You're Bacon Me Crazy

by Suzanne Nelson

  “But what are you going to do if you can’t figure out the recipe?” Asher asked.

  I wagged a scolding finger at him. “No way. No defeatist attitude for me. I will not be conquered by a tablespoon-sized mystery. I will uncover the secret of the sauce.”

  Asher’s frown caved into laughter, and he shook his head. “Okay, Dr. Frankensauce, whatever you say. Let’s blend away.”

  I smiled enthusiastically, and together, we bent over our mixing bowls. The first combination I tried, one with mayonnaise and red wine vinegar, curdled. And Asher didn’t fare much better. He tried combining chipotle with pickle relish, which sounded good until I smelled it.

  “I see you gagging, you know,” Asher said, eyeing me suspiciously as I tucked my nose into the crook of my arm. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Nooooo,” I said, “not bad at all. It only smells like a dead skunk.”

  He sniffed it, then made a concerted effort not to wince. “I think it smells like roses.” Then we both burst out laughing. It felt good to have fun with Asher again, and I promised myself that even if he did end up going to the dance with Karrie, I would try not to let it affect our friendship.

  But three hours later, our laughter was harder to come by. We were each on our tenth version of the sauce, and I was pretty sure that, at this point, my taste buds were going completely numb. My smile was waning, and the tablespoon-sized mystery was winning.

  I dipped a spoon into the bowl containing the latest batch and brought it slowly to my lips. There were the same flavors I recognized from the previous tries: a hint of mayonnaise and chipotle, the creamy goodness of avocado, with the undertones of lemon juice and Dijon mustard. It should’ve been right. But it wasn’t.

  I tossed the spoon into the sink, where it clattered into the pile of others. “It’s not right!” I slumped over the kitchen counter, a suffocating panic starting to rise in me. “Wait. We haven’t tried fresh dill yet. Maybe that will work.” I grabbed a bunch off the counter, then hurriedly reached into a drawer, slamming it shut before I realized my finger was still inside. A yowl of pain ripped out of me, and then I was jumping around the kitchen, clutching my fingernail and whimpering.

  Asher’s eyes glinted, but when I hissed, “Don’t you dare laugh,” he took the threat in my voice seriously.

  “Let me see,” he said, and before I could protest, he’d taken my hand into his own and begun rubbing my finger soothingly. Lightning zinged through me at the warmth of his touch. I found myself thinking that he could hold my hand, just like that, forever. But all too soon, he slid my hand out of his, giving it a friendly pat. “Better?”

  It took me a few seconds to find my voice. “Um … yeah. Thanks.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe you should let me do the chopping. I’m not sure you can be trusted with a knife.”

  “Ha,” I said, then added seriously, “We’re running out of time.” I sighed. “I’m starting to think we’re never going to get it right.”

  Asher started pulling the herbs out of my basket, then stopped. “Maybe we’re not getting it right because we’re going about it the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been making the sauce, then tasting it. Maybe we need to taste it first.”

  “Huh?” I stared at him.

  “Describe the way Cleo’s sauce tasted … down to every last detail.”

  I looked at him uncertainly, then took a deep breath, searching my memory. “It tastes cool and tangy, like summertime barbecues, but also like a sleepy Sunday breakfast. It tastes of avocado and lemon, mayonnaise and mustard. But … wait!” My mouth started to water. “There’s something else … something smoky and nutty and crisp.”

  Smoky and crisp …

  We grinned at each other as the realization hit us at the same time.

  “Bacon!” we cried.

  I slapped a hand to my head and one of my bobby pins sprang loose. “I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out! Cleo uses crushed bacon in the special sauce!”

  “I knew you’d get it eventually.” Asher laughed as I performed a happy dance around the counter.

  But I didn’t let myself celebrate for long. “Come on,” I said, grabbing some bacon out of the fridge and tossing it to him. “Fire up the stove. Let’s see if we’re right.”

  Asher saluted me. “Bacon detail. I’m on it.”

  We went to work, using all the same ingredients we’d used in the last batch of sauce, but this time, adding in a sprinkling of crushed bacon. When we’d made enough sauce to sample, I tried tasting it again.

  “Mmmm,” I said. “It’s perfect! Just like Cleo’s.”

  Asher agreed, taking another big bite. “It’s like a ‘Hallelujah’ chorus in my mouth.”

  After that, it didn’t take much longer to make a batch big enough for Flavorfest. When we were finished, we carried the containers of sauce to the fridge triumphantly, then collapsed onto the stools at the counter, exhausted but jubilant.

  Then the phone rang, making us both jump.

  I saw Mom’s cell on the caller ID, and my stomach lurched. “Mom?” I answered anxiously.

  “Cleo’s fine,” she said. “She’s awake, and Gabe was with her when I left the hospital a little while ago.”

  I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “What a relief.” I grinned at Asher, giving him a thumbs-up. When I got off the phone, the leaden weight on my chest had lifted.

  “Gabe and my dad are staying at the hospital for a while,” I said to Asher, “but my mom will be here soon. She can drive you home.”

  We finished cleaning up the kitchen, and by the time Mom pulled up outside, we had everything laid out and ready for the big day tomorrow.

  We were making our way to the door when Asher stopped to pick something up off the floor. “Here’s that bobby pin you lost before,” he said. “What was this one for?”

  “A reminder to say thank you,” I said. “For all your help today.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.” He slid the bobby pin back into my curls and his fingers inadvertently brushed against my cheek, electrifying my skin. Then he jerked his hand back awkwardly.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow at Flavorfest,” he said as I walked him to the door.

  “Tomorrow,” I answered when I finally found my voice. The door shut, and I collapsed onto my stool, pressing my hot forehead against the cool countertop. So much for taking our friendship in stride. I knew Asher would never like me the way I hoped he would. But I, on the other hand, was an absolute goner.

  “We need another five BLTs, stat,” Gabe said from where he was seated on his stool manning the orders at the window. “One with extra sauce.”

  “We’re on it,” I said, piling piping-hot bacon strips onto the toasted bread. “Mom, can you —”

  “Tomatoes,” she said before I could even finish. “Coming right up.”

  I glanced at Mom, and she caught my eye and smiled. We’d been working nonstop since the second the Flavorfest gates had opened at ten A.M. sharp, and there was no sign of the crowds or our orders letting up. Maybe it was the fact that the community had fought so hard for Flavorfest this year, or maybe it was the Channel Seven news broadcast that had done it. Whatever the reason, the number of people attending Flavorfest today was record-breaking. I’d heard Bev Channing say so herself when she came by our truck a little while ago.

  All of our food-truck friends were here with their spruced-up trucks. When I looked out the window of our truck, it was onto a shiny fleet of multicolored trucks as far as the eye could see. Streamers and balloons hung from almost every window, and happy, hungry fair-goers wandered around, enjoying the sunshine and the live music playing from the stage by the judges’ booth. And everyone, of course, was eating as much of the delicious smorgasbord as their stomachs could handle.

  Mom, who’d never been to Flavorfest before, was totally impressed.

  “I had no idea it was this big,” she kept saying.r />
  Seeing her in an apron, working in the Tasty Truck, still threw me for a loop, but it was a welcome sight. Because Cleo was still in the hospital, Mom had volunteered to help Gabe and me. It might’ve been easier to have Asher help, but he was working the Flavorfest crowd, handing out VOTE FOR THE BACON ME CRAZY BLT buttons to anyone who would take them.

  Besides, Mom had asked to help so eagerly that I knew she was looking at this as a mother/daughter bonding opportunity. And we were having a lot of fun so far.

  “How am I doing?” she asked uncertainly, handing me the freshly sliced tomatoes.

  “Great,” I said. “Do you need a break?”

  “Are you kidding?” Mom said. “Look at that line out there. And the judges haven’t even come by yet. There’s no way I’m taking a break!”

  I laughed. “I’m glad I finally found a good use for your workaholic side.”

  Mom raised an eyebrow. “Very funny.”

  I handed Gabe our fresh batch of BLTs, and he suddenly nudged me and whispered, “They’re here.”

  I looked out the window. Two men and one woman wearing official FLAVORFEST JUDGE badges were rapidly approaching the truck. I sucked in a breath as my pulse began pounding.

  “We’ll take three of your Bacon Me Crazy BLTs,” the woman said, her eyes scanning the menu soberly. “And one bacon-bits brownie, one bacon-peanut-butter cookie, and one strip of chocolate-covered bacon.”

  Gabe nodded, and Mom and I got right to work. I took special care to make each BLT, all the while thinking, This is the one, the Flavorfest Best Award winner. When everything was ready, we passed the goodies through the window, saying our thanks.

  “Your bacon-themed menu …” one of the men said. “It’s very clever. No one will walk away forgetting your bacon today, that’s for sure.” He held up the sandwich with a nod. “Thank you, and good luck.”

  Then, the three of them were gone, wading through the crowds.

  “They’re not going to eat them right now?” I cried in dismay.

  Gabe laughed. “Patience, patience. They’ll take them back to their booth so they can make notes while they eat.”

  “Notes?” I rolled my eyes. “That just takes all the fun out of it. Eating the BLT is supposed to be about your senses falling in love. The sauce zinging through your taste buds, the bacon popping and crackling between your teeth, the lettuce snapping …”

  “They’ll fall in love … while they’re taking notes.” Mom smiled and squeezed my hand. “Give them a chance, Tessa. Just try to stay calm….”

  Mom was good at calm; so was Gabe. I was not. The next three hours felt like the longest of my life. But finally, a loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing that the results from the judges’ panel were in and that the votes from the crowd had been tallied. To win the award for Flavorfest Best, you had to have at least three out of four total votes. Each of the judges had one vote, and the crowd’s votes, when they were tallied, counted as the fourth overall vote.

  “Please have at least one representative from your truck on stage for the Flavorfest award announcement in five minutes.”

  The loudspeaker snapped off, and I looked at Gabe. “Are you ready?”

  Gabe nodded, then grabbed his smartphone. “Wait a sec. Cleo’s coming, too.” He dialed her cell on Skype. Within seconds, Cleo’s face appeared, tired but smiling, on Gabe’s screen.

  “Cleo!” I said. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Hey,” she said, waving from her hospital bed. “I heard what you did while I was in surgery yesterday, Tessa. Thanks for saving the day with the special sauce.”

  “It’s not saved yet,” I said nervously. “But we’ll know in about ten minutes.”

  Cleo held up crossed fingers. “I’ll be watching.”

  “And I’ll be waiting to hear the news,” Mom said. She’d be holding down the fort in the truck while Gabe and I braved the stage. She gave me a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you. Now, get out there and bring home the bacon.”

  I rolled my eyes, then laughed. “I’ll try.”

  As Gabe and I began weaving through the crowd toward the stage, my laughter faded into nervousness. My legs started shaking so badly, I wasn’t sure how I’d climb the steps up to the stage.

  But that’s when I saw Asher standing at the base of the stairs. His reassuring smile swept my breath away, but it also bolstered my courage.

  “Go on,” Gabe said, giving me a gentle shove forward. “He’s waiting.”

  “B-but, what about you?” I stammered.

  Gabe shook his head. “It’s you and Asher now. Cleo’s orders.”

  “That’s right,” Cleo piped up from Gabe’s phone. “So get up there.”

  I took a deep breath, then walked toward Asher.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” I whispered to him.

  “Hey, you taught me how to cook,” Asher said. “This should be a piece of cake compared to that, right?”

  “You may be right,” I said, and I felt some of my nervousness dissipate as I smiled. Together, Asher and I climbed the stairs and took our place in front of hundreds of cheering and applauding onlookers.

  “Go, Tessa!” a chorus of voices hollered out from the crowd. I craned my neck, spotting Tristan, Ben, and Mei standing next to Gabe and waving. And, shockingly, there stood Mr. Morgan, with his arm around Asher’s mom.

  Somehow, seeing all of the encouraging faces — even Mr. Morgan’s — gave me an extra boost of confidence. I waved back. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, I was proud that we’d come this far, and that I had such great friends by my side.

  The woman judge I’d seen before took center stage and motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

  “This had to be one of the closest competitions we’ve seen in years,” she said into the microphone. “All of the nominees for the Flavorfest Best Award were exquisite, and I think I speak for all the judges when I say what a difficult decision we had to make.” The other judges nodded, and the crowd rumbled their agreement.

  “And now for the winners,” she said. “Third place goes to the Gelatta Love truck for its limoncello gelato.”

  Asher and I burst into applause as Signor Antonio swept his fedora off and made a gallant bow. He took the third-place plaque and shouted, “Grazie! Grazie!” to the screaming crowd.

  “Second place goes to the Chickpeas Please truck for its Famous Falafel,” the judge announced, and Mrs. Bisrati graciously accepted the plaque while the crowd cheered.

  “And now,” the judge said, “for the first-place winner.”

  I swallowed, barely able to breathe or hear over the thundering of my heartbeat.

  “This year’s Flavorfest Best Award goes to … the Tasty Truck for the Bacon Me Crazy BLT with Tessa’s special sauce!”

  Applause and cheers exploded through the crowd. The judge turned toward Asher and me, expectantly holding out our plaque and waiting for one of us to step forward.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Asher said, giving me a nudge. “Go up there and get our award.”

  But even through my daze of exhilaration, I hesitated. “But … she said Tessa’s special sauce,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Asher said. “It was Cleo’s idea to change the name on the entry. Gabe told me this morning. Cleo’s sauce was great, but yours is even better.” He pulled me into a hug that sent a shiver straight to my core. “You deserve this,” he whispered. “Now … go!”

  My head spun giddily. Then, scarcely believing it was actually me, I walked forward, beaming, to accept the award.

  The second we stepped off the stage, Asher and I were surrounded. Mei got to me first, practically knocking me over with hugs, and then came Ben, Tristan, and Gabe, with Cleo blowing me mad kisses the whole time over Skype.

  “We knew you’d win,” Mei said. “But I wore my lucky skirt, just in case.”

  “Pink, of course,” I said with a laugh.

  “Of course,” Mei said, grinning.
/>   I glanced at Mr. Morgan, who was pulling Gabe aside.

  “Have you and Cleo ever considered opening a franchise for the truck?” I heard Mr. Morgan saying. “I think there’s great potential, and I own this amazing space that’s vacant at the moment….”

  I glanced at Asher, and whispered, “Wow.”

  He grinned. “I guess there’s an upside to my mom dating a restaurant tycoon.”

  “Hey, guys,” Tristan said, “if I don’t get my hands on one of the BLTs ASAP I’m going to get the shakes.” Then he turned to everyone else. “I’m heading to the Tasty Truck. Who’s coming?”

  There was a resounding “yes,” except for Asher, who said, “Tessa and I will meet you guys there in a minute.”

  My heart skittered as Tristan grinned at us, like he knew something delicious he wasn’t about to share. Mei grinned, too, exchanging secretive looks with Ben. Obviously something big was going on, and I was the only one who didn’t know what.

  “See you in a few,” Mei sang as she and Ben walked off.

  And within seconds, Asher and I were alone on the outskirts of the slowly dispersing crowd.

  “What’s up with everybody?” I asked, feeling my temperature rising. “I figured they’d want to celebrate.”

  “They do,” Asher said. “They’re just waiting for me to get my act together.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath and blew it out nervously. “See, there’s this girl I’ve been meaning to ask to the Sweet Heart Ball,” he said, “but I’ve kind of been a chicken about it.”

  My heart sank. “I know who you’re talking about.”

  He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You do?”

  I nodded. “And I know she’ll say yes.”

  Asher smiled with relief. “You do?”

  “Definitely,” I said softly. “I mean, Karrie really likes you, and …” I couldn’t find my voice anymore through my disappointment.

  Asher blinked, then burst out laughing. “Tessa,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, “I’m not going to ask Karrie to the dance.”