“Hey! Willow!” someone calls from the kitchen.
I stop to find Aaron, a line cook from Brooklyn who makes everything sound like he’s delivering a line at an open mic night. His round, bearded face sitting upon his round body giving him the appearance of a snowman, and his ever-present smile almost as big as his heart.
“Hey,” I say, moving over to him as he plates some seared scallops. “Is everyone here?”
“They’re sitting down,” Aaron says, nodding toward the tables. “But if you help me carry the plates through they probably won’t notice you’re late.”
“Sure,” I say, taking the scallops from him and picking up a couple of other dishes.
I move through to the front of the restaurant, where the staff are already laughing and chatting with the easy energy of relieved tension, languishing in their chairs like soldiers waiting for action, already working their way through two bottles of the least-ordered reds, preempting the busy shift ahead of them. Two tables have been shoved close together to fit the dozen plus members of the kitchen staff and waiters, and as soon as I draw close they start picking food from the plates before I’ve even set them down.
A couple of them affectionately call out my nickname, ‘Spud,’ as I grab the bottle to fill a glass and take my seat.
The last time we did this, Cole wasn’t here, and I’d figured that he wasn’t interested in the kind of banal gossiping and trivial camaraderie that went on, so I freeze a little in surprise when he shows up at the door a few minutes in, flashing his diplomatic, assured smile. His hand is on Chloe’s shoulder and she’s grinning ear to ear. I flash her a little wave and she returns it happily before the raucousness of the other chefs takes over the moment.
“Hey, who’s your new girlfriend?” Aaron laughs. “Little young, even for you.”
“Quiet please, everyone,” Cole says, ignoring the joke. “You remember I told you all about the Young Chefs mentoring program? Well here she is, the most promising cook in Los Angeles County: Chloe Fernandez. Chloe? Welcome. This is my staff.”
There are coos and greetings of ‘hey Chloe’ from the more interested members of the staff that Chloe returns happily, beaming uncontrollably as she waves back and takes in the group.
“So you wanna be a great chef one day?” Michelle asks between bites of scallop.
“Yeah. I really do.”
“Better than Cole?”
Chloe grins. “I’m already better than him. He overthinks everything.”
The table erupts into another wave of easy laughter.
“You got that right!” Michelle says.
“Ok wiseass,” Cole says to Michelle, pulling out a chair for Chloe at the table. “Let’s eat.”
The number of people there, and the added interest of having Chloe at the table, means that seeing Cole again isn’t half as awkward as I expected it to be. He spends most of his time at the other end of the table doing his best to entertain his young mentee, while I talk with Ryan beside me about his guitar collection. After a half hour, my full stomach and a glass of wine making it easy to smile as I listen to the stories around me, I almost forget that he’s even there. Once the plates are empty, the volume starts to fade, and Cole seizes everyone’s attention with that voice that makes it unmistakable he’s the boss around here.
“Ok everyone,” he says, clapping his hands together and putting his elbows on the table, a posture that leaves no doubt he’s about to talk business. “Anyone have anything they wanna raise here? Any problems or issues? Kitchen? Waitstaff? Management? I’m all ears.”
Cole looks around at a few of us, and I notice that his eyes don’t meet mine. There are a few shrugs and shakes of the head around the table until Leo eventually says, “Did they get back to you about the abalone deliveries?”
“Nope. I’m calling them right after this.”
“They’ve got to move them to Mondays.”
“I know. Leave it to me. Anything else?”
“There’s some rapper coming in on Thursday,” Charlie says fretfully.
“Full entourage?” Cole asks.
“Possibly. Where should we put them?”
Cole tilts his head. “Let’s rearrange the seating in the back of the dining room and keep some chairs available in case. Anyone else? No? Nothing? Ok, listen. I’m going to add something new to the specials menu—just for this week. See how it goes, see how the customers like it.”
My pulse starts to pound.
“A new dessert?” the pastry chef asks hopefully.
“No. A main. Basque burgers a l’ail et moutarde. I’ve already shown Willow how to prepare it, so she can show the rest of you.” My stomach drops. He showed me how to prepare it? Cole looks at the waiters as I feel my heart thump. “Maybe if you have some down time this shift. You guys can try it, get to know it, then suggest it to diners. And be sure you ask them what they think afterward—I wanna know what they think.”
There are nods amongst the waiters, but I’m staring at Cole now, mouth open in astonishment.
“Why are you adding this?” Michelle says. “The menu’s perfect as-is. And it’s…a burger.” I note the disdain in her voice but keep my mouth closed. As much as I want to defend the dish, I’m still too stunned that Cole is taking credit for my idea to be able to speak.
“I was thinking,” Cole says, looking up a little like he’s genuinely remembering, “our mains are good. Rich, full—but they’re pretty similar in texture. I thought this might add something a little drier, something less sauce-based. Without losing that richness of flavor.”
There are murmurs of understanding around the table, but it’s all I can do to hide the swirling ocean of anger that’s building inside of me. Leo frowns and leans forward, looking from me to Cole.
“Hold on,” he says. “Willow? You taught the new hire how to cook it? When did you do that?”
Cole glares at Leo in a way that makes the bald-headed saucier almost shiver in front of us.
“We had a little catch-up yesterday, a progress report. I showed her then since I won’t have time now. I take it that’s not an issue?”
“Well,” Leo says, glancing at me dismissively. “I mean she’s only been here a few days, and she’s already passing on your recipes?”
“If she couldn’t handle it I wouldn’t have hired her. Don’t worry,” Cole says, casting a look in my direction that seems loaded with mystery, “she can handle herself. Everybody get your asses in the kitchen. You’ve got an hour to do prep.”
Cole claps his hands again and it’s like a school bell, sending the crowd off in their separate directions, the sound of pushed chairs and stacking plates taking the place of the conversation and laughter. I hover around for a second, waiting for an opportune moment, and when Michelle strikes up a conversation with Chloe, I touch Cole on the arm to get his attention. He spins around, smiling a little when he sees that it’s me.
“Hey.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice, since my job is still in his hands, but I can barely contain my irritation.
“Hey,” he says, his voice bassier than the one he used for the others.
“Can I have a word?”
“Sure,” he says, taking my arm now and leading me off to the side of the restaurant. I catch a glimpse of Leo watching us, but ignore it as I try to hold my cool enough not to snap.
“What the hell was that?” I hiss angrily through gritted teeth.
“What?”
“My recipe.”
Cole frowns, his confusion all over the furrows of his brow.
“Oh. Right. Like I said, it goes on the menu for a week, and then we see if you’re as good as you think you are.”
“‘I taught Willow how to prepare it’?” I say, quoting him. “What was that all about?”
Cole’s confusion turns into a flippant chuckle.
“What did you expect me to say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe give me some credit for my dish.”
Cole chuckles again, even louder now, shaking his head as he does so.