Page 23 of Tasty Tentacles

10

ORION

“How about now?” Albert says—Bertie says—holding out the spoon.

He’s making something called bacon jam, of all things, but it’s absolutely devastating. It’s simple—bacon, onion and brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, and an unusual smoked paprika—but it packs a punch. I suppose you can never go wrong with bacon, particularly when you pair it with one of his baguettes.

“Maybe a touch of pepper? Or maybe not. It has a certain clarity just the way it is.”

“Let’s try it—I’m always up for trying something new.” He turns to Jake, who is attentively assisting us in the kitchen. “Oh, look…there’s an extra piece of bacon. I wonder if there’s anyone who would like it. No? So sad. I guess it will just have to go in the trash.”

“Woof!”

I turn back to my project to hide my smile, but actually, I don’t need to hide, so I let my tentacles dance with the pleasure of it. I haven’t felt this free since I moved out to California. My tentacles were never an issue back home with my family, but everywhere else, not so much. It feels good to let them fade into the background, not an issue, and focus on cooking.

Bertie has tasked me with two variations of stuffed endive: a sweet one with Roquefort cheese, honey, walnuts, and pears, and a savory one with chives, crème fraîche, and caviar. My tentacles are in ecstasy with the intense flavors. I often toss some blue cheese on my salads, but Roquefort takes it to a new level. The sharp musty-moldy blueness is almost too much, but they keep begging for another taste.

The caviar is a revelation. I’ve never encountered a flavor quite like it, and they’re so fun. I stop my chopping and give them a few more on the tip of my finger. They roll the tiny eggs around and explore the smooth buttery surface. The temptation is irresistible, so I let them squeeze, bursting each one in an explosion of salty-briny intensity. Then they pop the remains in my mouth, ready for another round.

“You’re having too much fun!” Bertie says. He stopped his work, watching the whole spectacle. I lick the last bit of caviar off one of my lip tentacles, and he smiles. No disgust, no fainting, no cruel words. Just a smile.

“Sorry, I should get back to this,” I say, turning back to my chopping before I’m overcome by that smile. “It’s just this caviar. I’ve never had anything like it.”

“I’m glad we could introduce you to a new pleasure.”

The caviar and Roquefort are great, but the real pleasure is being here cooking with Bertie, talking with Bertie, after so many years of cooking by myself.

“You have a beautiful house,” I say, arranging the endives artfully on a platter. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thanks!” he says, obviously proud. “That’s a tribute to our double-income-no-kids status, and we bought it years ago, when things were still affordable. How about you?”

“My place is smaller, but it suits me and Jake. I also bought when the market was more in the realm of sanity, so the mortgage isn’t a problem.”

“Right? I can hardly believe the comps these days. I don’t know how young people can afford anything.”

“There must be some young families in your neighborhood, though,” I say, remembering the blow-up Santas and arrays of candy canes. “There are some serious decorations down the street.”

“You’ve got that right. We’re also mobbed at Halloween. Unfortunately, Hidie and I have been mired down in work, and we haven’t had much time to focus on decorations.”

“Not to be rude or anything, but I was wondering about that. You have this big Hallmark house…”

“...but no Hallmark decorations. Sad but true. We have them, and we used to decorate back when we first met, but we’ve gotten out of the habit. The season comes and goes so quickly…”

“And you’re busy with work. I understand completely. I’m in the same boat. Seems like I always have a deadline with my freelance work, and Enzo wasn’t at a place in his career to contribute much.”

“I was sorry to hear about your breakup. Hideo mentioned it.”

“Thanks. It’s been rough, but not unexpected. I’m doing better now that he’s moved his stuff out, but little things still set me off. I bought him a present—it would have been our first Christmas together—but I didn’t get a chance to give it to him. It’s just a sweater, but…”

“I’m guessing you can’t wear it? You're as big as Paul Bunyan, after all.”

I have to laugh at this. “You have that right. I’ve never found a sweater that fits.”

“Hidie-ho and I haven’t exchanged presents in years,” Bertie says, looking thoughtful. “We buy everything we need, so we’ve gotten out of the habit.”

“Seems like you celebrate in plenty of other ways, like cooking together and celebrating with friends.”

“Yes,” Bertie says, coming over and giving me another hug. “And celebrating with new friends! Are you finished with those endives? I could use some help with the artichokes.”