street food

George Worth holds up his hands, palms open, and the applause dies down. He always forgets how much he loves this, the way the audience clings to every word, every gesture. It’s the reason he insists on being called toastmaster rather than master of ceremonies. Anyone can organize an event like this. Anyone can introduce a speaker. But no one can do it like him.

This dinner is the most important event of the year for the club, and he still can’t believe they managed to get such an elite politician to join them. George had reached out after he heard rumors of a new project taking shape, not expecting a reply, let alone a checked box on the RSVP card. He puts it all down to the polite but firm tone he took with the receptionist over the phone. Yes, he thinks, that’s the power of language.

He greets the crowd with an easiness learned over decades. He keeps things light, thanks the right people, applauds those kind enough to continue funding their little organization. It is quick, generous, and perfectly punctuated with gestures and smiles. They are cheap chocolates melting in his hot little hand.

“And now,” he says, “it is with great honor that we welcome to the podium a gentleman of the finest degree. A graduate of both Stanford and Harvard, he is known locally for his tireless efforts to address social inequity and nationally for his great vision of a brighter future. Please welcome our future president,” he teases a laugh out of the crowd, “and the governor of our great state…”

George tries not to be upset by the explosive applause and whistling and shouting that overpowers his introduction. It’s all very plebeian, the cheering, but it’s the changing of the times, he supposes. He is nothing but the consummate professional, so he steps back and greets the governor with a smile and a firm handshake, motioning pleasantly at him so that the crowd knows to cheer again.

He takes his seat at the head table and sips his Private Reserve Cabernet as the waiter sets down his plate. He’d requested the steak for tonight, knowing word wouldn’t get out about breaking his commitment to a vegetarian lifestyle. As the governor makes his introductory remarks, George cuts a square of meat, smudges the sauce delicately over the bite, and pops it into his mouth. It’s tender and flavorful, a meal he knows he’ll remember for some time. He cuts another square and savors this bite, too.

This evening, he thinks as he swipes the third bite through the sauce along his plate, will be one for the history books. And he will be one of the authors.

***

Abigail Miller is doing her best not to chew her nails. She has already received countless glares from the rest of her table when she didn’t cheer as loudly at the governor’s introduction, and she doesn’t need any more negative attention. She didn’t even want to come to this dinner, especially when the man who called sounded about a thousand years old and the club he described sounded even older. But the governor insisted.

“It’s an important experience,” he’d said. “Good place for networking. You’ve got a bright future. You can change the world, Allison.”

She’s long since given up correcting him, accepting it as a “work name,” as she’s told her parents. At least it distances her personal life from her professional one. Not that anyone here cares either way. They don’t know she’s the governor’s personal assistant or that she helped edit the speech they’re about to hear, or that she’d argued over parts of it.

“It’s the speech they need to hear, Allison,” the governor had told her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “These are the issues at the heart of our next campaign. Our constituents want to know what our future looks like.”

And that had been that.

So here she sits, tugging at the loose threads of her off-the-rack dress, wishing she’d taken the internship at that old senator’s office all those years ago. When the waiters come by with plates for the table, she smiles politely and watches the others eat, grinning happily at their meals. It looks like she’s received something masquerading as pork chop. 

For a moment, she thinks she probably should have checked the vegetarian box on the invitation, but then her stomach churns. She tries to ignore the feeling as she sips her water and watches the governor.

***

“What a meal, eh?”

The laughter and applause makes the governor smile before he rolls into his speech. He knows it by heart, has practiced it in front of Allison over and over again. Like all good speeches, it begins with the essentials — thanking his beautiful partner, mentioning his precocious young twins, championing his commitment to his late mother’s lifelong dreams of a more equal society. As a former Toastmaster himself, he understands the importance of the delivery.

He takes a long pause, a breath between the introduction and the meat of the speech, that liminal space in which he will introduce his plan. It’s delicious, the spark of excitement in the air, and he wants to savor it.

“We all feel the pinch of the current economic crisis,” he begins, looking over the crowd. “No one is immune to the rising cost of living. Paychecks used to cover the mortgage, groceries, and clothing for the kids, with a little extra to squirrel away for a rainy day. Now we struggle to make a paycheck cover a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk.”

Another pause. Another lingering look at the crowd. Allison told him that he should try to be relatable in the speech, think about soundbites that will play in every block of the upcoming newscasts of the invited reporters. The eggs and milk bit, that was something he added in. It should make him seem approachable, like everyone’s proverbial neighbor, and the nods from the audience as they continue eating tells him he’s on the right path. He has no idea how much anything actually costs, but he’s heard enough from his constituents that he knows it’s probably not good.

“Too many of our neighbors are suffering from income inequality. Too many of us are having to choose between food on the table or gas in the tank. It’s unacceptable.”

He punctuates the statement with a stern look at the crowd. Stern, he thinks as his eyes pass over them, but kind. Like a father who is disappointed rather than upset.

“The cost of living exacerbates other challenges our state faces, including efforts to care for vulnerable people who may be experiencing homelessness or those struggling with mental health conditions. All of these are factors in rising crime rates that cause further anxiety for every community.”

He takes a breath and glances over at the top table, at George Worth. He was the one who called the governor’s office, asked Allison if the governor would be interested in attending this meeting. Allison had tried to inform George that the governor was a busy man whose calendar was often so booked that dinner was the only time he was able to see his wife and children. But when George offered a considerable donation to the governor’s re-election campaign and promised an even more substantial investment in the upcoming presidential campaign, well, he just couldn’t say no. Right now, George looks satisfied with the speech and the dinner. The governor smiles (to himself, of course — this is too serious a subject for levity) and continues.

“This week,” he says, “I visited a hospital where I met Michael. Michael had a promising future until his job was cut due to the recent economic downturn. Even though he had the skills and the education, Michael struggled to find a job that could provide for himself and his family. 

“After months of trying, he lost his home. Then he turned to substances and lost his family. Michael felt like he had no future until he was taken in by a local organization that specializes in helping vulnerable populations get back on their feet. And we have the president of that organization here tonight,” he adds. “Samantha, please take a bow.”

He gestures at the head table and steps back to applaud with the crowd as she stands and waves humbly at the audience. The governor likes to see the story hitting a chord. Allison hadn’t been convinced when he read her the first draft. She said it felt too generic, too clean. It was, he’d told her, the exact story he’d been told over a lovely dinner with Samantha at the restaurant with oceanfront views. They’d shared a bottle of 1994 Syrah that was, quite simply, remarkable. Allison hadn’t seemed impressed.

When the applause dies down, the governor catches Samantha’s eye, catches her wink. His wife isn’t expecting him home until late anyway, he thinks. She’s used to putting the twins to bed alone. She won’t miss him.

“Michael’s story is one that too many of us understand. I talked to Samantha for a long time about the issues that affect our most vulnerable neighbors, hoping we could find a solution.” He folds his hand into the traditional loose-fisted, thumb-pointing gesture and says, “And I believe we have.”

He lets that sit for a moment, enjoys the gentle waves of murmurs and curious looks and raised eyebrows. George leans back in his chair, nodding appreciatively at the governor’s speaking prowess. The governor nods back, subtle but meaningful.

“As we spoke, Samantha reminded me of a conversation I had when I was in college with the current Vice President of the United States. We had taken a literature class together and were discussing a piece in which the author expressed his concerns for the poor. The Vice President and I had stayed up all night discussing the nature of the proposal.”

They had also stayed up drinking and enjoying some cheap but effective weed from the guy on the third floor, but he doesn’t need to mention that.

“After talking to Samantha, I called the Vice President and we started organizing a committee to develop a similar plan that could work for our modern world. We looked at data about our most vulnerable populations, those most affected by income inequality, those areas of our state experiencing the greatest amount of homelessness. After a week of planning, we had created the Swift Project.”

The governor waits for the applause to die down, waving his open palms gently, gratefully at the crowd.

“The Swift Project’s current goal,” he explains, “is to lower the number of individuals experiencing homelessness or mental illness through work with the food industry. Our state is known for, and proud of, our innovative and world-renowned culinary movements. The Swift Project is a revolutionary new chapter in that work.”

More applause. The governor catches Samantha’s eye and winks.

“Our first Swift Project Center will open in Los Angeles by the end of the year. Mayor Reed, please stand up.”

Mayor Reed stands and mirrors Samantha’s earlier grace, waving and smiling and settling back in his chair.

“Mayor Reed and I are working with members of Samantha’s organization in the ‘Street Food’ subcommittee, which will work to compile a list of volunteers from the community wishing to take part in this exciting new experiment. Future generations will remember these volunteers as trailblazers who created an alternative food source in a time of great crisis.”

He catches the growing confusion on some of the faces and allows himself to smile the crooked smile all the tabloids love.

“As we take on volunteers in the Swift Project, we remove potential for crime, substance abuse, and medical costs that would otherwise come to eventually cripple our state’s economy. Additionally, the Swift Project is an environmentally-conscious program, working to reduce our carbon footprint through a decline in population.”

A man at the table just to the left of the podium is covering his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. The woman beside him is still, seemingly caught between horrified and fascinated. The governor’s eyes slide over the room. 

“I understand there may be some who question the ethics of the Swift Project,” he says, “and to those people I would ask that they consider the alternatives. Our homeless population grows each day and the root cause has gone so deep that to remove it would be to destroy the nation’s economy. Even those not experiencing homelessness, those whose mental health requires professional attention, will eventually create a new financial burden on the state, and the country, as we continue to provide services in efforts to assist them.”

The governor can see Allison at her table, hand clenched, staring at the full plate in front of her. Has he been overusing keywords? She always hates that, even when he explains that it keeps the message strong. But what does Allison know?

“As the Project gains traction,” he continues, “a second subcommittee, the ‘Farm-to-Fork’ committee, will reach out to individuals who have not yet achieved citizenship with more volunteer opportunities.”

People are shifting in their seats and the governor checks his notes. Nearly done. Soon enough he’ll be sharing a drink in Samantha’s hotel room.

“We are offering these populations the opportunity to change the world,” he continues. “The opportunity to help their neighbors, their communities, their state, in a time of great economic strife. The Swift Project will provide nutrition to countless individuals at lower costs, meaning more money in our pockets.”

He has a fairly full pocket as it is. George is certainly paying him well for this, and he’s caught the eye of a few other investors in the crowd. 

“As the project grows, so can its subcommittees, allowing us flexibility based on areas where our state needs additional help. The Swift Project is our next step toward a more sustainable future.”

More murmuring. So close. He just has to sell it with the last line.

“And for those who can’t believe this is a worthwhile endeavor,” he says with a smile, “what did you think of dinner?”