food, no fighting

While fancy food isn’t exactly Grazia’s thing, dates with her husband most certainly are. If the boy wants to go somewhere nice for a bite, then that’s what they’re doing, end of story. The Powdered Sugar Cafe was known for it’s sweets first, everything else second, and Ikavod had been dying to go for ages now. When a reservation finally opened up, he snatched up his opportunity.

The two enter the cafe with Grazia holding the door for her husband.

“Handsome boys first,” She coos, earning a coy smile from her husband. He’s playing it as cool as he can, considering how weak he is for his wife’s affections.

“You flatter me, handsome lady,” He hums back, keeping his voice low.

Inside, the atmosphere is bright and welcoming. No expense was spared in presentation. The marble floors glittered and the tables were tabling. There were customers who were talking and making noise, but it was drowned out by the light, tinkling sound of music in the background. There was cute, dessert-themed furniture, the seats being macaroon shaped. There were booths that had cushions resembling pieces of toast with strawberries on them, and the tables themselves were dressed up with white lace and fruit-shaped trays.

Grazia pulls Ikavod’s chair out for him, looking around as she does so.

“Man, this place is fancy fancy.” She whistles through her teeth.

“Hardly,” Ikavod responds, “But it is nice. The decor is a nice touch.”

Grazia knows her husband has different tastes than her, and pays no mind to him in that regard. What hubby likes, hubby gets. She takes her own seat across from him. In front of them is a single-page menu. It is by the good grace of their relationship being so long, that she’s at least familiar with the concept of such a small selection.

That does not stop her from commenting on it, though.

“The menu is small.”

“Yes. They are specialized.” Ikavod taps the menu. “Don’t worry, we will be trying it all.”

“All seven options?” Grazia asks.

“Seven options with several flavors.” Ikavod points out. “…And several flavors of the day. Two, I think.”

“Huh, okay. A few options. Good.” Grazia taps her fingers against the menu, looking around again. Ikavod makes a mental note, waited quite a bit for a waiter. He would, of course, mostly judge the food here. But he is a food reviewer, and any fault displayed by an establishment can and would be used as blackmail.

When a waiter finally shows up, the two order one of everything on the menu. Well, Ikavod does, Grazia opting for a selection of macarons. The sampler platter, of course, and the two also ordered the Powdered Sugar specialty, cream cakes, in the flavors of the day.

The wait, thankfully, isn’t long at all. Their table gets decorated with dish after dish of food that, allegedly, is crafted with love and care. Ikavod’s taste test remains to be the arbiter of whether or not that statement could be true.

Ikavod assesses the foods in front of him. Macarons, cupcakes, cream cakes, croissants, eclairs, puddings, and, curiously, donuts, all greet him. Each one comes covered in a type of icing or frosting, and a modest dusting of powdered sugar. Incredibly sweet, and incredibly decadent.

However, this assessment sours quickly as he notices the most egregious of offenses resting on the table.

Matcha Cream Cake. The flavor of the day.

If he wanted to taste dirt in his dessert he would have simply sprayed whipped cream on grass and dig it up. The establishment loses several points in his head for terrible taste.

While he’s normally quite straight faced, he cannot hide the crinkling of his nose at the sight.

“Unbelievable,” His voice is quiet and calculated. He has Grazia’s full attention, and she jerks her head up to gaze at him.

“Whatsa matter, babe?”

“Matcha. Unbelievable. I cannot believe they’ve served this, on today of all days, as their flavor of the day.” If he didn’t already know he worked with absolute discretion, he’d assume this was some form of slight against his person. Intentional.

He looks around the restaurant nonchalantly, using his shades to hide his eyes’ true direction. No, no one was looking at him oddly. The other patrons were still talking amongst themselves, and the staff were tending other tables. None of them seemed focused on Ikavod.

Alright, maybe this wasn’t a tea-flavored attempt on his pride.

“Ohh, you don’t like the matcha stuff.” Grazia, at the very least, understood the assignment. She might not get the fancy words, but she’s been with Ikavod long enough to remember the things he doesn’t like. She had assumed the green might have been some form of mint, like mint ice cream.

“It’s a waste of a good dessert.” He huffs. “I want to drink my drinks and eat my sweets. It’s not complicated.”

“Shit, sorry babe. You want me to send it back?”

“No, no, that’s tacky.” He waves his hand dismissively. They might be the crude ones for serving terrible sweets, but he refuses to stoop to their level publicly.

“Alright, well, how about I eat it then? You can have this.” She nudges a cream cake with a yellow filling in it. “Took a whiff, smelled lemony.”

This review was going to be scorching hot, he could feel it. His writing hand itched to pen the worst review Burrowgatory had seen in years. First, the matcha, and now serving lemon cake to his beloved wife, who hates citrus. If it wasn’t personal, it was a mistake this establishment would only make once. That he promises.

His lower lip quivers and his eyebrows furrow. Grazia looks to him earnestly and moves the cake towards him.

“Hey, I don’t like it, but you might. Or, why don’t you try some of the strawberry cupcakes?” She asks. “I could feed it to you.”

That breaks him out of his thoughts long enough to reset. He looks to the cupcake being offered to him, already unwrapped and ready to go. The strawberry atop it does, admittedly, look quite fresh and sweet. He regrets to admit that the powdered sugar is a nice touch.

Well, it would be bad to waste the food that was brought to them. He can enjoy what he can, and rip apart the rest. He opens his mouth to take a bite of the cupcake, Grazia guiding it gently as she goes. As he pulls back from the bite, savoring the sweetness of the icing, Grazia leans over to wipe some stray frosting off his face. She offers her frosting-covered finger to him to lick, and he blushes.

“You missed something,” Grazia waves the finger at him. He opens his mouth and licks the frosting off. Decorum be damned, a little spoiling as a treat hurt no one.

“Thank you.” The food tasted that much sweeter, licked off of his wife’s finger. He hates to admit, but the pastry is quite good. The crumb of the cupcake is nice, moist, and not too loose or dense. There are specks of real strawberries laced throughout and they’ve balanced the sugar content well with how decadent the frosting is. The fresh strawberry slices on top provide a lovely amount of moisture and freshness, rounding out the enjoyment of the treat.

Damn. They’re good. A pity they’re going out of business shortly after this trip.

Well, all the more reason to enjoy his time while he’s here.

“How is it, hon?” Grazia asks. “Good or bad?”

“It’s good. Admittedly.”

He has Grazia set the cupcake down, before requesting a new treat.

“Let’s try the lemon cream cake, next.” He directs. He ought to eat it sooner than later, that way the other foods would erase the wicked scent from his breath before he next kissed her. Grazia cuts a slice of the cake - not particularly daintily, mind you - and offers it to him. The little wedge rests precariously on the top of the fork, rather than being stabbed by it. A minor etiquette thing. Not an issue. His wife is perfect to him.

He takes the next bite offered with gratitude. Damn. It’s also good. The lemon cream was made beautifully, the thick homemade whipped cream contrasted delightfully by hints of lemon juice and a healthy amount of lemon zest. The cake itself was bright yellow and actually quite lemony. His wife wouldn’t like this. He, however, loved it.

“Good? Everything you coulda hoped and dreamed for?” Grazia asks.

“Good. Very lemony.” He licks his lips, gathering up the stray crumbs and frosting. Not only is he enjoying the food, but the attention from Grazia is always welcome. He would never say no to her doting on him, feeding him, and being the center of her attention. They ought to do this more often; maybe at a restaurant with better taste in food, too.

“Good, I’m glad you're enjoying yourself, sweetie.” Grazia can’t help herself with that pun. Ikavod enjoys it far more than he would care to let on. His wife knows how to cheer him up, though, and it’s hard to stay angry with a pretty woman doting on him.

“I’m enjoying my time with you,” He hums, glancing out towards the tray.

“What would you like to try next dear? We’ve got all day, I’ve cleared out my schedule for you.” Grazia rests her head in her free hand, looking at her husband affectionately. Even when he’s grumpy, he’s so darn cute. She just hopes there’s something here worth salvaging. They both set aside time for this, and though it’s nice sharing these treats with him, she wants him to have a good time, regardless.

“Let’s try the macarons. A place like this should be able to manage those with ease.” He spares the biting remark of how a beginner patissier should be able to manage it.

“Ha, of course hon. Here, let’s try the chocolate one.” She lifts the macaron to his lips, using her free hand to tilt his chin up, gently. He bites off of it, another blush rising to his cheeks. The subtle, dominant action was not lost on him.

The macaron is tender in his mouth, with the frosting decadent and delicate. The chocolate notes are perfectly balanced, and he can tell there was a decent amount of effort put towards making it the quality it is. He hates to say it, but he is impressed.

“Itsh good,” He mumbles through a mouthful of treat. Grazia swipes away a spare bit of crumb, wiping it off on her jeans. He couldn’t expect her to use a napkin, but he didn’t care.

“Good! It’s hard to mess up chocolate.” Grazia breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’d be surprised,” Ikavod waits to speak until after he’s swallowed.

“Yeah? How can ya mess up chocolate, I’m curious? It’s fuckin’ chocolate.”

“You could burn it, fail to temper it, use it with the wrong food, use the wrong concentration or type, or get poor quality. Any of those would be a way to mess it up, I would think.” Ikavod reaches for another bite of the lemon cake in between sentences, letting the bright citrus wash away the heavy chocolate flavors of the previous bite.

“Hey now, you might be talkin’, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feed you.” Grazia gently pushes his hand away, offering him yet another bite. “More lemon cake for the culinary master.”

“Right, sorry dear.” He opens his mouth, obediently, for another bite of lemon cake, and it tastes that much sweeter as she places another wedge in his mouth. His lips close around the fork and pull back, and he savors every moment of it. “As I was saying, many ways to ruin chocolate.”

“I see. Very informative. Well, hey, hard to mess up chocolate ice cream. And that’s somethin’ we can both agree on, can’t we?”

“Yes.” Ikavod assesses the rest of the treats. They could end with the donut, a strange food to be seeing here of all places. This was not, after all, a donut shop. It was sweet, though, and the donut was covered in a thick whipped cream frosting, drizzled with chocolate and sprinkles, and topped with a few strawberry slices.

The grand finale of the dessert world.

“I have no idea where to begin with that,” He admits.

“I do,” Grazia picks up the entire donut with her hand, not minding the frosting and chocolate that gets on her fingers. She lifts it to Ikavod, and the height of the donut is nearly the size of his face.

“There’s no graceful way to bite into this,” He says, looking over it apprehensively.

“Come on, big guy. I know you can take a big bite. I can help you clean up, too.”

Well, he couldn’t say no to that, now could he?

He opens his mouth up wide, knowing this is going to be a tight fit no matter how he puts it. He manages to get a bit of donut, frosting, and toppings in one bite. He pulls away, frosting on his nose and cheeks. He’d be grumpier about it if the resulting treat wasn’t absolutely delicious. More importantly, his wife’s rough hands were already upon him, swiping away stray sprinkles and gathering up whipped cream. She dares to go for the finger trick again, though she has to wait a few moments while Ikavod finishes his existing treat, first.

As soon as there’s room in his mouth, he’s licking away the second bit of frosting off her fingers and then swallowing the rest of it. When he can speak next, he clears his throat.

“The frosting was quite good. Very creamy. The donut was not bad, either, not just another fried good. My favorite part of it was you cleaning me off. Do it again.”

Grazia laughs and acquiesces to his demands, giving him precisely what he asked for. Another bite, loving hands to swipe away the sweets, and another sweet thing to feed off of. It becomes a rhythm, and she makes a point of giving him other big bites next. More cupcakes, purposefully missing with her cakes - the second one certainly gaining a smile from Ikavod.

“You seem to be losing some skills.” He remarks.

“Oh, is that so?” Grazia hears this as a challenge, and the next time she goes in, she’s sure to smear a much larger bit of cream from the cream cake on him. They’re in a fancy establishment, sure, but that melts away for the duo to have a bit of fun. She has to swipe more of it off of him, and offer him more of a finger to retrieve it from, but it makes the date all the more memorable.

When Ikavod and Grazia leave this place, they will remember the good times they had. Grazia, watching him eat lots of good food and feeding him out of her hand. Ikavod, having a wonderful time with his wife while he plotted the bankruptcy of an establishment with nearly perfect taste; save for their awful taste in Matcha and Citrus desserts.

They should have known better.