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Of all the things he was surprised by in the 21st century, he didn't expect food to be one of them. For some reason, it seemed like something slow to change, that the gradual shifts of the world would take a long while to make food as he knew change.
James understood the prices now. His eyes still widened when looking at tags but with time he got used to it. There was a bigger variety, things he never heard before, and foods that were as full or unhealthy as back in his days. He couldn't help but look for similar products as the ones he ate during his childhood and adult life.
Plain loaves of bread, pies, and stews. Descendant from the Great Depression, where his compatriots died of hunger and lost all their money in the stock exchange. He remembered when he was a kid, barely understood how the world worked and what a job even was, he just knew his daddy went out when the sun rose and came back as it set on the horizon, below the buildings.
His mother, Winnie, fed her boy and her three girls religiously. Even sold pies to support her family and was known as a good-soul of their neighborhood. The time was rough but they made it through, never rich, just above drowning in the water. James remembered the taste of his mom's mulligan stew, freshly boiled and made with love and affection.
The man, filled with nostalgia and a bit of melancholy from his memories, tried to hide his grimace and skepticism about the look of the plate in front of him. It wasn't bad looking, not at all, however, it was simply unfamiliar.
There were too many spices, colors, and textures for his taste. No meal from his time looked like this. His girlfriend looked with a smile and anticipating eyes, hoping he wouldn’t scrunch his nose and be stubborn about trying a new dish.
"I don't like this, dear," he said, whining and shaking his head in denial.
"Jamie, please, try it for me," she begged with her sweet kitten eyes.
She squeezed his shoulders, leaning forward to kiss his stubbled cheek, and picked up the fork with the piece of food and handed it to his hand. With her hand above his, pushing the piece of seasoned meat close to his mouth, James turned his head from it.
"What do you want to do? Eat the same things you ate when you were a kid?" She sighed.
"To be honest, yes."
"What did you even eat?" The girl questioned, now noticing that she barely knew what kinds of meals he had. She only put together that he lived around the consequences of the great depression.
"A lot of stews, potatoes, canned food. And prune pudding, I loved it," he answered, smirking as he recalled it.
"Don't you feel curious about eating fresher foods and different flavors?"
He tilted his head to the left, looking into her eyes and she leaned over his shoulder. "No. Everything changed so much, I just wanna have this."
She felt defeated. She loved him completely, could probably let herself drown inside his embrace and desperate love, yet moments like these broke her frail heart. A man ripped from the arms of his family, his country, and his time. Shocked and submitted into the rapid changes of the present, only being able to accept that his life would never go back, that Brooklyn was gone as he knew it, and that his family was now a memory.
When they were out, James always seemed to choose just a small appetizer and a classic beverage, while she'd try new things every once in a while and would hum in satisfaction from the savory taste. The girl always offered a bite but he rarely - to not say never - accepted.
The dish in front of him was tasty for her. One of her favorites, made with love and a good amount of flavorful spices. She put effort into making the meat soft, was dedicated to the sauce's texture, and didn't rest until all the vegetables were crunchy and looked like something out of a cooking show.
James felt guilty but was too hesitant to simply try it. His whole body froze and rejected the idea of changing his preferences. He acknowledges his lover's effort, feeling bad for letting her work so hard for him and not even tasting it, yet it all feels too much for him.
"Honey, there's only so much we can hold on to in our past. You can always eat what you used to eat but you can learn what you like and don't like in the present too."
“I know.”
After a couple of deep breaths and leaving a chaste gentle kiss in her fingers, he gave up his stubbornness and took the bite she offered him.
James closed his eyes, letting the unknown flavor take over his mouth and mind, that was before overthinking and now quietly gave up the walls of his heart. It was spicier than expected but it didn't burn his tongue as he chewed on the meat. It was warm and he could feel the savory taste of each seasoning, the rosemary, the salty butter, and the red pepper sprinkled on top of it.
He hummed, making the girl curl her lips in a delighted smile. Soon he went for another bite, now at one of the roasted vegetables that were glistening on the plate.
"Ok, I'll admit. It's good," he said. "Maybe you're just a good cook or perhaps I'm lying to make you happy."
"You wouldn't lie to me."
"No, I wouldn't."
The girl giggled, satisfied that her grumpy boyfriend at least tried something new. A long journey awaited the two, a worthy one, and she wouldn't give up on him, never. Promptly after he ended the meal, content with his own will to go through and with the happy smile his girl had, she offered him a piece of dessert.
When the times were worse, drowning in difficulty and filled with midnight cries of his mother and sounds of his father pecking his wife's wet cheeks that were ingrained in James' memories. To pretend it was not as bad as it was, his mother made vinegar pie, crafted with motherly love and calloused hands, flavored with white vinegar and ground nutmeg; if they were lucky, they'd have powdered cinnamon on top.
The golden crust made the four children smile, little Rebecca jumped on her brother's arms and whined for their tired mother to cut the pie. The Barnes family would eat it in joy, hearing stories about the parent's childhood and welcoming little Steve to have dinner after his mother passed.
As the years passed and the crisis seemed to get better, Mrs. Barnes would bake cakes, pies, and even dare to make ice cream from Jell-O for the hot sweaty summer afternoons. Little Rebecca's favorite mock was apple pie, Jamie and Steve preferred vanilla cake, and the other two Barnes' girls loved and always begged for chocolate coffee cake. The six, often seven, people enjoyed and thanked whoever's up above for the sweets on the table.
It was all so different. The hunger and misery of his youthful years were long gone, written in the past and forever set in stone. Nothing could erase all that he lived, all the joyful evenings with a full table and desperate mornings when food was scarce. Every morning, surrounded by the loud horns of passing cars and the sounds of the TV, he could enjoy a proper meal and drink a cup of coffee or two. He was thankful for it, as his mother never raised him to be ungrateful and to take the fulfillment of his basic needs in vain. He couldn’t let her down.
The girl cut a generous slice of red berries' cheesecake, decorating it with fresh wild roses petals and bright raspberries. His face didn't grimace at it, resisting would be pretending at this point and would not bring anything good but sighs and hidden disappointment of his lover. He ate cheesecake before, once when his father's employer threw a Christmas celebration as the crisis was soon a thing of the past. The one in front of him was undeniably prettier and done with overflowing affection, he carved out a piece of it with the silver fork and ate it.
A fruity crisp taste took over his mouth. James pulled the girl by the waist, sitting her on his thighs and giving her a good amount of dessert. She kissed his sugary lips and then pecked all over his face. The man could be tenacious in his stubbornness, yet he chose to demonstrate his approval.
He was happily beaten. Perhaps, even though the new time wounded his heart, while walking beside her he will have the strength to go through it and experience life without fears, holding her hand and having her love to support him.
"I... like this one."
"Yeah? I love to hear that, my dear."
During the chill evening, a man and his girl agreed on not letting themselves be taken by defeat. Little by little, Jamie could learn to see his present and future with sweetness, knowing that the past would always be there to catch him if he fell and that the future awaited to be lived.