Cocky Chef(15)

I nod a little and take a slow sip of my drink. Cole sits back, satisfied.

"And there you have it," he says, victoriously. "The three secrets."

"Bullshit," I say, calmly.

"Excuse me?"

"I could not disagree more with everything you just said."

He laughs. "Really now?"

"Yeah," I say, almost confrontational. "I think your secrets suck." 

The laugh dies away and Cole glares at me, his face flickering between confusion and offense, as if he's never heard somebody speak to him about his craft this way before.

"Do they? How so?"

I take a deep breath, realizing that I'm well beyond the point of control, only my principles guiding me now.

"You talk about dishes looking good-well, what if I don't agree with your idea of what's attractive? What if I like my salads cut roughly and jumbled in a bowl instead of arranged and stacked like a flower arrangement? What if I like food that looks like food, and not post-modern art that's trying to guilt trip me into liking it."

"You don't underst-"

"And as for pricing stuff ridiculously just so that people take their time eating-I think that's awful. Maybe that works on the money-obsessed celebrities that go to Knife, but where I come from, people aren't so good at lying to themselves and they can't afford to purchase a plate of satisfaction. If a bad meal is expensive, well that just makes it worse. You wanna make people appreciate something you made, then you should make it with love."

"Whether you like it or not, it's the-"

"And small portions? Jesus! It's like you don't even know what food is for anymore! Great food is great food. It should make people feel happy and satisfied, not starve them into thinking it's better than it actually is." I gesture at the doll-sized tacos and one-bite samosas in front of us. "Look at this. It's like a child's portion size! Maybe that's enough food for supermodels and decadent actors, but for somebody who's drained after a nine hour shift, this is only going to leave them more hungry. What were these, thirty dollars a plate?"

I'm almost out of breath at the end of my rant, glaring back at Cole as if reflecting the dark irritation in his eyes. Before regret can set in, and the reality of where I am, before I remember who I'm talking to and how easily he can just hand me a pink slip. Before I start backtracking like crazy in order to still have my job tomorrow, he shakes his head, that infuriating grin back on his perfect face.

"You know that's why your restaurant failed, right?"

"My restaurant failed because of its location," I respond quickly, realizing I'm repeating myself. Instinct taking over again. "Nothing else. If I had half as good a location as Knife I'd have thrived."

"You think it's that easy, do you?" Cole smiles darkly, fully offended now.

"I never said I think it's that easy," I reply. "But I know that I'm that good."

He doesn't say anything after that. The silence is long enough for anxiety to set in, an awkward realization that I might have just fucked everything up-again. I sip my drink, looking around the restaurant to avoid Cole's calculating stare.

"Prove it," he says, eventually.

"What?"

"Prove it," he repeats. "You think you're so good, that you've got it all figured out, that I'm wrong-then show me."

I put my drink down slowly.

"How?"

Cole shrugs.

"Cook for me. Something great. Something you think is ‘unpretentious' and ‘real.'"

I shake my head. "You're hardly the best judge. My point is what would work in a restaurant."

Cole smiles, as if I'm balking at the challenge. I think hard, and eventually figure something out.

"Actually, you know what? I'll do it. But if you like it, you let me put it on the menu at Knife. It could be a special-just for a week. See what your customers think. Then we'll really see who's right."


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Cole looks off into the distance for a second to consider it.

"Ok. Deal." He offers his hand across the table and I take it slowly, waiting for him to laugh and tell me this is a joke. "But I have to try your dish first. I'm not just going to let you put anything on the menu. You'll make it for me, and if I think it's acceptable, we'll add it to the specials menu and see if the customers agree."

"Sure. Just tell me when."

Cole throws me a look of confusion.

"Not when. Now." He extends his arm to reveal his designer watch and checks it. "Knife's been closed a couple of hours now. So we'll have the kitchen to ourselves."