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I glance around the restaurant, and Nora tells the hostess that we need a table for two. The young woman grabs two menus and begins to explain the specials of the day while leading us to a small circular table near the back of the room.
“Is your rooftop open?” Nora asks before she sits down.
The hostess looks around the room. “Not yet. Opens at five. We do have the terrace you can sit in.”
Nora smiles at her and nods. “Yes. Please.”
The woman leads us up a set of stairs to a space that looks like a garden. Potted plants hang from the ceiling, nearly touching the tabletops. The terrace is practically empty, only one table occupied.
“Perfect. Thank you so much,” Nora says.
I really like that she’s so nice to people in the food industry. It reminds me of my theory that everyone should have to work as a server at least once in their life. It also reminds me of the time Dakota had a meltdown at Steak ’n Shake in Saginaw because her burger came with onions when she had asked for none. I was embarrassed, but sat quietly as she raised her voice at the manager pretty intensely before asking for her food to be taken off the bill.
She felt like a jerk after we left.
I didn’t disagree with her.
I sit down across from Nora. The metal chair makes a loud noise when I scoot it closer to the table. The menu is small; lunch only. There are more cocktails than meals printed on this thing.
“I always get the same thing.” Nora reaches across the table. She points to some kind of peppers and then to cauliflower something. I only recognize a few things on the entire menu. Is the menu in French?
“I’m getting the shishito peppers and cauliflower and leek gratin, and pommes frites. I love everything here.” She laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I always order way too much food.”
“I . . . I’m going to get . . .” I see the word burger and point to it. “I don’t think I know what anything on the menu is.” I laugh in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.
Nora sets her menu down and moves her chair closer to the table. It doesn’t make an awful noise like mine did.
The hostess walks back to our table with a pitcher of water. Sliced cucumbers and ice are inside the pitcher. What is this place? Can I even afford to eat here? I’m definitely not in Saginaw anymore.
Nora thanks the hostess again, and she tells us that someone named Irene will be with us shortly. The more I look around, the more I see the terrace is pretty cool. Green leaves pouring out of wicker baskets hang over nearly every inch of the place.
“Which things don’t you know?” Nora’s hand is on my menu between us.
I look over the menu. Words like croque-monsieur and pommes frites laugh at me from the pages. “Basically everything except the burger.”
Nora is a trained chef. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. Though if she does, she isn’t showing it. Her face is relaxed, her lips ample and pink. Her eyes look up to mine, and she runs her tongue over her lips. I look away quickly before I forget my own freaking name.
“Most of these dishes are pretty simple. Restaurants just use fancy words so they can charge us twenty dollars for a ham-and-cheese sandwich. That’s what this is.” She taps her finger on the croque thing. “And this”—she looks up at me again—“these, pommes frites, are literally just french fries.”
Either I’m really damn hungry or Nora’s culinary lesson is incredibly hot. She’s so smart—too smart for me, I think.
“You should get the burger. I’m going to order a couple of things that I want you to try—but don’t read about them on the menu, because they sound disgusting.” She smiles when she notices the worried expression on my face. “I won’t get you anything too out there.” Her finger taps the
