Seasoning

Chapter One

It was nearly noon, and the restaurant was set to open in five minutes. Typically, a line of about six people would eagerly await the chance to savour the finest (and only) Portuguese cuisine in Leeds. However, today was not one of those days.

People question a lot my choice of opening a restaurant in Leeds, considering it is predominantly a business-centric city. I often explain that in such cities, individuals are consumed by their corporate routines, leaving little time for even considering exploring new culinary experiences. Yet, when presented with an opportunity, they do not have to think about it, as it already exists, so they readily embrace it. What I mean is that my restaurant serves as the perfect chance for busy individuals to take a momentary break and enjoy something homemade and heartwarming, and that's why it'll succeed. At least, that's the narrative I prefer to believe.

Tuga has been open for fourteen months now, and despite my hopeful outlook, things haven't been going as well as anticipated. In that time frame, I had a profit only once when a Portuguese couple chose our establishment for their wedding feast. Well, my finances weren't great at the time (not that they are now), the bride's stepfather was rich and I was their only option, I may have increased the prices a bit to finally turn a profit. I know it wasn't the most ethical decision, but desperate times called for desperate measures, I really was struggling to pay the bills.

Suddenly, a familiar voice calls out for me.

"Claire!" It's Natalie, who, having given up on pronouncing my name correctly, decided Claire was a suitable alternative - everyone else in England had the same idea. I don't mind the nickname, but at times, it feels like I've lost my Portuguese identity. That's precisely why I'm so determined for Tuga to thrive—it's the only Portuguese connection I still hold dear.

"Yes, Natalie?"

"You won't believe what's out there! Can you guess?" Her excitement seems disproportionate for such a quiet day. Natalie has a habit of prefacing new information with the question, 'Can you guess?' and I hate it.

"Is it something to eat?"

"Well, not at the moment, but you better get to work because it will be. It HAS to be!"

"What is it, Natalie? Please tell me it's good. I need one percent of your excitement today. As you can see, there's no one here."

"That means it's a great day to test out new recipes!" She's ecstatic, and it seems like this is the best news she's ever received. "The TasteAtlas Awards 23/24 are out!"

"Okay, great, I guess. And so what?" I'm puzzled; the significance eludes me.

"Eight Portuguese foods are categorized among the best in the world! Pastel de Belém is the top choice for Desserts and Pastries. And now you say, 'Natalie, I've told you a million times that Pastel de Belém is not the same as Pastel de Nata.' I know, but that's not a problem because Pastel de Nata is also on the list as the top 2 and 3 in the same categories!"

"Oh, that I was not expecting. What about the other foods? We're not a pastry or bakery, I honestly don't think Pastéis de Nata will save our business. I've never nailed the recipe. Not even close, to be honest." Baking Pastéis de Nata has been my life's challenge. It seems easy to make but mastering the puff pastry and the filling is so hard. It was never perfect. The puff pastry either would have too much butter or would be too dry or crumbly. And the filling would be too sweet, or not creamy enough, sometimes even solid or, worst case scenario, curdled (yes, it happened). Maybe I'm too perfectionist but when it comes to my job, to the food I cook, I just can't let it not be perfect.

"I know one day you'll ace that shit. You go, girl, I believe in you," Natalie cheers. Only she could get a laugh out of me on this quiet day at Tuga.

"Nat, focus! What are the other foods?"

"Right, so, one of them I can't pronounce. It's impossible. It's Amioas Bulau Pato. The rest are seasonings, honey, and salt. Oh, and there are two sausages, preserved codfish and rice"

"You mean Amêijoas à Bulhão Pato?" I laugh, understanding the pronunciation challenge.

"Yeah, that. I think it's time for the menu to glow up, Claire," she suggests sincerely.

"What do you mean?" I know what she means, we've discussed it, but sometimes it's hard for me to change, especially when it comes to the menu that I built with so much love.

"Come on, Claire. We've talked about it. I know you love your menu, but we both know you created it because those are the courses you're most comfortable cooking. There's nothing wrong with that, but sometimes it's good to step out of our comfort zone, try new things, new recipes. Maybe these awards are our chance to finally make this business grow."

"Natalie..."

"Claire, if you're going to say something like, 'Yeah, I know, but the menu is great; we don't need to change it just because of some awards; it won't make a difference,' please save it. I'm sick and tired of this argument. If you don't want to change it, fine. This is my last attempt. I might as well start looking for a new job because I don't think Tuga will be open for much longer." Her words are stern, but she's right. Perhaps it's time for a change. Maybe the awards are the opportunity I hadn't considered, and it has suddenly presented itself to me.

"You're right. Let's do it."

Natalie walks over, places her hand on my forehead, and says with surprise, "Claire, are you with a fever or something? You don't seem hot, but we never know."

"Nat, I'm fine," I assure her, removing her hand from my forehead. "You're right. We've had this conversation plenty of times, and I finally think you're right. Deep down, I always knew you were right, I was just too attached to the menu, my first menu. I think we must take advantage of the fact that Christmas is next week and close the restaurant until the end of the year. We'll try out new recipes and build a new menu." She nods in agreement. "I'm going home next Friday to spend the holidays with my family, so I don't think the bills will be a problem. I'll try new recipes at home with my mother, while you can search for suppliers for the salt, honey, sausages, rice, preserved codfish, and other potential ingredients. Sounds good?"

"It. Sounds. Absolutely. AMAZING! 2024 will be Tuga's year! Should we close doors now?"

The door's bells ring as the first customers enter.

"Guess not", I say while walking to the door.

Two men in suits walk in, likely businessmen discussing business over lunch, the usual scenario.

"Olá! Welcome to Tuga," I smile as the first man walks past me. "You can come in, Sir", I say to the second man. He looks deeply into my eyes, creating an uncomfortable moment, but I do not look away. Without saying a word, he walks past me. Weird.

"Hey, Nat?" I approach her. "Can you take their order, please?" I express my discomfort.

"Sure. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's nothing. When you're done, tell me their order, please."

"Of course. I'll be right back."

I head to the kitchen. What the heck? That man... Weird. Just weird.