Chapter Six #2
The table laughed at this, and Andrew gave John a kiss on the cheek, John obviously not upset by the larger point his husband was trying to make.
“Well,” Cierra started, surprised to be opening up like this, “it’s new.
Like, really new. I was in a relationship for six years, and it ended just a few months ago.
So, I’m fresh to this whole single-woman-big-city thing.
” And then there it was: initial looks of jealousy were being replaced with sympathetic frowns, even Erik looked invested, so Cierra stepped in fast. “No, no, it wasn’t that bad.
We got together in our early twenties, and we just grew apart.
It’s a lot to adjust to, but I’m excited about .
. . I don’t know . . . life on my own terms?
” She prayed her words were more believable than her internal state.
“I’ll toast to that!” John said, raising his glass along with the others on their side of the table. “To life on your own damn terms!”
By now, everyone had loosened up and joined in.
Cierra felt her cheeks redden, blushing at all the positive attention.
She even clinked glasses with Erik, despite him still being on her shit list. Her eyes met Mia’s, who scrunched her eyebrows in a proud but inquisitive manner.
Cierra just smiled and shrugged in response, ready for the meal to begin.
“What did you say you did for work, again?” the woman to Cierra’s right asked, in a tone as no-nonsense as her severe hairstyle.
“I’m in-between jobs right now, but I’m a chef by training.” Her new friends expressed intrigue with a collective gasp. Erik looked like he was eating crow.
“Anywhere we’d be familiar with?” John’s husband asked. Cierra did her usual fake-humble nose scrunch when saying it was Terra — there was no way this crowd wasn’t aware of it.
“Shut. Up. Are you freaking kidding me? You’re like .
. . a chef chef,” Andrew said in awe. “Oh, now I’m self-conscious,” he said, eyeing the food coming out.
Currently, they were being served a roasted red pepper soup with a cool, pale-green dollop of basil cream swirling atop the vibrant red liquid.
“What? No, no, please don’t be. By the way, this smells and looks amazing.”
“And isn’t ninety percent of taste, smell?” Andrew remarked.
“Exactly,” Cierra said, greedily admiring the Christmas-colored appetizer.
It was then that its creator, Viktor, came out. Viktor was a tall man with dark hair and light eyes; he could’ve been a long-lost cousin of Mia’s. He had a slightly pudgy midsection and multicolored tattoo sleeves covering his hairy arms.
“Good evening, folks,” he said. He introduced himself and began walking the group through the menu, which everyone listened to as attentively as if they were in class.
Eventually, after he had finished, he walked over to her end of the table to speak to John.
“Vik, this is Cierra — she’s one of you, so you’ve got your work cut out tonight.” John raised his eyebrow at Cierra, who automatically put her hands up to signify peace. “She was a chef at Terra.”
“Is that so?” Viktor said teasingly. “That place is okay, I guess.”
“Oh, he’s impossible,” said John, and patted him on the arm.
“You’re lucky to have me,” Viktor said, playing with the host.
“Don’t I know it?” John said back, taking another spoonful of soup with his eyes closed.
Mimicking the action, Cierra tasted the peppers — their rich, earthy sweetness — and the basil, its aroma a burst of freshness. She looked to her left, and saw Erik enjoying his portion, nodding in appreciation.
“It’s good,” he said. And then, a moment later, “Sorry about what I said earlier. What I meant was—”
“It’s alright,” she said, cutting him off.
There were plenty of fine dining experiences that had left Cierra feeling disillusioned; like she overpaid to feel uncomfortable and unsatisfied.
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had to get McDonald’s on the way home from a supposed five-star dinner.
But, some of us do care about creating meals people actually want to eat. ”
“I can see that,” he said, getting back to the bowl in front of him.
The soup’s texture was smooth as velvet. It was absolutely delicious, and opening her eyes again, she observed John and Viktor as they continued to chat like old buddies.
What she witnessed was in such contrast to the interactions she had become accustomed to with the clientele at Terra.
Here, Viktor was in complete control of what he prepared.
His passion for what he created showed through his smile while he enjoyed the enraptured looks on everyone’s faces.
He also got to interact, even joke, with the dinner party guests.
It was so intimate — and could not have been further from the environment of sweating your ass off behind a counter, cut off from those enjoying your work at a distance.
You’re lucky to have me.
It reminded Cierra of what had inspired her to become a chef in the first place, that sweet duet of creating something wonderful, paired with the satisfaction of enjoying it with others in harmony.
She thought of Kitchen Sink meals in her childhood home, with her proud, eager parents trying her various creations.
“So,” Viktor asked with a mischievous smirk, “what does the Michelin-starred chef think?”
With food still in her mouth, she just nodded slowly and said, “It’s heavenly.”
He clapped his hands together and smiled. Viktor looked young, younger than Cierra, in fact, and she was curious about how he had ended up with a gig like this. And how much it paid.
The rest of the evening was lovely; Viktor did not disappoint, and she was happy that Mia had dragged her along.
The following courses were brilliant, and for dessert, he flambeed a twist on a Baked Alaska, eliciting gleeful cheers from the inebriated guests as flames emanated from the marshmallow-y dome containing carrot sponge cake and salted caramel ice cream.
As he headed back to his station after the last course, Cierra stopped him. “Um, this is a strange question, but can I go back with you?” she asked timidly. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a kitchen. I’d love to chat more about your work.”
Andrew and John exchanged intrigued looks, and Viktor seemed all too happy to invite her back.
“Sure thing, I’d be happy to.”
Cierra asked him questions about his journey and how he came to be a private chef.
He told her he’d only lasted a couple of years at another notable restaurant before becoming incredibly burnt out.
It seemed like he had run into similar issues — loving to cook but hating restaurants and all that came with it.
Then he showed her his Instagram. He had nearly eighty thousand followers, which made Cierra’s eyes bulge. “How did you manage all this?!”
“Well, I wanted to try out new recipes, and I figured if I couldn’t share them with my guests, why not try to share them with the world?”
“But weren’t you scared? Isn’t there a lot of competition?”
“I was a little nervous at first, sure. I was worried people wouldn’t take me as seriously if I was an ‘Instagram’ chef.
But then I thought, well, I am a chef. I have a lot to offer.
I guess I was at a point where the uncertainty or judgment was a better option than hating where I was, but doing nothing about it. Know what I’m saying?”
Cierra nodded solemnly, embarrassed that she hadn’t previously realized how common so many of her problems were. She smiled gratefully at Viktor. While to him it was probably just another night, for her, it was an awakening about her next steps.
“You know, with your experience, you’d be a great private chef. I know you said you have some other opportunities lined up, but if you’re interested, there’s a couple here on the hunt for one. The wife’s name is Zella, I think? Or Zel . . . something funky.”
Cierra thought about the glamorous punk-rock woman who she had come in with. “Zelda? Zelda Lawson?”
“Yes! The Lawsons — those are the ones. They asked me if I’d be available at the last function, but I’m pretty tied up between part-time gigs for three other families and, honestly, I’m barely managing that.”
“But I don’t understand. How do you make money working for just a few families?”
Viktor laughed and then lowered his voice.
“Oh wow, you really don’t know how this shit works.
What the hell were they teaching you over at Terra, huh?
Actually . . . that figures.” He straightened up.
“Listen, these rich people will pay you north of $100k a year to help them meal prep, go on vacations with them, and to help with whatever social nonsense they’re doing.
” Viktor shook his head. “Sorry, I’m rambling.
What I’m trying to say is, if you have any interest — you should seriously think about giving it a go.
With Michelin experience? They’d want to hire you in a second, for bragging rights alone. ”
“But how do you find new clients?”
“I’m telling you — social media. At this point, it’s mostly word-of-mouth, but when you’re getting going, it’s all about content. If you post, they will come.” Cierra stayed with Viktor for maybe half an hour longer in the kitchen before eventually returning to her seat.
As entertaining as the rest of the evening was, Cierra’s mind was busy racing with ideas.
The path Viktor had chosen for himself had inspired her and made her question whether she had been looking in all the wrong places for her next move.
Further down the table, she saw Zelda and Elliot laughing with their heads thrown back, as Mia appeared to be in the middle of an animated story.
Cierra slowly took another sip of wine. She had a plan.
Mia was right; it was good to get out of the house.