A New Chef at the A-OK Diner
The news was out: the A-OK had a new owner, and their pecan pie was the best this side of the Mississippi River.
They still served the usuals; the burgers were good, the fries were just okay, but everyone who pulled up just had to have dessert, and that dessert was the Pecan Ala Mode, with extra-creamy vanilla ice cream (“made by hand! with vanilla beans!” boasted the menu).
The A-OK Diner wasn’t very new and wasn’t very big, it was just set off one of the paved county roads, a round, shiny aluminum-and-chrome exterior that was shaded by large trees on either side. The lawn was neatly trimmed and allowed for people to lunch outdoors on picnic tables when the weather was nice and not humid.
The sky was clear and the sun was out when Priscilla and her daughter Jane drove over to the A-OK in their Buick after church. Priscilla, who had been very fair in her youth, was a stocky fortress of a lady, but still wore an expression of wonder and delight as she ushered in her skinny long-haired daughter and took their seats in a curved, red-leather booth.
“Would you look at that,” gasped Priscilla, “they have the old menus on the walls! And such lovely coloring!”
Jane, who was fourteen and completely dedicated to grinding down her mother’s awe and enthusiasm at the diner’s interior, rolled her eyes. “It’s paint, Mom,” she finally said. “It doesn’t mean the food is any good here.”
Priscilla was about to chide her daughter about her bad attitude when the waitress arrived with the menus. She wore her jet-black hair up in a bun almost as big as her head and her nametag read LULUBELLE. She smacked her lips as she talked, as if she were chewing gum.
“What’ll we have today, gang?”
Priscilla knew straightaway: “Two Ceasar Salads and Pecan Ala Modes, please.”
“Mom.” Jane said firmly. She turned to Lulubelle, and asked in her I-too-can-have-what-I-want-voice, “I wanted to hear what other pies are available today.”
“Well, hon,” started Lulubelle, “there’s Toll House, and Apple, and the chef is working on a new one, the Key Lime Pie.”
Jane thought for a moment and then said, “Apple Ala Mode, please.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Just the waters, please,” said Priscilla. Jane glared at her mother but knew that a Coke and an Apple Ala Mode was already a sugary bridge too far.
Lulubelle scribbled down the order and headed to the back.
Priscilla waited until the waitress was out of sight, and then turned on her Very Calm Voice, “Jane honey, what did we say about interrupting in public places?”
“But Mom,” Jane whined, turning her head to one side. “Don’t you see? This has got to be the place.”
Priscilla shook her head, as if she was about to say the truth: what is wrong with you today child? Instead, she politely played along, “What place again?”
“The place that we were talking about. With the weird lights in the sky.”
“Who was ‘we’?”
“Me and Jimbo, we rode our bikes down here and saw… lasers in the sky.” She slowed down for a second, and her mouth twisted as if she was considering what she had just said.
“Lasers in the sky, honey? With Jimbo?” The question that she kept to herself continued, Was it the drugs? She didn’t think Jane knew about that green stuff, but she did not have the same reservation about Jimbo.
Jane just shrugged in response.
Priscilla was ready to grill Jane about hanging out with Jimbo, but the Caesars came out promptly. The chicken was properly grilled, and the lettuce leaves were still crispy and cold, straight from the walk-in cooler. Priscilla ate politely, but Jane wolfed hers down because she knew what came next; the pies.
The new chef came out himself, a jovial round fellow in white apron, t-shirt and pants, one plate in each hand, and Lulubelle followed him with an extra plate, chewing her invisible gum.
“Howdy folks!” said the chef, “I’m the new chef here, and I wanted to see how things were doing today.”
“Things are just fine,” deadpanned Jane, “if you hand over the pies.”
“Jane!” Priscilla chided, and turned to the large, friendly chef with a nervous laugh. “Kids, am I right? I didn’t catch your name, mister…?”
“You can just call me Sam, darling," he said, serving the pies quickly enough so that Jane didn’t bite off an arm. “I also just wanted your opinion on something else, if you don’t mind.”
Priscilla, looking into Sam’s eyes and nodding, was trying to avoid the scene of her daughter inhaling an entire piece of apple pie. “Of course,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “How can we help?”
“I’ve been working on a new recipe for our Key Lime Pie,” said Sam, looking at Priscilla and then at Jane, who was already licking an empty plate. “I was wondering if you two would like to split a piece on the house and let me know what you think?”
“We would love to,” said Priscilla. She looked over at her daughter who was already wiping her mouth clean of pie crust crumbs. “Jane, honey, why don’t you start, since you, uh, already finished yours?”
“Sure thing, Mom,” she said, taking the third plate from Sam. She sliced off a piece with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
“Hm. Hm. Hmmm.” she said, chewing the first bite, turning it over in her mouth.
Priscilla started on her Pecan Ala Mode, trying to make a good impression by taking dainty bites. “Jane, sweetie, it’s rude to eat and talk at the same time.”
“Well,” Jane finally said. “Is it supposed to be sugar-free? Or vegan?”
“Oh no,” said Sam, “It’s a new interpretation of the original.”
Jane couldn’t hold back: “Well then, I hate it. I could have called it vegan and hated it for that, but if it’s not that, then it’s just bad. Are you sure you’re a real chef? You know, I saw lights in the sky the other day here, for all we know you could be an alien visitor, serving us a Key Lime like that-“
“Jane! There’s no need to be rude, I’m sure it’s just fine.” Priscilla said. She reached over and took a forkful of the pie. “You’re just being too hard on the poor man, he spent all this time - hmmmmmmm,” as the pie went into her mouth, her expression turned on a dime.
She chewed, swallowed, put down the fork, paused, and then said, “Your Pecan Ala Mode is heaven-sent. It’s divine. It’s otherworldly. But.”
“But…?” Sam finally asked, eyebrows raised.
“The Key Lime tastes foul. The texture is there, but everything else about it is wrong. Just wrong.”
#
Sam stroked his chin thoughtfully, as he watched the family drive away.
The day passed just like any other. Lulubelle hung up her apron and went home. The cloudless sky turned from blue to violet to night. Sam went to the back of the diner and opened up a small laptop. It slowly turned on, and he tapped out a message, which beamed itself into the stars. More specifically, to a star the Earth denizens called Wolf 359.
In his native language, the alien who went by Sam wrote: I THINK THEY ARE ON TO ME
The message came back, almost immediately: NEVER MIND THAT, DID YOU FIGURE OUT THE KEY LIME PIE?