Garlic & Butter
Title: Garlic and Butter - 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
January 2005
Holston, Washington
The cold January air was shocking for Jared as he had been warming his bones in Texas, so it took him a while to step outside the car in order to examine the farm. What he saw was controlled chaos.
Chad joined him and looked around. “Okay, this is a shithole.”
Jared chuckled. He had become completely immune to Chad’s directness. “It’s a farm, not a tourist trap.”
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
They turned to face a tall, strongly-built man studying them.
“Hi, I’m Jared Padalecki.”
“Oh, yeah, Sam told me you’re coming by,” the man approached them. “Name’s Jeff Morgan. I own Devon.”
“Good to meet you.”
“Follow me,” Jeff said. “Sam’s probably got coffee brewing.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jared said and dragged his reluctant friend into the farmhouse.
The kitchen had a huge wooden table running down almost the entire length of the room. Jared traced his fingers lovingly over the knots and bumps.
“My father made it right before I was born.” Jeff's face reflected happy memories as he explained. “He actually had to build it inside this room.”
“I was wondering,” Jared said. He heard a commotion to the right and turned to see a woman who strongly reminded him of Demeter in a painting he once saw in Florence.
“I see you found our guests,” she said with a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Sam.”
“Nice to meet you. This is Chad, a friend of mine.”
“Sit down,” Sam said. “I heard you have an interesting offer for Devon.”
“I was wondering,” Jared said hesitantly, “why are you selling in the first place?”
“Oh, that’s because of me,” Jeff said. “My back’s gone. Farming’s not an easy job when you’re in the best of shape and I’m not; not anymore anyway.”
“Besides, we’re due for a vacation,” Sam added with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time we’ve taken a week off.”
Chad gave a knowing glance at Jared who looked uncomfortable.
Sam saw the exchange of looks and warily asked, “What’s wrong?”
“About that…” Jared fidgeted in his chair. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and said, “I’m willing to pay that much if you two do something for me.”
Jeff looked at the sum and whistled. “Wow, what’s the catch?”
“I need you to stay on for another year, maybe more, to teach me how to run this place,” Jared said. “I also need you to introduce me to the farms around Devon.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“I…” Jared looked at Chad. “I want to open a small restaurant here, on the farm.”
Jeff burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Open a restaurant,” Jared repeated.
Sam didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “We’re almost two hours from Seattle. This is the boonies Mr. Padalecki. You’ll do better in Olympia or Portland if you want to avoid Seattle.”
“No, that’s not it,” Jared said. “What I want isn’t just a restaurant. I want people to see where the food comes from. I want people to know why eating certain foods at certain times is a good thing.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re asking? What kind of work it takes to build a restaurant much less keep it afloat?” Jeff asked even as he took another glance at Jared's princely offer.
“There are places that have succeeded,” Chad finally entered the conversation. “But you’re right: it won’t be easy. We both know that.”
“What are you trying to accomplish, exactly?” Jeff asked. “To run a successful restaurant? To educate people?”
“I believe you can do both,” Jared said. “I think people will be interested in what they’re eating and why. And I believe that because people are naturally curious. They also want to be entertained. What easier way to do this than through food?”
“You might have something there,” Sam said. “A lot of people are becoming aware of the organic movement.”
“Exactly,” Jared said enthusiastically. “And most of the farms around here are hardcore about it. You guys have a great thing going here. There are at least two farms besides Devon that grow produce. There’s a farm that sells cheese and Mrs. Hanstrom…”
“You’ve done your homework,” Sam said. “So, you think you can use local products?”
“Pretty much,” Jared answered. “Chad here is something of an expert when it comes to wine and he's familiar enough with the vineyards in the state to feature them exclusively.”
“Use Washington wines with Washington produce,” Jeff said. “I see what you’re doing. That’s pretty damn clever actually.”
“We’ve got everything we need to run a successful restaurant right here,” Jared said. “So why not use it, and promote it while I'm at it?”
Jeff looked at Sam before saying, “But I still can’t do the heavy work.”
“Do you know someone who can?”
“I think so,” Jeff said slowly. “Are you really willing to go so far out on a limb for this?”
“Hell yes,” Jared answered. “I’ve been thinking about this since I was eighteen.”
“Okay then, let me introduce you around,” Sam said. “We can gauge what the neighbors think about your plans.”
“What about promoting the place? Especially way out here in the boonies?” Jeff asked.
“That’s trickier,” Chad answered for his friend. “But not impossible. We’ve got few business models we can work off of. Our idea might be novel around here but it’s been practiced far and wide elsewhere.”
“Alrighty then,” Sam said, standing up. “Let’s get going and see what your restaurant can do for us.”
“By the way, what are you going to call it?” Jeff asked. “Something French, maybe?”
Jared shook his head. “Nope, I’m going to keep calling the place Devon, including the restaurant. Don’t see any reason to tart it up because I’m going to start up a restaurant here.”
Jeff chuckled and shook his head. “You guys have a place to stay?”
“We’re staying at a Motel 66…” Jared didn’t have a chance to finish answering.
“Like hell you are,” Sam said, frowning. “That place’s got a bad rep and for a good reason. Stay with us tonight. If we don’t make the rounds then we can start up early tomorrow.”
Chad sighed and looked at Jared with pained eyes. “I don’t know about you but I’m going to take up on her offer. That stain in the bathroom scares the shit out of me.”
“That’s kind of you, and we’ll both accept,” Jared said. “Chad’s bathroom isn’t the only one with scary stains.”
Jeff laughed again. “Sounds good. I’ll go make up the guest bedrooms.”
“And I’ll drive us to the Motel to get you guys checked out before we start.” Sam snatched her purse and jacket from a row of coat hooks made out of gear-shifts.
Chad followed Jared and Sam, while examining the farm with greater interest than he had shown previously. Sam made good on her promise: she drove around and introduced them to the neighboring farms dotting Berth River. They were cautious about Jared’s restaurant idea, but after long conversations with both him and Chad, the farmers were uniformly supportive. The idea of having a restaurant that used local produce in its freshest form meant not only reliable source of income, but also free advertising for them.
It took them three days to finish visiting all the local farms but by the end Sam was firmly convinced that with good advertising Jared’s idea would succeed.
It didn't take long for them to hammer out a proper contract, and Devon transferred ownership by the end of the month. Jared took a guest bedroom since he didn't need much space and eagerly dove into the work. Jeff and Sam quickly realized Jared was very familiar with the hard labor necessary to run a successful farm. So, while Chad finagled, bullied, and charmed his way into getting the necessary licenses for building the restaurant in an unused barn, Jared helped Jeff and Sam milk the goats, make the cheese, all the while preparing for Spring.
Devon opened in June, and within two weeks Jared’s new restaurant received rave reviews in all the major papers, including a spectacular thumbs-up from Seattle Magazine. To Jared’s delight, the diners not only enjoyed what was on their plates, but also the knowledge they’d gleaned while waiting for their food, as most of them took a stroll or even mini-tours around the working farm. Their appreciation for their food seemed to increase dramatically when they realized what went into making the ingredients that not only pleased their palates, but filled their stomachs as well.
By September Devon was reviewed by Bon Appetit and Jared was featured in the issue of Gourmet that introduced ‘The Best Upcoming Chefs in America’. And if his dimples and impressive physique got him the cover, Jared wasn’t about to complain: Devon deserved everything he could give, and then some.
It took French Laundry over eighteen months to be in the black. It took Devon fourteen.
January 2008
Jared replayed the voice mails from Chad, and one from Jeff from his place in New Mexico. Chad must have called him and pleaded with Jeff to convince Jared to abandon Devon. Jared was furious that Chad would pull such a stunt. Jeff had just gotten out of corrective spinal surgery, and the last thing the recuperating patient needed was to concern himself with Jared's welfare.
Not gonna happen, Jared thought as he stubbornly punched the 'erase' button on the answering machine. He had learned of the evacuation plan earlier in the morning, but he also heard that Berth had been slowly receding since last night.
Jared wasn't going to abandon his home, his business - the dream he worked so hard for. He looked at the red toolbox sitting on his kitchen table and flipped it open; He then mindlessly began checking the knives, hoping to derive some calm from the routine work.
Jared heard Harley and Sadie whine, which was nothing new as the floodwater was close enough to warrant anxious behavior from them. But what caught his attention was the fact that the dogs were facing the wrong way. Berth River was to the west of the house, not east. Sadie gave a snarling yip and began scrabbling backwards, towards the front door. It was then that Jared heard the rumbling noise. As he ran to the window, the sound got louder, almost as if there was an old-fashioned steam train bearing down on them.
He pulled aside the curtain and yelled in shock. A wall of dark blue water, peppered with debris, was rolling down the hillside, towards Devon. It slammed with enough force to partially tear the house off the foundation, spinning it ninety degrees to the left. Jared lost his footing and fell onto the floor, ass-first.
“Jesus!” he screamed.
Harley and Sadie scrambled around him, barking madly. He stood up only to lose his footing again when the house slid further, towards the river. Jared scrabbled to his knees, screaming for his dogs to follow him. He then remembered Kit's present and grabbed it before fighting his way to the stairs. They made it to the second floor. Jared took a peek out the window just in time to see a fir tree bounce alongside, followed by his pickup truck.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jared yelled as he ran to his bedroom.
He actually felt the house tear itself from its foundation, and like the debris all around him, the eighty-four-year-old farmhouse began floating towards Berth.
Jared slammed open the attic door and called for his dogs. He picked up Harley and tossed him up, quickly followed by Sadie and the toolbox. Then he hauled himself up before sealing the entrance with heavy trunks. He looked out the small attic window and saw the house now fully in the river, which, thankfully, swallowed the flood, allowing the house to float lazily down upon its swollen back.
Jared stuck half of his body out the window to see if he could manage to get himself onto the roof with his dogs. It was then he heard yelling. Jared turned to his right to see a small boat powering towards him.
“Over here! Over here!” Jared screamed on top of his lungs while wildly waving his arms.
The boat picked up speed and soon pulled aside the house. Jared looked down and realized the water was rising and there was less than a foot between the window and certain drowning.
“Get in!” the stranger shouted as he tossed a coil of rope to Jared.
“Let me get my dogs!”
“We don’t have time!”
Jared didn’t reply. Instead, he ducked inside and grabbed Sadie who had pressed herself against his legs with such force, she had him pinned to the wall. Jared didn’t hesitate: he tossed her out the window.
The stranger gave a shout of surprise but managed to catch the flying dog. Jared grabbed Harley and wrapped the rope around his chest before threading its end through the toolbox's handle. The water was now pouring through the window, making it hard for Jared to get out. But death was a great motivator and Jared fought his way out the window.
The stranger winced as the current pulled Jared and Harley away. But with a great show of strength he began dragging the rope in until Jared and Harley was beside the boat. Harley managed to scramble into the boat as Jared pushed him up. Then Jared hauled himself in with the toolbox, sputtering as he swallowed what felt like twenty gallons of water.
“Jesus Christ, you fucking moron!” the man yelled, wide-eyed with fury and shock. “You could’ve killed yourself!”
Jared buried his face in Harley’s wet fur. He couldn’t speak.
“Hold on,” the man said in a calmer tone as he began piloting the boat through the swollen river. It was almost three minutes before he found a tributary that could be used.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jared answered. “Thank you. I had no idea…”
“You should be on your knees, thanking God that you're still breathing,” the man interrupted hoarsely. “You know you were suppose to evacuate this morning, right?”
“Didn’t see why,” Jared answered, feeling like he ate thirty-one flavors of stupid. “I heard Berth was receding and I didn’t want to leave my home.”
“Dude, next time, listen to the people who actually know what the hell’s going on.” He handed over a dry blanket and said, “There’s a thermos of coffee under your seat if you want some.”
“Thanks,” Jared whispered and leaned down just in time for Harley to hork on his head.
Who knew dogs could get sea sick?
“Jesus,” the stranger said with laughter in his voice. “Ummm … are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jared said, face firmly planted downwards as he felt vomit comb through his hair and drip onto the boat. “Harley, on the other hand, is gonna learn how to swim very fast.”
“I wish I had something to give you to clean up but I got nothing.”
“That’s okay,” Jared replied. He cupped handful of water and dumped it on his head before wiping himself dry with the edge of the blanket. He was too cold to give up the blanket completely. With woeful eyes he looked at the man who braved the floodwaters to rescue him and his dogs.
Oh my God, Jared thought as he took in the golden skin, hair, and eye color that seemed to change with the setting sun. Is this guy for real?
The man must have felt his stare. He turned to Jared and asked, “What?”
Jared shook his head mutely and made a show of examining Harley. His rescuer went back to navigating the treacherous waters which allowed Jared to examine him further.
God must have been in a great mood when he was born, Jared thought as he examined the flawless profile. The man’s hands were scarred, which made Jared think the guy was no stranger to manual labor.
Maybe he’s a firefighter, Jared thought as he took in the scars that criss-crossed the rough hands. Would explain the whole hero thing. Thought hot firefighters were just urban legends but this guy’s as real as they come.
“Here we go,” the man said.
Jared saw a small camp with a big white tent sporting the international Red Cross symbol. For a moment he felt his entire body weaken with relief and tears clouded his vision. Jared and his dogs were swiftly taken off the boat and hustled into the tent where they were cleaned and fed. To his surprise Jared discovered he had fractured two ribs and badly twisted his knee - injuries he didn’t even notice earlier.
It was almost two hours before he was allowed free. With Harley and Sadie now firmly leashed, Jared went looking for his rescuer. He roamed around the camp, posing questions to everyone who could spare a minute, but no one knew who the man was. It didn't take long for Jared to realize his rescuer probably came from another camp.
Doesn’t matter, Jared thought with determination. I’m gonna find him and thank him for what he did.
He looked down at Harley and Sadie and said, “Your papa is on a mission, and he aims to succeed!”
Sadie made a gurgling noise. That was all the warning Jared got before she threw up on his shoes.
Jared found a vet who did a cursory examination of both his dogs and declared that their upset stomachs were probably due to the stress of near-death experiences. This announcement only doubled Jared’s guilt and he scuttled away from the accusatory figure, hoping she wouldn't sic the police on him for cruelty and neglect.
Jared was wondering where he could make a phone call when he spotted Chad’s silver Jaguar parked amongst muddy Jeeps, beat up Subaru Foresters, and strangely enough, two Land Rovers.
“Jared!”
He turned just in time to catch Chad’s left hook right in the jaw.
“You dumb son of a bitch!” Chad ranted, arms wildly waving about. “I told you to get the fuck out! I told you it was too dangerous to stay! Do you have a fucking clue how scared we all were?! Do you have a fucking clue what you put your mom through?!!”
“Now I do,” Jared replied weakly.
Chad took a deep breath then his face crumpled in disgust. “Dude, tell me that’s not you stinking up the place.”
“Can I get up now?”
Chad closed his eyes, took a deep breath before leaning down and helping Jared get to his feet. “Oh, man, that is you. What the hell? Did a sewage line break?”
“My dogs got sick.”
Chad looked at Harley and Sadie who returned his examining gaze with dopey, innocent eyes. “Whatever. Here, call your mom.”
Jared snatched Chad’s cell and called San Antonio. For the next twenty some-odd minutes he did nothing but calm down his mother who berated and cried with every breath. Then he talked to his dad who yelled for the first five minutes of the conversation before actually listening to Jared’s heartfelt apologies.
“Don’t you ever do this again to us,” his father whispered hoarsely. “Your mom was falling apart. I thought I was going to have to hospitalize her when Chad called to tell us your farm was swept under. Jesus Christ, Jared - you’re our son, don’t forget that.”
“I won’t dad, I swear,” Jared promised fervently. “I just wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t … I worked so hard for Devon. I just couldn’t let it go.”
“I understand, I do. But there’s nothing you’ve lost that cannot be rebuilt. We lose you - and that’s it, Jared. There’s nothing to take your place. Just remember that.”
Jared suddenly felt bone-tired as his father’s tearful words stripped what little strength he had left. “I won’t.”
“Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Chad took his cell from his friend and gently said, “C’mon, you’re staying with me until things get sorted out.”
Jared remembered climbing into the Jaguar and praying that his dogs wouldn’t get sick on the leather seats. He woke up sixteen hours later in one of Chad’s guest bedrooms. Harley and Sadie must have been nearby because they sensed he was awake and charged into the bed, joyful that their owner was finally conscious and able to play with them.
Jared saw a set of new clothes draped over the armchair and smiled. Chad had many faults, no doubt about that, but he was also the truest friend Jared had in a long, long time. And there were many times when he had to place his faith in Chad as the following weeks he became inundated with paperwork.
As it turned out, Jared’s flood insurance for the restaurant will cover most of the damages, but not the farm. Even though he was technically in the flood basin, the reason that he was flooded out was because of manmade situation - the levees being opened in order relieve the pressure in the dam - and as such, his flood insurance didn’t kick in, at least for the farm.
Chad’s attorneys did the best they could, but it would take at least six months before the Jared would receive any remuneration. And, as weeks passed, he received even harsher news: three out of eight neighboring farms were permanently closing. They would receive very little money and coupled with the devastating losses, they wouldn’t be able to make ends meet for at least two years. This was a huge blow to the burgeoning organic farming community, and many angry questions were directed at the army engineers - mainly why the levees were opened without any warning.
At first, there were some mumbling excuses followed by piss-poor explanations. When the farming community hired an attorney on their behalf, the federal government finally stepped in and ‘expedited’ their insurance claims along with some hefty smooth-talking to a bank that would lend out loans with very, very low interests. Jared knew it was a bribe, but at this point the farming community was willing to take the offer. But, even with that, one of the largest farms - Dexter’s - still couldn’t save itself.
It was then he stepped in. It took him, Chad, three attorneys and two stormy sessions before he was able to convince Mr. Dexter that what he was doing wasn’t charity but a necessary step to ensure that the entire community had a chance to take a breather before pushing forward.
Mr. Dexter finally agreed on the condition that he would also help in the cleanup of Devon. That way, everyone including Jared would be able to take that first step.
Jared knew it would take at least two years for Devon to be able to produce anything. He’d seen the damage after the floodwaters receded, and the thought on cleanup alone was enough to make him feel murderous. However, Mr. Dexter promised him that in the end of the two years, Devon will be producing crops. Barring any more floods, of course. And army engineers with dodgy knowledge of Berth River and its communities.
February 2008
Jared looked at his cell phone with trepidation and hope. He’d finally gotten the number of the man who had coordinated the rescue efforts of people who had initially refused to abandon their property by Berth. Odds were good that Captain Forrester of the county sheriff department would know the name of Jared’s rescuer.
“Hello? May I please speak with Captain Henry Forrester?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Jared Padalecki. I own Devon Farm by Berth. I was rescued by someone but I don’t know the man’s name. I was hoping Captain Forrester might?”
“Oh, let me patch you through.”
After a brief pause, a gravely voice asked, “Mr. Padalecki?”
“Yes, I don’t know if you know who I am…”
“Of course I do,” Forrester said with genuine warmth. “Damn best restaurant I ever ate in my entire life. What can I do you for?”
“I was stupid enough not to evacuate when I was told to,” Jared explained sheepishly. “And I had to be rescued. I didn’t have a chance to thank the man then but I really want to.”
“Oh, you’re the fifth person to tell me that this month,” Forrester said. “Tell me everything you remember.”
“He was beautiful.” As soon as the words left his mouth Jared knew he’d made a mistake.
“Okkkaaayyy,” Forrester’s voice a great deal warier. “Anything else?”
“Um,” Jared forced his tongue to slow down and actually listen to his brain.
Had face like Adonis, body by Apollo, and an ass that would make Hermes turn green with envy.
Somehow, he didn’t think that would ease Forrester’s mind. “Had light brown hair, bright green eyes … broad shoulders … really worn hands?”
“Son, this isn’t harmony.com. I mean what kind of boat was he navigating?”
“Beat up … white … maybe light grey … with blue or dark green stripes on the side?” Jared mentally winced as he spoke.
“I don’t think he was one of ours,” Forrester finally said after a very pregnant pause. “The boats we used were red or green. I know that other camps had lent their boats not to mention personnel. He must have belonged to one of them.”
“Can I get contact numbers for them?”
“Why are you so keen on finding this man?”
“Because he saved my life. And my dogs. And I never said thank you. I should’ve said something, anything, to thank the man but I didn’t. I just want him to know how grateful I am.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Jared lied cheerfully. “Just to say thanks.”
“Okay, then. Grab a pen and some paper. It’s going to be a damn long list.”
Jared called everyone on the list to no avail. He’d spent the following two weeks trying to track down everyone who was involved in the flooding of Berth River, but nobody knew who his rescuer was. It was as if the man was a figment of Jared’s imagination: someone he’d dreamt up in his worst moment of desperation.
In the end Jared had to give up looking as real life demanded his attention. But he vowed that as soon as he’d get some free time he would find the stranger. Even if he had to put a full-page ad in the Seattle Times to do it.
“So, you got two, two and half years before you go back to the boonies?” Chad asked as he wolfed down Jared’s French toast made with brioche, cinnamon, a dash of brandy, and farm fresh eggs.
“Yeah,” Jared said cautiously. “Why are you asking?”
“I thought now might be a good time to think about that restaurant.”
“Not this again,” Jared said. “For the last time, Devon was and is a real restaurant!”
“Out in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Chad amended. He made a sweeping gesture towards his kitchen windows which perfectly framed the Needle. “Look at this! How can you not want to test the waters here?”
“Because I’m not suicidal. The restaurant business here makes the one in NYC look tame.”
“I know that,” Chad said. “I still think you should give it a try here. And I found the perfect place.”
“You went looking?!”
“Why not?” Chad asked. “What’s the harm in looking anyway?”
“Where? Belltown? Or Fremont: that neighborhood needs another restaurant like they need an earthquake.”
“Capitol Hill.”
Jared shook his head. “That’s even worse. Seriously, you can’t go down a block without hitting a noodle place, an ethnic eatery, an organic bar or something-or-other.”
“Hey, all I’m asking you is to come with me. I don’t think that’s too much to ask: do you?”
Jared rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn’t even bother arguing with Chad when his friend was like this. It was just better to humor Chad, then when everything had blown over - to pick him up, dust him off, and take him home.
As Jared suspected, Capitol Hill was fast becoming gentrified. There was an entirely new crop of eateries since his last visit, and he counted at least dozen women in yoga wear, taking advantage of the early spring weather.
With heartless determination Chad dragged his reluctant friend down Pike before turning right to a small, nearly-abandoned street. Jared frowned as he saw the area. There were very few storefronts, and the two he saw were shuttered. Chad stood in front of what looked like an oversized metal vault, leading into a garage. He pulled out a large key with a great flourish and unlocked the the heavy door. Unfortunately it took both him and Jared to actually push the monstrosity open.
Jared was the first to step in. He looked around the square room. It was bare with wood floors. The walls must have been once decorated with large canvases since there was plenty of discoloration.
“What was this place?” Jared asked.
“It was a coffee house-slash-bookstore-slash-artist’s-workshop.”
“Only in Seattle.” Jared tried hard not to roll his eyes.
Chad, sensing his friend’s growing reluctance, grabbed Jared by his arms and dragged him to the back. “And this is the kitchen.”
Jared was stunned as the room he entered was brightly lit with sunlight. He looked up and noticed huge skylights and almost cathedral-like height of the ceiling. Jared gave a low whistle as he noticed the appliances.
“What happened?”
“The previous owners were remodeling to have this place become a restaurant when one of them died. The other decided not to go through with it.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t sell off the appliances.”
“I spoke to him before he had the chance to,” Chad said. “So, what do you think?”
Jared looked around the kitchen and had to admit its layout was superb. And the materials used were top-notch. Whoever built this kitchen had great ambition. “Who designed this?”
“A Canadian architect named Bergen. From what I understand he’s something of a foodie: ate in Alinea, is a frequent customer of Bernardin. You know the drill.”
“Yeah,” Jared said absently as he examined the hood. “I can see that.” He looked up at the skylights again and added, “So, I’m guessing he’s into Keller’s style.”
“Sunshine makes people happy,” Chad admitted. “And during the warmer months, we’ve got it until ten at least. Would make the kitchen staff less bluesy, I think.”
“Could be a distraction though,” Jared said. “But … if it’s used right - then, yeah.”
Jared thought of using fresh berries, those lovely wild greens, turning them into salads, side dishes, even the main plate, all the while being bathed in sunlight. That was one of the things he missed about Devon - the constant light as the months warmed up.
“You like it,” Chad said. “I can see the little wheels going already.”
Jared’s smile grew. “Yeah, I like it. So, what other tricks you have up your sleeve?”
“How about a sous-chef?”
“Who?” Jared asked warily.
Chad scrolled down his Blackberry and then gave it to Jared who read the name. “Wow, she’s interested?”
Chad nodded. “Yep, spoke to her last night. She visited Devon couple of times.”
“I don’t remember serving Sophia Bush. Hell, I’d remember if I had her on the reservation list.”
“She used an alias. Anyway, she says she’s very interested.”
“So, she’s over her psycho fit?”
“The son of a bitch deserved it,” Chad answered heatedly. “He’s lucky that’s all she did.”
“No argument there, but I need a sous-chef who’s going to be stable. Is she stable?”
“She was never out of control,” Chad said amiably. “Which makes what she did even scarier."
“Then I’d like to talk to her.”
“So, you’re interested?”
“I guess I am. Anyone else lined up?”
“A pastry chef from Chanterelle named Sandy McCoy.”
“She did her tour of duty in New York?” Jared asked, stunned to hear that a New Yorker was willing to transplant herself all the way across the country. They usually stuck to the east coast or Chicago if they were feeling particularly adventurous.
“She’s moving here because of family reasons.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“From what I understand she’s got a kid. Not hers, but somehow she ended up adopting the rugrat. And the little girl’s got bad asthma.”
“So, no more New York,” Jared concluded. “Okay, I’m assuming you got dossiers on both Bush and McCoy?”
“Jared, I’ve got their bra sizes.”
“There is absolutely no reason for me to know that,” Jared said. “Busty babes are not required in my kitchen.”
“Tough shit, ‘cause these gals are serious lookers.”
“Please tell me that’s not why you want me to hire them.”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt - you know?”
“Only you, Chad, only you,” Jared said with an incredulous smile. “So, while we’re on a roll, I think it’s about time I moved out and found my own place.”
Chad gave a huge sigh of relief. “Man, I love you like a brother, but I haven’t gotten laid since you moved in. So, thank you for hauling your gigantic ass and your dogs out of my pad!”
“Know any good real estate agents?”
Chad once again brandished his Blackberry like a weapon. A real estate agent picked them up right in front of the restaurant and spent the rest of the afternoon showing various properties. It didn’t take long for Jared to find a nice home with a considerable backyard for his dogs in Queen Anne neighborhood. The Craftsman had been recently renovated, and though the third floor felt cramped, the first two were spacious and large enough for Jared to feel comfortable in.
By the end of the week, he had bought the restaurant and a new house. In spite of the huge amount of legal paperwork involved, Jared never felt overwhelmed. In fact, he was starting to feel the old elation humming through his veins. He’d missed cooking for an audience, and whether Jared wanted to admit it or not, he was a showman - he needed people to appreciate his talents.
What he also needed was an honest contractor. When he toured the restaurant again, Jared quickly discovered a large fault: the restaurant didn’t have a delivery entrance. Chad discovered there used to be one but it was walled in for reasons the previous owner wouldn’t reveal.
“So, we’re going to have to find the goddamn thing and build it again?”
Chad took a healthy swig of his beer. “What’s the big deal? The frame’s all there, so it should be easy.”
As it turned out, it wasn’t easy at all. In order to support the massive skylights, the wall containing the door had to be restructured, hence the disappearance of the supply entrance. However, the contractor that Chad proclaimed was the last honest builder in Washington said it would be easy enough if a support beam was put in. What would be difficult was getting the building permit from Seattle.
Even though the door was originally put in, and could be uncovered with minimum fuss, the city had deemed this as ‘major structural changes’ and thus they had no choice but to apply for a permit. Which also meant getting a sidewalk permit, something that made no sense to Jared since the door was facing an alley. On top of that, the materials that were to be put in had to meet entirely new specs.
It was enough to drive Jared to drink.
Not that he had the time to kick back, open a bottle and read the Times. He’d known with his previous dealing with Devon that it would be a Herculean task to open a restaurant, but he’d no idea how big a challenge it was to open one in a cosmopolitan arena. First off, Jared couldn't find reliable and honest purveyors who’d truck into the city on a daily basis. Other restaurants politely but firmly refused to divulge their lists. It was too much like high-priced prostitutes sharing the names of their best clients: not good for business.
Second, he’d probably have to be a high-priced hooker to attract the best wait staff. The competition for them were fierce and restaurants constantly poach from each other. Of course, Chad had lots of outrageously clever ideas, two of which were probably illegal in the State of Washington. It took Jared a few shots before convincing Chad that putting wiretaps in rival restaurants was a bad idea.
However, buying hostesses tasty cocktails at a local club and flattering them to high heaven wasn’t off the menu. So, they spent three friday nights in a row roaming popular nightclubs, looking to chat up people who worked in the restaurant business.
They were five hundred dollars poorer after the Friday Night recons, but Jared thought it was a money well spent. Chad ended up crashing at his place since he was too exhausted to even call for a cab.
Chad laid down on the sofa with a bottle of water and some aspirin while Jared was in the kitchen, making his usual after-binge concoction for the morning after. He saw the hastily scribbled names on the cocktail napkins spread out all over the coffee table in front of him. “Why is this name underlined twice?”
"What name?"
"Welling!"
“Oh, that one - that one’s just golden," Jared said as he joined his friend.
“Do I want to know why?” Chad asked, quirking an eyebrow. “By the way, you’re making me breakfast.”
Jared looked at his watch. Technically, it was close enough to dawn for him to at least make an omelet. “Not a problem.”
“The name?”
“Oh,” Jared said. “Welling’s Farm sells wild greens and special produce. They also make goat cheese.”
“Goat cheese?” Chad made a gagging noise. “I still don’t get why you like that stuff. They ruin the palate for wine.”
“Whine, whine, whine,” Jared countered good-naturedly. “If they can deliver then we’re pretty much set.”
“Cool,” Chad said before moaning and falling back into the sofa. “So, about that omelet…”
“Coming right up.” Jared stood up and stretched. “Man, I’m getting too old for this!”
“Oh, shut up,” Chad said. “You use to wake up ass o’clock in Devon.”
Jared’s answer was a loud, obnoxious yawn. When he returned with a plate of omelet, he found Chad already in deep sleep.
Part II * Part IV
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
January 2005
Holston, Washington
The cold January air was shocking for Jared as he had been warming his bones in Texas, so it took him a while to step outside the car in order to examine the farm. What he saw was controlled chaos.
Chad joined him and looked around. “Okay, this is a shithole.”
Jared chuckled. He had become completely immune to Chad’s directness. “It’s a farm, not a tourist trap.”
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
They turned to face a tall, strongly-built man studying them.
“Hi, I’m Jared Padalecki.”
“Oh, yeah, Sam told me you’re coming by,” the man approached them. “Name’s Jeff Morgan. I own Devon.”
“Good to meet you.”
“Follow me,” Jeff said. “Sam’s probably got coffee brewing.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jared said and dragged his reluctant friend into the farmhouse.
The kitchen had a huge wooden table running down almost the entire length of the room. Jared traced his fingers lovingly over the knots and bumps.
“My father made it right before I was born.” Jeff's face reflected happy memories as he explained. “He actually had to build it inside this room.”
“I was wondering,” Jared said. He heard a commotion to the right and turned to see a woman who strongly reminded him of Demeter in a painting he once saw in Florence.
“I see you found our guests,” she said with a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Sam.”
“Nice to meet you. This is Chad, a friend of mine.”
“Sit down,” Sam said. “I heard you have an interesting offer for Devon.”
“I was wondering,” Jared said hesitantly, “why are you selling in the first place?”
“Oh, that’s because of me,” Jeff said. “My back’s gone. Farming’s not an easy job when you’re in the best of shape and I’m not; not anymore anyway.”
“Besides, we’re due for a vacation,” Sam added with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time we’ve taken a week off.”
Chad gave a knowing glance at Jared who looked uncomfortable.
Sam saw the exchange of looks and warily asked, “What’s wrong?”
“About that…” Jared fidgeted in his chair. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and said, “I’m willing to pay that much if you two do something for me.”
Jeff looked at the sum and whistled. “Wow, what’s the catch?”
“I need you to stay on for another year, maybe more, to teach me how to run this place,” Jared said. “I also need you to introduce me to the farms around Devon.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“I…” Jared looked at Chad. “I want to open a small restaurant here, on the farm.”
Jeff burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Open a restaurant,” Jared repeated.
Sam didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “We’re almost two hours from Seattle. This is the boonies Mr. Padalecki. You’ll do better in Olympia or Portland if you want to avoid Seattle.”
“No, that’s not it,” Jared said. “What I want isn’t just a restaurant. I want people to see where the food comes from. I want people to know why eating certain foods at certain times is a good thing.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re asking? What kind of work it takes to build a restaurant much less keep it afloat?” Jeff asked even as he took another glance at Jared's princely offer.
“There are places that have succeeded,” Chad finally entered the conversation. “But you’re right: it won’t be easy. We both know that.”
“What are you trying to accomplish, exactly?” Jeff asked. “To run a successful restaurant? To educate people?”
“I believe you can do both,” Jared said. “I think people will be interested in what they’re eating and why. And I believe that because people are naturally curious. They also want to be entertained. What easier way to do this than through food?”
“You might have something there,” Sam said. “A lot of people are becoming aware of the organic movement.”
“Exactly,” Jared said enthusiastically. “And most of the farms around here are hardcore about it. You guys have a great thing going here. There are at least two farms besides Devon that grow produce. There’s a farm that sells cheese and Mrs. Hanstrom…”
“You’ve done your homework,” Sam said. “So, you think you can use local products?”
“Pretty much,” Jared answered. “Chad here is something of an expert when it comes to wine and he's familiar enough with the vineyards in the state to feature them exclusively.”
“Use Washington wines with Washington produce,” Jeff said. “I see what you’re doing. That’s pretty damn clever actually.”
“We’ve got everything we need to run a successful restaurant right here,” Jared said. “So why not use it, and promote it while I'm at it?”
Jeff looked at Sam before saying, “But I still can’t do the heavy work.”
“Do you know someone who can?”
“I think so,” Jeff said slowly. “Are you really willing to go so far out on a limb for this?”
“Hell yes,” Jared answered. “I’ve been thinking about this since I was eighteen.”
“Okay then, let me introduce you around,” Sam said. “We can gauge what the neighbors think about your plans.”
“What about promoting the place? Especially way out here in the boonies?” Jeff asked.
“That’s trickier,” Chad answered for his friend. “But not impossible. We’ve got few business models we can work off of. Our idea might be novel around here but it’s been practiced far and wide elsewhere.”
“Alrighty then,” Sam said, standing up. “Let’s get going and see what your restaurant can do for us.”
“By the way, what are you going to call it?” Jeff asked. “Something French, maybe?”
Jared shook his head. “Nope, I’m going to keep calling the place Devon, including the restaurant. Don’t see any reason to tart it up because I’m going to start up a restaurant here.”
Jeff chuckled and shook his head. “You guys have a place to stay?”
“We’re staying at a Motel 66…” Jared didn’t have a chance to finish answering.
“Like hell you are,” Sam said, frowning. “That place’s got a bad rep and for a good reason. Stay with us tonight. If we don’t make the rounds then we can start up early tomorrow.”
Chad sighed and looked at Jared with pained eyes. “I don’t know about you but I’m going to take up on her offer. That stain in the bathroom scares the shit out of me.”
“That’s kind of you, and we’ll both accept,” Jared said. “Chad’s bathroom isn’t the only one with scary stains.”
Jeff laughed again. “Sounds good. I’ll go make up the guest bedrooms.”
“And I’ll drive us to the Motel to get you guys checked out before we start.” Sam snatched her purse and jacket from a row of coat hooks made out of gear-shifts.
Chad followed Jared and Sam, while examining the farm with greater interest than he had shown previously. Sam made good on her promise: she drove around and introduced them to the neighboring farms dotting Berth River. They were cautious about Jared’s restaurant idea, but after long conversations with both him and Chad, the farmers were uniformly supportive. The idea of having a restaurant that used local produce in its freshest form meant not only reliable source of income, but also free advertising for them.
It took them three days to finish visiting all the local farms but by the end Sam was firmly convinced that with good advertising Jared’s idea would succeed.
It didn't take long for them to hammer out a proper contract, and Devon transferred ownership by the end of the month. Jared took a guest bedroom since he didn't need much space and eagerly dove into the work. Jeff and Sam quickly realized Jared was very familiar with the hard labor necessary to run a successful farm. So, while Chad finagled, bullied, and charmed his way into getting the necessary licenses for building the restaurant in an unused barn, Jared helped Jeff and Sam milk the goats, make the cheese, all the while preparing for Spring.
Devon opened in June, and within two weeks Jared’s new restaurant received rave reviews in all the major papers, including a spectacular thumbs-up from Seattle Magazine. To Jared’s delight, the diners not only enjoyed what was on their plates, but also the knowledge they’d gleaned while waiting for their food, as most of them took a stroll or even mini-tours around the working farm. Their appreciation for their food seemed to increase dramatically when they realized what went into making the ingredients that not only pleased their palates, but filled their stomachs as well.
By September Devon was reviewed by Bon Appetit and Jared was featured in the issue of Gourmet that introduced ‘The Best Upcoming Chefs in America’. And if his dimples and impressive physique got him the cover, Jared wasn’t about to complain: Devon deserved everything he could give, and then some.
It took French Laundry over eighteen months to be in the black. It took Devon fourteen.
January 2008
Jared replayed the voice mails from Chad, and one from Jeff from his place in New Mexico. Chad must have called him and pleaded with Jeff to convince Jared to abandon Devon. Jared was furious that Chad would pull such a stunt. Jeff had just gotten out of corrective spinal surgery, and the last thing the recuperating patient needed was to concern himself with Jared's welfare.
Not gonna happen, Jared thought as he stubbornly punched the 'erase' button on the answering machine. He had learned of the evacuation plan earlier in the morning, but he also heard that Berth had been slowly receding since last night.
Jared wasn't going to abandon his home, his business - the dream he worked so hard for. He looked at the red toolbox sitting on his kitchen table and flipped it open; He then mindlessly began checking the knives, hoping to derive some calm from the routine work.
Jared heard Harley and Sadie whine, which was nothing new as the floodwater was close enough to warrant anxious behavior from them. But what caught his attention was the fact that the dogs were facing the wrong way. Berth River was to the west of the house, not east. Sadie gave a snarling yip and began scrabbling backwards, towards the front door. It was then that Jared heard the rumbling noise. As he ran to the window, the sound got louder, almost as if there was an old-fashioned steam train bearing down on them.
He pulled aside the curtain and yelled in shock. A wall of dark blue water, peppered with debris, was rolling down the hillside, towards Devon. It slammed with enough force to partially tear the house off the foundation, spinning it ninety degrees to the left. Jared lost his footing and fell onto the floor, ass-first.
“Jesus!” he screamed.
Harley and Sadie scrambled around him, barking madly. He stood up only to lose his footing again when the house slid further, towards the river. Jared scrabbled to his knees, screaming for his dogs to follow him. He then remembered Kit's present and grabbed it before fighting his way to the stairs. They made it to the second floor. Jared took a peek out the window just in time to see a fir tree bounce alongside, followed by his pickup truck.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jared yelled as he ran to his bedroom.
He actually felt the house tear itself from its foundation, and like the debris all around him, the eighty-four-year-old farmhouse began floating towards Berth.
Jared slammed open the attic door and called for his dogs. He picked up Harley and tossed him up, quickly followed by Sadie and the toolbox. Then he hauled himself up before sealing the entrance with heavy trunks. He looked out the small attic window and saw the house now fully in the river, which, thankfully, swallowed the flood, allowing the house to float lazily down upon its swollen back.
Jared stuck half of his body out the window to see if he could manage to get himself onto the roof with his dogs. It was then he heard yelling. Jared turned to his right to see a small boat powering towards him.
“Over here! Over here!” Jared screamed on top of his lungs while wildly waving his arms.
The boat picked up speed and soon pulled aside the house. Jared looked down and realized the water was rising and there was less than a foot between the window and certain drowning.
“Get in!” the stranger shouted as he tossed a coil of rope to Jared.
“Let me get my dogs!”
“We don’t have time!”
Jared didn’t reply. Instead, he ducked inside and grabbed Sadie who had pressed herself against his legs with such force, she had him pinned to the wall. Jared didn’t hesitate: he tossed her out the window.
The stranger gave a shout of surprise but managed to catch the flying dog. Jared grabbed Harley and wrapped the rope around his chest before threading its end through the toolbox's handle. The water was now pouring through the window, making it hard for Jared to get out. But death was a great motivator and Jared fought his way out the window.
The stranger winced as the current pulled Jared and Harley away. But with a great show of strength he began dragging the rope in until Jared and Harley was beside the boat. Harley managed to scramble into the boat as Jared pushed him up. Then Jared hauled himself in with the toolbox, sputtering as he swallowed what felt like twenty gallons of water.
“Jesus Christ, you fucking moron!” the man yelled, wide-eyed with fury and shock. “You could’ve killed yourself!”
Jared buried his face in Harley’s wet fur. He couldn’t speak.
“Hold on,” the man said in a calmer tone as he began piloting the boat through the swollen river. It was almost three minutes before he found a tributary that could be used.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jared answered. “Thank you. I had no idea…”
“You should be on your knees, thanking God that you're still breathing,” the man interrupted hoarsely. “You know you were suppose to evacuate this morning, right?”
“Didn’t see why,” Jared answered, feeling like he ate thirty-one flavors of stupid. “I heard Berth was receding and I didn’t want to leave my home.”
“Dude, next time, listen to the people who actually know what the hell’s going on.” He handed over a dry blanket and said, “There’s a thermos of coffee under your seat if you want some.”
“Thanks,” Jared whispered and leaned down just in time for Harley to hork on his head.
Who knew dogs could get sea sick?
“Jesus,” the stranger said with laughter in his voice. “Ummm … are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jared said, face firmly planted downwards as he felt vomit comb through his hair and drip onto the boat. “Harley, on the other hand, is gonna learn how to swim very fast.”
“I wish I had something to give you to clean up but I got nothing.”
“That’s okay,” Jared replied. He cupped handful of water and dumped it on his head before wiping himself dry with the edge of the blanket. He was too cold to give up the blanket completely. With woeful eyes he looked at the man who braved the floodwaters to rescue him and his dogs.
Oh my God, Jared thought as he took in the golden skin, hair, and eye color that seemed to change with the setting sun. Is this guy for real?
The man must have felt his stare. He turned to Jared and asked, “What?”
Jared shook his head mutely and made a show of examining Harley. His rescuer went back to navigating the treacherous waters which allowed Jared to examine him further.
God must have been in a great mood when he was born, Jared thought as he examined the flawless profile. The man’s hands were scarred, which made Jared think the guy was no stranger to manual labor.
Maybe he’s a firefighter, Jared thought as he took in the scars that criss-crossed the rough hands. Would explain the whole hero thing. Thought hot firefighters were just urban legends but this guy’s as real as they come.
“Here we go,” the man said.
Jared saw a small camp with a big white tent sporting the international Red Cross symbol. For a moment he felt his entire body weaken with relief and tears clouded his vision. Jared and his dogs were swiftly taken off the boat and hustled into the tent where they were cleaned and fed. To his surprise Jared discovered he had fractured two ribs and badly twisted his knee - injuries he didn’t even notice earlier.
It was almost two hours before he was allowed free. With Harley and Sadie now firmly leashed, Jared went looking for his rescuer. He roamed around the camp, posing questions to everyone who could spare a minute, but no one knew who the man was. It didn't take long for Jared to realize his rescuer probably came from another camp.
Doesn’t matter, Jared thought with determination. I’m gonna find him and thank him for what he did.
He looked down at Harley and Sadie and said, “Your papa is on a mission, and he aims to succeed!”
Sadie made a gurgling noise. That was all the warning Jared got before she threw up on his shoes.
Jared found a vet who did a cursory examination of both his dogs and declared that their upset stomachs were probably due to the stress of near-death experiences. This announcement only doubled Jared’s guilt and he scuttled away from the accusatory figure, hoping she wouldn't sic the police on him for cruelty and neglect.
Jared was wondering where he could make a phone call when he spotted Chad’s silver Jaguar parked amongst muddy Jeeps, beat up Subaru Foresters, and strangely enough, two Land Rovers.
“Jared!”
He turned just in time to catch Chad’s left hook right in the jaw.
“You dumb son of a bitch!” Chad ranted, arms wildly waving about. “I told you to get the fuck out! I told you it was too dangerous to stay! Do you have a fucking clue how scared we all were?! Do you have a fucking clue what you put your mom through?!!”
“Now I do,” Jared replied weakly.
Chad took a deep breath then his face crumpled in disgust. “Dude, tell me that’s not you stinking up the place.”
“Can I get up now?”
Chad closed his eyes, took a deep breath before leaning down and helping Jared get to his feet. “Oh, man, that is you. What the hell? Did a sewage line break?”
“My dogs got sick.”
Chad looked at Harley and Sadie who returned his examining gaze with dopey, innocent eyes. “Whatever. Here, call your mom.”
Jared snatched Chad’s cell and called San Antonio. For the next twenty some-odd minutes he did nothing but calm down his mother who berated and cried with every breath. Then he talked to his dad who yelled for the first five minutes of the conversation before actually listening to Jared’s heartfelt apologies.
“Don’t you ever do this again to us,” his father whispered hoarsely. “Your mom was falling apart. I thought I was going to have to hospitalize her when Chad called to tell us your farm was swept under. Jesus Christ, Jared - you’re our son, don’t forget that.”
“I won’t dad, I swear,” Jared promised fervently. “I just wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t … I worked so hard for Devon. I just couldn’t let it go.”
“I understand, I do. But there’s nothing you’ve lost that cannot be rebuilt. We lose you - and that’s it, Jared. There’s nothing to take your place. Just remember that.”
Jared suddenly felt bone-tired as his father’s tearful words stripped what little strength he had left. “I won’t.”
“Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Chad took his cell from his friend and gently said, “C’mon, you’re staying with me until things get sorted out.”
Jared remembered climbing into the Jaguar and praying that his dogs wouldn’t get sick on the leather seats. He woke up sixteen hours later in one of Chad’s guest bedrooms. Harley and Sadie must have been nearby because they sensed he was awake and charged into the bed, joyful that their owner was finally conscious and able to play with them.
Jared saw a set of new clothes draped over the armchair and smiled. Chad had many faults, no doubt about that, but he was also the truest friend Jared had in a long, long time. And there were many times when he had to place his faith in Chad as the following weeks he became inundated with paperwork.
As it turned out, Jared’s flood insurance for the restaurant will cover most of the damages, but not the farm. Even though he was technically in the flood basin, the reason that he was flooded out was because of manmade situation - the levees being opened in order relieve the pressure in the dam - and as such, his flood insurance didn’t kick in, at least for the farm.
Chad’s attorneys did the best they could, but it would take at least six months before the Jared would receive any remuneration. And, as weeks passed, he received even harsher news: three out of eight neighboring farms were permanently closing. They would receive very little money and coupled with the devastating losses, they wouldn’t be able to make ends meet for at least two years. This was a huge blow to the burgeoning organic farming community, and many angry questions were directed at the army engineers - mainly why the levees were opened without any warning.
At first, there were some mumbling excuses followed by piss-poor explanations. When the farming community hired an attorney on their behalf, the federal government finally stepped in and ‘expedited’ their insurance claims along with some hefty smooth-talking to a bank that would lend out loans with very, very low interests. Jared knew it was a bribe, but at this point the farming community was willing to take the offer. But, even with that, one of the largest farms - Dexter’s - still couldn’t save itself.
It was then he stepped in. It took him, Chad, three attorneys and two stormy sessions before he was able to convince Mr. Dexter that what he was doing wasn’t charity but a necessary step to ensure that the entire community had a chance to take a breather before pushing forward.
Mr. Dexter finally agreed on the condition that he would also help in the cleanup of Devon. That way, everyone including Jared would be able to take that first step.
Jared knew it would take at least two years for Devon to be able to produce anything. He’d seen the damage after the floodwaters receded, and the thought on cleanup alone was enough to make him feel murderous. However, Mr. Dexter promised him that in the end of the two years, Devon will be producing crops. Barring any more floods, of course. And army engineers with dodgy knowledge of Berth River and its communities.
February 2008
Jared looked at his cell phone with trepidation and hope. He’d finally gotten the number of the man who had coordinated the rescue efforts of people who had initially refused to abandon their property by Berth. Odds were good that Captain Forrester of the county sheriff department would know the name of Jared’s rescuer.
“Hello? May I please speak with Captain Henry Forrester?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Jared Padalecki. I own Devon Farm by Berth. I was rescued by someone but I don’t know the man’s name. I was hoping Captain Forrester might?”
“Oh, let me patch you through.”
After a brief pause, a gravely voice asked, “Mr. Padalecki?”
“Yes, I don’t know if you know who I am…”
“Of course I do,” Forrester said with genuine warmth. “Damn best restaurant I ever ate in my entire life. What can I do you for?”
“I was stupid enough not to evacuate when I was told to,” Jared explained sheepishly. “And I had to be rescued. I didn’t have a chance to thank the man then but I really want to.”
“Oh, you’re the fifth person to tell me that this month,” Forrester said. “Tell me everything you remember.”
“He was beautiful.” As soon as the words left his mouth Jared knew he’d made a mistake.
“Okkkaaayyy,” Forrester’s voice a great deal warier. “Anything else?”
“Um,” Jared forced his tongue to slow down and actually listen to his brain.
Had face like Adonis, body by Apollo, and an ass that would make Hermes turn green with envy.
Somehow, he didn’t think that would ease Forrester’s mind. “Had light brown hair, bright green eyes … broad shoulders … really worn hands?”
“Son, this isn’t harmony.com. I mean what kind of boat was he navigating?”
“Beat up … white … maybe light grey … with blue or dark green stripes on the side?” Jared mentally winced as he spoke.
“I don’t think he was one of ours,” Forrester finally said after a very pregnant pause. “The boats we used were red or green. I know that other camps had lent their boats not to mention personnel. He must have belonged to one of them.”
“Can I get contact numbers for them?”
“Why are you so keen on finding this man?”
“Because he saved my life. And my dogs. And I never said thank you. I should’ve said something, anything, to thank the man but I didn’t. I just want him to know how grateful I am.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Jared lied cheerfully. “Just to say thanks.”
“Okay, then. Grab a pen and some paper. It’s going to be a damn long list.”
Jared called everyone on the list to no avail. He’d spent the following two weeks trying to track down everyone who was involved in the flooding of Berth River, but nobody knew who his rescuer was. It was as if the man was a figment of Jared’s imagination: someone he’d dreamt up in his worst moment of desperation.
In the end Jared had to give up looking as real life demanded his attention. But he vowed that as soon as he’d get some free time he would find the stranger. Even if he had to put a full-page ad in the Seattle Times to do it.
“So, you got two, two and half years before you go back to the boonies?” Chad asked as he wolfed down Jared’s French toast made with brioche, cinnamon, a dash of brandy, and farm fresh eggs.
“Yeah,” Jared said cautiously. “Why are you asking?”
“I thought now might be a good time to think about that restaurant.”
“Not this again,” Jared said. “For the last time, Devon was and is a real restaurant!”
“Out in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Chad amended. He made a sweeping gesture towards his kitchen windows which perfectly framed the Needle. “Look at this! How can you not want to test the waters here?”
“Because I’m not suicidal. The restaurant business here makes the one in NYC look tame.”
“I know that,” Chad said. “I still think you should give it a try here. And I found the perfect place.”
“You went looking?!”
“Why not?” Chad asked. “What’s the harm in looking anyway?”
“Where? Belltown? Or Fremont: that neighborhood needs another restaurant like they need an earthquake.”
“Capitol Hill.”
Jared shook his head. “That’s even worse. Seriously, you can’t go down a block without hitting a noodle place, an ethnic eatery, an organic bar or something-or-other.”
“Hey, all I’m asking you is to come with me. I don’t think that’s too much to ask: do you?”
Jared rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn’t even bother arguing with Chad when his friend was like this. It was just better to humor Chad, then when everything had blown over - to pick him up, dust him off, and take him home.
As Jared suspected, Capitol Hill was fast becoming gentrified. There was an entirely new crop of eateries since his last visit, and he counted at least dozen women in yoga wear, taking advantage of the early spring weather.
With heartless determination Chad dragged his reluctant friend down Pike before turning right to a small, nearly-abandoned street. Jared frowned as he saw the area. There were very few storefronts, and the two he saw were shuttered. Chad stood in front of what looked like an oversized metal vault, leading into a garage. He pulled out a large key with a great flourish and unlocked the the heavy door. Unfortunately it took both him and Jared to actually push the monstrosity open.
Jared was the first to step in. He looked around the square room. It was bare with wood floors. The walls must have been once decorated with large canvases since there was plenty of discoloration.
“What was this place?” Jared asked.
“It was a coffee house-slash-bookstore-slash-artist’s-workshop.”
“Only in Seattle.” Jared tried hard not to roll his eyes.
Chad, sensing his friend’s growing reluctance, grabbed Jared by his arms and dragged him to the back. “And this is the kitchen.”
Jared was stunned as the room he entered was brightly lit with sunlight. He looked up and noticed huge skylights and almost cathedral-like height of the ceiling. Jared gave a low whistle as he noticed the appliances.
“What happened?”
“The previous owners were remodeling to have this place become a restaurant when one of them died. The other decided not to go through with it.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t sell off the appliances.”
“I spoke to him before he had the chance to,” Chad said. “So, what do you think?”
Jared looked around the kitchen and had to admit its layout was superb. And the materials used were top-notch. Whoever built this kitchen had great ambition. “Who designed this?”
“A Canadian architect named Bergen. From what I understand he’s something of a foodie: ate in Alinea, is a frequent customer of Bernardin. You know the drill.”
“Yeah,” Jared said absently as he examined the hood. “I can see that.” He looked up at the skylights again and added, “So, I’m guessing he’s into Keller’s style.”
“Sunshine makes people happy,” Chad admitted. “And during the warmer months, we’ve got it until ten at least. Would make the kitchen staff less bluesy, I think.”
“Could be a distraction though,” Jared said. “But … if it’s used right - then, yeah.”
Jared thought of using fresh berries, those lovely wild greens, turning them into salads, side dishes, even the main plate, all the while being bathed in sunlight. That was one of the things he missed about Devon - the constant light as the months warmed up.
“You like it,” Chad said. “I can see the little wheels going already.”
Jared’s smile grew. “Yeah, I like it. So, what other tricks you have up your sleeve?”
“How about a sous-chef?”
“Who?” Jared asked warily.
Chad scrolled down his Blackberry and then gave it to Jared who read the name. “Wow, she’s interested?”
Chad nodded. “Yep, spoke to her last night. She visited Devon couple of times.”
“I don’t remember serving Sophia Bush. Hell, I’d remember if I had her on the reservation list.”
“She used an alias. Anyway, she says she’s very interested.”
“So, she’s over her psycho fit?”
“The son of a bitch deserved it,” Chad answered heatedly. “He’s lucky that’s all she did.”
“No argument there, but I need a sous-chef who’s going to be stable. Is she stable?”
“She was never out of control,” Chad said amiably. “Which makes what she did even scarier."
“Then I’d like to talk to her.”
“So, you’re interested?”
“I guess I am. Anyone else lined up?”
“A pastry chef from Chanterelle named Sandy McCoy.”
“She did her tour of duty in New York?” Jared asked, stunned to hear that a New Yorker was willing to transplant herself all the way across the country. They usually stuck to the east coast or Chicago if they were feeling particularly adventurous.
“She’s moving here because of family reasons.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“From what I understand she’s got a kid. Not hers, but somehow she ended up adopting the rugrat. And the little girl’s got bad asthma.”
“So, no more New York,” Jared concluded. “Okay, I’m assuming you got dossiers on both Bush and McCoy?”
“Jared, I’ve got their bra sizes.”
“There is absolutely no reason for me to know that,” Jared said. “Busty babes are not required in my kitchen.”
“Tough shit, ‘cause these gals are serious lookers.”
“Please tell me that’s not why you want me to hire them.”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt - you know?”
“Only you, Chad, only you,” Jared said with an incredulous smile. “So, while we’re on a roll, I think it’s about time I moved out and found my own place.”
Chad gave a huge sigh of relief. “Man, I love you like a brother, but I haven’t gotten laid since you moved in. So, thank you for hauling your gigantic ass and your dogs out of my pad!”
“Know any good real estate agents?”
Chad once again brandished his Blackberry like a weapon. A real estate agent picked them up right in front of the restaurant and spent the rest of the afternoon showing various properties. It didn’t take long for Jared to find a nice home with a considerable backyard for his dogs in Queen Anne neighborhood. The Craftsman had been recently renovated, and though the third floor felt cramped, the first two were spacious and large enough for Jared to feel comfortable in.
By the end of the week, he had bought the restaurant and a new house. In spite of the huge amount of legal paperwork involved, Jared never felt overwhelmed. In fact, he was starting to feel the old elation humming through his veins. He’d missed cooking for an audience, and whether Jared wanted to admit it or not, he was a showman - he needed people to appreciate his talents.
What he also needed was an honest contractor. When he toured the restaurant again, Jared quickly discovered a large fault: the restaurant didn’t have a delivery entrance. Chad discovered there used to be one but it was walled in for reasons the previous owner wouldn’t reveal.
“So, we’re going to have to find the goddamn thing and build it again?”
Chad took a healthy swig of his beer. “What’s the big deal? The frame’s all there, so it should be easy.”
As it turned out, it wasn’t easy at all. In order to support the massive skylights, the wall containing the door had to be restructured, hence the disappearance of the supply entrance. However, the contractor that Chad proclaimed was the last honest builder in Washington said it would be easy enough if a support beam was put in. What would be difficult was getting the building permit from Seattle.
Even though the door was originally put in, and could be uncovered with minimum fuss, the city had deemed this as ‘major structural changes’ and thus they had no choice but to apply for a permit. Which also meant getting a sidewalk permit, something that made no sense to Jared since the door was facing an alley. On top of that, the materials that were to be put in had to meet entirely new specs.
It was enough to drive Jared to drink.
Not that he had the time to kick back, open a bottle and read the Times. He’d known with his previous dealing with Devon that it would be a Herculean task to open a restaurant, but he’d no idea how big a challenge it was to open one in a cosmopolitan arena. First off, Jared couldn't find reliable and honest purveyors who’d truck into the city on a daily basis. Other restaurants politely but firmly refused to divulge their lists. It was too much like high-priced prostitutes sharing the names of their best clients: not good for business.
Second, he’d probably have to be a high-priced hooker to attract the best wait staff. The competition for them were fierce and restaurants constantly poach from each other. Of course, Chad had lots of outrageously clever ideas, two of which were probably illegal in the State of Washington. It took Jared a few shots before convincing Chad that putting wiretaps in rival restaurants was a bad idea.
However, buying hostesses tasty cocktails at a local club and flattering them to high heaven wasn’t off the menu. So, they spent three friday nights in a row roaming popular nightclubs, looking to chat up people who worked in the restaurant business.
They were five hundred dollars poorer after the Friday Night recons, but Jared thought it was a money well spent. Chad ended up crashing at his place since he was too exhausted to even call for a cab.
Chad laid down on the sofa with a bottle of water and some aspirin while Jared was in the kitchen, making his usual after-binge concoction for the morning after. He saw the hastily scribbled names on the cocktail napkins spread out all over the coffee table in front of him. “Why is this name underlined twice?”
"What name?"
"Welling!"
“Oh, that one - that one’s just golden," Jared said as he joined his friend.
“Do I want to know why?” Chad asked, quirking an eyebrow. “By the way, you’re making me breakfast.”
Jared looked at his watch. Technically, it was close enough to dawn for him to at least make an omelet. “Not a problem.”
“The name?”
“Oh,” Jared said. “Welling’s Farm sells wild greens and special produce. They also make goat cheese.”
“Goat cheese?” Chad made a gagging noise. “I still don’t get why you like that stuff. They ruin the palate for wine.”
“Whine, whine, whine,” Jared countered good-naturedly. “If they can deliver then we’re pretty much set.”
“Cool,” Chad said before moaning and falling back into the sofa. “So, about that omelet…”
“Coming right up.” Jared stood up and stretched. “Man, I’m getting too old for this!”
“Oh, shut up,” Chad said. “You use to wake up ass o’clock in Devon.”
Jared’s answer was a loud, obnoxious yawn. When he returned with a plate of omelet, he found Chad already in deep sleep.
Part II * Part IV