Chapter 51

I took a bite into my burger to a rushed explosion of flavor. The mushrooms, basic button mushrooms, were a subtle umami against the sharp sweetness of the carmelized onion. I recognized the flavor of the vidalia immediately. The next bite brought a new burst of flavor, the sharp tang of the blue cheese as it hotly shot from the center of the burger.

The flavor was good, but I don’t like stuffing a burger because you usually don’t get to it till the second bite, and you can’t control how hot it will be inside. Sometimes it’s solid, others it’s lava. I quickly grabbed my drink to quell the lava.

“You ok?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine, just found the blue cheese in the center, very hot.”

“My sandwich is fantastic, the steak is wonderfully thin and juicy, and the avocado spread is perfect.”

I looked at him, and then laughed.

“What?” he defended, “I’ve been reading your articles, I know what tastes good too.”

I laughed some more, “Who knew I could turn you into a foodie! This is great. We are going to try everything when we go to Hawaii.”

“I’m not sure I’m sold on food as an adventure, but I’m enjoying this, and would definitely order it again.”

I dug back into the burger, enjoying the size and juiciness of the meat, now that it had cooled enough. The lettuce and tomato it was sitting on kept the lower bun from getting soggy, a nice touch that I appreciated. Every bite was alternated with the thick cut onion rings. They were so good, they didn’t even need ketchup.

Lizzy returned for drink refills and to check on us, Dad asked her for a side of onion rings. It took a couple minutes, and I had finished all of mine by the time they came. I had to make Dad back off so I could take a picture before he dug in. He got creative and added some to the second half of his sandwich.

I added a couple to mine, but the extra saltiness threw off the balance of the burger. I took it as a lesson learned, and continued enjoying my meal. Lizzy came back once more with a check, and the napkins I had asked for when we ordered more onion rings.

“I was wondering if I might talk to the chef,” I told her, showing her my press ID.

She took it, and held it up close to read it, “I’ll ask her, but don’t get your hopes up,” she said, walking off with my ID.

Dad quirked an eyebrow, but I just shrugged in response. No need to get worked up, the food generally is what makes a place good, the help could only make it great if the food was good.

I already had a good idea of what I was going to write in my review, but I was hoping for more. Lizzie returned quickly with an odd look on her face, handing back my ID she said, “The chef has time for a brief interview, but you’ll have to come to the kitchen.”

“I’ll just stay here then and enjoy the view,” Dad offered.

I followed Lizzy back to the front, where she cut through a door into an unexpectedly large kitchen. Tiled walls and floor of white, gleaming stainless steel counters to the right, and impressive grill and vent hood on the left, and a bank of ovens on the far wall that could bake a dozen thanksgivings at once.

The woman who greeted me was instantly recognizable in her clean chef whites, and white hat. I put out my hand, “Hi, I’m Sam Atwood, food reporter for the Chennault Observer.”

“Alice Bramble, chef owner of Rose and Bramble.”

“You look very much like a student I know at the high school,” I offered.

She gave me a smirk, “I’ve heard of you.”

“I take it that you are related to Susie?”

“You didn’t know?” she asked.

“No idea. I normally do these on a Friday or Saturday evening, but I’ve been practicing at home, so wanted to get out for lunch. I started to get a feeling that either Beef Wellington was the town dish, or that I’d wandered somewhere unexpected.”

“Well you’ve sent Susie into a tizzy. Much of her attitude is not your fault, so thanks for bearing with it. She’s always seemed to like the taste of her foot, and it’s gotten to the point that I don’t think she even notices it anymore.”

“Well I had a very enjoyable meal. The discovery of your onion rings is likely going to bring hordes of students after hearing about them in my article.”

“It’s a family recipe, so don’t go asking for it,”

“Not even with a pretty please? I’d never divulge it,” I swore.

She laughed, and I saw Susie peek into the kitchen from another door. I ignored her, and focused on her Mom.

“I made a similar promise to the chefs at Azteca Amigos, and got their jalapeño popper recipe.”

“Oh my, they must have thought you were the cutest reporter they’d ever lay their hands on to give that up.”

“They were very friendly,” I said, giving her a wink, “But, then so am I.”

She gave another short laugh, “Sorry, I don’t give out recipes.”

“Understood, and I respect that. My mother’s cookie recipe is similarly never shared.

“Now, how about you, what is your background, when did you open, what makes you love this place the most?”

She got friendlier as the questions and answers exchanged between us. I heard a timer go off behind her, and I saw Susie, hairnet in place, wearing an apron over a long sleeved shirt, sneak into the room to pull two Wellingtons from the oven, then sneak back out.