“Hmm,” Star murmured. She tapped a marker against the corner of her mouth. “So why can you still taste bitter?”
Georgia looked mystified. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me, since you started sensing something was wrong, how has it felt to cook? Do you still have that same sense of wonder and delight?” Star asked, her eyes intent on Georgia, assessing.
Carefully tying the twine in a bow around the neck of one of the jars of honey, Georgia thought back, her mind flicking through hundreds of hours in the kitchen, weekends and latenights, the exhaustion and intensity, Etienne’s moods, small disasters, the daily grind that had turned into the weekly and monthly grind that had become her life. She couldn’t say when it had happened, but she could see it clearly now. Something had changed. What had once brought her delight no longer did.
“No,” she said honestly. “I haven’t felt delight or wonder or joy when I cooked in... weeks, months, maybe longer.” How long had it been? Certainly not since her sense of taste had started to fail her. She could not remember that last time she’d felt delight in cooking. It was a skill, something she was very good at, and performed with precision, but somewhere along the way, cooking had turned into a task, a competition, a set of steps she had to execute efficiently to achieve a result. She hadn’t even realized it until now.
It had not always felt like that. Even when she’d joined the kitchen at La Pomme d’Or she could remember the feeling of elation every time she set foot in the gleaming space. But now... the wonder had gone from it so gradually she had not even been aware of its absence. The thought filled her with sadness. It felt like such a loss.
“What about in the rest of your life?” Star asked. She stuck a label on another jar, smoothing it across the curve of the glass. “What brings you joy?”
Georgia tried to answer and drew a blank. She had been consumed by the kitchen for all of her years in Paris, and even before that, she’d been driven since she’d left the ranch at eighteen. There had been moments of wonder and delight—when she’d first reached Paris, she’d felt as though she were walking on clouds for weeks. And for many years, setting foot in a professional kitchen had given her a thrill unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Biting into the chewy center of a Ladurée macaron always brought a smile to her face, and strolling to workthrough Paris in the spring, with sunshine on her skin and the chestnut trees blooming in the Jardin du Luxembourg usually felt like a benediction to her. But lately...
“It’s not just cooking. I haven’t felt delight in anything in my life for a while,” she admitted. “I’ve been so focused on achieving that I think I forgot to do anything else.”
Star sat back. “What if everything tastes bitter to you now because that’s what your life has become?” she asked, her eyes bright with sudden inspiration.
“What do you mean?” Georgia asked. She picked up the twig of apple blossoms and twirled it in her hands.
Star explained, “You are a Stevens woman. Our gifts bring us delight when we are doing what we were meant to do and blessing others. It’s how I feel when I’m in my garden. Growing things brings me more delight than anything else on earth. When I put my hands in the soil, when I touch green and budding things, I feel such a sense of joy and of wonder. It feels like I am doing what I am meant to do on this earth. And the things I grow bless others, they nourish people, and that brings me deep joy. But it sounds like you’ve been so busy living by a list, trying hard to achieve your goals, that you forgot the entire purpose of what you do—to delight in your unique gift and to bless others with it. What if you’ve slowly starved yourself of delight, of wonder, of a purpose for living? What if that’s what’s made you lose your spark and your sense of taste? What if all that was left after all that stress and striving was the bitterness of life? Maybe if you rediscover your joy in food and in the kitchen, you’ll reignite your gift and your sense of taste will come back too.”
Georgia considered her mother’s words. They made sense to her. “But how can I fix it?” Georgia asked.
Star stared at the rows of honey jars on the table betweenthem, her brow furrowed in thought. “Our gifts are meant to be just that, gifts. Not a job or a task, but a sense of rightness, of being in the right place and time, doing the thing we were gifted to do. What if regaining your spark isn’t about trying harder. What if it isn’t about trying at all?”
“You’re saying I should stop trying to get my spark back?” Georgia clarified, looking dubious.
Star nodded. “Maybe if you stop trying so hard todoand spend more time allowing yourself to just be present and enjoy, you’ll make space for delight to grow and your gift to flow again.”
“Hmm.” Georgia looked dubious. It went against every code she had. For as long as she could remember, she’d been striving hard. And yet it seemed that the harder she tried, the less she was able to access her gift. The delight and wonder had faded from her life the harder she strived. Could Star be correct? It felt like a gamble.
“I don’t know how to not try,” she admitted. “And if I do manage to stop trying, what if you’re wrong? I could run out of time to figure this out and lose any chance I have for La Lumière Dorée.” The thought made her heart palpitate just a little.
“It’s a risk,” Star agreed. “Then again, what has trying so hard been getting you?”
“Nothing so far,” Georgia admitted.
“Well then,” Star said. “What have you got to lose?”
Georgia hesitated. There was a certain logic to Star’s words. What she had been doing didn’t seem to be working. What if she gave Star’s method a try? Just for a day or two, to see if anything changed.
“Okay,” she said firmly. “I’ll attempt to NOT try and see what happens.”
Star sat back, looking delighted. “Great,” she said. “I’ve got an idea. What if we tried to help you regain your sense of delight and wonder by sending you to some of the most beautiful places right here on the island, places that are uniquely tied to our local food? If you can just relax and enjoy yourself, maybe the island will work its magic and you’ll regain your spark and your sense of taste.” She shot Georgia a speculative look.
“It’s worth a shot,” Georgia agreed. “What have I got to lose?”
Star nodded. “That’s the spirit. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” She jumped to her feet and pulled out her ancient flip phone from the front chest pocket of her overalls, then headed down toward the beehives. Georgia finished cutting twine and tying bows on the rest of the honey jars while she waited. She was still astounded by Star’s revelation about her family legacy and struggling to wrap her mind around the implications. Would Star’s plan work? Only time would tell.
Five minutes later, Star was back. “It’s all settled,” she announced, tucking her phone away. “I’ve arranged the first stop on your tour of local delights. Cole’s waiting over at the oyster farm for you, but you have to go now before the shellfish farm opens up for business at eleven thirty. It will get busy quick after they open.”
“Cole?” Georgia squeaked in surprise. “I thought I’d be doing this with you.”
“Cole’s the expert on oysters,” Star demurred. “And I’ve got a few clients to take care of in the next couple of days. Cole’s agreed to drive you and show you all the places on the list I’m making for you to visit this weekend. Tomorrow, he’ll take you to our local winery. You’ll have fun.”
Georgia’s heart sank. Being ushered around the oyster farmor anywhere else by Cole sounded like about as much fun as going to the dentist for a filling, maybe less, but she couldn’t think of a graceful way out of it. She was stuck now. She glanced over toward the oyster farm and sighed reluctantly. She’d just have to go and make the best of it.
