Page 74 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
Damian’s face broke out into a pleased smile. He bowed toward his dom and Mr. Moreau. “Thank you. I’ve had excellent guidance.”
“One can only lead a horse to water, not make him drink.” Mr. Reevesworth passed Collin one of the shot glasses.
Something like a blush hit Damian’s cheeks. “Yes, sir.”
“To Damian, then.” Mr. Reevesworth tossed off the shot.
Collin followed suit. It burned all the way down. Different, but not bad. Collin ran his tongue around inside his mouth.
“How is it?” Mr. Moreau inquired.
“It’s different. I don’t dislike it.”
“Some take to it; others find it’s an acquired taste.”
“Soju is better with hot meat and rice with vegetables. That brings it out.” Mr. Reevesworth motioned a waitress standing deferentially a few feet away with a cart loaded with small plates of uncooked items: trays of thinly cut raw meat in various shades, saucers of stalky mushrooms, piles of greens, and rounds of white onions. She distributed them about the grill and lit it. Then she parsed out small personal trays, which Damian leaned in and explained to Collin were for various sauces, which were in their own containers by the grill to be shared by all. She finished by giving everyone a personal bowl of rice and adding a huge basket of fresh lettuce to the array.
“What’s that for?” Collin pointed to the green mound.
“That is the vessel that brings ambrosia to one’s mouth.” Damian had a pair of long metal chopsticks in his hands and was laying strips of meat on the grill with them. Mr. Reevesworth removed his coat and jacket and began to carefully roll up his cuffs.
Collin stared. Each movement was precise;each roll revealed more bare, muscular arm. Mr. Reevesworth finished with a perfect line just below his elbow and turned to the second arm, removing his watch and placing it in his pocket as he did so.
“Collin, you’re drooling. It’s not time for that yet.”
Collin startled and looked toward Damian. The man grinned, picked up a pair of chopsticks, and waved them toward Collin. “Ever used these before?”
“I’ve used wooden ones.” Collin took the cool metal pieces in his hand. They had weight and heft to them. If necessary, they would make a good weapon. The edges were all square, and they were flattened, unlike the symmetrical chopsticks he’d used before. These had more of a sense of a top, bottom, and side to the shaft.
“It’s the same idea once you get used to the difference.”
The other three men chatted about Damian’s trip and Mr. Moreau’s recent business. Damian poked at the grill and announced when it was ready.
“Watch and learn, young padawan.” Damian was practically dancing on his ass. He laid a full leaf of lettuce in his cupped palm, placed a little rice inside it, smeared a thick red paste from the little tray in front of himself on the rice, and laid a hot strip of meat into the center. His palm curled, folding the rice and lettuce around the meat. He poked the ends of the lettuce into what amounted to a small roll and shoved half of it into his mouth. His head fell back, and he groaned, chewing.
“Someone hasn’t had Korean barbecue in too long,” Mr. Moreau observed, a smirk on his face.
“A week without this food of the gods is too long.” Damian exhaled.
Mr. Moreau motioned Collin to try, offering the basket of lettuce.
“Perhaps we should post you to Seoul.” Mr. Reevesworth smirked, eyes on Damian.
Damian grinned, a bit of red paste on his lip. He swallowed. “I see no problems, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth laughed and tended to his own lettuce wrap.
Messy as Collin’s first attempt was, when the flavors and the various temperatures broke across his tongue—cold for the lettuce, neutral for the rice, and hot and spicy for the meat—he closed his eyes to savor the experience. “Can I go to Seoul, too?”
Damian laughed and slapped Collin on the shoulder. “We have a convert! Yes!”
As they ate, Damian and Mr. Reevesworth pointed out various bits of etiquette appropriate to the dining experience. Collin imitated each move, enjoying the laughter. The only difficulty was the amount of water the hot red paste seemed to require him to drink.
They were barely halfway through the platters of food when Collin could not bear the pressure any longer. He stood up and moved around the table so that he could lean down into Mr. Reevesworth’s ear.
“Please, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
