Page 29 of R for Rough

“And who went to the same institute approximately twenty years before you did?”

Well…Daddy and Adam. But whatevs!

“But that doesn’t matter,” he said as we arrived in my little kitchen. “I watched someone else prepare eggs this way last year, and it’s a game changer.”

Hmpf. He could’ve watchedme.

I peered next to him and saw four eggs in the pan. He’d picked the best one, of course. The carbon steel was nonstick enough for the eggs to flip easily, but you still got a nice crispy underside.

He had bacon in the skillet, but a quick look at the oven let me know it’d been on. I guessed we did that the same way for thick-cut. Prepare in the oven, get an extra nice surface in the skillet after.

“Over easy or sunny-side up?” he asked.

“Over easy, please and thank you.” I leaned against the counter. “Anything I can do? Besides wonder who taught you to make eggs when I could’ve taught you.”

He grinned to himself and added some butter. “Itwasyou.”

Really?

“I watched you make them for burgers,” he said. “The game changer was the butter. I used to add that in the beginning, but you don’t add it until you raise the heat at the end.”

Oh, I felt freaking giddy all of a sudden. My li’l hack had taught him something! Granted, granted, he didn’t prepare breakfast foods often, at least at work, and his specialty lay in seafood. But still. I loved this. I hoped we could cook together lots and lots.

Low heat in the beginning was obviously a must. It laid the groundwork and made sure the egg was cooked all the way through, without ruining the yolk. And then in those lastseconds, you seared the fuck out of the underside, giving it the crispy edges.

I just hated when I ordered eggs and the white was still see-through and runny.

“I found your Instagram this morning too,” he mentioned, grabbing two plates. “You know you’re all kinds of awesome, right? Not many twenty-five-year-olds can boast that kind of following unless they’re at one of those pretentious places where they serve a lingonberry jam on a pinecone for fifty bucks and call it Nordic Minimalist or somethin’.”

I laughed so hard. I knew restaurants like that! It really was bonkers.

“Before I got the internship with Adam, the place I was at in Atlanta was becoming so weird,” I said. “A whole bunch of us quit, because the new chef wanted to launch a menu where he butchered soul food.”

Daddy snorted. “Lemme guess, a fucked-up fusion restaurant.”

“Well, that’s what it became. Adam worked there back in the day.”

“Ah, right. Calita’s?”

“That’s the one.”

He nodded once and plated the eggs and the bacon. “Things started falling apart at that place as soon as the Garcia brothers left.”

That’s what I’d heard too. After that, one chef after another… I didn’t know what they did today, but it hadn’t been Ecuadorian in ages.

We grabbed everything we needed and headed for the living room, and I was glad to see him opting for the couch. It was much comfier than the table. Not only because my butt was super sore.

“So what would you say you love to cook the most?” he wondered. “Your Instagram feed had a little bit of everything.”

“Side dishes,” I replied automatically. I sat down very, very carefully. “I make sidekicks—Adam nicknamed me that, and it inspired the name for my account. I want side dishes that complement the main event. Also, carbs. Ilovebread. And breakfast foods.”

He smiled ruefully and took a sip of his coffee. “And if I hadn’t had my head so far up my ass, I would’ve known this already.”

Ugh, he wasn’t allowed to beat himself up about that. “Daddy, you were in a tough spot. I will never hold that against you.”

He made a grunty noise in his coffee, clearly not agreeing. “Didn’t give me the excuse to be an asshole.”

Well…

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