interested in getting a little food truck experience too?”
She managed a tight smile. “Don’t suppose I am. This schedule’s going to be tight enough as it is.”
“All right then.” He folded his arms. “Say we start on Monday. Okay by you?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll need a couple of gallons of potato salad and another couple of coleslaw. For now, I’ll handle the beans since they go on the smoker with the meat.”
Darcy blinked. Why hadn’t she thought of this? “Coleslaw? You want coleslaw?”
“Well, yeah. People get two sides, choice of potato salad, coleslaw or beans.”
“Do you want to see a test batch of that too?”
He gave her another slow grin. “Nope. I’ll trust you on the coleslaw. No crap like horseradish or blue cheese, though. Just the regulation stuff.”
“Cabbage slaw?”
His forehead furrowed. “Is there any other kind?”
“Broccoli. Apple. Celery root. You can make it out of just about any kind of root vegetable. Even jicama.”
He leaned forward bracing his fists on the counter. “Jicama. Lord help us. Do not put jicama into anything that I’ll be serving off the truck, understand? Just coleslaw. Normal, everyday coleslaw.”
“Normal, everyday coleslaw. Got it.” Looked like she’d be calling her mom again.
Harris watched Darcy’s SUV edge carefully up the track away from the river. He really should get the road graded—even his truck had problems getting up it when the weather turned bad. And he had to park it down by the bridge, which meant he had to carry the food across every day. On the other hand, getting somebody all the way out here to grade the road would cost a fair amount plus being a real pain in the butt. And he’d need to do something about the bridge if he expected to get the truck back and forth every day.
He sighed, settling his hat back on his head as he turned toward the lean-to. The fire should be ready in another half hour or so. He needed to get the meat ready to go on the grills and then make sure the truck was ready to go for tomorrow, the routine he went through four days a week when he wasn’t doing special jobs.
Special jobs. He grinned as he headed back across the meadow, dodging Porky’s unwitting attempts to trip him. The hound had no sense of dignity, let alone grace. Maybe when he got a few years on him he’d be a little more reliable.
Darcy Cunningham was one special job herself. She looked sort of like a punk rocker he’d dated back in Austin, minus the safety pins and black eye makeup. Today the tips of her spiked hair had been bright blue—they vibrated when she was concentrating. She probably didn’t realize that. It was a significant tell.
She also had a chip on her shoulder the size of a live oak, but he figured that was probably part of her working attitude. Most restaurant kitchens were boys’ clubs. A woman who’d made it to sous chef at a big-time restaurant like the Rose would need some attitude to keep her head above water and to keep the boys from making her life miserable. Darcy Cunningham had attitude to spare.
He figured she probably had some ulterior motive for getting him to teach her about barbecue, maybe trying to cut him out of the job at the Rose. But he also figured that wouldn’t happen. She might be one hell of a chef, but she didn’t have the equipment he had—the smokers and the wood in particular—and without that equipment all the expertise in the world wouldn’t make her a pit master.
Still, it looked to be an interesting couple of months. That potato salad of hers had been celestial. It had taken all of his considerable skill at dissembling to keep from showing her just how impressed he’d been from that one bite. Assuming she could come up with something roughly comparable in the way of coleslaw, he should be able to build up the following for his barbecue truck by several dozen, at least until Darcy decided she’d learned enough about barbecue for the moment
She managed a tight smile. “Don’t suppose I am. This schedule’s going to be tight enough as it is.”
“All right then.” He folded his arms. “Say we start on Monday. Okay by you?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll need a couple of gallons of potato salad and another couple of coleslaw. For now, I’ll handle the beans since they go on the smoker with the meat.”
Darcy blinked. Why hadn’t she thought of this? “Coleslaw? You want coleslaw?”
“Well, yeah. People get two sides, choice of potato salad, coleslaw or beans.”
“Do you want to see a test batch of that too?”
He gave her another slow grin. “Nope. I’ll trust you on the coleslaw. No crap like horseradish or blue cheese, though. Just the regulation stuff.”
“Cabbage slaw?”
His forehead furrowed. “Is there any other kind?”
“Broccoli. Apple. Celery root. You can make it out of just about any kind of root vegetable. Even jicama.”
He leaned forward bracing his fists on the counter. “Jicama. Lord help us. Do not put jicama into anything that I’ll be serving off the truck, understand? Just coleslaw. Normal, everyday coleslaw.”
“Normal, everyday coleslaw. Got it.” Looked like she’d be calling her mom again.
Harris watched Darcy’s SUV edge carefully up the track away from the river. He really should get the road graded—even his truck had problems getting up it when the weather turned bad. And he had to park it down by the bridge, which meant he had to carry the food across every day. On the other hand, getting somebody all the way out here to grade the road would cost a fair amount plus being a real pain in the butt. And he’d need to do something about the bridge if he expected to get the truck back and forth every day.
He sighed, settling his hat back on his head as he turned toward the lean-to. The fire should be ready in another half hour or so. He needed to get the meat ready to go on the grills and then make sure the truck was ready to go for tomorrow, the routine he went through four days a week when he wasn’t doing special jobs.
Special jobs. He grinned as he headed back across the meadow, dodging Porky’s unwitting attempts to trip him. The hound had no sense of dignity, let alone grace. Maybe when he got a few years on him he’d be a little more reliable.
Darcy Cunningham was one special job herself. She looked sort of like a punk rocker he’d dated back in Austin, minus the safety pins and black eye makeup. Today the tips of her spiked hair had been bright blue—they vibrated when she was concentrating. She probably didn’t realize that. It was a significant tell.
She also had a chip on her shoulder the size of a live oak, but he figured that was probably part of her working attitude. Most restaurant kitchens were boys’ clubs. A woman who’d made it to sous chef at a big-time restaurant like the Rose would need some attitude to keep her head above water and to keep the boys from making her life miserable. Darcy Cunningham had attitude to spare.
He figured she probably had some ulterior motive for getting him to teach her about barbecue, maybe trying to cut him out of the job at the Rose. But he also figured that wouldn’t happen. She might be one hell of a chef, but she didn’t have the equipment he had—the smokers and the wood in particular—and without that equipment all the expertise in the world wouldn’t make her a pit master.
Still, it looked to be an interesting couple of months. That potato salad of hers had been celestial. It had taken all of his considerable skill at dissembling to keep from showing her just how impressed he’d been from that one bite. Assuming she could come up with something roughly comparable in the way of coleslaw, he should be able to build up the following for his barbecue truck by several dozen, at least until Darcy decided she’d learned enough about barbecue for the moment
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