Dishing Up Love

She nods again. “And one more thing,” she hints.

I take another sip. “Those are pretty tart and sour ingredients, but this is mostly sweet. Sooo… simple syrup?”

Her smile lights up her entire face. “Ding-ding-ding! Wow. That’s a pretty cool trick. Do this one,” she says, trading her drink for mine. And it’s ridiculous how proud I am of the fact that I’ve impressed her with my taste-testing abilities.

I use her straw, finding the act somehow intimate sharing something that’s been in her mouth instead of taking a drink from the brim of the plastic bomb-shaped cup. Again, I roll the liquid around my tongue. “Mm.” I nod. “Mm-hm. I think… I think I’ve got it,” I say, taking another taste. “Definitely gin. Everclear.” She nods, lifting an eyebrow and biting her lip in anticipation. “I saw him put in vodka and rum… but the other bottle didn’t have a label.” I pull in air through my lips, concentrating on the flavor. “Is that… melon liqueur?”

She hops a little, holding her arm out away from her so she doesn’t spill the drink in her hand. “Yes! That is so freaking cool! I’m going to have to take you to my favorite restaurants so you can tell me all their secret ingredients in my go-to meals.”

I grin, watching the realization cross her face as she understands she just told me she wants me around for more than the next couple hours. I’m not dumb. I can tell she’s trying to keep me at arm’s length, trying to stay detached for some reason I plan on figuring out and soon. But I can also see she can’t deny this palpable connection we have.

I decide not to tease her about that little slip as we trade drinks. “Sounds like a deal. I’ll be your own personal copy-cat. But I’ll raise your deal and bet that I can probably take whatever dish you want me to copy for you and make it even better.”

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “I don’t know. It’d be pretty hard to top the meatloaf and mashed potatoes at Mia’s Table. I swear, I think their secret ingredient is crack, because I am addicted. I ate there three times in one workweek once.”

I burst out laughing. “Sugar, my meatloaf and whipped potatoes will make Mia’s taste like dog food. You wait and see.” I cheers her cup with mine once more.

“We shall see, mon ami,” she replies, and it’s the second time she’s called me my friend. I wonder if it’s a conscious thing she’s doing in order to remind herself to place me in the friend-zone or if it’s a common thing in this area to call people, like a generic term of endearment.

I don’t have time to ask her though, as a tall, lanky man with shaggy brown hair and a goatee claps his hands, gaining everyone’s attention. When I finally take my eyes off Erin for the first time in several minutes, I notice our group has gotten larger. In all, there are about eighteen to twenty people ready to take the tour and learn some NOLA history.

“Good evening, everyone. My name is Ronnie…” He gestures with his arms out, waiting for the small crowd to greet him.

Everyone else mumbles a hello, but by the grace of crazy coincidence, Erin and I both give him a warm welcome.

“What’s up, Ronnie!” Erin shouts, just as I call out loudly, “Hey, man! How you doing?”

Ronnie grins at us near the back. “Ah, c’est bon! Nice to see you again, my friend,” he directs at Erin before his eyes meet mine. “Very good, and thank you for coming.” He points at me briefly with a wink, letting me know he’s not going to call me out aloud.

No one seems to recognize me, or maybe they’re just too buzzed to notice me, so I relax even more and pay close attention to our tour guide.

“It is very important that we stay together as a group. If you aren’t from around here, it is easy to get lost in the Quarter. All the streets can look alike this late at night, especially if you’ve imbibed a little of that dranky-drank,” he tells us, and everyone lifts their drink in the air and lets out a collective “Woohoo!”

“In addition, most of the stops on the tour are private property. The owners are pretty cool about letting us tour companies stop and tell their stories, so please be respectful of their generosity by not touching anything on their property. Nooo touchy,” Ronnie explains, and everyone gives him a nod.

“This is a walking tour. We will be walking approximately two miles from start to finish. We will have one bathroom break in the middle of the tour, so if you need to break the seal now, please hurry and use our facilities before we get going.” He gives all the tourists an opportunity to speak up, but when no one does, he claps once more and says, “All right. Follow me!”