“What I’m hearing is you rate the sauces
more than the food.” Obi laughs.
His laughter reassures me
he’s happy to be here with me.
“I guess I have a thing for sauces,”
I say, in a bizarre attempt to flirt.
“Oh yeah?” Obi takes the bait.
“What’s your favorite one?”
“My top three in no particular order are:
sweet chili, peri-peri, and mango chutney.”
Obi starts to laugh, then covers his mouth,
and I wonder if he’s conscious of his toothy smile.
“Did you just call mango chutney
a sauce?” Obi laughs again, and snorts this time.
I feel heat rise in my body
as I realize Obi is laughing at me, not with me.
“Yes,” I say uncertainly.
“But it’s literally called chutney,” says Obi.
“A sauce is something like ketchup or mayo.”
He points to them, between us on the restaurant table.
“Or sweet chili and peri-peri, like you said.
But a chutney is a chutney, like a salsa is a salsa,
and neither of those are sauces.”
I let out a long sigh.
This level of pedantry could kill any vibe.
Plus, I don’t think
what he’s saying is correct.
“Shit! I’m sorry,” says Obi.
“I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”
I make a pinching gesture
