Taste Read online

  Huh?

  I stopped what I was doing, my finger poised between my lips after licking off a glob of chocolate mixture for the ganache-topped cake I was making for dessert.

  “Smile,” my sister said, her phone held up toward me.

  I wiped my finger on a dishcloth. “Why are you taking a photo of me?”

  “It’s not a photo, it’s a video.” She grinned.

  “What the—why?” I smoothed my wayward curls off my face, probably adding chocolate highlights to the sandy blond ones in my light brown hair.

  “For school. Anyway, I’m just taking random footage for now, I’ll edit everything, don’t worry.”

  “School? No way are you going to show this to your class,” I said.

  “Why not? It’s a project about real-life young people following their passions and doing what they’re good at. This is real, it’s your passion, and you’re good at it.”

  “Oh, well thanks, but could you at least have given me some warning?”

  “For what, so you could put on makeup?”

  “No, so I could practice my performance voice,” I joked, then adjusted my tone to one like an enthusiastic TV chef. “Okay, so I’ve just melted the chocolate mixture in the pan, as you can see.” I scooped up the thick liquid with a wooden spoon and it slid perfectly in one smooth, glossy ribbon back into the pan.

  “Is chocolate your favorite ingredient, Miss Delcarta?” Savvy put on a reporter’s voice.

  I scoffed. “Isn’t it everyone’s favorite ingredient?”

  “True. Gimme some of that.” Savannah dipped her finger in the pan and lifted a glob of chocolate sauce before I could stop her. She sucked her finger and sighed. “It’s still nice and warm.”

  “Yes, and if this were a real restaurant and I was a real chef or baker, there’s no way I would let my staff do that.” I gave her a light slap on the arm, and the phone wobbled. I guess she wouldn’t be winning any awards for cinematography.

  “I could always do it while you weren’t looking.”

  “I would never take my eyes off my ingredients. A good cook has eyes in the back of their head and always knows what every process is up to. Timing is crucial with cooking, especially when doing multiple things at once.” I gave a firm, confident nod.

  “Do you remember what first got you interested in cooking?” my sister asked.

  My mind went back to my childhood…

  Food = yum. That was about it.

  “If I felt like eating something in particular, knowing that I could make it and have what I wanted made sense to me. Why wouldn’t I cook?”

  But there was another reason. My hand paused above the bowl of dry ingredients.

  “This is the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever eaten,” Dad had said to me once. I don’t remember how old I was or what I had put on the sandwich, but it was my first memory of making something for him. I felt the satisfaction of making someone happy with food, and I wanted more.

  “What’s your secret ingredient in these muffins?” Dad had asked, when I was a bit older. But not that old. Not many six or seven year olds could make muffins that almost outdid those from the bakery, but mine did. According to my parents anyway. “Muffins!” I’d said with a giggle. “There are muffins in the muffins!” He laughed with me, then drew me into a hug and said, “I think the secret ingredient is love.”

  I turned from the camera for a second and wiped my eye with the back of my hand. “Got something in my eye,” I lied.

  “So what will you be doing next?” Savvy asked, following me around as I moved about the kitchen and measured ingredients.

  “I’ll be combining the chocolate mixture with the dry ingredients to make the cake batter.” I poured the dark brown, heavenly liquid into the bowl.

  “And then after you’ve put it in the cake pan, we can lick the bowl, right?”

  I gave my sister a stern look, then mixed the batter and poured it into the cake pan. “That would not be allowed in my restaurant either. Occupational health and safety and all that.”

  “But why waste those extra bits left in the bowl?”

  I looked at the extra bits, and my stomach grumbled. “Well, since we’re at home, what the hell.” I dug my finger in the bowl and licked it. “Yum, if I do say so myself.”

  Savvy did the same, her camera wobbling again. “Yummo.” Then she said, “Okay, I think I’ve got enough footage for now, I’ll take more when it’s out of the oven.” She scurried off with a smile.

  A few minutes later, my phone pinged with a Facebook notification. Savannah Delcarta has tagged you in a post. Oh crap.

  I opened it up and saw the video she’d just made. “Savannah!” I called out, and heard her laugh. Great, now everyone would see me putting on my fake chef voice. Thankfully I wasn’t Facebook friends with Leo. Yet. I had wondered about friending him, but he didn’t seem to use Facebook much.

  I can relax.

  I started cleaning up the mess from my “cooking show” and imagined what it would be like to actually have a cooking show one day. Tamara’s Tasty Treats! Tamara’s Terrific Television Cooking Show! Tamara’s… Tamara’s… what else starts with t?

  Ping!

  I picked up my phone that I’d put near the fruit bowl. Yeah, yeah, people are commenting and probably laughing at me, but tomorrow they’ll forget about it, and there’ll be something else to comment on, and—

  Huh? A message from Riley. I thought maybe he’d messaged me by mistake instead of Savannah, but when my eyes scanned the message, I didn’t know whether to gasp from embarrassment or squeal for joy.

  Hey Tamara, nice vid. ;) Leo saw it as he was heading out to work and asked me to send you a link. Are you interested in applying for a job as a kitchen hand at Harborside?

  My hand shook, and I couldn’t quite click the link, my mind racing.

  Leo saw my video—argh! Cringe.

  Leo saw my video and he thought I might make a good kitchen hand—yay!

  Leo saw my video and if I apply for the job as kitchen hand he might interview me and we could actually get to talk to each other—oooh! And crap—nerve-racking.

  Leo saw my video, and if I survived the nerve-racking interview and got the job as kitchen hand I could be working alongside Leo—oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

  This was way better than the chocolate ganache cake baking right now. And believe me, my cakes were good. I wasn’t egotistical; it was the truth.

  I spun from side to side in the kitchen, for the first time feeling like I was in foreign territory and unsure what to do, my brain experiencing a temporary lapse in normal function.

  Okay, okay, step one: reply to Riley.

  Step two: click the link and read the job description.

  Step three: apply for the job.

  Step four: get the job and get to know Leo and begin an epic love affair.

  I thanked Riley then clicked the link. I had to read it twice to make sure I absorbed all the information. Yep, yep, I could do this job. Easy peasy. And maybe it could even lead to a promotion or further training working with food, so that by the time I finished school I would have a place to work while studying to be a chef. I didn’t know whether I was more excited by that or by the fact that it was where Leo worked.

  I glanced at the cake through the oven window to double check it was rising evenly, then went to the living room and politely grabbed the laptop from Serena. “Urgent job application, excuse me!”

  “A job? Where?”

  “At Harborside.”

  “With Leo?”

  “I guess so.” I found the page again and clicked the link for the online application. I cleared my throat and typed, wishing I were as good with words as I was with food. Then I noticed something just below the “send” button.

  Oh my God. The form would be sent directly to Leo Pearce.

  Chapter 3

  “Oh my God, I have an interview this afternoon!”

  Mom raised her eyebrows as she made up a
batch of her special lemonade on Saturday morning. “That was quick, darling.”

  “Yep, the email came through after midnight; he must have been working late.”

  Leo emailed me; Leo emailed me! I was dancing on the inside. Oh, what the heck, I might as well dance on the outside too. I did a weird little jig.

  His email was professional and direct.

  Dear Tamara,

  We would be happy to see you for an interview this afternoon at any of the following times. Please confirm when you’d like to come in.

  3:20 p.m., 3:40 p.m., or 4:20 p.m.

  Regards,

  Leo Pearce.

  Sous Chef, Harborside.

  I replied and said 3:20 p.m., but a while later he replied and said the two earlier slots had been filled, and could I come at 4:20 p.m. instead? Sure, I replied.

  Oh man, what if he chose someone else? Then it would be awkward, being his neighbor and all. I would forever be known as the one who “wasn’t good enough.” Oh, stop it Tamara, it’s just for kitchen hand—anyone could do that job with their eyes closed!

  “Sasha?” I called out. “What does one wear to a job interview?”

  “Why are you asking her?” said Serena.

  “She’s a fashion guru.”

  “Fashion and job interviews don’t mix,” Serena replied.

  “Yes they do,” Sasha replied. “It’s all about knowing what image to convey. I can help you with that. Come on.” She dragged me off to my room.

  “Okay, so you want to both get the job and…” she eyed me sneakily, “…impress Leo, right?”

  “Sasha! It’s a job interview, not a date.”

  “Why not have both at the same time? Be efficient.” She shrugged.

  “As long as I look—chef-like,” I said.

  “You also want to look—hot-like.” She winked, and I sighed.

  Sasha huffed. “You should use my hair straightener and tame that wild hair of yours. And we need to go shopping.”

  “But there’s no time.”

  “Then I might have to give you something of mine to borrow.”

  I thought of Sasha’s mini skirts and rich, bright, deep colors, and tensed up. I was much more comfortable in casual gear, and nothing too fitted. “As long as you don’t paint my nails purple.”

  “Don’t worry, isn’t there some rule about not wearing nail polish in the food industry?”

  “Oh yeah. Although I think they often wear gloves for food preparation.”

  “No reason you can’t wear a bit of lipstick though,” said Sasha. “Here, let’s practice.”

  Before I could object, she whipped out a lipstick and smeared it on my lips, but I flinched sideways a little, and the lipstick also smeared on my cheek. “Argh!”

  Sasha doubled over in laughter.

  I approached the mirror. I looked like a clown with a lopsided smile. I grabbed a tissue to wipe off the rich, red color but Sasha grasped my hand.

  “Hang on, before you do. I can’t resist.” She giggled and drew with lipstick on my other cheek.

  I sighed but let her have her momentary burst of creativity. Now I looked like a clown with a perfectly symmetrical smile, but still a clown. I even had the curly hair to match. I just needed a red nose and I’d be… “Hey!”

  She must have read my mind. Sasha pressed the lipstick to my nose with one quick smear, then burst into laughter again.

  I tried not to laugh too, but it was hard considering my lips were already drawn into a grin. I tried to grab the lipstick off her to give her a makeover, but she giggled and ran from the room.

  With the tissue, I wiped the makeup off, but my face still looked pink, so I went to the bathroom to wash it off. As I looked at my face in the mirror, I imagined Leo seeing me at the interview and what he might think.

  “Oh, hello Tamara, you look lovely.”

  As if. And what twenty-year old guy says the word “lovely” anyway? Maybe he’d say: “Hi Tamara, you’re looking especially rosy today.”

  Still sounded like someone in his seventies. Nah, it’d be more like: “Hi, please take a seat.”

  Yep. Direct and straight to the point.

  As I washed off the remaining lipstick, a nice taste formed on my tongue. Chocolate-flavored lipstick? Huh?

  I walked out into the hallway and called out, “Hey, Sash, is your lipstick chocolate-flavored?”

  She came to meet me halfway. “No, but is that what I can smell?”

  Was Mom making something?

  Serena joined us, tugging at her ear.

  Oh. It was time. Time to connect. Sometimes it was hard to know what was reality and what was our senses going into overdrive.

  Savannah and Talia appeared out of nowhere, and we headed into the triplets’ bedroom. “Do you think we’ll get some more clues about Dad?” asked Savannah.

  “I hope so,” I said. “Come on.” I held my hands out, and Savannah grasped one, Serena the other—her hand was cold.

  A small jolt shook my nerves, but not in a scary way. It was like a signal saying “Right, let’s do this. Listen up!” But for me, it was my taste buds that were listening, tingling and on high alert for the slightest hint of something different. Something to tell me exactly what the taste was, or what it represented. Sometimes what I tasted was literal, and other times it was symbolic. I was starting to learn to tell the difference. But there was no mistaking chocolate—unless it represented comfort and security and love, it would probably mean that someone in our vision was going to be eating chocolate. Hopefully me. Though why that would be significant I didn’t know.

  When the bubbly sensation rising in my body subsided, my mouth became moist, ready to carry the taste to every tiny taste bud like an ocean wave sending seashells to the shore. But then it became moister, and I swirled my tongue around. No taste yet, just lots of saliva. Gross.

  Savannah’s hand gripped mine tighter and I wondered what she was seeing. Serena flinched. My mouth seemed to be having a saliva tsunami, and I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, trying to keep up and not choke. I could actually taste a bubbly sensation, if it was possible to know what bubbles tasted like, sort of crisp and fresh but full-bodied at the same time. Like I imagined the sensation we have at the start of our visions would taste like if it had a taste, but heavier, frothier, uncomfortable. Had someone drunk dishwashing liquid or something? A child, maybe? I shuddered. But then all I could taste was something slightly metallic, and sort of sweet too, but not in a nice way.

  Blood?

  I shuddered again. It reminded me of when I’d tasted that not too long ago, before Sasha’s dangerous night out. What happened to the chocolate?

  I waited as the taste subsided and my saliva returned to biologically normal levels, and waited some more. Savannah’s grip relaxed slightly. Serena’s hand was now warm. My tingling taste buds warmed too.

  Okay, this is more like it…

  Smooth, rich, creamy, sweet-but-not-too-sweet chocolate. Like chocolate mousse. It covered my tongue in a delicious soft blanket of chocolaty goodness. If only I could taste things on demand with the press of a button, instead of having them through visions or by actually eating food. Like a magical taste remote control. Calorie-free taste sensations—press one for chocolate, two for cake, three for cheese and crackers.

  But nothing could replace the pleasure of cooking. I made a mental note to mention that in my interview if Leo, or whoever did the interview, asked me about my interest in food. I needed to show that I understood the passion of the industry, and wasn’t just after a job for the sake of the money and the leftover food.

  Wow, this chocolate mousse was amazing. I hoped I’d be the one making it, because then I’d be the maker of the most amazing chocolate mousse ever. Maybe I could even win an award. Chocolate mousse of the year!

  I savored the sensation and texture and taste, not wanting it to end. As it faded, I tried to extract every last bit of it. Tomorrow, I would experiment with recipes and try to replicate
it, assuming the taste prediction came from our kitchen. It was nice to know what something would turn out like before making it!

  My thoughts broke off when Savannah’s hands dropped away, then Serena’s. I opened my eyes, a big smile on my face.

  “Let me guess, you got to eat chocolate?” asked Sasha, crossing her arms.

  I nodded. “But not just any chocolate, the most amazing chocolate mousse ever.” I licked my lips.

  “So I guess you didn’t make it then?” Savvy chuckled.

  “Hey, you never know.” I nudged her in the side.

  Talia got out our journal. “So, let’s start with the nice vision.” She had a forced look of happiness on her face, and I knew that whatever she’d sensed hadn’t been the most enjoyable experience. She felt physical sensations, but was also starting to grow stronger in her ability to feel the emotional sensations of a situation.

  I told them what I’d tasted, and Sasha confirmed that it smelled amazing and she was jealous she didn’t get to eat it. I shot her a “ha ha” glance, and she scowled at me. Just your typical sibling rivalry—arguing about who gets which psychic ability. If we were little kids, I could imagine her running to Mom and saying, “Mom, it’s not fair! Tamara gets to taste the future but I only get to smell it, and sometimes it’s yucky. Waa!” She would stamp her foot and cross her arms and frown, and Mom would console her and tell her to accept the unique gifts she had and not try to be like anyone else.

  “I heard a long sigh, but a good one, like…” Serena’s eyes went distant and then she tipped her head back and said, “Mmmm…”

  “Must be me eating the chocolate mousse.”

  “I don’t know, it sounded kind of deep. The voice.”

  “You sure it was associated with eating the mousse and not anything else?” asked Sasha.