Prologue #2
He removes a small package from his jacket pocket and produces a leather-bound notebook and fine writing pen she can use to jot down her musings.
He promises to make these outings a regular occurrence, and she’ll have the notebook at the ready to record her assessment of their dining experiences.
It’s the most grown-up gift she’s ever received, and she’s positively tingling with the prospect of more dinners like these with her father.
The kindly waitress, an older woman with a maternal aura, bustles from table to table but can hear every word as father and daughter discuss the virtues and demerits of the various entries on the menu. When she knows they’ve settled on their choices, she stops by their table.
“This must be a very special occasion.” She addresses Sabrina with the same respect she would an adult, because she senses in her very bones this is what the girl craves. “I trust the young lady has found something to her liking on the menu?”
“I would like the crab cakes, the macadamia nut–encrusted Alaskan halibut, and the pit-hiver for dessert.”
“A good Pithivier is a delight,” Jannick corrects mildly, not condescending to wink or even look in the waitress’s direction. “I love anything with puff pastry and almond crème. Good choices, min skat.”
“Oh, I forgot to ask about the specials.” Sabrina looks as though she realizes she’d forgotten the back page of an important exam.
“Chef has a seafood cioppino on for tonight, as well as a Canard Montmorency, which is duck roasted with bourbon-soaked cherries.” The waitress knows Jannick will be looking for her tell, so she doesn’t bother trying to hide which dish is being used to clear the fridge and which one the chef spent three weeks perfecting.
“I’ll have the duck.” Jannick changes his choice of main dish without hesitation. “With the escargots in Chablis to start, and the Grand Marnier soufflé for dessert.” Now he does glance at the waitress with a knowing look.
As they weren’t ordering from the prix fixe, custom would dictate that the server would take their order for each course separately, but he could teach her this next time. And there would be many more next times.
For the next two hours the waitress delights in hearing their running commentary on the food: everything from the ingredients, the choices in plating, and her own service.
Thankfully they’ve found the latter exemplary.
Jannick has infinite patience for the girl’s questions and revels in teaching his daughter all the moving parts in an establishment such as this.
The kitchen hierarchy, from the escuelerie to the chef de cuisine himself, is explained not like a pyramid, with the head chef at the pinnacle, but more like the precise inner workings of a watch.
No cog, large or small, is less essential than another.
If one cannot perform, the whole apparatus fails to function.
As an architect he understands that better than many seasoned chefs.
When there is just enough of a lull in the kitchen, the waitress brings Chef Nathan out to speak to them, and Sabrina reacts as though she’s being introduced to the lead singer in her favorite rock band.
Nathan will ride that high for weeks, bless her.
Her questions are erudite beyond her years, and chef and father are both impressed with the insightfulness of her queries, which range from the technical “How are you able to get the crust on the halibut so crunchy without burning?” to the more philosophical “Do you think it’s better to use local produce, even if it means limiting your menu? ”
She’d noticed several of the items on the menu had been imported quite some distance and, having learned about the concept of a “carbon footprint” in school, is wisely convinced that the food industry—perhaps the most essential industry in existence—must be at the forefront of sustainability measures.
The waitress isn’t meant to intervene, but she can’t help but become attached from time to time.
Along with the check, she brings Sabrina an enamel lapel pin in the shape of a red flower with six petals and a small pearl in the middle.
The shape is not unlike the Michelin Star logo, though a bit more refined.
The girl beams at the waitress and envelops her in a parting hug.
Father and daughter leave with their stomachs replete and their hearts brimming even fuller.
Her dreams are born that day, and her father’s mission of opening his daughter’s palate—and her mind—to the world is already more complete than he realizes.
Heartache is waiting for that special, sweet child.
The time will come when the waitress needs to intervene and guide her back to her path .
. . But for now, she can be in no hands more loving and capable than her father’s.
So the waitress will bide her time, silently keeping tabs on Sabrina as she grows from gangly child to grown woman until such time as she needs her.