The Café Vanellas

7: on false starts

// Toriv

Over the course of the following week, February moved into March and everything finally started to warm up.

I mean, sort of. It was less of the exciting all-around warming-up of spring and more like when you try to microwave a hunk of leftovers that's been in the fridge for eons and the middle of it keeps being left cold and hard. Not the most appetizing of metaphors, I know, but darned if it doesn't describe the awkward Montréal winter-spring transition to a T.

Spring-or-whatever is a busy season for us at the shop, mainly because the rebirth of the post-winter world also means the rebirth of the Café Vanellas' repertoire. Last year we'd been short on funds so I hadn't been able to change much, but this year the numbers were looking good and I was feeling change on the wind like the scent of first-thing-in-the-morning ground coffee in the wee hours of shop opening.

"I need," I said decisively. "An idea."

"I have one," Kiv said from the counter. "Give me a raise."

"I didn't mean that kind of idea."

"You didn't specify."

One problem I have with idea generating is how long it usually takes me to get an idea, which is kind of the crucial step, I think we can all agree.

"If I give you a raise, am I going to have to give Daeci a raise too? I mean I'd give it to everyone, but isn't it important you and Daeci get it at the same time? In case I break the universe or something?"

"Uh, that's not really how twinship works, boss."

"Like hell it isn't. There's gotta be a reason elven twins used to be revered in the old days."

"Maybe it's just that we're really lucky? I mean, what are the odds, right?"

Another problem I have with idea generation is that I get distracted easily, which should be pretty obvious by now. And after extended bouts of attempted idea making, I usually decide to give up the active portion of thinking and just let the thoughts simmer in the back of my mind for a while. Because as you and I should both know, simmering is the key to incorporating every flavour in the dish. And that is the last of the weird food metaphors for a while, I swear.

"I need an idea," I tried again, "for a new angle vis-à-vis our drinks selection."

Kiv was leaning half his body over the counter, his phone dangling in his hands, and he still managed to shrug in that totally cool 50s rockabilly manner of his. Not that he's old enough to have any real idea of what the 50s were like, but if the aesthetic fits.

"I guess the coconut milk slash chili slash almond whipped cream hot chocolate idea was too wild for most people," I continued.

"Professor Mahendra seemed to like it," Kiv said. He was staring down at his phone and typing as he said it, but his smarmy smirk was unmistakeable.

The memory of Mahendra's reaction to the hot chocolate threatened to put a grin on my face, but I was in boss mode and had to remain as such at least until my dinner break. "Professor Mahendra is not our entire clientele. And likely has exotic tastes to begin with."

"Oooooh--"

"What," I said, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Nothing at all, boss," Kiv said, knowing that I knew exactly what he meant. "How about something spicy? People like spice. Like one of those spicy tea things."

"Like...masala chai?"

"I guess."

Loriev popped his head out from the backroom and said, "Doesn't Starbucks already have one of those?"