Taste (H.S. / A.U.)

Chapter 6

ELOISE DUPONT

I lug my bag up into the overhead bin and sigh exasperated before sliding into my seat next to Jade. She had headphones around her neck, hair in a bun, and a matching Lululemon sweatsuit on. I'm half surprised she didn't have some of those under eye patches that I see in some tiktoks of people on planes looking extra lush. I must admit, after we stayed out all day and night yesterday, I am in the same boat as her, feeling like a comfortable appearance is necessary for decompressing and existing right now.

The class went wonderfully this week and I am excited for the next one. Jade planned us a day following it with shopping, sight-seeing (planned actually by Ricky), a must go to bar and restaurant, and more. We were up from sunrise to set, busy beyond belief honestly. I was excited to be going home for the night to relax now that I had a small taste of what the tour is going to be like. With Ricky, Jade, and I we will be extremely busy I can already tell.

I lean my head back against the lackluster cushion behind me and close my eyes. Embracing the noise of everyone around me bustling into their own seats. The plane cackled as the speakers disrupted all the shuffles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. Welcome on board Flight 274 from Louisiana to New York City. I am Captain Kling and we are looking at some gorgeous skies ahead. The weather looks to be in our favor and our estimated arrival at the JFK International Airport is 11:24 am. The attendants are about to start their demonstration before the flight but let's get those devices into airplane mode, bags stowed, and prepare for take off."

I allow the plane to drift me in and out of focus, throughs flowing from did I remember to pack my straightener or leave it in the bathroom, to if I did well during the class, trying to plan a post about day one of tour, and the looming presence of wondering why Chase asked for an asset list. Nothing good can come from this I assume.

Distracting myself is no easy feat, instead my brain keeps circling back around to all the things I do not want to think about. I glance at Jade midflight who was busy scrolling through an online store buying things she more than likely doesn't need. I take the hint and scroll through my own phone, instead focusing on all the pictures Jade sent me from the class.

There were so many lovely shots of the students' creations, the plated foods, myself and the group, plus the book signing at the end. I couldn't have asked for a better group to start out with. Everyone was around their 30's and 40's, a few couples but also some single people. Everyone came in so eager to learn, asking lots of questions and being so respectful of one another. Jade told me if I wasn't a chef in this lifetime I would have made a wonderful teacher because of how patient and kind I was to each person.

I finally landed on a few photos that really captured what the day was about. The first was me leaning over the counter with another student eyeballing some liquid in a cup looking very thoughtful. The second was a picture that showcased three people's crepes that all decided to do a different method of plating and looking amazing. The third picture was of Jade standing behind me while my hands were in the air very excitedly and most students were laughing at their stations. The final photo was a group shot of all fifteen attendee's and myself in the middle, apron on, hair up, fingers stained pink from the beets, holding up my cookbook with the grandest smile anyone could have. I loved how happy I looked because my eyes were crinkling at the edges, my mouth was wide, showcasing teeth a little too big and you could see it was all so genuine.

I plucked all four photos from the camera roll to add into a post in Instagram trying to think of a witty caption. In my head I was rehearsing just what to say when a voice broke the process, a deep voice from the left of me.

"Dupont right?"

I looked over at the man across the aisle, leaned heavily over his arm rest in a sweater and khaki slacks. A large watch resided on his wrist and his chestnut hair was slicked back. I guess no older than thirty-five. Instead of answering him I was busy raking my eyes over him to assess the situation, and that instead encouraged him to speak again.