Page 59 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“That’s wonderful. Very community-minded.” Penelope nods approvingly. “I do hope you’ve considered the challenges, though. Seasonality, weather delays, the reliability issues that come with small boat operations.”
Dad looks up from his supplier list. “Good think I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Penelope says quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It’s just that from a business perspective, consistency can be crucial. Tourists especially expect certain standards.”
Brett moves closer to the conversation. “What kind of standards?”
“Predictable quality, reliablemenu availability. Some visitors prefer the security of knowing their grouper will taste the same whether they order it in January or July.”
I begin to understand what she’s getting at. “You think we should use frozen suppliers.”
“I think you should consider all your options. There’s nothing wrong with choosing consistency over... well, over the uncertainties that come with local sourcing.”
Dad folds his arms across his chest. “Ma’am, with respect, who wants to eat frozen fish?”
“Most won’t know the difference,” Penelope says carefully. “But the average diner might value reliability over the subtle distinctions that seafood enthusiasts appreciate.”
The conversation is polite, diplomatic even. But underneath her reasonable concerns, I hear the real message: play it safe, don’t rock the boat, stick to what tourists expect.
“We appreciate the input,” Brett says. “We’re still working through operational details.”
“Of course. I’m sure you’ll figure out what works best.” Penelope heads toward the door. “It’s exciting to see new businesses taking root in Twin Waves.”
After she leaves, the three of us stand in the wake of her visit.
“She’s not wrong about the challenges,” I say finally.
“She’s not wrong about thechallenges,” Dad agrees. “But she’s wrong about the solution. You don’t build something special by playing it safe.”
Brett nods slowly. “The question is whether we’re prepared to handle the complications that come with doing things the hard way.”
“I think we are,” I say, feeling more certain with each word. “The other places are fine, but they’re tired. This place will be different.”
“How different?” Brett asks.
“Better than what’s here now, but not trying to be what this town doesn’t need.” I’m getting excited now, seeing it clearly. “Fresh fish served in a place where you can actually talk to each other. Entrees in the fifteen-to-twenty range instead of Johnson’s twenty-five-to-thirty. Nice enough for date night, comfortable enough for family dinner.”
“The gap between fast-casual and overpriced,” Brett says, understanding despite his usual skepticism.
“Exactly. Somewhere a teacher can afford to take her family for dinner. But still nice enough that you feel special.”
Dad grins. “Now you’re talking. That’s what this town actually needs.”
After Dad leaves with promises to call Captain Sarah about flounder, Brett and I are left alone with our planning materials and the echo of two very different conversations about our future.
“Penelope made some valid points,” Brett says, settling onto one of the half-built banquettes.
“About consistency and reliability? She did.” I sit across from him, suddenly aware that we’re alone in our restaurant for the first time since the festival. “But I keep thinking about what makes a meal memorable. It’s not predictability.”
“The risk is that extraordinary doesn’t pay the bills if you can’t deliver it consistently.”
“And the risk of playing it safe is that you become another forgettable restaurant serving adequate food to people who deserve better.”
We’re quiet for a moment, both recognizing that this conversation is about more than just supplier choices.
“There’s another issue we should probably address,” I say, picking at a loose thread on my jeans.
“What’s that?”
