Page 64 of Jesse
“Why do you want to change how it’s cooked anyway? This brisket has been our bestseller. Why mess with what’s working?”
His voice was quieter than usual as he sat down at the small dining table, tracing a faint pattern on the table with his finger.
“Because,” I said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in my voice, “smoking isn’t just time-consuming; it’s a distraction. You’re tied to it, constantly watching the temperature, adding wood chips. We need that time for other things if we’re going to keep up with everything else.”
“It’s worth it for the flavor,” Jesse said, though the conviction wasn’t quite there this time.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. “In my old truck, I used to slow-cook brisket in the oven. It was foolproof. Put it in, forget about it, and I had time to prep everything else. That’s where we always fall behind. On the sides and extras.”
Jesse sank deeper into the chair. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes distant, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
This wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d be right in the thick of it, arguing every little detail with me.
“Hey,” I said, leaning closer, “where’s your head at?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers drumming softly on the table before he finally spoke.
“We don’t need a huge menu. A few good items is enough.”
I frowned. “But some people come for the sides, Jesse. You know that. If we cut corners there, we’re leaving money and points on the table.”
Jesse just nodded. “Fine. You want to handle the sides? Go for it.”
I hesitated, watching him carefully. He’d been like this for days now, quieter and more withdrawn.
Usually, he’d argue me into the ground or at least make me laugh while trying. But lately, it felt like his spark had dimmed.
Still, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook completely. “Okay,” I said slowly, “but what do you think about tweaking the rub? Just a little.”
That got his attention. He straightened slightly, giving me a wary look. “Tweaking it how?”
I grabbed my notebook from the counter and flipped to the page I’d marked earlier. “I’ve got a few ideas for a new spice blend. Something to give it a bit more kick. Here, look?—”
But before I could get another word out, Jesse shot to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“You want to change the rub?” His voice was sharp, incredulous, and for the first time today, it actually had some energy behind it. “Are you kidding me? That recipe is my grandfather’s. Ever heard the phrase ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’?”
I blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“It’s just an idea,” I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Relax.”
Jesse wasn’t having it. “You don’t mess with the classics, Beck. Some things are sacred.”
I smirked, stepping closer. “Sacred, huh? You usually go with the flow. If we run out of something, you improvise. But this?” I gestured toward the spices on the counter. “This rub? You’re ready to go to war over it.”
“That recipe’s been in my family for generations. You don’t just change something like that,” Jesse said firmly.
I tilted my head, studying him.
There was more to this than just a recipe. But I didn’t push, not now. Instead, I let my curiosity linger, wondering what the story was, why he was so fiercely protective of it.
“You’re really serious about this, huh?”
“Dead serious,” he said, his voice low and steady.
“Fine,” I said, stepping back. “We’ll stick with the original for now. But if we really want to win, I want it to be something we created together.”
Jesse’s expression softened slightly, though he still looked skeptical. “And you think a new rub is gonna do that?”
