“Perfect.”
Miles’s trumpet climbed higher now, stretching, aching, chasing something just out of reach.
I exhaled softly and went over to my notebook of ideas that Hiro and I had gone over days ago. “Okay, chef. Catch me up.”
"The oxtail stock is reducing. I wanted you to taste three different preparations."
“Three? Wow. I’m excited.”
He gestured to three heavy pots on another counter. Each one held braised oxtails.
I picked up a fork and touched one. The tender meat fell right from the bone. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Reo ate those burnt oxtails. When he tries these, he’ll really understand how they were supposed to taste.
I tried the first and tasted—soy, mirin, and ginger. “This is nice.”
The second was bolder—a miso base with black garlic and yuzu. “Mmmm.”
The third was mine with the soul food Bourbon base. “Wow. My grandmother would curse you all out for mimicking her style down to the exact flavoring.”
A few of them laughed.
Bunzo smirked. “So the third?”
“Must go for the third.”
“Good. Everyone else agreed.” He set the spoon down. "The bartender and staff will be in the kitchen later to test out your signature drinks.”
I checked my watch. "What time?”
“In two hours.”
Damn. This is moving fast.
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
"They'll have your recipes and they'll go over everything. Run through each drink."
"Good. I want someone to taste every single cocktail on that list." I pointed at him. "But not me. I'm not getting drunk before my own party."
“I can’t either.” He held up his hands. "I'll find someone. No problem."
“Perfect.” I leaned against the counter and looked at the kitchen. At the steam and the blue flames and the people moving through it with purpose.
Miles Davis played and the light through the windows was gold and warm and the whole room hummed with bright energy.
This is going to be a good day. We all need this.
The kitchen doors swung open again.
I glanced up.
Three people stepped in.
Who’s this?
The first was a tall woman dressed head to toe in purple—wide-leg trousers, sleeveless blazer, and even purple highlights in her long hair. She carried a tablet in one hand. “Good morning, Nyomi.”
