There was a crackle on the line, and the voice coming through the speaker was muffled. Muffled, but familiar
“T!” Yochi slapped the even-keeled caterer on the back. Eli T. wasn’t only the tour’s claim to fame; he was its very soul. Because as Yochi had been telling Binick from their very first meeting, food was the everything of everything.
“T,” Yochi said earnestly. “I hope dinner is ready, and that it has a five-digit calorie count, and that it’s being served on 24-karat gold plates. Oh, Noe did the game reserves today, he’s coming home with the appetite of a lion.”
“Are you kidding?” Eli Tannenbaum retorted. “I’ve been personally massaging his cow for the past year. I definitely hope he’s hungry.”
“Good.” Yochi drummed his fingers on his tablet. “Anyway, just making sure, you’ve got the nut-free menu for Strohman?”
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