Page 53 of Lorenzo

EMILY

Istep up the three worn red brick stairs of “The Rod’s” secret underground restaurant and immediately wish I’d asked the taxi to wait.

What if it’s the wrong place?

But once I ring the buzzer, a voice answers.

“Good evening. Name?”

I give it.

The door opens.

Once I enter, my concern about the run-down neighborhood eases.

Inside, the restaurant’s woodsmoke aroma, yeasty and alive, hits me at once.

Warm amber light pools over exposed brick and close-set butcher block tables.

The decor is simple, but I notice expensive Riedel glassware and the expensively chic crowd.

“You requested a seat at the open kitchen, yes?” says the hostess, glancing at her clipboard. “Follow me.”

Thank god for my foodie-centric rolodex, I think to myself.

Walking through the restaurant, I notice the crowd’s younger than expected and clearly enjoying the ambiance and cuisine.

The hostess hands me a menu and indicates my seat at the counter, facing the open kitchen.

I find myself elbow-close to a man who makes no effort to hide his camera or his spiral notebook.

“Fellow foodie?” I say.

“Guilty as charged.” He extends a hand. “Mike Roy.”

“James Beard,” I joke, using the name of the famous epicurean to keep my cover.

“Ah, a true spy,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to check out The Rod for weeks now. And you?”

“Right. Weeks,” I say, grateful that my contact was able to get me in tonight.

A server comes up to me with the menu.

“Are you planning to order the tasting menu?” Mike says, leaning over to intercept my menu before I’ve even opened it.

I glance at the laminated card. Seven courses.

“I’d like to taste everything,” I say, looking from him to the server.

“But I’m not sure my stomach has the capacity.” I press a hand briefly to my waist.

“Let’s split the meal,” Mike says. “Only way either of us survives seven courses.”

I take a closer look at Mike.

He’s probably in his mid-forties, with the kind of square, untroubled face you’d see in a 1987 company directory.

Neat side part. Short-sleeved button-down shirt, slightly too wide at the shoulders.