A few people wanted me to sign their cookbooks, and still a few more wanted to know some obscure detail about an episode of one of my shows. All of this was normal, and I pretty much had a script laid out for it.
By the time I'd made my way around most of the room, Jillian and I were just a table apart and I was struggling to focus on my own conversation. I finally forced myself to tune out for a few minutes, only to drift off at the end of one of my scripted answers. I shook my head to clear it, said a polite goodbye to one table, and took a step back.
Then, I heard Jillian's voice.
"...and then - exactly, right? I was thinking it was complete bullshit. So I said..."
"Jillian!" I said, sharply, striding over to her and laying my hand on her arm. "Would you come back to the kitchen, please? Right away."
The patron she'd been addressing looked taken aback. Well, what a fucking surprise. Even I knew that you didn't talk to rich donors like that. Not at a fancy charity dinner. Not ever.
I'd made a mistake.
"I'm so sorry," I said, to the middle-aged man that was left slack-jawed by her familiarity. "This will be dealt with immediately."
I strode off before he had a chance to say anything - perhaps a questionable move from a customer service perspective, but I needed to find out what the hell Jillian was thinking.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, as soon as I walked into the kitchen. The anger was starting to rise up in her again, and I could see the fire starting in her eyes.
"What's wrong? Really?" Normally I'd have taken her into my office, rather than hashing this out in front of the temporary staff, but she started it. "You can't talk to people like that. Not customers, not donors, ever - but especially not at an event like this. It doesn't just reflect poorly on this restaurant, it reflects poorly on the charity as well."
Her face went bright pink, then chalky-pale. "What...what do you mean?" Her voice was shaking a little. "I didn't...he...we were just talking, he..."
"You can't chat with customers like they're your friends from college." I was dimly aware that everyone in the kitchen was staring at me, and maybe the sound of my voice could carry out into the dining room - and really, that was worse than what she did - but at the moment, I didn't care. "That might fly at the greasy spoons you used to work at, but not here. Never here. Understood?"#p#分页标题#e#
She was still pale and quivering, but at least partially with rage. I could feel my nostrils flaring. I was practically daring her to defy me.
Finally, she spoke, in a voice like sharpened steel.
"Yes, Chef."
I walked back out to the dining room, intending to apologize properly to the man she'd offended. There was a look of concern on his face. I crouched down by the table, speaking as quietly as I could.
"Sir, I wanted to apologize for what happened a few moments ago."
He cut me off before I could get any further.
"I'm a little confused. Is something wrong? Is the chef all right?"
I blinked.
"Yes, sir," I said. "She's...she's fine. I'm very sorry if her behavior was crossing a line."
His forehead crinkled. "Not at all," he said. "She was hilarious. It turns out, I'm in business with one of her cousins - don't ask me how that came up, but it's a small world, isn't it? I'd love to talk to her again, if she can get away."
My heart froze in my chest, and then sank as low as it could possibly go.
"I'll just go and check," I said. "I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding."
When I returned to the kitchen, Jill was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Demi-Glace
A rich, fragrant demi-glace is one of the most decadent sauces a chef can have in their repertoire. Time and care must be taken for the proper result. If your intention is to cut corners, it's best not to start at all.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
"You're not going to believe this!" I shrieked into my phone, loud enough that a few passersby turned their heads.
Shelly took a moment to process this. "You, uh...okay, I've had a few drinks, I got nothing. What happened?"
"I was standing there talking to one of the donors, and suddenly Chef Dylan comes up to me and practically drags me into the kitchen to yell at me about how I was - I don't know, being too familiar, I guess. The guy was friendly. I was just taking his lead. But I guess maybe I cursed..."
"What'd you say?"
"Bullshit."
Shelly snorted. "That doesn't even qualify nowadays. Did that really upset him? I've seen this shows - I mean, talk about the pot and the kettle."