Tasting Freedom

“This…this is good.”1

I was grinning almost too widely, but I just couldn’t help myself. The owner of Grapevine, the high-class downtown bistro, had just complimented me. No, that was inaccurate; he’d complimented my cooking. This was big. This was a life-altering experience. The man took another forkful of my chicken cordon bleu and placed it delicately in his mouth. He chewed slowly, taking in every flavour and texture the dish had to offer. My hands, clasped behind my back, were sweating as I waited in anticipation.2

A few minutes later, he set his fork down on the side of the plate, though the dish was only half-finished. He dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin and cleared his throat.3

“This is really quite fantastic,” he commented. “You have a gift. I recognize it, and I think the whole world should recognize it as well. Now, I can’t guarantee anything, but I assure you that you are my first choice at this point in the selection process. You would make a superb addition to my culinary staff as Grapevine’s sous chef.”4

I was speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by relief and surprise. “I…I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Gaines. I am so grateful for this opportunity.”5

“That’s good, that’s very good,” Mr. Gaines said. “Do you realize that you’ll need to relocate in order to take this position? I assume that won’t be an issue?”6

“No, of course not,” I quickly assured him. “This employment would be my top priority. My family is in full support of my potential position.”7

“You live at home, don't you? With your mother?”8

I coughed. “Yes, Mr. Gaines.”9

“Well, be sure to tell her that you are a serious contender for the position. Oh, and thank her for raising you to be such a talented cook. I'm sure she was the one who taught you how to use the stove,” he chuckled. 10

I forced a grin. *She didn't teach me anything,* I thought. *This was all me.*11

“Well, Jay – can I call you Jay? – this has been a very fruitful meeting. No pun intended, by the way. Fruitful? Get it?” Mr. Gaines laughed at his own joke. “I expect we will see each other again in the near future.”12

“As do I, Mr. Gaines. Thank you for your time,” I said.13

The culinary audition finished, I took public transit home. My mother's car was in the driveway; she was back from work early. *Perfect.*14

I came in the door and took a whiff of the butternut squash bisque she was serving up in the kitchen. I knew she was going all out with the meal to impress me. For some reason, she always had to one-up me when it came to my successes. 15

“Jay, you're home!” she said as I entered the kitchen. She was using her pity voice; she was expecting bad news. She placed a bowl of the steaming soup on my place mat. “How did it go?”16

I sat at the table and drank in a spoonful of the bisque before answering. It was good, I had to admit, but I knew I could do better. “It went really well, actually.”17

I couldn't see her from where I was sitting, but I could just picture the surprise on her face. “What– what happened?”18

“Well, I got the job, hands-down. I have to move into the city.”19

Another bout of silence ensued. I felt no remorse about twisting the truth a little – I knew I'd get the job, and even if I didn't, I needed an excuse to move out. Without a good reason to leave, I'd be stuck here forever.20

My mother stuttered for a while before managing, “How long do you have?”21

“Mr. Gaines says I have to relocate as soon as I can. Before the end of next week, if possible. I'm going to look into some apartments after dinner.”22

“That’s...” She faltered. “That's wonderful.”23

She was lying, but I didn't care. I chuckled inwardly, low enough that she couldn't hear me. I took another taste of the butternut squash bisque. “Did you add extra nutmeg to this?”24

She replied with a small nod as she sat down and began to consume her own dish. I lowered my eyes to my bowl and savoured my next spoonful. It wasn't nutmeg I was tasting; it was freedom.25