BY ED MURRIETA

In French kitchens, they call it beurre composé. In American kitchens, butter plus another ingredient–herb, spice, nut–is known as compound butter, our blunt description of churned dairy blended with flavors and textures. And in medical cannabis kitchens, the most common compound butter is naturally cannabutter — a blending of butter and cannabis that infuses the herb’s medicinal essence into everybody favorite emulsion, providing a key ingredient in many edibles.

But why stop there? If you can measure spices, chop nuts, melt chocolate, mince herbs and stir a spatula, compound cannabutters are easy to make, and will add true flair and flavor to you medicated treats.

Restaurants serve sweet, savory, spicy and floral compound butters with bread. Chefs use herbed compound butters to brighten flavors and ease acidity in wine sauces. A favorite steakhouse beefs up flavors with a creamy knob of pistachio-ginger butter on grilled New York strip.

At home, enjoy compound cannabutters on bagels, biscuits, crepes, crackers, toast and tortillas; or atop oatmeal and pancakes. Flavor cannabutter with orange zest, honey and Cointreau and you’ll never miss marmalade. Continue reading →

DANNY FLAME rides his bicycle in the tree-lined neighborhood streets. It’s a brilliant, sunny morning, late summer. It’s early. We see golden light and dew mist. “Here Comes the Sun” plays as the titles roll over the scene. Joggers are jogging. Dog-walkers are dog-walking. We see people lined up outside a cafe, shopkeepers preparing to open. An SUV darts out of a driveway backward. Danny stops in time and the car speeds on its way without apology, the only unnerving thing about this calm, pleasant morning in this picturesque neighborhood of houses and shops and cafes.

Danny Flame continues riding his bike and arrives at the farmers market, locks his bike to a tree, smiles at babies in strollers and their mothers in yoga clothes. We see Danny Flame making the rounds, chatting up farmers, sticking his nose into produce, accepting a special this, a certain that from farmers who like him. Danny Flame is good-looking, confident, charming, earnest.

Meanwhile, the scene cuts to SANDEE REY as she gets out of the SUV that darted out of the driveway. She’s a hot mess — aflutter, disheveled, nervous, anxious, in a rush. She’s in the parking lot at Whole Foods, fumbling with her purse and keys and sunglasses and cellphone. She’s pleasantly attractive, coltishly clumsy, determined but distracted, her day obviously not going right at this early hour. We watch Sandee make her way through the store, leaving a mess of groceries in her wake, in particular, a display of peaches with a sign: “Oliver’s Peaches. Super-Sweet — 25 Brix. End-of-Season Sale.”

The music fades. AND IT’S ALL RIGHT …

CUT TO:
Farmers market.

OLLIE OLIVER, an ebullient farmer, mans his farmers market stand, Oliver’s Orchard. He’s talking with customers but breaks away from the conversation when he sees DANNY FLAME.

OLLIE: “Danny. Yo, Danny. Dann-o. Bro!”

Danny Flame walks over to the farmer at his farmers market stand.

DANNY FLAME: “Oliver. How’s it growing?”

OLLIE OLIVER: “Big and sweet, bro, big and sweet. Here — you’ve gotta try these.”

OLLIE OLIVER reaches into a box beneath the table and pulls out two perfect specimens of peaches.

OLLIE OLIVER: “Look at the fuzz on these babies, bro. And the Brix ratings on the sugar is off the charts.”

Danny Flame grabs a peach and eats it, quickly, with gusto and purpose, messy with fruit juices.

DANNY FLAME: “Oh, man. …. This is better than sex.”

Danny licks the peach juices off his fingers, wipes the the juice off his mouth, and licks his fingers again.

OLLIE OLIVER: “You’ve got to get out of the kitchen and into world, bro. When is the last time you got any? Hey, bro, speaking of things you’re not gonna get any more of … ”

Ollie Oliver reaches down for the box of peaches and hands the box, about 12 peaches, to Danny Flame, who’s sucking on the peach pit at this point.

OLLIE OLIVER: “Last of the season. Here, for you, bro. My mom really liked the story you wrote about her peach pie last week.”

DANNY FLAME: “Hey, tell your mom I’ll marry her for her peaches and be your daddy any day. Thanks.”

OLLIE OLIVER: “Funny, Mister Writer. Hey, we got a new order from that place you ripped — that restaurant that used to be Marco’s. Man, that was a harsh review, bro.”

DANNY FLAME: “Pacific Grill? Only time I ever got food poisoning. Bad clams and cheap linguine. That dump’s been closed for over a year —  ”

OLLIE OLIVER: “No, bro. A new joint opening up there. Chef called us yesterday and said she wants us to start deliveries next month — next week, in fact. She said she wants all local produce — even asked if we grew our own endive.”

Ollie pronounces endive as “end-dive.” Danny corrects his pronunciation.

DANNY FLAME: “On-deeve.”

OLLIE: “Huh?”

DANNY FLAME: “You said ‘end-dive.’ It’s ‘on-deeve.”

OLLIE OLIVER: “Fellatio, fellachio. No wonder you can’t get one, bro.”

DANNY FLAME: “Who’s the chef? What’s her name? I ride by there all time, never see any sign of life.”

OLLIE OLIVER: “Don’t know, bro. Ellie took the call.”

DANNY FLAME: “Yeah, OK. Hey, man, I gotta go. Tell Ellie we gotta try that new Korean barbecue place soon. Thanks for the peaches — and the poop.”

Danny starts to walk away as customers start to cluster at Ollie Oliver’s farmers market stand.

OLLIE OLIVER: “I’m a farmer, bro. Fertilizing your food is what I do.”

CUT TO:
SANDEE REY driving in her SUV. We see groceries in the back, lots of groceries. Sandee drives like she looks: manic and marginally in control. Sandee talks to herself as she drives, breathlessly reciting a list of tasks and driving like Mrs. Magoo.

SANDEE REY: “Gotta get the chickens into the brine by noon. OK. Dessert: I’ll make the ice cream first. Guests arrive at 5:30. Gotta call the wine rep. Jesus, gotta call the wine rep. Oh, I gotta pick up grandma first.”

CUT TO:
Danny Flame riding his bike and approaching an empty storefront building. Danny stands before the building, admiring its historic facade, its perfect restoration job. Even the hand-lettering on the fading butcher paper hung inside the window was classy: Closed But Coming Soon. Junk mail and rolled-up newspapers litter the building’s otherwise clean exterior. Danny peeks in the window, unable to see anything. Danny walks his bike down the street, turns the corner.

CUT TO:
Sandee Rey driving. She passes Danny and the restaurant, driving in the opposite direction. Sandee digs through her purse as she drives, one hand holding both a cup of Starbucks and the wheel of the SUV.

CUT TO:
Danny walking his bike on street, turning the corner into alley. Danny parks his bike, in the alley, using the kickstand. The peaches and other produce from the farmers market are in a basket on the rear of Danny’s bike.

CUT TO:
Sandee Rey driving, turning the corner into the alley, driving in the direction of Danny Flame and his bike ahead in the alley.

Danny Flame faces the back door of the shuttered restaurant, presses his face to the window to see in, cupping his face to shield the light.

Sandee Rey, in her SUV, smashes into Danny Flame’s bike, sending produce flying and draggging the bike beneath the front end of her SUV.

Danny Flame reacts.

DANNY FLAME: “What the?!!??!?”

Sandee Rey reacts. Her coffee spills.

SANDEE REY: “Oh, my god. Oh, my god.”

Sandee tosses the Starbucks cup in the air like it’s a snake or a hot potato, assesses the coffee spill on her shirt and pants.

Danny Flame reacts, stepping into the alley to get a view.

DANNY FLAME: “My peaches!”

Sandee Rey reacts. Sandee puts her SUV in reverse, dragging the bicycle with her.

SANDEE REY: “Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.”

Sandee drives — backward and fast, nervous in a powerful vehicle — directly at Danny, now standing in the middle of the alley to get a view. Danny dives out of the SUV’s way, hearing his bicycle drag beneath the V-12 engine’s roar. Danny lands in garbage.

Sandee hits the brakes, brings her SUV to a stop. She rolls down her window and addresses Danny, who begins to pick himself up out of the garbage, undamaged and unshaken.

SANDEE REY: “Oh, my god. I’m soooo sorry. Oh, my god, I’m soooo sorry. I will buy you a new bike. Any kind you want. I’m sooooo sorry.”

Sandee gets out of the vehicle. As Danny picks himself up from the garbage pile and brushes himself off, he sees Sandee and experiences a time-stopping moment of romantic comedy love at first sight. Sandee continues to apologize as Danny’s world stands still. Sandee mania is muted as “Here Comes the Sun” plays over her lines as Danny, the camera and us, the viewer, are enchanted by a doe-like beauty in a tastefully wet T-shirt.

SANDEE REY: “I’m soooo sorry. I think I left my wallet at Whole Foods and I was looking for it and I didn’t see you and I’m worried about my grandmother and …I’m all sketched out because I’ve got this big dinner tonight for investors and …. Oh, geez, look at this.”

Sandee has spilled coffee over the front of her T-shirt.

Danny just stares at Sandee. The music in Danny’s head plays over Sandee’s spoken lines. “SUN, SUN, SUN, HERE IT COMES …”

SANDEE REY: “Oh, I’m a mess.”

“SUN, SUN, SUN, HERE IT COMES …”

Sandee realizes Danny hasn’t responded and begins to brush her hand on his shoulder, checking to make sure he’s OK.

SANDY REY: “Oh, my god. But are you OK? Are you OK? I’m sooo sorry about your bike.”

Danny snaps out of his movie-magic moment of love at first sight.

DANNY FLAME: “Um, yeah. Don’t worry about the bike. It’s one of those free bikes community bikes.”

SANDY REY: “See, I didn’t see see you the investors and my grandmother and — Oh, my god, I’m glad you’re all right.”

Danny picks up something off the ground, the crushed and broken box that contained the peaches, now flecked with peach pulp and dripping with peach juices. Danny runs an index finger over the damaged box in his hand, then licks a piece of pulverized peach off his finger.

DANNY FLAME: “Those were Oliver Orchard peaches. The Brix had to be up around 22, 23, at least.”

SANDEE REY: “25. 25 degrees Brix.”

Danny gives Sandee a how-do-you-know look.

DANNY FLAME: “Good guess.”

Sandee motions for Danny to move aside and she opens the back door of her SUV.

SANDEE REY: “Here. Watch out.”

DANNY FLAME: “Yeah, you don’t want to hit *me* with that carbeast.”

SANDEE REY, sing-songy: “Found it!”

DANNY FLAME: “What you got there, my new bike?”

SANDEE REY, leaning into the car: “L-O-L, ha-ha. My wallet. I found my wallet … And these.”

Sandee stands up, exiting the backseat of the car and turns around, holding two beautiful peaches for Danny to admire and inspect.

SANDEE REY: “Come on in. You can help me churn the ice cream. Fresh peaches. Oliver’s Orchard — last of the season. Mmmmmmm.”

Sandee bites into a peach. Danny’s world goes slow-motion. Peaches juices fly from Sandee’s ripe mouth. Music plays: “Here comes the sun … do, do, do, do … here comes the sun and I say, it’s all right …”

CUT TO:
Interior. Restaurant. EVIE OH is eating, prodigiously. She is at a table with DANNY FLAME. She is a squat woman, unattractive and vulgar in appearance, bubbly and girlie-girl in manner and speech. If you could smell her perfume, it would be heavy bubblegum. Her clothes are loud, an explosion of patterns and colors from the fat lady’s department on the cheap side of Chinatown. Evie Oh talks and makes other verbal noises as she eats. People watch Evie Oh as they pass, steal glances of her from nearby tables, not for her eating noises, but for her, Evie Oh, restaurant critic for a local magazine published by pretentious idiots for pretentious idiots. People express recognition, then their elation deflates as the vulgar reality of the squat, unattractive, gaudily dressed woman soaks in.

EVIE OH: “I love it. I love it. … Uh-huh. …. Uh-huh. …. ”

Evie Oh shoves a big forkfull of pasta in her mouth, a gaudy slash of red lipstick. As she chews with her mouth open, Evie Oh stabs her fork at the remains of various side dishes, seemingly paying more attention to the food than to DANNY FLAME, who sits across from her, talking and eating. We see that Danny is occassionally reluctant to fork into one of the shared plates for fear of getting his hand stabbed with Evie Oh’s fast and furious fork.

EVIE OH: “I can see this on the cover … Unh … Unh … Loving it. … La, la, la loving it. I love the grandma. Can we get a picture of her grandma?”

DANNY FLAME: “That’s the thing. She says her grandma’s health is getting worse and the old lady really doesn’t — ”

EVIE OH, inturrepting, emphatically: “Gotta have art of the grandmother. Make that happen.”

DANNY FLAME: “Yeah, all right, Evie. I’m on it.”

A server approaches the table and refills water glasses and addresses Evie Oh.

SERVER: “Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Oh?”

EVIE OH, talking now more to herself than to Danny and not acknowledging the server: “Oh, we’ve got great pictures of that building before it was renovated. That might work, too. Get this — ”

Evie acknowledges the server’s presence.

SERVER: “Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Oh?”

EVIE OH, coldly: “No.”

Danny and the server exhange glances that suggest they both hate Evie Oh.

Evie Oh continues talking, fork in hand, making the “headlines hands” gesture as she speaks her line. Evie Oh holds the fork in her “headline hand” as she makes the slow, sweeping gesture. There’s food and sauce on the fork, a natural extension of Evie Oh’s pudgy hand. Danny’s eyes follow the fork, as the food threatens to fly and fall. The server stands by in anticipation of the line and the food.

EVIE OH, making “headline hands”: “Rookie Chef Hopes Haunted Restaurant Keeps Grandma Alive.”
The server walks away, noticing something more important in the room.

DANNY FLAME: “That’s not the story I’m pitching. I’m talking about a Q&A with Sandee about the restaurant and some thoughts on how that space has never achieved its full potential as a dining room.”
EVIE OH: “You said the old lady needs to go into a nursing home. Right?”

DANNY FLAME: “Yeah, that’s what Sandee told me. She said her grandma wanders and gets lost in the neighborhood because of her dementia.”

EVIE OH: “And she can’t sell the building because the market sucks and every restaurant that’s gone into that space for the last 20 years has crashed and burned. She needs to make money in that building or the old lady can sleep in the walk-in freezer.”

EVIE OH, tearing apart a crab leg and once again making “headline hands” as bits of crab shell fly, one hitting Danny in the face: “Rookie Chef Hopes Haunted Restaurant Keeps Grandma Alive.”

Evie Oh sucks crab meat out of a broken crab leg and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
EVIE OH: “I’ll pay you $250 for the story.”

DANNY FLAME: “You owe me $250 for the barbecue story I wrote the Fourth of July. Today’s Labor Day.
EVIE OH: “You’ll get paid for both. Don’t worry.”

DANNY FLAME: “Money or those gift cards that restaurants give you for that independent trough of journalism you feed off? I need the money to replace the bike.”

Evie doesn’t answer immediately. The trough line stung her.

EVIE OH: “You mean pay off your bookie. Don’t lie to me, Danny. I’m Chinese. Monday Night Football starts tonight. You’re still in deep to my cousin Benny from the All-Star game.”

DANNY FLAME: “Put the money in my Pay-Pal when I email you the story? Or should I send you the story in a read-only PDF and tease you with with my genius until you pay me?”

Evie’s manner and tone change from ugly and abrupt to ugly and seductive, or at least her ugly attempt at seductive.

EVIE OH: “I’d rather tease my tongue down your throat when you send me your beautiful story, my beautiful man. Remember that night at the James Beard wine dinner? You, me, the Brunello … ”

DANNY FLAME: “That’s it, Evie. I gave up alcohol after that night, thanks to you. And you know I love red wine more than I love redheads. Thanks for lunch.”

Danny gets up from the table, gathers his belongings.

Evie Oh continues to eat.

DANNY FLAME: “Dream up whatever headline you want on the story, Evie. Sandee invited me to her investor preview dinner tonight. I’ll let you know what kind of story comes out of that.”

EVIE OH, speaking with mouth full: “Send me my story, Danny. I need it by Wednesday. You need the money.”
Danny turns and walks away. Danny is stopped by the server who was just at his table. The server speaks to Danny in a familiar manner.

SERVER: “You do know who you were having lunch with, do you not?”

Danny replies in the same familiar tone. The two have history.

DANNY FLAME, feigning mild shock: “Was I breaking bread with a stranger? Thanks for the tip, Miles. But I’m neither going to confirm nor deny that’s Evie Oh, the restaurant critic.”

SERVER: “We hate her. Staff all over town go, ‘Evie — oh, oh’ when she waddles in on those hooves. Evie Oh-Oh. She’ll be the extra virgin until she dies.”

Danny and the server turn to see Evie Oh sitting at her table paying her tab from an assortment of restaurant gift cards. Danny takes a $5 bill from his pocket and puts it into the server’s breast pocket.

DANNY: “Here. She won’t leave one.”

CUT TO:
SANDEE REY and her grandmother entering the restaurant’s dining room. Tables are stacked on top of tables, chairs are arranged in a corner. The bar is bare but for a few bottles and glasses. The restaurant is immaculate, but inactive, except for the center of the dining room, set with a single row of tables, seating for 12 people. The table is beautiful, set to impress.

GRANDMOTHER: “Oh, my, Sandee, the table is lovely.”

SANDEE REY: “I set it up last night, grandma. I didn’t get any sleep.”

GRANDMOTHER: “Your grandfather Marco opened this restaurant in 1945, the year he brought me home from the war. We had candles and table cloths and breadsticks and wine on every table.”

Sandee’s cellphone rings.

SANDEE: “Sit right here, grandma. I’ll be right back.”

Sandee walks away from grandma to take the call. Grandma, now seated, continues talking.

GRANDMOTHER: “On Sunday nights — because we were always closed on Mondays, that’s the day your grandpa Marco would work at the tailor shop he built in the garage –

SANDEE: “Hello? Hi, yes.”

GRANDMOTHER: ” … we would clear out all the tables and dance until we drank all the leftover wine from the week …” .

Sandee is walking around the shuttered restaurant. We see old photographs on the walls. , photos of the building’s original exeterior, grandma and grandpa posing in front, etc.

SANDEE: “Oh, no. Well, oh, I can’t argue with you about the stock market. Investments are risky.”
Sandy looks nervous. She keeps an eye on grandma, who’s chattering away to herself while sitting at the table. We see more family picturs on the wall: Grandma and Grandpa with kids, then grandma and grandpa older, with kids who have kids…

SANDEE: “Well, I’m sorry you’re going to miss a terrific dinner, too. Yes, I have been working on the menu all week. Yes, OK. Thank you for calling. Bye now.”

Sandee puts down her phone. She pulls the cork from a bottle, inspects a nearby water glass, double-checking to see if the shade of lipstick on the glass matches hers and pours a glass of wine, as full as it can go. Sandee’s cellphone rings again. She grabs the phone and leaves the wine.

SANDEE: “Hello? Oh? I’m sure. Absolutely, we can try another night. No, no, no. It’s not a problem. Thank you for calling. Bye now.”

Sandee, clearly dejected and upset, puts her phone in her pocket and picks up the full glass of wine. She picks it up and spills a little bit before catching the balance of the glass, putting her mouth to the lip of the glass and taking a big, gulping drink, about half the glass, dribbling some down her chin, onto her shirt. The sound she makes after drinking the wine is halfway between satisfied and angry.

SANDEE: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Sandee doesn’t bother wiping the wine from her mouth. She refills the glass with the remaining wine, to the last drop the bottle can give.

Sandee returns to the table where grandma is sitting quietly. Grandma doesn’t recognize her. She calls Sandee by Sandee’s mother’s name.

GRANDMA: “Jeannie. Tell your father to stop scraping leftovers off the customers’ plates to make his cannelonni.”

SANDEE: “It’s me, grandma. Sandee. Mama warned me about Grandpa Marco’s cannelonni when I was a little girl. Remember?”

Grandma looks befuddled, almost blank.

GRANMA; “Jeannie, you don’t know what’s inside those. Whatever he scrapes off the customers’ plates. No, I tell your father. That man, Jennie, your father, I tell you.”

SANDEE: “Grandma, it’s me, San — ”

Sandee catches herself, realizing her grandmother doesn’t remember much worth remembering. Sandee takes a deep breath and puts her wine glass on the table and begins to assist her grandmother up from her chair.

SANDEE: “C’mon, grandma. Let’s get you home.”

Grandma knocks over the wine glass, spilling half a glass of wine on the immaculately set table, ruining four place settings. Grandma’s oblivious. Sandee acts resigned to the accident.

SANDEE: “Don’t worry, grandma. No one’s going to be sitting there at dinner tonight anyway.”

CUT TO:
Danny’s house. The televison blares Monday Night Football. Danny has just gotten out of the shower and begins dressing for dinner. The Monday Night Football announcer says something about the Jets’ defense and the Seahawks running backs and wide receivers.

DANNY FLAME: “Seahawks gonna bust through that line like cheescloth. Frosting sticks to birthday cakes stronger than the Jets’ DBs.”

Danny checks his email and checks his blog. We see Danny’s blog on his laptop screen. Danny’s blog is professional and well designed. It has a catchy name that I’ll come up with later. Instant message arrives; it’s from Benny Oh, Evie’s bookie cousin. The message is threatening in a jocular way: “Jets are toast. Pass butter and pay up!”

CUT TO:
Sandee Rey in her restaurant kitchen. It’s a mess. She’s on the phone, impatient, almost pleasing with the phone to answer.

SANDEE REY: “Pick up, c’mon.”

CUT TO:
Danny Flame’s house. His cellphone on the kitchen counter, ringing and flashing. Danny looks at cellphone display: UNAVAILABLE.

DANNY FLAME: “Fuck off, Benny.”

Danny turns the phone off.

CUT TO:
Sandy Rey in her kitchen, a bit overwhelmed but mostly in control.

SANDEE REY: “Hi, uh, Danny. It’s Sandee. I don’t think tonight’s the best night for dinner. Call me when you get the message. Thanks. Bye now.”

CUT TO:
Danny in his house, grabbing keys, phone, wallet, etc, turning off the televison and exiting the house. We see danny leave the house, we see Danny’s run-over, busted up bicycle set out by the trash on the curb. The bus passes. Sign on the bus shelter reads: Holiday Hours, Every 45 Minutes. Danny shrugs and decides to walk. Danny buys flowers, yellow roses, on the way.

CUT TO:
Exterior, Sandee’s restaurant. The windows are still papered-over, but the door is open and we see some light inside. Danny arrives for the dinner 30 minutes late. Danny enters the restaurant to see Sandee sending two servers home with bags of food and giving them cash.

SANDEE REY, to server: “Here take this. Thanks, I know. We’ll make it work.”

DANNY FLAME: “Was the food that good — everybody ate up and went home already? I’m sorry I’m late. I missed the bus. I would have ridden my bike, but … I brought you these.”

Sandee looks at Danny and the bouqet of roses he’s holding and starts to cry.

DANNY FLAME: “What? What? You don’t like yellow roses? I’ll be right back with red roses.”

The servers stop at the door to see if Sandee needs help. Sandee nods her head and gestures to them to go.
SANDEE REY: “Every last person canceled on dinner tonight. The last person called 5 minutes ago. Nobody’s gonna touch the oysters and salmon carpaccio.”

DANNY FLAME: “I’m here. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

Sandee demurs.

SANDEE REY: Oh, I don’t know. It’s just so — oh, I wanna scream.”

DANNY FLAME: “OK. Scream. And then let’s eat. I’ve still got a story to write.”

SANDEE REY: “Huh?”

DANNY FLAME: “Scream. Get it out.”

SANDEE REY: “Oh, I, oh …”

DANNY FLAME, trying to cheer her, “C’mon, scream — scream out loud, scream out strong. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough …. just scream.”

Sandee takes a deep breath; her bosom heaves as Danny watches.

SANDEE REY: “ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!”

Sandee looks around, looks satisfied.

Danny Flame puts the flowers on the table and applauds.

DANNY FLAME: “There you go. Yeah!”

SANDEE REY: “ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!”

Danny is still clapping as the Filipino dishwasher runs out from the kitchen wielding a cleaver.

Sandee gains her composure, exudes some radiance, a new burst of confidence. Sandee addresses the Filipino dishwasher. Alfredo’s thin and wiry in a thread-bare t-shirt, kitchen pants and a rubber apron.

SANDEE REY: “It’s OK, Alfredo. We’re just talking business.”

ALFREDO: “Ah, Mr. Danny. Long time no see. Chef Gordon still mad at you for the review. You say “the busboy makes better boulliabase in the dish pit …”

DANNY FLAME, nodding his head, appreciating his words and finishing the line for Alfredo: “than the urn of fishwives’ stew that Gordon Naccarato served me from his million-dollar stove.”

Sandee watches Danny recite his own words. She think it’s kind of cute and smiles cautiously at the humor in the line.

ALFREDO: “That steamed him, Mr. Danny. Ha, ha, that really steamed Chef Gordon. But true. You brave and funny man.”

SANDEE REY, to Alfredo: “Alfredo, why don’t you take home a couple of chickens and some salad.”

ALFREDO: “Oh, no, thank you, Miss Sandee. I go to casino tonight after work. Win big. Help you and Grandma Sandee.”

Alfredo turns and returns to the kitchen.

SANDEE REY: “Well, make sure you eat something.”

ALFREDO, holding up cleaver and waiving it as if it was part of his hand: “Good night, Miss Sandee. Good night, Mr. Danny. …. ‘The busboy makes better boulliabase in the dish pit.’ Ha, ha!”

Sandee picks up the bouquet of yellow roses and smells them, she’s delighted and flattered. She starting to look at Danny like he’s dinner.

SANDEE REY: “Bad bouillaibase?”

DANNY FLAME: “Not as bad as the clams. Pacific Grill. Right here. It was only here about 9 months.”

SANDEE REY, halfway between question and statement: “Until your poison pen closed it down.”

DANNY FLAME: “First and only time I got food poisoning on the job. Ever, in fact. ‘Stan the Man’s Linguine and Clams.’ Stan the Man’s Ptomaine and Diarrhea, more like it.”

Sandee laughs and smiles.

DANNY FLAME: “Thanks for not going,’Ewwww.”

SANDEE REY: “Only 12-year-old girls and cupcake bloggers say ‘ewwwww.’”

Danny picks up a single-page menu off the table.

DANNY FLAME: “Tonight’s menu?”

SANDEE REY: “Yes, I did the caligraphy on each one myself.”

Danny admires the handwriting, scans the menu and starts reciting from the menu, dramatically and emphatically.
DANNY FLAME: “Well, I can’t wait to try …. “quoting from menu …. quoting from menu … etc.”
Sandee smiles and shrugs at Danny’s performance.

SANDEE REY: “Have a seat. I’ll serve you myself.”

Sandee exits the dining room and enters the kitchen, where we see her take a deep breath and sigh over the mess. Sandee puts on an apron and gets to work, preparing plates of food for her and Danny. We see Sandee carving a chicken; it’s ruby-red to the bone.

CUT TO:
Danny in the dining room. He is standing at a side table laid out with plates of oysters and salmon carpaccio. He makes a small plate and looks around the room, at the old photos of Sandee’s family on the walls.

CUT TO:
Sandee in the kitchen, working hard, trying to stay focused. She loads up a service cart with dishes, bowls, plates — five courses brought out at once — and wheels it into the dining room, where Danny Flame is seated, pouring himself water from a bottle.

SANDEE REY: “Well — voila! Let’s eat. May I pour you some wine.”

DANNY FLAME: “Um, I really don’t drink.”

SANDEE REY: “Oh, I’m sorry. AA?”

DANNY FLAME: “Um, no, no. Last time I drank, I, uh, woke up in the wrong bed last year. So I don’t drink anymore.”

SANDEE REY: “Oh.”

DANNY FLAME: “But I don’t see a bed in here, so there’s no danger in just one glass.”

Danny reaches for a bottle on the table.

DANNY FLAME: “Hey, is this place really haunted?”

Danny pours two glasses of wine as Sandee talks.

SANDEE REY: “No. But I heard that story. My grandmother said it before the city council when they were trying to decide whether to tear down all the buildings on this block.”

DANNY FLAME: “Her dementia?”

SANDEE REY: “Yeah. Not a lick of truth to an old lady’s ghost story. But the building did used to be a brothel. There are still some beds upstairs, you know. Here, eat your oysters.”

Danny does a spit-take on his wine.

DANNY FLAME: “What brought you to town?”

SANDEE REY: “I hosted a morning televison show in Seattle. After my mother died, someone had to take care of grandma so I moved down here. We can’t sell the building so I’m trying to make a go of her and grandpa Marco’s old restaurant. You’re Pacific Grill friend left everything built-out and ready to cook. I even found Alfredo’s name and number written on the wall.”

DANNY FLAME: “You mean you’ve never worked in a restaurant?”

SANDEE REY: “I hosted all the chefs’ cooking segments on ‘Good Morning, Seattle’ for five years and I worked as a hostess at Spago in college.”

Danny tries not to roll his eyes. He girds himself for bad food. He bites into the salmon carpaccio.

DANNY: “Hmmm. I like the caper berries and the creme fraiche. Briny and tangy on the raw, buttery fish. What else you got?”

CUT TO: A montage of Danny and Sandee eating and drinking and laughing and talking and flirting, and drinking. The montage ends and Sandee returns from the kitchen carrying two big bowls of peach ice cream.

SANDEE REY: “Peaches.”

DANNY FLAME: “Wow. I can hardly eat another bite.”

Sandy, coquettishly, sticks a big spoonful of ice cream in Danny’s mouth.

SANDEE REY: “Not even with ….”

Sandee leans in to kiss Danny. HERE SOMES THE SUN .. DO-DO-DO-DO…

SANDEE REY: “…a cherry on top?”

Sandee and Danny kiss hard, fumble in their chairs and roll into the floor. Where they make out and, in movie fashion, commence to make love. The camera moves around the couple as they writhe on the floor, naked, swaddled in white table cloths as the candles on the table burn down.

HERE COMES THE SUN AND I SAY, IT’S ALL RIGHT ….

CUT TO:
Danny vomitting, violently and with wretched force that threatens to unbolt the toilet from the floor.  Danny writes it off as a hang-over — he hasn’t had wine in some time. We see Danny read the menu that Sandee had printed for her dinner. Danny vomits again, and then again.

CUT TO:
Tuesday. Sandee at the magazine office. She is composed, in control, confident and happy. She wants to place an ad for her new restaurant. Evie Oh is in the office and overhears. Sandee over-shares with the receptionist, says something about the investor dinner that went bust — but she mentioned a cute guy she met.

CUT TO:
Evie calling Danny, grilling him about dinner, suspicious that her cover story is compromised. They engage in hang-over/regretful sex banter, editor-reporter banter. Danny plays into Edie Oh’s game (and deflecting away attention from the sex) by assuring her that the investors dropping out makes the story more dramatic — now the grandma is really in jeopardy. Danny gets off the phone and vomits again, and then again. We see an instant message from his bookie: “Jets no cover spread. You pay $500 by Friday. Ha ha.”

CUT TO:
Danny writing. Struggling. Vomitting. Writing. Miraculously, writing, even while sick and on the verge of hallucination, he writes something. We can see he’s on a roll, but we can also see he is violently ill.

CUT TO:
Wednesday. Evie Oh calls for another “where’s my story.” Danny tells her he’s been sick, the story has changed from what they talked about. Evie is uncaring, unhearing — she just wants a story to fill space. Danny gets another instant message from Benny the Bookie while he’s talking with Evie so he says, “I wrote something. It’s a little different. Not your normal food story.” Evie Oh: “Just send it, Danny.”

CUT TO:
Evie Oh opening Danny’s email and reading the story. The look on Evie’s face is similar to the look she gets at the Golden Corral buffet — drooling satisfaction, almost sexual.

CUT TO:
Thursday. Sandee on phone with Danny. “Normally, I get mad when the guy I slept with doesn’t call for three days….I got busy with the restaurant and grandma and …. I saw the Huffington Post this morning.. … you … you … my god, you’re a poet.” Danny tells Sandee about the hang-over, how he hasn’t had a drink in a while and it hit him hard …. They make plans. As soon as he’s off the phone, Danny goes online, www.HuffingtonPost.com, as the page loads, we cut to:

CUT TO:
Interior. Production office. Sign on the wall reads: Fabulous Foodies. A producer is sitting at her desk, reading from the computer monitor, flanked by two or three female co-workers. She reads out loud, from Danny’s words, a beautiful riff ….. All the women in the office swoon as she reads. “There’s our next ‘Fabulous Foodie,’” the producer lady says, “Let’s get a crew out there and get her on the air next month.”