the future freaks me out [noah]

Frank stared at the fluorescent sign before him, face upturned and long arms hung awkwardly at his sides. So this was where Noah Haas had ended up. Frida's.

It was in his nature to be skeptical. He gave everything a try when it came to food (well, most things, he categorically refused to step foot in a hipster milkshake bar), though he always erred on the side of caution— there were too many shitty restaurants out there to not. But he trusted Noah, for reasons unbeknown. The kid hadn't exactly proved his wisdom, per se, but he did know good food. At least, he did when they worked together in New York.

The tall man made his way to the bar, avoiding the glances from patrons. He could have sworn he had a sign on his forehead that read 'American, please stare at me'. Then again, his height (and general appearance, he assumed) usually generated a few looks. After dropping his cigarette case back into the inside pocket of old green bomber jacket, he shrugged it off to hang loosely on the back of a stool.

"Just a beer, thanks," The raven-haired witch behind the bar pushed a menu to him expectantly. Apparently just a beer wasn't an option, noted. Frank's eyes glazed over the fancy cocktails and resisted the urge (he was a sucker for a drink with a flower). "The stout," He corrected, returning the menu and studying the tattoos wrapped around her forearm. He wouldn't mind sticking around here a little while longer if she kept up the bad attitude. The sour ones always got him.

"Noah around?" Though she must have missed the question. "This tall— looks like he hasn't slept in a few weeks?" Frank held up his arm as she poured the beer. "Works in the kitchen," She smiled (well, almost), and said he was finishing up his shift. As usual, Frank had arrived earlier than when dictated by his friend, ever the neurotic guest. "Frank," He confirmed when the witch asked who she could tell Noah was visiting.

@Noah Haas

“Service,” he called out, sliding three plates of tacos along the bench ready for Maria to deftly scoop up and head out to the restaurant. They were still a couple hours from closing the kitchen, but Noah was on the early shift today and due to finish in about-- seven minutes, according to the clock on the wall.

He turned back to his station and began tidying up, getting everything in order for his replacement to pick up when he left, when Sofia popped her head around the doorway: ”Noah, some geezer called Frank here for you. Hot date?” The American wizard grinned, then twisted his expression into something akin to a giggly schoolgirl, upheld hand covering his mouth coyly; “Yeah, he’s so handsome, right?” She rolled her eyes and went back out front. He grimaced -- tough crowd.

Midway through wiping his bench down Martin turned up, and Noah clapped him on the back. pulling his apron off, “I gotta go man, thanks.”

A minute later and he burst through the door separating kitchen from restaurant. His eyes immediately found the hulking mass that was Frank, hunched on a stool at the bar and staring at Sofia while sipping a drink. “Francis!”  He shouted, arms out. “You made it!” He pulled the older man into a half-hug, clasping his hand in greeting. As he pulled back his eyes fell to the beer. “Oh, come on man, you gotta have one of Sofia’s margaritas.” He grinned -- a little lecherously -- at the dark-haired witch and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Or not.” He chewed on his lip and turned back to Frank. “Hey, you eaten?”

Frank looked up to the familiar face, grimacing through a smile at his full name being spoken so loudly amidst the seemingly soft English accents around them. He figured they were just quieter here. Their two accents combined (a strange amalgamation of East Coast Northern America) was sure to get more grating as the night went on. "Haas," He clapped a hand to the back of his shoulder before going in for the full embrace.

What a sight to see, he imagined, their weird gangly limbs intertwined.

"I made it," He repeated matter of factly before returning to his seat, now facing Noah as opposed to the bar. Margarita, he said. Frank eyed the witch suspiciously for a moment. "Can't do tequila— " He shrugged, vaguely apologetic (in his mind) to her. From being in the industry himself, he figured that not much could offend her now. Working as they did gave you tough skin, taught you how to fight back. In fact, he anticipated a witty remark.

"Can't do you either, love" Sofia, as she was called, smiled at him, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. Right on time.

Frank chuckled before turning to his friend again. London suited him, as much as it could. It still looked like he was sleeping on the floor, eating cereal for dinner every night, but he seemed happy. "Surprisingly, I have not," He pulled a menu from the divider of the bar and scanned it quickly. "What's the recommendation?" He tossed it aside. Most chefs knew the best thing on the menu wasn't actually on the menu. "Nice spot you've landed," He commented over his beer, looking around the room again.

"I mean, it's no Swanson's, but..." He referenced the deli that they first worked together at. Frank was a seasoned professional at shitty restaurants, Noah just out of school, bright-eyed and foolishly full of hope.

Noah hadn’t realised until the moment Frank’s arms wrapped around him how much he’d missed his friends and family -- aside from the (now ex) girlfriend he’d moved here with and the English witch he lived with (a childhood friend), Frank was the first familiar face he’d seen this side of the Atlantic.  “It’s good to see you, man.” And it was obvious from his tone he meant it.

Frank declined the suggestion of a margarita and Sofia took it as well as could be expected. Noah shrugged, silently conveying to his friend that this wasn’t personal -- Sofia was a tough nut to crack and he was beginning to think she had some sort of bias against Americans as a rule.

“Shit, I shoulda whipped something up before I clocked off,” he lamented. “The fried chicken is—” he brought his hand to his mouth in a classic chef’s kiss gesture. “It’s not like the Kentucky crap,” he clarified. “Today’s special’s a lamb and pomegranate taco, man it’s good. You want one?” He paused, mid-thought, realising that although eating here would certainly be cheaper (Noah got his own meals on the house), Frank might fancy exploring a little. “Or we can see what else is around, take a little tour, like old times?” The trips to Miami and New Orleans with Frank had been the eye-opener for Noah, for two reasons: first, he’d never left the tri-state area (excluding for school); and second, he’d never realised just how good food could be.

“Yeah, it’s pretty dope,” the New Yorker conceded. “No Swanson’s,” he agreed with a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. He hadn’t really realised at the time how much of a dump that place had been -- but he also hadn’t really been anticipating a career in food back then, either. Now that Noah had worked in a few nicer establishments he was starting to get an appreciation for what could be. “So what’s your plan? You come here to offer me a job?” he grinned, joking -- he should probably have been a little more careful about that kind of talk while they were still in his current place of employment, but...

"You know that's not really a thing, right, Kentucky—" Frank stopped himself before going too far down another impassioned pointless tangent. He had a bad habit of doing that, as his ex-girlfriend absolutely loved to point out, his affinity for useless knowledge sharing. "Lamb and pomegranate..." The wizard mulled the combination over in his mind. "Is it a salsa?" He quirked an eyebrow in his friend's direction. "The pomegranate," He clarified. While he was pretty sure Noah could have figured that out, he never really knew with that one.

"I'll try it," Francis finally declared, tapping his pointer finger to the bartop. "Let's see what this place is all about..." He opened his arms briefly before settling back into the stool. He didn't bother looking at the menu or gesturing to his new favorite bartender, he much preferred the expert here to do the ordering, give him the chance to show off a bit.

Just when he had given the kid a little bit of credit...

"What the fuck?" Franks grin betrayed him as he tried to keep his voice low. Somehow the two Americans in the room seemed to cut through the noise. It didn't help that they were both like a pair of Frankensteins huddled over the bar, of course. "You really are dumb, you know that, kid?" He meant it affectionately, Noah was used to the way that he was. There was a very thin line between Frank's complimentary insults and his genuine ones, and his tone made it nearly impossible to detect.

"You seem to be enjoying it here, though..." He offered. In truth, it hadn't been his intention in coming here to try and poach him, but if the thought was already there. "Don't think you'd want to go back to slinging pizza and making sandwiches," Frank teased, knowingly almost certainly he would.

Noah had been too busy babbling and missed Frank start (and stop) on the Kentucky thing. Probably for the best.

A salsa? “Uhh,” Noah hesitated -- he made the thing but his knowledge on terminology (what exactly constituted a salsa?) was limited and he relied heavily on the menu itself to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “It’s just kinda like sprinkled in there with ground lamb and kale and toasted pepitas. Then some coriander and mayo.” He scratched behind his ear. “It’s real good,.”

Frank would try it. “Sick,” Noah announced, then leaned over the bar to leer at Sofia. “Heey, Sof,” he started, “can we get two of the specials, with some patatas bravas? Oh, and the fried chicken. And—” Frank had said he couldn’t do tequila, “— Rum? Rum with the citrus and ginger soda. Two of those too.” Noah usually preferred beer but you could get beer anywhere and the soda was made in-house and he thought Frank ought to try that too. He’d never worked anywhere that he’d felt especially proud of the food before, and here he was, so he might have been going a little overboard but fuck it.

He caught the look Sofia gave him and smiled. “Thaanks,” he all but sang, before turning back to Frank. He laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted with a wide grin. “Relax, man, they’re not gonna fire me,” he told the older man, hand resting on his shoulder as he slid onto the stool beside him. Noah had never considered himself a chef -- more of a cook --  but he’d stepped his game up considerably in the past couple of years and he felt, now, in this kitchen, he was worthy of the title. He was holding his own, anyway.

Noah nodded. “Yeah, it’s like a proper restaurant,” he grinned, wiggling his head on the last two words proudly. Still, if Frank was offering… “Dude, are you kidding?” he asked the moment Frank dangled the possibility in front of him. “I love pizza and sandwiches, that’s like, home.” Sofia slid back into frame to deposit their drinks on the bar, then quickly left them to their conversation. Noah had a sip of his ‘cocktail’. “So seriously, are you setting up something here?”


[out]

"Fucking, coriander?"

Frank made a face. He was only aware of the alternative term from his time in New York, the melting pot as the world had dubbed it— cilantro was the verbiage he was accustomed to. Either way, he had never been a fan. It tasted like soap.

"I'll take your word for it," He said, honestly. For a man so stuck in his ways, he was willing to give it a chance, particularly after seeing his friend so alit with the passion that recognized all too well. "What a clusterfuck...." Frank said to himself, not unkindly, tapping his long fingers over the menu in thought. The breadth was not lost on him. Fried chicken, lamb and pomegranate tacos, homemade fucking soda— all of it was enough to give him a headache on a good day.

Then again, maybe he was being cynical. Definitely.

Frank offered a grin in return for Noah's reassurance, though still, he wasn't so sure. "I mean, it sounds like you've got a good thing going here," He began, gesturing vaguely and taking a mouthful of the drink that was surprisingly refreshing. It was true, though, how inspired Noah was by the craft was evident, and who was he to intervene? Besides, that hadn't been his intention for stopping by, either way.

"No," He answered honestly to the other man's question of him setting something up. Quite frankly subtly wasn't his strong suit. "But you should stop by, check it out once we open," Frank glanced over to Noah just as their food arrived. It certainly smelled up to par.

fin