Dirty Chef

I was on the fence for this one. Biscuits were heavy. I might end up with an English muffin instead.

“Goddammit.” I withdrew my hand quickly and used the towel thrown over my shoulder to wipe my knuckles. Oil in the fryer got hot. Lowering the heat, I peered into the fryer and fished out the trial run. “Nope.” Too thin. I’d been right. I needed a thicker cut of the bacon, or the chips would be too crunchy and lose their bacon flavor.

The chips rested on a paper towel while they cooled, but I wasn’t even gonna try them. Instead, I picked up the knife and went for round two.

The biscuits were done.

I pulled them out of the little oven we had under the grill, my stomach tightening with hunger. Fuckin’ hell, garlic butter. That was the answer. I wanted garlic butter drizzled over these beauties. And I wanted them smaller. Smaller than regular sliders. But batch number one would do for breakfast this morning.

I made quick work of the bacon and rolling the slices in a rub before dipping them in the tempura batter. Then I stuck a finger into the batter and tasted it, changing my mind. This needed beer. I had one I’d been meaning to try, a crisp lager from a local brewery.

Okay, third batch, then. Now we were talking. The batter had the kick I’d been looking for. I left the biscuits on a hot plate and cracked two eggs over the griddle.

I’d bought some fantastic chorizo for this, just wide enough for a slice to play the part of the sausage patty.

“Jesus Christ!” I jumped when I felt a hand on my back, and I spun around to see a sleepy Alessia wearing…fuck me, too little. Those pajama shorts were…new. Did I mention short?

I removed one of my earbuds and willed my heartbeat to calm the fuck down. “Morning, love.”

“Hi.” She quirked a confused little smile. “Did you turn off my alarm?”

Maybe. Sorry, I was stuck on her legs.

She was wearing one of my hoodies too. She’d been doing that for years, and it still hadn’t gotten old. Those shorts, though… Man.

“You have cramps,” I said and turned back to the food. “I figured you’d wanna sleep for as long as you could.”

She joined my side and pulled her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. “This is where I wanna be. Holy hell, it smells good.”

I smiled and flipped the music to the speakers instead, and then picked up the pace to finish the first dish for her. I cut the biscuit into halves, added a chorizo patty, sprinkled on two types of shredded cheese—a mild Gouda and mozzarella—sliced up a red bell pepper as thinly as possible, and, lastly, carefully applied the egg without breaking the yolk. The top of the biscuit was placed next to the bite-sized burger. No, wait. Fuck, I almost forgot the garlic butter. There. Better.

Opening the cupboard under the register, I located the paper wraps we used for the burgers that customers took home in to-go boxes. The wraps were too big for a small slider, but this guy had a plan. I carefully slid the biscuit inside the wrap before I filled the leftover space with bacon chips.

Alessia could barely stand still, and her excitement was infectious.

With the wrap placed on a plate, I picked out three small dipping bowls to put next to the wrap. “You know those paper containers you can get ketchup in at some fast-food joints? I saw you can order those in stainless steel—same mold and pattern. I bookmarked the page on the computer.”

“They would be perfect. I’ll put in an order today.”

I filled the three bowls with the dipping sauces I’d prepared. A smoky maple whip with tart apple, a key lime aioli, and a mayo mix with horseradish and paprika.

“I’m freaking salivating. Don’t move, I’ll snap a picture for Insta.”

So I stood there with the plate in my hand, and Alessia took a close-up of the dish.

“I have no words for how good this looks.” She was gawking at the food.

It made me grin. “I’ll need your opinion on the garlic butter. I don’t want the flavor to take away from the rest.”

“Copy that.” She nodded.

I didn’t care about presentation as much for my own meal. I plated a little bit of everything, and Alessia poured us coffee before we took our seats in the restaurant. It was a side of the bar I didn’t see as often.

I took a sip of my coffee while Alessia tried the dish, and her evident enjoyment shot pleasure through me. Every. Fucking. Time.

“Oh my God, Adam.” The tip of her tongue poked out to catch the maple whip at the corner of her mouth. Not distracting at all. “How do you just know? Everything you make is freaking divine.”