My Adult Life is One Long Euphemism
“I’ve never cooked shrimp before,” she said, looking at all the little gray crustaceans scattered about on the table. “They look horrible raw.”
“They do,” the master chef responded, smiling softly at his apprentice. “Fortunately, they become a very nice shade of pink and sometimes orange after they’re cooked. Ironically, I’ve never really cooked shrimp before either but I’m sure my experience with other things will work just fine here.”
The two went to the main table, an old oak monstrosity the chef had possessed for many years, and began to shell the shrimp. The clear outer casings were discarded into a trash bin and edible portions were placed into a large glass bowl with a mild brine mixture in it.
Once all the shrimp were shelled and placed in the bowl, the two allowed them to sit for a while. During this time the apprentice suggested, “We should probably wash our hands. You know how I am.”
“I do,” the chef responded as he walked to the sink, turned on the water and lathered up with a bar of mango soap. She followed and did the same and once clean, she reached under the sink for a bottle of lotion she kept there.
“I don’t like my hands getting dry,” she giggled and squirted some into the palm of her hand.
The chef merely shook his head. He knew. She had this thing about staying moisturized all the time and had practically since she’d first come to see him. It almost felt like their first conversation was something akin to, “Hello. How do you do? You wouldn’t happen to have some lotion on hand would you? And, not to be picky but, preferably something that’s not greasy. I really don’t like greasy lotions.” Of course, that wasn’t really their first conversation. It was actually quite a bit more awkward than that. Even now the chef found himself amazed that she’d agreed to train under him.
The obsession with lotion was a good thing. She had soft hands which were a moderate contrast to his own lightly calloused fingers and palms. Being a man, the idea of regularly moisturizing seemed a bit odd anyway. He was supposed to kill lions with his bare hands, not cream them up regularly.
As she continued to work the lotion into her palms and between his fingers, the chef walked over to the stove and filled a large pot with water and turned on the burner to heat it up. “Obviously, you can’t cook shrimp when it’s cold.”
She could only laugh at the obviousness of the statement. Of course you can’t cook shrimp when it’s cold. Is there anything you can cook in the cold? No. “You better watch out though, it’s already hot in here. I’m certainly hot.”
“You are,” he quipped back. “I am too. However, I think that’s idea for what we’re about to do. You need heat to cook. It’s really the first rule of cooking and something that governs everything from the master to the apprentice.”
A grin cut across her face and she poked him in the stomach. “It even governs the master, eh? Well, you know I’ve been dying to see the master in action all day.”
That sounded a little ridiculous, he thought to himself. The master in action? What an odd statement to make about cooking shrimp.
The two stood there in silence as the water heated up to a rolling boil. During that time he simply stared at her and smiled. She was perfect in his kitchen. She smiled back and said nothing.
“Well, it’s time.” He said in a distracted manner before walking over the to oak table to get the bowl of shrimp. He strained the brine out of it in the sink and then walked back to her and the boiling pot. “We should probably do this part together, don’t you think?”
“I do.” She flashed him another one of her wide smiles showing off all of her pearly teeth and together they dumped the bowl into the boiling water and watched and waited as each of the little crustaceans turned pink. “I’ll do this part,” she said and turned off the burner and once again, strained the shrimp in the sink, this time getting rid of the boiling water. “I’m finished,” she smiled.
“Okay. Very well then,” he replied.
I’m not sure I could ever explain how this story came about, what its relevance is or anything else. The fact that I wrote this borders on insane even for me. So I uhhh… hope you enjoyed this little… whatever this is.