“I whisper, “what’s a timbale?” I should never have asked him to bring me here. For one, I can’t read half the menu. For two, he still hasn’t said what decisions we need to make. And for three, I’m still thinking about David Anderson. And the fact that it’s Friday night, which means Jeremy probably won’t see him again until Monday at school, since cross-country season is now over and Christmas break is only a week away. No more Saturday meets or practices where they can get together to discuss m...oi. “It means that it was baked in a mold,” Dad explains, and I can tell he’s thrilled by his own knowledge of this useless information. I guess it is his job. “In most cases, the dish is cream based.” In other words, seafood timbale is probably going to be disgusting. “Oh,” I say. “I’m not a fan of creamy.” Or molds. Only Jell-O should go in molds, and even that’s iffy. But I don’t want to upset Dad, since I did ask to come here and he’s shelling out the big bucks.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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