Cooking for the neighbors

Wiping sweat from her brow, with hands triumphantly on her hips, Arya looked down at her counter. Plated and pretty, she completed the final recipe for her cookbook, her dad’s manti recipe. Armenian dumplings, smothered in a stewed tomato sauce, topped with strained yogurt and brown butter. The earthy cumin fragrance and the sharp scent of sumac lingered in her apartment. Her neighbors have grown quite used to the smell, and the deliveries coming from Arya’s apartment these past few months. At least twice a week, she heads to the Fausto’s apartment, decked in her wildly Jackson Pollack-ed apron, with a bit of fresh bread, baked goods, and sometimes full meals, when her feverish day of cooking ends. They are always grateful, and even give her honest feedback when she asks. Every recipe, and “Fausto feedback,” is recorded in her little black notebook: very used, with sauce and grease stains on almost every page. She bought that book the same day she lost her job, two months earlier.

Forty percent of staff was purged as they downsized the publishing firm. After being there for almost six years, through internships during and after college, then working her way up the corporate ladder, she was really surprised when she received the news. It was her mentor who actually had to let her go… talk about full circle. She assured her that if a position opened back up, Arya would be the first one they would call, blah, blah, blah. Seemingly unfazed, Arya, for the last time, left the office with nothing from her desk, as if she’d be back tomorrow, vowing to leave the office life behind forever; to pivot.

She’s always been a passionate person, in love, in career, in her family. She threw herself wholly into every relationship, for better or for worse. She put her job first, and her family, a very near second. Characteristically, she dove headfirst into The Pivot. Having ever-neglected her hobbies, Arya committed herself to finding a career path she would really enjoy. Her bank account necessitated the deadline; her savings allowed her three months to soul search.

The first day of unemployment, she stared at the book. It was her first unemployed purchase, and planned to use it to keep track of her ambitions. She opened it to write a list, then closed it again. Unsure of where to begin, she went for a walk. Passing by gyms, she thought about becoming a trainer. “I ran track in high school…” being her best reasoning, she dropped that idea. She ran into her favorite coffee shop, and toyed with being a barista, or bartender. Baristas are up too early; bartenders are up too late. She moseyed for hours, contemplating all of the jobs. With no real inspiration, she headed home. Walking up to her apartment, she patted her pockets, front, front, back, back, no jingle - no keys. When she first moved in, the Fausta’s asked if they could leave a spare with her, just in case they were ever locked out. Mrs. Fausta was getting old and left her keys at home - a lot. Arya asked for the same favor in return, and for the first time she’d take advantage of the perk. She buzzed 2B and Mr. Fausta was quick to the door. That night, Arya baked her neighbors some “thank you” cookies, the first of many deliveries.

It started with the cookies, but in no time Arya was reinventing a ton of recipes. She devoured her free time on cooking blogs, in cook books, and on the phone with her mom, siphoning family recipes. It was two weeks into her soul search, her little book was still empty, but her fridge was full. She pulled some of her wares out of the refrigerator, and walked over to the Fausta’s apartment, and asked them if they would mind testing her recipes. To no surprise, Arya was walking over every few days with food.

A few weeks later, Mrs. Fausta forgot her keys. When she got the buzz, Arya ran down to let her into the building, then into her apartment. As she opened their door, Mrs. Fausta thanked her for letting her in, but also for all the food Arya had shared recently. She revealed that she had stopped cooking because she kept leaving the burners on and her husband was worried that she’d start a fire, so she was confined to the microwave. She said that living next to a chef was a huge relief, with her new lifestyle.

Until then, Arya had never though to make a career out of cooking. She was just enjoying herself doing something that she’d have to do anyway. It clicked, and she finally opened her little black book. From then on, every recipe she made she wrote it down, with every intuitive tweaks she’d made. Arya spent her days planning on what to cook and how this could translate into a job. She made lists: groceries, connections, potential jobs she was pulling off of Craigslist ads, which recipes she needed to perfect. She cooked maniacally, early in the mornings, late at night, whenever the inspiration struck. She loved it, and wanted to share it, beyond her neighbors. She looked through her book at the recipes, and dog-eared her favorites, a breadth of recipes: from sweet to savory, from condiments to entrees. Looking through, Arya didn’t realize all of the cooking she’d been doing, and recording. With the next delivery, Arya, with homemade pasta in hand, told the Fausta’s about her cookbook.

She formatted it herself, having worked with the publishing agency for so many years. Arya called her old mentor, and they agreed to work together. Deciding on forty recipes, she had some work to do. She wanted only the best in her cookbook, so she edited a bunch Keeping the good ones dog-eared. In one month, she accumulated all the recipes for her cookbook, except one. She hadn’t mastered her dad’s manti recipe. She worked for 2 weeks, adjusting the recipe. Not enough salt, too salty, filling too dry, sauce too thick. Whatever came her way, she remedied it, perfecting the dish. Finally, three weeks before her 3-month-soul-search was set to end, her cookbook was complete. She looked down at the counter, plated beautifully, took a few good photographs, and ran over to the Fausta’s. Ecstatic for her, they taste the meal in the doorway. Mr. Fausta closes his eyes and chews slowly; Mrs. Fausta does a giddy little bounce.

“I’m glad you like it!” Arya laughs.

Mrs. Fausta runs into the apartment, and returns with an envelope, hands it to Arya, says thank you, and they close the door.

Arya opens the card.

“Dear Arya,

Congratulations on finishing your recipes! We can’t wait for that cookbook to come out, and we can’t wait to buy a copy, and deliver YOU some food. Thank you so much for sharing your meals with us these past few months. I wish I could give you more, but at least these are a little exciting!

The Fausta’s”

She pulls out a handful of scratch offs and laughs. CA$H Frenzy. Jackpot Winz. Diamond Dazzlers. Money Tree. She finds a coin and starts scratching.

Match three coins and win $500 every week for life!

Two coins.

Match any number to you winning numbers and win the prize below!

No chance.

Match any two numbers and win that prize, or get a ‘$’ and win $20,000!

Long shot.

She scratches the three by three square.

2. 22.

Hmm.

6.

18.

23. Close.

24. GAH!

8.

29.

‘$’

Wait.

She rereads the directions 6 more times. “Get a ‘$’ and win $20,000!”