I suppress a groan at the exact moment that my stomach chooses to growl. There’s a clatter and I turn to see Benny has dropped a spoon in the pot.
“That was not your stomach just now,” he says, pointing a warning finger at me like I’m a kindergartner in danger of pulling a ticket.
“No, it was the voice of the troll that lives under the stove. He encourages you to feed me soon or he’ll kidnap your firstborn.”
Benny’s head falls back, he’s laughing so hard, and he runs his hands over his face. “Well, tell the troll we might not be in such dire circumstances if onlysomeonehad eatenbreakfast!”
This morning, I woke up to a text from him sent half an hour prior, inviting me to grab breakfast with him on our way to work. As surprisingly friendly a gesture as it was, it also became Benny’s first encounter with Morning Reese. I explained in brief, I’m-typing-this-half-asleep terms that I usually skip breakfast and sleep until the last possible minute when I’ll still be able to get to work on time and look mostly human.
Of course, his early-rising butt was already almost to the office by the time he got my message, but he’s oddly concerned about my habit of skipping breakfast. He’s brought it up at least three times already.
“I don’t know how else to explain to you that my stomachdoesn’t want food first thing in the morning. My stomach, like the rest of my body and soul, wants to be asleep,” I reply.
“Cut,” Charlie calls, startling both of us out of our bickering. I didn’t know calling cut was a thing they did here. Nor that Charlie expressed words in a non-grumbly fashion.
“If you are going to be at the stove for the rest of the time, I’m going to put another camera over there. Don’t do anything interesting while we’re not rolling,” he offers by way of explanation. Margie was here to get us started today, but it’s just been Charlie since then. Apparently, it’s not abnormal to have as few as one videographer on any given FoF video. I’m still surprised they let Benny and me off the leash so soon, though.
He speaks,Benny mouths, looking at me with wide eyes.
I know!I mouth back, and we both try to suppress our laughter.
We keep quiet and stir our respective pots till the camera is ready, lest we be accused of doing anything interesting in the interim. But even once we’re rolling, the remainder of filming is mostly the two of us standing at the stove, stirring the sauce, boiling the little potato dumplings, tasting the sauce, taking a tester nibble of gnocchi. We joke and bicker, and it’s surprisingly…comfortable. Enjoyable, even.
But the fact remains that Benny is my competition. I have to stay focused on that if I want any chance of sticking around.
Then it’s time for our first complete bites after we mix the gnocchi and sauce together with a sprinkling of parmesan overthe top. Spearing one of the little potato pillows with my fork, I drag it through some extra sauce before popping it into my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, my taste buds experiencing something akin to euphoria as the fresh tomatoes and garlic and herbs and salt all meld around a light, fluffy center. I fight the urge to moan aloud, because oh. My. Pasta-loving stars.
I thought I loved pasta before. But then I met this gnocchi, which Benny says isn’t even technically pasta, and all I know is that it tastes like my every good Italian restaurant and home-cooked comfort food memory rolled into one and amplified. I feel like I’m about to melt to the floor, literally light-headed from this rapturous food experience. The dish is savory and hearty and warms me from the inside out. My stomach troll is over the moon.
“That was the best bite of food I’ve ever had,” I say when I’m able to speak again. If I had more presence of mind, I’d have realized that this would only inflate Benny’s ego, but the words slipped out before I could catch them.
He laughs, indeed looking extremely pleased with himself. “Really? Well, there’s way more where that came from.” He takes a step closer, his voice going softer. “And imagine what I can do with a little time to make plans.”
I nearly choke on my second bite. Doesn’t he know that there’s a camera still on us? I narrow my eyes at him, though he’s probably beginning to think that’s just how my face looks. He winks at me—freakingwinksat me—before we have a few more bites and sign off, then Charlie declares filming complete.
With the camera off, Benny and I dig into the rest of the food, and I’m happy to be able to attack my plate like the ravenous monster I am without worrying as much about appearances. Including the appearance of my grumpy self next to the shameless flirt.
Early the next week, one of my biggest dreams comes true when I get to appear as a taste tester in aWorld on a Plateepisode about Southern comfort food. Aiden volunteered me for it—which actually means that he volun-told me I’d be doing it—since I’m from Kentucky and therefore the resident fried chicken expert. Apparently. There are worse Southern stereotypes, to be sure.
“Here’s your plate.” Lily pushes a full platter of fried chicken and mac and cheese my way with gusto. I’ve never spoken to the beautiful Latina chef before today. She and Nia are collaborating on today’s episode, and in person they’re exactly what I expected: smart, kind, and gorgeous. They balance each other well, with Nia’s easygoing sensibility and Lily’s eccentric, somewhat spaceyvibe.
I gingerly lift a drumstick with my fingers, inspecting it to figure out the best angle before diving in. There is no cute way to eat it, and that’s just how it’s gonna be. I have my mouth open wide and am sinking my teeth into the meat like some kind of wild animal, when there’s a snort from off camera.
Scarcely pausing, I make direct eye contact with a chucklingBenny.
Oh good gravy.
I glare at him for a moment, then straighten back up and chew, trying to look like I’m carefully considering the flavors and all the other qualities that real foodies would care about, rather than letting my brain respond, “FOOD YUM, REESE LIKE.” Itisyummy, though, and Idolike it.
“This is delicious,” I say once I’ve swallowed, dabbing at the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “What kind of seasoning did you use?”
“Salt and pepper mostly but also a little paprika and garlic powder,” Lily answers in her typical airy tone. “But the secret ingredient I played around with was…pickle juice.”
She says this with a dramatic pause and the kind of inflection a magician would use to say “ta-da!” Lily is known for her affinity for adding unexpected twists and “secret ingredients” to her recipes, so this isn’t really surprising. Still, I have to tamp down the instinct to gag. Ihatepickles. And the concept of pickle juice is so disgusting to me, I can’t think about it too much. I mean, the chicken is good, but it was better before she told me that.
Tasting the mac goes fine, as there are minimal frills and just thick, creamy, cheesy goodness. After I’m done with Lily’s entrée, I get to sample the maple and brown sugar bread pudding that Nia prepared for dessert. I’m glad I’m getting full by this point, or else I’d be trying to eat the entire pan. I don’t know if I’ve ever tasted anything so perfectly sweet and gooey.
I give the whole meal an emphatic seal of approval, throwingin a couple of Southern-isms for show before filming wraps up. Once Charlie’s given the all clear and starts taking down his camera equipment, I relax my posture and lean against the counter with Nia and Lily to share the remaining food. Benny wanders over, less than casually eyeing what’s left on our plates.
