Page 30 of Unexpected Pickle
I’m glad, too, then. I would hate to be the reason he missed a fight. I glance at the hand I nicked a few days ago. “How are you heeling from your cut?”
He angles the edge of his hand toward me. “Right as rain.”
I shake the pan, tossing the risotto rice. “I would remove the burned ones.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
I return the pan to the fire and turn the burner low. “Add about two cups of water. Then chop your leeks.” I check them to make sure they’ve been properly prepped and not filled with dirt. They have. That’s one thing, at least.
I return to my station and chop my shallots. When I spot Hex again, he’s filled a Dixie cup, probably from the water cooler, and poured it in. He grins. “I’ll go get another.”
“Hold on. You’ll need probably six of those.” I eyeball the cup. “Normally a cup is a measuring cup, not just any old cup.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll do six.” He takes off again.
I keep an eye on his risotto, occasionally shifting the pan so it doesn’t stick. The small cup of water won’t last long on its own.
But he returns, this time with a coffee mug of water plus the Dixie cup. “Thought this would be faster.” He dumps it all in.
“Wait! Let’s estimate—” But it’s in. I quickly assess the ratio of rice to water. “That’s good, I think.”
He peers in. “You sure?”
“Yes. Let it cook.”
I can’t worry about it being good. At this point, I’ll settle for Hex not burning the place down.
“You’re good people, Chef Jeannie,” he says. “But I already knew that.”
I return to my station and turn on the burner. Time for me to cook my breakfast. “Can you eat carbs?” I ask him. “With your fight coming up?”
“I don’t have anything soon,” he says. “But simple carbs are fine. It’s the processed stuff I don’t do. I figured I’d be safe with anything that happens here.”
“Okay, good.” I melt my butter and slide the potato sticks in. “You should shave very thin slices off the truffle if you’re going to use it. A little goes a long way.”
Hex lifts the truffle to his nose again and almost gags. “I think I’ll skip it today. Rice and mild onion will be plenty.”
I nod. His risotto is going fine, even if there are burned bits there. If he simply adds a few bits of leek, it’ll be an edible, if unorthodox, breakfast.
“Thanks, Jeannie,” he says.
I drop my shallots into the pan. “No problem, Hex.”
And I realize it really isn’t. Having Hex around is actually kind of…fun.
11
HEX ON FIRE, LITERALLY
It’s taking a lot of constraint not to wring the neck of a certain Chef Moreau.
He’s tailing Jeannie like he’s in heat, and I don’t like it.
He won the breakfast competition, making some fancy egg soufflé thing that everybody said wasn’t possible in thirty minutes.
But he got applause. Theyclappedfor his ugly poof pillow.
The nutritionist was not particularly impressed by my burned risotto on a bed of uncut leeks, but I ran out of time to do anything but dump the lumpy rice on top of the stems.
