2019-06-14 - Butter, Butter, and Butter

It's been a cool, drizzly day. So, standard late-spring Gray Harbor, really. Not terrible weather to go eat baked goods and drink tea, but it's closing time and there's only two stragglers in the shop right now, a pair of fiftyish women nearly to the bottom of their pot of tea, the plates that held whatever else they'd had already being whisked away by a personably efficient twentyish woman. Carmen, Julia may well know; local girl. At the counter, a woman a decade or so older is going through the process of settling things up for the night, but the door isn't yet locked.

Julia is glad to discover that the door is still unlocked. She has made her way to the patisserie, a tupperware bin securely sealed under her arm, though she's careful not to muss the bow that's been placed on the top that signals the fact that it's a present. "Hola, Carmencita!" she calls out cheerfully as she winds her way in and tugs her hoodie down. "Is the owner here? I have something for him. Don't worry, if he's not here, I'll just leave it for him."

"Hola, Julia!" Carmen replies, giving the arrival a bright smile, and her gaze lights on the bow. "Ooh, what've you brought?" she asks, passing by and taking a look as she takes the plates toward the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Vydal won't have left yet, let me just go see." She glances toward Liane at the remark, and the older woman gives her a small nod and faint smile, the latter of which she turns on Julia next, with a quiet, "Good evening."

Carmen lifts a 'one sec!' finger and disappears through the door, plates and all. The women at the table, meanwhile, rise, kind enough to bring the teapot and cups and saucers up to the counter on their way out; Julia gets a polite nod and smile from one and a more effusive greeting from the other, who drops by the Fried Fish stand fairly regularly and wants an update on this week's special and how her family is doing.

"It's a surprise." Her tone is impish, and then she clarifies, "Friend of mine brought me a gift basket from here, and I wanted to do a welcome to the neighborhood thing. Julia offers polite smiles to both ladies, and as she waits for Vyv to emerge from his lair, happily and enthusiastically describes the grilled fish tacos with Cuban spices she's putting on the menu for next week.

Carmen mock-pouts at the claim of surprise, which is getting more informal than she usually quite gets at work -- but hey, it's closing, and someone she knows! The actual answer gets briefly raised brows, and then a brighter smile. "Oh! That's really nice," she says, giving the tupperware a still rather intrigued look before she actually slips through that door. It's maybe a minute and a half before she returns, during which both of the departing ladies seem rather taken with the description of the fish tacos, the regular deciding she'll definitely drag her friend along to try them in the next day or two before they actually head out. "He'll be right out," Carmen says as she picks up the tea-things and takes them back as well. It's probably done more efficiently when she isn't passing messages.

And, indeed, 'he' is right out, maybe half a minute later. Vyv's in his whites, though presumably he usually wears a hat of some sort, and currently, he is not. Liane gives him a faint smile while she works, and he gives an approving look in return; the one Julia gets is both more curious and more assessing. It's hard to tell just where the assessment portion comes out, but the curiosity definitely focuses in the tupperware a moment as he approaches. "Good evening," he greets, inclining his head slightly, "Vyvyan Vydal. Carmen says you were the recipient of Mr. Thorne's basket? I hope it was satisfactory." Very British accent, that.

"Bless, Carmen." Julia's thanks is conveyed with a smile and then here's Vyvyan. "It was, very much so. I'm Julia Velez. My family runs the Fried Fish shack out on the boardwalk?" She extends the tupperware to him, with its curly blue bow. "I wanted to thank you. I haven't had proper macarons in months, much less a chou a la creme. I wanted to convey my respect." Popping the top of the tupperware open, she explains, "These are mango pastelitos. My family's recipe. One of the few things my abuelita was able to bring with her from Cuba."

"Ms. Velez," Vyv repeats, with another small inclination of his head, "How do you do." It's not spoken as a question. The remark on the pastries gets a tiny but genuine smile, and he accepts the tupperware when it's offered, still with unconcealed interest. "No need for thanks, but I am pleased you appreciated it." It may not be happenstance that the verb wasn't 'liked' or 'enjoyed'; the respect part he'll apparently take without protest. When she pops open the lid, his brows lift very slightly, and he leans just slightly closer to the contents. "Cuban, mm? Not a cuisine with which I'm terribly familiar." And thus it's particularly intriguing, judging by the way he looks them over, and gently lifts one out to see it more closely. "It's not particularly easy to find a decent mango around here," he notes, with a hint of annoyance that suggests he's given it a try at least once or twice already and been less than impressed with the outcome.

The box is carried to be set on the counter, where Liane gives it a glance of her own but doesn't interrupt, and Vyv breaks the one he's holding open, a certain amount of care going into looking at the insides. "I've not seen the Fried Fish shack yet," he says a bit absently, examining the pastry. Rather less absent, "Lovely lamination; you should see the atrocities people generally try to pawn off as puff." It's only then that he actually gets around to adding, "Thank you." He offers one of the halves toward her. "Care to share this?"

"I kept the honey glaze light, it gives it a nice browning but if you're not gently handed with it, it becomes too sweet." she explains, and smiles slightly. "Maybe I can convince abuelita to let me share her connections, but no promises." At the invitation, she nods affably. "Be glad to. I was worried you might find it a litte too rustic, but I figured best to let the taste speak for itself. " There's a faint smile as she adds in agreement, "People always forget that the secret to a good puff is keeping the dough nice and aerated." She takes a look around. "But you clearly have no problem with that here."

"There's nothing wrong with rustic, if it's well-done and appropriate to the dish," Vyv says, and flicks a glance at the display case, from which Liane is removing the last stragglers of the things that don't remain for the next day. "One of the goat-cheese galettes, please, Liane," he says aside to her, and she nods, setting one down on a napkin beside the tupperware before she continues. It's certainly in a rustic form, the clearly hand-folded pastry around and over the outer edges contrasting with the neat arrangement of pears and pecans within. And, presumably, goat cheese, and that looks like perhaps rosemary?

Meanwhile, after passing across that first half of the pastelito, he takes a bite of the other. It's probably not precisely polite to do it with such an appraising expression. The verdict seems favourable, however; a subtle lift of brows and less subtle inclination of the head before he takes a second bite, which he also chews and swallows before speaking again. "Quite nice. And decidedly acceptable mango. Please do let me know if your abuelita can be induced to share her suppliers. I'm not above pastry-related bribery should it seem likely to help. ...aeration and patience, both often lacking in attempts at puff. You said you're running a fried fish... shack?" Just enough of a pause to put a little extra question in that.

Carefully, she takes a bite of one of the galettes, chewing slowly and visibly thinking about what she's eating, like she's having a conversation with her mouth. "Oh, this has terrific texture. The goat cheese and the pecans are just...happy place." At the query, she lets out a reluctant chuckle. "Yeah. It's been in my family forever. My mom was running it, but she had some health issues come up and my sister called and begged me to come home and keep things above the water, you know?"

'Happy place' gets another of those small but genuine smiles; it doesn't make a particularly sizable shift to the lips, but does read his eyes. "I'm glad you approve," he says, taking another bite of the pastelito, and as she answers about the restaurant, the last. "Ah," he says afterward, nodding once. "I see. Where -- or what -- was it you came home from, then?" He breaks off a small piece of galette, giving it a somewhat appraising look even though it's presumably his own work. Good thing it seems to pass muster.

"San Francisco. " Julia's smile gets a little tight, but another bite of pastry distracts her quite handily. "I went to culinary school and got my first job there. I was actually starting to get a good build up there, but...family. You know how it is." With a shrug, she changes direction. "What about you? Gray Harbor's a sleepy little town. I would imagine you in Seattle before this place. Why Gray Harbor?"

"Mn," Vyv says, leaving it unclear whether he does in fact truly know how it is, but if not, he's plenty bright enough to have the general idea either way. "That's quite the sacrifice, just when you were getting established." It's more matter-of-fact than overtly sympathetic, and possibly not the most tactful observation given her change of direction. True, though. Liane flicks a brief glance in his direction, but she's just finished with her work, and murmurs, as though trying to inform without interrupting, "I'm going to lock up, Mr. Vydal." He gives her a small nod of acknowledgement, and looks back to Julia again.

The question Julia offers in return gives him a moment's pause, which he covers reasonably well by eating that bit of galette he'd claimed. While taking said moment to study her again. This time the appraisal doesn't bother to take in the ensemble, just the woman herself, focused on her face. "It is quite small, isn't it?" A beat. "Well, one could argue that if one hears of a good pātisserie in Paris, this is no surprise. One knows it must be fairly good to stand out among all the others, but one expects quite a few. If one, in Paris, hears of a good pātisserie in Villefranche-de-Rouergue... one knows it must be very good." Another small pause, the studying a little sharper, and whatever he sees leads one way or another to, "But the town itself is an interesting place. It has a certain... feeling about it."

"It's family." Julia knows this song and dance. Or more particularly, that look. He's not just looking at her, he's looking at her. And she has a good idea as to what he'll see. So she gives him the same sort of piercing examination for a moment. And what she sees, well, she opts to keep to herself.

At the news that one of his employees wants to lock up, Julia darts a glance at the woman, and then looks back at Vyv. "I don't mean to keep you." she says. No, being locked in with a man you just met under any circumstances is not always the best of ideas. "I do see your point, though. If people are willing to drive all the way out here for a chou, then it's at minimum, the best chou in the state."

"Mn." Vyv is at least consistent in his response to familial obligations, and there's a subtle hint of something -- disappointment, perhaps? -- at the disinclination to acknowledge the other implied attraction of the place, but her note on his point gets a small upward turn at one side of his mouth. "At a minimum," he agrees.

It might well be that he'd be safe enough to be stuck with, even if it turned out to be the sort of door that needs a key even from within, but either he's cognizant of the dangers of the general case or just capable of taking a cue. "At any rate, you're not keeping me, but I expect you've plenty you need to be getting on with, as well." He gives the box of remaining pastelitos a considering glance. "On the boardwalk, was it, your fried fish shack?" The gaze returns to her. "I suppose I'll have to come take a look."

"It may not quite be your speed, but on a nice day on the boardwalk with salt on the breeze, it really is a perfect meal.." she says, "But I'll be pleased if you think it compares with the better fish and chip shops in England. And you can always order the chef special. I change it weekly, and it's usually not fried. Just something a little elevated, so I don't lose my touch, you know?" Julia flashes him a smile.

"I have a variety of speeds," Vyv replies, the little half-smile returning, "Otherwise I'd be far too easy to catch. Fish and chips can be lovely, done right. But I'll certainly have to investigate your specials, then, yes. Where was it you worked before your return? Slightly more specifically than San Francisco, I mean." No particular reason, surely. He's already said he intends to eat her other food, though! Speaking of which, he glances at the pastelito tupperware, and then replaces its lid. "I'll return this to you when I come by, unless you'd prefer I transfer them to something else now?" The kitchen is, after all, mere feet away.

"Is this an audition?" Julia sasses playfully, but she doesn't seem offended that he asked for her creds. "I attended the Chef Apprentice School of the Arts, I was moving up the ladder at a restaurant called Pine. " A one star Michelin restaurant with a good reputation, particularly for farm to table. "How about you?"

"Were you looking for a role?" Vyv tosses back, amused. "I believe I've been to Pine, once. Passing through. Very nice vichyssoise, lovely breast of duck, if I remember right. And I attended Ferrandi before joining the Compagnons du Devoir." When he shifts to the French words, the accent disappears entirely, sounding just plain French. "So I approve of apprenticeship methods. Good choice." A glance to Liane, who's finished getting her coat and all on, and the faint amusement remains. "The pātisseries would, I think, perhaps start biting into your and Liane's evenings. So perhaps another time, if you'd like to know, or you may accompany me back if you prefer." The box is lifted, in preparation for the return to the kitchen, with or without her.

Under normal circumstances Julia wouldn't opt for a solo encounter with a relative stranger. But he's talking shop, she has the means to defend herself, and kitchens never have a lack of sharp knives and blunt objects to aid such an endeavor if necessary. "Sure, why not. Have you already done your prep for tomorrow? I'd be happy to keep you company.' She looks over her shoulder, giving a reassuring smile and nod to Liane. No worries.

Under normal circumstances, Vyv probably wouldn't invite one into the kitchen! But she's appropriately trained, and apparently the conversation has his interest. "For the most part," he says, a glance flicking to the clock on the wall, "Things ought to be beginning to wrap up." Perhaps she won't be there entirely solo after all? He tucks the tupperware into his arm, gives Liane a nod and faint smile of his own, and leads the way to the kitchen door. "Come along, then," he invites, holding it open for her once he steps inside.

Julia has been following Vyv dutifully into the kitchen, and upon her arrival she gets a look of such yearning on her face. "Beautiful." she says, tone full of admiration. Eyeballing Viv, she asks with humor, "Is this part of your dowry?" She offers a wiggle of her fingers to the two men working prep. Then her hands go behind her back, as if to keep herself from wanting to poke into things, grab tasting spoons, or start messing around with dough.

"Mm," Vyv replies, both the agreeable sound and the words that follow it otherwise deadpan, "I do hope it will land me a kind and noble husband before the bloom is, as they say, off the rose." It's not until he's set the tupperware down on the edge of the central island that the corner of his mouth quirks slightly up again and he glances to her sidelong, "Thank you."

He returns the older man's tilt of the head, saying, "Mr. Tanaka," which is apparently both greeting and part of an introduction, as he adds, "This is Ms. Velez; her family runs the fried fish shack on the boardwalk. Have you met?" Tanaka's a fairly recent arrival to the area, only a few weeks himself, and he shakes his head, greeting her with a warm smile and, "A pleasure." The younger man, on the other hand, is a local, who gives Julia a quick if slightly anxious smile, one that disappears sharply as Vyv addresses him. "David," the pātissier says, taking a lingering moment to study first the blond himself, then the evidence of the work in front of him. A tiny flicker of a glance toward Tanaka which garners the faintest of nods in return, and Vyv gives David a small nod of his own. The young man loses about five levels of tension before even hearing the, "That appears acceptable." It's not exactly gushing praise, but it still gets a relieved and apparently sincere "Thank you, Chef!" Audible, this time.

Vyv snags two tupperware-like containers, both smaller than the one the pastelitos arrived in, and begins transferring the latter into the former, moving them with quick but gentle movements and a small piece of waxed paper. "...do feel free to look around." He doesn't add 'but don't move anything' or 'but don't get in their way'; she's clearly made at least a good enough impression for such things to go without saying.

"How do you do, Mr. Tanaka." David gets a sympathetic grin; she's been in his shoes. "Oh, thank you." Because that prompts her immediately to start inspecting the work areas, taking note of the appliances and choices of bakeware. There's a moment where she eyes the door to the chiller, but is too respectful of the space to simply open it on her own. "This is the first professional kitchen I've been in since I came back home." she admits. "Have you ever noticed that when you go to different kitchens, no matter how differently they're laid out, no matter how different the appliances and flatware and the like might be, there's always something familiar about it? It's like you're always home."

David looks appreciative of the grin, briefly, before returning to the particular bit of chopping he's finishing up. Tanaka, too, gets back to work, though he appears to now be setting things into their places and checking on the preparations already complete. A glance or two from Vyv follows her as she explores, brief things between the movement of pastry. Could be keeping an eye on her, but perhaps more likely he's taking note of what it is she takes note of, curiosity rather than concern. It doesn't take all that long for him to make the transfer, and the sounds of the lids snapping onto all three boxes are soft but audible.

"Has yours been unprofessional? Tch. Insist it straighten up and fly right," he says, moving the larger of his two boxes to a small open area in the refrigeration. The smaller remains on the island, for now. "...it does have a bit of a homecoming feel to it, doesn't it? Both the feeling of familiarity and that little creeping irritation from at least one thing being done not your way. Unless of course it IS your kitchen." David gets a pointed glance; he doesn't actively acknowledge it, but there's a very faint pinkening at the edges of his ears. Vyv moves back toward the remaining boxes, and offers Julia a faint smile and her now-empty tupperware, though it's a small shift along the counter that says 'ready when you want it,' rather than the sort of thrusting it toward her that might read as 'and now get out'. "Out of curiosity... what special is it you're offering this week?"

Julia is unable to keep herself from outright laughing. "My 'kitchen' these days is basically a fry line. Not the most inspiring set up, but I refuse to let anything other than delicious food come out of it. I've got my pride, you know? Otherwise, it's the kitchen at home. I have friends who enjoy hosting dinner parties but not doing the actual cooking, so I'll step up for that. They buy the groceries and take care of clean-up, I cook. It's a good deal."

At his question, she visibly brightens. "Chili rubbed scallops over black beans and rice." she says, and after a moment's thought, "I haven't decided on next week's, but I was considering either ceviche or a mariscado - a seafood peasant soup, basically. Do you cook for pleasure as well as professionally? I mean, it's entirely for pleasure in the broadest sense, but I mean, for times with your friends."

One corner of Vyv's mouth quirks upward faintly again at the laugh, as does one brow, just for a moment. It does it again when she gets to the end. "Oh, I don't have friends," he replies blithely, and it's not easy to tell how serious he might or might not actually be. "That sounds lovely, though, both this week's and potentially next. I'll make a note to try it. I do like a ceviche. And pride gets a bad rap. People are always on about how it goeth before a fall, but if you ask me, far too few people actually display much in what they do." He considers, with a slight tilt of his head, and then nods. "I do enjoy cooking other types of food as well, yes. I'm not as good at it as with pātisserie, of course. But I like to think I am, at least, broadly acceptable. And it's quite satisfying, isn't it?"

"It is. So buttery." She has visibly greatly enjoyed the baked goods offered, noting, "I mean, you operate under the rule of secret of French cuisine: butter, butter, and butter." Which she firmly approves of, apparently. "As for not having friends, I beg to differ. You have at least one, now." Her stance goes hipshot and she arches a brow, her smile daring him to challenge her.

The smile that meets the praise of butter is still faint, but it goes up on both sides. The firm approval is firmly approved of in turn. "French butter, specifically, when it comes to the viennoiserie," Vyv agrees, "One can create quite a good croissant with what's available here, but it'll never quite be perfect. Granted, I could do a better one with butter from Safeway," the poor shop gets a definite shot of disdain to its name, "than most could with the proper sort, but I do believe in doing things right." And modesty.

As far as the dare goes, though his lips don't quirk particularly more, there's definitely amusement that shows in his eyes. "Do I? You might live to regret that, you know. I'm not always this pleasant." It's pretty offhand, as apparent warnings go.

Julia gives him a grin; it's wolfish, all teeth. "You'd be surprised at how much just living in a house with three generations of Cuban women can prepare you for the unpleasant. Besides, if you give me shit, I'll give you shit right back. So if I take my earrings off, you'd best be prepared." Her mouth relaxes, and she says with less seeming bravado, "Seriously, some would argue I'm no prize either, and I get pissed easy. Problem is, a lot of people assume I'm pissed when I'm not, and then they treat me like I'm pissed, and then I actually do get pissed. It's a bitter cycle." The last is offered in a very dry tone.

"Mm," Vyv says, focus briefly flitting into nowhere and brows slightly rising, as if perhaps imagining living in such a house, "I might not be." Presumably he's unlikely to have much if any specific experience of that, but whatever's in his mind is convincing enough. His eyes go properly sharp on her again, and she gets the tiny half-smile, "I suppose we should all be thankful you're kind enough to warn us with the earring removal. Imagine if we hadn't any chance to prepare. But, fair enough. I'll expect an equivalent excremental exchange." That probably shouldn't even be said in a kitchen. "How do people generally treat you when they think you're pissed? Just for my information. I've never been an avid cyclist."

"Depends on whether they know me." Julia says matter-of-factly. "It's not so much that my bark is worse than my bite, it's more like it takes a lot longer for me to go into bite mode than people think. I'm loud, I'm passionate, and I tend to say what I think. So maybe someone gets into an argument with me, and they'll say calm down or stop being defensive or whatever, and seriously, have you ever known anyone saying something like that has ever worked for?"

One brow arches. "How about you? How come you got no friends? Are you one of those people who likes to present like a misanthrope, but inside they're really marshmallows?"

Vyv smirks a bit at the 'calm down', 'stop being defensive' portion of things. "When the intention was genuinely to get someone to calm down or stop being defensive? No, I don't believe I have. For other intentions, sometimes perfectly." It's said lightly, and stays so as he goes on, though the smirk becomes something much subtler if it even remains at all.

"Oh, I contain very little gelatine and I've not often been described as particularly sweet or fluffy." He turns a hand over, folding it to appraise his absolutely pristine nails. "But: I tend to say what I think, in my way; as a fairly recent arrival I've not met all that many people;" his eyes flicks back up to her, amusement in them if not clearly elsewhere, "and once in a while I say true things that may not be precisely factual per se." If there are other reasons, they don't make the current cut.

"Oh, that'll change. This is a small town." Julia points out. "Everybody kinda sorta knows everybody, at least their faces, and gossip is pretty rife. This place is going to go over well with the ladies in town for a start, so there's that." There's a cock of her head. "So you're saying you're one of the fairies?" she asks. "The kind that run around with Titania and can only tell the truth, but they always twist it. Midsummer is my favorite Shakespeare, actually."

There's a tilted little nod of acknowledgement and probably agreement to answer the remarks about small-townishness and the likelihood of improving the size of his figurative Rolodex, but the question that follows gets a sharp little exhalation through his nose that, combined with the quick upturn at the side of his lips, is quite possibly a laugh. "Do you know, that isn't the first time I've been asked that?" he says, the amusement just touching the edges of it, "Never quite in that same tone, though. I can lie, I just rarely bother. And I suppose I could be baldly straightforward about everything all the time if I wanted, but that," the barest pause, "would be boring. I won't claim I've never been accused of being puckish, but I promise I've never given an ass's head to anyone who didn't arrive with one to begin with."

"I don't know, I can think of a few people who I'd give an ass' head to. They deserve it." Julia says, assuming a hipshot stance and expression turning briefly wry. "I suppose I'll have to settle for though but being little, I am fierce."

Offhanded, she adds, "I'd reckon you more for Oberon. Puck's kind of juvenile."

"Well, if you're going to be a fairy, be the king," Vyv replies, tone arch and one brow following suit. He glances over toward his employees, head tilting slightly. "If you're going to be anything, be the king," amends the chef currently standing in the middle of his kitchen in his shop. A small, thoughtful pause, and then, "Yes, actually. Oberon would probably be a better fit over all. And would you indeed be Hermia?" He looks her over assessingly, as though the answer might show, before that little half-smile returns. "In any case, most of those who deserve an ass's head already have one. They've just rudely kept it invisible so you haven't any warning until they speak. Though Bottom does give possibly the best bit of advice in the play."

"'Reason and love keep little company together nowadays?'" Julia queries to see if that's the quote he's speaking of, but from her tone she doesn't think she's got the right one.

Vyv's smile gains a couple milimetres. "Not bad either. But no. 'Take pains; be perfect.'"

"Ah," Julia nods, but adds, "That's a whole 'nother branch of philosophical discussion; whether perfection is attainable, and if you argue that it isn't, if it means that it isn't worth even trying." They're chefs. Of course it's worth trying. "And it sounds like a discussion for another time. Have you ever had Cuban coffee? Nothing else like it when you need to wake up in the morning. There's a reason the cups are so tiny. We should do breakfast at some point, and then we can talk about perfection. You bring the pastry, I bring the caffeine. Sound good?"

Of course it's worth trying. "Cuban... no, I don't believe I have," Vyv says, looking as though he's running through a quick index of Coffee I Have Drunk, and perhaps was. "Turkish, most of the western European versions, but not Cuban. Yes, certainly. Any coffee that demands a demitasse has my attention." He considers her briefly, picking up her tupperware to offer it more directly now that she's implying departure. "I suppose an exchange of numbers would be useful for arranging this, mm?"

Julia digs into her back pocket and pulls out her phone. Tapping a few buttons, she offers it to him. "I can text you from mine, unless you prefer the other way around. And I should probably warn you, it's boardwalk tables, so you'll be amongst the proletariat, but I promise you it'll be some of the best coffee you've ever had."

Vyv accepts the phone, apparently perfectly fine doing it this way 'round -- his phone may be farther away than hers, right now -- and begins tapping in the information in a quick and practiced way. "Mn. As long as they can refrain from being unbearably lumpen, I suppose it can be borne. Noblesse oblige, after all." Number there, contact listed as Vyvyan Vydal. She can always change it, of course, but he's had his name a long time and knows the odds on people spelling it correctly themselves. He flips the phone around with what's difficult to describe as anything but an understated flourish, and offers it back. "But I'll hold you to that promise."