Page 35 of Perfect Pairing
“What do you want to make?”
“I don’t know, Ezra! That’s why I’m asking you for help!”
I was frazzled, spinning entirely out of control both thanks to him and the mess I’d gotten myself in.
But his voice soothed me when he said, “It’s okay, Brie. You’re going to kick ass. Just take a deep breath and tell me the first dish that comes to mind.”
“Gyros,” I blurted.
Ezra laughed. “You want to make gyros for afancy dinner party? That’s so…Greek of you, honey.”
“Well, I am half-Greek,” I reminded him.
“Trust me, I’m aware,” he said lowly, and my skin tightened at the recollection he conveyed with those words. “How about we fancy it up a bit and do a deconstructed lamb gyro with roasted vegetables?”
“That seems…easy enough.”
“I’ll talk you through every step,” he promised. “Now, get a pen and paper. You need to go shopping, and here’s what you need to buy…”
Thirty minutes later, I walked back into my apartment and called Ezra again.
“Okay, I’m home and got everything you said. Now what?”
“First, get the lamb in the marinade. You’re going to need lemon juice, oil, paprika, salt, pepper, and minced garlic for that.”
I withdrew ingredients from my grocery bags as he listed them off, lining them up on the counter before digging through the cupboards in search of a large glass bowl.
I measured out the ingredients per Ezra’s instructions, but otherwise, he was silent. Neither of us felt the need to fill the quiet. It was companionable, the kind of stillness I often craved. I loved my sisters, but…they could be a lot. They were why I hadn’t had roommates since my first year of culinary school, when I thought it’d be a great way to make friends.
I’d been wrong, but it taught me some valuable lessons aboutconstructing boundaries for myself.
Once I finished the marinade, added the lamb, covered the bowl with plastic wrap, and put it in the fridge, I asked Ezra, “Now what?”
“Now, you need to prep the toppings. Get the honey and vinegar in a saucepan and bring them to a boil. You’ll add the onions to give them a quick pickling. Then, start chopping the cucumbers and tomatoes.”
“You know,” I said as I pulled more ingredients from my grocery bags, my hands closing around a particular can, “I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do with these chickpeas.”
Ezra snorted. “You’re going to toss them in lemon juice, dill, and mint. The texture will provide a nice bit of richness to balance the rest of the dish.”
“Why am I not just making hummus?”
“Because hummus is too heavy. We’re going for lightness. If you want to serve hummus on the side with some chopped fresh veggies, you can, but we didn’t plan for that, and it’s an added step I’m not sure you have time for.”
“You’re probably right,” I said with a sigh. “Okay. Back to business. What’s next?”
“I mean, the hard part is done,” he said. Then, his tone more urgent, he added, “Do you have any alcohol?”
“There’s a bottle of tequila in my freezer,” I said, confused.
“Great. Take it out.”
I did as he asked, the bottle clinking loudly against my counter when I set it next to the phone in front of me.
“Now what?”
“Now pour a shot and toss it back.”
I choked on a laugh. “Ez! It’s barely three in the afternoon, and I have guests coming over!”
