’t eat things I can’t identify.”
“You could identify it.”
“Yes. That’s what made it worse.”
June was laughing now.
Marcus shrugged. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Your definition of bad is clearly defective,” Ben said.
“Would I order it every Tuesday? No. But I was there. It was part of the experience.”
Clara nodded. “I understand that.”
Ben looked at her. “You do?”
“I didn’t say I’d eat the duck egg.”
“Good.”
“But I ate squid-ink rice once.”
Ben stared at her. “What is happening to everybody?”
Clara laughed. “It was in Spain. Black rice with calamari.”
“Black?”
“Completely black.”
“From squid ink?”
“Yes.”
“Actual ink.”
“Actual ink.”
Ben looked toward Elias for assistance.
Elias kept stirring. “Don’t bring me into this.”
“Would you eat it?”
“Absolutely.”
Ben looked betrayed. “Of course you would.”
Clara smiled at the memory. “The problem wasn’t eating it.”
“What was the problem?”
“I didn’t know what squid ink does to your mouth.”
June’s eyes widened.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Clara pointed at her teeth. “Black.”
Marcus laughed. “Your teeth?”
“My teeth. My tongue. The corners of my mouth. Everything.”
Elias was already smiling.
Clara continued. “And I didn’t know.”
June put both hands over her face. “You went somewhere afterward, didn’t you?”
“I went shopping.”
The kitchen erupted.
“I talked to people,” Clara said. “I smiled at people. A very nice woman helped me find a scarf.”
“With your pirate mouth?” Marcus asked.
“I did not know I had a pirate mouth!”
Elias leaned against the counter, laughing. “When did you find out?”
“I went to the restroom about an hour later.”
“Oh, Clara.”
“I looked in the mirror and nearly screamed.”
Ben shook his head. “And this is why I eat hamburgers.”
Marcus wiped his eyes. “No, this is why you check a mirror after eating squid ink.”
“No. This is why you don’t eat squid ink.”
“What is the most adventurous thing you’ve eaten?” June asked him.
Ben thought. “Jalapeños.”
Nobody said anything.
Ben looked around. “What?”
“On what?” Marcus asked.
“A hamburger.”
Another silence.
“They were pickled.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Wild man.”
“I don’t need food to frighten me.”
“Did the jalapeños frighten you?”
“They were hotter than expected.”
Clara started laughing again.
Ben pointed toward her. “You had to inspect your teeth after lunch. I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“At least she left the country,” Marcus said.
“I’ve left the country.”
“For food?”
“No.”
“Have you eaten anything different while traveling?”
Ben thought about it.
“I had a hamburger in Canada.”
June made a choking sound.
Marcus stared at him. “Did you need a passport for the hamburger?”
“I needed one to get to it.”
Elias had to stop stirring for a second because he was laughing too hard. “Y’all leave him alone.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
“I like plain hamburgers too.”
Ben pointed triumphantly at Elias. “See?”
“With onions.”
Ben lowered his hand. “Never mind.”
“And mustard.”
“Ruined.”
“And sometimes a fried egg.”
Ben looked genuinely wounded. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s good.”
“Eggs are breakfast.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair. “Says who?”
“Civilization.”
June laughed. “Okay, Ben. Plain hamburger. Nothing else?”
“Cheese.”
“Oh.”
“And bacon.”
Marcus gasped dramatically. “Adventure.”
“Shut up.”
“Any vegetables?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Pickles?”
Ben hesitated. “Sometimes.”
Marcus slapped the table. “We got him!”
“Pickles are not vegetables.”
“They are cucumbers.”
“Not anymore.”
Elias laughed. That one nearly cost him the roux. He turned quickly back to the stove and stirred, scraping along the bottom. “Keep talking,” he said, “but if this burns, you’re all eating Ben’s hamburgers.”
“Plain?” Ben asked.
“Boxed roux,” Marcus said.
Elias turned around. “Don’t push it.”
They laughed again. Elias shook his head and returned to the pot. The roux had reached exactly the color he wanted. Deep, warm brown. He reached for the bowl of chopped vegetables. “Now,” he said, “everybody back up.”
June stood. “Why?”
“Because this part talks back.”
He tipped the onion, celery and bell pepper into the hot roux. The pot answered with a violent hiss. Clara jumped. Ben took two steps backward. Marcus leaned closer. And Elias smiled. This was his favorite part.
As Elias continued to stir the seasoning, the crowd looked around.
Elias pointed at the folding chair. Elias took out the cheese and crackers tray.
“We are not discussing that yet.”
“Oh, we’re absolutely discussing it,” June said.
“Later.”
He headed back into the kitchen. Marcus followed with the cheese tray.
“I’ll take the folding chair.”
Elias glanced over his shoulder. “Really?”
“No.”
“I knew it.”
“I just wanted you to feel better for a second.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They brought the cheese and crackers back to the kitchen instead, apparently having decided that wherever Elias was, they were going to be too.
Ben opened the crackers. June reached for one, then stopped. She took a piece of cheese instead.
Clara noticed. “No cracker?”
June shook her head. “Cheese is fine.”
“Since when do you turn down crackers?”
“Since my doctor and I had a deeply unpleasant conversation.”
That quieted them. Not completely. Ben was still chewing.
June took another piece of cheese. “My A1C was higher than it’s ever been.”
Elias turned from the stove. “How high?”
She gave him a look. “High enough that when she said the number, I suddenly became very interested in the floor.”
Marcus pulled out a chair. “Diabetes?”
“Not yet. That’s the part I’m trying to keep.” She ate the cheese. “My doctor wants me paying attention to carbohydrates, moving more, losing some weight. All the things everybody already knows they’re supposed to do until somebody in a white coat looks at you and says, ‘No, seriously.’”
Clara nodded. “My dad had that conversation.”
“It’s a fun one.”
“I remember.”
June looked down at the crackers. “I’ve spent years thinking about food as either something I wanted or something I shouldn’t have. Now I’m trying to figure out what actually keeps me full, what makes me hungry again in an hour, all of that.”
She paused. “And apparently crackers and I need some boundaries.”
Ben slowly moved the open sleeve of crackers farther away from her.
June looked at him. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That was actually perfect.”
Elias lifted the lid from the rice, checked it, then replaced it.
“You eating green beans?”
“Absolutely.”
“How do you like them?”
“Cooked.”
He looked at her.
She smiled. “Sorry. Yes. Green beans are good.”
“Garlic?”
“Yes.”
“Onion?”
“Yes.”
“Little stock?”
“Sure.”
“Bacon?”
June hesitated. “Is this a test?”
“No.”
“Then yes.”
Elias opened the refrigerator. “I can make them without much.”
“You don’t have to change your dinner because of me.”
“I’m not.”
He took out the green beans. “I was making them anyway.” What he didn’t say was that he had planned a small side dish. What he took from the refrigerator was enough to feed June for dinner and still leave some for everybody else.
Clara noticed. She didn’t say anything.
Elias set a skillet on the stove.
June watched him. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “They’re green beans.” Something in his tone told everyone that was the end of that.
Marcus took a cracker. “So you have to exercise too?”
June groaned. “Don’t use that word.”
“What word?”
“Exercise.”
“Your doctor used it.”
“Yes, and I’ve chosen to reinterpret it.”
“How?”
“I walk.”
“That counts.”
“I know it counts. I just don’t call it exercise because then I don’t want to do it.”
Ben nodded. “That’s actually reasonable.”
“Thank you.”
“How far?”
June considered the question. “I don’t measure distance.”
“Time?”
“Sometimes.”
Marcus waited.
June took another piece of cheese. “Mostly I measure cheek outrage.”
Elias stopped chopping onion. Clara blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“My butt cheeks.”
Ben closed his eyes. “No.”
“Yes.”
Marcus put down his cracker. “I need more information.”
“You absolutely do not,” Ben said.
“I absolutely do.”
June continued. “I’ve started taking these little walks. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Nothing heroic.”
“That sounds good,” Clara said.
“It is. Except apparently my rear end had not been consulted.”
Elias’s shoulders started shaking.
June pointed at him. “You laugh. Yesterday my cheeks were flabbergasted.”
He turned around. “Your cheeks were what?”
“Flabbergasted.”
Marcus was already gone. He bent forward over the table, laughing. Clara covered her mouth.
Ben stared at June. “How does a butt cheek become flabbergasted?”
“You’ll know when it happens.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“You don’t.”
Elias leaned against the counter, “And today?”
June sighed. “They squeak. My cheeks get cheeky.”
That finished him.
Elias put down the knife. Marcus slapped the table. Clara was laughing so hard she made no sound at all.
Ben looked around at everyone. “Butts do not squeak.”
“Mine do.”
“No.”
“Squeak, squeak, squeak.”
“Stop.”
“Every step.”
“June.”
“Sometimes the left one objects before the right.”
Marcus managed to sit upright. “Have you considered representation?”
June pointed at him. “They have an attorney.”
Elias doubled over.
Ben pushed the crackers away. “I can’t eat while we’re talking about this.”
“That’s probably good for your A1C,” Marcus said.
“I DON’T HAVE AN A1C PROBLEM.”
There was a beat. Then June said, “You have an A1C. Everybody has an A1C.”
“I know that.”
“You just said—”
“I meant—”
“I can recommend a doctor.”
“Eat your cheese.”
June grinned and did. Elias eventually recovered enough to pick up his knife. He chopped the onion and added it to the skillet with a little bacon. The kitchen filled with another good smell.
June watched him add the green beans. “So walking after I eat is supposed to help.”
Marcus nodded. “Then we’ll walk after dinner.”
June stared at him. “We?”
“Solidarity.”
“My cheeks didn’t ask for solidarity.”
“They have counsel. They’ll be fine.”
“They’re going to sue me.”
Clara picked up a cracker. “Class action.”
June pointed at all of them. “You joke now. Wait until your gluteus maximus realizes you’ve changed the terms of its employment.”
Elias laughed again. And this time, without even thinking about it, June laughed with him about the thing that had scared her.
The skillet began to sizzle. Elias stirred the green beans, lowered the heat and covered them. Enough for a side dish. Enough for something more.
Just in case
Comments