Chapter 9
Nolan
“Blue lobster!” I yelled at the brand-new sous chef, who apparently bought all of her previous kitchen experience off Craigslist, judging by what she was currently doing. “Who the hell told you red? What kind of common establishment do you think this is?”
She was red and flustered and sputtered an apology, but I didn’t have time for these kinds of mistakes.
Nor did I have the energy to go through the interview process to try and find another competent sous chef.
Not like Landon would let me fire another one so soon, anyway.
He’d insist I find a way to work with her.
“Do it right this time. Blue,” I snapped, and she hurried off to try and fix what she’d already messed up.
I didn’t care that it was her first day. She knew what she signed up for. This was The Pacific, a place known across the globe for its food. I didn’t get that Michelin star for no reason.
“Move, people!” I shouted to the rest of the kitchen. “Why are you all being so slow today? Are you all on Prozac?”
Nobody answered, nor did I expect them to. But at least they all added a bit of speed to the way they were moving.
Luckily for her, the new sous chef, whose name I hadn’t yet bothered to learn, returned with the correct lobster fairly quickly. If only she could actually listen when I spoke to her, we might get along better.
“Go; get moving on getting that blanched,” I barked at her. “You do know how to blanch a lobster, don’t you?”
“Yes, Chef,” she muttered, turning on her heel and heading for the stoves.
I rushed to the other end of the kitchen to start preparing my well-known hibiscus-poached pears and yogurt. As always, I was planning on blowing the minds of the guests who had chosen our hotel. I was the best, and it would stay that way, no matter what.
“Asparagus!” I yelled over my shoulder, realizing that no one had started prepping the third dish in the line-up quite yet.
This was ridiculous. It was as if everyone in the kitchen had suddenly been replaced by a sloth.
“Someone, check on the bar progress; we need that Chiblis ready as soon as we move!”
One of the assistants hurried out of the kitchen, likely a bit relieved that he got to escape for a minute or two. I heard the sound of someone else peeling the spears of asparagus for my saffron-infused side.
We were still on track to be finished in time, but there were other dishes waiting to be made, other bookings that had to be kept to. Letting anything slip through the cracks could be destructive. To my career, the hotel’s reputation, and the possibilities for everyone in the kitchen’s future.
“Blanched!” The sous chef announced from near the stove, less convincingly than I would have liked.
“Take over here,” I ordered her, and she rushed in my direction while I headed toward the lobster. She seemed to wait for me to chastise her, but I didn’t say anything. It was done well enough; not as perfectly as it would have been if I had done it myself, but it wasn’t a disaster.
I began working on the shells, continuing to shout orders alongside a few insults over my shoulder as I did so. At some point, it felt as if the kitchen had gotten into a more acceptable rhythm, and I could focus on what I was doing.
That was until I heard familiar high-heeled footsteps coming through the doors. I closed my eyes for a second, halfway through my sauté of the lobster shells, hoping that Adriana was not about to tell me the entire group had changed their minds about the menu.
Frankly, hearing her approach had become something I dreaded on a daily basis. Not because she’d screwed up my kitchen again after that first day, but because it almost always meant that someone, somewhere, had had some obscure request that the kitchen had to fulfill.
“Nolan!” Adriana’s voice, though pleasant enough, made me sigh as I turned around, still keeping an eye on the pan. I had just added white wine and tomato paste, and it was nearly time to add the veal glaze.
“What is it now?” I asked, already frustrated and knowing that whatever it was, I wasn’t going to be happy about it.
“Actually, I’m just checking in,” she said, smiling at me.
“On schedule,” I grumbled, getting the glaze and starting to add it. “Anything else?”
When I looked over at her with one raised eyebrow, she seemed to have frozen for a moment. I paused as a frown started forming on her face. “What?”
“What’s in that?” she asked, sounding as if she had just seen me add rat poison to the dish.
I looked down at the glaze, and back up at her. “It’s a veal glaze. To add richness to the lobster.”
I said this as if it should have been obvious to anyone listening. In this hotel, it was supposed to be. But Adriana had previously shown her lack of culinary knowledge, and I wasn’t sure she knew the first thing about gourmet cooking.
“Veal?” she repeated the word as if it was something horrifying, and pulled her tablet out. That damn tablet. She started scrolling and tapping furiously.
“Yeah, it’s meat from—” I began explaining with a tinge of sarcasm in my voice. But the look on Adriana’s face silenced me quickly. Something was definitely off here, and that was a problem.
“A member of the group has a red meat allergy,” she said, her tone almost dead. “She can’t eat this.”
It felt as if the entire kitchen came to a stop there and then. I went over the brief in my head, but I couldn’t remember that restriction ever coming up. My jaw tightened.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, slamming a fist onto the counter. Everyone in the kitchen took that as a sign to get back to work, and they hurried to get the other two dishes in shape.
“I’m not,” Adriana insisted, glancing down at her tablet. “It’s a last-minute addition, they called about it twenty minutes ago. I had made a note to check in, but I assumed since you were creating a seafood menu that it was unlikely to be an issue.”
“What?” I felt every muscle in my body tensing up. “Why the hell hadn’t this been recorded during the booking? Who’s the idiot that booked them?”
Adriana didn’t answer. It was clear that she was planning on letting me vent, and I was going to take that opportunity with both hands. This was already a particularly busy day, and I was already out of patience.
“What kind of a moron would just forget to mention an allergy?” I went on, pulling the pan from the stove and shoving it in the direction of an assistant, who gingerly took it from me. “And why would you just assume that I don’t add red meat to seafood?”
I knew that wasn’t entirely fair. She had just as much of a stressful job as I did, and frankly, she probably didn’t have a lot of time to fix things either. Even so, perfection was the name of the game at The Pacific, and screwing up simply wasn’t an option.
“You realize this isn’t the only meal we’re making in this kitchen?” I snapped, feeling a spiral coming. “Speaking of which, that gazpacho won’t be making itself! Stop staring!”
People jumped back into action, though I noticed the thread of anxious tension between them. Today wasn’t a good day to be in my kitchen.
“Throwing out a perfectly good blue lobster because of this,” I continued, a rant building up in my chest that could rival some of my worst. “I’m surrounded by morons, top to bottom.
They just say jump, and I’m supposed to do some kind of magic trick?
What do these people expect? What the hell are they thinking? I can’t—”
“Can’t you do a mushroom soy reduction instead of the glaze?” Adriana’s question interrupted me in the middle of losing my mind, and I glared at her.
Then, I realized that actually wasn’t a terrible idea.
I wouldn’t need to change the rest of the menu, and it would create an earthy flavor that would do well with everything else.
It would be lighter, and would make the dish far less…
French. But maybe that was a good thing, given that this was a spa-day menu after all.
“That’s not terrible,” I said, though I quickly added a sigh. “But we don’t have a ton of time to get it done.”
Adriana smiled, putting her tablet on the counter and physically rolling up her sleeves. “Then we better get started, right? I promise I won’t end up throwing thyme everywhere again.”
“Mm, we’ll see,” I answered with a raised eyebrow. “First things first, wash your hands. I don’t want any germs anywhere near my food. Sous chef! Get me another lobster.”
The sous chef handed over what she was doing with the hibiscus pears and rushed off to the pantry, while I watched Adriana closely as she got herself cleaned up.
I didn’t entirely trust that she wouldn’t ruin my menu with her ‘help’, but it was worth a shot.
Without another pair of hands, I wouldn’t have time to get this done.
Of course, if she did manage to screw it up, I’d be sure to let Landon know that I never wanted her to set foot in my kitchen again.
“Oh, a blue one,” I said when the sous chef appeared with the new lobster. “You’ve managed to get it right the first time. I hope that trend continues.”
“Yes, Chef,” she said obediently. “Should I get it blanched?”
“Do it,” I answered, before Adriana approached me, looking roaring and ready to go. “You’re going to help me with the reduction. I need butter, dark soy sauce, and shiitake mushrooms. Do you know what those are?”
Adriana looked unimpressed. “I do. I’m not a complete idiot.”
“Then get moving.” I clapped my hands a few times to hurry her along, but she kept her pace even as she left for the pantry. She was more defiant than I was used to from people in my kitchen, and for some reason, I found that attractive.
I shook my head at myself. I couldn’t stand around thinking about that kind of thing. I didn’t have time for it. I needed to concentrate on my art, not on a woman.
Especially one that has been getting on my nerves so often recently.
I prepared the counter to get the reduction started, still keeping an eye on everything else that was happening around me. My perfect machine was back on track with most of the day’s meals, and the only rock in my shoe now was this damn lobster.
“Here you go,” Adriana appeared with the ingredients, and to my surprise, she’d chosen the exact right ones. Soon enough, we were working together on getting the reduction ready.
The sous chef managed to be helpful, too, and the lobster was blanched and the shells marinated just in time. Together, we had the whole menu done with minutes to spare, which I had thought impossible when Adriana had dropped the red-meat bomb.
“No time to celebrate,” she said as she rolled down her sleeves and fixed her hair. “We need to get this to the spa.”
“Don’t slack while I’m gone,” I growled to the kitchen at large, before turning to the sous chef. “And you, make sure everything stays on track.”
“Yes, Chef,” she nodded, with more color in her face than she had an hour earlier. It looked like her nerves were settling somewhat, which wasn’t always a good thing. The kitchen was no place to relax.
“Let’s move,” I said to Adriana before she had the chance to give that command.
I walked ahead, with her following. She had to know who the boss was when it came to the food in this place.
I wasn’t entirely sure why I needed to prove my dominance to her, but that didn’t matter. I was going to do it anyway.
But when we reached the spa, where the group was lounging around in towels and robes, Adriana was the first to speak. I allowed her to do that, given that my people skills were somewhat lacking.
“Hello, everyone! I do hope that you’ve been having a fantastic time so far,” she said, clapping her hands together. “And that the drinks have been to your satisfaction.”
“Mm,” said one of the guests with a nod. “It’s been super relaxing. We’re all starving now though.”
“That’s great news,” Adriana grinned, before moving her hand toward me in a ‘ta-da’ kind of gesture. “Our famous Chef Nolan has prepared an incredible menu for you, starting with a light, elegant saffron asparagus dish.”
I presented each dish with a bit of a flourish, wanting to show off. Adriana introduced them expertly, as if she’d been doing this for years rather than just over a week. Frankly, watching her work her magic, I was impressed. She was definitely good at her job.
And it helped that she was hot, too.
By the end of the meal, after the thank-yous and compliments from the guests, we were making our way back to the kitchen. Meanwhile, I had made up my mind.
“I have a trip to Monterey Bay booked for next week,” I announced, and Adriana looked at me curiously. “I could use your skills for it. Will you join me?”
“I’ll work something out.”