Simmer Down

table tonight at a gallery that belongs to a friend of mine. Anyhow, congratulations and welcome.”
    “Thank you. If you don’t have other plans, we’d love to have you over to Simmer on New Year’s Eve.”
    “Wonderful. I’ll be there. I’ll look forward to it.”
    Naomi was looking worried about our table’s presentation and scurried off to hover over the flyers. Gavin wanted to go check out other galleries and restaurant tastings but promised to return to Simmer’s table. Eliot said he’d walk Gavin to the door. And that’s how Food for Thought began: with excitement, nervousness, generosity, and friendliness. I don’t really believe in bad omens, but for what it’s worth, there were none. I had no forebodings at all.

FOUR

    JOSH surveyed his tables. “I guess I better make more dressing now since I might not have time later.” He packed the Robocoupe full of herbs, oil, and lemon juice, and the noise from the big food processor prevented further conversation for the next few minutes.
    Unable to resist the lure of food any longer, I walked over to Josh and took a good whiff of the dressing. “Oh, that is amazing,” I said.
    One of the many things I loved about Josh’s food was that you were never overwhelmed by one particular flavor; the tastes and smells from his cooking blended seamlessly. I hated walking into a restaurant or eating a meal and thinking, Yup, that’s garlic, or Oh, lots of sherry in this. Josh’s food always consisted of some unidentifiable fusion of ingredients that left you wondering what made up that delicious flavor.
    “Glad you like it.” Josh smiled as he poured the dressing into a large stainless-steel container. He unplugged the Robo-coupe, wrapped the cord around it, and lifted it off the table. “I’m going to move this beast out of the way for now. Hey, Eliot? Can I put this in your office?”
    “Absolutely. Put it on the floor, desk, whatever you want,” Eliot called back. He’d been pacing between the front of the gallery and our section at the back and was now heading to the front, probably to peer out onto Newbury Street, eager for people to start arriving.
    By six forty-five, the gallery was packed with art lovers and food lovers, and Josh was working up a sweat to meet the demand for his beef medallions. He had turned on a butane stove and had a skillet heated to the correct temperature. I nudged Naomi every time I saw someone nod and smile while sampling Josh’s food; I was beginning to fear that she’d end the night with a big bruise from all my elbowing. Our harassment booth had a few visitors, mainly people Naomi pounced on when they accidentally approached our table. Naomi’s tactic was to try to engage an innocent person in a discussion of workplace environments and then to interrogate her victim about acceptable and unacceptable behavior.
    I watched her in horror as she spoke to a frail woman of eighty or eighty-five who wore a rabbit-fur coat, a garment not designed to endear its wearer to Naomi, of course. Contemplating the probable ferocity of Naomi’s attack, I mentally prepared myself to leap across the table and catch the poor woman should Naomi cause her to faint.
    Naomi leaned over a mountain of flyers and spoke with urgency. “Do you think it is appropriate for your boss to ask you about what kind of panties you wear? Or what your favorite sexual position is?” That was my cue.
    “Ahem, perhaps she would prefer to just take some informational packets with her.” I shoved a folder at the surprised woman, who immediately and wisely limped off, leaning on a cane.
    Naomi turned to me. “Employers and coworkers say things like that, Chloe, and it doesn’t help anyone to pretend that it doesn’t happen. I know you find my style to be somewhat aggressive, but, Chloe, we have got to make people of all generations and all backgrounds understand the reality of what can happen in workplaces across the country. We’ve got to be outspoken and make our voice heard. Give it a try.”
    A few moments later, Naomi lectured a young man on the requirement that every workplace have a sexual harassment policy in place. Would he like her to come to his office and give a presentation? I heard him respond that he was only sixteen and that the only job he had was shoveling his parents’ driveway. So far, he insisted, the only unacceptable thing either of them had done was to refuse to buy him a snowblower.
    I decided to take a short break.
    I told