Romance Impossible
"I need two salmon specials, sub spinach for potatoes on one. VIP table. Quick quick quick."
"Yes, Chef!" I swiped my sleeve across my forehead, one eye on the grill as always. The medium-well burger would be done in another minute or two. I grabbed a fresh pan and flicked on a burner, drizzling the stainless steel surface with oil before dropping a fresh salmon filet in, skin-side down.
Lenny, the sous chef, was a no-show again. But that was fine. I could handle myself just fine without his help. I was just supposed to be the line cook on the grill, but lately, as Lenny seemed to lose interest in his job, head chef Souverani was relying on me more and more.
Tonight was no exception. We had a special guest in the house, the up-and-coming Chef Maxwell Dylan, who'd recently returned to the city amidst a flurry of gossip and speculation in the culinary community. So far, his career sounded like a soap opera. I wasn't much of a gossip-monger, but the stories about him were so larger-than-life that I couldn't help but remember them.
Of course, none of that mattered at the moment. All I needed to do was get him the best meal I possibly could, and quickly. It wasn't just a matter of him being impatient. A slow meal was a sign of a poorly-run, inefficient kitchen staffed with people who weren't used to being busy. That was hardly the impression I wanted to leave him with. I had no idea why he was here, but he was certainly someone it wouldn't hurt to impress.
As the salmon sizzled, I tossed some spinach into another pan to get the sauté going. This was a specialty of mine, something I'd thrown together for a customer who requested a substitution for potatoes. It had gone over so well that Chef Souverani put it on the menu.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Chef Souverani would promote me to sous chef. He'd been hinting for ages, so it was just a matter of making it official, and finally firing Lenny. If he ever showed up again.
I stirred the spinach. It was a very simple recipe, just a little butter, olive oil, freshly crushed garlic, salt and pepper with a squirt of lemon juice - but it really was the perfect accompaniment to the salmon. Hopefully, the spinach plate was Chef Dylan's. The roasted potatoes, quite frankly, left a bit to be desired.
As much as I hated to find fault with my boss, I had to admit that Chef Souverani had been cutting corners lately. Business was lagging, and he was trying to save money wherever he could. Supplies that he used to bring in fresh every day were now ordered frozen, in bulk. He was even getting things pre-made if it was cheaper than buying the ingredients. That wasn't the Chef Souverani that I knew, but I was doing the best with what I had.
I grabbed a bun and prepared the plate for the burger, keeping an eye on everything that was cooking as I did.
Before long, everything was plated and ready, and I hit the bell. Chef Souverani himself came to fetch the plates. I hadn't seen him do that in months and months.
I let out a long breath and leaned on the counter for a moment, keeping my eyes on the printer. Had I really cleared all of the night's tickets already? Much as I hated to admit it, having everything frozen and pre-packed did make things a lot faster.
Taking a long chug from a bottle of water and wiping my forehead, I willed myself not to notice how quiet the restaurant was. The chef tried to hide his worry, and did pretty well, most of the time, but I couldn't help but notice how tired and downtrodden he'd looked lately.
Suddenly, a voice rose above the low chatter from the few customers out in the dining room. I couldn't quite make out the words, but I inched closer to the door to try and hear better. Peering through the round window, I saw that Chef Souverani was standing in front of a table, talking to someone. He was blocking my view, and a lot of my hearing, but from glancing around the rest of the room I had to assume the table was Chef Dylan's.#p#分页标题#e#
"Yes, sir," Chef Souverani was saying. "Fresh...they're, yes. They're fresh frozen."
"Fresh frozen?" The response was so loud that I heard it clearly, but the rest of Chef Dylan's tirade was lost on me. A few of the diners turned their heads to look at the minor commotion.
"I'm very sorry, would you like me to make you something else?" Chef Souverani had stepped back a little, like he was trying to bow out of a fight. I couldn't recall ever seeing him like this, even with some of their most irate customers.
After another long, indistinguishable rant from Chef Dylan, Chef Souverani turned around and walked quickly back to the kitchen, his shoulders slightly hunched, a man defeated. I hurried away from the door before he burst through.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Jill," he said, hollowly. "But I...he wants to speak to the chef who prepared his food."
"Yes, Chef!" I swiped my sleeve across my forehead, one eye on the grill as always. The medium-well burger would be done in another minute or two. I grabbed a fresh pan and flicked on a burner, drizzling the stainless steel surface with oil before dropping a fresh salmon filet in, skin-side down.
Lenny, the sous chef, was a no-show again. But that was fine. I could handle myself just fine without his help. I was just supposed to be the line cook on the grill, but lately, as Lenny seemed to lose interest in his job, head chef Souverani was relying on me more and more.
Tonight was no exception. We had a special guest in the house, the up-and-coming Chef Maxwell Dylan, who'd recently returned to the city amidst a flurry of gossip and speculation in the culinary community. So far, his career sounded like a soap opera. I wasn't much of a gossip-monger, but the stories about him were so larger-than-life that I couldn't help but remember them.
Of course, none of that mattered at the moment. All I needed to do was get him the best meal I possibly could, and quickly. It wasn't just a matter of him being impatient. A slow meal was a sign of a poorly-run, inefficient kitchen staffed with people who weren't used to being busy. That was hardly the impression I wanted to leave him with. I had no idea why he was here, but he was certainly someone it wouldn't hurt to impress.
As the salmon sizzled, I tossed some spinach into another pan to get the sauté going. This was a specialty of mine, something I'd thrown together for a customer who requested a substitution for potatoes. It had gone over so well that Chef Souverani put it on the menu.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Chef Souverani would promote me to sous chef. He'd been hinting for ages, so it was just a matter of making it official, and finally firing Lenny. If he ever showed up again.
I stirred the spinach. It was a very simple recipe, just a little butter, olive oil, freshly crushed garlic, salt and pepper with a squirt of lemon juice - but it really was the perfect accompaniment to the salmon. Hopefully, the spinach plate was Chef Dylan's. The roasted potatoes, quite frankly, left a bit to be desired.
As much as I hated to find fault with my boss, I had to admit that Chef Souverani had been cutting corners lately. Business was lagging, and he was trying to save money wherever he could. Supplies that he used to bring in fresh every day were now ordered frozen, in bulk. He was even getting things pre-made if it was cheaper than buying the ingredients. That wasn't the Chef Souverani that I knew, but I was doing the best with what I had.
I grabbed a bun and prepared the plate for the burger, keeping an eye on everything that was cooking as I did.
Before long, everything was plated and ready, and I hit the bell. Chef Souverani himself came to fetch the plates. I hadn't seen him do that in months and months.
I let out a long breath and leaned on the counter for a moment, keeping my eyes on the printer. Had I really cleared all of the night's tickets already? Much as I hated to admit it, having everything frozen and pre-packed did make things a lot faster.
Taking a long chug from a bottle of water and wiping my forehead, I willed myself not to notice how quiet the restaurant was. The chef tried to hide his worry, and did pretty well, most of the time, but I couldn't help but notice how tired and downtrodden he'd looked lately.
Suddenly, a voice rose above the low chatter from the few customers out in the dining room. I couldn't quite make out the words, but I inched closer to the door to try and hear better. Peering through the round window, I saw that Chef Souverani was standing in front of a table, talking to someone. He was blocking my view, and a lot of my hearing, but from glancing around the rest of the room I had to assume the table was Chef Dylan's.#p#分页标题#e#
"Yes, sir," Chef Souverani was saying. "Fresh...they're, yes. They're fresh frozen."
"Fresh frozen?" The response was so loud that I heard it clearly, but the rest of Chef Dylan's tirade was lost on me. A few of the diners turned their heads to look at the minor commotion.
"I'm very sorry, would you like me to make you something else?" Chef Souverani had stepped back a little, like he was trying to bow out of a fight. I couldn't recall ever seeing him like this, even with some of their most irate customers.
After another long, indistinguishable rant from Chef Dylan, Chef Souverani turned around and walked quickly back to the kitchen, his shoulders slightly hunched, a man defeated. I hurried away from the door before he burst through.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Jill," he said, hollowly. "But I...he wants to speak to the chef who prepared his food."