Chasing your tail, p.17
Chasing Your Tail, page 17
“I guess not, but I don’t know. I need more time to think about it.”
As if sensing she didn’t want to talk about Brad anymore, everyone nodded. Evan said, “Okay. My turn now.”
“What’s going on with you, Evan?” said Lauren, playing along.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to break up with Will.”
“What did he do?” asked Paige.
“Nothing, which is kind of the problem. There are just no sparks. Any sparks there were when we first got together have fizzled. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with his married coworker, and it’s surprisingly hard to compete with that.”
“Also, Pablo’s single again,” said Paige.
Ah, Pablo. Evan’s longtime crush was extremely good-looking and was a sweet guy from what Lindsay could tell from her limited interactions with him. He and Paige ran an event for kids at the cat café where kids practiced their reading skills on the cats, so she had been spending a lot of time with him recently.
“That’s not the reason I want to break up with Will,” said Evan. “And I think all these years of me pining have shown nothing will ever happen with Pablo.”
“No sparks?” said Lindsay.
“Nada. I mean, mostly we just go out to eat and have sex, which is basically a perfect Saturday night if you ask me, but the sex is…just okay. I don’t know. And I thought by now we’d be in love, but… We’re not. He’s…fine. Which is the issue. Fine is not great or amazing.”
“Probably best not to string him along, then,” said Lauren.
“Yeah. Pablo’s single again? See, I didn’t even know that.”
Paige grinned. “Yeah, he and that beardy guy broke up. He mentioned it when he came to the café the other day. He was pretty bummed about it, so now is probably not the time to swoop in there. Rebound flings never work out.”
“Huh,” said Evan.
“Don’t get ideas,” said Lauren.
“I’m not, I’m not. You’re right about rebounds. But, like, this kind of proves my point. If I’m just with Will because he’s not Pablo and I don’t want to be single, but not because I genuinely like him, then it’s not fair for either of us to stay together.”
“So you’re going to break up with him?” asked Lindsay.
“Yes, I think so.” Evan tapped his chin. “Maybe the lesson here is that if there is someone you do have sparks with, then you should go for it.”
“Subtle,” said Lindsay.
Evan leveled his gaze at her. “Are you going to go out with Brad?”
“I will consider it.”
“Wow, guys,” said Paige. “So much enthusiasm.”
***
“I hate Restaurant Week,” Brad said.
Brad and Aaron had just been seated at Olive Tree, an upscale Mediterranean restaurant near Union Square. Brad eyed the prix fixe menu with resignation. There wasn’t anything on it that excited him.
“Latent PTSD?” Aaron asked. He looked around the very crowded restaurant.
“Well, sure, that.” For a couple of years, Brad had spent every night of New York City’s Restaurant Week—which was usually actually two weeks—churning out desserts, which had been its own kind of nightmare. “But actually, it’s that the menus are so uninspired. They limit the menu to what they know they can fire quickly and easily. So, look, our options are basically steak or a flatbread pizza, here at a restaurant that is known for good seafood and creative dishes.”
“We’ll have a good meal for a quarter of what it usually costs here,” said Aaron. “That’s the beauty of Restaurant Week.”
Brad sighed. “I guess that explains why you invited me here. I completely forgot it was Restaurant Week.”
“Restaurant Week is not all bad. I had the tasting menu at La Montagne last night. It was amazing. Buttery as hell, and they had to roll me out of there because I ate so much, but so, so good.”
“See, that I would have appreciated.”
Sam, another culinary school buddy, buzzed over to the table and dropped into the third chair. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to fire an employee today, which was not the best.”
Brad, Aaron, and Sam had lived together for most of culinary school. Sam had followed Brad into studying pastry and currently owned an Upper West Side bakery where mostly he sold cupcakes. They got together for dinner about once a month to catch up. Brad really enjoyed these dinners, but he regretted letting Aaron choose the restaurant this time. He decided to set that aside and hoped the steak would be good.
“This guy just never made it to work on time.” Sam glanced at Brad. “You’re running a kitchen now, aren’t you? What time do you usually get there?”
“Five. It’s actually past my bedtime now. I’m only doing this because I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Sam picked up his menu. “I know what you mean.” His gaze ran over the text. “I don’t know why I bother to look at menus during Restaurant Week. I’m just gonna order whatever they want me to order.”
“You seem cheery tonight,” said Aaron.
Sam put the menu down and took a deep breath. “Again, sorry. Firing someone takes a lot out of you.”
“My boss is letting me hire another assistant,” said Brad, “so you should give me the name of your guy so I don’t hire him.”
“Oh, I will.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t help that Justin has been out of town on business the last few days.” Justin was Sam’s husband. “But let’s put all that junk aside. How are you guys?”
“Brad is trying to win Lindsay back,” said Aaron.
Sam laughed. “I saw her byline on that profile of you in the Forum. That surprised the hell out of me.”
Brad gave Sam the short version of the story of how Lindsay had come back into his life. He’d been hoping for a distraction tonight, though. He spent enough time thinking about Lindsay; dinner with friends should have been a distraction.
“This feels like a lot of work,” said Sam. “Winning her over again, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Aaron agreed. “Bianca and I went on a date and figured out that we liked each other and have been together ever since. Not that it’s all been smooth sailing, but I never had to convince her to be with me.”
“You had to convince her a little,” said Sam. “I’m sure the TV executive job title helped smooth the way, but you had to talk her into taking your skinny ass home the first time.”
“Wasn’t that hard. I’m very charming.”
“You ask that girl to marry you yet?” asked Brad, hoping to deflect attention from himself.
“No, but I, uh, bought a ring.”
“Are you kidding?” said Sam.
“No, I’m dead serious. We’re going to wrap filming for the first season of Mystery Meal at the end of next week. Then I get a week off and I’m taking Bianca to Florence because she’s always wanted to go there. I figured we could eat our way through the city and look at art and I’d find some romantic spot to pop the question.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think she’ll say yes?”
Aaron frowned. “I did right until you asked me.”
“She probably suspects anyway,” said Sam. “Justin has a friend who took his girlfriend to Paris, and Justin explained to me that you only take your significant other to Europe if you’re going to propose. This friend reasoned they would either come back engaged or broken up. He proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower, though, which is so clichéd.”
“Didn’t Justin propose to you on the observation deck of the Empire State Building?” asked Brad.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, but during Pride when it was lit up like a rainbow, with a great view of this wonderful city spread out before us.”
“There’s a nuance here I’m not seeing,” Brad stage-whispered to Aaron.
“Maybe what Lindsay needs is a grand romantic gesture,” said Sam.
“Like what?”
Sam shrugged. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”
When their entrées arrived, Brad mulled over what he could do to impress Lindsay. Not take her to a dinner like this. The steak was cooked well but underseasoned, and the flatbread that Sam had ordered looked a little sad.
“Ah, Restaurant Week,” Sam said, picking a piece of red onion off his pizza and tossing it in his mouth. “Food for the masses.”
“All right, all right,” said Aaron. “Point taken. We’ll go somewhere better next time.”
“Justin and I ate at this Vietnamese place on Seventy-Seventh last week that was delicious. They have the standard dishes plus a couple of creative things. The chef is first-generation American but went to culinary school in Paris, so it’s Vietnamese flavors with Western techniques. And she makes her own fish sauce, which is the salty kick you want with Vietnamese food.”
“You’re saying we should go there next month?” said Aaron.
“Yes. Especially since I can see the wheels turning in your head. You want to get this chef for your show, don’t you?”
Aaron shrugged. “I love Vietnamese. That place on University got a new chef and they’re not as good anymore so I’ve been looking for a new place.”
“How do you know all this?” Brad asked. “Did you interview the chef?”
“I asked to talk to her when we ate there. I laid it on thick with the waiter and mentioned I was also a chef. The restaurant’s chef came out to the table and we chatted for a bit.”
Aaron laughed. “We’re all insufferable foodies. There are tourists in this restaurant right now who will go home and tell their friends this was the best meal they ever ate, and here we are whining at the lack of options.”
“We come by it honestly,” said Sam. “What good is a culinary degree if you can’t make fun of how bland or pretentious the food is at restaurants run by celebrity chefs?”
Brad hardly tasted his food anyway. His brain was whirling now. What could he do to impress Lindsay? What was he good at? Baking, obviously. What did she care about? Food. Her job. His head spun as he speared a potato with his fork.
If Lindsay were here, she’d comment on how dull the menu was, too, because she was just as insufferable as the rest of them.
But maybe he could bake her something that would impress her socks off.
Chapter 16
Brad carried a huge bakery box into the Forum’s office building. He had called Lindsay ahead to make sure she would be there and to explain his actions. Would her office like some cupcakes? She said sure. Brad managed to get as far as the reception desk before Lindsay had to come fetch him. As far as stealthy grand gestures went, it was not a complete success, but hopefully the cupcakes themselves would win her over.
“Why are you really here?” she asked as she led him into the main office area.
“I wanted to do something nice,” he said, laying the box on the table Lindsay indicated.
A tall woman with dark hair wandered over. Lindsay said, “Brad, this is my boss, Erica Sanchez. Erica, this is Brad Marks.”
“Of the cat café!” Erica extended her hand, so Brad shook it.
“I brought some cupcakes. For the office, not just for Lindsay. As a thank-you for everything.” He took the lid off the box.
Erica gazed at them, looking delighted. “What have we got here?”
There were a dozen cupcakes, two of each kind. The cakes themselves were leftovers from that morning’s cat café display, but he’d gotten a little creative with frosting because it was easier to make a small batch of frosting than a small batch of cake batter. So there were six kinds of cupcakes. Brad pointed to each and said, “Vanilla, chocolate, cookies and cream, red velvet, cinnamon apple, and maple bacon.”
“Oooh.” Erica wiggled her fingers as she tried to choose.
Lindsay grabbed one of the maple bacon cupcakes and led him back to her desk, which wasn’t so much a desk as a station in the middle of a large table. As she ate it, other workers in the office drifted over and helped themselves.
“I’m wrapping up here in a few,” Lindsay said. “I guess we could go get a cup of coffee or something.”
The lukewarm reaction was a little less than he’d been hoping for, but Brad would take it.
There was an indie coffee shop near the Forum’s offices, which is where Lindsay led Brad. It was full of college students studying, but there were a few empty tables, so Brad snagged one while Lindsay ordered their drinks.
She joined him a few minutes later and handed him a latte, exactly the thing he would have ordered. He hadn’t even told her what he wanted.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
Lindsay frowned. “I heard through the grapevine that you bungled an interview with the Times because the reporter wanted you to introduce her to Aaron and you refused.”
Brad could only wonder at how small the food world was. “That’s true. I didn’t think Aaron would do another favor for me.”
“So in a roundabout way, you sabotaged a good opportunity for my sake.”
“If you want to look at it that way.”
“Is that not what happened?”
Brad shrugged. “I mean, yes, I wanted that opportunity for you and not for this reporter, but I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.” Which was true. He hadn’t planned to say anything, but maybe it was best that it worked out this way. Maybe this would show her he cared, that he was looking out for her.
Lindsay nodded. “The maple bacon cupcake was good.”
It still wasn’t much, but Brad felt like he was chipping away at her armor. “Thanks. I know you like a good sweet and salty combo.”
“I was in San Francisco for a food festival last year, and the hotel had a café that served maple bacon doughnuts that were to die for.”
“Everyone says that trend is over, but never underestimate the American love for all things bacon.”
Lindsay smiled. “I think cupcakes are also proving to have staying power. A few years ago, all the little cupcake bakeries in the Village started getting replaced with macaron shops, but I think they’re going back. Everyone loves cupcakes.”
“It seems like a bad strategy to build a business around one trendy item.”
“Do you make macarons?”
“I can. I haven’t for the café yet. Although, I wonder if I could give them little cat ears. I’ll have to experiment.”
“I have never successfully made a macaron. I caught the flu this past winter and wound up spending almost a whole week on my couch. I watched like three seasons of that British baking show, and I came away convinced I could make macarons. As soon as I recovered enough to stand upright in my kitchen, I gave it a shot. I failed spectacularly. They came out flat and misshapen.”
“It takes some practice. I’ll show you the trick sometime.”
“We used to talk about cooking together but hardly ever got around to it.”
Brad nodded. That was true. In their culinary school days, they did most of their cooking at school or work. Brad still liked the idea of him and Lindsay sharing space in a kitchen, working together to prepare a meal for their friends. He liked that picture immensely.
“We used to talk about opening a restaurant together,” said Brad, fully letting himself revel in nostalgia.
“Yeah. I thought about that a lot back in culinary school. We’d be partners, you know? Me as executive chef, you as pastry chef.”
“Sure. If we did it now, what kind of food would we make?”
“American, probably. Maybe with a focus on seafood. Mediterranean influences because I really like that flavor profile. Light, delicious, nothing very heavy.”
“So, uh, no little crocks of lasagna covered in red sauce.”
Lindsay laughed. “God, no. Don’t get me wrong. I love Italian food, but for my own restaurant, I’d want to serve food people feel good about eating. Then they can opt to have a decadent dessert if that’s how they roll.”
Brad liked the sound of that. “You have thought this through. Recently, I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess I have. It’s been on the brain. I reviewed a crab shack in Red Hook last summer that reminded me how much I love seafood. It doesn’t even have to be fancy. I took the girls and Evan and we ordered this clam-bake-for-four option. It was literally a metal bucket full of seafood, but they used their own seasoning mix and everything was cooked perfectly. Just picnic tables on a deck with a bit of a breeze coming in off the water. Sometimes food like that beats the food at a Michelin-star restaurant. Pretentious doesn’t always mean good.”
Brad smiled at that. “You know, I spend almost more time talking about food than making food.”
Lindsay laughed. “I definitely do. But food is kind of our whole lives, isn’t it?”
“Well, not my whole life. I like…baseball. And video games. And now cats. I have a pet cat.”
“Me too. Those cats do make your life better in ways you don’t expect.” Lindsay smiled. “And I know you will tell me this is blasphemy, but the food is better at Citi Field than at Yankee Stadium.”
“That is blasphemy, but I appreciate how you were able to turn one of my nonfood interests back into food.”
“Have you eaten at both to compare?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. You remember Sam from culinary school? His brother has season tickets to the Mets, so Sam and I use them sometimes. So, having sampled the cuisines of both teams, I can say that Citi Field has more options near the cheap seats, but you can get a better steak sandwich at Yankee Stadium. I of course did a lot of testing. For science.”
“Of course.”
“The Yanks are having a great season.”
“That’s good. I don’t care about baseball.”
“I know. I don’t care that you don’t care.”
Lindsay shook her head. “I did used to like going to games with you.”
As if sensing she didn’t want to talk about Brad anymore, everyone nodded. Evan said, “Okay. My turn now.”
“What’s going on with you, Evan?” said Lauren, playing along.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to break up with Will.”
“What did he do?” asked Paige.
“Nothing, which is kind of the problem. There are just no sparks. Any sparks there were when we first got together have fizzled. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with his married coworker, and it’s surprisingly hard to compete with that.”
“Also, Pablo’s single again,” said Paige.
Ah, Pablo. Evan’s longtime crush was extremely good-looking and was a sweet guy from what Lindsay could tell from her limited interactions with him. He and Paige ran an event for kids at the cat café where kids practiced their reading skills on the cats, so she had been spending a lot of time with him recently.
“That’s not the reason I want to break up with Will,” said Evan. “And I think all these years of me pining have shown nothing will ever happen with Pablo.”
“No sparks?” said Lindsay.
“Nada. I mean, mostly we just go out to eat and have sex, which is basically a perfect Saturday night if you ask me, but the sex is…just okay. I don’t know. And I thought by now we’d be in love, but… We’re not. He’s…fine. Which is the issue. Fine is not great or amazing.”
“Probably best not to string him along, then,” said Lauren.
“Yeah. Pablo’s single again? See, I didn’t even know that.”
Paige grinned. “Yeah, he and that beardy guy broke up. He mentioned it when he came to the café the other day. He was pretty bummed about it, so now is probably not the time to swoop in there. Rebound flings never work out.”
“Huh,” said Evan.
“Don’t get ideas,” said Lauren.
“I’m not, I’m not. You’re right about rebounds. But, like, this kind of proves my point. If I’m just with Will because he’s not Pablo and I don’t want to be single, but not because I genuinely like him, then it’s not fair for either of us to stay together.”
“So you’re going to break up with him?” asked Lindsay.
“Yes, I think so.” Evan tapped his chin. “Maybe the lesson here is that if there is someone you do have sparks with, then you should go for it.”
“Subtle,” said Lindsay.
Evan leveled his gaze at her. “Are you going to go out with Brad?”
“I will consider it.”
“Wow, guys,” said Paige. “So much enthusiasm.”
***
“I hate Restaurant Week,” Brad said.
Brad and Aaron had just been seated at Olive Tree, an upscale Mediterranean restaurant near Union Square. Brad eyed the prix fixe menu with resignation. There wasn’t anything on it that excited him.
“Latent PTSD?” Aaron asked. He looked around the very crowded restaurant.
“Well, sure, that.” For a couple of years, Brad had spent every night of New York City’s Restaurant Week—which was usually actually two weeks—churning out desserts, which had been its own kind of nightmare. “But actually, it’s that the menus are so uninspired. They limit the menu to what they know they can fire quickly and easily. So, look, our options are basically steak or a flatbread pizza, here at a restaurant that is known for good seafood and creative dishes.”
“We’ll have a good meal for a quarter of what it usually costs here,” said Aaron. “That’s the beauty of Restaurant Week.”
Brad sighed. “I guess that explains why you invited me here. I completely forgot it was Restaurant Week.”
“Restaurant Week is not all bad. I had the tasting menu at La Montagne last night. It was amazing. Buttery as hell, and they had to roll me out of there because I ate so much, but so, so good.”
“See, that I would have appreciated.”
Sam, another culinary school buddy, buzzed over to the table and dropped into the third chair. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to fire an employee today, which was not the best.”
Brad, Aaron, and Sam had lived together for most of culinary school. Sam had followed Brad into studying pastry and currently owned an Upper West Side bakery where mostly he sold cupcakes. They got together for dinner about once a month to catch up. Brad really enjoyed these dinners, but he regretted letting Aaron choose the restaurant this time. He decided to set that aside and hoped the steak would be good.
“This guy just never made it to work on time.” Sam glanced at Brad. “You’re running a kitchen now, aren’t you? What time do you usually get there?”
“Five. It’s actually past my bedtime now. I’m only doing this because I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Sam picked up his menu. “I know what you mean.” His gaze ran over the text. “I don’t know why I bother to look at menus during Restaurant Week. I’m just gonna order whatever they want me to order.”
“You seem cheery tonight,” said Aaron.
Sam put the menu down and took a deep breath. “Again, sorry. Firing someone takes a lot out of you.”
“My boss is letting me hire another assistant,” said Brad, “so you should give me the name of your guy so I don’t hire him.”
“Oh, I will.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t help that Justin has been out of town on business the last few days.” Justin was Sam’s husband. “But let’s put all that junk aside. How are you guys?”
“Brad is trying to win Lindsay back,” said Aaron.
Sam laughed. “I saw her byline on that profile of you in the Forum. That surprised the hell out of me.”
Brad gave Sam the short version of the story of how Lindsay had come back into his life. He’d been hoping for a distraction tonight, though. He spent enough time thinking about Lindsay; dinner with friends should have been a distraction.
“This feels like a lot of work,” said Sam. “Winning her over again, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Aaron agreed. “Bianca and I went on a date and figured out that we liked each other and have been together ever since. Not that it’s all been smooth sailing, but I never had to convince her to be with me.”
“You had to convince her a little,” said Sam. “I’m sure the TV executive job title helped smooth the way, but you had to talk her into taking your skinny ass home the first time.”
“Wasn’t that hard. I’m very charming.”
“You ask that girl to marry you yet?” asked Brad, hoping to deflect attention from himself.
“No, but I, uh, bought a ring.”
“Are you kidding?” said Sam.
“No, I’m dead serious. We’re going to wrap filming for the first season of Mystery Meal at the end of next week. Then I get a week off and I’m taking Bianca to Florence because she’s always wanted to go there. I figured we could eat our way through the city and look at art and I’d find some romantic spot to pop the question.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think she’ll say yes?”
Aaron frowned. “I did right until you asked me.”
“She probably suspects anyway,” said Sam. “Justin has a friend who took his girlfriend to Paris, and Justin explained to me that you only take your significant other to Europe if you’re going to propose. This friend reasoned they would either come back engaged or broken up. He proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower, though, which is so clichéd.”
“Didn’t Justin propose to you on the observation deck of the Empire State Building?” asked Brad.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, but during Pride when it was lit up like a rainbow, with a great view of this wonderful city spread out before us.”
“There’s a nuance here I’m not seeing,” Brad stage-whispered to Aaron.
“Maybe what Lindsay needs is a grand romantic gesture,” said Sam.
“Like what?”
Sam shrugged. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”
When their entrées arrived, Brad mulled over what he could do to impress Lindsay. Not take her to a dinner like this. The steak was cooked well but underseasoned, and the flatbread that Sam had ordered looked a little sad.
“Ah, Restaurant Week,” Sam said, picking a piece of red onion off his pizza and tossing it in his mouth. “Food for the masses.”
“All right, all right,” said Aaron. “Point taken. We’ll go somewhere better next time.”
“Justin and I ate at this Vietnamese place on Seventy-Seventh last week that was delicious. They have the standard dishes plus a couple of creative things. The chef is first-generation American but went to culinary school in Paris, so it’s Vietnamese flavors with Western techniques. And she makes her own fish sauce, which is the salty kick you want with Vietnamese food.”
“You’re saying we should go there next month?” said Aaron.
“Yes. Especially since I can see the wheels turning in your head. You want to get this chef for your show, don’t you?”
Aaron shrugged. “I love Vietnamese. That place on University got a new chef and they’re not as good anymore so I’ve been looking for a new place.”
“How do you know all this?” Brad asked. “Did you interview the chef?”
“I asked to talk to her when we ate there. I laid it on thick with the waiter and mentioned I was also a chef. The restaurant’s chef came out to the table and we chatted for a bit.”
Aaron laughed. “We’re all insufferable foodies. There are tourists in this restaurant right now who will go home and tell their friends this was the best meal they ever ate, and here we are whining at the lack of options.”
“We come by it honestly,” said Sam. “What good is a culinary degree if you can’t make fun of how bland or pretentious the food is at restaurants run by celebrity chefs?”
Brad hardly tasted his food anyway. His brain was whirling now. What could he do to impress Lindsay? What was he good at? Baking, obviously. What did she care about? Food. Her job. His head spun as he speared a potato with his fork.
If Lindsay were here, she’d comment on how dull the menu was, too, because she was just as insufferable as the rest of them.
But maybe he could bake her something that would impress her socks off.
Chapter 16
Brad carried a huge bakery box into the Forum’s office building. He had called Lindsay ahead to make sure she would be there and to explain his actions. Would her office like some cupcakes? She said sure. Brad managed to get as far as the reception desk before Lindsay had to come fetch him. As far as stealthy grand gestures went, it was not a complete success, but hopefully the cupcakes themselves would win her over.
“Why are you really here?” she asked as she led him into the main office area.
“I wanted to do something nice,” he said, laying the box on the table Lindsay indicated.
A tall woman with dark hair wandered over. Lindsay said, “Brad, this is my boss, Erica Sanchez. Erica, this is Brad Marks.”
“Of the cat café!” Erica extended her hand, so Brad shook it.
“I brought some cupcakes. For the office, not just for Lindsay. As a thank-you for everything.” He took the lid off the box.
Erica gazed at them, looking delighted. “What have we got here?”
There were a dozen cupcakes, two of each kind. The cakes themselves were leftovers from that morning’s cat café display, but he’d gotten a little creative with frosting because it was easier to make a small batch of frosting than a small batch of cake batter. So there were six kinds of cupcakes. Brad pointed to each and said, “Vanilla, chocolate, cookies and cream, red velvet, cinnamon apple, and maple bacon.”
“Oooh.” Erica wiggled her fingers as she tried to choose.
Lindsay grabbed one of the maple bacon cupcakes and led him back to her desk, which wasn’t so much a desk as a station in the middle of a large table. As she ate it, other workers in the office drifted over and helped themselves.
“I’m wrapping up here in a few,” Lindsay said. “I guess we could go get a cup of coffee or something.”
The lukewarm reaction was a little less than he’d been hoping for, but Brad would take it.
There was an indie coffee shop near the Forum’s offices, which is where Lindsay led Brad. It was full of college students studying, but there were a few empty tables, so Brad snagged one while Lindsay ordered their drinks.
She joined him a few minutes later and handed him a latte, exactly the thing he would have ordered. He hadn’t even told her what he wanted.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
Lindsay frowned. “I heard through the grapevine that you bungled an interview with the Times because the reporter wanted you to introduce her to Aaron and you refused.”
Brad could only wonder at how small the food world was. “That’s true. I didn’t think Aaron would do another favor for me.”
“So in a roundabout way, you sabotaged a good opportunity for my sake.”
“If you want to look at it that way.”
“Is that not what happened?”
Brad shrugged. “I mean, yes, I wanted that opportunity for you and not for this reporter, but I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.” Which was true. He hadn’t planned to say anything, but maybe it was best that it worked out this way. Maybe this would show her he cared, that he was looking out for her.
Lindsay nodded. “The maple bacon cupcake was good.”
It still wasn’t much, but Brad felt like he was chipping away at her armor. “Thanks. I know you like a good sweet and salty combo.”
“I was in San Francisco for a food festival last year, and the hotel had a café that served maple bacon doughnuts that were to die for.”
“Everyone says that trend is over, but never underestimate the American love for all things bacon.”
Lindsay smiled. “I think cupcakes are also proving to have staying power. A few years ago, all the little cupcake bakeries in the Village started getting replaced with macaron shops, but I think they’re going back. Everyone loves cupcakes.”
“It seems like a bad strategy to build a business around one trendy item.”
“Do you make macarons?”
“I can. I haven’t for the café yet. Although, I wonder if I could give them little cat ears. I’ll have to experiment.”
“I have never successfully made a macaron. I caught the flu this past winter and wound up spending almost a whole week on my couch. I watched like three seasons of that British baking show, and I came away convinced I could make macarons. As soon as I recovered enough to stand upright in my kitchen, I gave it a shot. I failed spectacularly. They came out flat and misshapen.”
“It takes some practice. I’ll show you the trick sometime.”
“We used to talk about cooking together but hardly ever got around to it.”
Brad nodded. That was true. In their culinary school days, they did most of their cooking at school or work. Brad still liked the idea of him and Lindsay sharing space in a kitchen, working together to prepare a meal for their friends. He liked that picture immensely.
“We used to talk about opening a restaurant together,” said Brad, fully letting himself revel in nostalgia.
“Yeah. I thought about that a lot back in culinary school. We’d be partners, you know? Me as executive chef, you as pastry chef.”
“Sure. If we did it now, what kind of food would we make?”
“American, probably. Maybe with a focus on seafood. Mediterranean influences because I really like that flavor profile. Light, delicious, nothing very heavy.”
“So, uh, no little crocks of lasagna covered in red sauce.”
Lindsay laughed. “God, no. Don’t get me wrong. I love Italian food, but for my own restaurant, I’d want to serve food people feel good about eating. Then they can opt to have a decadent dessert if that’s how they roll.”
Brad liked the sound of that. “You have thought this through. Recently, I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess I have. It’s been on the brain. I reviewed a crab shack in Red Hook last summer that reminded me how much I love seafood. It doesn’t even have to be fancy. I took the girls and Evan and we ordered this clam-bake-for-four option. It was literally a metal bucket full of seafood, but they used their own seasoning mix and everything was cooked perfectly. Just picnic tables on a deck with a bit of a breeze coming in off the water. Sometimes food like that beats the food at a Michelin-star restaurant. Pretentious doesn’t always mean good.”
Brad smiled at that. “You know, I spend almost more time talking about food than making food.”
Lindsay laughed. “I definitely do. But food is kind of our whole lives, isn’t it?”
“Well, not my whole life. I like…baseball. And video games. And now cats. I have a pet cat.”
“Me too. Those cats do make your life better in ways you don’t expect.” Lindsay smiled. “And I know you will tell me this is blasphemy, but the food is better at Citi Field than at Yankee Stadium.”
“That is blasphemy, but I appreciate how you were able to turn one of my nonfood interests back into food.”
“Have you eaten at both to compare?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. You remember Sam from culinary school? His brother has season tickets to the Mets, so Sam and I use them sometimes. So, having sampled the cuisines of both teams, I can say that Citi Field has more options near the cheap seats, but you can get a better steak sandwich at Yankee Stadium. I of course did a lot of testing. For science.”
“Of course.”
“The Yanks are having a great season.”
“That’s good. I don’t care about baseball.”
“I know. I don’t care that you don’t care.”
Lindsay shook her head. “I did used to like going to games with you.”
