Plan B Margaritas

Chef Tiffany rubbed the last of her hand-picked fillet mignon steaks with her unique blend of taco seasonings. Letting the meat rest, she opened the cramped Airstream fridge. The door creaked open, blasting her with cold air. The ancient cooling coil hummed, vibrating the products inside. Her head sunk as she picked up the bunch of cilantro, the fridge air wilted the leaves, and the stalks flopped lifelessly over in her hands.

Her head shook, as her own words repeated in her head, "I love camping. Being outside with nature is wonderful, and cooking for your family would be my pleasure."

The knot in her stomach tightened. Dinner had to be perfect. Caroline's family had not visited her restaurant in Seattle or let her cook any of the holiday meals. Tonight was her opportunity to cook for them without the aid of her industrial kitchen. Tossing the pathetic greens on the table, she closed her eyes, praying that the white onions and tomatoes were in better shape. The Tupperware seal broke with a pop. The vegetables inside looked delicious. Perfect. No damage to the stars of the salsa show.

She tightened her apron around her waist, placing her knife roll on the uneven Formica table. She shoved waded paper towels under the legs and shook the table. With a secure cutting surface, her fingers danced across her knife roll, exposing each shiny handle. They all had specific jobs. Her fingers stopped at the vegetable knife. The weight was perfect in her hands. The blade sailed over the produce, leaving each product chopped into perfect chunks. Now for the finishing touch. She opened the cabinet, nothing. She looked under the bunk in the milk crates. Empty. The knot in her stomach tightened even more. She paced back and forth, mumbling under her breath, "where did the limes go?" Her head dropped as she opened the fridge. Two limes shivered in the cold. Tiffany placed them on the table, rolling each one under the heel of her palm. Her blade sliced the fruit in half. No juice squirted out, the pulp knotted. The dry meat was pulling away from the rind. Tiffany's knuckles turned white as she clutched the fruit in her fist, squeezing with all her might. She tossed the sparse juice in with the rest of the ingredients. She mixed everything and tasted it with a store-bought chip. The salsa made the chips taste palatable. She wiped her hands on her apron as the camper door creaked open.

"Do you need any help in here?"

Caroline stood at the door, smiling as she scanned the cramped kitchen. Tiffany froze. Caroline had a nack of burning boiling water. Tiffany's eyes darted around the camper, struggling to find a task worthy of Caroline's limited culinary skills. The only thing left was grilling. Caroline followed Tiffany's eyes, and with a quick swoop of her hands, she grabbed the steaks.

"I am a grill master. Let me take these, and you can finish the salsa and tortillas."

Tiffany rubbed the back of her neck. Her girlfriend meant well but had no idea what was at stake. She paused.

"I got this. Go spend time with your family."

Caroline stepped into the kitchen, lowering her voice, "no thanks. Those people are getting on my nerves. Let me show them, having a Chef for a girlfriend had made me a better cook."

With a weak smile, Tiffany handed Caroline her steel spatula.

"Just remember to set them on the grill for 5 minutes on each side, and.."

"Babe, I got this. It is just grilling meat, not rocket science."

Tiffany raised her eyebrow as Caroline bounced out of the Airstream. Homemade tacos were easy in her kitchen. She underestimated the difficulty of creating the dish in such a rudimentary setup. The gas clicked as the minuscule propane burner lit with a poof. The blue flames danced under the cast iron pot. The oil began to sizzle as she placed her first flour patty down. Her heart rate slowed down as she flipped it. The golden-brown crust was perfect. The crunch of gravel and screams broke Tiffany's cooking rhythm. She cocked her head to listen.

"Oh no. Is the grill on fire?"

Tiffany pulled the curtain open to see her beautiful steaks ablaze. Time stopped as she flung open the door. Her eyes grew wide as Caroline's Uncle Jim hosed the charred slabs down with a fire extinguisher. With a deep breath, she mumbled to herself, "ok, veggie tacos it is."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

White smoke billowed out of the camper. Tiffany stepped back inside, waving her hands, cutting throw the thick haze. On the stove, her perfect tortilla was a blackened piece of charcoal.

Tears well up in her eyes. Her cooking school did not prepare her for a well-meaning girlfriend and an Airstream kitchen.

She fanned the smoke detector as tears streamed down her face—Chef Tiffany's first impression on Caroline's family ruined by her signature dish.

"Babe, is there a plan B for dinner? Uncle Jim and I lost a fight with the steaks. Are you ok?"

Tiffany dabbed her tears with the corner of her apron, "oh, I'm fine. Almost burned down our camper, and now I will feed your family salsa and a bag of store-bought chips. So yeah, I'm fine."

Caroline put her arm around Tiffany, "don't worry. You brought the tequila like I suggested, right."

"Yeah, but no one wants to drink dinner."

Caroline laughed, "you would be surprised. Lead with a pitcher of margaritas and then bring out the salsa and chips. It will be fine."

"That would work if the limes didn't already go in the salsa. I have ruined this whole trip."

Caroline wiped away the new batch of tears streaming down Tiffany's face.

"I ruined dinner. I will get you some more limes for the drinks. Ok."

Tiffany's breath hitched, "ok."

Everyone gathered around the campsite picnic table. Caroline handed each person a salt-rimmed Yeti tumbler, and Tiffany filled each glass.

Uncle Jim was the first to gulp down his drink.

"That's good. What is the name of our signature cocktail?"

Tiffany glanced at Caroline, "I am calling these the Plan B Margaritas created to pair with chips and salsa."