Romance Impossible(11)
I ventured a smile.
"The pasta's a little anemic," he said, picking up the fork again to prod at it. "If your sauce were a little thicker, it would adhere better, give it a little more flavor. But the texture is good. I was worried for a moment there. Seemed like you'd forgotten it."
He paused, looking up at me. I wasn't sure whether I should be smiling, or crying.
"Relax," he said. "I'm offering you a job. Sauté chef, if you'll take it."
It was a step down from my previous job, but considering this was Chef Dylan's restaurant, I was surprised he wasn't making me start out as a dishwasher. After a moment, I realized I was nodding.
Chef Dylan speared another scallop and held it out to me. I stared at him blankly for a moment.
"Don't tell me you don't eat seafood," he said, frowning. "It'll break my heart."
"No, no, I mean, yes. Of course." I giggled nervously, unsure if I was supposed to take the fork from him, or...? My awkwardness had already dragged this out long enough. I ducked my head down and bit the scallop right off the fork, as he held it.
He blinked a few times, but didn't seem overly taken aback. The scallop was delicious.
"Thank you," I said.
"You made them." He was smiling.
"No, I mean, for the job."
"Of course." He stuck out his hand. "Shake on it?"
We did.
"See, there," he said, turning back to the plate and twirling up some more pasta. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
I shook my head as he continued to eat.
"Reputations," he went on, chewing. "They're like assholes, right?"
There was nothing to do but laugh in response to that.
"I don't think that's how the saying goes," I said.
"That's how it goes for me," he said. "At any rate, my point is, I'm not as bad as everyone thinks."
Except when you are.
"Go home and get some rest," he said, gesturing towards the door. "Leave the coat. I'm assuming you have several of your own. I want you back here tomorrow at nine o'clock."
"Oh," I said. "I, uh..."
"You'll be training with me all week. Learning the menu. If you're going to work in my restaurant, you're going to be upholding my reputation each and every day. I want to make sure you're up to the task well before we open our doors."
Starting salary? Benefits? Employee handbook? I worked my mouth open and closed a few times, but couldn't quite articulate what I was trying to ask him. He started eating again, seeming surprised when he looked up and saw me still standing there.
"My assistant will you call you with all the boring details," he said, finally. "Rest assured the compensation is competitive for the industry."
"I'm sure it is," I said, quickly. "I was just..."
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, firmly, returning to his plate.
Quietly, I turned and slipped out the door.#p#分页标题#e#
I expected the headache to come, but it never did.
CHAPTER FOUR
Frappé
A frappé, in classic cooking, is something on a bed of ice. In Boston, it's an ice cream shake. My dual heritage often creates these strange dichotomies, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Max
***
"Hey! Chef!"
I kept walking, my hands in my pockets and my eyes fixed on the T station directly ahead of me.
"HEY! CHEF! CHEF DYLAN!"
I stopped and turned on my heel. In any other city, at any other time, it would be a paparazzo with a five-hundred-pound camera around his neck. But today, it was just a big, broad-shouldered bulldog of a man in an ill-fitting Patriots jersey.
"HEY!" he shouted, his face red with the exertion of trying to catch up to me. He lifted his arm in a vague gesture of condemnation. "FUCK YOU!"
I grinned, and gave him a small wave. There was no malice behind his words. He was smiling back.
God, but I love this fucking city.
We came here when I was eight. My Italian mother and my very English father didn't agree on many things, but they were both sick of living in the suburbs of London. When a job opened up for my father in the "City on a Hill," he didn't even hesitate - we were packed up and moved within a month, cramming into a two-bedroom apartment in Cambridge. We never owned a car. No place to keep it, anyway. Some of my brothers and sisters were upset to leave their school friends behind, but I had a good feeling about this place.
My feelings are seldom wrong.
I watched the city grow around me, changing every year, but never losing its soul. I had been away for such a long time. I couldn't let that happen again.