SEQUEL TO - ESPRESSOLY FOR YOU; a one shot.
Daisy, twenty-two and a culinary graduate was set to crack her first interview and impress the head chef but when asked to meet the restaurant manager for a final word, things took a turn into the surprise...
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Options.
Options were always my enemy. Even now, the options I had in front of me was letting me to doubt everything.
Was I supposed to go out on a coffee date with Steve even when he never stated clearly whether it was an actual date or not. In the midst of a word play, Steve brilliantly slipped his offer. Caught off-guard, I was spun into web of words and accepted his offer only to regret my decision.
Near the stove where I watched the cherry tomatoes danced and ripple in the olive oil, leaking off its bright red color into the pan, I recalled yesterday when I too felt the same. Blood seeped inside every crease and crevice before coursing over to my face when Steve and I had out banter which let to the debacle I accepted. Coffee.
"Hey," Linda's soft voice called out to me. "Your babies are on fire," she pointed to the pan under my custody which now roared up with flames from the inside.
"Crap," I cried and tossed the contents back and forth, lapping the now shrunken tomatoes in the reddened oil. The flame fused away from existence and my hand moved automatically to swirl the concoction, ensuring nothing was burned.
For many, this little stunt seemed like a normal routine of flaming contents for reeking bold flavors, it was only Linda who seemed to have understood the reality. I was daydreaming in the middle of a busy lunch schedule. I was playing with fire, literally and unknowingly.
"Where are you today?" Linda made her fingers danced over her netted hair. In the clouds would have been her guess but it was the other way round for me. I was done in the drains, beating myself over the decisions I tend to make in my life.
"We will talk later," I halted Linda's move towards me and concentrated back on the stove. There can only be one burndown the kitchen plot in a day and I think I had my share of it. "Let me get back to the veal."
The little piece of meat needed my attention. Any distraction would only result in me overcooking it and the next thing I know would be a yelling session from Marcy or worse, Steve.
"Careful with the meat, its tender." Like clockwork, the bossman's voice reared its face from behind me. He slid his head, almost on my shoulder as he checked for flame and temperature.
"I know what I am doing and I won't let it toughen."
"You better not. I get tough when they do," he pointed to the meat that seemed to be mocking me from the pan, taunting me to dream again. "Any minute now." His sweet voice taunted me even after his shadow moved away from me.
"Not yet," I yelled, meeting the almost pink hued portion at eye level.
I have done this before. I knew what I was doing. A few seconds more. Just a few.
Although I couldn't dip a thermometer to check the temperature, all my expertise cried out for me to hold it one more second before I transferred it off the heat. Only when I removed the precious meat off the stove did my body hit the wall created by Steve.
