Food Frenzy
By Linn Edwards
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About this ebook
They’re approached by Jeremiah Thomas, a writer for the magazine Foodie Today, who is interested in doing feature article on diners in America. Ethan and Fergie are all in, but Zoe doesn't like the looks Jeremiah gives her son over the counter and wants none of it.
There’s an immediate attraction between Ethan and Jeremiah ... over food and each other. Given the short time they have, Ethan throws caution to the wind and plunges into what’s supposed to a few nights of fun.
But law school and deepening feelings on both their parts loom on the horizon. Can they serve up a delicious helping of a life together?
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Food Frenzy - Linn Edwards
11
Chapter 1
Ethan worked the counter after an early stint at the grill of the family restaurant. It was only 7:30 A.M., and they were packed. He had gone through several dozen eggs already and had to remix the pancake batter again. It would calm down around ten and then crank up at 11:30 for their lunch crunch. Fergies served breakfast all day, and even the lunch crowd would want their eggs, real home fries, and biscuits and gravy. Their coffee was roasted regionally and stronger than most places in town. It had an addicted audience. They still brewed their own iced tea and offered the ever-popular Southern Sweet Tea and unsweetened tea. He could almost predict what some people would order when they came in through the door.
He glanced up as a young man in shorts and a T-shirt came in and looked for a table. Ethan wiped his hands and went up to the stranger, immediately noticing the man’s aftershave and the clearness of his eyes. He had a little reddish-blond stubble on his chin and all but neat, perfect thick hair. Running his hand through his own unruly curly hair, Ethan caught his breath and found his voice.
How many in your party? Right now, all I have open is the counter, but one of the back booths should open up soon.
Ethan grinned. They have to be on duty soon.
The young stranger looked back at two booths of burly policemen and grinned. Ah, a good indication the coffee here is good. And the counter is fine, thanks.
* * * *
Jeremiah found himself alone on one of the four stools in front of a short counter that looked into the pass-through to the kitchen. He sat to the left of the cash register and had a clear view of where the wait staff fixed the toast, coffee, soft drinks, and other things to go with their meals.
The counter afforded Jeremiah a good overall view of the small but tidy diner. The restaurant sat maybe seventy-five when full, and it was certainly busting at the seams this morning. People were coming in for take-out orders as well, and the phone rang incessantly with people calling in orders. He noted the wait time for take-out was an impressive twenty minutes. Looking through the pass-through was a fast-paced, short order ballet of well-practiced choreography in the small, efficient kitchen.
Jeremiah was also impressed with how often the wait staff and busboy used the hand sink to wash their hands. He didn’t see the usual hand sanitizer anywhere. The young man who seated him came back around with fresh coffee to top off his rather large mug and asked him if he had decided. Jeremiah blushed a bit and admitted he still needed some time. The dark-haired young man wore a white T-shirt with the diner’s logo and black cotton pants. He had on comfortable shoes and a bright, infectious smile.
Sorry. Still looking through this menu.
The young man grinned and put more little cups of creamer and packets of the yellow stuff Jeremiah had already used. The trash disappeared quickly. Jeremiah was struck by the variety in the menu. The breakfast part of the menu was huge, with variations of combinations each with a specified price. There would be no surprises with up charges here. He noted one could get two eggs, toast, and bacon for as little as five dollars. Coffee cost a remarkable one dollar a cup (with free refills on all drinks). It made a nice senior breakfast for someone on a tight budget.
The eggs were touted as farm fresh and the biscuits homemade. They had home fries, but not the ubiquitous hash browns. He’d ask about that and decided on two eggs over easy, bacon, those home fries, and a biscuit and gravy. It seemed to be the standard and most popular order of the morning as the business swelled around him.
No hash browns?
Jeremiah asked.
The young man wrinkled his nose a bit. Hash browns have become a frozen patty of shredded potato. We boil our potatoes then slice and fry them on the grill in butter to order. Nothing much frozen here except some of the vegetables we serve in winter when we can’t get fresh.
Jeremiah took the mild reproach with good humor and was taken with the pride the young man had in the food.
Ethan, honey, could you call Hank to get his ass in gear and get those extra eggs here? We won’t last the lunch crunch if he don’t,
an older woman in a hair net said, her words stern.
The young man—Ethan—turned and smiled at the woman. Sure, Ma. I’ll call again.
The pride made sense now in that this was very