Red Wine, Cheese and My Soul

First Jobs

My journey in the culinary world began the summer I turned sixteen. Admittedly, it wasn't much.

It was at this Indian restaurant owned by a Mr. Aziz Tehri. He, along with his shy wife Atifa Tehri and their hazel-eyed son Aman ran the restaurant. Mr. Tehri's widowed sister, Aliya managed the restaurant and looked after the finances while Mr. Tehri, Atifa and Aman were responsible for the magic behind the scenes. I was a mere spectator in their life of varying spices, eccentric and wild flavours, and their out-of-the-world delicacies. Every day that summer, I would walk in at 6am as Atifa or Aman cleaned the restaurant. I'd settle myself in my corner, surrounded and engulfed by the heaps of vegetables around me and sat there every day, chopping, slicing and cutting.

Every day that summer, I'd wake up early and walk to the restaurant to seal my fate, unknown to me then.

My primary role was to cut the varied types of vegetables Aman placed around me and my corner. He would instruct me on how the vegetables needed to be chopped and which style to cut them in. I had perhaps learnt more about art of chopping then than I did even after going to the best culinary schools in the world and learning from the top chefs out there (If you're reading this Chef Delaurier, no offence)

In the evenings, when the Tehris held grand barbeques, I would watch from the sidelines, amazed by how close the Tehris could bring the town together. The uptight Mr and Mrs. Winds attended every Friday, Mary Rosebury brought her five children quite often, drunken men and women always attended and the sober managed to get drunk. The young, handsome and mysterious Mr. Frederickson could always be seen sitting in the corner, smoking a sole cigarette and ordering his usual of hot garlic naan with a butter chicken curry. The young women would gossip about things they had "heard" about him and giggled as they stared at his handsome demeanor and shaped features.

Mr. Hamada, though hated during the time of anger and fear that followed after Pearl Harbor for being presumed to be a Japanese spy (though he lived no where near), would settle on a comfortable bench and tell tales of his grandchildren to anyone who'd listen.

"It's funny," he had said when someone had dared to ask him what it was like to be a Japanese in the USA after Pearl Harbor. "One second, you're a young man trying to charm the daughter of a professor. Next you're running from street to street as everyday, a new person reports to the police on because they saw you 'acting suspicious. Like a spy'."

Don't worry, he did end up coming back and marrying his "beloved Annie". Mr. Himada and his wife Anna are by far the cutest couple on the block with the most adorable grandchildren. They'd sit on the bench together, her arm on his, blushing from the shyness old people have when they do something romantic in public.

Though my grandmother is British, she'd come to the States during the war for "classified reasons" (I'm pretty sure at this point she's allowed to tell me but she keeps it a secret to have an air of mysteriousness. It works). Here, she'd met my grandfather, a young research assistant. So despite me being quite American, when Aman and I'd sneak away during these busy barbecues to the secret corners of his house, he'd call me 'My lady' and 'Royal highness' while he wrapped his arm around my torso, pulling me closer as I giggled.

Those summer evenings, with the heat of the sun, the barbecues and secret kisses influenced my life in ways I had seen coming.

I write this while I sit in the living room of the apartment Julian and I share in Paris. He's playing with our poodle Snow. His messy blond hair is still wet from the shower and his brown eyes glow in the light. He has a soft dimple on his cheek and smiles like a little kid when Snow licks him.

Amelia Farrow, I think as I put my name with his last.

Julian Hills. What? It's the 21st century. A husband can take his wife's last name.

And that's when I realised I'd never thought about him being my husband before. Sure I've imagined what I'd be like to actually be married to him, but this.. this is new.

Husband

I like the sound of that.

"What?" He asks when he catches me smiling at him.

"Nothing," I reply back, still smiling. Everything is perfect.

He picks up Snow and settles beside me on the couch and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Stop!" I say while gently pushing his face away. He pouts like a baby and tries kissing me again. "No your hair is still wet!"

Again, he dramatically picks up Snow and settles down on the floor. "Whatever," he says with a slight huff "I love Snow more anyway."

Snow barks happily and licks Julian when he hears his name while I (quite gracefully) stick my tongue out at him.