Erica’s eyes widened as she sat up straighter. “What?”
I shrugged. “I convinced Mitch to let me do the ordering for this week. I changed up the menu a little.”
She lifted the water glass and drained it, and then pushed it my way. “Well, hurry up.”
I swallowed a laugh when my mother gave me a narrow-eyed look. “What is this poutine?” My mother’s accent slid out like she was saying something disgusting.
“Heaven,” Erica said with a smile.
My mother’s dark eyes flashed. “How would you know about it? At least Erica has her time in the city to explain how she knows about such weird food.”
“Mami, it’s far from a weird food.”
“I haven’t heard of it.”
“Do you think everyone has heard about fabadas?”
“Well, they should have,” she said with a sniff.
I shook my head and slid out of the booth. “I sneaked in some of our seasonings too, mami. I have some chicken you’ll love. Would you like a salad?”
Her face brightened. “That would be wonderful, nena.”
“I’ll be back.”
My mother made lots of traditional Spanish food that the average person wouldn’t necessarily know about. At least poutine was an internet sensation. That was how I’d heard of it anyway. I’d developed an addiction to TikTok and their cooking snippets. I’d gone down many a rabbit hole in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.
Besides, there were only so many cheeseburgers and fries I could serve before I needed to at least try something different. There were just enough younger people in town to allow me to play with the menu once in awhile. At least for a week or so before Mitch got all grouchy.
As I walked into the kitchen, the acrid scent of onions made my eyes water.
“Gina, what is this?”
Speaking of grouchy...
“Mitch, I told you what those are.”
“Who would want turds of cheese?”
“Curds, Mitch.”
He lifted one to his nose. “Weird.”
“Try it.”
He curled his lip.
“Just try it. It’s delicious.”
He closed his eyes and popped one in his mouth, and then harrumphed.
“Good, right?”
“It better sell,” was all he said before turning back to his grill.
I stifled a laugh and quickly set a basket of fries into the fryer before I gathered the fixings for my mother’s salad. The assembly line of food that was prepped for the oncoming lunch rush was stacked, waiting for plating.
The sharp tang of peppers to go with the onions on the grill told me it was Tuesday. Without fail, we had lunch specials that would cause the world to stop turning if they weren’t cooked. Tuesday was sausage and peppers, and tomorrow was chili which meant I’d have to remember to wear black.
It was the messiest day of the week.
I dumped the fries into a skillet and tossed the curds in a little bit of chili powder since I knew my sister liked things spicy. I opened the oven door and pushed over a pan of sausages before shoving in the pan to melt the cheese a bit.
Mitch gave me a side-eyed look, but he didn’t slow the clack of his wide spatulas on the football-sized grill he manned as if it was a part of him. His beard was getting woolly since he’d stopped trimming it around the end of September. In deference to the wiry brown shag it was becoming, he wore a hairnet over his beard and on the top of his head—which was decidedly less woolly these days.
I pulled out the poutine and doused it with some extra gravy before loading it onto a plate. As an afterthought, I snagged a smaller bowl for me. My sister would chop off my fingers if I tried to steal from her plate. Erica was very much the Joey Tribbiani of our family.
I stacked my dishes along my arm and backed my way into the dining area. I nodded and smiled automatically at the regulars stationed at their specific stools at the counter.
Dare and Tish from the auto shop across the street were at the counter squabbling over a stack of papers. Coffee and pastry shrapnel was spread around them. Dare jammed his long, battered fingers into his hair as Tish tried to state her case for something with Ultra Tech in the name.
Knowing Tish, it was something to make ridiculous custom car and motorcycle things that I couldn’t begin to understand. Nor did I want to. I was fine with my Toyota, thanks.
I nodded to a few others and slid back into the booth next to my mother.
“Dios, you are an angel.” My sister pulled the plate in front of her and hissed at the temperature of the fries. Didn’t stop her from clamping her teeth around the end of a fry as she waved her hand in front of it to cool it down.
My mother gave me the death glare. I pushed her healthy-ish salad in front of her and pulled out her favorite dressing from my apron and set it before her. She lowered her head to take a sniff and gave me a small nod of approval.
I slid Erica’s glass to the edge of the table as Polly came down the aisle. She stopped and refilled it with a clack of candy and a tight-lipped smile. That was about all we got out of her for friendliness.
Erica picked up a fry. “Mami, try it. You’ll see.”
She sniffed and took a large bite of her salad instead.
I held out my fry to my sister, and we lightly tapped them together. “Cheers.”
“Girl, this is amazing. I’m going to have to make this for the bar. Those hulking eat-me-out-of-house-and-home firefighters would love it.”
“I’ll text Kayla the name and number of my distributor.”
“Bless you.”
Kayla Mills—sister-in-law and chef extraordinaire—ran Sharky’s with my sister. I pitched in when she needed me to. I definitely didn’t mind the tips. They were better than the ones here. Then again, a lot of the clientele at the diner skewed toward thinking two bucks under the water glass was being generous.
I listened to my sister and my mother chatter on about the baby and the shower we were having at the bar over the weekend. Putting together a surprise around my sister was almost impossible, so we just let her do the planning.
I scraped a fry through the last of the gravy in my bowl. “Is Frankie coming up?”
“If she knows what’s good for her.”
I pressed my lips together against a smile. Francesca, one of the four girls in my family, lived in the city. But not the Manhattan side like Erica used to—no, she was in the artsy Hell’s Kitchen part of it where she was into brand design and photography. Deadlines were her life, so we rarely saw her.
“Well, let her know I can pick her up from the train station if she needs me to.”
“Thank you, nena. What would we do without you?”
I waved off my mom. “Not a problem. I’ve been talking to Kayla about supplies for the shower so we should be pretty well finished up before Saturday.”
“She won’t let me see anything.” Erica toyed with one of her last fries. “I don’t like surprises.”
“And that’s why you planned most of it.” I pushed my plate away.
“I know, but she took over, and I hate it.”
“She’s excited.” Jake’s sister wasn’t quite used to our crazy family, but she was definitely jumping in without fear.
“Oof.” Erica winced and rubbed her side.