Chapter Text
To Jack's credit, when our first course arrived she didn't say anything until the server left again. Then she fixed me with a glare.
"Seriously?"
I shrugged. I was a bit shocked at how little actual food was on the plate, too, considering what this meal cost. There were two more courses coming, though. I'd reserve judgment.
"It's pretty."
It was: both plates were artfully arranged, the few ingredients organized into geometrical patterns and decorated with colorful swirls of sauce and garnish that took up more surface area than the actual food.
I sipped the wine, which the server had said was a dry Riesling. I was more of a hard liquor drinker; I'd never had wine consistently enough to develop a palate for it (something Anderson had tried and failed to fix). I couldn't have told you much about it beyond the obvious: that it was white and, yes, fairly dry.
I followed it with a bite of food, and they didn’t clash, anyway. I’d chickened out on the celery marmalade and gone with something whose main ingredient was broccoli. At least I knew what that tasted like, more or less, although as broccoli went, this was at the opposite end of the scale from the overcooked mush I remembered. It was roasted and had a lemony seasoning.
Jack, meanwhile, took a bite of something that involved rocket and asparagus. She chewed a few times, forced herself to swallow, but made a gagging face. “I hate it.”
She gulped half her wine and took a piece of my broccoli. That went down ok, so she switched our plates. I switched the wine glasses.
The rocket had a strong flavor, but I had to admit even the asparagus was an improvement over what I'd had as a kid. And there wasn't much of it, after all.