“The mock porchetta is Rafe’s favourite. When my biggest fan drives all the way from Toronto for dinner, I’m going to make sure he’s happy.”
“Rafe loves everything you make.”
“No harm in being sure. Have you seen our socials?”
“I have. And the message is mixy. I want it crisp and clear. B-I-S-T-R-O.”
Merrie flings out her hands. “The whole point of having a daily menu is to change it every day, to respond to seasonal opportunities.” She points to the sign outside the front door. “Farm to table. Seasonal eating. That’s what wedohere!”
“So do it, but limit the changes. Play with the appetizers but don’t mess with the mains. Bistro cooking is aboutcomfortfood.”
“I’m smothering beneath these restrictions,” she mutters, giving the soup a vicious stir.
“Mix up the seasonal vegetables,” I suggest. “Change the carb with the grilled chop from gratin to buttered orzo. You change the quiche ingredients and the soup every day.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Do one special entrée per day.”
“Not enough.”
“It should be. Ithasto be. People need to be confident that they’ll find something on the menu that they like, or they won’t come back. I need you to keep the keel level until our reputation is established.” And beyond, but we’ll argue about that if we ever get there.
Her eyes narrow, making her look unpredictable. “People should be willing to step out of their comfort zone in terms of food. It’s one meal! Make it an adventure!”
“Not everyone goes out for a gastronomical experiment.”
“Barbarians,” she mutters. “They should seize the day.” She casts me a stern look. “Get it?”
Of course, I do. It’s the name of the damn place. “I didn’t realize it was a manifesto.”
“It’s a lifestyle choice,” she says fiercely and I sigh.
“You expect too much from people, Merrie.”
“While you expect too little of them.”
I pivot to look at her. “How did this come to be about me? You’re changing the menu too soon and that may jeopardize the survival of this restaurant. We’ve been there and done that. Let’s try a different approach.”
“Boring.”
“Consistent. That’s all I’m saying, Merrie.”
There is a long moment of silence, which means either I’ve convinced her or she’s mustering her arguments. I’ll take door number two.
“The question is why,” she says softly.
“Because people like predictability…”
“No, why are you arguing with me about it? Since when do you care?”
“I just do!”
“Ha!” She shakes a wooden spoon at me. I know it’s her favorite one so this is important. I fold my arms across my chest and stare back at her, ready to battle this one until I win. “Younever care. You just want to keep on keeping on. What’s different this time? Why does it matter enough to argue?”
I stop to consider that. She has a point. “I don’t want to move again. I don’t think it’s good for Sierra.”
“No,” Merrie says with a shake of her head that makes her red curls jump. “This is not about your daughter. I won’t let it be about your daughter. Not this time.”
