Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Madison’s choices were atmospheric but customer-focused, considerate of the non-paying children as well as the parents who made purchases. It was fascinating to hear how thoroughly she’d thought this through, not merely the flooring or walls but the experience as a whole. It felt visionary and immersive. Listening to her speak about this subject on which she was so passionate and playful and serious all at once captivated me all over again. This was the difference between a refreshing sip of water on a hot day and a bracing plunge down a waterfall.
She only paused so we could order our meals and launched back into the description.
Madison went on, “I’d have an area for picnic supplies. Packages of reusable plates and flatware, bottles of wine and sparkling lemonade, packages you could buy where we pack your lunch—sandwiches on good bread with local cheese, some good avocado and tomato and a hummus with homemade pita chips, cups of melon or diced apples with a caramel drizzle, a tart to share. Just everything you need to have an elevated urban picnic and make a perfect memory—whether it’s your best friend or your lover or your eight-year-old niece.”
“Picnic. It’s a great idea, of course, I just thought your focus was on the coffee and baked goods.”
“It is. Absolutely. This is the dream scenario. You were thinking like what kind of layout I wanted in the kitchen or what does the seating look like, but I’m nerding out over the details and it’s the ambitious vision.”
“Understood. It’s very unique and charming. I’ve never had an urban picnic, but it makes me want to try one.”
“Where would you have it?”
“A rooftop. The rooftop of the firm where I work. We have a garden up there as part of a sustainability initiative. It’s beautiful and not to sound cliché, but when they proposed it, the designer kept calling it an oasis and I think I rolled my eyes at that, but it is one. It refreshes the eyes to see the green space and the slender green stems pushing up through the soil, the scent of the lemongrass.”
“Exactly. I love the city. But we need something different and interesting for our senses from time to time. This would be that place that feels like a treat just to visit it. The thing you promise yourself for going to the dentist for a checkup or finishing your taxes on time or something. A reward for being responsible. I would want to have a little bar with toppings for the oatmeal and a couple of quiches or an egg bake in the mornings. Around eleven, I’d switch to a soup of the day like a tomato basil with crostini or a really hearty bean soup with cornbread. A selection of hot teas, only have them in a tea chest like a gorgeous, spice-smelling treasure chest you can explore so it feels like you’re not just ordering water with a bag in it. I love tea—and that means you need shortbread. I make fantastic shortbread, but people seldom order it because it doesn’t read as a treat the way it looks. I’d do a ginger shortbread or a cardamom cinnamon, something to make it more exotic, I guess. A beige square that’s ninety-percent butter isn’t the kind of thing most people are going to choose on sight. But once they taste it, I mean, you would practically sell your mother for this shortbread the way I make it. It’s so tender but not extremely crumbly.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said.
The appetizer arrived, and I offered it to her. She grinned, “Shrimp cocktail!” she said. I knew the retro touch would make her smile with her vintage dress and her sensibilities about old Hollywood glamour. She took a shrimp and dipped it, ate it, and smiled. “So good,” she said approvingly, and I felt like I’d accomplished something.
“I’d do a lobster salad and chicken salad in summer, where you can get a half sandwich on toasted sourdough with some berries or a green salad with feta and walnuts because we never really stop for a good lunch. But we deserve to, you know.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
Our dinner arrived, and she exclaimed over the presentation, the sauce's richness paired with the crisp texture of the pear slices. Her discernment delighted me, and it was different than I’d expected. I wanted to spoil her a little by bringing her here and introducing her to some of the finer things when she’d had years of struggle without much indulgence. She was showing it to me instead with fresh eyes. She pointed out details I’d become blind to from familiarity, not from the restaurant itself but of every experience. She was less jaded than I figured, though it didn’t make her seem younger or inexperienced. Just fresher, more perceptive and alert.