Page 51 of Finding Yesterday
That kiss with Jack was obviously a huge mistake, and now I need to move into professional mode with him before we get any deeper.
Ifhe wants to get deeper, which, who knows the answer to that.
When I look at things logically, Jack and I don’t add up. The truth of the matter is that I’ve only seen one tiny part of Jack for a very short period of time. And he’s returning to San Francisco. Even if there wasn’t that other woman,Jack is leaving.
I have to forget him, but my heart doesn’t seem to be getting the memo.
Returning my focus to my burgers, I still can’t get over how even the prep work feels luxurious in this kitchen with all this fancy commercial-grade equipment. Not to mention any and every spice I could dream of, but I’m keeping it simple, starting with chili powder and cumin.
I try something a little different: adding sweet potatoes to the mix. After all, I am known for the ravioli. Or I used to be.
But actually, adding it is a great way to blend and complement flavors, plus it helps with the dryness, something that’s always a struggle with vegetarian options. Sweet potato and pumpkin are miracle workers for that, not to mention healthy compared to mayonnaise or vegetable oil.
So, I bake the sweet potato until it’s soft before blending it into the mix. After experimenting with different flours, I end up going with the almond flour over the garbanzo.
When it’s all said and done, my burgers turn out just as I’d hoped—bursting with flavor and moist, something I think will get them on the menu. And there’s no missing garnish this time—my bunless burgers are plated on a bed of lettuce with a side of thinly sliced avocado, topped with parsley, and a striped glaze of my secret sauce. I love what I see, but my heart races when the cooks arrive. I need to have them try what I’ve made, and these steak guys aren’t big on veggie burgers.
“What are you making in here?” Jordan asks, walking in the kitchen door. “It smells good.”
I hold up my tray. “I’d like to present my sweet-potato black bean burgers.” Lifting my chin, I continue, “I think it would fit well with the Southern feel of the restaurant and existing dishes.”
“Well, then, let’s give ’em a try.” He walks to the sink and washes his hands before putting on his apron. Then he steps up to the tray holding an empty plate. “Ready to see what you’ve got, Claire.”
I smile. “All right.” I use a spatula to place the burger on his plate.
Forking a bite, his face is expressionless. When he’s done chewing, he shakes his head. “I don’t like veggie burgers, but I’d definitely eat this.” His forehead crinkles. “And I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
“Really?” A broad smile spreads across my face. Jordan isn’t one to tell me something unless it’s true, so that’s a confidence boost.
He takes another bite, swallowing before he says, “My wife will be happy if I start eating this crap sometimes.” He puts up a palm. “No offense.”
“None taken. In fact, you wanting to eat ‘crap’ is a compliment of the highest order.”
He shakes a finger. “You got me there. If it were up to me, I’d add this burger to the menu. We’ve gotta try something else—the one we’re offering isn’t working.”
When Nick arrives a few minutes later, I give him the same introduction, and he tries my burger. He goes on about how it’s surprisingly good too.
Now the real test—Pops.
When he gets in, I blow out a breath before bringing him a plate. It helps that I already have Jordan and Nick on my side. Pops narrows his gaze and scowls at the burgers, studying them. Finally, he says, “I can’t believe I’m eating rabbit food. But we do need a better vegetarian substitute, so I’ll do it for the restaurant.” He takes a bite. After chewing for what feels like an hour, he sets the burger down.
Uh, oh.
The scowl falls off his face and he looks at me with raised brows. “Well, it tastes like a side dish because there’s no meat. But as far as side dishes go, it’s good.” He shrugs. “If you’re into side dishes as a whole meal, which some of you young folks are.” He looks around, seemingly searching for his words. “I mean, there’s no question, Poppins. You’ve got a real talent here.”
My smile meets my ears. “Thanks, sir.”
He lets out a sigh, swatting a hand. “Aw, call me Pops, kid.”
“You got it, Pops,” I reply, my voice light. That’s definitely as good as it gets from him.
Everyone else’s opinions aside, I am pretty dang proud of myself. At my cooking, of course, but there’s more. I’m amazed to discover my dishes have broader appeal with those who are not vegetarians.
This is why, as much as I love history—and the possibility of teaching it—I wouldn’t want to do that over running a restaurant. I love the experimentation, the customers, and the service. But mostly, I lovethispart, the part where you connect food with people and a bit of magic happens.
But as much as cooking for others fulfills me in a way nothing else does, there’s still a missing piece of the puzzle. I have this yearning for it to slide into place, filling an empty space inside me. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is, but I do feel I’m one step closer, thanks to Pops, Jack, and Hannah. I’m hopeful that I’ll actually figure this out.
There’s just something about Hannah’s recipes that make me want to grab onto them, experiment, and make them better. It’s what I’d always imagined happening if I had Mama’s recipes. But since hers are lost, if there are recipes that can make me feel like this, then that’s good enough.
