This is your chance

"This is your chance"

~***~

Gene had always told me that I needed to do something with my dreams instead of just writing them down in a book. I’d always given excuses for why I couldn’t but now I had the chance.

I was going to open my first international restaurant and Ireland was my first stop in creating my menu. I’d wanted it to be Antarctica, but for now Ireland was easier. I remember Gene’s first trip had been an unexpected place too.

~**~

"It was my first time being on an island that wasn’t Manhattan. When they told me I was being shipped to Africa, I thought. Hey! The mother land, ya know. I'll see them Pyramids of Egypt, them jungles of Ghana, them kings of Ethiopia! Them guys back home will never get the chance. But Madagascar, that was a place I never even considered."

Gene was off on one of his tangents again as he spoke around a mouthful of eggs. I was idly drawing in my book, imagining the dancing lemurs from the movie.

This was a routine since I'd volunteered at the Veteran's Hospital. I'd become quick friends with an Air Force Vet named Geno, who was charming enough to have me join him for brunch every Sunday. He'd talk on and on about his experiences in the military while I'd sit and listen.

He reminded me a lot of my father.

"That's the first time I tried them.”

I looked up, “Tried what?”

“Them, there spicy breads. Man, it was a kick but a nice feeling of being home. The madame at the restaurant welcomed me like I was her long-lost son and fed me like a spoiled prince"

I loved when Gene would talk about different foods from the countries he'd been to.

"What was the name of the bread?" I asked, leaning across the checkered table like a journalist getting a huge scoop.

Gene took a sip of his orange juice.

"Moo phuken Bananas? Or something like that…"

~*~

I laid the full basket on the table in front of me.

"Mofo anana is your appetizer for today's meal. A delicacy well-known in Madagascar, I got this recipe from a small restaurant in Antsirabe. It is served with a spoonful of Sakay, so it has a bit of a kick to it"

I smiled as eager hands grabbed at the basket placed in front of them. My trip to Madagascar had been daunting at first. But Gene was right, the immediate sense of being welcomed home was true for those who looked like me and others who don’t.

Gene had always told me stories about the amount of food he’d eaten. Both of us had ancestors from there. So, getting the chance to visit was more than just a check off the bucket list. It was more like a rite of passage, a spiritual journey. A trip home.

~**~

“I didn’t understand how I was homesick for a home I never knew until I tried my first spoonful from the Pepper Pot.” Gene spoke as he dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief, he was never very good with spices.

“My grandfather was from Guyana.” I said, “He made this for us every Christmas.” I took a mouthful of my own soup; it wasn’t authentic pepper pot, but the memory made it just as good.

I smiled at the thought of a grandfather whose face I barely remembered. But I could imagine he looked like Gene as he smiled at me across the table.

~*~

I took the lid off of the steaming pot. The youngest child at the table leaned forward and peered curiously inside.

“For your main dish today, we serve a traditional pepper pot of goat and catfish served with a home-made plait bread. The spices are freshly picked from Guyana. Please enjoy.”

I watched as who I assumed to be the wife took a large spoonful from the pot and held it up to her husband. His bronze skin stretched smoothly across a foreign, but familiar smile. Food was more than just a way to fill an empty stomach. It could fill the heart as well.

~**~

“Ya know, ya should actually go and try it.”

I shrugged picking at my salad, “Maybe I can find some restaurants around here…”

Gene shook his head and pointed his fork at me, slices of lettuce falling unceremoniously onto his plate.

“No, I mean ya should go visit some of these places. You’re young, it would do ya some good to taste the authenticity behind those dishes. Get a taste of the memories.”

“The memories?”

“Why of course, it’s about more than just reinventing taste. It’s about creating a memory for someone. It’s about filling their bellies, their hearts AND their minds.”

I contemplated for a moment, “That’s deep.”

“I once courted this Burmese woman. We had to be quiet because our relationship wasn’t something we could hands about, ya know what I’m sayin? Anyway, I had to do overnight shifts and I wasn’t a huge fan of drinking coffee. So, she would make this salad out of tea leaves and leave me little notes with it, in broken English. I wouldn’t call it a love spell but every time I’d take a bite her face would pop into my head. Food is a powerful thing. Not enough to enslave a man but enough to remind him of what’s important.”

His gaze broke for a moment, “I wonder if she ever made it out?”

~*~

“Laphet Thohk is your side dish today. These green tea leaves have been picked from a small farm in Myanmar and fermented for months at a time. The taste will be a bit bitter but served alongside our freshly picked mangoes and slow braised pork, it’s a guaranteed burst of flavor for your taste buds.”

The young teenager at the table stuck her tongue out. Most of them weren’t too big on a bitter tea salad, but her parents dug in with gusto. I took a mental note to deliver a dessert menu to this table early. Most patrons usually gorged themselves on our appetizers and entrees. But those with kids, always made room for dessert.

~**~

“Yeah, I think it was invented by this woman named Tammy? Or was it a chap named Tim?”

I bit into one of the cookies Gene had brought to our outing today. The sweetness was almost overwhelming.

“Remember when I was telling ya about all of them weird foods I tasted in Australia?”

I took a sip from my black coffee, balancing out the sweetness, “Yeah?”

“Well, this was probably the most normal thing I’d tried while I was there. Even to this day whenever ya meet an Aussie or a Kiwi, they’ll be appalled if ya’ve never tasted one of them there, cookies. I found it at a shop near the hospital and thought I’d bring some for ya to try.”

“What happened to going to Australia and tasting the authenticity?” I teased.

“This IS authentic! And it will put you a step ahead the game when ya do visit. Especially if you bring a pack with ya. Tell them about me when ya do.”

~*~

“Today’s desert is a deconstructed version of a Tim Tam, served with a chocolate whipping cream and a caramel sauce drizzled over a crisp biscuit.”

Some of the best friends I ever made overseas came from New Zealand and Australia. We all bonded over Tim Tams at our shared Airbnb.

~**~

“What’s that there you keep writin in that little black book of yours?”

“Oh Geno,” I laughed, slamming my pen onto the table and staring Gene straight in the eyes. “It’s my fanfic of all of our rendezvous and how I wish they’d turn out.”

“You’re a fan huh? I’ll drink to that.”

He took a long sip of Guinness but kept his eyes on me in that knowing gaze.

I sighed and sat my book open on the table in front of him.

“Honestly, I’ve been writing down all of the places you mentioned. Specifically, the food.”

Gene lifted the book from the table chuckling. “Oh, so ya have been listenin’? I thought ya were just trying to rake in them there, community service hours.”

I rolled my eyes as he flipped through the pages slowly. He seemed to skim over some pages and linger on others. It made me a bit fidgety, as though a teacher had just found my secret diary.

After a while he looked back at me, “Ya take good notes.”

I shrugged and took a sip of Heineken.

“So, what ya gonna do with all this information?”

I blinked and looked at Gene.

“What will I do?”

He stared at me with a look that bore deep. Sometimes this quirky old vet, appeared more like a shaman.

“It’s just for fun.” I mumbled into my bottle breaking eye contact.

The tension broke as Gene laughed that deep laugh of his.

“I thought that same thing when I enlisted in the military….’oh this should be fun’…but it ended up being a lot more than that. Whenever we went out amongst the civilians, I would visit local restaurants. I thought maybe I’d loosen up, maybe I’d have some fun, relieve some tension. But in all actuality, I was doing something I’d always wanted to do. I was finding my place in this world…”

He slid the book back across the table to me but kept his wrinkled hand placed firmly on it until I made eye contact.

“This little black book ya got here. It’s going to change ya life if you embrace it.”

~***~

This book ended up being worth twenty grand. At least it was, according to Gene’s will.

I sat on that money for months. Heartbroken and feeling as though I wasn’t worthy of it. We weren’t relatives, why would he leave me so much? I contemplated donating it all back to the Veteran’s Hospital.

But one night I woke up in a cold sweat, having heard Gene’s laugh ringing in my ears.

“This is your chance.”

Next thing I knew, I was at the airport. Then I was on a plane. And now, it was cold out and I hadn’t been able to find any good place to eat. So, I chose the next best thing, a bar.

“Top o the mornin to ya!” The only other patron shouted. “Ya look like ya could use a drink.”

I sat at an empty table and pulled out my book, hoping to decipher where exactly Gene had visited. He’d mentioned a place in a small fishing village. It served him the best... I squinted as I tried to read, “whatcha ma call it, dish in Ireland”?

“This is going to be impossible to find” I sighed as I placed my head on the old, beaten, but clean wooden table. I looked up when a shot glass was placed in front of me and the red headed bartender smiled across the bar.

“It’s never too early fur a shot o’ Whiskey.”

I took in the foreign face but familiar grin covered by whisps of ginger hair. The laugh lines around his eyes proved he had many stories to share.

Gene used to always tell me, it’s not always about reaching the destination, but instead about the journey you take.

I’d started out on this trip hoping to recapture that twinkle in Gene’s eye whenever he’d reminisce about his time in the Air Force. I wanted to recapture that deep and earnest laugh. I wanted to open my restaurant and serve food that would spark that twinkle in someone else’s eyes as they took a bite out of that warm memory.

But I was slowly learning, it really wasn’t the food that did it. It wasn’t about recapturing anything at all. It was instead about creating my own stories and memories. About finding my place.

I smiled as I lifted up the glass.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Fin