The Scene of Infidelity
Just in case the jalapeño sablés only tasted good to me, I spent the next few days testing them on the people around me.
Those who couldn't handle spice shook their heads, but the ones who loved heat seemed to enjoy them for the most part.
Greg, at least, gave them a passing grade.
"They're addictive. Would go great with beer. How do I put this… the kind of snack your mom would scold you for eating while watching TV in the living room?"
"That's a pretty roundabout way of saying they taste like junk food."
Greg chuckled.
"It's a snack, so isn't that fine? As long as the basics are solid."
I took the plate away from him as he kept crunching through the sablés.
"Who eats cookies right before dinner? I told you to try just one."
"Yeah, that sounds exactly like something she'd say."
Tonight's dinner was pizza made by Greg's mother. She'd made extra and told him to take some to his friend who was raising a kid alone.
She'd also sent wine to go with it.
"Do Italians actually eat pizza with wine?"
"It's not because they're Italian. It's because the pairing works, so they eat it."
Maybe I was the only one who found pizza and wine strange. Pizza and beer I could understand, but wine?
One bite of pizza and one sip of wine later, I escaped my own ignorance.
"How can this be so good?"
The Capricciosa pizza—something I'd never tasted in my life—and the wine Greg's mother had paired with it made an incredible combination.
"I hate how the only word I can come up with is 'delicious.'"
Mozzarella, baked ham, mushrooms, artichokes, and tomato. The pizza looked simple at a glance, yet it didn't seem like food from this world.
I should save a slice and try making it myself later.
"The food you make is incredible too, you know. For the record, I don't hand out 'delicious' to other people's cooking very often."
"I can believe that. You've been eating stuff like this your whole life? Lucky bastard."
Greg laughed and shrugged.
He claimed he was the worst cook in his own family, but Rachel loved everything he made.
"A handsome man who can cook… looking at it that way, you're the perfect husband."
"What good does that do when I don't earn as much?"
"Let's call the world fair, then. Rachel can bring home the money. And for the record, if you just don't get talked into some business scheme, you'd make a truly perfect partner."
"…"
"Let's keep performing together for a long, long time."
"Honestly, once I've saved up some money, I'd like to open a pub like Dimitri. A jazz bar would be nice too."
"That sounds good. Talk it over properly with Rachel."
We finished the meal while chatting about this and that, and then I asked in a slightly uncertain voice,
"Um… I tried making a cake too. Could you evaluate that as well?"
Greg, who had been putting on every silly face he knew for Luca—sitting expressionless in his high chair—turned to me with a look of surprise.
"Why do you sound so unsure? Aren't you good at every kind of dessert?"
"Well… I wanted to try something new for the recipe book this time, so I made a kind of spicy cake."
The success of the jalapeño sablés had given me a little confidence, so I'd mixed ramen soup into the cream and tried making a cake with it.
It had somehow seemed like a good idea. But after the first bite, I had fallen into complete confusion.
It tasted good… and at the same time, it tasted like something that absolutely should not exist.
Since it was going into a recipe book, I couldn't afford something with such extreme love-it-or-hate-it potential. I'd been about to scrap it, but I still wanted someone else's opinion on whether it could be improved.
There was no way I could offer a tasting to James or Evan when I still didn't know if the cake was truly "horrifying."
At the words "spicy cake," Greg sat back down with a dubious face.
"I feel like I just heard a combination of words that shouldn't exist, but I'll trust you and taste it without judging first."
"Thanks. Maybe because I made it myself, I can't tell. Tell me exactly what you think, no sugarcoating."
"Of course! It looks normal enough."
On the outside it was an ordinary red velvet cake made with cream mixed with red food coloring.
Greg cut a bite-sized piece and brought it to his mouth.
"…"
I watched him with a pounding heart. Soon Greg's face went completely blank.
"…"
I had never known Greg was capable of making a blank expression.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and even took his time savoring the aftertaste before setting down his fork.
Clink.
"…"
Greg laced his fingers together and stared fixedly at the cake in front of him.
Seeing him like this for the first time made me start stammering.
"I-is it that bad?"
Greg answered without looking at me.
"This can't even be called food, let alone cake."
"Ah… okay. Sorry."
I had truly done something wrong…
In any case, the jalapeño sablés had earned a passing grade from everyone, so I didn't delay any longer. I sent Kelly the recipe along with photos of the finished cookies.
Her reaction was positive.
"Since you sent the recipe first, Jun, even if someone else brings a similar item later, your jalapeño sablés will take priority."
"I see."
As expected, being first mattered everywhere. I needed to finish the other two recipes without dragging my feet either.
"Plus it's not something you can easily find in stores. Even if a similar cookie exists, this level should still be recognized for its originality. Even the most common chocolate chip cookies get labeled 'So-and-so's Special Chocolate Chip Cookies,' after all."
I couldn't see her since we were on a call, but I nodded happily and asked,
"So now I just bring the sablés to the publisher for the tasting and interview?"
"Yes. But if it's hard to get around with the baby, we can do the interview over the phone like this and you can just give the sablés to Evan. You said you live in the same building, right?"
"Oh, would that really be okay?"
"Of course! As a neighbor, Evan can handle that much, can't he? I'll let him know."
Considering Evan was Kelly's boss, the workplace atmosphere there didn't seem completely rigid either. Either way, I was extremely grateful.
"By the way, I'm looking forward to it. My mother's Mexican, so I really love spicy food."
"Is that so? Then I'll pack plenty so you can give some to her as well."
"Really? Then I sincerely thank you. I'll trust the sablés will be delicious without a doubt. If you're free right now, could we do the interview so we can finish the story that will run with the recipe?"
"Yes, of course."
I told her about having a Korean friend in college, and how he always ate spicy food whenever he was stressed.
"Back then I really couldn't understand it. It looked like self-torture. But after making and eating this myself, I finally get it."
"But they say spicy isn't actually a taste, right? It's just a mixture of heat and pain."
"Ah, I think I've heard that too."
The reason you sweat and your nose runs when you eat spicy food is because spiciness is a pain signal, and your body reacts that way to reduce the pain.
"Wait, so by that logic my friend really was doing self-torture?"
"Haha, maybe not so much that as an endorphin addict from the spicy food. Anyway…"
Kelly suddenly switched to a businesslike tone as she organized what she'd written down.
"Sweet, salty, spicy… And because it's a sablé, it dissolves and disappears in your mouth in an instant, leaving just the right amount of longing. Yes, this is like…"
Like what?
"This is like the taste of our lives. Spicy, sweet, salty, and gone in an instant… I like it."
No, that sounds like a scam.
"Ah, and to add a bitter note, what if we pair the jalapeño sablés with coffee?"
"Ah, um… yeah, that might be good?"
I answered on reflex, and Kelly wrapped up the interview with a voice full of enthusiasm.
"Great start! Then I'll work with that for now."
Kelly's job wasn't editing—it was creation.
Did every ordinary person's ordinary story get processed like this and reborn as dramatic fiction?
Still, it would probably be more moving and entertaining this way than if ordinary people suddenly tried writing awkward essays themselves.
"Then I'll leave it in your hands. Thank you."
I hung up in a good mood. At least the first recipe seemed to have passed without issue.
Without delaying, I packed the jalapeño sablés I had already made.
I checked the time: two in the afternoon.
Evan would still be at the publisher, so I could just go downstairs now, hang the bag on his doorknob with a note, and leave.
If I didn't have to meet him, I didn't particularly want to run into him.
Since I was going out anyway, I decided to hang the cookies on the door and then take Luca for some fresh air by walking to the neighborhood supermarket.
I left the house in high spirits and went down to the second floor.
Just as I was about to hang the bag on Evan's doorknob, the door opened with a metallic click.
"…!"
"You startled me. What are you doing?"
"Ah, I, the upstairs…"
"…Ah, it's you. Yes, hello."
Evan's wife first looked at me with a dubious expression, then asked expressionlessly what I needed.
I explained the situation. She took the bag, put it inside the apartment, and came back out.
I honestly considered just taking the elevator down ahead of her for a second, but there was no need to do that to a pregnant woman walking with a noticeably rounded belly.
"Well then."
"Yes."
We exchanged brief greetings and went our separate ways.
…She was still an uncomfortable person.
"Alright, Luca. Shall we look forward now?"
I turned the stroller seat around so he could comfortably face forward and enjoy the view, then stepped behind it.
"Daddy will stay right behind you, so…"
But before I could finish, I heard the baby's whimpering.
"Huing…"
I hurriedly came back around to the front and turned the stroller seat to face me again.
Then I looked at the child a little grumpily and said,
"Fine. Then Luca can just look at Daddy. Daddy will look at all the interesting things by himself."
"Hii…"
Luca still had tears in his eyes, yet he beamed. I knelt in front of the baby, wiped his tears, and kissed his forehead.
"Shall we go on a date with my little gentleman, then?"
"Aaa!"
I pushed the stroller along at a leisurely pace. Every so often I stopped and looked around with him, trying to show him things we couldn't normally see at home.
"Luca, that's a puppy. Cute, right?"
"And this is a hydrangea. Lots of little flowers, but it's one flower."
When we reached the market I shopped quickly. Luca watched my bustling movements with an amused look.
"Enjoy this while you can, Luca. When you get bigger, I'm going to make you do the grocery shopping."
I poked the cheek of the smiling child.
"Shall we head home now?"
Even on the way back I kept talking to him diligently. Lately when I pointed at something and spoke, Luca seemed to listen more carefully than before.
All the more reason to keep talking to him at times like this.
"Want to take one more loop around the park before we go in?"
The baby wiggled his feet and beamed.
He didn't answer, but since he smiled I decided that counted as agreement.
Not far away was a small park with a fountain where lots of families came and went.
"Look, Luca, that's a fountain. Doesn't the falling water look cool?"
"Ee?"
"Yeah, cool, right? And next to it is that same puppy from earlier! That person must be out for a walk too. And next to them is…"
Next to them was…
Evan's wife.
But…
The man she lightly kissed was, by any measure, not Evan.