As expected, the restaurant was buzzing, but once we were seated, we were served very quickly. We each ordered an Asahi, then read over the menu. When the waiter brought our beers, Josh asked, “Is there something in particular you’d recommend?” One of the sushi chefs, who was assembling sushi right in front of us, overheard the question.

“The crispy salmon skin roll,” he said, continuing the sushi making.

“Oh yeah?” replied Josh. “Good?”

“Like the bacon of the sea,” the chef replied. He nodded at us as though he’d shared a trade secret.

We ordered the crispy salmon skin roll and several others, which I couldn’t name if I tried, because when I tasted the crispy salmon skin roll, I forgot about all other sushi in existence.

“So, you really know who this guy is?” asked Josh as we sipped our Asahis, the second for each of us.

“Who? The chef? Yeah. For sure. Haven’t you ever seen Iron Chef? The American one, not the Japanese one.”

“Mmm, nope, neither.” He was quick to add, “but it’s your thing, right? You’re into cooking shows?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m into food. I’ve met a few celebrity chefs. I even collect cookbooks.”

“Do you cook a lot?”

“Well, nothing super fancy during the week—that whole ‘living by myself’ thing—but I like having people over and I’ll cook something extravagant then. And you’re not really supposed to do this, but I usually try something I’ve never cooked before.”

“What do you mean, ‘not supposed to’?”

“You know? It adds to the pressure when you’re cooking for other people if you don’t know how it’s gunna turn out—you’re supposed to cook something that’s a sure thing.”

“So why try something new?”

“I like to live on the edge,” I said, laughing at myself. “No, really, it’s the best way to expand my repertoire. And most things turn out.” He nodded in appreciation.

“It’d be nice to have you cook for me sometime—something other than toast, I mean.” He was referring to our time on the boat. Of everyone, I’d spent the most time in the galley, but I was either making a mountain of buttered toast or assembling platters for lunch. I hadn’t done any real cooking on that trip.

Remembering that time almost made me miss the thought behind Josh’s comment—almost. He wanted me to cook for him sometime, as in sometime in the future. Huh, so he did think about us that way. My mind was a little fuzzy from the gin and the beer, but I was lucid enough to steer us away from his revelation. I’d unpack it later.

“You know, I’ll happily sit and read a cookbook,” I said, redirecting our conversation.

“You’ll read a cookbook?”

“Yeah, it’s like porn for foodies.”

“So, you just read them for the recipes?” he said, teasing me.

“Oh, no, I look at the pictures too.”

“Ooh, that’s nasty,” he said, playing along.

“We need to get the check.” I raised my eyebrows at him, eliciting a grin before his hand shot into the air to get the waiter’s attention.