FEAST

Course 6

I met Dara in the hallway.  I assumed she’d taken a trip upstairs and was on her way back outside.  She motioned for me to stop before we returned to the others.

“How are you doing?” she asked.  I knew she wasn’t only referring to the (for me) exotic food we had eaten so far.

“I’m good,” I responded honestly.  “It’s nothing like what I expected, though.”

“Yeah, this is definitely not like any other dinner party I’ve been to,” Dara said with a smile.

“Hey, so how come you haven’t been here before?  I mean, you’ve been emailing with the chef for quite a few years.  He never invited you?”

“Oh yeah, well, he has, it’s just my schedule hasn’t worked out until tonight.”

“And you don’t know any of these people?”

“Not really.  I kinda know a little about Drew and Laylah from Chef A, but this is the first time I’ve ever met the other three.”  Dara took a breath.  “I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose both your parents at the same time.”

I nodded, thinking about my own mental and emotional state after my father had died.

“Santiago said he wasn’t sure if Aholien would want to come but he’s glad he did.  He seems like a really good friend.  Santiago, I mean,” Dara clarified.

“They both seem really nice,” I said, and in my mind I couldn’t help but compare them to the other dinner guest.

“Don’t they?  I was also talking with Santiago about their church because I  asked if Aholien had a good support system there, and he said basically the whole congregation has been there for him.  It sounds like it’s a pretty close community.”  Dara sighed.  “I wish more churches were like that.”

“Wouldn’t that be a novelty,” I said with a little more sarcasm than I intended.

Dara gave me a rueful look and said, “Yeah.  I’m sorry, Abs.”

“No big.  Ancient history.”  I tried to shake off her sympathy.  She gave me one of her knowing looks, which I studiously ignored.  Then a thought occurred to me.  “Do you know anything about Drew and Laylah’s relationship?  Has the chef ever told you if they’re, like, a couple or anything?”

Dara tilted her head the side and thought for a moment, accepting that I wanted to move on.  “I don’t think he’s ever said one way or another.”

“Ah.”  I paused, unsure as to whether or not I should go on.

“Why, do you think they are?” asked Dara.

“I can’t tell.  I guess not really, but I can’t quite figure them out.”

“Wow.  That’s saying something.”

Dara grinned at me and I playfully fist bumped her arm.  “Whatever.”

“Well, if I know you, you’ll have a full psychological dossier on all of them by the time we reach the last course.”

I laughed and said, “Not if we don’t get back outside, I won’t,” and we made our way down the hall.

By the time we got back outside, everyone else was seated again.  Part of my brain was doing its level best to convince me that six pairs of eyes were trained on me, watching my every move.  The other part of my brain was telling the paranoid part to zip it so it could continue directing my feet unhindered with the goal of making it to my chair without embarrassing incident.

I noticed upon returning to the table that each person had a delicate glass bowl in front of them which contained a lemon.  The tops of the lemons had been cut off and replaced, and there was a pale substance sitting just under what now resembled a lid.  It reminded me of a lemon that had been turned into a cream puff.  At first I wondered if it was ice cream, but then I remembered my research into multi-course meals and decided this must be sorbet.

Laylah and Drew removed the tops of their lemons and started scooping the sorbet with their spoons.  The rest of us followed their example.  I was happy to discover that instead of an overwhelming, cloying sweetness, my tongue was met with what seemed like the perfect balance of tart and sweet.  The lemony ice melted rapidly in my mouth, leaving behind a refreshing, sweet tang.

Our lemons were small which meant they didn’t hold much sorbet.  As I polished off the last spoonful, I shivered slightly and thought it was probably a good thing that the portions weren’t any larger.  The night air suddenly seemed colder and I found myself wishing that I’d brought a coat.  I laid my spoon down and rubbed my hands together.

“Getting a little chilly, isn’t it?” said Laylah.

“Oh no, I’m okay,” I responded, wishing I hadn’t been quite so obvious in my gesture.  “It’s not bad at all.  Probably just the sorbet.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid it’s my fault that we’re still out here,” apologized Aholien.

“Your fault?” I said in surprise.

“We were supposed to move inside after the last course for the remainder of the meal.  But the night air was—soothing.  To me, anyway.”  Aholien’s eyes dropped to the table.

I had no idea how to act on the surge of sympathy that welled up in me, and I ended up doing what I normally did, which was a whole lot of silent staring at my fingernails.

“Being outside is always my preference,” said Laylah in a gentle voice as her eyes rested on Aholien, “but as we all seem to be finished with our sorbet, I think maybe now is a good time to move this party inside.”  She caught Drew’s attention.  “How about I take our guests into the dining room and then I’ll come back help take the bowls inside?”

Drew nodded and said, “Sounds good, except I can take care of the dishes.  I’ll join you all in the dining room in a few minutes.”

We all rose and followed Laylah through the door that Drew had opened for us.  There was just enough room for us to be single file.  Aaliya was right behind Laylah, Dara and I behind her with Santiago and Aholien the last to leave the patio.  The rush of warm air as we walked inside felt fabulous.  Since no one could really see me, I put my hand on my nose to warm it up a little faster.

Now I understood why the chandelier had been on when I was in the house before.  This time it was turned up a little brighter, the candles on the table were lit, and place settings had been laid out.  All the utensils were a pale gold color, which I thought looked remarkable.  The crystal goblets were rimmed in gold and they sparkled in the candlelight.  One chair had been removed on the window side of the table, and we repeated the same seating arrangement we had outside.

Drew entered the room through a swinging door located in the upper right corner of the room next to window.  I hadn’t noticed that door on my earlier trip to the dining room.  I guess I had been too enthralled with the painting.  I was secretly glad no one wanted to change seats now that we were in the dining room because that meant I was sitting opposite the painting.  I didn’t exactly feel like the people in the painting were looking at me, but I did feel like they were joining in somehow.  That thought should have creeped me out.  The fact that it didn’t perplexed me.

“They’re putting the finishing touches on the next course,” Drew said as he sat down, “so it’ll be just a few more minutes.”

“That sorbet was delectable,” Aaliya said to no one particular.  “A perfect palate cleanser.”

“I really liked it,” Santiago agreed.  “And serving it inside the lemons was so  cool!”  His face broke into a huge smile.

“Quite the creative touch I’ve come to expect from Chef A,” nodded Aaliya.  “Were those Meyer or Femminello lemons?”

“Actually,” Laylah said, “they were just plain ol’ Lisbons.”

Aaliya composed a look of surprise on her face.  “Oh?  Are you sure?”

Laylah, with her usual gracious wittiness, replied, “Yep.  From Chef’s mouth to your ears.”

“I believe he preferred the acidity of the Lisbon for the sorbet,” Drew added.  “Meyer might have tipped the sweetness balance a bit too much.”

“How many types of lemons are there?”  Santiago asked the question that was rolling around in my mind.  I’d always thought lemons were lemons.

“There are several varieties, and then there are lemon hybrids, like the Meyer.  They all fall into two basic categories, though—acidic and sweet,” answered Drew.  “Perhaps it’s from those categories that the different symbologies arise.  To some, lemons stand for bitterness and disappointment; but, others see them as symbols of love and friendship.”

“Lemons are what inspired me to study the culinary arts,” Dara said.  “Well, I mean, it was actually lemon bars.”

“Lemon bars?” Laylah asked in a tell-us-more manner.

“Yeah, when I was in high school, we had to take a unit of speech during my sophomore year, and one of the things we had to do was give a demonstration speech.  I’d always liked cooking, anyway, so I figured it would be perfect, right?  I wanted to do something fairly easy to make and demonstrate, of course, and I thought lemon bars were just the thing.  The night before my speech, I got out two bowls, a whisk and a wooden spoon, and I carefully measured the sugar and flour and put them into baggies to make it easy, then in the morning I made sure to take the butter out as soon as I got up so it would be soft enough.  I put everything along with eggs and lemons in my dad’s duffle bag, and I remember thinking that I was really glad I had speech second period so I didn’t have to carry eggs around all day.  I was even planning on juicing the lemons as part of my demonstration to show everyone how easy it was to use fresh lemon juice in recipes.  Anyway, I started my speech and I put the crust together, told them how long it would need to bake, then I whisked the rest of the ingredients together and poured it on top, telling them what the remaining baking time would need to be.  I had whipped up a batch to share with my class, and I was really excited about having everybody taste them...until they actually tasted them.”  Dara stopped and her face flushed slightly.

“What happened?” asked Santiago who had been listening with rapt attention.

“Sugar made it into the crust, but not the lemon mixture.  I’d remembered it for my demonstration, not so much in the ones I actually baked.”  Dara finished with a little laugh.

Santiago audibly groaned in sympathy.  Drew and Laylah both communicated their sympathy verbally.  Aholien’s expression looked to me like he’d probably done something similar at some point in his cooking career and he gave Dara a nod.

“Did you get marked down for that?” Aaliya asked.

I caught brief looks of surprise from Drew, Santiago and even Aholien.

“Yeah,” Dara said, looking at her hands.  “I got a C-.”

I sat silently chewing on all the retorts I wanted to shoot at Aaliya.  I leaned  forward so I could see my friend and sent her a bazillion mental hugs.  Then I saw her look up and notice the painting, her brow furrowing momentarily.  Her eyes lit up with recognition and her shoulders relaxed.

“I guess it was good for me, though,” said Dara giving the painting a final glance before turning her attention to Aaliya.  I wondered what she saw in the painting that seemed to give her confidence.  “It made me determined to get better at cooking and do my best not to make mistakes like that again.”

Pride for my friend surged in me, and I mustered my courage to speak so the whole table could hear.  “If those lemon bars you made for me when we first met were any indication, I’d say you’ve done more than just get better.”  It sounded better in my head, but I hoped it was as encouraging as I wanted it to be.

Dara smiled at me warmly and said, “Thanks, Abs.  At least I remembered the sugar that time!”

“I take it you two met after high school,” Aaliya remarked.  I decided not to take it as a veiled reference to Dara’s demonstration mistake.

“Oh yeah, we met in college,” said Dara.  “Abs—Abigail—was a freshman and I was a sophomore.  We were on the same floor in the dorm and I was in charge of welcoming the newbies.  I usually made them some cookies or my infamous lemon bars,” she finished with a wink at me.

“It’s nice that you were able to form a friendship with your cooking,” Aaliya said.  “That must be a pleasant feeling.”

Dara looked questioningly at Aaliya.  “Yeah, it is,” she said tentatively.

“Some of us aren’t so fortunate.”  When no one said anything right away, Aaliya went on, “I thought at one time that it would be good to share my love of food with others, as well.”  She was sitting ramrod straight and speaking in carefully measured tones.  “My initial attempt was with lemonade.”

“You had a lemonade stand when you were a little girl?” Santiago burst out and immediately looked like he regretted it.

Aaliya regarded him rather stiffly and responded, “Yes, it was not only a culinary endeavor, it was a business one as well.  I knew how much my mother struggled to keep us—cared for, and I wanted to do my part.  I felt such pride hanging out my hand drawn sign and imagine my excitement when my first customer showed an interest in my lemonade!”  She paused for what I thought was possibly dramatic effect.  “I was able to give my mother $1.20 that first night.”  Something in Aaliya’s voice softened and out of the corner of my eye I could see her hands, which had been tightly clasped together in her lap, relax a little.

“That must have been quite special for you,” Dara said.

“Not for long.”  Her voice resumed an edge and her hands reclasped.

“Did something happen?” Dara asked.

Aaliya drew in a deep breath and replied, “On the second day, just as I was preparing to take my pitcher and glasses back inside, several adults approached me and accused me of making their children sick.”  We all looked at Aaliya as she continued, “They concluded it must have been my lemonade because that was the only thing out of the ordinary their children had consumed.”  She paused.  “I was forced to go to my mother and ask for their money back so I could return it to them.”

The flame on the candles began to sputter as if they were about to go out.  They revived just as Dara said, “Wow, I’m so sorry,” then added, “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

“It’s not one of the happier memories of my childhood,” Aaliya responded, which made me wonder why she had shared it.

“Sounds like you’ve had some pretty rough things happen to you.”  Dara’s voice was full of compassion.

“It is what it is.  As I said before, I managed.”

Silence descended.  Dara looked at her hands.  I stole a quick look across the table and saw that Santiago was fidgeting in the same manner as he had been earlier in the evening.  He stopped, considered something for a moment, then said, “Well, you know what they say, ‘When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.’ ”

Drew and Laylah fixed their gazes on Santiago, Dara’s head snapped up, and Aholien’s mouth formed a small “O” as he flicked his eyes to his friend and then clamped them on the table.  The temperature to my left nosedived and I found myself sitting next to a block of ice.

Santiago struggled to say something but words refused to escape his mouth.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a person’s face turn that color before, and I thought he was going to pass out.  I gave up any semblance of trying to be polite and flat out stared back and forth between him and Aaliya.

Dara was the first to recover.  “Or lemon bars,” she said, attempting a soothing smile directed at Aaliya.

Aaliya’s face was a study in emotion.  With a titanic effort, she managed to arrange her features in a look of wounded indignation.  “Indeed,” was all she said.

After that, I figured the evening was all but finished.  I’d been the one to say massively socially unacceptable things plenty of times, and if Santiago was anything like me, he’d be planning exactly how to live the rest of his life under a vow of silence in the deepest, darkest hole he could dig.  The waves of chill were still emanating from Aaliya, so I didn’t expect that she would be that keen to continue sitting at the same table as Santiago for much longer.

“Aaliya,” I heard Dara say, “you seem to know a lot about cooking and stuff.  Does that mean you didn’t give up on your love of food after what happened to you?”

Aaliya looked at Dara without answering.  She glanced briefly across the table, and I thought she was going to ignore Dara’s question.  I was surprised when she said, “It took many years, but yes, eventually my interest in cooking returned.”

“I’m glad it did,” Dara said, and there was a palpable thaw in the room.

I admired my friend and her ability to diffuse tense situations.  The thing I marveled at the most was that she was never patronizing.  And she never tried to calm things down because she couldn’t deal with the tension or because she felt uncomfortable.  It was never about her feelings.  She was just genuinely concerned about people.

As I was thinking about Dara, my eyes wandered towards the painting.  I don’t know why, but suddenly I thought, She’d make a good addition to that scene.