Cayenne

Julienne loved cooking.

She loved the way that stumbling upon her new recipe inspired her to shut her brain off for a while and focus on the movements of her hands. The way she could zero in her attention to the aromas that rose from the vegetables she chopped, the meat she would slice, and the spices she’d sprinkle in ever enough to make the dish unique to her taste buds. Waiting for the bubbling of the boiling water was her version of waiting for rain to fall outside her window, and the ticking timer of the oven was her own personal countdown. To ask Julienne to follow her heart was to ask Julienne to follow her stomach. Time simply made more sense when she was allowed to spend it in the kitchen. Was she feeling sick? A pot of chicken noodle soup would do the trick. Was she overwhelmed? Nothing more comforting than a large pot of curry. Did she want change in her life? She’d try a recipe from a country she’d never been to before (Indonesian nasi goreng was her most recent endeavor - so delicious!). Even if things went wrong, she could simply satisfy her cravings and figure out what to do next from there.

As she finished her last remaining order of a chicken parmigiana grinder for Gregory Edwards, she wiped the sweat off of her forehead and made her way to behind the counter. She mentioned to Shirely that the clock had struck 7:45PM, and that she could start wiping up the tables before heading out for the evening.

Julienne had envisioned more for herself than being the lead chef at the local, casual Italian restaurant five minutes away from her home. Food from where she hailed was always so...predictable. Uninspiring. She did a pretty damn good job at cooking anything she put her mind to, she liked to say, but she longed to be somewhere where her taste buds could playfully dance a waltz under the dim overhead lights. Tokyo! Bangkok! Paris! Naples! São Paulo! New York! It didn’t matter where - as long as life was bustling and the food scene had something different to offer.

Julienne had grown used to the monotony that had surrounded her. She woke up, drove to work, cooked for old people, went home, talked to her parents, and then went to bed. This small town didn’t really have much to offer her, but at least cooking offered her a creative and tangible place to distract herself from that. Secretly, she craved adventure and longed for a life filled with travel and spontaneity and freedom, but it wasn’t like that was a dream she could achieve anytime soon. Money was tight and her parents were growing weaker as the days went on. She needed to be able to support them and ensure that they were cared for, the way she had been cared for so much as a child. 

“You remind me of my granddaughter,” Gregory Edwards muttered as he pointed his finger at her and nodded accordingly. Gregory was a regular - an old fellow whom Julienne could’ve sworn had been dealing with some degree of dementia. He often made this comment, and she could have sworn they had this same conversation at least twenty times by now.

“Yes, I’m aware, Mr. Edwards,” She responded, resting her head above her hands at the kitchen counter.

“She was so bright. And so good at cooking!”

“Yes, Mr. Edwards.”

“I don’t see her too often now that she married a good man. Have you found a fellow yet?”

Julienne always had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“No, Mr. Edwards.”

“It’s a shame, you’d be such a hit! Every man loves a good home cooked meal.”

Thank you for that.

Each time Julienne always pondered with the possibility of responding that no, in fact, she wasn’t particularly interested in men, but she knew to pick her battles and couldn’t risk the possibility of losing the business from this self-proclaimed “old-fashioned” fellow. 

“Well, thank you as always for the meal, sweetheart,” Gregory Edwards responded. He pulled a handkerchief from his left shirt pocket, blew his nose, and reached towards the back of his corduroys for cash from his right back pocket. He handed Julienne a crumpled up $20, to which she took and began to ring up at the register. She handed him back a $10 bill, which he insistently shoved back towards her.

“Keep it,” Gregory insisted. He put his hands up in defense. Julienne furrowed her eyebrows, alarmed by his sudden switch in behavior to leave her a tip that was much too large for her to take.

“Oh, I can’t possibly do that,” she proclaimed, hasty to slide the money back towards him. He, again, pushed.

“Julienne, I get the sense that you want to do bigger and better things. Is that right?”

Julienne bit her lip, completely taken off-guard by his comment. Since when did he pay attention to how she felt?

“Sir, I cannot accept this cash.”

“Listen, if my wife were alive she’d insist that I do more to treat you. She and I both know you’re working hard,” Gregory stated, wiping his hands on his pants before getting up to make his exit. Julienne went quiet. It was the first time he had ever mentioned the passing of his loved one.

“If you believe in it enough, maybe you will see the change you seek,” the old man quoted before pushing the door out in front of him.

Before Julienne had a chance to properly react, another figure immediately swung in.

“Hi! Are you still open?”

Julienne had to do a double take.

The figure stood, leaning casually against the door, a decked out iPhone 12 in one hand with long, artificial nails curled around it. Black, leather combat boots laced up to the knee covered her feet, with ripped blue jeans and a white, ribbed cotton crop top hanging around the rest of her body. Her shiny, black leather jacket with silver studs perfectly complemented her melanin-rich skin tone, accompanied by cascading amber colored waves and piercing green eyes.

“Hey, uh, I asked if you were still open?”

Shit.

Julienne only then realized she was staring and immediately snapped out of it. Her eyes looked at the clock, which read 7:55PM. They closed at 8.

“Um… we close at eight.”

“What kind of restaurant closes at 8PM? That’s when the people of Barcelona start eating,” she proclaimed, rolling her eyes. 

“Anyways, I’m technically here before you close. You can’t really refuse me, right?”

Julienne bit her tongue. Technically, as lead chef and head manager of the restaurant, she could do whatever she wanted. Within reason, of course. She knew the owner would have her back, and he was out of town this weekend. 

However, something about the woman’s demeanor - annoying as she was - made Julienne curious to learn more. She clearly wasn’t from the area - so how did someone so… interesting… as her... end up in this low life of a town to begin with?

“That’s correct,” Julienne agreed, keeping a neutral tone. She didn’t want the woman thinking she was too interested. Or invested. Or anything like that. 

“I’m Cayenne, by the way,” She boldly pronounced, as she helped herself to a seat at the counter.

“Cayenne is one of my favorite spices,” Julienne heard herself say without thinking about it, before realizing how ridiculous and immediately eating back her words.

“S-sorry that was. Dumb.”

“What’s wrong with liking spice?” Cayenne retorted, her eyes narrowing at Julienne. Julienne felt afraid to make eye contact with her - something about her gaze was lowkey intoxicating, and she was worried about it causing her to make more unnecessary, idiotic comments.

“Nothing, I guess,” Julienne muttered, focusing on the act of handing Cayenne a menu. The woman snorted in response.

“Well, if this isn’t the whitest menu I’ve ever seen!”

Yep, clearly not from around here.

“Well, buckle up. It’s what every menu in this town looks like,” Julienne commented, though the comment came out a bit sassier than she had intended. She felt the weight of her words slice and dice the air that hung between her and Cayenne.

“What even brings you here anyway?” Julienne asked, turning her head around to look at Cayenne again. Cayenne inhaled and let out a deep sigh.

“Okay, so like, my crazy ex girlfriend from Cali kicked me out, so I hopped on a flight to Tokyo on a whim because it was the first flight I saw leaving from LAX. Realized I didn’t speak any Japanese and it was stressing me out like crazy, so I went to Thailand for a bit. Suddenly, I felt the urge to see Europe so I busted my butt over to Paris but then like. Everyone was rude? I tried Italy. The gelato and pasta were AMAZING but the time zone differences were starting to irk me. So I went to Brazil. Had a ton of fun but then realized I wanted to be closer to home. So I tried to get a flight direct to New York but figured eh, maybe I’ll check out Boston first. Didn’t care for it. Flights were ridiculously expensive to NYC so I asked my buddy if I could borrow their car. Drove for a bit. And I think I went the wrong way? So I’m here now.”

Julienne couldn’t help but blink not once.

Not twice.

Three times.

What?

“Well, um, yeah. You don’t pass through Bumblefuck, Connecticut to get to New York City.”

“...Oh.”

The silence must have hung over the two of them for at least a solid ten minutes. Julienne's brain became scrambled trying to understand where she was coming from. The fact that Cayenne could just... hop all over the world without a care in the world? Such freedom, and such independence and the woman could talk about it as if it were a typical life experience.

Julienne just had to keep talking to her, so she let herself interrupt the tension.

“So are you going to order…?”

“Yeah,” Cayenne stated. She tossed her menu towards Julienne. “Surprise me. Give me something interesting.”

“You just said the menu was boring.”

“Yeah, the menu. But who’s to say that you can’t do better?”

Julienne paused, not sure if Cayenne was trying to give her a compliment or an insult.

“...Pardon?”

“I mean, I’m looking at your hands. I see those little nicks and tiny burns off to the side - those come from someone who enjoys the art of cooking. Of taking the simple ingredients of this world and preparing them into a wonderfully sensational experience that only one’s mouth can fully savor the flavor of,” Cayenne stated, shrugging her shoulders as she appeared to be scrolling through her Instagram feed. Julienne stepped backwards, stunned at the woman’s sudden attention to detail. She carefully examined her hands, noticing the exact details that she had been referring to, though she had once never paid much attention to them herself.

“I dated a chef. Y’all are passionate - I’ll say that much. Even if you don’t always appear that way.”

Julienne pouted. Was she supposed to look different? 

Cayenne was one bold pepper, alright.

“Ma’am. Please tell me what you’d like to order.”

“I already did. I told you to surprise me.”

Julienne shifted uncomfortably in her position. How the hell could she fulfill that type of request? It’s not like she kept all of her ingredients from home here. Not to mention she had no idea what sort of food Cayenne actually enjoyed. The menu was the menu for a reason - it was there as a set of safe, tried and true recipes that she knew customers could safely enjoy and that she couldn’t screw up. Cooking for herself meant engaging in her wants for more freedom and spontaneity, but to think of providing that for someone else? There was way too much of a risk. It was the business that was keeping everything at home stable for once, for crying out loud.

“But like, what kind of foods do you like?” Julienne asked, growing impatient with how cryptic the woman’s phrasings and requests were. Cayenne waved her hand passively.

“I’m willing to try anything, okay? Just as long as it’s not boring.”

“Okay, but how do you define ‘boring’?”

“This menu. How do you define interesting?”

Julienne stopped. She couldn’t recall a time when someone asked what she thought of anything. She just sort of... cooked the food and did whatever she needed to do. 

“I cooked nasi goreng the other night. Lamb Biryani is a nice go-to as well. Tried my hand at okonomiyaki once, and am quite fond of chilaquiles too. Tried to replicate authentic ma po tofu another time and have yet to perfect a savory cacio e pepe. Finding the ingredients can be a struggle here, but I make the best of what I have!” Julienne let herself ramble. It was refreshing, actually, to have someone else express interest in her passion without scrunching their eyebrows and not knowing what kind of food she was referring to.

“Ha! So I knew it. You are more interesting than you let on,” Cayenne shouted. She clapped once and grinned so brightly that Julienne could nearly see herself in the reflection of her teeth.

And focusing on her teeth was much easier than focusing on the rest of her which,

unfortunately made Julienne boil a bit from the inside.

Julienne immediately felt her cheeks flush. God, she was starting to become annoyed with herself for thinking Cayenne was hot. But she felt the tension caramelize in the air - sizzling enough for stir fry. Cayenne’s radiance steamed out from her, creating an aroma in that one could not help but want to bask in. She was a fire on the gas stove - the sound of fajitas fresh off of the skillet. Julienne wanted to let herself bake alongside her, wrap herself up in her foiled skin and just let her insides become tender and soft while her outer self became crisper. Crunchier. Something to be feasted upon.

Fuck.

“What is your name again, miss?” Cayenne asked and Julienne secretly wished she didn’t.

“J-Julienne,” she stuttered, not knowing which open window would put an ease to the fire alarm set off in her head.

“Julienne,” Cayenne stated, her tongue rolling up like a wonton wrapper. 

“Well, Julienne. What do you want to eat?”

“You,” Julienne shamefully thought.

“I don’t know,” Julienne quietly spoke.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Cayenne purred, her gaze seeping into Julienne’s own. Julienne gulped.

Be cool.

She feels this too, right?

I’m not just imagining it...right?

Julienne wondered what it would be like to take a chance.

It’s what she did with her recipes after all. It’s not like she ever followed the recipes exactly by the book - she always had to do something a little bit different. Sometimes she’d let it cook for an extra few minutes - or put a commonly sought “dry” ingredient into the wet mix first, just to see what would happen. Add more of an ingredient than she was supposed to, and less of another. Let the meat marinate for longer than she should, or turn the oven up higher than she was supposed to. Just to see what would happen.

Every now and then, when she was feeling especially bold, she’d add an ingredient that wasn’t even called for.

Just to see what would happen.

“I think I still have some chicken thighs in the back,” Julienne muttered to herself. She turned to Cayenne, whose expression was patient and waiting for Julienne to elaborate.

“I know of a rather simple recipe. Not the most exotic - but most certainly not boring. It’s a go-to for me, and it manages to taste like heaven and hell and far away and home all at the same time.”

“Sounds nice,” Cayenne responded, a small smile hinting upon her lips. And oh, how badly Julienne just wanted to lick those lips for her and taste her satisfaction.

“I hope you’ll like it...” Julienne started shyly, getting up from her seat to attend to the kitchen.

“...Especially because I always add quite a lot of an ingredient that’s not even called for in the directions,” she continued, not so shyly. Cayenne raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And that is…?”

Julienne smirked to herself.

“Why, none other than cayenne.”