Page 8 of Lessons in Lemonade

I’M GOING ON a date tonight—well, in about ten minutes now—and surprisingly I’m super excited about it. Not just a little bit excited, but a lot excited. Actually, I think I’m more excited about what we’re doing, but the guy seems okay, too.

I met him on a new dating app I joined, and he appears to check all the boxes for having a good time. His profile says he’s a college graduate, works in finance, likes to travel, loves to try new food, and loves sports. I mean, if his personality doesn’t suck, our interests are lined up pretty closely, and I can’t see me not having a good time.

As for what we’re doing, it’s the final night for the scarecrow contest. That’s right, scarecrows, and we’re going to stroll through the Battery and check them out before we sit down for dinner.

The competition is hosted by the Junior League of Charleston. It’s a hundred dollars to enter, and each establishment gets to decorate their own scarecrow and display it. The money is being used to provide food bags to families in need over the holidays, and I can’t think of a better use for it. The whole city has gone crazy with scarecrows, and it’s drawn in visitors from all over.

The competition kicked off the night of the harvest moon, it closes the third week in October, and the scarecrows are displayed until each business chooses to take theirs down, which will most likely be soon after Halloween. The contest winners will be announced in tomorrow’s Sunday newspaper, and ribbons will be awarded throughout the day.

Of course, our scarecrow is a chef.

Taylor, being the awesome new front-of-house manager that she is, found us a six-foot scarecrow online and then decorated her to look like me. When I first saw it completed and staked in the bushes outside, I couldn’t help but laugh. She put a brown curly-haired wig on it, it’s wearing an OBA apron with high-heeled boots, and it’s holding a rubber chicken in one hand, a large plastic knife in the other. I’ve posed next to it for more pictures than I can remember, we’ve been tagged on social media more in the last month than we have in the last four, and sales have gone up thirty-two percent this month over October of last year.

I can only imagine how positive this has been for the city.

At the moment, though, I need to decide on this gravy—a new sausage biscuit gravy, that is.

My restaurant, OBA (short for Orange Blossom Avenue), serves breakfast and lunch during the week, and on the weekend we have a special brunch menu. As for at night, generally we’re closed, but it seems more and more we’ve been booking private events for Friday and Saturday nights. I’ll never complain about the private events. The menu is set ahead of time, so it’s easy for us to prepare and serve, and I get to charge a nice amount per person.

Now, what makes us unique is that we do have a lot of classic dishes on our menu, but we also have a bunch of originals, too, to keep patrons coming back for more. Plus, everyone who comes in gets a bag of madeleine cookies to take with them when they leave.

Of course, over the last couple of years, our menu has included biscuits and gravy on and off, but each time we change it, I try something new. Today, I tested four different sausages: a spicy chorizo sausage, a browned maple sausage, a chicken and pancetta sausage with rosemary, and a seafood sausage. I’m leaning toward the seafood sausage, and then with each biscuit open-faced, we can top it with lump crab meat and serve with a garnish of cantaloupe.

Beside me, the door to the kitchen swings open and Taylor breezes in, her eyes lit up with humor. That wasn’t even ten minutes, more like five, but I’m excited to get out of the kitchen tonight. Bonus points to him for being a few minutes early.

Taylor joined us here at OBA a couple of months ago after I realized how hard it would be to do it all with Shelby gone. She’s bubbly, just out of college, loves being around people, and is insanely organized. She’s perfect for the job.

“Oh no—I know that look,” I tell her, a smile pushing past my lips.

“Yep, tonight is going to be so much fun for you.” She grins, her eyes crinkling a little in the corners.

This year, for my New Year’s resolution, I set a goal to go out on a date with someone new every month. Though I have no interest in finding a life partner, I do enjoy meeting new people, and I realize that over the last couple of years, I’ve spent too much time behind this kitchen door and not enough out living life. Also, like Taylor Swift, I use each experience as an inspiration to create a new monthly dish.

“Are you being sarcastic?” I ask, moving over to the sink to wash my hands.

“Just wait and see.” She swings the door open, and a medium-height guy cautiously saunters in with wide eyes. His gaze roams around the kitchen and then lands on me.

“You’re a cook?” he asks, as if this displeases him.

In all fairness, I left my career off my profile so I can see how this might throw someone off, but what’s wrong with being a cook?

Taylor lets out a surprised sound next to him and quickly rolls her lips between her teeth.

“Chef would be a more accurate term, but yes, I’m a cook.” I remove my apron and lay it on the counter. Taylor will hang it up for me with the others after we leave.

“Huh.” He presses his lips together then decides to look me over from head to toe. His eyes halt on my legs and heels then shoot back up to my face.

Taylor is still standing in the doorway, and even without looking at her, I know she is trying hard not to laugh.

“And you make enough money off cooking to make a living?”

Okay, that’s a little forward of him to ask, but I’ll go with it. After all, first impressions don’t necessarily need to be lasting impressions. Maybe he’s nervous, or has terrible social skills?

“Yep, I do. I’m ready when you are.” I gesture toward the dining room to get him moving.

He turns, takes a few steps, and then tosses over his shoulder, “You look beautiful.” As if my profession has all of a sudden been forgotten. The kitchen staff behind me murmurs.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” And he doesn’t. He has light brown hair, a bit of a baby face in that his skin is smooth, and he’s wearing dark jeans with a white button-down shirt and nice shoes.