Garlic & Butter
Title: Garlic and Butter - Part V
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
August 2008
In the beginning, Tom and Jensen took turns making deliveries, but Jared must have passed some sort of test because Jensen became the regular deliveryman. This happy turn of events only drove Jared’s desire to excel in the kitchen. So, when Jensen appeared right on time at eight in the morning, the kitchen was already bustling with activity generated mainly by its Chef.
Jensen would often find Jared experimenting with his dishes, and was soon roped into becoming a test subject. He was an enthusiastic volunteer, though at times the results were less than desirable. In order to counter some of his more imaginative culinary gaffs, Jared kept a roll of Tums alongside Pepto Bismol and some anti-diarrheic. However, his failures were far outweighed by his successes, and Jensen rarely showed any reluctance in eating Jared's creations.
In fact, Jared’s ricotta gnudi made Jensen actually sit down in order to eat properly. And his delight at finding walnuts in the little morsels transformed him into a ten-year-old during Christmas. However, in his eyes, nothing could top Jared’s idea of a ‘bacon’ salad.
Instead of using the traditional ingredients, Jared went with caramelized chicken skin, Japanese pickled shallots called rakkyo, and baby arugula for the salad. The three ingredients balanced so well that no dressing was needed.
At first Jensen was skeptical of the dish. He used the fork to examine the salad before taking his first bite.
“Holy cow,” Jensen said, looking at the bowl with newfound respect. “This is fantastic. Were you serious when you said this is chicken skin?”
Jared nodded eagerly. “I know it sounds repulsive at first glance but man, that taste is something else, right?”
Jensen took another mouthful and before giving a deep nod. “Do you pickle the shallots yourself?"
“No, one of my waiters know someone whose grandmother kept the tradition of pickling vegetables. It’s a dying art, and man, does that suck.”
“Have to agree with you on that one.” Jensen grinned, not realizing he had piece of arugula stuck between his teeth. “I’m seeing a lot of chicken skin. Is this your way of making a statement?”
“Nope, have you seen people dig for bacon in their salad? I’ve seen dogs hunt truffle with less passion. I figure, why make my clients work so hard?”
Jensen laughed. Not one of those polite, nice ones, but a booming sound that was slightly odd because his voice went an octave higher. Grinning brightly at Jensen's laughter, Jared poured a glass of cold water so his companion would have something cool in his system before heading out into the hot August sun.
“Thank you,” Jensen said as he shyly took the glass from Jared.
Once more, Jared was struck by Jensen’s reluctance for physical contact. No matter how many times they passed things to each other, Jensen never once brushed his fingers against Jared.
It didn't take long for Jared to realize that the only way he was ever going to have any skin-to-skin moment with Jensen was if he tackled the guy to a hard surface.
Not knowing how Jensen would react to Jared suddenly transforming himself from chef to linebacker, Jared decided to withdraw a little. He knew he had presence, not resulting just from his physical size, but also from his overwhelming personality. So, he figured Jensen must take care to react carefully around Jared lest he unbalanced something and soured their friendly, frustratingly platonic relationship.
Any other explanation would be too depressing.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” Jared asked. “Tom working you to death? Again?”
“It’s summertime on the farm, and that means we’re running ragged from sunrise to sundown.”
“Yeah, I remember," Jared said, his voice filled with longing as he was suddenly flooded with memories of Devon during the warm months.
“How is Devon going?” Jensen asked.
“Not bad,” Jared answered. “I just went to see it last Monday. We finally managed to clean all the debris off the land. Now, the rebuilding starts.”
“The buildings first?”
“Yeah, I’m working with an architect who actually respects the idea of a farmhouse. I swear, some of the designs I’ve seen belong more in the world of Blade Runner than Berth Valley.”
“How long will you stay here, then?”
Jared felt his heart battle for space with his tonsils. There was something in Jensen’s tone that was wistfully sad - like a child who knew his dream would end someday but was still sad to see that faithful day looming close on the calendar.
“Maybe another eighteen months,” Jared answered, trying not to let his emotions show in his voice.
“You really did something amazing here, you know that, right?” Jensen’s gaze suddenly intensified. “Are you really that determined to give it all up?”
Jared couldn’t hold eye contact. He looked down at his hands, feeling his face and neck heat up. “Devon’s not just a restaurant. It’s my home. When I took over the farm and opened the restaurant, I felt at peace for the first time in almost ten years. I miss it everyday, round the clock. It’s not that Spoon can’t compete, but the truth is there is no competition.
“There never was.”
“Sounds like you found your slice of heaven,” Jensen said. He stood up and tucked in his working gloves into his jean's back pocket. “Thanks for the salad. It’s going to be a big hit.”
“Glad you liked it.”
Dread started pooling in Jared’s gut as he watched Jensen leave. He didn’t know why, but something told him if he didn’t say something Jensen would never darken his doorway again.
“Hey,” Jared said. “I was wondering … you want to have brunch this Sunday?”
Jensen’s posture stiffened before he turned around. “You mean a date?”
“Does brunch count as one?”
“Jared, are you asking me out on a date?” Jensen asked in a gentle tone.
“If you say yes, then yeah.”
“If I say no?”
“Then it’s just two guys meeting up for some greasy food and beer.”
Jensen looked at Jared with great thoughtfulness. “Why don’t we meet for brunch and decide then if it’s a date or not.”
Jared had to refrain from dancing around the kitchen. “Okay. You like Indian food?”
“Indian as in India-Indian or…”
“Curries and tandooris.”
“Sounds good. You have my number, right?”
“Yep, I’ll call you with the address and time.” Jared winced as his words tripped over each other in hurry to escape.
“Sounds good to me.”
As soon as the delivery truck roared out of the alley, the entire kitchen erupted into a cheer. Jared was pummeled by his staff, all congratulating him on finally asking Jensen out on a date.
“Watching you two is like thousand times better than any soap opera on Telemundo!” Sandy cried out as she handed Jared a glass of wine.
“Oh man,” Mike said, “thank you for doing that before November.”
“Why?” Jared asked.
“Because Mike made a bet with me,” Justin explained. “If you asked after November, I’d win and he would have to shave his head.”
Jared turned to Mike and asked, “What did you win?”
“I get to shave his!” Mike grinned like a lunatic.
“Oh my God,” Sandy gasped, turning to Justin. “Are you serious?”
Justin pouted and nodded. “Gotta man up and let Mike do his Delilah routine.”
Mike pinched Justin’s cheeks and made kissy noises. “But Samson was never as pretty as you!”
Justin headlocked Mike and gave him a painful noogie as a reply.
The chicken skin salad was a bona fide hit, and Jared had it on the menu for the rest of the week.
It was Saturday evening, the last night for the week as Spoon was closed on Sundays. Unlike other Saturday nights, both Danneel and Chris came to the kitchen to warn Jared about a particular group that was fast becoming a challenge to the people in the front. Jared was too busy to take a peek but made a mental note to do so the moment he was able to take a breather.
It was an hour later that Jared finally had the time to use the restroom and take a swing out front. He entered the main room just in time to see one of the diners shoving Kristen to the wall, yelling at her on top of his voice.
Kristen weighed in at one hundred pounds if there was an anchor tied to her. Jared didn’t hesitate. He rushed in, shouting:
“Stop!”
His sheer size made his entrance memorable, but either the man didn’t care or he was too tanked to see what trouble was. He raised his fist and struck Kristen before Jared could reach them.
There was a spray of blood accompanied by a crack as Kristen's head slammed against the wall. Pandemonium should have broken out but what happened was something right out of the movies. And it wasn’t because of Chris or Sterling.
Another diner glided out of his chair and grabbed the attacker by his wrist, wrenching it in a reverse ninety-degree angle; a move that tore apart the elbow with a jaunty 'pop'. The result was immediate: the man fell to his knees, screaming in pain.
That sent his entire table stampeding towards Kristen’s rescuer, but the man was ready. As Jared watched, shocked into stillness, the small lithe figure rippled through the punches and kicks, and as he passed through the small mob, his attackers dropped to their knees or flat on their backs, completely immobilized by blows that seemed as delicate as a princess wave.
The entire outrage took less than nine seconds, but its clean-up took hours. Cops were called in and statements were taken. Everyone sitting in the belligerent table was thrown into various police vehicles and driven away due to testimonies from other diners which rivaled one another in dramatic touches and cold outrage.
Seattle prided itself in its mental coolness. And if one had to duke something out, it was to be done in blogs, not in public.
Danneel rode with Kristen in the ambulance while Chris and Jared handled the remaining guests, offering apologies and paid tabs for the ruined evening. To Jared’s surprise, none of the diners accepted. In fact, most were very concerned that Jared would shut down Spoon because of what had occurred.
After the guests were ushered out, Jared finally had the time to talk to the man responsible for saving Kristen. The tiny Asian man was busily polishing his glasses while talking softly to his wife who didn’t look at all taken back by her husband’s ninja routine.
Jared sat down in front of the man and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Chef.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Daniel and this is Grace. I took my wife to Devon for her birthday. It was in the words of my students: awesome.”
Grace beamed at Jared. “Best birthday present I ever had!”
Jared couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s attitude. “I’m glad. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you came to Kristen’s rescue. And I'm very sorry you had to. I should've done something but I just froze up.”
Daniel looked at Jared in surprise. “Of course you froze. You’re not trained to fight, Chef. It takes something - something cold and mechanical, or worse, to hurt another person. And with that group, you would have to have done it again and again.
“Do you really think you have that in you? To hurt seven men like that? Beat them to the floor until they couldn’t pick themselves up?”
Jared paled at the thought. Definitely not like the movies.
“There is blood, Chef,” Daniel said. “And pain, and people screaming.”
“You create," Grace added. "It would be abhorrent to your nature to destroy.”
“But you did,” Jared said weakly.
“Yes, but that’s because I was trained to long ago.” Daniel shook his head. “Not anymore. Left that life behind when I came to America.”
“You moved like a dancer.” Jared frowned, remembering Daniel’s grace as he faced off the mob.
“And therein lies the paradox,” Daniel said. “But you must never forget violence’s inherent ugliness. Because if you do, it would be the end of many things.”
“Are you going to have trouble with the police?” Chris asked as he joined them.
Daniel put on his glasses and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Look at me, do I look like a public menace?”
“You look like my high school art teacher,” Chris answered truthfully.
Daniel gave a toothy smile. “You almost have it. I am now a retired chemistry teacher.”
“Retired?” Jared studied Daniel’s youthful face. “How old are you?”
“Older than you think.” Daniel stood up and took his wife’s hand. “And with that we must go. We’ve stayed up way past our bedtime.”
Chris escorted them all the way to their car. He returned to find Jared still sitting in the chair, staring at the empty space where Daniel sat.
“What’s wrong, Chef?”
“Nothing,” Jared said. “It’s just … this is the first time I’ve seen human violence up so close. I guess I’m shaken.”
“He’s right, you know,” Chris said. “You’re not made to hurt people, Chef. That’s why you’re the first through that door in the morning and the last to leave at night.
“Don’t kick yourself because you’re who you are. Won’t do anybody any good, especially you.”
Jared rubbed his face. “I guess. Man, I’m glad tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“That goes double for me.” Chris collected his jacket. “Do you need me for anything else?”
“No, thanks for the talk,” Jared said and went back to the warm cocoon of his kitchen, where the only violence dealt out was to lumpy dough.
Jared finished planning out his menu for next week around midnight and was turning out the lights when he spotted Sterling putting up chairs. Jared couldn’t stop himself. Sterling represented a mystery to him, and no matter how friendly Jared was, the man would rebuff his offers of conversation with gentle but firm hand.
“Sterling, why are you working here?” Jared asked. “Chris told me you were in Afghanistan and that's all he would say. But something tells me you could be making hell of lot more money working at another job.”
“Chef, I know you had a tough night, but this is not the time to be asking those kind of questions,” Sterling replied gently. “Go home, feed your dogs. Get some rest so you don’t look like death warmed over on your date tomorrow.”
“I really, really want to know,” Jared said then added, “please.”
Sterling looked at Jared then said, “I’m on probation of sorts.”
Jared thought about that for a moment but couldn’t see the logic behind it. “Why?”
“Because my psych ordered me to.”
“Why?”
“One of the prerequisites of being discharged is that we have to go through a complete evaluation. And it gets kinda held up if you have ‘problems with adjustment’.”
“You just came out of Afghanistan,” Jared said. “Who the fuck wouldn’t have problems after that?”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Chef,” Sterling said. “But that’s the way it goes. Anyway, Chris convinced the review board that if I could hold down this job for six months, then I should have no problem going back to civilian life.”
“Chris is your friend, right?” Jared asked tentatively.
Sterling laughed softly. “Yes, yes he is. A good friend, actually.”
“But you hate being a busboy.”
“I did at first. I joined up just so I wouldn’t have to say ‘no sir, yes, sir’ to bunch of privileged assholes. But it’s not half bad, especially when those assholes apologize.”
“I don’t understand,” Jared said.
“Some people are born assholes, some people are made to be one. At the end of the day, if things are bad enough, people just turn into bastards, and guess who gets the short end of the stick? The wait staff. But, most of the time they apologize, you know.”
“Do they?” Jared asked.
“Yeah, they do. Usually at the end of meal - a big tip and all that. Sometimes, though, they flag you down and apologize, and I mean genuinely say they’re sorry. I didn’t see much of that in my previous job. ‘Hey, we apologize for giving you the wrong intel that almost got you and your men killed.’ It’s like they were almost afraid to because if they said they were sorry, then they’ve failed. What those idiots don’t realize is the fact they already fucking failed. They just didn’t get the memo yet.
“And it’s kinda nice, seeing so many people happy in one place. People talking, whispering, making plans for the next romantic dinner here. I like that.”
Jared smiled. “That’s one of the best things about this place. You feel like a god when you see how happy people are.”
Sterling smiled and leaned back into his chair. “Besides, I’ve got plans.”
“Really?” Jared was immediately curious. “What are they? Can you talk about it or is it one of those I’ll-have-to-kill-you things?”
“My buddy’s got this thing going in Oregon. He told me last year there was a growing demand for game meats. I thought it was all bullshit, but from what I’m seeing here, maybe not.”
“Game meats? What kind?”
“Wild birds, mostly. He’s got something lined up to start up but he’s going to need help.”
“I should warn you - it’s not an easy life," Jared cautioned the man. "Definitely not what you see on T.V..”
“Well, neither is soldiering,” Sterling said with a crooked grin. “Between the two, I’ll take farming.”
“Did he say anything about eggs?”
“Actually, yeah, he mentioned it’s a lucrative side business. Is it?”
“I don’t know about the money-side of things, but hell yeah, the eggs are damn good,” Jared said. “I buy the entire lot whenever I get a chance. And that’s maybe six or seven times in a calendar year.”
“Why did you start cooking?”
Jared looked down at his worn hands. He couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t covered with nicks and burn marks. And that wasn't because of faulty memory.
“Sorry,” Sterling said, his eyes sad and knowing. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I had a friend,” Jared began haltingly. “He had such a hard life, you know? But he didn’t lose himself in hate because of it. I didn’t know how hard it was to do that until … until he died.”
“Accident?”
“No, not really though the D.A. said it was.” Jared’s voice was raw as he remembered the god-awful meeting. “His aunt picked up a loser of a boyfriend. The bastard was beating her and Kit got in between them. The son of a bitch tore into him before getting arrested. Nobody knew but Kit developed an aneurysm because of the beating. He died a day later.”
“How old was he?”
“Sixteen,” Jared said. “Sixteen going on sixty. My God, he was beautiful.”
“You were in love with him.”
“My first true love. And I couldn’t even go to his funeral because it was held in Oklahoma.”
“Did he give you the tool case?”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because most chefs would take care of their knives. You, on the other hand, take care of that case like it was the Queen’s jewels. I figured someone special must have given it to you.”
“Kit was the one who told me to become a chef. Trust me, that was not a career choice the guidance counselors talk about in Texas.”
“The kid saw what was right in front of his face,” Sterling said. “And he had the guts to say it when nobody would. Sounds like he really cared about what you wanted.”
Jared found himself fighting back tears. It had been more than a decade and just as long since he’d spoken about Kit.
“Is that why you like Jensen?”
Jared gave a watery laugh. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Nope,” Sterling replied easily. “But I made my living reading people, and I had to be good at it. Otherwise, I’d be dead by now.”
Jared sank deeper into his chair and dropped his head back. “Jensen does remind me of Kit. That same bruised grace. You get the feeling when you look at them that fucking with them is not a smart thing to do, but they don’t come off as assholes, you know?”
“Bruised grace,” Sterling repeated with a smile. “I like that. And yeah, that sounds about right.
“So, what are you going to do with Jensen?”
“I don’t know,” Jared admitted. “It’s not like I have a lot of time outside of Spoon.”
“You know how the saying goes - if you want it badly enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
“Maybe, but Jensen will probably have someone by then,” Jared said darkly. “I still can’t figure out why the guy isn’t already taken.”
“The man works in a farm, surrounded by vegetables and goats,” Sterling said dryly. “He can’t be looking too hard for company living like that.”
“True,” Jared admitted.
“You cook,” Sterling said and pointed to the kitchen. “From what I hear you’ve been doing a great job seducing him with food, so why not step it up a notch?”
Jared looked pensively at the kitchen. “Maybe.”
“You’ve been feeding him a dish here and there,” Sterling said. “Go for the kill: make him a five-course meal. That ought to make him more than just a little happy.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Well, I gotta get going,” Sterling stood up and stretched his arms. “I have a long morning.”
“What are you doing?”
“Got a MMA practice from eight to twelve.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jared was aghast at the idea. “Jesus, it’s almost one!”
“Which is why I have to go. See you Tuesday, Chef.”
Jared wondered how in hell Sterling could even contemplate doing something that physically exhausting. Then he moaned as he remembered he had to take the dogs out since the sitter was on vacation in Alaska. In spite of his grumblings, Jared was only too glad to see Harley and Sadie waiting patiently for him. He let them out into the yard then fed them their usual food mixed with some scraps he’d heisted from Spoon. Then they all piled into his custom-made bed from Black Dog Forge and fell asleep within minutes.
Jared woke up to discover seventeen voicemail in his cell. After listening from various news reporters and media personalities, all hounding him for a scoop on the ‘massacre’ that took place in Spoon, Jared wanted nothing less than to dive back into his bed and stay there until Tuesday.
However, unless he wanted to ditch his maybe date with Jensen and let the man think he was hiding because of last night, or that he was just a douchebag, Jared had to drag his sorry ass out of bed and into daylight.
His home phone rang. Jared looked warily at the number and sighed in relief.
“Chad! What the fuck is going on?”
“Don’t sweat it, I got it under control,” Chad drawled out.
That didn’t make Jared feel any better. “You sure? I’ve got reporters snapping at my heels about last night.”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. Chris filled me on the details and I've got a publicist lined up to deal with it. I also called Danneel and she told me what happened at Harborview.”
“What did she say?” Jared was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He had all but forgotten about the petite waitress in the aftermath.
“Kristen’s nose is fractured but the doc thinks he could set it without breaking any more bones.” Chad slurped what Jared hoped was coffee. “Don’t beat yourself to death that you didn’t get to do your white knight routine. Danneel said the girl’s fine. In fact, by the time they got to Harborview, Kristen was spitting nails. Danneel had to talk her out of catching a cab back to Spoon in order to ‘cut the little shits’.”
Jared smiled. He could mentally picture Kristen Bell saying such things. She might be little, but she was fierce. “Call me after you see her.”
“I'll wait until you call me,” Chad countered. “Don’t you have a big date or something in an hour?”
“Who doesn’t know about this?”
“Your mama,” Chad replied. “Anyway, take care of your dogs and get your disgusting ass into the shower. I swear, your morning breath is worse than Harley’s.”
Jared mumbled an indistinct curse before hanging up on his friend. It wasn’t until he was in the shower that Jared realized Chad was probably handling the landmine that was the brawl in order for him to actually be able to meet Jensen.
Chad was more than just a damn good friend: the man was a lifesaver.
Jared took the dogs to a local park and let them play for thirty minutes before dragging them home. He set out extra food and water for Harley and Sadie before leaving for his date. As he pulled up his truck into a vacant parking space, he spotted Jensen casually leaning against a parked car, reading the newspaper.
And completely ignorant of the large crowd lounging around him for no apparent reason whatsoever. He spotted Jared crossing the street and smiled. Jared couldn’t help but grin back and wave cheerfully.
“Hey, good to see you,” Jensen said earnestly. “I just read what happened last night. Is everything settling down?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Jared looked at the men and women surreptitiously studying them behind their sunglasses or magazines. “Let’s get a table.”
To Jared’s unending annoyance, they were given a table right in front of the picture window, affording plenty of view to anyone who would stroll by. As they were reading the menu, Jared noticed at least five people slowing down drastically to take a longer look at his date. And three of them were men. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Jared wondered if he should’ve put some gel in his hair as he usually did for work. It was unruly at best of times, and right now it was behaving like a living thing.
In fact, Jared wouldn’t be surprised if his hair reached out for his menu so it could place an order.
“Jamie will probably kill me, but I’m going to order lamb tandoori,” Jensen said. “Do you have any recommendations?”
“Dude, I’m starving. I’m going to order half the menu and you’re welcome to try some.”
Jensen’s smile lit up not just his face but half of the restaurant. And yet, like Kit, he either didn’t notice the effect he had or just simply didn’t care. Jared felt his brain cells slowly shutting down under the onslaught of the beautiful, and the nice, and the general laid-back attitude Jensen seemed to have cultured.
“So, tell me - what do you do exactly at the farm?” Jared asked after they placed their orders.
“Oh man, anything and everything: planting, harvesting, seeding, transplanting. You name it, I do it.”
“You also work with goats?”
“Yeah,” Jensen gave a little shrug. “The animals like me. And from what I can tell it’s hard to earn their trust so Jamie lets me work with them. It’s probably because I help raise them from kids.”
Jared laughed at the thought of Jensen surrounded by fluffy white baby goats, nibbling at his hair and shirt. “Oh man, you're a poster boy for PETA, you know that?”
“Not really, since we eat some of them,” Jensen answered. “Their meat’s pretty damn good.”
“I know. I’m actually thinking about doing an entire goat barbeque, like they do in Hawaii.”
“We did that two years back,” Jensen said eagerly. “We fed over fifteen people with just one.”
“Mmmm,” Jared sighed wistfully. “Goat barbeque…”
“With that chicken skin salad of yours, I’m sure we can piss off just about every conservation group on the planet,” Jensen stated dryly.
“Not the salad,” Jared wiggled his eyebrows. “Add foie gras instead.”
“You, Chef, are evil.”
“I just don’t like it when people order me not to cook something. Tell me instead. Seduce me, dazzle me with your intellect, but don’t treat me like a four-year-old who can’t zip up his pants.
“I hate that.”
“Why here, then? ‘Cause there’s nothing Seattlelites like better than telling other people what’s eco-hot and what’s not.”
“It’s a double standard, really,” Jared explained. “That same eco-consciousness produces some of the best organic products in the States. People go crazy for European cheeses, but Welling’s farm produces some of the best blue cheese I’ve ever had. And that’s working under restrictions that the European farms don’t have. Then there’s the wine. In my opinion Napa Valley can stay in California. We’re not missing out on much.”
“It must be hard, though,” Jensen said thoughtfully. “You’re an outsider here. Seattle has something of an inbred culture when it comes to their culinary scene.”
“It’s pretty fucking scary, actually,” Jared admitted. “Most everyone who opened a restaurant here worked in another one just down the block or across the street, and maybe did so while growing up in the neighborhood. I don’t think I know of any other chef who’s from the South, and that’s not California I’m talking about. You have to hand it to them - they’ve got talent, but keep doing that and the food scene is going to go stagnant.
“Do you think it’s because we’re so closed off?”
“Partially, but the biggest problem in my opinion is Chicago,” Jared said. “Look, for the few chefs in the East Coast who decide to expand, they’re not going to travel further west than Chicago because that’s where it’s at. That city has the balls to say, ‘Okay, we never had what you’re serving but we’ll try it. Be it pig tonsils or chicken feet or foie gras, no matter what anybody says.' They’ve got the guts to chow down everything and actually sit back and enjoy the meal without overthinking it.
“Here, the critics, at least, take apart the meal to its basic ingredients, not realizing that’s not where the magic’s at: the magic happens when everything comes together. When food brings such pleasure, it doesn’t need to be examined closer. You should just sit back and go with it. And you sure as hell shouldn't feel guilty about it. Which is probably why there isn’t a Seattle equivalent of French Laundry or Bernardin. It’s not because it’s impossible to create such a place here: it’s because people just can’t let themselves go enough to enjoy it. I promise you, take a Seattlelite to L'Astrance or Alinea, and they’ll still find something to nitpick.”
It took Jared only a moment to realize that Jensen had been silent the entire time he was ranting. He looked at his date and saw Jensen staring at him with wary eyes.
So, no dessert today.
"Chefs are unbelievably obsessive," Jared explained weakly. "It can be overwhelming to people who don't work with us."
"All right."
Okay, less Al Sharpton and more Barry White.
Jensen cleared his throat and asked, “So, why Devon? And Spoon?”
“Because I like a challenge, and I believe Devon and Spoon could change the locals’ thinking about what is acceptable to eat. Maybe I’m using the organic thing as a front while slowly brainwashing people into believing that pan-roasted chicken skin won't put them on the express to hell.”
"Like I said: evil."
The food came and Jensen eagerly dug in, to Jared's great relief. One of his first tests on dating strangers was to watch how they eat and what they eat. He'd went on a few disasters where the dates ate with the same relish they would've had with barbed wire and cyanide-coated tacks. And three of them ate in such a manner with his cooking.
"Oh man, this is fantastic!" Jensen said, dunking his potato-and-pea-filled nan bread into the masala he had poured over his rice.
“Ain’t it?” Jared licked his fingers as he ate some of Jensen’s tandoori. “Sophia has a list of all the best Indian places in town.”
“That’s worth its weight in gold. I wonder why chefs don’t make their recommendations known to public.”
“Because it’s the kiss of death,” Jared answered.
“For the restaurant?” Jensen was taken back by Jared’s reply.
“No, for the chef,” Jared explained. “After we close down our places, we want to go where there aren’t any food critics or tourists or fans. So, we’re pretty tight-lipped about where we like to eat. Besides, most of the places we frequent would scare the shit out of normal diners.”
“Why is that?”
Jared wiped his greasy lips and took a deep drink of his soda. “Because we like what’s known as ‘garbage’ food. Organ meats, sweetbreads, deep stocks, and stuff that usually aren’t the best cut of anything. We do appreciate high-end restaurants like any gourmands, but our respect usually go towards the cooks who deal with difficult and inexpensive foodstuff.
“For example: tenderloin. Great cut of steak, and it doesn’t take a genius to cook it. But flank steak? That’s a challenge, and the cooks who can make that particular cut taste buttery soft without drowning it in marinade has some serious talent. Same goes for seafood. Fish heads are delicious but you won’t see it on the menu unless you’re in an Asian restaurant.”
“Have you ever gotten sick?” Jensen asked. “Because it sounds like you guys are playing a dice game with all the stuff you prefer to eat.”
“Food poisoning?” Jared nodded with a grin. “Few times. You can’t win them all.”
“I got that once along with half the crew and most of the passengers.” Jensen gave a mock shiver. “I was working for a cruise line and boy, did that trip turn into the voyage of the damned.”
“Really?” Jared couldn’t picture Jensen in a white-on-white outfit with white shoes.
“Just for a little while. I was a physical therapist - mainly did massage therapies and taught pilates classes.”
“Found out you didn't have sea legs? I have a neighbor whose son was dying to work on one of those ships. Tried applying twice and got rejected both times.”
“Something a little different.”
Jared realized he had stumbled upon dangerous territory without knowing. He pointed to the lone lamb piece sitting on the plate. “Are you going to finish that or can I have it?”
Jensen looked down at their table. “Holy shit, how did we eat so fast?”
Jared laughed. “Not you, me.”
“Sure, you can have it,” Jensen said. “I think I’m full. Hell, I am full. I think my brain just caught up with my stomach.”
“And that’s what good food does to you.” Jared speared the lamb piece with his fork and polished it off in seconds.
It was only when he saw the empty plates and bowls that Jared realized their date was officially over. Kicking himself for eating with his usual gusto, Jared wondered what they could do next.
“Want to get coffee?” Jensen offered with a sweet smile.
If Jared’s grin was big enough to swallow a bear, Jensen didn’t mention it.
This became routine with them. Every Sunday morning, they would meet up and go for a meal that would translate into an entire afternoon spent in each other’s presence. Jared didn’t mind that Jensen seemed to really think about whatever was developing between them, but there were times when he wished Jensen would toss aside his thoughtful persona and just have wall sex with him.
He found out on their fifth date why there wasn’t any wall sex. Or any sex.
They were at a park, just lazing about after a great brunch. Jared was watching Harley and Sadie goof off with each other when Jensen turned to him and said, “I want to tell you something.”
Jared was proud of himself that he didn’t tense up. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I want you to know something about me. Something that’s not so pleasant.”
Jared frowned. “Please tell me you’re not seeing someone already.”
“Nothing like that,” Jensen said. “Not even remotely. Remember I told you I worked for a cruise line?”
Jared nodded, afraid to speak.
“Well, I had an affair with another crew member. I was twenty-five at the time, he was twenty-one. I thought it was the real deal but, as it turned out, Parker got cold feet. He didn’t tell his parents about his sexuality because they would’ve cut off his wallet. After we broke up he filed sexual harassment charges against me - a preemptive strike to make sure his parents wouldn’t believe me if I ever spoke to them about us.”
“Are you talking about rape?” Jared asked hoarsely.
"Thankfully, no. But Parker listed just about everything else,” Jensen admitted in a light tone and pained eyes. “The charges didn’t stick. As it turned out, we weren’t as secretive as we thought. To make the long story short - the charges were dropped and he faced holy hell from everyone because of what he did.
"I don’t know what made me angrier: the fact that Parker made those claims or the fact that I fell in love with such a fucking asshole.”
“What happened to you?”
“I lost my job and my license. I tried to appeal but I found out the cruise line was incorporated in Saudi Arabia, and they aren’t the most open-minded people when it comes to homosexuality. I went into a topspin and ended up in a homeless shelter in Portland where Jamie found me.”
“What about your parents? Your family?”
“When I say I went into a topspin, I mean exactly that. I disappeared for little over a year. They hired a private investigator to find me but by then I was less than a nobody.”
“But you talk to them now, right?”
“Every Sunday night. My mom will kill me if I don’t call.”
“Is that why you work in a farm, with goats for company?”
Jensen smiled. “Yeah, I needed to get my head screwed on straight, and working there made it possible.”
“Then there are the cute fuzzy baby goats.” Jared elbowed Jensen in the ribs. “Admit it, you’re just a big teddy bear for cute little baby animals.”
“Shut up,” Jensen replied with a slight blush. “They’re food. They make cheese.”
“And I bet they nibble on your fingers and rub against you legs whenever you’re with them. Hell, I bet you carry few of them around just because they’re so cuddly.”
Jensen looked away but not so fast that Jared didn’t see Jensen’s blush deepen. His laughter was cut off when Jensen tackled him, with his dogs joining in the fray in order not to miss out on the fun.
Part IV * Conclusion
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
August 2008
In the beginning, Tom and Jensen took turns making deliveries, but Jared must have passed some sort of test because Jensen became the regular deliveryman. This happy turn of events only drove Jared’s desire to excel in the kitchen. So, when Jensen appeared right on time at eight in the morning, the kitchen was already bustling with activity generated mainly by its Chef.
Jensen would often find Jared experimenting with his dishes, and was soon roped into becoming a test subject. He was an enthusiastic volunteer, though at times the results were less than desirable. In order to counter some of his more imaginative culinary gaffs, Jared kept a roll of Tums alongside Pepto Bismol and some anti-diarrheic. However, his failures were far outweighed by his successes, and Jensen rarely showed any reluctance in eating Jared's creations.
In fact, Jared’s ricotta gnudi made Jensen actually sit down in order to eat properly. And his delight at finding walnuts in the little morsels transformed him into a ten-year-old during Christmas. However, in his eyes, nothing could top Jared’s idea of a ‘bacon’ salad.
Instead of using the traditional ingredients, Jared went with caramelized chicken skin, Japanese pickled shallots called rakkyo, and baby arugula for the salad. The three ingredients balanced so well that no dressing was needed.
At first Jensen was skeptical of the dish. He used the fork to examine the salad before taking his first bite.
“Holy cow,” Jensen said, looking at the bowl with newfound respect. “This is fantastic. Were you serious when you said this is chicken skin?”
Jared nodded eagerly. “I know it sounds repulsive at first glance but man, that taste is something else, right?”
Jensen took another mouthful and before giving a deep nod. “Do you pickle the shallots yourself?"
“No, one of my waiters know someone whose grandmother kept the tradition of pickling vegetables. It’s a dying art, and man, does that suck.”
“Have to agree with you on that one.” Jensen grinned, not realizing he had piece of arugula stuck between his teeth. “I’m seeing a lot of chicken skin. Is this your way of making a statement?”
“Nope, have you seen people dig for bacon in their salad? I’ve seen dogs hunt truffle with less passion. I figure, why make my clients work so hard?”
Jensen laughed. Not one of those polite, nice ones, but a booming sound that was slightly odd because his voice went an octave higher. Grinning brightly at Jensen's laughter, Jared poured a glass of cold water so his companion would have something cool in his system before heading out into the hot August sun.
“Thank you,” Jensen said as he shyly took the glass from Jared.
Once more, Jared was struck by Jensen’s reluctance for physical contact. No matter how many times they passed things to each other, Jensen never once brushed his fingers against Jared.
It didn't take long for Jared to realize that the only way he was ever going to have any skin-to-skin moment with Jensen was if he tackled the guy to a hard surface.
Not knowing how Jensen would react to Jared suddenly transforming himself from chef to linebacker, Jared decided to withdraw a little. He knew he had presence, not resulting just from his physical size, but also from his overwhelming personality. So, he figured Jensen must take care to react carefully around Jared lest he unbalanced something and soured their friendly, frustratingly platonic relationship.
Any other explanation would be too depressing.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” Jared asked. “Tom working you to death? Again?”
“It’s summertime on the farm, and that means we’re running ragged from sunrise to sundown.”
“Yeah, I remember," Jared said, his voice filled with longing as he was suddenly flooded with memories of Devon during the warm months.
“How is Devon going?” Jensen asked.
“Not bad,” Jared answered. “I just went to see it last Monday. We finally managed to clean all the debris off the land. Now, the rebuilding starts.”
“The buildings first?”
“Yeah, I’m working with an architect who actually respects the idea of a farmhouse. I swear, some of the designs I’ve seen belong more in the world of Blade Runner than Berth Valley.”
“How long will you stay here, then?”
Jared felt his heart battle for space with his tonsils. There was something in Jensen’s tone that was wistfully sad - like a child who knew his dream would end someday but was still sad to see that faithful day looming close on the calendar.
“Maybe another eighteen months,” Jared answered, trying not to let his emotions show in his voice.
“You really did something amazing here, you know that, right?” Jensen’s gaze suddenly intensified. “Are you really that determined to give it all up?”
Jared couldn’t hold eye contact. He looked down at his hands, feeling his face and neck heat up. “Devon’s not just a restaurant. It’s my home. When I took over the farm and opened the restaurant, I felt at peace for the first time in almost ten years. I miss it everyday, round the clock. It’s not that Spoon can’t compete, but the truth is there is no competition.
“There never was.”
“Sounds like you found your slice of heaven,” Jensen said. He stood up and tucked in his working gloves into his jean's back pocket. “Thanks for the salad. It’s going to be a big hit.”
“Glad you liked it.”
Dread started pooling in Jared’s gut as he watched Jensen leave. He didn’t know why, but something told him if he didn’t say something Jensen would never darken his doorway again.
“Hey,” Jared said. “I was wondering … you want to have brunch this Sunday?”
Jensen’s posture stiffened before he turned around. “You mean a date?”
“Does brunch count as one?”
“Jared, are you asking me out on a date?” Jensen asked in a gentle tone.
“If you say yes, then yeah.”
“If I say no?”
“Then it’s just two guys meeting up for some greasy food and beer.”
Jensen looked at Jared with great thoughtfulness. “Why don’t we meet for brunch and decide then if it’s a date or not.”
Jared had to refrain from dancing around the kitchen. “Okay. You like Indian food?”
“Indian as in India-Indian or…”
“Curries and tandooris.”
“Sounds good. You have my number, right?”
“Yep, I’ll call you with the address and time.” Jared winced as his words tripped over each other in hurry to escape.
“Sounds good to me.”
As soon as the delivery truck roared out of the alley, the entire kitchen erupted into a cheer. Jared was pummeled by his staff, all congratulating him on finally asking Jensen out on a date.
“Watching you two is like thousand times better than any soap opera on Telemundo!” Sandy cried out as she handed Jared a glass of wine.
“Oh man,” Mike said, “thank you for doing that before November.”
“Why?” Jared asked.
“Because Mike made a bet with me,” Justin explained. “If you asked after November, I’d win and he would have to shave his head.”
Jared turned to Mike and asked, “What did you win?”
“I get to shave his!” Mike grinned like a lunatic.
“Oh my God,” Sandy gasped, turning to Justin. “Are you serious?”
Justin pouted and nodded. “Gotta man up and let Mike do his Delilah routine.”
Mike pinched Justin’s cheeks and made kissy noises. “But Samson was never as pretty as you!”
Justin headlocked Mike and gave him a painful noogie as a reply.
The chicken skin salad was a bona fide hit, and Jared had it on the menu for the rest of the week.
It was Saturday evening, the last night for the week as Spoon was closed on Sundays. Unlike other Saturday nights, both Danneel and Chris came to the kitchen to warn Jared about a particular group that was fast becoming a challenge to the people in the front. Jared was too busy to take a peek but made a mental note to do so the moment he was able to take a breather.
It was an hour later that Jared finally had the time to use the restroom and take a swing out front. He entered the main room just in time to see one of the diners shoving Kristen to the wall, yelling at her on top of his voice.
Kristen weighed in at one hundred pounds if there was an anchor tied to her. Jared didn’t hesitate. He rushed in, shouting:
“Stop!”
His sheer size made his entrance memorable, but either the man didn’t care or he was too tanked to see what trouble was. He raised his fist and struck Kristen before Jared could reach them.
There was a spray of blood accompanied by a crack as Kristen's head slammed against the wall. Pandemonium should have broken out but what happened was something right out of the movies. And it wasn’t because of Chris or Sterling.
Another diner glided out of his chair and grabbed the attacker by his wrist, wrenching it in a reverse ninety-degree angle; a move that tore apart the elbow with a jaunty 'pop'. The result was immediate: the man fell to his knees, screaming in pain.
That sent his entire table stampeding towards Kristen’s rescuer, but the man was ready. As Jared watched, shocked into stillness, the small lithe figure rippled through the punches and kicks, and as he passed through the small mob, his attackers dropped to their knees or flat on their backs, completely immobilized by blows that seemed as delicate as a princess wave.
The entire outrage took less than nine seconds, but its clean-up took hours. Cops were called in and statements were taken. Everyone sitting in the belligerent table was thrown into various police vehicles and driven away due to testimonies from other diners which rivaled one another in dramatic touches and cold outrage.
Seattle prided itself in its mental coolness. And if one had to duke something out, it was to be done in blogs, not in public.
Danneel rode with Kristen in the ambulance while Chris and Jared handled the remaining guests, offering apologies and paid tabs for the ruined evening. To Jared’s surprise, none of the diners accepted. In fact, most were very concerned that Jared would shut down Spoon because of what had occurred.
After the guests were ushered out, Jared finally had the time to talk to the man responsible for saving Kristen. The tiny Asian man was busily polishing his glasses while talking softly to his wife who didn’t look at all taken back by her husband’s ninja routine.
Jared sat down in front of the man and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Chef.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Daniel and this is Grace. I took my wife to Devon for her birthday. It was in the words of my students: awesome.”
Grace beamed at Jared. “Best birthday present I ever had!”
Jared couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s attitude. “I’m glad. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you came to Kristen’s rescue. And I'm very sorry you had to. I should've done something but I just froze up.”
Daniel looked at Jared in surprise. “Of course you froze. You’re not trained to fight, Chef. It takes something - something cold and mechanical, or worse, to hurt another person. And with that group, you would have to have done it again and again.
“Do you really think you have that in you? To hurt seven men like that? Beat them to the floor until they couldn’t pick themselves up?”
Jared paled at the thought. Definitely not like the movies.
“There is blood, Chef,” Daniel said. “And pain, and people screaming.”
“You create," Grace added. "It would be abhorrent to your nature to destroy.”
“But you did,” Jared said weakly.
“Yes, but that’s because I was trained to long ago.” Daniel shook his head. “Not anymore. Left that life behind when I came to America.”
“You moved like a dancer.” Jared frowned, remembering Daniel’s grace as he faced off the mob.
“And therein lies the paradox,” Daniel said. “But you must never forget violence’s inherent ugliness. Because if you do, it would be the end of many things.”
“Are you going to have trouble with the police?” Chris asked as he joined them.
Daniel put on his glasses and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Look at me, do I look like a public menace?”
“You look like my high school art teacher,” Chris answered truthfully.
Daniel gave a toothy smile. “You almost have it. I am now a retired chemistry teacher.”
“Retired?” Jared studied Daniel’s youthful face. “How old are you?”
“Older than you think.” Daniel stood up and took his wife’s hand. “And with that we must go. We’ve stayed up way past our bedtime.”
Chris escorted them all the way to their car. He returned to find Jared still sitting in the chair, staring at the empty space where Daniel sat.
“What’s wrong, Chef?”
“Nothing,” Jared said. “It’s just … this is the first time I’ve seen human violence up so close. I guess I’m shaken.”
“He’s right, you know,” Chris said. “You’re not made to hurt people, Chef. That’s why you’re the first through that door in the morning and the last to leave at night.
“Don’t kick yourself because you’re who you are. Won’t do anybody any good, especially you.”
Jared rubbed his face. “I guess. Man, I’m glad tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“That goes double for me.” Chris collected his jacket. “Do you need me for anything else?”
“No, thanks for the talk,” Jared said and went back to the warm cocoon of his kitchen, where the only violence dealt out was to lumpy dough.
Jared finished planning out his menu for next week around midnight and was turning out the lights when he spotted Sterling putting up chairs. Jared couldn’t stop himself. Sterling represented a mystery to him, and no matter how friendly Jared was, the man would rebuff his offers of conversation with gentle but firm hand.
“Sterling, why are you working here?” Jared asked. “Chris told me you were in Afghanistan and that's all he would say. But something tells me you could be making hell of lot more money working at another job.”
“Chef, I know you had a tough night, but this is not the time to be asking those kind of questions,” Sterling replied gently. “Go home, feed your dogs. Get some rest so you don’t look like death warmed over on your date tomorrow.”
“I really, really want to know,” Jared said then added, “please.”
Sterling looked at Jared then said, “I’m on probation of sorts.”
Jared thought about that for a moment but couldn’t see the logic behind it. “Why?”
“Because my psych ordered me to.”
“Why?”
“One of the prerequisites of being discharged is that we have to go through a complete evaluation. And it gets kinda held up if you have ‘problems with adjustment’.”
“You just came out of Afghanistan,” Jared said. “Who the fuck wouldn’t have problems after that?”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Chef,” Sterling said. “But that’s the way it goes. Anyway, Chris convinced the review board that if I could hold down this job for six months, then I should have no problem going back to civilian life.”
“Chris is your friend, right?” Jared asked tentatively.
Sterling laughed softly. “Yes, yes he is. A good friend, actually.”
“But you hate being a busboy.”
“I did at first. I joined up just so I wouldn’t have to say ‘no sir, yes, sir’ to bunch of privileged assholes. But it’s not half bad, especially when those assholes apologize.”
“I don’t understand,” Jared said.
“Some people are born assholes, some people are made to be one. At the end of the day, if things are bad enough, people just turn into bastards, and guess who gets the short end of the stick? The wait staff. But, most of the time they apologize, you know.”
“Do they?” Jared asked.
“Yeah, they do. Usually at the end of meal - a big tip and all that. Sometimes, though, they flag you down and apologize, and I mean genuinely say they’re sorry. I didn’t see much of that in my previous job. ‘Hey, we apologize for giving you the wrong intel that almost got you and your men killed.’ It’s like they were almost afraid to because if they said they were sorry, then they’ve failed. What those idiots don’t realize is the fact they already fucking failed. They just didn’t get the memo yet.
“And it’s kinda nice, seeing so many people happy in one place. People talking, whispering, making plans for the next romantic dinner here. I like that.”
Jared smiled. “That’s one of the best things about this place. You feel like a god when you see how happy people are.”
Sterling smiled and leaned back into his chair. “Besides, I’ve got plans.”
“Really?” Jared was immediately curious. “What are they? Can you talk about it or is it one of those I’ll-have-to-kill-you things?”
“My buddy’s got this thing going in Oregon. He told me last year there was a growing demand for game meats. I thought it was all bullshit, but from what I’m seeing here, maybe not.”
“Game meats? What kind?”
“Wild birds, mostly. He’s got something lined up to start up but he’s going to need help.”
“I should warn you - it’s not an easy life," Jared cautioned the man. "Definitely not what you see on T.V..”
“Well, neither is soldiering,” Sterling said with a crooked grin. “Between the two, I’ll take farming.”
“Did he say anything about eggs?”
“Actually, yeah, he mentioned it’s a lucrative side business. Is it?”
“I don’t know about the money-side of things, but hell yeah, the eggs are damn good,” Jared said. “I buy the entire lot whenever I get a chance. And that’s maybe six or seven times in a calendar year.”
“Why did you start cooking?”
Jared looked down at his worn hands. He couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t covered with nicks and burn marks. And that wasn't because of faulty memory.
“Sorry,” Sterling said, his eyes sad and knowing. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I had a friend,” Jared began haltingly. “He had such a hard life, you know? But he didn’t lose himself in hate because of it. I didn’t know how hard it was to do that until … until he died.”
“Accident?”
“No, not really though the D.A. said it was.” Jared’s voice was raw as he remembered the god-awful meeting. “His aunt picked up a loser of a boyfriend. The bastard was beating her and Kit got in between them. The son of a bitch tore into him before getting arrested. Nobody knew but Kit developed an aneurysm because of the beating. He died a day later.”
“How old was he?”
“Sixteen,” Jared said. “Sixteen going on sixty. My God, he was beautiful.”
“You were in love with him.”
“My first true love. And I couldn’t even go to his funeral because it was held in Oklahoma.”
“Did he give you the tool case?”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because most chefs would take care of their knives. You, on the other hand, take care of that case like it was the Queen’s jewels. I figured someone special must have given it to you.”
“Kit was the one who told me to become a chef. Trust me, that was not a career choice the guidance counselors talk about in Texas.”
“The kid saw what was right in front of his face,” Sterling said. “And he had the guts to say it when nobody would. Sounds like he really cared about what you wanted.”
Jared found himself fighting back tears. It had been more than a decade and just as long since he’d spoken about Kit.
“Is that why you like Jensen?”
Jared gave a watery laugh. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Nope,” Sterling replied easily. “But I made my living reading people, and I had to be good at it. Otherwise, I’d be dead by now.”
Jared sank deeper into his chair and dropped his head back. “Jensen does remind me of Kit. That same bruised grace. You get the feeling when you look at them that fucking with them is not a smart thing to do, but they don’t come off as assholes, you know?”
“Bruised grace,” Sterling repeated with a smile. “I like that. And yeah, that sounds about right.
“So, what are you going to do with Jensen?”
“I don’t know,” Jared admitted. “It’s not like I have a lot of time outside of Spoon.”
“You know how the saying goes - if you want it badly enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
“Maybe, but Jensen will probably have someone by then,” Jared said darkly. “I still can’t figure out why the guy isn’t already taken.”
“The man works in a farm, surrounded by vegetables and goats,” Sterling said dryly. “He can’t be looking too hard for company living like that.”
“True,” Jared admitted.
“You cook,” Sterling said and pointed to the kitchen. “From what I hear you’ve been doing a great job seducing him with food, so why not step it up a notch?”
Jared looked pensively at the kitchen. “Maybe.”
“You’ve been feeding him a dish here and there,” Sterling said. “Go for the kill: make him a five-course meal. That ought to make him more than just a little happy.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Well, I gotta get going,” Sterling stood up and stretched his arms. “I have a long morning.”
“What are you doing?”
“Got a MMA practice from eight to twelve.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jared was aghast at the idea. “Jesus, it’s almost one!”
“Which is why I have to go. See you Tuesday, Chef.”
Jared wondered how in hell Sterling could even contemplate doing something that physically exhausting. Then he moaned as he remembered he had to take the dogs out since the sitter was on vacation in Alaska. In spite of his grumblings, Jared was only too glad to see Harley and Sadie waiting patiently for him. He let them out into the yard then fed them their usual food mixed with some scraps he’d heisted from Spoon. Then they all piled into his custom-made bed from Black Dog Forge and fell asleep within minutes.
Jared woke up to discover seventeen voicemail in his cell. After listening from various news reporters and media personalities, all hounding him for a scoop on the ‘massacre’ that took place in Spoon, Jared wanted nothing less than to dive back into his bed and stay there until Tuesday.
However, unless he wanted to ditch his maybe date with Jensen and let the man think he was hiding because of last night, or that he was just a douchebag, Jared had to drag his sorry ass out of bed and into daylight.
His home phone rang. Jared looked warily at the number and sighed in relief.
“Chad! What the fuck is going on?”
“Don’t sweat it, I got it under control,” Chad drawled out.
That didn’t make Jared feel any better. “You sure? I’ve got reporters snapping at my heels about last night.”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. Chris filled me on the details and I've got a publicist lined up to deal with it. I also called Danneel and she told me what happened at Harborview.”
“What did she say?” Jared was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He had all but forgotten about the petite waitress in the aftermath.
“Kristen’s nose is fractured but the doc thinks he could set it without breaking any more bones.” Chad slurped what Jared hoped was coffee. “Don’t beat yourself to death that you didn’t get to do your white knight routine. Danneel said the girl’s fine. In fact, by the time they got to Harborview, Kristen was spitting nails. Danneel had to talk her out of catching a cab back to Spoon in order to ‘cut the little shits’.”
Jared smiled. He could mentally picture Kristen Bell saying such things. She might be little, but she was fierce. “Call me after you see her.”
“I'll wait until you call me,” Chad countered. “Don’t you have a big date or something in an hour?”
“Who doesn’t know about this?”
“Your mama,” Chad replied. “Anyway, take care of your dogs and get your disgusting ass into the shower. I swear, your morning breath is worse than Harley’s.”
Jared mumbled an indistinct curse before hanging up on his friend. It wasn’t until he was in the shower that Jared realized Chad was probably handling the landmine that was the brawl in order for him to actually be able to meet Jensen.
Chad was more than just a damn good friend: the man was a lifesaver.
Jared took the dogs to a local park and let them play for thirty minutes before dragging them home. He set out extra food and water for Harley and Sadie before leaving for his date. As he pulled up his truck into a vacant parking space, he spotted Jensen casually leaning against a parked car, reading the newspaper.
And completely ignorant of the large crowd lounging around him for no apparent reason whatsoever. He spotted Jared crossing the street and smiled. Jared couldn’t help but grin back and wave cheerfully.
“Hey, good to see you,” Jensen said earnestly. “I just read what happened last night. Is everything settling down?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Jared looked at the men and women surreptitiously studying them behind their sunglasses or magazines. “Let’s get a table.”
To Jared’s unending annoyance, they were given a table right in front of the picture window, affording plenty of view to anyone who would stroll by. As they were reading the menu, Jared noticed at least five people slowing down drastically to take a longer look at his date. And three of them were men. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Jared wondered if he should’ve put some gel in his hair as he usually did for work. It was unruly at best of times, and right now it was behaving like a living thing.
In fact, Jared wouldn’t be surprised if his hair reached out for his menu so it could place an order.
“Jamie will probably kill me, but I’m going to order lamb tandoori,” Jensen said. “Do you have any recommendations?”
“Dude, I’m starving. I’m going to order half the menu and you’re welcome to try some.”
Jensen’s smile lit up not just his face but half of the restaurant. And yet, like Kit, he either didn’t notice the effect he had or just simply didn’t care. Jared felt his brain cells slowly shutting down under the onslaught of the beautiful, and the nice, and the general laid-back attitude Jensen seemed to have cultured.
“So, tell me - what do you do exactly at the farm?” Jared asked after they placed their orders.
“Oh man, anything and everything: planting, harvesting, seeding, transplanting. You name it, I do it.”
“You also work with goats?”
“Yeah,” Jensen gave a little shrug. “The animals like me. And from what I can tell it’s hard to earn their trust so Jamie lets me work with them. It’s probably because I help raise them from kids.”
Jared laughed at the thought of Jensen surrounded by fluffy white baby goats, nibbling at his hair and shirt. “Oh man, you're a poster boy for PETA, you know that?”
“Not really, since we eat some of them,” Jensen answered. “Their meat’s pretty damn good.”
“I know. I’m actually thinking about doing an entire goat barbeque, like they do in Hawaii.”
“We did that two years back,” Jensen said eagerly. “We fed over fifteen people with just one.”
“Mmmm,” Jared sighed wistfully. “Goat barbeque…”
“With that chicken skin salad of yours, I’m sure we can piss off just about every conservation group on the planet,” Jensen stated dryly.
“Not the salad,” Jared wiggled his eyebrows. “Add foie gras instead.”
“You, Chef, are evil.”
“I just don’t like it when people order me not to cook something. Tell me instead. Seduce me, dazzle me with your intellect, but don’t treat me like a four-year-old who can’t zip up his pants.
“I hate that.”
“Why here, then? ‘Cause there’s nothing Seattlelites like better than telling other people what’s eco-hot and what’s not.”
“It’s a double standard, really,” Jared explained. “That same eco-consciousness produces some of the best organic products in the States. People go crazy for European cheeses, but Welling’s farm produces some of the best blue cheese I’ve ever had. And that’s working under restrictions that the European farms don’t have. Then there’s the wine. In my opinion Napa Valley can stay in California. We’re not missing out on much.”
“It must be hard, though,” Jensen said thoughtfully. “You’re an outsider here. Seattle has something of an inbred culture when it comes to their culinary scene.”
“It’s pretty fucking scary, actually,” Jared admitted. “Most everyone who opened a restaurant here worked in another one just down the block or across the street, and maybe did so while growing up in the neighborhood. I don’t think I know of any other chef who’s from the South, and that’s not California I’m talking about. You have to hand it to them - they’ve got talent, but keep doing that and the food scene is going to go stagnant.
“Do you think it’s because we’re so closed off?”
“Partially, but the biggest problem in my opinion is Chicago,” Jared said. “Look, for the few chefs in the East Coast who decide to expand, they’re not going to travel further west than Chicago because that’s where it’s at. That city has the balls to say, ‘Okay, we never had what you’re serving but we’ll try it. Be it pig tonsils or chicken feet or foie gras, no matter what anybody says.' They’ve got the guts to chow down everything and actually sit back and enjoy the meal without overthinking it.
“Here, the critics, at least, take apart the meal to its basic ingredients, not realizing that’s not where the magic’s at: the magic happens when everything comes together. When food brings such pleasure, it doesn’t need to be examined closer. You should just sit back and go with it. And you sure as hell shouldn't feel guilty about it. Which is probably why there isn’t a Seattle equivalent of French Laundry or Bernardin. It’s not because it’s impossible to create such a place here: it’s because people just can’t let themselves go enough to enjoy it. I promise you, take a Seattlelite to L'Astrance or Alinea, and they’ll still find something to nitpick.”
It took Jared only a moment to realize that Jensen had been silent the entire time he was ranting. He looked at his date and saw Jensen staring at him with wary eyes.
So, no dessert today.
"Chefs are unbelievably obsessive," Jared explained weakly. "It can be overwhelming to people who don't work with us."
"All right."
Okay, less Al Sharpton and more Barry White.
Jensen cleared his throat and asked, “So, why Devon? And Spoon?”
“Because I like a challenge, and I believe Devon and Spoon could change the locals’ thinking about what is acceptable to eat. Maybe I’m using the organic thing as a front while slowly brainwashing people into believing that pan-roasted chicken skin won't put them on the express to hell.”
"Like I said: evil."
The food came and Jensen eagerly dug in, to Jared's great relief. One of his first tests on dating strangers was to watch how they eat and what they eat. He'd went on a few disasters where the dates ate with the same relish they would've had with barbed wire and cyanide-coated tacks. And three of them ate in such a manner with his cooking.
"Oh man, this is fantastic!" Jensen said, dunking his potato-and-pea-filled nan bread into the masala he had poured over his rice.
“Ain’t it?” Jared licked his fingers as he ate some of Jensen’s tandoori. “Sophia has a list of all the best Indian places in town.”
“That’s worth its weight in gold. I wonder why chefs don’t make their recommendations known to public.”
“Because it’s the kiss of death,” Jared answered.
“For the restaurant?” Jensen was taken back by Jared’s reply.
“No, for the chef,” Jared explained. “After we close down our places, we want to go where there aren’t any food critics or tourists or fans. So, we’re pretty tight-lipped about where we like to eat. Besides, most of the places we frequent would scare the shit out of normal diners.”
“Why is that?”
Jared wiped his greasy lips and took a deep drink of his soda. “Because we like what’s known as ‘garbage’ food. Organ meats, sweetbreads, deep stocks, and stuff that usually aren’t the best cut of anything. We do appreciate high-end restaurants like any gourmands, but our respect usually go towards the cooks who deal with difficult and inexpensive foodstuff.
“For example: tenderloin. Great cut of steak, and it doesn’t take a genius to cook it. But flank steak? That’s a challenge, and the cooks who can make that particular cut taste buttery soft without drowning it in marinade has some serious talent. Same goes for seafood. Fish heads are delicious but you won’t see it on the menu unless you’re in an Asian restaurant.”
“Have you ever gotten sick?” Jensen asked. “Because it sounds like you guys are playing a dice game with all the stuff you prefer to eat.”
“Food poisoning?” Jared nodded with a grin. “Few times. You can’t win them all.”
“I got that once along with half the crew and most of the passengers.” Jensen gave a mock shiver. “I was working for a cruise line and boy, did that trip turn into the voyage of the damned.”
“Really?” Jared couldn’t picture Jensen in a white-on-white outfit with white shoes.
“Just for a little while. I was a physical therapist - mainly did massage therapies and taught pilates classes.”
“Found out you didn't have sea legs? I have a neighbor whose son was dying to work on one of those ships. Tried applying twice and got rejected both times.”
“Something a little different.”
Jared realized he had stumbled upon dangerous territory without knowing. He pointed to the lone lamb piece sitting on the plate. “Are you going to finish that or can I have it?”
Jensen looked down at their table. “Holy shit, how did we eat so fast?”
Jared laughed. “Not you, me.”
“Sure, you can have it,” Jensen said. “I think I’m full. Hell, I am full. I think my brain just caught up with my stomach.”
“And that’s what good food does to you.” Jared speared the lamb piece with his fork and polished it off in seconds.
It was only when he saw the empty plates and bowls that Jared realized their date was officially over. Kicking himself for eating with his usual gusto, Jared wondered what they could do next.
“Want to get coffee?” Jensen offered with a sweet smile.
If Jared’s grin was big enough to swallow a bear, Jensen didn’t mention it.
This became routine with them. Every Sunday morning, they would meet up and go for a meal that would translate into an entire afternoon spent in each other’s presence. Jared didn’t mind that Jensen seemed to really think about whatever was developing between them, but there were times when he wished Jensen would toss aside his thoughtful persona and just have wall sex with him.
He found out on their fifth date why there wasn’t any wall sex. Or any sex.
They were at a park, just lazing about after a great brunch. Jared was watching Harley and Sadie goof off with each other when Jensen turned to him and said, “I want to tell you something.”
Jared was proud of himself that he didn’t tense up. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I want you to know something about me. Something that’s not so pleasant.”
Jared frowned. “Please tell me you’re not seeing someone already.”
“Nothing like that,” Jensen said. “Not even remotely. Remember I told you I worked for a cruise line?”
Jared nodded, afraid to speak.
“Well, I had an affair with another crew member. I was twenty-five at the time, he was twenty-one. I thought it was the real deal but, as it turned out, Parker got cold feet. He didn’t tell his parents about his sexuality because they would’ve cut off his wallet. After we broke up he filed sexual harassment charges against me - a preemptive strike to make sure his parents wouldn’t believe me if I ever spoke to them about us.”
“Are you talking about rape?” Jared asked hoarsely.
"Thankfully, no. But Parker listed just about everything else,” Jensen admitted in a light tone and pained eyes. “The charges didn’t stick. As it turned out, we weren’t as secretive as we thought. To make the long story short - the charges were dropped and he faced holy hell from everyone because of what he did.
"I don’t know what made me angrier: the fact that Parker made those claims or the fact that I fell in love with such a fucking asshole.”
“What happened to you?”
“I lost my job and my license. I tried to appeal but I found out the cruise line was incorporated in Saudi Arabia, and they aren’t the most open-minded people when it comes to homosexuality. I went into a topspin and ended up in a homeless shelter in Portland where Jamie found me.”
“What about your parents? Your family?”
“When I say I went into a topspin, I mean exactly that. I disappeared for little over a year. They hired a private investigator to find me but by then I was less than a nobody.”
“But you talk to them now, right?”
“Every Sunday night. My mom will kill me if I don’t call.”
“Is that why you work in a farm, with goats for company?”
Jensen smiled. “Yeah, I needed to get my head screwed on straight, and working there made it possible.”
“Then there are the cute fuzzy baby goats.” Jared elbowed Jensen in the ribs. “Admit it, you’re just a big teddy bear for cute little baby animals.”
“Shut up,” Jensen replied with a slight blush. “They’re food. They make cheese.”
“And I bet they nibble on your fingers and rub against you legs whenever you’re with them. Hell, I bet you carry few of them around just because they’re so cuddly.”
Jensen looked away but not so fast that Jared didn’t see Jensen’s blush deepen. His laughter was cut off when Jensen tackled him, with his dogs joining in the fray in order not to miss out on the fun.
Part IV * Conclusion