Alaskan Holiday
Page 23
“Chef, I’m sure we can fix this,” I said as calmly as I could manage.
“Fix this. Fifty bunches of radishes. What am I to do with that?” he fumed. “Did you do this?”
“No, Chef. I’m sure it was a mistake on the wholesaler’s part.” I was the one who’d placed the order, so I reached for the phone and called the local produce company and spoke with the manager. I had him repeat the order back on speaker so Chef would be assured this wasn’t an attempt by the staff to undermine him.
Unfortunately, all the produce trucks were currently out making deliveries and wouldn’t return until later that afternoon, too late for us to get what we needed for the current menu.
Chef paled at the news. He rammed his hands through his hair. “Radishes. What am I going to do with radishes?”
Immediately a few ideas came to mind, which I suggested. “We could make a radish-and-jícama slaw, melon balls and radish…and what about a cucumber-and-radish carpaccio?”
The staff stood stiff and uncertain as I calmly talked down Chef Anton. From previous experience, they knew I was the only one capable of reasoning with him. He seemed unable to handle even the smallest kitchen crisis. How he’d reached the position of executive chef and to acquire his own string of restaurants was a mystery to me, especially given his temper and his inability to manage emergencies.
Chef Anton glanced at me and then at the rest of the team. “See to it, then,” he muttered, before retreating to his office and closing the door.
The entire kitchen staff, from the line cooks to the dishwasher, sighed with relief. When I’d accepted this job, I’d felt it was an honor, which was why I’d agreed to sign a one-year contract. Not even a month into my position, my job had started to feel more like a prison sentence. I wondered if those who hadn’t been chosen realized how fortunate they were.
* * *
—
Working together as a team, we managed to open for dinner without a problem, and several radish dishes were specials of the day, thanks to the hard work of the staff. The first two hours went smoothly. I was busy overseeing the orders coming into the kitchen when Lizzy, one of the servers, sought me out.
“Two men at table sixteen are asking to speak to you.”
“Two men?” I asked. Normally anyone who requested to meet the chef sought out Chef Anton, not the second in line. No one knew me, other than a few friends and fellow culinary students.
“They said they were personal friends.”
“Did they give you their names?” I asked, too busy to leave unless it was necessary.
“No.”
“Were they unhappy with their meal?”
“Not at all. One raved about the food.”
“And they asked for me personally? By name?” I inquired, as I checked a plate before it was delivered out front.
Lizzy indicated with a nod that they had. “One is older—fiftyish. He’s got a beard and his hair is a little long. The other man is younger and clean shaven. And drop-dead gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind meeting him in a dark alley.” Her eyes brightened with interest.
Could it be Jack? I’d suggested that he come to visit, but I hadn’t heard if or when he intended to take me up on my offer. Surely he would have let me know he was flying in beforehand. If it was Jack requesting an audience, then it left me to wonder who the second man could be. Palmer had a beard. He’d once offered to shave it off for me, but I wouldn’t ask him to do that, seeing how it offered his face protection in the winter. He kept it neatly trimmed and he looked handsome with it like that.
What if it was Palmer?
My hand instinctively went to my heart, hoping to keep it from leaping out of my chest.
“Should I tell them that you’re too busy?” Lizzy asked.
“No. No. Tell them I’ll be right out.”
Lizzy seemed uncertain. “You sure?”
“Yes, very sure.” I bit into my lower lip and rushed to the far end of the kitchen, yanking off my stained apron that was over my jacket, as I frantically tried to calm myself. It was sheer luck that I didn’t crash into one or another of the staff when I hurried back to Lizzy in panic mode.
Lizzy started to turn away when I grabbed hold of her arm. “How do I look?” I asked, pleading for her to tell me I was as fresh as a daisy and knowing I was anything but.
Her cocked eyebrows confirmed my worst fears.
“Never mind,” I cried, shouting instructions to the rest of the kitchen as I ran into the restroom and looked in the mirror. It was worse than I’d thought. Sweat had dampened the hair around my forehead and several curls had escaped my chef’s hat. Any makeup I’d applied was long gone by now. With no time to repair the damage, I grabbed my purse and, with shaking hands, reached for my lipgloss and quickly applied it. It would have to do.
Bracing my hands against the bathroom sink, I inhaled a deep, calming breath. No need to be alarmed. It might not be Jack or Palmer. It could be two strangers who simply wanted to meet the chef. But Lizzy mentioned that they had asked for me by name and not Chef Anton.
Taking in a second slow and even breath, I left the restroom and walked through the kitchen as regal as a queen, with everyone bustling about me, trying to get food out in a timely manner. The lights in the dining room were dimmed. The Christmas tree set up in the foyer had large red balls with gold ribbons and white lights. It was ten feet tall. The windows in the dining room looked out over Puget Sound, with twinkling lights beaming from the waterfront below. A ferry was leaving the dock, heading for Bainbridge Island. Except for my disheveled appearance, everything was picturesque and perfect.
As I rounded the corner of the dining room that would lead me to table sixteen, I mentally steeled myself. My eyes automatically went to…
…Palmer. It was him, but a beardless version.
His gaze locked on me in return. It took me a moment to realize that Jack sat across from him.
“Palmer,” I whispered, as I approached the table.
Setting his napkin on the table, he stood and held out his hand. I grabbed hold of it, my fingers curling around his as I resisted throwing myself into his arms. I tentatively touched his cheeks, a bit shocked to see him without a beard.
He blushed and seemed a little embarrassed. “Thought you might like to see me without hair on my face.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Jack chuckled. “Going to remember that one. Bet no one ever called you beautiful before, Palmer.”
I didn’t mean to ignore Jack but was unable to take my eyes off Palmer. He wore a light blue button-down shirt and Dockers. It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than a plaid wool shirt and work jeans. For what seemed like an embarrassingly long time, we were incapable of doing anything more than staring at each other.
Jack cleared his throat, and I reluctantly broke eye contact with Palmer and turned to greet my friend, who had stood as well. “Jack,” I said, hugging him briefly. “You’re here!”
“You said I could,” he reminded me.
“I’m glad you did, and you brought Palmer.” I would be forever indebted to Jack for this.
He winked at me to signal that this was my little surprise, and what a surprise it was.
Because they had already eaten their dinner, out of pure habit I asked, “Did the meal meet with your satisfaction?”
Jack looked to Palmer and stuck out his chest, proud to know me. “She even talks like one of those fancy chefs now.”
“She does,” Palmer agreed. “Dinner was above and beyond our expectations.”
“What is this side dish with a hint of heat?” Jack asked, pointing down to his plate.
“Radish slaw.”
“Radish?” he repeated, not quite sure he believed me.
“It’s a long story.” My eyes returned to Palmer, as I was unable to stop looking at him. Seeing him didn’t feel real. From the way his eyes ran over me, I knew he was feeling much the same things I was. Relief. Joy.
He continued to hold my hand, squeezing my fingers, and I squeezed his back. I couldn’t remember ever being this happy to see anyone in my entire life.
“Sorry to see there wasn’t bear meat on the menu,” Jack grumbled. “What kind of a restaurant is it that doesn’t serve wild game?”
“Fix this. Fifty bunches of radishes. What am I to do with that?” he fumed. “Did you do this?”
“No, Chef. I’m sure it was a mistake on the wholesaler’s part.” I was the one who’d placed the order, so I reached for the phone and called the local produce company and spoke with the manager. I had him repeat the order back on speaker so Chef would be assured this wasn’t an attempt by the staff to undermine him.
Unfortunately, all the produce trucks were currently out making deliveries and wouldn’t return until later that afternoon, too late for us to get what we needed for the current menu.
Chef paled at the news. He rammed his hands through his hair. “Radishes. What am I going to do with radishes?”
Immediately a few ideas came to mind, which I suggested. “We could make a radish-and-jícama slaw, melon balls and radish…and what about a cucumber-and-radish carpaccio?”
The staff stood stiff and uncertain as I calmly talked down Chef Anton. From previous experience, they knew I was the only one capable of reasoning with him. He seemed unable to handle even the smallest kitchen crisis. How he’d reached the position of executive chef and to acquire his own string of restaurants was a mystery to me, especially given his temper and his inability to manage emergencies.
Chef Anton glanced at me and then at the rest of the team. “See to it, then,” he muttered, before retreating to his office and closing the door.
The entire kitchen staff, from the line cooks to the dishwasher, sighed with relief. When I’d accepted this job, I’d felt it was an honor, which was why I’d agreed to sign a one-year contract. Not even a month into my position, my job had started to feel more like a prison sentence. I wondered if those who hadn’t been chosen realized how fortunate they were.
* * *
—
Working together as a team, we managed to open for dinner without a problem, and several radish dishes were specials of the day, thanks to the hard work of the staff. The first two hours went smoothly. I was busy overseeing the orders coming into the kitchen when Lizzy, one of the servers, sought me out.
“Two men at table sixteen are asking to speak to you.”
“Two men?” I asked. Normally anyone who requested to meet the chef sought out Chef Anton, not the second in line. No one knew me, other than a few friends and fellow culinary students.
“They said they were personal friends.”
“Did they give you their names?” I asked, too busy to leave unless it was necessary.
“No.”
“Were they unhappy with their meal?”
“Not at all. One raved about the food.”
“And they asked for me personally? By name?” I inquired, as I checked a plate before it was delivered out front.
Lizzy indicated with a nod that they had. “One is older—fiftyish. He’s got a beard and his hair is a little long. The other man is younger and clean shaven. And drop-dead gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind meeting him in a dark alley.” Her eyes brightened with interest.
Could it be Jack? I’d suggested that he come to visit, but I hadn’t heard if or when he intended to take me up on my offer. Surely he would have let me know he was flying in beforehand. If it was Jack requesting an audience, then it left me to wonder who the second man could be. Palmer had a beard. He’d once offered to shave it off for me, but I wouldn’t ask him to do that, seeing how it offered his face protection in the winter. He kept it neatly trimmed and he looked handsome with it like that.
What if it was Palmer?
My hand instinctively went to my heart, hoping to keep it from leaping out of my chest.
“Should I tell them that you’re too busy?” Lizzy asked.
“No. No. Tell them I’ll be right out.”
Lizzy seemed uncertain. “You sure?”
“Yes, very sure.” I bit into my lower lip and rushed to the far end of the kitchen, yanking off my stained apron that was over my jacket, as I frantically tried to calm myself. It was sheer luck that I didn’t crash into one or another of the staff when I hurried back to Lizzy in panic mode.
Lizzy started to turn away when I grabbed hold of her arm. “How do I look?” I asked, pleading for her to tell me I was as fresh as a daisy and knowing I was anything but.
Her cocked eyebrows confirmed my worst fears.
“Never mind,” I cried, shouting instructions to the rest of the kitchen as I ran into the restroom and looked in the mirror. It was worse than I’d thought. Sweat had dampened the hair around my forehead and several curls had escaped my chef’s hat. Any makeup I’d applied was long gone by now. With no time to repair the damage, I grabbed my purse and, with shaking hands, reached for my lipgloss and quickly applied it. It would have to do.
Bracing my hands against the bathroom sink, I inhaled a deep, calming breath. No need to be alarmed. It might not be Jack or Palmer. It could be two strangers who simply wanted to meet the chef. But Lizzy mentioned that they had asked for me by name and not Chef Anton.
Taking in a second slow and even breath, I left the restroom and walked through the kitchen as regal as a queen, with everyone bustling about me, trying to get food out in a timely manner. The lights in the dining room were dimmed. The Christmas tree set up in the foyer had large red balls with gold ribbons and white lights. It was ten feet tall. The windows in the dining room looked out over Puget Sound, with twinkling lights beaming from the waterfront below. A ferry was leaving the dock, heading for Bainbridge Island. Except for my disheveled appearance, everything was picturesque and perfect.
As I rounded the corner of the dining room that would lead me to table sixteen, I mentally steeled myself. My eyes automatically went to…
…Palmer. It was him, but a beardless version.
His gaze locked on me in return. It took me a moment to realize that Jack sat across from him.
“Palmer,” I whispered, as I approached the table.
Setting his napkin on the table, he stood and held out his hand. I grabbed hold of it, my fingers curling around his as I resisted throwing myself into his arms. I tentatively touched his cheeks, a bit shocked to see him without a beard.
He blushed and seemed a little embarrassed. “Thought you might like to see me without hair on my face.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Jack chuckled. “Going to remember that one. Bet no one ever called you beautiful before, Palmer.”
I didn’t mean to ignore Jack but was unable to take my eyes off Palmer. He wore a light blue button-down shirt and Dockers. It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than a plaid wool shirt and work jeans. For what seemed like an embarrassingly long time, we were incapable of doing anything more than staring at each other.
Jack cleared his throat, and I reluctantly broke eye contact with Palmer and turned to greet my friend, who had stood as well. “Jack,” I said, hugging him briefly. “You’re here!”
“You said I could,” he reminded me.
“I’m glad you did, and you brought Palmer.” I would be forever indebted to Jack for this.
He winked at me to signal that this was my little surprise, and what a surprise it was.
Because they had already eaten their dinner, out of pure habit I asked, “Did the meal meet with your satisfaction?”
Jack looked to Palmer and stuck out his chest, proud to know me. “She even talks like one of those fancy chefs now.”
“She does,” Palmer agreed. “Dinner was above and beyond our expectations.”
“What is this side dish with a hint of heat?” Jack asked, pointing down to his plate.
“Radish slaw.”
“Radish?” he repeated, not quite sure he believed me.
“It’s a long story.” My eyes returned to Palmer, as I was unable to stop looking at him. Seeing him didn’t feel real. From the way his eyes ran over me, I knew he was feeling much the same things I was. Relief. Joy.
He continued to hold my hand, squeezing my fingers, and I squeezed his back. I couldn’t remember ever being this happy to see anyone in my entire life.
“Sorry to see there wasn’t bear meat on the menu,” Jack grumbled. “What kind of a restaurant is it that doesn’t serve wild game?”
