Page 39 of Fish out of Water
Grant came back holding it up like he was carrying Excalibur. “I’m trying them all.” He went at the jalapeno dog first, sawing it in half then picking it up and taking a bite as he sat down across from me.
The jalapeno dog was the one that I ultimately decided was the best dog in show. It was a hot dog filled with cranberry goat cheese stuffed inside two jalapenos lined end-to-end then grilled over an open flame. It was sweet and salty and spicy and frigging delicious.
Grant’s eyes widened at me as he chewed. “What in the hell is this madness?”
“It’s good, right?” I picked up the other half of the hot dog.
“This is insane.” He went back for another bite.
It really was.
Grant pointed to the next option in line. “What’s on that one?”
“Beer braised baked beans and brisket.” I pointed to the Enchilada Dog. “That one is smothered in red enchilada sauce and topped with cheese, sour cream, and crispy tortilla strips.” I pointed to the Porky Dog. “That one’s pulled pork and cilantro slaw.” The last one was the most interesting of Dave’s options, and my runner-up. “That’s The Loose Meat Dog. It’s a ground hot dog they cook on the flat top with peppers and onions. Then they melt on provolone and stuff it into a bun.”
Grant went for that one next, cutting it in half like he had the jalapeno dog, before digging in. He shook his head as he chewed. “I was questioning you when we pulled in, Banana Pants, but you delivered.” He winked at me across the table as he tipped back his beer. “You know what you’re doing.”
I’d had plenty of time to myself since coming here to explore all Sweet Side Bay had to offer.
That was actually most of the reason I moved here. For some time to myself.
Time to reflect on a life that was never completely up to me.
Time to decide who I was. What I wanted.
What I didn’t.
But once I figured that out I was still stuck in sort of a limbo, caught between where I was and where I wanted to be.
Uncertain how to move from one place to the next.
What it might look like once I did.
Grant worked his way through the remaining dogs, eating at least half of each, occasionally tossing back a tater tot between bites.
Once we were finished he leaned back, piling his paper napkin onto the stack of empty cardboard trays. “I think I’m ready to cast my vote.”
“Let’s hear it.” I’d managed to eat half the jalapeno dog, half the Boston dog, and half the enchilada dog. Grant ate everything else, tearing through it like calories didn’t exist.
He held up three fingers. “The Enchilada Dog is my third place.” He dropped one finger. “The ground up one is number two.” One more finger went down. “Jalapeno Dog is number one.”
“We have the same one and two.” I collected the trash, stacking it all up before taking it to the metal drum that served as a garbage can.
“Damn it.” Grant’s head dropped back. “So close.”
“I won’t hold it against you.” I polished off my beer and added it to the can designated for recycling.
Grant tossed his in after mine. “What’s your number three?”
“The Boston Dog.” I loved the beans. Loved the brisket. Loved the depth the beer added.
“You’ve got good taste, Banana Pants.” He pulled the keys to his stupidly expensive car from his pocket, shooting me a grin. “Not sure why you’re here with me.”
“Funny.” I carefully sat in the passenger’s seat as he held the door open, trying not to scuff anything with my shoes or touch anything with my tater-tot-tainted fingers.
Grant closed the door, leaving me to a minute of quiet in the leather-covered space that smelled like whatever fresh but manly cologne he wore.
It was probably expensive too.
