“The one coming out next week?”
“Yes.”
“The one that’s all but ready to print, and making any alterations at this point would be a huge pain in the ass?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Consider it done.”
“Thank you.” Landon stood and extended his hand to Craig. “You can sit at the chef’s table anytime.”
It was masochistic of her, but Aubrey let herself hang on to a tiny connection to Landon. Every month, she bought a copy ofCalifornia Coast Monthlyand read Landon’s review until she memorized it. Then she could hear his voice in her head when she recalled his words later. It probably wasn’t the healthiest hobby to indulge in, but she didn’t care because she needed it.
This month’s issue featured everything fall. It was her favorite season. The changing colors, the scent of wood and smoke in the air, and the comfort food overload. More than anything, autumn was the season of love and family to her.
She flipped through the magazine, skimming the recipes she wanted to come back to later, and looked for Landon’s section. A tremor of unease fleeted across her when she found it. His column lacked its customary background and enticing food photos. The layout was as elegant as ever, but the stark black, gray, and white of the page felt somber even before she registered the title.
It’s Not Farewell
by Landon Kim
For the past decade, you, my readers, have been my confidantes, friends, and heroes. Every bite I took forCalifornia Coast Monthlyand the blog, I ate imagining what you would think. How you would feel. I was never alone because you traveled with me. Everything I saw and experienced, I thought,Oh, the readers would love thisorGod, this would upset the readers.Every word I wrote, I wrote with you in mind. My reviews and articles were pieces of me I shared with you, praying it would fulfill your expectations. To laugh at culinary disasters, to find the silver lining in a bad meal that redeems the restaurant, and to dream of the endless deliciousness the world has to offer.
Once. Only once. But still once. I failed you. I failed myself. And I nearly destroyed an amazing pastry chef’s dream. I almost stole the gift she had to offer you.
Many of you might remember my article “The Pitfalls of Brilliance.” In it, I rip apart a baker after eating a bite of her cake. I’m not reneging on my impression of the cake. It was sincerely alarming. Gummy worms and peanut butter do not belong in a chocolate Bundt cake. Of course, there is a bigbut.
Butit didn’t matter whatIthought about the cake, because it was meant for another customer. The unusual filling was the brainchild of a six-year-old birthday girl, and I’d eaten her cake. The server had given it to me by accident, an understandable mistake considering the cozy shop had been bursting at the seams with hungry customers.
I discovered the real story behind the peculiar cake about a month after the issue was released, but I did nothing to correct my mistake. I refused to retract my review. My reasoning was that the cake I’d eaten shouldn’t have been foisted on an unsuspecting customer, and my reaction was honest. I also refused to go back to the bakery to write a second review based on a more comprehensive, thoughtful examination of a wider variety of menu items. I had my reputation to protect, and that mattered more to me than a hole-in-the-wall bakery.
My ego, my arrogance, led me to give you, my readers, a superficial and incomplete review and almost pushed a small, overextended bakery out of business. That review was about me and my unfair judgment of the pastry chef. I did not experience the moment with you as I should have, and I did not write the review with you in mind.
I apologize from the bottom of my heart, dear readers.
I have always given you (except the fateful once) and give you now my complete honesty. Please take my opinion aboutthe lovely bakery and its incredible chef with a grain of salt. While I meant every word I’ve written here, my opinion might be biased because I’m hopelessly in love with the pastry chef.
This is the last article I write as a food critic and blogger forCalifornia Coast Monthlyand any other publication for the foreseeable future. But this isn’t farewell. I am off to chase my dreams. All that means is I’ll be seeing you from inside the kitchen, sharing more of myself with you.
Thank you for the unforgettable memories.
Aubrey stared at the pages long after she’d finished reading the words.I’m hopelessly in love with the pastry chef.Her brain shouted twelve questions at once, and she couldn’t focus on any of them. It was too loud. Her heart squeezed and twisted, and she was sobbing, but the cacophony of her thoughts wouldn’t quiet down for her to figure out why.
I’m hopelessly in love with the pastry chef.
24
Aubrey sat on her love seat—the only chair she could get up from without struggling like an overturned turtle—notthinking about Landon’s latest article. She was indulging in her latest addiction—cookie butter. Tara’s brothers, Jack and Alex, brought it back from their trip to one of San Diego’s beer festivals, and she was completely hooked. It was the greatest culinary invention since ice cream.
Humming a little happy tune, Aubrey dipped her spoon in the cookie butter to eat it right out of the jar, but before she could lick the sinful goodness, her doorbell rang. A primitive growl rumbled in her chest.This had better be important.No one should be allowed to interrupt a pregnant woman when she was eating her cookie butter unless it was something very, very important.
“I’ve got it, baby.” Her mom hurried from the kitchen, smoothing down her apron. She lived in there and baked like she was making up for lost time. Her sweet buns were even better than Grandma’s.
“I love you, Mom.” It wasn’t the cookie butter euphoriatalking. Her mom was an incredible woman, and Aubrey was so lucky to be her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” Her mom’s eyes glittered. When a second, tentative knock sounded at the door, Linda smoothed out her apron again with a delicate sniff and opened the door.
“Oh.” The visitor sounded surprised. “I’m here to see Aubrey.”
