a Tuesday night than it would’ve been on a Saturday night. It had been a while since I’d eaten at Simmer, but with Josh’s work schedule what it was, visiting him at the restaurant was sometimes the only way to catch a glimpse of my overworked chef. I had Inga to thank for the rare chance to see him twice in one day. Since the parking garages and lots in the area were breathtakingly expensive, I’d gotten good at spotting legal spaces on the street, at finding spots on side streets, and at squeezing my car into miniature spaces. Tonight I snagged a place around the corner from the restaurant. I had to pin myself between two BMWs, but getting an actual metered space at all was a good sign.
The patio outside Simmer was packed, but inside there were only a handful of customers. Although Josh said Mondays and Tuesdays were typically slow nights at most eateries, I found it disheartening to see the large room so empty. The tiled floors and the warm colors of the walls softened the angularity of the modern light fixtures, the square tables, and the high-backed chairs. The room’s earth colors were welcoming, and I was pleased to see candles lit on each table and in sconces on the walls. Keeping candles in stock and replacing the ones that burned down was a challenge. Simmer used dozens every day, and no one who worked there wanted to add candle duties to the already long list of tasks to be done daily.
I waved to the hostess and helped myself to a seat at the bar. I wished that Ade had come with me. Eating out alone was lonely, but if I’d stayed home, I’d have moped in front of the television by myself watching Bret Michaels in reruns of Rock of Love.
The general manager, Wade, strolled behind the bar and checked for empty bottles. Because Wade was salaried, he often ended up working the bar so that the owner, Gavin, didn’t have to pay another employee. “Hey, Chloe. I haven’t seen you here in a while. You here for dinner?”
I nodded. “You know I can’t resist Josh’s cooking.” I smiled, partly at the thought of Josh’s feeding me and partly at the sight of the elaborate gel work formed by Wade’s dark hair. Wade’s hair was always a sight to gawk at, if not to admire. Today, he must have taken extra time to sculpt the poofy clumps that sat high off his scalp. Still, since Wade spent as much time working out at the gym as he did styling his hair, I couldn’t complain about how he looked in the fitted black T-shirt that was standard for Simmer employees.
Wade handed me a menu, and I scanned the familiar items. At one time or another, I must have tried everything on the menu, but I never tired of the food. Besides, in addition to the standard dishes, there were specials that Josh ran a few times a week. They were always wonderful, but tonight I was hungry for two of my favorites from the regular menu, the crab and corn fritters that came with a lemon-cilantro aioli, and a Caesar salad with homemade dressing. Josh’s Caesar dressing was based on egg yolk and anchovies. I could practically drink it by the bucket. He also offered a less fishy—and very popular—version for those who didn’t like the strong anchovy taste, but I preferred the powerful version.
Wade took my order, brought me a lemonade, and told me that Josh would be out in a few minutes. As I watched Wade shine glasses with a towel, I started wondering what Josh had told his coworkers about the filming yesterday, but my thoughts were interrupted by Gavin Seymour’s unhappy voice.
Simmer’s owner was glaring angrily at a server. Gavin was in his late thirties, quite handsome, and dressed exclusively in clothing purchased from the high-end shops on this street. His usually toned physique looked neglected, though, and even his overpriced outfit couldn’t hide that. “Now what is it?” Gavin demanded of a quivering young male server. “Can’t we ever get anything done around here without a problem?” Gavin stormed away from the
The patio outside Simmer was packed, but inside there were only a handful of customers. Although Josh said Mondays and Tuesdays were typically slow nights at most eateries, I found it disheartening to see the large room so empty. The tiled floors and the warm colors of the walls softened the angularity of the modern light fixtures, the square tables, and the high-backed chairs. The room’s earth colors were welcoming, and I was pleased to see candles lit on each table and in sconces on the walls. Keeping candles in stock and replacing the ones that burned down was a challenge. Simmer used dozens every day, and no one who worked there wanted to add candle duties to the already long list of tasks to be done daily.
I waved to the hostess and helped myself to a seat at the bar. I wished that Ade had come with me. Eating out alone was lonely, but if I’d stayed home, I’d have moped in front of the television by myself watching Bret Michaels in reruns of Rock of Love.
The general manager, Wade, strolled behind the bar and checked for empty bottles. Because Wade was salaried, he often ended up working the bar so that the owner, Gavin, didn’t have to pay another employee. “Hey, Chloe. I haven’t seen you here in a while. You here for dinner?”
I nodded. “You know I can’t resist Josh’s cooking.” I smiled, partly at the thought of Josh’s feeding me and partly at the sight of the elaborate gel work formed by Wade’s dark hair. Wade’s hair was always a sight to gawk at, if not to admire. Today, he must have taken extra time to sculpt the poofy clumps that sat high off his scalp. Still, since Wade spent as much time working out at the gym as he did styling his hair, I couldn’t complain about how he looked in the fitted black T-shirt that was standard for Simmer employees.
Wade handed me a menu, and I scanned the familiar items. At one time or another, I must have tried everything on the menu, but I never tired of the food. Besides, in addition to the standard dishes, there were specials that Josh ran a few times a week. They were always wonderful, but tonight I was hungry for two of my favorites from the regular menu, the crab and corn fritters that came with a lemon-cilantro aioli, and a Caesar salad with homemade dressing. Josh’s Caesar dressing was based on egg yolk and anchovies. I could practically drink it by the bucket. He also offered a less fishy—and very popular—version for those who didn’t like the strong anchovy taste, but I preferred the powerful version.
Wade took my order, brought me a lemonade, and told me that Josh would be out in a few minutes. As I watched Wade shine glasses with a towel, I started wondering what Josh had told his coworkers about the filming yesterday, but my thoughts were interrupted by Gavin Seymour’s unhappy voice.
Simmer’s owner was glaring angrily at a server. Gavin was in his late thirties, quite handsome, and dressed exclusively in clothing purchased from the high-end shops on this street. His usually toned physique looked neglected, though, and even his overpriced outfit couldn’t hide that. “Now what is it?” Gavin demanded of a quivering young male server. “Can’t we ever get anything done around here without a problem?” Gavin stormed away from the
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