text: Ryan Erickson had quietly glowing, copper-penny eyes and soft, curling, coal-black hair with only a strand or two of silver at his temples. He was about 35 years old, lightly built and hovering just above the six foot mark. His face was thin, but his jaw was finely chiseled and completed with a handsome cleft chin. He had a good-natured manner, and he had a very sweet, very warm, dimpled smile which instantly melted the heart of the beholder. He was very patient and fairly reserved; he worked hard, and was good at his job. The first impression of a man with a good heart proved true as one became more familiar with him. Ryan was a chef by trade and by hobby; he was always putting together amazing works of food-art in his home and at work, although the workplace environment created restrictions and monotony for him. When the restaurant’s menu was condensed to fast-food adjacent burgers, fries, and pizza as a precaution during the coronavirus outbreak, Ryan made sure his staff were grilling the burgers just right, buttering and toasting the brioche buns to perfection, and not over-frying the chicken tenders. He brought a homemade seasoning oil to put on the pizza crust, even though outside ingredients and creativity were strictly forbidden. It was depressing to have his creativity stifled by the severe restrictions; but customers still regularly and genuinely complimented the food, often saying it was a “pleasant surprise” to have such well cooked, nicely plated “fast” food. Even if the fare itself wasn’t high quality or original, with chef Ryan in charge the preparation and presentation was. His patient, thoughtful nature combined with his quick wit and years of restaurant experience made it easy for him to throw things together quickly, but with as much excellence and care as if he’d spent hours. When he worked on the presentation of a dish, it didn’t matter if it was a plain cheese pizza or a romantic dinner for his girlfriend; a very focused, deliberate look would come over his face, and his physical body seemed to sync with his spirit as his natural artistic talent and an innate love for beauty came pouring out of him and into his dishes. Every piece of shredded cheese, sheet of seaweed, or slice of pepperoni was mulled over and gently placed in just the right spot. Every dish was a painting, too pretty to eat, but in the end too delicious to resist and soon devoured heartily by the one he had bestowed it upon. He loved to experiment with different foods from around the world; he had an appreciation for all classes of cookery, and loved to celebrate other cultures by making traditional dishes for his loved ones, and sometimes for pure enjoyment and the expansion of his own skill. He was especially interested in Japanese cuisine, and lamented bitterly that he could not make ramen noodles from scratch. He could, however, make sushi more beautiful and delicious than the most expensive sushi restaurant in LA. His love of cooking was rivaled only by his love of spoiling his family and friends with his creations. His deepest and most meaningful show of affection was to cook for those he loved. He took regular trips to visit his father and sister who lived a state away, and every time he went to see them he would splurge on high quality, rich, and nutritious foods. Needless to say, they would all eat like kings for the weekend. Once, when his mother was down and out with a particularly nasty cold, Ryan went to her house and made her a ridiculously beautiful minestrone-esque soup, packed with vegetables he scoured from the fridge and made with homemade bone broth. He spent two whole days on the soup, and there was lots of overnight stewing and vigorous hours of chopping and mixing and seasoning. When it was finally done, his mother insisted it healed her immediately, and it probably did; her son’s love was infused into every cubed squash, every minced onion and every minute of stewing. Ryan also loved to cook for his girlfriend, Jane. During the work week, he couldn’t make anything very complicated or fancy for her lunch, so she always requested a simple steak salad; the steak was juicy and sliced even and thin, pink in the middle and pleasantly charred around the edges. The salad was piled high with the sweetest cherry tomatoes, impeccably cut slivers of firm, vividly green avocado, and aromatic, toasted almonds. It was finished with dried cherries - Ryan’s favorite sweet - which he had dubbed “adult candy.” Jane loved to walk in right as he was plating it; she loved to see his soul and body become one as he created something beautiful. She felt like a princess every time he handed her her special, custom, gorgeous salad. He was always regretful that he couldn’t make her something more advanced or complicated but she would have taken anything he made her, and loved it completely because it had been made by him. He would then walk her down to the ground floor and send her off with many sweet kisses and a promise to meet up later. She loved to leave the salad out on the counter at her job, so customers would ask her, who made that? It looks so good! She would brag that she was seeing a chef and he made her the loveliest meals. People would laugh when her expression changed so dramatically at the thought of him; her rosy complexion would deepen and her twinkling eyes would positively shine. A powerful brightness soaked into her smile, and her whole person would glow with a love light. After the salad had been fully appreciated by strangers, she would feel satisfied enough to eat it, and she always relished every bite of the lovely steak, the sweet tomatoes, the fresh spring greens and the love that had been blended into every tiny detail and poured all over.