Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,60

from any digitalis poisoning that he’d had.

“I didn’t see that review.” Josh furrowed his brow. “Your food is great. What could the reviewer find to pick on?”

Digger shrugged. “The usual stuff. This was too oily, that was underseasoned, this wasn’t spicy enough. And my favorite? The portions are too small. It’s tapas for Christ’s sake! Obviously the portions are small!”

“That’s not fair.” Josh shook his head. “Some of these reviewers . . .” His voice trailed off.

I had to agree. “I saw that Marlee and Alloy got a pretty nasty review from him, too. That one might have been on target, but it was still vicious.”

Digger continued. “That dude is one mean son of a bitch. Do you know how much power reviewers have? People come into a restaurant and say they read a great review, and so they wanted to try us out. Nobody comes in and says, ‘Hey, I just read a crappy review of this place, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyhow.’ The Mystery Diner may have been right about the service, but not about the food. And I’m not just saying that to be cocky. The food really is good. That Mystery Diner should be strung up, if you ask me.” Digger took another drink and then looked sheepish. “Sorry. But you know what? Bad reviews happen. And the review didn’t single me out. The reviewer just hated the whole place. It’s part of the business, and it makes the good reviews all the better. Still, I’m not gonna say it doesn’t sting like a bastard when I read the awful ones.”

“And then you get blamed for it, right?” Josh gave Digger a knowing look. “The owner rides you for a bad review and takes all the credit for a good one. What’re you going to do? That’s the life we chose.” Josh lifted his glass in a sarcastic toast.

“Actually, I’m looking for another job. That’s what I’m gonna do. When things reach a certain low, we chefs have to move on and find something better. There’s only so much punishment I can take on a daily basis, you know?”

“Wow,” I said, stunned that Digger was thinking about quitting. “Do you have any leads?”

“A couple. I got a headhunter I use. Actually I gave—”

“The food is here,” Josh cut in.

The waitress set down the cicchetti we’d ordered. I inhaled the aroma and couldn’t wait to taste the meatballs. As I knew from a previous visit, when I’d practically interrogated the server about the meatballs, they had been seared and then simmered in the oven with white wine. I popped one in my mouth. Heaven!

Inevitably, we talked about the murder. Digger hadn’t known about the digitalis found in Francie’s system. “It’s a heart medicine,” I said. “It comes from a flower. Foxglove. Don’t some people garnish dishes with flowers?” I bit into a risotto ball.

“Ugh, yeah. Nasturtiums and shit. Ick.” Digger blew a raspberry. “I’ve never done that, have you, Josh?”

Josh shook his head. “Nah. That was sort of trendy for a while. Some flowers are edible, but I never got into that. Seriously, nobody wants to eat a flower.”

I’d had nasturtiums in salad that had been pretty good, but I felt unqualified to argue flavor with two chefs, so I kept quiet.

Digger pointed his fork at me and spoke with his mouth full. “Flowers belong in a garden or in a vase, if you ask me. Just don’t make me grow ’em for you. I’ve never touched a garden in my life.”

By the time I finished my entrée, lasagna con coniglio brasato (braised rabbit and crispy polenta lasagna with shaved raw mushrooms, thyme, and gremoulata), I was so stuffed that I didn’t know whether I’d be able to eat dessert. As usual, though, my appetite returned quickly, and I managed to squeeze in a ricotta cheese tart with Marsala sauce.

When Digger went to the bathroom, Josh reached across the table and took my hand in his. “I’m sorry I was so snappy earlier. Really.”

Since Josh looked so genuinely apologetic, I squeezed his hand back. “How early are you working tomorrow?”

“Not that early.” Josh winked at me.

SEVENTEEN

“IT’S not possible that I got bigger since Friday!” Adrianna’s yell shot through my phone’s receiver. “What in heck made me think it was a good idea to alter my own wedding dress?”

“I don’t know,” I said helplessly. “I wish I could do your alterations, but I’m not particularly adept with a needle and thread. Do you want