Food History

Mary has given me the most wonderful reports. I feel as if I’ve made you lose out bigtime because I can’t give them in their entirety without giving away the recipes. In fact, I have made you lose out bigtime, there’s no doubt of it. To make up, I’ll give you just a bit more of her notes, without telling you what bits of recipe they’re note of. If it’s confusing, blame me, not Mary.

For one recipe, Mary needed shaved ice:

“Off I go to get the trusty food processor down from the shelf. Andrew stops me, saying, don’t bother, he’d rather have his on the rocks and he doesn’t see that it would make much difference to the taste anyway. My appeals to historical authenticity fall on deaf ears. Steve is out for a walk and therefore of no help. ;-)”

Obviously the ice was not a problem, because the results went something like this (which means this drink is on the rather-long list and possibly straight through to the final):

“Andrew: 3 out of 5 stars — still too sweet for him. (At this point we theorize that 1920s bartenders might have been sweetened their drinks more than we do nowadays to cover up any harshness or off-flavors that might have been present in the rotgut whiskey and bathtub gin they were obliged to use!)

Mary: 4 out of 5 stars. Quite nice. I’d like to try it with a better brandy and served over shaved ice, the “right” way! (Mary gives Andrew “The Look”, but Andrew is now watching TV and is therefore cheerfully oblivious)

Steve (back from his walk): 5 out of 5 stars — he says it’s his new favorite! :-)”

I have one more report from her to go (ie in my in-box) and it’s a very simple one. As ever, she worked through the instructions and explained what she did. Her final report read:

“Phooey! Our club soda has gone flat. Well, I still give it 4 out of 5 for the lively citrus flavor, though Steve gives this one only 3 out of 5. I would definitely try it again with fresh soda.

Average: 3 1/2 out of 5.”

And that’s it from me until more people report in.

Thank you everyone, so far. I’m looking forward to seeing what appears in my in-box over the next few days.

I’ve finished my drinks testing, so this is the last report about me as an intending drunk. Several other people have finished theirs, too, and everything ahs been assigned. This means there won’t be an unlimited number of posts about moderns tasting early 20th century mixed drinks, which ought to make a few of you happy. I didn’t realise how much blogspace the reporting would occupy and how colourful it would all be. I’ll miss the emails with their exclamations and wry comments, so I’m a bit relieved we’re not quite there yet. In fact, I’m only being reassuring because not all of you are drinkers and maybe want to read about other things.

My last two drinks were really straightforward. One was brandy-based and warm and friendly. The other was rum-based and not.

The first had a really unpromising list of ingredients, so the taste was a nice surprise. The last had a list of ingredients that made me think “Pirates!” and it turned out such a dark black drink that I instantly wanted to rename it and turn it into a Goth-drink for the convention. This perfect pirate-gothic drink, alas, tasted like liquid molasses. My thought was that some people will give it a try, but very few will actually enjoy it. By the end, I was enjoying it, but that’s because we’re talking about a great deal of rum. By the end I would have enjoyed almost anything. It was pirate-potent. I have no hangover, but I was too tired to get out of bed at a regular time, so maybe it’s a good thing that this drink was unloveable. Our convention would have been … curious.

Rachel’s last drink was also not a success. She summed it up in one word “Yuck.” She added some interesting thoughts, though:

“I was so looking forward to this one, it seemed like such an interesting combination. It even has a good name, with a matching greeny-orange colour and murky like a swamp. But it’s sooo bad. In fact I didn’t quite trust in my own cocktail mixing skills the first time, so I made it again several nights later. Still bad.

The first mouthful is medicinal, but unlike a lot of drinks that start out that way, this one does not improve. Which got me thinking about the whole medicinal-tasting drinks thing and which came first and all. So I looked it up and Benadryl (diphenhydramine) was invented in 1943. So perhaps the taste was preferred and adapted to the pharmaceutical industry? Unlikely, but it’s not a review without a preposterous theory.”

I’ll do another post for Mary’s – don’t want to get things too crowded. Besides, you have your preposterous theory and it needs space to stew. I bet that space is greeny-orange in colour.

What actually happened in Alyson’s tests? She blogged about it. I so want to try the one with port in. It sounds perfect for cold winter nights ie now.

Alyson’s extra report means that anyone who has become used to all the alcohol flowing in this corner of blogland doesn’t have to go cold turkey for a bit.

The only alcohol in my day has been the last bit of blackberry liqueur I drank so I could wash the jar and make way for the medlar liqueur. I think I need more pretty bottles. They can wait, though, since nothing else will be decantable for a few months.

I still have two drinks to test, but won’t be able to do them till Wednesday or Thursday night. I’m in teaching mode now, and can’t inflict drink-induced fatigue on my students. Well, I could, but there would be a wrongness to it.

To make up, I thought you might like the highlights of some of the other testing that has come my way. It’s only highlights, because both Mary from LA and Nicole Murphy have given so much detail in their reports that it would be giving the recipe away if I posted the whole email. You still have to wait until October for the very best of the recipes.

Mary has reported on two drinks and has just one to go. She had male help for the first drink, but they maybe couldn’t take the pace, because they weren’t around for the second.

The opinions on that first drink:

“I would order this drink in a bar, at least every now and then. Steve liked it better than a conventional martini (although, to be fair, he’s not the world’s most enthusiastic martini fan!). Andrew said it was a bit too sweet for him, but then he doesn’t care much for sweets in general.

Our rating: Pretty good — 3 1/2 out of 5 stars. Could go up to 4 or higher with minor modifications as suggested above.”

The second drink was Crème de Menthe-based and Mary says of it “Good, but I think I still like creme de menthe best in hot cocoa.” I need to try that, when the weather gets really cold.

Nicole ran into some troubles with ingredients (as did everyone – brands and exact tastes change over 90 years): she pointed out that rye whiskey is “not something you get at Liquourland.” She did her homework (as did everyone else – I love this team of testers – they work things out and all I have to do is nod sagely and report the results) and discovered that the whiskey she could get wasn’t quite as dry as rye would have been.

“Knowing that, I have to say this is a nice cocktail made with bourbon, but I wouldn’t want it any dryer. It’s pretty bloody dry as it is - Tim took one mouthful and thrust the rest of the glass at me with a screwed up face. The first mouthful for me was interesting, in the way the first mouthful of a martini is interesting - it realigns your tastebuds and there’s a moment of wondering whether it’s worth it. But then you have the second mouthful, and the third, and by the end of the glass you’re well and truly ready for the second. I liked this so much I made it up again a few nights later. You’ll need a dryish cocktail for people with that taste, and this is a nice one.”

The other was a washout, or, in Nicole’s words “I can’t see this one being nice at all.”

Two out of four progress for more tasting. At this stage I have absolutely no idea how we get the list to a manageable size. I’m just going to have to hope that my cute little form and a mid-winter tasting party will magically produce results. I’ve given up on the drink so fine that everyone will chase the bartender until they obtain it, by the way. Unless someone pulls a rabbit out of a hat, it might not exist. Or if it does exist, it might have raw egg again, and I’ve been advised against using the recipes with raw egg in.

I don’t intend to be unpredictable in my blogging. It’s rather like my life, though, which has more than its share of not knowing what will happen until the day arrives. This is a shame, because I’m a creature of planned realities and like saying something then doing it. Except that life intervenes.

Life intervened today (and last night) in the form of reports from drinks testers. I haven’t done any more tasting myself, because life intervened in other ways, but results are rolling in. The ratio of one drinkable drink to one we never want to see again has held rather nicely and final choices are going to be tough.

Alyson checked out two recipes for me.

The first was my favourite report so far:

“Looked like a urine specimen and smelt like mouthwash. Very strong - too strong to have with food. Essential to have it on ince as per the receipt. My immediate thought is ACK! But hubby says he likes it, so I have another go - perhaps I’m missing something? (SIP) NO,NO,NO…I think he’s DELUDED!! No. Blagggghhh. It has the same sensation as drinking orange juice STRAIGHT after brushing your teeth…actually like drinking a vodka and orange drink straight after brushing your teeth!! Redolent of a peppermint candy cane gone toooo far. Nuff said?

N.B. on reading my notes, hubby says he doesn’t necessarily like it BUT he doesn’t find it offensive.”

The second has a bit of context. She drank it then realised that she had a full day as second in command in a restaurant the next morning. You might have to check her blog to find out how her work went. If she doesn’t report, then ask her. Make sure you look properly innocent when you ask, of course.

“Hello! Smells nice - nutmeg is a nice touch. Astringent suits its first taste. Oooooh strong. Spicy. Good for a drink gulper like me, because you HAVE to sip it. You could possible have this with hearty meaty stewy type foods, if any. (We’re having beef curry tonight and I’m not throwing this drink down the sink, but clutching it rather too firmly) Very warming - kind of like a mulled wine in liqueur form. I like it. Do I like it more because it is the second drink and I am, therefore, warmed up? Possibly. But no.”

Mary from LA had help for the first test, but the help disintegrated for the second. Drinks testing obviously requires stern stuff. If you want to know the results of her tests, check back here tomorrow: I just looked at the time and I might turn into something strange if I don’t sleep soon. Trust me, though, Mary’s tests are worth the wait.

I’ll finish my drinks test tomorrow night. Today it’s all too much for me: I look at the array of bottles and think I shall never touch liquor again. More than that, I think I shall have an early night and sleep heaps. I didn’t get a hangover, but I did get a cold. The drinks (oddly) got rid of most of the sneezing and sniffing and I’m left with a faint fever and a vast, vast exhaustion. It isn’t just the cold. For many reasons (not just the ones I’ve blogged) it has been a very big week.

I tested one more recipe last night. #11. That means just two more to go. What’s more, I’ve swapped it with one of the other sour drinks – the balance of this one is just so much better. Not too much sugar or too much sour.

Karen checked out a couple of non-alcoholic drinks yesterday. Her view was that both were OK. One was “was a little ‘cloudy’ at first, but not unattractively so” and the other was sweet and might appeal to those who like sweet things, which sounds pretty fair.

Where does this leave us? There are five (possibly six) alcoholic cocktails that have gone through for further thinking and two non-alcoholic. A good week’s work, I think.

If I’m not quite so tired, I’ll extend the week by a day and taste the last two drinks in my list tomorrow. Or maybe Sunday. And then I’ll only have the testing of others to report and will be able to go back to normal business. Normal business includes five community cookbooks about which I very much want to tell yout.

My second drink of the day (I’m really beginning to sound like a chronic tippler, aren’t I?) is # 8. It’s a little sour, but even more refreshing than the mint ones. I think I’m going to have to put it on the long list, too. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but the long list is looking … long. I’m going to have to cull it a little if all the testers get the same results as me. Nothing is to die for, but 2/3 of the drinks are nice, and worth following up on.

I might choose the 2-3 top drinks using each alcohol base. I could more easily diminish the list by selecting according to those with fresh lime, or crushed mint, or grenadine. That might give a better mix, in fact. I’ll think about it. Maybe the thirty other recipes out there will all turn out to be bad news and maybe the long list won’t prove so long after all. My sizzled brain doubts that, though. What I need are about 6 tests that come out with amazing drinks, worth pursuing a barman to the ends of the earth to obtain. So far we don’t even have one of those.

I won’t be testing five drinks today. I’ve made it as far as two and that’s probably enough. If I feel enthused later, maybe I’ll test one more. One thing I have to say is how useful a really good cocktail is for getting rid of muscle aches and pains. My poor neck, victim of too much typing, suddenly feels almost normal. I certainly won’t do cocktails every night, but maybe I’ll try them once a week and find out how much is due the muscles relaxing and how much the anaesthetic qualities.

I keep looking at my list. Three drinks to go. And all of them tomorrow. One of them is rum-based and two are brandy-based. The other thing I have to do tomorrow is write three extraordinary pages of fiction, since I’m now in novel-editing mode. Expect much laughter from my publisher. I don’t have to reassure you, do I, that this is not the normal way my history interfaces with my fiction?

I got off to a slow start today. In fact, I’ve only just poured my first drink. I’ve started with #10 on my list and it’s cool and refreshing and something I could get used to. It has to go on the long list. That’s four for the long list so far, out of seven. This is a bit of a surprise. Either I handed on all the undrinkables to others to test, or really, only bits of tastes have changed. I’ve devised a form for second stage testing so that somehow we can discern between a good drink and a drink we can’t possibly miss out on.

If you’ve been counting, you will have noticed that the numbers just do not add up. This is because I received my first report-back from someone else and I still have one drink to comment on from yesterday.

Rachel says:

“Firstly, this is going to be a disappointment to anyone expecting a martini (after all, it looks just like a Gibson) but the two vermouths give it quite a distinctive taste. Secondly, it’s very hard to measure half a pony with one of those conical cocktail thingies.

However, I liked it. It’s hit me quite hard (I’m having to retype every second letter), but I’m about to watch Spicks and Specks, so that’s OK.

It’s not “giggle water” by any stretch and is not going to be to everyone’s taste. It would not go well with food either as it’s very strong. The onion is perfect with it (I’m normally an olive person). I can imagine this being a gentleman’s drink. I want to say aniseed-y, but not quite.” I’m marking this down, with a question-mark, for the Speakeasy.

My final drink from last night was one that suits everyone, to balance this. #5 in my list has come forward to the twenty-first century unchanged. In fact, by co-incidence, it’s exactly what I was drinking at the stroke of midnight when the century changed. It goes forward to the long list, but I don’t know if it’s distinctive enough to stay there. We’ll see.

Now I have a friend to help me get drunk. We’re trying #1. Her view is that it’s axle-grease. My view is that it’s very bright red. Neither of us think that this should be served at Conflux. We have an opinion on the history – modern tastebuds look for a little more sweetness and creaminess to balance the astringency. After the first mouthful and with proper blending, it improves, but it’s still a shock to the mouth. Donna says that it needs people who have no tastebuds and that these people will appreciate its finer qualities. She’s making a fabulous face, but has drunk it all. I’m only three sips in. We’re dropping it.

#7 is lovely. All mint and sugar and we-can-pretend-there’s-no-alcohol. There’s a very slight afterburn, but it will appeal to many people. Donna described it as refreshing and light, good as a palate cleanser. We’re assigning this one (tentatively) to the Banquet.

This is when I had a good long break. Dinner and some sobriety. Family intervened, as family does. Then I had my brainwave. A very considerate friend has let me borrow her House of Eliot DVDs. Why not test the next two (and last for the day) in front of a TV series set in the 1920s? Go out in style, so to speak?

I’ve looked at the list again to try to decide what those last two should be, and I found myself shuddering. They all look perfectly potable … in theory. In practice, though, I’m not sure I can face two more drinks tonight. I’ll drink one more only, and then watch the DVD with only water by my side. The rest can wait. I’ll report back on the last one tomorrow, when I try to demolish more of my little list. Thank you to all the people helping me test, because even the diminished list I have is almost too much*.

* In an ideal world I would taste a drink a day for ten days, but I have meetings and things over the weekend and reviews that must be started and articles that must be finished and teaching next week. From today till Friday is all the time I have.

Note to self: when using spoon to float brandy for #6, do not even think of drinking extra brandy out of the spoon. There is enough alcohol in your day already. Already, in fact, there is more than there has been at any time these last two weeks. #6, for the record, is dull. It’s lemonade for alcoholics and a waste of good brandy. I bet it was a drink like this that spawned the term ‘giggle water.’

I’m eyeing off the other recipes. Discretion is the better part of valour. Also, my typing is going peculiar: I need an afternoon nap. I especially need one because the next drink calls for a full wineglass of brandy. No it doesn’t. That’s because I’ve suddenly changed the order of testing to save my sanity. Also so that I can try one more drink then have that sleep. (For the record, I’m not making them full size, just in case you were wondering why I still sound almost-not-drunk. Also for the record, both drinks have suddenly hit me like a steamroller. Right now I’m a very, very happy historian. A small piece of me wonders why I chose the Middle Ages when I could have been drinking early twentieth century liquor for the last twenty years. Most of me still knows that there are very, very good reasons for confining the drinks to a very few days and then getting back to the Middle Ages.)

The third drink (and the very last I can manage this session) is a shaken cocktail. I’m hoping it will turn out well, because it looks cute and has ingredients I like, individually. When I bought the Grenadine, the shop assistant told me, quite sincerely, that it tastes much nicer than red cordial. I was strong and brave and refrained from giving her a complete history of grenadine. It still puzzles me that anyone could use red cordial instead of it. My only sorrow is that real grenadine isn’t available in the ACT (that I can find) so I have an artificial version. It’s a nice red, though.

Anyhow, to drink #2 on my list: it looks like red medicine and, by golly, it tastes like red medicine. Lots of ice would dilute it, but I really doubt anything can redeem it. Actually, it improves as I drink more of it. It’s less odious, but still not something I would drink again. My main thought is that this is the medicine the Darling family was so fond of in Peter Pan. Just to be certain, I’ve mixed it more, since the recipe advises to shake well and really, all I did was stir it. Yes, the extra effort makes a difference. It tastes almost drinkable. Almost is not good enough. Not nearly good enough. Much as I like the thought of everyone sporting glasses that look nicely medicinal, no-one at the Banquet will taste this beauty.

And now I need that nap. I hope no-one rings in the next two hours, because I doubt I am as sober as I think I am.

Today I am starting my drink testing. Given the comments other testers have made about the likelihood of loss of grammar and maybe even social skills, I thought you might appreciate a step-by-step account of my progress. I’m not testing everything in the one day (11 drinks! And besides, I’m still missing an ingredient for some of them) but I want to finish up quickly and move onto other things. Also, I’ve finished my teaching for the week, so from today and Friday is not a bad time to go quietly crazy.

Because I can’t guarantee my sobriety (being a cheap drunk), I’ve printed out all my recipes and I’m numbering them. The numbering means that I know which recipes I’m trying but you only get the tasting notes. I’ll post in normal blog-lengths, so you will get my notes in stages. This is very cruel of me, but necessary. The final drinks recipes will all enter this space in October, and that’s when you’ll find out specifics. I don’t know how detailed the notes will be from the rest of the team, but at least you can laugh at my attempts to not get drunk and also to details the strengths and weaknesses of each drink. One thing I know before I start: we probably need three of my eleven drinks on the long list, just because they have the same base alcohol.

My first drink is #3. I’ve already spilled some. This has nothing to do with drunkenness and everything to do with trying to find ingredients stashed in odd places while sipping. The brandy and sugar were in the library and are now not, and I am saved from early overdose of alcohol by losing 1/3 of the first drink. My flat is going to smell delightful by the time I’m finished.

#3 is good. Perfect for the Speakeasy. Not bad for drinking before the Banquet begins, but not flexible enough for the menu, really. Sophisticated and dead easy to make. So easy, in fact, that the bartender is likely to look at me in horror. They’ll just have to jazz it up themselves with fancy gestures and throwing things around.

This would have been an entirely salubrious start if some weren’t spilled. On the other hand, if anyone rings at least I’m still sober. I’m so sober, in fact that I remembered to change the spellcheck to Aussie English.

More will follow. I need a few minutes recovery.

I’m going to post about cookbooks tomorrow after all. Tonight I want to put in a plea for more help. Four months ago I had a queue of people who wanted the food testing for the Prohibition Banquet all sorted out so that they could move on to the more joyous task of drinks testing. I still have a core of happy testers (and one new one) but most of the queue seems to have disappeared.

I have thirty-something recipes that need homes and tasting. I would very much like results by the end of May so that the committee can do the tricky job of trying all the drinks in one evening before the evenings get so long and so cold that such a task becomes dangerous. Though an extended cocktail party in mid-winter does have its attractions, and I do have a camera…

Testing these recipes is really a matter of getting the ingredients, mixing them, sipping elegantly and telling me how much you like what you taste and what, exactly, it tastes like. If you say something curious or colourful (or even curiously colourful) I might blog it. If you are three sips in and think of a splendid new science fictional or fantasy name for the drink then I can take that to the committee for consideration. We’re not renaming the food for the occasion, but we are most certainly renaming the drinks.

I’ll blog the final recipes with their new names (and slightly modified ingredients – Australian brands in 2008 and New York brands in 1921 don’t always overlap) after Conflux, which isn’t until October. This is, in other words, your last chance to taste what’s going to happen at the Banquet and at the Speakeasy the night after.

All I need is an email address and the number of recipes you’re willing to try and I’ll email them to you forthwith. In advance, thank you, because I really, really didn’t want to have to make all thirty-nine of those recipes myself.

This is the moment that far too many people have been waiting for. My hardworking group of testers and myself are about to embark on an epic voyage across the alcohol of a generation. We need to test quite a few cocktail recipes.

I don’t know how many we’ll be testing. It really depends on how many volunteers I have. I know we need between six and eight really wonderful drinks for the science fiction convention.

Why so many? It’s because the committee has fallen in love with the whole Prohibition theme and the bar area is being turned into a speakeasy the night after the banquet. This means the more recipes we can test, the better, so I’m asking for a whole new team of volunteers. All regular testers are entirely welcome to return, and anyone who has a desire to try drinks from the 1920s, well, now’s your chance.

There will, of course, be other illicit alcohol at the convention, but these cocktails have to be special. To make sure they are, what I’m asking is that individuals test a range of them. I shall take everyone’s favourites and then they’ll be tested a second time across more tastebuds. After that, they might be renamed. It all depends on how enthusiastic the committee feels after tasting much foul liquor in a very short time.

On Monday I shall email the first set of cocktail recipes. Anyone possessed of a vast desire to report on the value of hard liquor mixed with various other things, let me know just how many recipes you wish to trial and give me an email address. I promise not to be judgemental if you test more than three in a night.

I think we’re going to have fun.

Today I’m better. Not well, but better. In fact, I’m well enough to catch up in my reporting of the food testing. We’re almost through that stage of preparations for the banquet, as you know, so I had better catch up!!

There were two sweet recipes, one of which worked but not with this menu and the other of which might work, but needs further testing and has other problems. Naturally (since I’m cruel and heartless) I’m not going to give you the details of the recipe that might appear, but I thought you might like to hear the tester’s comments. It ‘was the victim of a unit mismatch’ which is a lesson to us all (or something). What happened was that the tester made the easiest error of all. He read ‘tablespoons’ in the recipe and used tablespoons to measure ingredients – but not all tablespoons are equal.

He asked how alcoholic desserts fit in with Prohibition cooking and I have to answer “out of sight of the law.” This is probably the reason that recipe will be dropped, which is a shame. It would be good in other respects, though, so I’m hanging onto it for a wistful moment.

Dawn tested another potential dessert recipe: Creole Pineapple. She liked it enough to have several servings. My thoughts are that I will take it to the next round ie test it against the other surviving desert recipe. I think the flavours might not be quite right with the icecream, is the problem, but I need to make it to check.

This sometimes happens: I get a good result from an experienced cook and have to make the dish again to find out where it fits. Of the three desserts just tested, only one will make it to even this stage. We still don’t know what dessert will feature on the menu, though the rest of it is beginning to shape up.

I just checked my calendar from last year and we’re ahead of ourselves. This is essential, however, as this year we have cocktails to test. I need ten really scrummy cocktail recipes by mid June and can’t start testing until May 1. If you’re interested in cocktail recipes, please feel free to volunteer, and I’ll contact you in May. I still have a few fridge magnets, too, though they’re going fast.

Today was the first Big Day. I put together six pages that covered the work that everyone’s done to date on the Prohibition banquet and Karen (the Chair of Conflux) and I went to The Marque to talk to the chef.

I felt underdressed sitting at a table next to someone in full chef regalia and I felt very much like explaining things in French. I defend myself with the excuse that it was his accent, but really, it was the meeting being on April Fool’s Day.

It was a serious meeting, despite the date. We made some serious decisions.

I’m very happy with the new chef. He has cooked historical food before – he did a Titanic meal last year, in fact. When I talked about the changing fat content in milk and the move from rich to subtle, he understood. He also understood French influence and how far to take it. In fact, his understanding was sufficient so that I finally feel I can stop worrying about the main soup and about the sorbets. All I need to do is indicate the most popular garnishes for that soup now, and he already knows the preferred sorbets.

My feeling from the meeting was that it’s going to be a very fine meal indeed.

My feeling from today’s other meeting, with the functions manager, is that the rooms will work well. Their standard table format will look just fine and when the down lights are turned off, the light comes from chandeliers and very Art Deco looking wall lamps. With white tablecloths and people in their finery, the room is going to look extraordinarily smart.

The truth about creating historic banquets is that the historian can only do so much unless she is also trained as a chef (which this historian is not). It doesn’t matter how well I interpret sources or how many languages I read or how much I understand the trade and culture and society, my actual cooking is of good amateur standard. The big moment is always when the chef sees what I’ve done and nods and says ‘This is possible.” The ideal situation is what happened today, when he gets a glint in his eye and takes all the papers away saying “I will play with this.”

He’s going to take ownership and that means – given how excellent he is at his job – that the food will be divine. He understood exactly what I was saying about the look and feel and flavours. He understood about the problem areas. He didn’t try to brush over anything or dismiss me. In short, both of us want to see what happens next.