“Oh my god, this is perfect,” I gasp as Barry shows me into the back of the slightly dilapidated food truck that used to serve churros and donuts. I step up the creaky steps into the galley style kitchen space that consists of high cupboards I may struggle to reach without a little step of some kind. One side is made up of counter space, two fryers and a sink, and the side facing the serving hatch has two spider burners and a large hot plate plus preparation and serving space. I’m happy to see large extractor vents that will help keep the cooking smells and heat out of this small space.
Everything is stainless steel, and I can immediately see its potential, even though it’s covered in a thick layer of grease and smells terrible. As I walk up and down, I look up at the three skylight windows that will provide much needed air and ventilation and begin to imagine how it will look once it’s clean and functioning.
“Jesus, it stinks in here,” I hear Matt grumble as he pokes his head through the door, wrinkling his nose, looking around.
“It just needs some TLC.” I laugh, lifting the lid to one of the fryers, finding it still half full of very old, dirty cooking oil. “Does everything still work?”
Barry rubs his stubbly chin and makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “The fryers need a good clean and might need replacing and the fridges are totally dead, but the gas, water, electrics, and hot plate are all good and up to code.”
“How about the motor?” my brother interrupts. “I want it to be road worthy if she’s gonna be driving all over the city.”
“Ah, the motor’s the newest thing about this little beauty.” Barry chuckles. “Replaced it all myself.” He digs the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me. “Go and start her up.”
As I clamber excitedly out the back, Matt follows me to the driver’s door. “You ever driven anything this big before, Squirt?” he asks, looking slightly concerned as I take two attempts to climb into the seat.
“Sure, it’s just like an SUV, right?” I ask, looking to Barry for confirmation.
“Absolutely, you just have more out back so you have to watch your turns,” he replies as I put the key in the ignition and turn it over. To my relief, it starts first time and purrs to life—Barry’s right, the motor is the best part of the truck by far. The rest will take work, tons of elbow grease, and some more money, but I can do a lot of the cleanup myself.
As I sit in the driver’s seat and imagine pulling up to music festivals and carnivals, I watch my brother walk around the truck several times, bombarding poor Barry with questions about permits, warranties, and tips on suppliers to help outfit the truck to get it ready for business.
“So, is this the one you want?” Matt finally asks, making me jump slightly as he appears at the door.
“It is! Is the price okay?” I reply cautiously, knowing Matt is footing the bill for most of the truck.
My brother smirks. “Let’s just say Barry and I have come to an arrangement that might involve some season tickets to secure us a decent discount.”
I squeal and slap my hands on the horn, effectively startling Matt and Barry, and burst out laughing. I leap out of the cab and hug my brother tightly. “Thank you so much,” I whisper.
“It’s no problem, sis,” he mumbles, putting me down and rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed by my emotional outburst. “Remember—you’re giving me a profit percentage until you pay me back.”
I laugh. “I know, but just the fact that you believe I can do this and you’re willing to invest in me is amazing enough.”
“I’ll always believe in you, Squirt.” Matt pulls me into a headlock. “Now let’s go and sort out the paperwork with Barry and then I’ll take you to lunch.”
Once we’ve sorted out the sale with Barry and arranged delivery for a week’s time, Matt insists a professional deep cleaning company be allowed to come in while it’s still on Barry’s lot to get rid of all the grease and grime. He mumbles something about not wanting his new driveway being flooded with an oil slick. Barry is happy to oblige; the Whalers season tickets have obviously kept him sweet for more than just the discount on the price.
With everything signed, sealed, and shaken on, we jump into Matt’s Mustang and roar out of the lot, heading back to the city for lunch.
“This is so freaky exciting!” Beth gushes, sipping her champagne. “It’s amazing being your own boss. I’ll have to bring you to one of my Women in Business networking meetings.”
I giggle as the bubbles from my own drink tickle my nose. “Thanks, but I have a slightly rundown food truck and no customers, so I don’t think I’m a Woman in Business quite yet.”
“Oh bullshit, you just need to start getting word out on social media. Build the buzz so people will be salivating for your grilled cheese when you’re ready to open,” Beth replies.
I’ve been invited to Champagne Tuesday with Mila and her friends, Beth and Cam. However, Cam’s on sparkling water because she’s still breastfeeding. Baby Sawyer is currently sleeping in the car seat next to her mom, hardly stirring even as Beth continues to talk enthusiastically and rather loudly about how to build my social media presence.
“Beth’s right,” Cam says as she gently rocks the car seat with her foot. “You need to set up your Instagram profile immediately and start posting videos of yourself making each recipe. Perhaps release one every few days in the lead up to the opening.”
“That’s a great idea.” Mila joins in, grabbing some chocolate-covered pretzels from the bowl on the coffee table. “I bet if we got all the guys to follow you and share your posts, you’d have thousands of followers in no time.”
“Yes!” Beth cries, pointing at Mila. “We should get them all trying your sandwiches and posting that too. Come on—let’s make a plan!”
I’m so touched by the way these women, who hardly know me really, are banding together to help me. I’ve felt so alone and unsure of my decisions since arriving back in America; did I do the right thing? Should I have given everything up because of a bastard like Etienne? But at this moment, surrounded by these confident, driven women, I’m beginning to believe I made the right decision. Sometimes great things can come from crappy situations, and Paris will always be there so I can go back someday.
We continue to drink and talk about my business plan, Mila jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad while Cam, Beth, and I bounce ideas back and forth and search for things on our phones. First and foremost, we decide a name for the food truck is the most important thing, so that I can start looking into branding and making logos. I’ll also need it plastered all over the truck that’s currently sitting on Matt’s driveway.
“How about ‘Sweet Cheezus’?” Beth suggests when we start to bounce names around.
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t think it gives off the right vibe. I mean, I’m not serving anything sweet so it might mislead people.” I hate dismissing their ideas, but I have to get this right.
Mila looks up from her phone and reads out the names of other food trucks in the area so we can avoid using any of those.
“Let’s make a list of keywords that best describe what your main selling points are and see if any of those suggest a name,” Cam says quietly, careful not to disturb Sawyer, who is now nestled at her breast, feeding contentedly.
“That’s a great idea, but I think I’ll need to sample one of these incredible sandwiches before I can comment,” Beth replies, her eyes wide with expectation, a cheeky little smirk on her red lips.
“Yes!” Mila cries, startling the baby who then begins to cry and spit up. “Oops, sorry!”
Cam sighs and stands up. “Can I feed her in your room?”
“Yeah, sure. There’s a comfy chair in Matt’s office just down the hall,” Mila replies, her cheeks flushed with champagne and embarrassment at disturbing Sawyer’s meal.
“Thanks babe. C’mon, SJ. Let’s clean you up and finish this feed.” Cam picks up her changing bag and heads off toward Matt’s office with a wailing baby in her arms.
The rest of us head into the kitchen area, and I gather what I need to make a classic French sandwich called a Croque Monsieur. I fully intend to have this on the menu because it was one of the first meals I ate when I arrived in Paris and was always a go-to snack after a hard shift in the kitchen.
While Mila and Beth watch and continue to sip champagne, I make a basic bechamel sauce.
“Now I add some nutmeg and seasoning for flavor,” I explain, suddenly realizing that my audience is watching in hungry silence.
Leaving the sauce to cool, I slice the loaf of sourdough into eight thick slices, smearing the cooled sauce into each piece. Then I top that with grated Swiss cheese, Dijon mustard and wafer-thin slices of ham.
“I’m gonna need to hit the gym tomorrow after this,” Beth mutters, not taking her eyes off what I’m doing as I add more Swiss cheese to each sandwich and finally another smear of bechamel on the top slices of bread.
Putting the skillet on the burner, I add butter and begin to heat it until it bubbles, the smell of hot butter bringing back so many lovely memories of buying fresh croissants and bread from the bakery down the street.
I carefully add two sandwiches to the skillet, and as they sizzle, I hear Mila and Beth sigh, their reactions giving me a warm gooey feeling in my heart and making me smile. I flip the sandwiches to brown on both sides and then remove them from the skillet, placing them on kitchen paper to drain. As I load up the spatula with more bechamel, I hear Beth gasp.
“More of that?” she giggles.
I laugh as well, as I load up the top of each sandwich with more sauce and grated Gruyere, putting them on a tray and flashing them under the broiler to make the top bubbly and gooey. Beth and Mila are literally drooling by the time I slice the sandwiches in half, load them onto plates and hand them over.
“Oh my god,” Mila breaths, holding her plate up to her nose and taking a deep inhale of the cheesy goodness.
As I continue to make sandwiches for Cam and me, all I hear behind me are moans and mumbled compliments. By the time Cam returns with a contented Sawyer nestled against her shoulder, the girls have finished their sandwiches and are frantically jotting down adjectives to describe what they’ve just demolished.
“Lana, this looks amazing,” Cam enthuses, handing a sleepy Sawyer off to Mila, then carefully picking up half of her sandwich and biting into it with a satisfying crunch, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh Jesus!”
“I love this sandwich. I really want to make it the signature dish,” I explain, taking a bite of my own. “If I add a fried egg on top, it turns it into a Croque Madame.”
“Yum, I’d eat these every day.” Beth giggles, picking up crumbs from her plate with her finger. “Although my ass would be the size of a Buick if I did.”
Cam laughs. “I love that they’re so rich and indulgent, totally gourmet.” Her mouth is full of bread and cheese that she swallows before continuing. “And the cheese is so gooey.” She sighs and continues to munch the crispy bread.
“Oohhh, I’ve got it!” Mila cries, throwing her hands in the air, standing up. “How about ‘The Gooey Gourmet’?” She looks round at us with an expectant look on her face, so pleased with her idea.
As soon as she says it, I can clearly picture the food truck with a huge picture of a grilled cheese sandwich being pulled in half, stringy cheese extending between the two halves.
“I love it!” I yelp, rushing round the kitchen island to kiss Mila’s cheek. “It’s perfect! I can already see my logo and what the truck will look like.”
“This is so exciting!” Beth squeals, hugging me, pulling Cam off her stool to join us.
“Oh god, I can’t wait to get started on this now.” I sniff, feeling emotional and overwhelmed but also more motivated than I have in a really long time.