Work Text:
Hi_I'm_Ron
Hi, I'm Ron. I ate lunch at your restaurant two days ago. It was very loud — not physically loud. Well, physically loud, you have a very robust music playlist with lots of guitar solos, but I mean loud like when someone says a place is busy to look at. There were a lot of colors on the wall. My stepson, Terry Junior, said it was graffiti. I thought graffiti was illegal but maybe that's only when it's outside. Terry Junior said it looked cool. He also said that the music was cool.
I had the fried chicken chow mein and it was not cool at all, and by that I mean it was very hot and spicy. I'm not very good at eating spicy food. It reminds me of when I was a kid. I wasn't good at pretty much anything then, not just eating spicy food but regular things like swimming. I was a very bad swimmer. One time, I was at the pool and I fell in the deep end. I tried really hard to swim but I couldn't get out, and I was pretty sure I was going to die. Then a stranger picked me up and carried me out of the water, and he didn't look like the kind of person who was very good at talking to kids or spent a lot of time in their general vicinity. I learned a lot of swear words from him as he rescued me. He smelled like chlorine and cigarettes and his arms had more tattoos than bare skin, but what I remember most about him is that he hugged me very tightly and told me I was safe. That's what the food reminds me of. It was spicy and it seemed like it probably wasn't meant for people who don't like to eat very spicy food, like me, but that didn't matter because it was more than just spicy. It tasted reassuring in a way that felt very up-front about what it could do, like getting a hug from someone you didn't expect to care about you. It was the kind of food that grabs you and takes you somewhere safe and makes sure you're okay when nobody else realizes you're in trouble. It made me cry. It was REALLY spicy.
"Huh," Henry said. He tilted his head and read the review once more. "What a prolific writer." He passed the iPad back to Glenn. "That is delightful, what a nice review."
Glenn snorted. "You call that a review? The author just rambled about some personal mumbo jumbo and said he liked the food. This is worse than those recipe blogs that make you read some bullshit story about when they were in Italy."
"Well, Glenn, some people like to connect with the writer before the enjoy a lovely meal."
He waved a dismissive hand and leaned back in his chair. "How much longer on lunch?"
Jodie stuck his head out from the line. "Would be faster if you cooked it yourself," he shot back, smiling at the table. "Hey Henry!" He waved.
He waved back. "Hey there Jodie, Congratulations on the review! Looks like business is improving."
"Things are going great, we might need to order more wraps from you."
"Mercedes will love that! You know those are a recipe from her grandmother mixed with a recipe from mine, it's like a fun little representation of—"
"— Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, very cute. Babe, Come on I'm starving and I ordered twenty minutes ago." Glenn turned around, arms extended to the kitchen.
Henry had to hold back his laughter. He loved all of his friends and Glenn's over dramatic antics were always funny.
Morgan stepped out of the doorway, four bowls of food in her hands. "I told you there was a wait." She smiled at Henry and handed him a bowl. "Here's your fried tofu rice bowl,"— She slid the bowl to Henry. "and your extra rare garbage bowl." —The next to Glenn. She put the other two bowls down and took a seat.
"My angel," Glenn cooed. He picked up his chop sticks and dug in.
Henry looked around the restaurant. Happy families gathered around the tables, their conversation and laughter filled the air. Soul-chinese fusion. It wasn't his style, everything was just a bit too loud from the neon splattered walls crowed over with nick-knacks and local art, to the bright electric music, but even he couldn't deny how wonderful the heavily flavored cooking was.
"I thought the review was lovely," Morgan began. "I've been following him for a while now and his review are always like that. They're just kinda, fresh and interesting, but I didn't see him at the restaurant."
"You didn't?"
"It's a thing, I guess." She shrugged. "Who know what this guy looks like, but he seems like a great dad."
"Step-dad," Glenn reminded her. There was a chunk of rice stick to his chin.
"Still a dad," she said, sending him a look.
"That's interesting," Henry said after politely swallowing his food. "Does he announce his restaurant picks? It looks like a lot of people are trying to trade reviews for free food."
She shrugged again. "I don't know, I retweeted the post and invited him back but no response so far."
"Who's not responding?" Jodie asked. He tossed a towel over his shoulder and paused to kiss each of his partners cheeks. "Do I need to call someone?"
"No, nothing like that. We're talking about Hi_I'm_Ron."
"Oh, I think he posted a review of Double Brew and Barbecue last night"
Henry turned to him. "Daryl's place?"
He nodded before stealing some steak from Glenn's bowl. "Yeah, I haven't read it yet but I recognized the name. Maybe he met him?"
"I'll have to stop by and see."
Hi, I'm Ron. I ate a business lunch at your restaurant four days ago. Because it was a business lunch, I asked your waiter what food they thought a businessman should eat. The waiter said he thought that businessmen probably ate a lot of sandwiches because they were so busy, so I ordered a smoked sausage sandwich. It was a very large sandwich and was not a lunch that could be eaten quickly, which was good because business lunches take a long time. It wasn't a very business-y tasting sandwich though. It tasted very much like something you would eat at home, if you were very very lucky and had somebody who loved you and knew how to cook good food living with you. I do not know how to cook good food, because my father was a businessman as well and was very busy and didn't come home very often, and it didn't matter if the food tasted good because I was the only one eating it. My stepson, Terry Junior, tells me a lot that I'm not a good cook, and he is a very good cook already so I believe him. I used to make him oatmeal for breakfast and the other day he made oatmeal for me for breakfast, and it was much better than anything I could ever make. I'm very proud of him.
I am not as good a business man as my father was, so I am home a lot more with Terry than my father was with me. I can't teach him to cook, but that's okay because his father taught him how before he died. Terry asked me to be his taste tester for the first time a few months ago. I didn't know that food could taste like how home feels until Terry started cooking things for me to try. The sausage sandwich also tasted like home, but not quite my home, because Terry Junior did not make it. It was a very good sandwich but I think maybe it tasted like the neighbor's home. It was a sandwich with community. It wasn't my home, but it was someplace nearby to it. I told the waiter that he was probably right about businessmen eating sandwiches a lot but that this sandwich was clearly meant to be eaten when you didn't have any friends nearby and you missed them very much and wanted to think about them while you ate, which would be distracting during a lunch meeting. I didn't get much work done on my business lunch. I was too busy thinking about my family and how much they would probably like this sandwich too.
"I don't get it." Daryl scratched his head. "Hi_I'm_Ron, is that a celebrity or something?"
"He's a food critic, Daryl." Henry rolled his eyes. He knew Daryl cared about his restaurant and was bad with keeping up with the reviews but this was big news. "People are really into his reviews but no one seems to know who he is."
"A food critic huh?" He stopped and read the review over again. "Well, I don't get it but he's got good taste. The smoked sausage sandwich isn't our most popular dish but it's one of my favorites so he's good in my book."
He held his tongue, this was more important than another debate on the ethics of consuming meat. "He's got over two million followers, and I've been mapping his latest reviews and—"
"Why are you tracking him? Maybe he's just a private guy?"
A cold chill ran down Henry's back. "I was just curious… I mean, going off his reviews he might be local to us, and it's good for the community to know who's in it." He couldn't really explain why but ever since he'd heard of this man and started reading his reviews, he felt a strange pull drawing them together. He just wanted to meet him, listen to him talk, see if he was as genuine and sweet as he stories led Henry to believe.
"If he's not hurting anyone and leaving positive reviews that are helping out our small businesses, what's the harm in it?"
"Well, uh, I just thought it might be nice to meet him." A warmth spread across his cheeks. "You know what, you're right. I'll drop it." He picked up his bag. "I'll catch you later. I should go help with dinner prep."
Daryl looked at his watch and nodded. He stood from the table. "Oh, look at the time. I should head back to the kitchen too or Carol's gonna have my ass. See you later Henry, good luck with service."
He waved and headed out the door. His head was spinning. Was it wrong for him to want to meet this man? was it an invasion of his privacy? With a deep sigh he climbed into his car and headed out.
"There's my beautiful boys!" Henry called put, opening his arms for hugs as Mercedes followed the boys into the restaurant. "Lark, Sparrow, how was your soccer game?"
"It was terrible." Sparrow cheerfully exclaimed. He dove head first into the hug and knocked him back a step.
Lark huffed and crossed his arms. "Not only did we lose on the basis of some arbitrary rules that have not been implemented until today, we were also forced to suffer through an improvised speech from our coach on the merits of losing."
"It was a good game," Mercedes gracefully added to the conversation. She leaned over Sparrow to kiss him. "Lark is taking it with a bit of extra salt."
"I see." He nodded knowingly. "Well boys, why don't you go ahead and pull up a booth. We're slow tonight so how about your old man pops into the kitchen and whips you two some special up? Huh? In the name of good team spirit?"
They look at each other.
"Mayhaps we could be amenable to this—"
"— if there is an appetizer and dessert included with the aforementioned meal?"
He chuckled. "I believe the chef will be okay with that, so long as you finish your homework and don't cause any trouble."
"These are acceptable terms." They trusted a hand out. "We accept your deal."
He shook their hands. "Alright boys."
"Go on then," Mercedes said and gently nudged them away. "Slow night?"
"I've been keeping busy. I deep cleaned the dish pit."
"Ooo." She snickered. "That's very sexy. What do I need to do to get in on this dinner special you're running?"
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "You only need to ask, mi leona."
She kissed him.
He could hear the boys groaning behind him. "Go on, I'll join you in a minute."
He walked back to the kitchen and set to work. He kept out of the way as he worked, trying to take up as little space as possible as to not interrupt the staff. Mercedes was the head chef, and even though he was the owner and typically stayed out of the kitchen he wasn't going to step on anyone's toes to do it. One of the line cooks offered to help him, but he politely declined. It wasn't the staff's job to feed his family and he liked cooking for them.
He plated up the boys appetizers, some Llapingachos since the boys loved the cheesy potatoes, and walked them over.
"Mr. Oak," Jessica, one of the wait staff, said as she darted over to him. "Can you watch my tables for a few minutes? My mother just called and I'm worried it's about my kid. I've got a two top that walked in, they're at table seven."
"Oh, that's no problem at all Jessica, go make that call and I'll be right over there. I hope everything's okay."
"Thanks, me too!" she said quickly and hurried out the back door.
"Here you go boys." He smiled and set the plate down. "I'll be right back with your dinner."
He reached into his apron and pulled out a small notepad while he walked over to table seven. "Hello, I'm Henry. I won't really be your server today, Jessica will. She had to step out for a minute so that's why I'm here!"
"Hello there Henry, I'm Ron and this is my step son, Terry Junior."
"Ron," Terry Junior groaned and slumped down in his seat.
Henry blinked a few times. A rush of excitement buzzed through him. "I'm so sorry, what did you say your name was?"
"I am Ron. It is short for Ronald, but I go by just Ron since it's more suited for a strong business man, which I am."
"You don't say." A smile pulled at his face. This had to be him, there was no way it wasn't. "Well, Ron, what brings you here tonight?"
"I brought my step son, Terry Junior here to eat. We're celebrating how hard he worked at his soccer game this afternoon. His team didn't win, but he did a very good job playing defense."
Terry Junior groaned again.
He glanced over at him, "Oh, you play for the Doodlers! My boys are on that team too. They're seated at that table over there."
He didn't look over. "You're the twins' dad."
"Oh," Henry blinked, "Why yes I am. You know my boys?"
"Yeah," he said in a flat tone. "Everyone knows them. Can I get a rice bowl with the chicken tofu and extra sauce? Also a Dr. Pepper."
"Oh sure, absolutely!" He rushed to write it down, a bit flustered once more by his sons reputation.
"Are those the twins you told me about?" Ron asked. "The ones who burned down a classroom?"
"Yup."
Henry laughed. "It wasn't intentional, you know? My boys are just curious creatures. Like me, cause I'm so curious as to what you'd like to order?"
Ron gave him a confused look before turning back to the menu. "I'll have the Locro de Papa, since I'm a step papa, and just a water." He chuckled at his own joke.
He could help but smile along. "Alright, I'll have those out for you soon."
He walked back to the kitchen and rang the order in. He almost wanted to ask Mercedes to take over, but it was important that she got a break and it wasn't like their other cooks couldn't handle it. He went back to work, finishing up his family's food before dropping off at their table.
When he'd finished plating up their desserts —cupcakes, the boys' favorites— an idea crossed his mind. Ron's step-son was on the same soccer team, and they were out celebrating his hard work. His own sons had been upset over the loss so it made sense that Terry would have been too.
He plated up another cupcake and after dropping off Lark and Sparrow's desserts, he headed back over to table seven.
"I hope you don't mind," he said, happy to catch them at the end of their meal. "I wanted to give you this cupcake, on the house. For a game well played."
Terry Junior looked at him and squinted. "We lost."
"I didn't say it was for winning, as long as you played your best and had fun playing then what did you really lose?" He smiled and set the plate down. "Thank you for coming in, I hope we'll see you again soon. I'll let you finish your meal now."
Hi, Henry, this is Ron. I had dinner here yesterday with my stepson Terry Junior. I wanted to celebrate his team winning a soccer game, but they did not win the game, so I thought we could celebrate how hard he worked instead. He is a very good player. I don't actually know the rules, but he is very good at keeping his eye on the ball. It's an important skill because he plays defense, which means his job is to watch the ball very closely and keep it away from the goal so the goalie doesn't have to do anything. I told you that when you asked me what my name was and why we were at your restaurant. Thank you for being nice to Terry Junior when he was sad about losing the game. He liked the vegan cupcake you gave him. I asked him what he wanted me to tell you about the cupcake and he said I should talk about the food I ate instead, but I don't think what I ate matters that much even though it was very tasty. The cupcake matters because it meant you cared about Terry even though you didn't know him. You wanted him to be happy, and he wasn't happy, and you tried to fix it. That is more important than anything I have to say about my dinner.
Terry says he wants us to eat here again. He has one more game this season so I will let you know how it went when we come back. See you then.