Garlic & Butter
Title: Garlic and Butter - Part II
Pairing: JA/JP
Rating: R for language.
Warning: Um, don't read on an empty stomach?
Disclaimer: Fiction, fiction, and more fiction.
Summary: Jared was born with many gifts, but only one will give him the courage to take a stand for himself, and create magic out of the most humblest of things. Adapted from Ratatouille.
Main Post
June 2000
Jared knew how he must have looked to everyone at graduation and the small party his parents threw for him afterwards. His entire family repeatedly told him how proud they were of the fact that Jared managed to graduate in the top five of his class, but the honor held no joy for him. In fact, he felt nothing of his accomplishments. Jared had turned on his autopilot after that faithful Monday, and hadn’t bothered to turn it back off. He saw no reason to, and after a while, it just became a habit. The only time he felt anything was when he was asleep, and those few hours he felt nothing but torment because in his dreams Kit was alive and happy. And they were more than friends. In those dreams they were attending Duke together, both planning a shared future with each other. Jared usually woke crying, sometimes screaming because he didn’t want to wake. He couldn’t bear to live in a world where there was no Kit.
Jared knew his parents were worried about him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He felt some pity towards Megan who had gone sickly and quiet, but Jared’s numbness had killed his love for his sister too.
Jared listlessly flipped through the brochure for Duke University and imagined living on campus, attending various classes, working towards a degree he didn’t give a fuck about. Jared closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted his family to stop. He wanted the world outside to stop.
He wanted to stop.
“Well, isn't that a sad sight.”
He turned to find Nana examining him with little kindness. In fact, she looked outright pissed.
“What do you want, Nana?”
“I want my grandson is what I want.”
“Nana, I’m very tired and…”
“Bullshit,” Nana spitted. “That’s utter bullshit. It’s been over two years and you haven’t done a thing to honor your friend.”
Jared looked at Nana. “What?”
“You think you’re the only one in this family I’ve lost? Child, if I named everyone I’ve lost, I could fill a Texas-sized cemetery.” Nana sat down next to Jared. “And if all we do is grieve, we’re just going to fill in another grave. Is that what you want to do for Kit? To dig a grave next to his? Do you think that’s what Kit wanted for you?”
“I don’t know what he wanted for me,” Jared said tonelessly. “I only knew him for like two weeks and he never…”
“And I call bullshit,” Nana snarled. “You wouldn’t be hurting this bad for the boy if he wasn't worthwhile. The pain you’re feeling? That’s your heart telling you someone dear was torn away. I don’t think you’re the type to fall so hard for a pretty face, so he must have said something, done something, that earned such devotion from you.
“He might not have said it out loud, or in a way you could have understood two years ago, but he did and that’s why you’re hurting so bad.”
Jared looked down as his bare feet and noticed how cracked the nails were. He closed his eyes and shut his mouth, willing Nana to go away with his silence.
She didn’t move.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jared whispered after few minutes. “I don’t know how … I don’t know what I’m suppose to do now.”
“I wish I could tell you but I can’t live for you, kiddo,” Nana said. “All I can tell you to do is live.”
Jared buried his face in his hands. There were no tears, no gut-wrenching sobs. But, for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, the pain was just as unbearable as that barren Monday. Nana drew his thin frame into her arms.
“It’s never going to heal, not if you really loved that boy,” she whispered into his ear. “But, one day, you’ll find that the scar isn’t so ugly. And soon thereafter, you won’t notice it so much.”
Jared still didn’t cry. He didn’t make any noise, but he remained in his grandmother’s embrace, comforted by the slow rocking motion and the tuneless humming.
Jared didn’t try to become his old self. Whoever that boy was was long gone, replaced by a more damaged version. However, he did make an effort to eat, to talk to Megan about something instead of holding useless conversations of ‘what happened today’ and whatnot. At first, it was awkward. He’d forgotten many things while drowning in his grief. Like a newborn, Jared found himself re-learning a lot of things: his father's dislike for fried chicken, his mother's recently-developed aversion to clams, and three suitors who were dogging Megan like a shadow.
The last one was the easiest for Jared to deal with. One of them dropped by while Jared was throwing some hoop, and ended up being roped into a one-on-one. By the time Megan found out and came to rescue ‘poor Tim’ the boy was sweating buckets and was sporting a sore hip caused by Jared’s body-checking him into the garage wall.
However, if Megan was annoyed by Jared’s antics she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked positively grateful as she led Tim limping up the back steps and into the kitchen.
“Looking good there, little brother,” Jeff said from behind Jared.
“How fast did you drive?” Jared asked as his brother gave him a hug. “You weren’t suppose to get here until tomorrow.”
“Mom called me last night. I started driving right after that.”
“Why?”
Jeff stepped back and took a deep breath. It was then Jared noticed his brother’s eyes were filled with tears. “Jeff?”
“I thought I was gonna lose you. I wanted to transfer to San Antonio so I could do something but Dad wouldn’t let me. Jesus, Mom was talking about sending you off to some fucking place in Arizona to help you deal.
“She called me at midnight last night and I thought … I thought you killed yourself.”
“Jeff, I’m not going to do that,” Jared said softly.
“Promise me you won’t. Swear to me.”
“I swear,” Jared said. “I know I’ve been a basket case but Nana slapped me out of it, I think. I gotta tell you, I don’t know what’s going to happen next and I don’t know if I’m ready for it, but I want it, whatever it is.”
“Okay,” Jeff said then briskly rubbed his face. “So, who was the twerp?”
Jared had to think about who the ‘twerp’ could be. “Oh, Tim - he’s one of the kids interested in Megan.”
“One of how many?”
“Three, I think. At least that’s what Mom says.”
“That’s two too many,” Jeff said. “But maybe it’s not a bad thing for Megan to keep her options open.”
“Did you not see him ogling at our baby sister?”
“Think about it,” Jeff said. “If she gets serious with one guy, then…”
“Oh,” Jared suddenly had a mental image he never, ever wanted to have. “Oh, hell no.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so we make nice with him?”
“We don’t have to be saints.” Jeff gave a wolfish grin. “That’s not what big brothers are.”
“So, no spitting into his soda can or farting into his jacket.”
“Not yet,” Jeff said. “Want to throw some?”
“Sure,” Jared answered.
The game lasted almost twenty minutes, the longest in Padalecki’s family history. And Jared won. He never could figure out if Jeff let him win and the game went on for as long as it did because his brother planned on it. Whatever the reason, when they were done, the two brothers found the rest of the family had migrated outside to watch them.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, but Jared found it soothing and that was also the first night when his dreams weren't entirely dominated by Kit.
Nana came the next day and took Jared out for the afternoon. They did the kitschy thing and visited the Riverwalk. Then she dragged him to a convenience store in order to buy Powerball tickets.
Jared watched with amusement as Nana spent twenty dollars purchasing 'her chance to live like a baroness'. She packed them into her purse save one.
“Here,” she said, handing it to Jared. “Just in case.”
“Okay,” Jared stuffed the ticket into his back pocket and promptly forgot about it when Nana dragged him out into the hot sun and down the street to get her coffee. This became a theme for the rest of the week. Either Nana or Jeff or even Megan would stake a claim on Jared’s time and before he knew it, he’d be out and about with them, shopping or people watching, and in Nana’s case, buying food at a brand new farmer's market that cropped up not five blocks away from his house.
After spending an entire morning with Megan, Jared volunteered to drop her off at her friend’s house. Instead of going to the movies like he'd planned earlier Jared decided to return home. He found his parents sitting in the living room, eyeing him anxiously. Suddenly, Jared was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu.
“What’s wrong?” he asked weakly. “Did something happen to Jeff?”
“Oh, nothing bad, sweetheart.” Sharon pointed to a full laundry basket and said, “I grabbed your clothes and found something.”
“Okay,” Jared said slowly, still wondering why his parents looked like that just saw Moses coming down from the mountain. “And?”
Sharon pulled out the Powerball ticket. “Honey, you won one hundred twenty-two million dollars.”
“I’m sorry. I won twenty-two what?”
“One hundred twenty-two million dollars,” Sharon whispered. “You hit the jackpot.”
Jared looked dumbly down at the piece of paper in her hand. “But what am I suppose to do with all that money?”
Jared’s father gave a choked laugh. “I guess you can get your own car instead of borrowing ours.”
“But I like the Volvo,” Jared said, still unable to completely grasp what was happening. “Can I buy the Volvo from you guys then?”
“Only if you get auto insurance,” Sharon answered promptly. “And promise not to take it out for joyrides in the country. Volvos weren’t meant to make donuts in a cow field.”
“I won one hundred twenty-two million dollars,” Jared said slowly. “I won … holy shit...”
Jared tried to sit on the sofa but completely missed, so he ended up crashing on the floor. His mother handed him the ticket. Jared looked at it, wondering what he was suppose to do now.
“I think you’ve got some planning to do.” Sharon gently patted her son on the back.
“Yeah, I do. I guess.” Jared stumbled up the stairs and into his room. He sat on his bed, looking at the ticket in his hands.
What now? Jared looked at the Duke brochure on his desk. I still have to get a college degree. Mom will kill me if I don’t.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was too much to process by himself. He’d wait until Jeff came home and then, with his big brother’s help, Jared would formulate a plan. He tucked the ticket into his wallet and tossed it on his night table. Feeling suddenly drained and in need of a nap, Jared scrounged around for his old sweats before remembering his mother had done laundry.
For reasons Jared never understood, she always insisted on hanging sweatshirts and pants. He dug around the closet, found them, and was putting them on when he spotted the toolbox. With hesitant hands he pulled it out.
Kit’s note was still tucked on the top tray.
Jared remembered Kit’s confidence in his abilities and wondered. What does it take to be a chef? A great, one-of-a kind chef like the one Kit thought I could become?
Jared spotted his wallet and the one hundred twenty-two million dollars in it. Maybe it’s time that I found out.
Once again, it was Nana who helped Jared out in his quest to learn the fine art of cooking. She reached out to all her friends, some who were in Europe, and planned out an itinerary for her grandson. Jared thought his parents would pitch a fit when they found out about the trip, but they were accepting, and seemed honestly excited by the idea of Jared trekking through parts of Europe for a year. It took the rest of the summer for Jared to finalize his plans but by late August he was on a plane to Lisbon, Portugal.
A friend of Nana had attended a month-long cooking course in a small town an hour north of the capital and highly recommended the program. Jared contacted the teacher, Sabine Motaal, through e-mail and made plans to meet her as soon as he landed in the airport.
It didn't take long for him to find his teacher. He quickly spotted the tiny, wizened woman holding a note card with ‘Jared Pacalicki’ hastily scrawled across it.
He walked up to her and said, “Hello Mrs. Motaal.”
“Ms. Motaal, but call me Sabine,” she corrected with flawless English and shook his hand. “Welcome to my home. Follow me.”
There was a car the size of a cell phone waiting for them, with the driver looking younger than Megan. Jared hoped and prayed Sabine would take the wheel but no such luck. They somehow managed to cram his luggage and backpack into the tiny trunk after a lot of shoving and pushing. He then jammed himself into the backseat, hoping the boy would drive without the usual teenager's disregard for the speed limit.
Sabine looked over her shoulder and said, “My, your grandmother told me you were a big boy but I had no idea. If I knew, I would’ve taken the van.”
Jared sighed and said, “it’s okay. I’m just glad I’m not flying anymore.”
“Oh, you flew from Texas, I had forgotten.”
It was the first time Jared had flown and the luxuries first class offered were great: for the first two hours. The eleven afterwards were torturous for him. He’d vowed that he would take the train if he continued his tour of Europe. Maybe even drive since he could afford to rent a decent sized car. Of course, he’d have to learn to drive stick, but better that than cramming himself into an aluminum can for hours at a time.
He watched the scenery which was remarkable only for its ordinariness. Jared closed his eyes and sighed. The trip was more exhausting than he’d first thought if the level of his crankiness was any indication.
“Here, have some lemonade,” Sabine said, handing him a small hip flask. “It should make you feel better.”
Jared took a swig, his eyes popping open in surprise when his taste buds suddenly woke up. For a moment he wondered what had snapped him out of his lethargy. At first he thought it was lemon, but with another swig, he realized it was lavender.
“Wow,” Jared whispered. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you,” the driver said. “I made it this morning.”
Jared looked at the boy with newfound respect. “It’s very good. By the way, name’s Jared Padalecki.”
“My name is Hugo,” the boy said. “Welcome to Portugal. You’ll have a great time here.”
“I have a sandwich if you're hungry,” Sabine said as she dug out a brown paper bag from her purse. “It’ll keep if you don’t want it.”
Jared snatched it out of her grasp and greedily tore open the bag. The lemonade had awoken his appetite. He took a bite and, just like the lemonade, the sandwich had awoken something in him. He wanted nothing more than to continue eating but his curiosity overpowered his appetite and Jared lifted the top piece of bread.
There was an egg, a spread of something that faintly smelled like pesto, and three thick slices of cheese along with what looked like pale roast beef. He took a bite out of the meat and realized it was far earthier: definitely not roast beef then.
“It’s ham from our neighbor,” Sabine explained. “They just finished curing.”
“They make their own ham?” Jared asked, surprised.
“Oh yes, we have a co-op of small farms around the neighborhood,” Sabine said. “They produce most of the vegetables and meats that I use in my kitchen.”
“That sounds amazing,” Jared said. “In the U.S. everything comes in plastic wrap. You have to hunt down the real good stuff, and it’s not easy work.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sabine said. “Which is a shame. People would respect nature a great deal more if they actually knew where their food comes from and how it’s harvested.”
Jared nodded in agreement as he chowed down the sandwich.
The drive took another forty minutes as Hugo fought bad traffic, but the congestion cleared as they drove deeper into farmland. They made a turn off a major road that bisected a small, colorful town and onto a dirt path that played havoc with the car’s suspension. Then Hugo made another turn and Jared saw a farm hidden behind a cluster of trees.
He examined his surroundings as the Opal pulled up to a rundown farm house. The yard was riotous with flowers and herbs, not to mention a family of cats. Two pigs were rooting around a chicken coop located next to what Jared guessed was the barn.
Hugo led Jared to the back of the main house where there was a cluster of small bedrooms along with two bathrooms. Jared tossed his bags into the closet and took a quick shower, hoping Sabine would start cooking already. The sandwich had only whipped up his appetite and he was ravenous.
Jared found Sabine sipping tea in the kitchen. “Am I the first?”
“Yes, the rest of the class will be coming this weekend,” Sabine answered. She looked at him with open curiosity. “I must ask, why are you interested in learning to cook Portuguese food?”
“I’m just interested in learning to cook,” Jared said. “My grandmother arranged this for me.”
“What do you want to accomplish here? And, please, do not answer my question with jokes. Americans have a tendency to deflect serious answers with laughter. And it can be quite annoying for those of us who are not Americans.”
“I want to learn,” Jared said.
“Learn?” Sabine mulled over the word and said, “What if I don’t want to teach?”
“I’ll learn anyway,” Jared said. “Not the first time I had a bad teacher.”
Sabine smiled. “So, you know the difference between the desire to learn and the need to be taught?”
“No, not really,” Jared said. “If my teachers sucked I'd just hit the books harder.”
Sabine’s smile grew. “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that. It's nice to know I’ll have at least one genuine student. There are so many spoiled people who attend my classes, demanding to be the next Thomas Keller just because they paid to be here.”
“Who’s Thomas Keller?”
Jared’s question triggered a peal of laughter from Sabine. In the weeks that followed Jared was grateful that Sabine considered him a student and not a diva. As she had predicted, the twelve-student course was filled with overblown egos and plain old stupidity. Feeling ashamed of his classmates, Jared put in extra effort, and it didn’t take long before everyone realized that the eighteen-year-old hick from Texas was the genuine article while the rest were amateurs.
He stayed an extra month with Sabine who taught him all about cod: salted cod, dried cod, cod balls, cod cakes, fresh cod, and cod fillets. After his stint with Sabine came to an end, she threw a farewell party and gave a telephone number of a friend who was also a ‘teacher’ like her. She told him Alfred Carrión was a Spanish chef of extraordinary talent who loathed the idea of opening a restaurant. Instead, he opted to teach courses that lasted for three months. With Sabine’s recommendation firmly in hand (along with half a gallon of Hugo’s lavender concoction) Jared made his way to Cambados, south of Santiago de Compostela.
Alfred turned out to be the male counterpart of Sabine. He greeted Jared with open arms and fed the Texan with gusto. And everything that came out of his kitchen was incredible. Because the town was facing the Atlantic, Alfred was a master at creating seafood dishes. From him Jared learned to fillet, skin and scale all sorts of fish. He also learned how to handle shellfish, what to look for and what to avoid when buying seafood. And, most importantly, to know when the fishermen were lying about their day’s catch.
Towards the end of Jared’s stint in Alfred’s kitchen, friends of the chef dropped by. All of them took an honest interest in Jared’s talents. A man Alfred fondly called ‘Ferrari’ actually took enough interest in Jared to teach him about the idea of food in its barest form, and that taste was not the beginning and the end of the plate: visual, aural and smell were also very important to both the chef and the person wielding the fork.
He was firmly convinced that if a chef had all of those angles down pat - then they were not only a master in the kitchen, but also in the front where people sat, ate, and sometimes paid outrageous prices for the privilege.
Jared couldn’t agree with all of Ferrari’s ideology, but he had to admit thinking about the person who would actually eat your food and pay for it was new for him. He spent five months with Alfred then flew home to San Antonio to spend Easter with his family. His parents saw great improvements with their son and didn’t bat an eye when Jared wanted to take more time off to travel and learn. Now armed with recommendations from Alfred and Sabine, and a handful of phone numbers, Jared trekked across France then Northern Italy where he met another American in a small town called Alba.
Chad 'Mayhem' Murray was with his father, sampling wines across Europe. While the father was a self-declared oenophile, his son was the real thing. The two young men clicked with each other, and soon became fast friends. When Chad found out Jared was planning to go home, he invited Jared to fly with him. In his family's private jet.
It was the first time Jared met someone who had so much money, he didn't care to flaunt it. In fact, Chad was downright happy to spend Christmas with Jared's family, and managed to slyly charm his way into Sharon's good graces. After the holidays were over, Chad returned to Princeton and Jared went back to Italy to finish his trek across its culinary scene.
Duke fell away within two years, and by the time Jared was finally satisfied he’d learned all he could, he was twenty-two years old. He returned to the States, armed with a CV that would open doors to any kitchen in the world, but Jared had no interest in working for someone else. He remembered the freedom Sabine enjoyed in her farm, the simple pleasures of knowing where your food came from, and how the seasonal cycle could and should influence what was on the plate.
It took Jared three months to find exactly what he wanted.
Part I * Part III
Pairing: JA/JP
Rating: R for language.
Warning: Um, don't read on an empty stomach?
Disclaimer: Fiction, fiction, and more fiction.
Summary: Jared was born with many gifts, but only one will give him the courage to take a stand for himself, and create magic out of the most humblest of things. Adapted from Ratatouille.
Main Post
June 2000
Jared knew how he must have looked to everyone at graduation and the small party his parents threw for him afterwards. His entire family repeatedly told him how proud they were of the fact that Jared managed to graduate in the top five of his class, but the honor held no joy for him. In fact, he felt nothing of his accomplishments. Jared had turned on his autopilot after that faithful Monday, and hadn’t bothered to turn it back off. He saw no reason to, and after a while, it just became a habit. The only time he felt anything was when he was asleep, and those few hours he felt nothing but torment because in his dreams Kit was alive and happy. And they were more than friends. In those dreams they were attending Duke together, both planning a shared future with each other. Jared usually woke crying, sometimes screaming because he didn’t want to wake. He couldn’t bear to live in a world where there was no Kit.
Jared knew his parents were worried about him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He felt some pity towards Megan who had gone sickly and quiet, but Jared’s numbness had killed his love for his sister too.
Jared listlessly flipped through the brochure for Duke University and imagined living on campus, attending various classes, working towards a degree he didn’t give a fuck about. Jared closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted his family to stop. He wanted the world outside to stop.
He wanted to stop.
“Well, isn't that a sad sight.”
He turned to find Nana examining him with little kindness. In fact, she looked outright pissed.
“What do you want, Nana?”
“I want my grandson is what I want.”
“Nana, I’m very tired and…”
“Bullshit,” Nana spitted. “That’s utter bullshit. It’s been over two years and you haven’t done a thing to honor your friend.”
Jared looked at Nana. “What?”
“You think you’re the only one in this family I’ve lost? Child, if I named everyone I’ve lost, I could fill a Texas-sized cemetery.” Nana sat down next to Jared. “And if all we do is grieve, we’re just going to fill in another grave. Is that what you want to do for Kit? To dig a grave next to his? Do you think that’s what Kit wanted for you?”
“I don’t know what he wanted for me,” Jared said tonelessly. “I only knew him for like two weeks and he never…”
“And I call bullshit,” Nana snarled. “You wouldn’t be hurting this bad for the boy if he wasn't worthwhile. The pain you’re feeling? That’s your heart telling you someone dear was torn away. I don’t think you’re the type to fall so hard for a pretty face, so he must have said something, done something, that earned such devotion from you.
“He might not have said it out loud, or in a way you could have understood two years ago, but he did and that’s why you’re hurting so bad.”
Jared looked down as his bare feet and noticed how cracked the nails were. He closed his eyes and shut his mouth, willing Nana to go away with his silence.
She didn’t move.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jared whispered after few minutes. “I don’t know how … I don’t know what I’m suppose to do now.”
“I wish I could tell you but I can’t live for you, kiddo,” Nana said. “All I can tell you to do is live.”
Jared buried his face in his hands. There were no tears, no gut-wrenching sobs. But, for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, the pain was just as unbearable as that barren Monday. Nana drew his thin frame into her arms.
“It’s never going to heal, not if you really loved that boy,” she whispered into his ear. “But, one day, you’ll find that the scar isn’t so ugly. And soon thereafter, you won’t notice it so much.”
Jared still didn’t cry. He didn’t make any noise, but he remained in his grandmother’s embrace, comforted by the slow rocking motion and the tuneless humming.
Jared didn’t try to become his old self. Whoever that boy was was long gone, replaced by a more damaged version. However, he did make an effort to eat, to talk to Megan about something instead of holding useless conversations of ‘what happened today’ and whatnot. At first, it was awkward. He’d forgotten many things while drowning in his grief. Like a newborn, Jared found himself re-learning a lot of things: his father's dislike for fried chicken, his mother's recently-developed aversion to clams, and three suitors who were dogging Megan like a shadow.
The last one was the easiest for Jared to deal with. One of them dropped by while Jared was throwing some hoop, and ended up being roped into a one-on-one. By the time Megan found out and came to rescue ‘poor Tim’ the boy was sweating buckets and was sporting a sore hip caused by Jared’s body-checking him into the garage wall.
However, if Megan was annoyed by Jared’s antics she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked positively grateful as she led Tim limping up the back steps and into the kitchen.
“Looking good there, little brother,” Jeff said from behind Jared.
“How fast did you drive?” Jared asked as his brother gave him a hug. “You weren’t suppose to get here until tomorrow.”
“Mom called me last night. I started driving right after that.”
“Why?”
Jeff stepped back and took a deep breath. It was then Jared noticed his brother’s eyes were filled with tears. “Jeff?”
“I thought I was gonna lose you. I wanted to transfer to San Antonio so I could do something but Dad wouldn’t let me. Jesus, Mom was talking about sending you off to some fucking place in Arizona to help you deal.
“She called me at midnight last night and I thought … I thought you killed yourself.”
“Jeff, I’m not going to do that,” Jared said softly.
“Promise me you won’t. Swear to me.”
“I swear,” Jared said. “I know I’ve been a basket case but Nana slapped me out of it, I think. I gotta tell you, I don’t know what’s going to happen next and I don’t know if I’m ready for it, but I want it, whatever it is.”
“Okay,” Jeff said then briskly rubbed his face. “So, who was the twerp?”
Jared had to think about who the ‘twerp’ could be. “Oh, Tim - he’s one of the kids interested in Megan.”
“One of how many?”
“Three, I think. At least that’s what Mom says.”
“That’s two too many,” Jeff said. “But maybe it’s not a bad thing for Megan to keep her options open.”
“Did you not see him ogling at our baby sister?”
“Think about it,” Jeff said. “If she gets serious with one guy, then…”
“Oh,” Jared suddenly had a mental image he never, ever wanted to have. “Oh, hell no.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so we make nice with him?”
“We don’t have to be saints.” Jeff gave a wolfish grin. “That’s not what big brothers are.”
“So, no spitting into his soda can or farting into his jacket.”
“Not yet,” Jeff said. “Want to throw some?”
“Sure,” Jared answered.
The game lasted almost twenty minutes, the longest in Padalecki’s family history. And Jared won. He never could figure out if Jeff let him win and the game went on for as long as it did because his brother planned on it. Whatever the reason, when they were done, the two brothers found the rest of the family had migrated outside to watch them.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, but Jared found it soothing and that was also the first night when his dreams weren't entirely dominated by Kit.
Nana came the next day and took Jared out for the afternoon. They did the kitschy thing and visited the Riverwalk. Then she dragged him to a convenience store in order to buy Powerball tickets.
Jared watched with amusement as Nana spent twenty dollars purchasing 'her chance to live like a baroness'. She packed them into her purse save one.
“Here,” she said, handing it to Jared. “Just in case.”
“Okay,” Jared stuffed the ticket into his back pocket and promptly forgot about it when Nana dragged him out into the hot sun and down the street to get her coffee. This became a theme for the rest of the week. Either Nana or Jeff or even Megan would stake a claim on Jared’s time and before he knew it, he’d be out and about with them, shopping or people watching, and in Nana’s case, buying food at a brand new farmer's market that cropped up not five blocks away from his house.
After spending an entire morning with Megan, Jared volunteered to drop her off at her friend’s house. Instead of going to the movies like he'd planned earlier Jared decided to return home. He found his parents sitting in the living room, eyeing him anxiously. Suddenly, Jared was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu.
“What’s wrong?” he asked weakly. “Did something happen to Jeff?”
“Oh, nothing bad, sweetheart.” Sharon pointed to a full laundry basket and said, “I grabbed your clothes and found something.”
“Okay,” Jared said slowly, still wondering why his parents looked like that just saw Moses coming down from the mountain. “And?”
Sharon pulled out the Powerball ticket. “Honey, you won one hundred twenty-two million dollars.”
“I’m sorry. I won twenty-two what?”
“One hundred twenty-two million dollars,” Sharon whispered. “You hit the jackpot.”
Jared looked dumbly down at the piece of paper in her hand. “But what am I suppose to do with all that money?”
Jared’s father gave a choked laugh. “I guess you can get your own car instead of borrowing ours.”
“But I like the Volvo,” Jared said, still unable to completely grasp what was happening. “Can I buy the Volvo from you guys then?”
“Only if you get auto insurance,” Sharon answered promptly. “And promise not to take it out for joyrides in the country. Volvos weren’t meant to make donuts in a cow field.”
“I won one hundred twenty-two million dollars,” Jared said slowly. “I won … holy shit...”
Jared tried to sit on the sofa but completely missed, so he ended up crashing on the floor. His mother handed him the ticket. Jared looked at it, wondering what he was suppose to do now.
“I think you’ve got some planning to do.” Sharon gently patted her son on the back.
“Yeah, I do. I guess.” Jared stumbled up the stairs and into his room. He sat on his bed, looking at the ticket in his hands.
What now? Jared looked at the Duke brochure on his desk. I still have to get a college degree. Mom will kill me if I don’t.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was too much to process by himself. He’d wait until Jeff came home and then, with his big brother’s help, Jared would formulate a plan. He tucked the ticket into his wallet and tossed it on his night table. Feeling suddenly drained and in need of a nap, Jared scrounged around for his old sweats before remembering his mother had done laundry.
For reasons Jared never understood, she always insisted on hanging sweatshirts and pants. He dug around the closet, found them, and was putting them on when he spotted the toolbox. With hesitant hands he pulled it out.
Kit’s note was still tucked on the top tray.
Jared remembered Kit’s confidence in his abilities and wondered. What does it take to be a chef? A great, one-of-a kind chef like the one Kit thought I could become?
Jared spotted his wallet and the one hundred twenty-two million dollars in it. Maybe it’s time that I found out.
Once again, it was Nana who helped Jared out in his quest to learn the fine art of cooking. She reached out to all her friends, some who were in Europe, and planned out an itinerary for her grandson. Jared thought his parents would pitch a fit when they found out about the trip, but they were accepting, and seemed honestly excited by the idea of Jared trekking through parts of Europe for a year. It took the rest of the summer for Jared to finalize his plans but by late August he was on a plane to Lisbon, Portugal.
A friend of Nana had attended a month-long cooking course in a small town an hour north of the capital and highly recommended the program. Jared contacted the teacher, Sabine Motaal, through e-mail and made plans to meet her as soon as he landed in the airport.
It didn't take long for him to find his teacher. He quickly spotted the tiny, wizened woman holding a note card with ‘Jared Pacalicki’ hastily scrawled across it.
He walked up to her and said, “Hello Mrs. Motaal.”
“Ms. Motaal, but call me Sabine,” she corrected with flawless English and shook his hand. “Welcome to my home. Follow me.”
There was a car the size of a cell phone waiting for them, with the driver looking younger than Megan. Jared hoped and prayed Sabine would take the wheel but no such luck. They somehow managed to cram his luggage and backpack into the tiny trunk after a lot of shoving and pushing. He then jammed himself into the backseat, hoping the boy would drive without the usual teenager's disregard for the speed limit.
Sabine looked over her shoulder and said, “My, your grandmother told me you were a big boy but I had no idea. If I knew, I would’ve taken the van.”
Jared sighed and said, “it’s okay. I’m just glad I’m not flying anymore.”
“Oh, you flew from Texas, I had forgotten.”
It was the first time Jared had flown and the luxuries first class offered were great: for the first two hours. The eleven afterwards were torturous for him. He’d vowed that he would take the train if he continued his tour of Europe. Maybe even drive since he could afford to rent a decent sized car. Of course, he’d have to learn to drive stick, but better that than cramming himself into an aluminum can for hours at a time.
He watched the scenery which was remarkable only for its ordinariness. Jared closed his eyes and sighed. The trip was more exhausting than he’d first thought if the level of his crankiness was any indication.
“Here, have some lemonade,” Sabine said, handing him a small hip flask. “It should make you feel better.”
Jared took a swig, his eyes popping open in surprise when his taste buds suddenly woke up. For a moment he wondered what had snapped him out of his lethargy. At first he thought it was lemon, but with another swig, he realized it was lavender.
“Wow,” Jared whispered. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you,” the driver said. “I made it this morning.”
Jared looked at the boy with newfound respect. “It’s very good. By the way, name’s Jared Padalecki.”
“My name is Hugo,” the boy said. “Welcome to Portugal. You’ll have a great time here.”
“I have a sandwich if you're hungry,” Sabine said as she dug out a brown paper bag from her purse. “It’ll keep if you don’t want it.”
Jared snatched it out of her grasp and greedily tore open the bag. The lemonade had awoken his appetite. He took a bite and, just like the lemonade, the sandwich had awoken something in him. He wanted nothing more than to continue eating but his curiosity overpowered his appetite and Jared lifted the top piece of bread.
There was an egg, a spread of something that faintly smelled like pesto, and three thick slices of cheese along with what looked like pale roast beef. He took a bite out of the meat and realized it was far earthier: definitely not roast beef then.
“It’s ham from our neighbor,” Sabine explained. “They just finished curing.”
“They make their own ham?” Jared asked, surprised.
“Oh yes, we have a co-op of small farms around the neighborhood,” Sabine said. “They produce most of the vegetables and meats that I use in my kitchen.”
“That sounds amazing,” Jared said. “In the U.S. everything comes in plastic wrap. You have to hunt down the real good stuff, and it’s not easy work.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sabine said. “Which is a shame. People would respect nature a great deal more if they actually knew where their food comes from and how it’s harvested.”
Jared nodded in agreement as he chowed down the sandwich.
The drive took another forty minutes as Hugo fought bad traffic, but the congestion cleared as they drove deeper into farmland. They made a turn off a major road that bisected a small, colorful town and onto a dirt path that played havoc with the car’s suspension. Then Hugo made another turn and Jared saw a farm hidden behind a cluster of trees.
He examined his surroundings as the Opal pulled up to a rundown farm house. The yard was riotous with flowers and herbs, not to mention a family of cats. Two pigs were rooting around a chicken coop located next to what Jared guessed was the barn.
Hugo led Jared to the back of the main house where there was a cluster of small bedrooms along with two bathrooms. Jared tossed his bags into the closet and took a quick shower, hoping Sabine would start cooking already. The sandwich had only whipped up his appetite and he was ravenous.
Jared found Sabine sipping tea in the kitchen. “Am I the first?”
“Yes, the rest of the class will be coming this weekend,” Sabine answered. She looked at him with open curiosity. “I must ask, why are you interested in learning to cook Portuguese food?”
“I’m just interested in learning to cook,” Jared said. “My grandmother arranged this for me.”
“What do you want to accomplish here? And, please, do not answer my question with jokes. Americans have a tendency to deflect serious answers with laughter. And it can be quite annoying for those of us who are not Americans.”
“I want to learn,” Jared said.
“Learn?” Sabine mulled over the word and said, “What if I don’t want to teach?”
“I’ll learn anyway,” Jared said. “Not the first time I had a bad teacher.”
Sabine smiled. “So, you know the difference between the desire to learn and the need to be taught?”
“No, not really,” Jared said. “If my teachers sucked I'd just hit the books harder.”
Sabine’s smile grew. “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that. It's nice to know I’ll have at least one genuine student. There are so many spoiled people who attend my classes, demanding to be the next Thomas Keller just because they paid to be here.”
“Who’s Thomas Keller?”
Jared’s question triggered a peal of laughter from Sabine. In the weeks that followed Jared was grateful that Sabine considered him a student and not a diva. As she had predicted, the twelve-student course was filled with overblown egos and plain old stupidity. Feeling ashamed of his classmates, Jared put in extra effort, and it didn’t take long before everyone realized that the eighteen-year-old hick from Texas was the genuine article while the rest were amateurs.
He stayed an extra month with Sabine who taught him all about cod: salted cod, dried cod, cod balls, cod cakes, fresh cod, and cod fillets. After his stint with Sabine came to an end, she threw a farewell party and gave a telephone number of a friend who was also a ‘teacher’ like her. She told him Alfred Carrión was a Spanish chef of extraordinary talent who loathed the idea of opening a restaurant. Instead, he opted to teach courses that lasted for three months. With Sabine’s recommendation firmly in hand (along with half a gallon of Hugo’s lavender concoction) Jared made his way to Cambados, south of Santiago de Compostela.
Alfred turned out to be the male counterpart of Sabine. He greeted Jared with open arms and fed the Texan with gusto. And everything that came out of his kitchen was incredible. Because the town was facing the Atlantic, Alfred was a master at creating seafood dishes. From him Jared learned to fillet, skin and scale all sorts of fish. He also learned how to handle shellfish, what to look for and what to avoid when buying seafood. And, most importantly, to know when the fishermen were lying about their day’s catch.
Towards the end of Jared’s stint in Alfred’s kitchen, friends of the chef dropped by. All of them took an honest interest in Jared’s talents. A man Alfred fondly called ‘Ferrari’ actually took enough interest in Jared to teach him about the idea of food in its barest form, and that taste was not the beginning and the end of the plate: visual, aural and smell were also very important to both the chef and the person wielding the fork.
He was firmly convinced that if a chef had all of those angles down pat - then they were not only a master in the kitchen, but also in the front where people sat, ate, and sometimes paid outrageous prices for the privilege.
Jared couldn’t agree with all of Ferrari’s ideology, but he had to admit thinking about the person who would actually eat your food and pay for it was new for him. He spent five months with Alfred then flew home to San Antonio to spend Easter with his family. His parents saw great improvements with their son and didn’t bat an eye when Jared wanted to take more time off to travel and learn. Now armed with recommendations from Alfred and Sabine, and a handful of phone numbers, Jared trekked across France then Northern Italy where he met another American in a small town called Alba.
Chad 'Mayhem' Murray was with his father, sampling wines across Europe. While the father was a self-declared oenophile, his son was the real thing. The two young men clicked with each other, and soon became fast friends. When Chad found out Jared was planning to go home, he invited Jared to fly with him. In his family's private jet.
It was the first time Jared met someone who had so much money, he didn't care to flaunt it. In fact, Chad was downright happy to spend Christmas with Jared's family, and managed to slyly charm his way into Sharon's good graces. After the holidays were over, Chad returned to Princeton and Jared went back to Italy to finish his trek across its culinary scene.
Duke fell away within two years, and by the time Jared was finally satisfied he’d learned all he could, he was twenty-two years old. He returned to the States, armed with a CV that would open doors to any kitchen in the world, but Jared had no interest in working for someone else. He remembered the freedom Sabine enjoyed in her farm, the simple pleasures of knowing where your food came from, and how the seasonal cycle could and should influence what was on the plate.
It took Jared three months to find exactly what he wanted.
Part I * Part III