Chapter Text
“It’s a thought experiment,” the bartender says. His amber eyes twinkle like the bottles in the mirror behind him. “The incompatible food triad. It goes like this: is there any combination of foods within which all two-item combinations go together, but the three do not?”
Song Lan’s day started at 6 A.M. this morning, when he went in to prep the cakes for the teashop where he works. Mid-morning and afternoon were consumed by his classes at culinary school, before he returned to the teashop for the evening shift. Socializing with his classmates over drinks had taken an enormous amount of energy; he would have been the first to leave if the bartender had not had the softest lips and most devastating cheekbones he had ever seen. Instead he is the only one left. He has been talking with the bartender more than anyone else, leaning in close so he can hear his low, elegant voice over the chatter of the bar. His one drink has turned into… several.
All of which is to say that he’d really like to be charming and witty right now, and is concerned that he may be missing the mark.
“Three foods—” he repeats slowly. The bartender laughs softly, hanging his head, and a loose lock of hair swings free. Song Lan should be embarrassed, but instead he finds himself smiling back. “Wait, wait—I can get this. Three foods—”
“That don’t go together.”
“That don’t go together.”
“But any two of the three go together. A and B are delicious, B and C are delicious, C and A are delicious. A, B, and C are gross.”
“Okay, okay. I understand.”
Song Lan is seated at one end of the bar. It’s late on a Wednesday night and trivia has long since finished, so the room is emptier than it was when he arrived, but not empty. Two portly middle-aged men seated halfway down the bar are eyeing the bartender, glancing at their watches and their empty glasses and drumming their fingers, but he doesn’t notice. The other bartender finishes serving a woman on her own, pours new pints for the old guys, and wanders away to chat with the two bored waitresses. And still, the bartender’s full attention is on Song Lan. It’s a heady thing. He almost forgets to think about the question at hand.
“How about peanut butter, jelly, and chocolate?” he offers. It’s a weak answer, and he knows it, but the silence has stretched on a little too long. Still, he’s unprepared for the bartender’s offended gasp.
“No, that’s delicious! Haven’t you ever spread strawberry jam on a Reese’s cup for a snack?”
“No, of course not. Nobody has ever done that. All three of them together are way too sweet, and it would muddle three good flavors into something mediocre.”
“It’s good,” he said firmly, snapping his bar towel against Song Lan’s arm. “Doesn’t count.”
“What about… tofu, coconut, and chocolate? Coconut and chocolate is obviously good, and coconut and tofu is great in savory dishes, and you can make a decent chocolate tofu dessert, but I don’t think the three of them could work. The textures are too much.”
“Hmm. Not bad, but I don’t think texture counts in a question of taste. Plus there are ways of changing it. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t drink a chocolate and coconut silken tofu smoothie?”
“No.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Okay,” Song Lan says, sitting straighter in his chair. “Maybe chemistry is the solution. Because there are combinations of three things that are just scientifically unsafe, right? But most of them aren’t edible. But there’s got to be milder versions that are edible but not good. Like, something and baking soda and vinegar— but no, you would never eat those plain. Oh—tea, lemon, and milk, maybe?”
“Lemon and milk do not go together,” the bartender says, wrinkling his nose. It’s a good look on him.
“They make a decent buttermilk substitute. Or cheese.”
“That doesn’t count!” the bartender laughs.
“Why not?”
“It’s the flavors that matter here. The whole point is—”
“You said it was a thought experiment. Doesn’t that mean it’s supposed to be a pointless conversation?”
“No, the point of the thought experiment is that the universe operates in harmony,” the bartender says, interlacing his fingers. “Symbiotic relationships and mutual support.”
“Mm.”
“You get it, right? The world is full of symbiotic trinities, across regions and cultures. Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Mother, Maiden, Crone. Celery, carrot, onion. Bar, kitchen, front of house. The incompatible food triad does not exist—if each pair is in alignment, then all three must align. It’s an immutable law of the universe.”
“Isn’t the universe full of symbiotic dualities too, though? Sun, moon. Yin, yang.”
“Well, that’s not relevant.” He leans forward on one elbow. “You know what is relevant? Peanut butter, jelly, and chocolate.”
He counts them off with long, graceful fingers, and the light in his eyes dances. Song Lan laughs under his breath and sips the last bit of whiskey and melted ice in his glass.
“You’re cute,” he says.
He thought—if he was thinking at all—that he could manage those words in a light-hearted tone, half a joke, but they didn’t come out that way. They came out embarrassingly earnest. A bolt of alarm crackles up his spine, and the warmth in his cheeks deepens and spreads.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
The bartender lowers his hand and rests both arms on the bar. He is wearing a silver ring embossed with the phases of the moon, on his index finger, and it winks as he taps it thoughtfully on the black-lacquered wood.
“Are you?” he asks. His voice is silky, with a hint of amusement. Enough to give Song Lan the courage to look up and meet his eyes again.
“Maybe I’m not.”
“I get off at midnight,” the bartender smiles. “If you’re sticking around.”
“Yes.”
“Want another?”
He’s drunk on whiskey, drunk on sleeplessness, drunk on the scent of amber cologne. Best not.
“No, thanks. Could I just get a water?”
“Sure. Lemon?”
“Yeah. No milk.” The bartender laughs and starts to walk away, closer to the middle of the bar where the buckets of sliced lemons and limes are waiting. Song Lan stands in his bar stool, leaning over the sticky mats. “Hang on—I didn’t get your name.”
“For you—” He fills the water glass and notches a lemon on the rim, looking up from under his lashes with a smile. “Xiao Xingchen.”