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Casey leaned against Peach’s counter and took a sip of his tea. “So why keep using them?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why not source your ingredients locally?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really think I could waltz into the Market and pick up black truffles?”
“Well. Yes. Her stock is pretty eclectic.”
She stared at him. “Again I say, I beg your pardon? Kat Hathaway wouldn’t cross the street with a fire extinguisher if I was in flames.”
“Did you ever think the reason for that is that you don’t buy your supplies from her?” He pushed off the counter and sat on the stool opposite Sylvia. “I’ve talked to her. She’s got connections. Yeah, it might add an extra layer of middlepersons between you and the growers, but I bet it would still be cheaper than shipping everything in from New Jersey.”
“I don’t know.” Sylvia gazed down at her cup, tilting it so that the tea ball tinkled against its sides. “Kat and I haven’t seen eye to eye since my first days with Summer Kitchen. I doubt she’ll be anxious to cooperate with me at this late date.”
“I’ll lay you odds I’ll get Kat on board and connect with local growers to boot.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Let me try anyway. Let me do it for you.”
She studied him somberly for a moment before she took his hand. “Thank you, my dear. I’m more than happy for you to step into the breach.” She let go of him and took another sip of her tea. “You know, Casey, in this world, there are process people and product people.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are we changing the subject now? Which one is better? Are you about to tell me I’m the worst kind?”
She shook her head, laughing. “There’s no best and worst. It has more to do with what brings you satisfaction. Process people derive joy and fulfillment from the making. Product people from the made. For process people, the work, the project, the process, is where they want to stay. Often, it doesn’t matter if they ever complete a particular task. If the joy of working on it fades?” She shrugged. “They’ll leave it unfinished and move on. Product people are focused on results. To them, the point of starting anything is in getting done, usually in the most efficient manner. Consequently, process people can be a little flighty and leave a trail of unfinished tasks in their wake. Product people can cut corners in their haste to reach the finish line. It’s the difference between done is good and done is irrelevant as long as we enjoy the journey.”
“Okaaay.” He glanced sidelong at the half-wrapped duck.
“To produce the kind of food your father did, you have to be a process person. You have to enjoy the making, because these dishes are complex and time-consuming.” She peered at him over her glasses. “Do you enjoy making these dishes?”
“N-no.” Casey squirmed on the stool, making it wobble. “But only because I’m bad at it.”
“I think it’s the other way around. You’re bad at it because you don’t enjoy it. And my dear…” She reached out and gripped his wrist with her surprisingly callused hand. “Spending your life doing something you don’t enjoy is no way to live.”
“But… but I enjoyed it when Dev and I made those tarts,” he said, a little desperately.
“That’s because you got to the result—your product—quickly and without a lot of fuss.” She winked. “Or perhaps because of the company.”
Casey’s cheeks burned. “Uh…”
“Even a product person can enjoy the process if the journey is pleasant. And even a process person can anticipate the result when they know their work will be appreciated. You, Casey”—she saluted him with her cup—“are most definitely a product person. You absolutely lit up when you offered to intercede with Kat because of the result you want to attain.”
“So you’re saying I’ll never be able to cook like my father?”
“I’m saying it will be unlikely to give you the same satisfaction it gave him. And perhaps you should consider that going forward.”
Casey glanced at the recipe pinned to the corkboard on his fridge door. Not a process I want to slog through again. He checked the clock. Three fifteen. “Sylvia, do you mind if we cut out early today?”
“Actually, my dear, I would be most grateful.” She set her cup down. “I feel in dire need of a meeting.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me?” Casey took off his apron and tossed it in the laundry basket next to the pantry. “I’ve got a product to achieve.”
And Dev Harrison was going to face up to that process whether he liked it or not.
“We have to talk.”
Dev’s fingers smashed against the keyboard, and whatever he’d done caused the dreaded #REF! error to pop up all over the spreadsheet like a plague of demonic dandelions. “Fuck!”
“Sorry,” Casey said, hovering in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Dev slid down in the chair and clamped his elbows to his sides. Why no, I’m not using the monitor as an electronic blanket fort. Why do you ask? “Why aren’t you in class?”
