🫢 Sorry I Spiked Your Sauce

The realization overpowered his hangover in the morning. Instead of apple cider vinegar, Hinga had included brandy in the French dressing. That explained its eccentric flavor but also accounted for Beaumont’s uncanny cheerfulness. Had he been able to drive home after downing the equivalent of 2 fluid ounces of 100-proof liquor? Hinga half-expected to be confronted with the news of his death behind the wheel once he unlocked his phone. Clear. He called Belinda to ask if the chef had made it to his Airbnb OK. Clear.

“No, no, it’s nothing. I just wanted to extend our friendliness in case that scores us extra points. I’d have called him directly, but I don’t have his number.”

“Right. Well, as I said, he’s doing great as far as I know, but definitely not as great as last night. We absolutely spellbound him. This could be the start of something massive for The Lodge.”

“Fingers crossed. Catch you later, Bella.”

Clear, clear, clear. The path ahead, however, was anything but. There’s no handbook detailing how to tell someone you inadvertently tried to kill them.

After weighing his options, none of which were favorable, he decided to take the bull by the horns. Finding Beaumont was easy; his website charted his restaurant route. The plan was to intercept him that weekend since he would still be traversing the Lake Nakuru chain of eateries. For some reason, his assistant had already heard of him and agreed to set a meeting between them. Tail between his legs, Hinga dragged his feet to the popular watering hole the critic selected for their second tête-à-tête. The location choice compounded his already unfathomable unease.

Someone was crooning about their lover from the speakers of the dimly lit joint. Beaumont sat with his back to the entrance. Hinga gingerly approached his conspicuous white afro, wondering how he had still managed to be late despite arriving an hour ahead of the agreed-upon time. The slightly-built food aficionado extended his arm in greeting when Hinga came into view. Neither was expecting the usually-grumpy older man to sacrifice his seat to welcome the younger, however momentarily.

The conversation began innocuously enough. Hinga had learned that Beaumont hated small talk, so he steered him toward sharing his experiences around the Lake’s most prized dining spots.

“Is this why you wanted to meet? To get an inside scoop on the competition?”

“In a sense. I doubt The Lodge will be in the running for your good graces once you hear what I reveal tonight. With any luck, you can pardon the hive for one worker bee’s misdeeds.”

“Who’s the delinquent worker bee, Hinga?”

“That would be me, sir. I was in a bit of an alcoholic daze throughout the night, and my lapse in concentration led me to accidentally mix up the apple cider vinegar and my brandy. The French dressing was only so distinctive because I’d made a huge error, one I worried might’ve endangered your life. I’m incredibly sorry for all of it, Mr. Beaumont. My resignation letter is ready for dispatch.”

“‘A bit of an alcoholic daze’ is an interesting way to describe the domino effect that nearly added me to your morbid body count.”

“How do you know about… Anyway, I can assure you that I usually can handle my drink. This has never happened before and never will again. That night was super important to me and The Lodge, so I…”

“Intentionally impeded your ability to perform optimally during it?”

“No, not at all. I respect you and my job too much to jeopardize it willfully. If anything, a couple shots help narrow my focus and reduce the racket in my head. If I’m being honest, though, I’m unsure where those benefits end and my unchecked dependence begins.”

“Hinga, do you really think the brandy would go unnoticed? I’ve been honing my taste buds longer than you’ve been cooking.”

“Then why would you keep eating and not sound the alarm?”

“Well, first, that truly was the best salad dressing I’ve ever had. And you seemed oblivious enough to the switch that I was convinced it wasn’t malicious. What I’m looking forward to is seeing how you course correct.”

“Hold on. Hold on. So you weren’t actually inebriated?”

“I was slightly buzzed, but I just played up the intensity to see if you’d catch on. When did you catch on, by the way?”

“The following morning.”

“Ha. Might want to give my acting coach a bonus.”

“I literally thought I’d intoxicated you to the point of causing a fatal accident.”

“My assistant drives me most places.”

Hinga wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry for worrying himself into a confession. He still understood he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Even so, I regret my error and won’t put myself in a position to repeat it.”

“So you’ll pursue treatment?”

Hinga shot him a puzzled look, then laughed hysterically.

“It’s not that kind of problem.”

“You just said the line between your autonomy and the alcohol’s hold is blurred.”

“I also said I don’t typically make such mistakes.”

“Would you like to put that blanket statement to the test at your next job?”

Anxiety firmly asserted itself as the predominant emotion. Hinga stared blankly at the bar’s mahogany door.

“How about I sweeten the deal? If you’ve gotten yourself cleaned up by the time I’m back in Kenya next year, I’ll back you to start a restaurant of your own wherever in the world you wish.”

“Back me?”

“My recommendation, a loan, and most salient, the state of mind you’d need to pull it off. We can credit that last one to the work you put into your recovery.”

Hinga’s mind mirrored the knots in his stomach. The task seemed simple enough, as simple as abandoning a compulsive comfort you’ve clung to for a decade. But the reward was more than generous of Beaumont, a man who wasn’t given to such displays of generosity.

“What about LNL?”

“A wise man once cautioned me against blaming a worker bee’s wrongdoings on its hive.”