Chapter 59 - Part 1

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3rd POV

"Put the beef over there." Georgie instructed, watching as George placed a hefty 10-pound cut of beef on the counter.

"Alright, first, we're going to trim off some of the fat to make it perfect." Georgie said, picking up a knife.

"Wait! Do you think I'm just going to let you handle a knife?" George interrupted, reaching to take the knife away from him. But Georgie dodged his hand.

"Don't you want to make the best smoked brisket this time?! Or are you just going to settle for making Memaw happy with a standard brisket?" Georgie challenged, pointing the knife toward his father.

"I am the chef right now! Let me cook, and I promise you'll have a brisket that's just as good—if not better—than Memaw's!" Georgie declared.

"...You're literally copying Connie's recipe right now." George grumbled, watching his son hold the knife up like a proud warrior.

"This is my beef, and I am the chef!" Georgie retorted, refusing to admit that he was, in fact, reverse-engineering Memaw's recipe.

George sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, do what you want."

Georgie nodded in satisfaction before refocusing on the meat in front of him. "Alright, as I mentioned, we're going to trim off some of the fat."

Using the knife skillfully, Georgie started slicing away the excess fat. George, watching closely, couldn't help but be a little impressed.

"You don't have to trim everything," Georgie explained as he worked.

"For smoked brisket, you don't need to remove all the membrane and silver skin—most of it will render down and blend with the rub." he continued, tossing the trimmed fat into a bowl he had set aside.

George observed in silence, nodding slowly.

"Now, we just need to smooth it out and shape it into something more aerodynamic." Georgie added.

He gestured toward the bowl of trimmings. "Beef fat can be used for all sorts of things—crispy fried fat, beef broth, or even for cooking steak with a crunchy fat cap. But if Mom doesn't want it, we can toss it."

George glanced at the bowl, then back at Georgie. "How do you know all this?" he asked, skeptical. "I didn't think you could cook."

"Cooking magazines… you know…" Georgie muttered, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Alright, the meat's ready. Looks perfect, right?" he said, shifting the conversation as he presented the neatly trimmed brisket.

The deep red color of the beef was now more visible, with just the right amount of fat left on to keep it juicy during smoking. Georgie had minimized trimming while still shaping the meat beautifully—ensuring it would absorb the rub perfectly.

George stared at it, almost mesmerized. "...Looks like art to me," he muttered, though his voice was loud enough for Georgie to hear.

"Of course it's art!" Georgie said proudly. "Cooking is art! Food is art!"

"You know why fine dining or haute cuisine is so expensive, even though they serve such tiny portions?" Georgie asked.

"Haute, what?" George frowned, completely lost.

"It's French—high-class cuisine," Georgie explained. "They charge so much because you're paying for art. High-quality ingredients, prepared by skilled chefs—it's not about quantity, it's about quality."

"I know what fine dining is!" George huffed, crossing his arms. "Just keep cooking!"

Georgie smirked. "Sorry, you distracted me," he teased before turning back to his task. "Now, we're going to make the seasoning rub." he said, gathering ingredients.

George narrowed his eyes. "Tell me something… Are you really telling me you've never had a sip of my beer before?" he asked, trying to read Georgie's face.

Georgie met his father's eyes directly. "No, I've never drunk your beer." he said, unwavering.

George studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright. Keep cooking. I hope your recipe is better than Connie's brisket," he muttered.

Georgie grinned and clapped his hands together. "Alright, back to cooking!"

"When I tasted Memaw's brisket, there were four dominant flavors—cumin, brown sugar, smoked paprika, and dried mustard."

He grabbed the cumin first.

"Cumin has a strong, earthy flavor that adds depth and a bit of smokiness. But if you overdo it, the brisket will be too spicy. So, I'll use just one tablespoon," he explained, measuring it out.

"Smoked paprika has a mix of mild heat and sweetness. It enhances the smoky flavor without overpowering the meat." he added, tossing two tablespoons into the bowl.

Then, he picked up the dried mustard and brown sugar.

"Dried mustard has a sharp, almost tangy kick, while brown sugar adds sweetness and helps form that crispy, flavorful bark we want on the outside." he continued.

"So, I'm adding three tablespoons of dried mustard… and one cup of brown sugar." Georgie said, mixing the ingredients together.

George watched quietly before speaking up. "Why are you doing all this?" he asked.

Georgie paused, mid-stir, and looked at him.

"What do you mean why? I like cooking with you." he said simply. "Do you like your smoked brisket more spicy?" he asked, shifting the conversation back to the food.

George looked at Georgie for a few seconds before nodding.

"Alright, I'll add half a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. It'll give a mild heat that pairs well with the brown sugar and smoky paprika," Georgie said, reaching for the spice.

"I'm also adding one teaspoon of mushroom powder. It'll boost the earthy flavor alongside the cumin." he added.

George remained quiet for a moment before exhaling. "You better make this worth my time, kid." he muttered.

Georgie just smirked. "Trust me, this brisket is going to be legendary."

Georgie added the last ingredient into the bowl. "And finally, I'll add one teaspoon of dried thyme to bring out an herby aroma and depth of flavor."

He mixed the dry ingredients together while George watched him, this time with a serious expression.

"...You do understand the real issue behind this brisket, don't you?" George finally said.

Georgie sighed. "Are we cooking this brisket or not?" he asked, meeting George's gaze.

George didn't say anything, only continuing to stare at Georgie.

"…Alright," Georgie muttered, setting down the bowl and stopping his mixing.

Without a word, George picked up the bowl and started mixing the rub himself.

Georgie watched in silence. He knew George wanted to have a serious conversation, but at the same time, Georgie wasn't willing to lose focus on the recipe he had carefully put together.

"…So yes, I know why Memaw still hasn't given you the recipe." Georgie finally said, breaking the silence.

George let out a slow breath but continued mixing the seasoning. "…That woman still doesn't see me as family, does she?"

"Yes. I can see that." Georgie confirmed as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. "This isn't about the recipe—it's about you."

George didn't respond, but his jaw clenched slightly.

Georgie continued, "I think you can feel it too. Memaw's a good person—sometimes sharp-tongued, but loving and protective. And she has a keen sense when it comes to reading people."

Standing next to George, Georgie took the bowl of seasoning back from him. "I don't know what history you have with Memaw, but I do know that brisket means something important to her. It's more than just a dish—it's a family tradition. A symbol." Pointed at the bowl.

He handed the bowl back to George. "I understand how you feel. We're both men, and let's be honest—we mess up all the time. That's just what we do."

Georgie then smirked slightly, shifting the topic.

"Now, how about you forget what happened last night and not tell Mom about whatever I did with Veronica… and in return, you can gently rub the seasoning into the meat and let it absorb all the flavors."

George glanced at Georgie, then at the brisket. "You gave me that whole wise speech just for that?" he asked, laughing.

"Yes."