A pinch of cilantro.
A dash of rosemary.
A sprinkle of cayenne pepper.
A dose of feta cheese.
She churned the amber concoction with a brisk and delicate hand. The layer of olive oil had been allowed to simmer and now her creation would be introduced to the stainless steel vessel.
He sat near the window, staring aimlessly. The Upper West Side a mirage in the distance.
“There’s just a smidge of pepper.”
He turned to her.
“It adds a bit of color, but it will also awaken your taste buds, allowing the other flavors to appear more vibrant on your palate.”
He continued to stare. And she did not know what to say.
“The orange juice is fresh. I was uncertain of whether you were partial to pulp, so it’s been strained. Though there may be small traces along the glass.”
She wrapped the concoction into a decorative omelette. Herself, wrapped in couture by Valentino.
“Max should be home early today.”
The strelitzias on her ivory dress captivated him.
“I have to go, but I’ve prepared a couple of sandwiches for you. The bread is black Russian pumpernickel. I just put a gruyere spread on some arugula. The rest is foie gras. I’ve also left some pasta in the fridge, along with a chicken and almond salad. There are a few raisins in it, but you can take them out if you’d like.”
Claire placed the omelette onto a white saucer with red cursive designs. An asparagus garnish consummated the affair.
“I have to go now.”
Benjamin stared. His gaze appreciative.
Claire observed him once more, before taking hold of her Hermès tote.
Benjamin stood and slowly made his approach toward the kitchen counter, where his gourmet omelette and freshly usurped orange juice laid in wait.
In his cotton tee shirt and borrowed pajama bottoms, he stared at the ornate meal.
Claire stampeded toward the door. Though the Reneè Caovilla creations paused.
She turned toward the broken gentleman now standing in her kitchen, observed him momentarily, and sighed.
The sandwich troubled her.
“You must be tired of foie gras.”
Implode. Part XVI – DK