“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. After the way they let me go with no warning, when I’d put in twelve solid years of work for them, it has me questioning whether I want to work at another large firm. And, on a more existential level, whether PR is what I want to be doing at all.”
“The way you just started spinning ideas for my new menu item tells me you’re a natural and that you enjoy it.”
“Interesting. That’s the thing though—I don’t know if I enjoyed it. I just did it. I had an English degree, and it was the first job I got.”
“Hmm … If you’re not into something, you’re not into it. Trust me. I used to be in the finance industry, and I hated every minute of it. It ultimately worked out for me in that I know a lot about investing, but after a few years all I could think about was how to get out of it and what I would do. After all, I had an MBA and was I just going to waste it?”
“Wow! I’m impressed.” I’m glad it’s a slow Wednesday because I want to hear more. Though it was hard to admit my situation, the door has been opened, and the reward is that I can finally ask Eric about his life, which I’ve been dying to do. “So, Mr. MBA, how’d you go from finance to the coffee biz?”
He smiles at the nickname. “It all sounds a little midlife crisis-y, I know, but it actually happened quite suddenly. My mom had a stroke and needed someone to take care of her, and I couldn’t even get the time off to be with her. So I just quit. It wasn’t any premeditated decision. I’d had enough. Worrying about some guy’s portfolio who already has more money than he knows what to do with compared to worrying about whether my mom was going to live or die—right then my priorities came into focus. It was the easiest decision I ever made, and I never looked back.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry to hear about your mom. How’s she doing now?” I might have opened the door, but Eric is demolishing walls with how much he just shared with me. His story makes my existential crisis trivial in comparison.
“Thanks. She’s fully recovered now. But it was scary, and at the time, my sister lived in Ohio. Luckily, now she and her family moved back to the Chicago area and so we can both drop in. And I like that my nephews are close by. My mom loves her grandkids.” He grins.
“And your dad?”
He shakes his head. “My dad died when I was twelve. Brain cancer.”
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry to hear that! That’s terrible.” His hand is resting on the table and I put my hand over his. He gives me a small smile.
“Thank you. Yes, it was terrible and my mom never remarried. I think it was hard with two kids. So I guess I’ve always felt responsible for her.”
“I couldn’t imagine. Your mom is a lucky woman to have such a devoted son.”
Turning his hand over so his palm is in mine, he squeezes my hand. “I don’t know about that. I was a bit of a handful.” He gives me an impish grin and looks incredibly boyish.
We’re interrupted by the sound of someone coming through the front door. I look up and see that it’s Brian. “Hey, guys. I’m back from lunch.” He waves and winks at us before disappearing into the back.
“Looks like the boss is back. I guess I better get back to work.” Eric gives my hand another squeeze and then releases it. “Thanks for tasting the new dessert. I’m also working on a carrot cake one that I’d love for you to try.”
“If it’s even half as yummy as this, then when you’re done with the working, I’m ready for the trying.” I grin and then take another forkful of dessert.
He smiles and then gets up while I finish the chocolate-cacao deliciousness that’s in front of me. Though Eric told me why he quit his job, I still want to know what led him to open this coffeehouse. But I can save that discussion to be had over raw carrot cake.
BACK AT HOME and feeling inspired by Eric’s raw dessert, I want to experiment too, and I go online to peruse recipes. I find recipes for savory gluten-free crepes with mushrooms, a zucchini noodle Pad Thai, a kale-pineapple-mango smoothie, and a raw vegan chocolate almond “cheesecake” made with cacao, agave, and cashews. Maybe these dishes will turn out to be a disaster, but I don’t have anyone to grimace or complain if they are. Rather than feeling sad about this fact, I feel a surprising sense of freedom; and in this mood I make a list of missing ingredients from my kitchen and head off to the grocery store.
I’VE NEVER MADE crepes before, and there is more batter splattered on the counter and floor than actually made it back into the pan. Even though I watched a YouTube video on how to properly flip crepes, there is still some room for growth. The sautéed mushrooms with thyme and parsley, however, came out perfectly. I forgot how much fresh herbs cost at the store, and it has me thinking about planting a little herb garden out on my balcony.
Since the cheesecake requires about six hours of soaking time for the cashew filling and because I’m on a crazy cooking roll, I also make the Pad Thai zucchini noodles. While I wish I could have kept the spiralizer from my registry, my vegetable peeler does the trick. And as I’m pouring the cheesecake filling into my regular old blender, I mourn the loss of the Vitamix I registered for. But I do have an ancient food processor that was a hand-me-down from my parents that I drag out from the back of my cabinet, dust off, and use to make the date, walnut, and almond crust.
The cheesecake filling splatters on me as I try to pour it on top of the crust, and crushed nuts scattered on the floor keep sticking to my feet. I’m so neat in so many other aspects of my life that I forgot what a messy cook I can be. But since it’s been a while, I’ve lost the skill of cleaning as I go. If Neil thought the beet “blood” was bad, then this is a Category Five kitchen storm.
Hours upon hours later, it’s midnight and I’m standing in my chaotic-looking kitchen with more food than I can possibly eat by myself. I’m amazed to find myself happy and at peace for the first time since that horrible day when my life changed. For the first time, I wonder whether maybe it wasn’t the day my life changed for the worse, but for the better.
Good morning!” I greet Eric at The Cauldron a little after ten in the morning.
I’ve officially changed from my routine of gym and then straight to coffee. I figure I might as well draw my days out. So after my run this morning, I headed straight home, showered, and threw on my favorite sundress. While I didn’t get my usual seven point five, or lately ten to twelve hours of sleep, I still feel fantastic, riding the high from last night’s cooking adventure. I have my laptop and plan to check if there are any new opportunities on the job front. Though I realize this might ruin my mood, I feel it’s better to start the job search from a positive place.
“I brought you something,” I say, while taking a little Tupperware container out of my tote. “Your delicious bar gave me a taste for more healthy sweets, and so I made this last night. It’s a raw, vegan, gluten-free Chocolate Almond Cheesecake.”
I hand him the container and then have a moment of self-doubt. Am I overstepping boundaries here? Am I being competitive? Is this why I make frenemies? Ugh. These self-help books are making me overanalyze my every move.