Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kat
“Table six is finishing their appetizers; fire the steaks,” I called out, placing the ticket on the rail. “We’ve also got two orders dying on the pass, where is Rodrigo?”
After Miles left, things felt more chaotic than usual, and I struggled to compose myself in the midst of the kitchen, feeling like it was falling apart.
Jamie stood across the room from me, checking plates before they were taken out.
“Here, Chef,” Rodrigo answered as he brushed past me and grabbed the plates from the pass.
“You’re good to go; I’ve already checked them.” I nodded toward the door, telling him to get going.
“We’ve got a customer complaint from table six,” Lauren said as she pushed through the doors into the kitchen. “They asked for sauce on the side.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled deeply.
“We need a chicken francese, sauce on the side. Do not mess this up,” I warned, looking across the room as low voices answered with yes, Chef.
I took the dish from Lauren and pushed it off to the side with the collection of dead plates that had come back tonight.
Either they weren’t cooked right, were served overcooked, or simply didn’t meet the guest’s expectations.
I prided myself on rarely having a dead plate, but tonight we had six of them. Clarissa was not going to be happy.
Finally, we were slowing down, and the last few dishes were being served. I pulled myself up onto the cold steel countertop in the corner and watched as the staff wrapped up. We all stayed behind after closing tonight to discuss what happened with Clarissa.
My body ached in a way that didn’t happen often, and I knew it was partly due to drinking last night.
I was barely twenty-eight, but sometimes my body was convinced that I was sixty and couldn’t handle even a single drink or staying up late without paying for it the next day.
Or maybe, I was just so used to a calmer lifestyle that going out and trying to keep up with the twenty-one-year-olds was harder than I thought.
Finally, the doors were closed, the last customers had left, and Clarissa joined us in the kitchen. Following right behind her was Miles.
I frowned and wondered what he was doing there. It wasn’t like he’d been in the kitchen and responsible for the handful of orders we’d gotten wrong.
“Alright, everyone, I’m going to make this quick.
We were not on our game tonight, and our customers received less than stellar from us.
I don’t know what was happening back here, but I can tell it wasn’t just one person.
Whatever it is, it stops tonight. If you cannot return to this kitchen tomorrow with a clear head and focused, then don’t bother walking through that door.
Ambrosia is an elite restaurant in Seattle, and I have the best of the best applying to work here.
Don’t make me question whether you deserve to be here. ”
Everyone apologized and kept their heads lowered in embarrassment, including me.
“Okay, now that that’s done, I want to discuss something that will be happening in two weeks.” She looked beside her at Miles and smiled.
“We’re going to be hosting a special cook-off between two of Seattle’s best chefs.
Our own, Kat Elliott, will be going up against Miles Sexton in an epic battle that will take place right here, in our own kitchen.
I’m in the process of finding a few guest judges, but I would love for all of you to be here for it.
We’ll do it on Sunday when we’re closed, so we don’t have to worry about impacting reservations. ”
Everyone talked excitedly around me as I stood there, trying to feel the same excitement they had. It wasn’t that I wasn’t eager to prove him wrong and beat him in the kitchen, but I was drained from a long, exhausting day and wanted to go home and throw myself in bed.
“Thanks for inviting me to be here for the discussion, but I’ve gotta go,” Miles said, holding Clarissa’s elbow as he leaned in to talk to her. “Let me know if there’s anything that you need from me; if not, I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks, Miles.” She squeezed his hand as he smiled at me and squeezed past her.
“Why are you seeing him on Monday?”
“I’ve offered for him to come work in the kitchen for the next two weeks so he can get used to it before the competition. It wouldn’t be fair that you know where everything is, and he doesn’t.”
“What about the food truck?”
“He’ll be here for a few hours before we open, then he’ll go do his stuff.”
“You mean the hours when I come into work?”
She shrugged as a devious smile spread across her face, and I knew she was trying to play matchmaker again.
“It won’t hurt you to figure out how to work together and share a space. Plus, I need to make sure you guys don’t catch my kitchen on fire with all of that chemistry radiating between the two of you.” She winked and walked off.
I attempted to speak, but no words came out.