With the Fire on High(57)
I look at Pretty Leslie and remember what Malachi once told me about her being more than she seemed. Maybe he was right, because I know just what she means.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday, March 31, 11:48 PM
Subject: hi!
Hey Aunt Sarah,
I just want you to know, your cobbler recipe is making the rounds here in Andalusia. That’s the name for the southern region of Spain where Sevilla is located. So, your cobbler traveled from the South of the US to the south of the Iberian Peninsula! I let the peaches sit in the juice of some sour oranges and added apricots, and the patrons at the restaurant I’m working at gobbled it up before the lunch rush was over!
Thanks for asking about Babygirl. ’Buela says she’s been fussing and throwing tantrums and it’s probably the change in not having me around. She’s fine when I talk to her on the phone, but it’s not really easy for either one of us. She’s going to stay with her father’s family starting tomorrow, so hopefully that will help her fall into a familiar routine at his house.
There are so many things I’ve tried here that I wish I could fold into an email and send your way. I’ve had amazing gelato, and coffee. Some incredible cheese and fried squid and sausage made from suckling pig (I know you don’t eat pork, but trust me, it was smack-your-momma good). I probably won’t be trying to re-create any of that anytime soon, but I had these little cookies powdered with sugar and when I try it at home I’ll send you my version of the recipe.
Attached is a picture the chef I’m apprenticing for took today. Don’t I look all focused and professional, or whatever? That salad is getting some Emoni-inspired work! Thinking of you.
Sending you lots of love & a bit of cinnamon dust,
E
CheckIn
It’s our fourth day in Spain, and half the class is buzzing. It’s officially April 1 and a lot of college acceptances will be rolling in, in the morning East Coast time. Some people keep wasting their data checking their phones for updates.
I’ve already made up my mind that I won’t check mine until I get back home. Amanda is going into a job-training program straight from graduation so although she smiles at our excited classmates, she also doesn’t seem as pressed as everyone else. Pretty Leslie looks bored as usual, like the only care she has in the world is the chip in her manicure.
Instead of starting with our usual morning tour guide, Chef Ayden has an announcement.
“All right, class. Your instructors tell me that with the exception of one or two of you”—Chef points a finger at Malachi—“most of you are doing really well.”
We all laugh and I elbow Malachi in the ribs. He smirks and bends down so his mouth is super close to my ear. “They just don’t want the rest of you to feel bad. I’m actually the best student here. My cuts of jamón ibérico would make you believe in God.”
I bite back a chuckle at his exaggerated Spanish pronunciation.
“Ahem.” Chef coughs into his hand and raises an eyebrow at me. “Instead of a moderated tour this morning, I thought you all could have some free time today and explore the city. Just don’t go farther than the old city walls. And don’t forget your shifts begin at noon.”
He shoos us out. “Emoni, a moment?”
I wait for everyone to walk away, but I see Malachi standing near the bottom of the hill, clearly waiting for me.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with Chef Amadí? We went to culinary school in Paris together and I know she can be a bit intense.”
Whoa. I didn’t know that’s how they knew each other. “At Le Cordon Bleu?” I don’t know much about culinary institutes but even I know that’s one of the most famous and best schools for cooking in the world.
He nods and I realize then I don’t know much about Chef Ayden or how he came to be our instructor, but I’m glad he is. And I’m glad to be paired with Chef Amadí. “Chef Amadí has been great. I couldn’t imagine working with anyone else.”
“Great. I’m happy it’s working out. Get going; I don’t want to cut too much into your free morning.” And then as I walk down the hill I hear him yell out, “And don’t spend too much time with Malachi. He’s a bad influence, that kid!” But he has laughter in his voice when he says it and I can tell he made sure he was loud enough for Malachi to hear him.
Malachi is laughing when I reach him. He scoops my hand in his and we walk in silence behind the rest of the group, and for a single moment I feel like the sunlight sneaking over the hill is also sneaking inside me.
Gilded
When I was little the other kids from the block and I would get together and play a game called mancala. It’s a fast-paced board game where the pieces are these glass stones that are round on one side and flat on the other. Each stone is a beautiful color: red, blue, teal, clear shot through with squiggles of gold. I used to cradle those stones in my hand, more interested in holding them up to the light than playing the game. Even then I knew they weren’t real gems, but when I held them in my hand I felt like a rich queen, like I was holding something precious.
That’s how I feel about the Catedral de Sevilla. Like I want to cradle the whole thing in the palm of my hand and hold it up to the light and watch it glint and glimmer. There are all these portraits of famous popes and leaders, and everything from the floor to the ceiling is made of gold and silver. I stop turning in a wide circle and my eyes land on sculptures in a corner of the cathedral. In the center is a coffin being held up by four figures—each one dressed in dark metal and gold armor and crowns; the two in the front have a staff in their outside hands and the two in the back have the hand not holding the casket on their hip.