escorted Amanda to the vending machines and bought us both one last round of chocolate in celebration. "Today's the last day I can get a ride," I told her. "The whole thing starts tomorrow."
As we drove to work, I filled her in on everything that had happened, including some of the nuances of my plan.
"I'm going to have to start making everything from scratch," I told her. "I can't just eat stuff from the store anymore. So I'm probably going to have to--ow!"
It's a good thing we were at a stoplight, or we might have gotten into an accident. Because Amanda had taken both hands off the steering wheel to dig her pointy little fingers into my arm. "Do NOT tease me," she said. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you actually going back to cooking? Oh, PLEASE say yes!"
I laughed. "Yes. I have to."
Amanda did a little dance in her seat despite the fact that the light had changed and she was holding up traffic. "Yes! She's back! Chef Cat, Chef Cat, where have you been--"
Before she could launch into a new poem, the guy behind us honked and made her drive on.
"I'll have to be careful about the ingredients," I said. "Nothing modern--it all has to be as natural as possible. Only foods they would have been able to find back then."
"I think I saw on the Discovery Channel that cavemen used to make sopapillas," Amanda said. "And cheesecake--lots of cheesecake. With cherries on top."
"Oh, really."
"Mm, and chocolate chip cookies," Amanda said. "You can make those, right? You make them from scratch."
"Yeah, but I can't use chocolate or processed sugar. Those weren't available. It has to be real food."
"Oh. Well, how about banana bread? Bananas are real."
"Yeah," I said, "but there's still sugar in it. And butter."
"You can't use butter?"
"They didn't have cows back then--there weren't any kind of domestic animals. So no milk or cheese or butter."
"Well, this has the potential to suck," Amanda said. "I want the cafe to start back up. I'm telling you, Cat, that was possibly the best food I've ever had in my life. I would quit my job at the restaurant right now if you tell me you're starting back up--except we have to charge more this time so I can actually afford gas. Come on--let's do it!"
Our cafe. It was how I consoled myself the summer between seventh and eighth. I burned through my library card checking out pilesof cookbooks, and every week I'd have a new theme: Italian, Asian, Tropical, Greek, French--I used ingredients I'd never even heard of before.
Amanda came over three or four times a week to help me run the cafe. She'd bring supplies from home or make do with whatever she could find around my house, and decorate the dining room to match what I was cooking that night. She'd download pictures of Rome or Paris or the Parthenon, then tape those all over the place to help set the mood. She'd go through all our CDs to find the right music to play in the background. She made these great centerpieces out of fruits and flowers and candles--the whole thing was just beautiful. Then she'd hand-letter these fancy menus, and we'd relax and wait for the guests.
Which were just my parents and little brother. Everyone got into the act and took it very seriously. I was really a chef, Amanda was really a hostess and server, and my family were the paying customers. It cracks me up to think that I actually charged my parents for dinner, even though they had obviously paid for all the groceries.
Then after Amanda and I cleaned up for the night, we split the proceeds--not bad for a summer job. Especially since it was one of the funnest things I've ever done--which is saying a lot considering how brokenhearted I was at the time.
"When do you start cooking?" Amanda asked. "When can I show up for my first meal?"
"Probably not till this weekend. I have to get ingredients and figure out what I can actually make."
"What are you going to eat until then?"
"What do you think? Nuts and berries."
10
M y last bag of Cheetos .
My
As we drove to work, I filled her in on everything that had happened, including some of the nuances of my plan.
"I'm going to have to start making everything from scratch," I told her. "I can't just eat stuff from the store anymore. So I'm probably going to have to--ow!"
It's a good thing we were at a stoplight, or we might have gotten into an accident. Because Amanda had taken both hands off the steering wheel to dig her pointy little fingers into my arm. "Do NOT tease me," she said. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you actually going back to cooking? Oh, PLEASE say yes!"
I laughed. "Yes. I have to."
Amanda did a little dance in her seat despite the fact that the light had changed and she was holding up traffic. "Yes! She's back! Chef Cat, Chef Cat, where have you been--"
Before she could launch into a new poem, the guy behind us honked and made her drive on.
"I'll have to be careful about the ingredients," I said. "Nothing modern--it all has to be as natural as possible. Only foods they would have been able to find back then."
"I think I saw on the Discovery Channel that cavemen used to make sopapillas," Amanda said. "And cheesecake--lots of cheesecake. With cherries on top."
"Oh, really."
"Mm, and chocolate chip cookies," Amanda said. "You can make those, right? You make them from scratch."
"Yeah, but I can't use chocolate or processed sugar. Those weren't available. It has to be real food."
"Oh. Well, how about banana bread? Bananas are real."
"Yeah," I said, "but there's still sugar in it. And butter."
"You can't use butter?"
"They didn't have cows back then--there weren't any kind of domestic animals. So no milk or cheese or butter."
"Well, this has the potential to suck," Amanda said. "I want the cafe to start back up. I'm telling you, Cat, that was possibly the best food I've ever had in my life. I would quit my job at the restaurant right now if you tell me you're starting back up--except we have to charge more this time so I can actually afford gas. Come on--let's do it!"
Our cafe. It was how I consoled myself the summer between seventh and eighth. I burned through my library card checking out pilesof cookbooks, and every week I'd have a new theme: Italian, Asian, Tropical, Greek, French--I used ingredients I'd never even heard of before.
Amanda came over three or four times a week to help me run the cafe. She'd bring supplies from home or make do with whatever she could find around my house, and decorate the dining room to match what I was cooking that night. She'd download pictures of Rome or Paris or the Parthenon, then tape those all over the place to help set the mood. She'd go through all our CDs to find the right music to play in the background. She made these great centerpieces out of fruits and flowers and candles--the whole thing was just beautiful. Then she'd hand-letter these fancy menus, and we'd relax and wait for the guests.
Which were just my parents and little brother. Everyone got into the act and took it very seriously. I was really a chef, Amanda was really a hostess and server, and my family were the paying customers. It cracks me up to think that I actually charged my parents for dinner, even though they had obviously paid for all the groceries.
Then after Amanda and I cleaned up for the night, we split the proceeds--not bad for a summer job. Especially since it was one of the funnest things I've ever done--which is saying a lot considering how brokenhearted I was at the time.
"When do you start cooking?" Amanda asked. "When can I show up for my first meal?"
"Probably not till this weekend. I have to get ingredients and figure out what I can actually make."
"What are you going to eat until then?"
"What do you think? Nuts and berries."
10
M y last bag of Cheetos .
My
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