6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Sam
“ Y ou can’t be serious. We all know my people skills are severely lacking.” The words fall from my mouth before I can catch them. My boss knows I have a tendency to say it like it is, but even that was bold for me. In fairness, this is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.
Shrugging his shoulders, he gives me a ‘tough shit’ look. “If you want to be head chef, this is the requirement. We usually make our new hires do it, but you happened to slip past,” Chef Antony says. Though, we all just call him Chef. It comes with the territory when you make head chef, which is my leading drive in life right now. Work hard and claw my way into the head chef title.
I have been working for Flambé for just over a year and a half now, I'm the only one here in the kitchen without a culinary degree. I’ve fought my way to the top, and I'll be damned if I let something stupid like this slow me down.
“Yeah, I kind of thought I had dodged the bullet.” I shoot Chef a smirk. I was so close to getting away with never having to do it.
Fuck my life right now. The idea of the program is great, but me and peopling go together like oil and water.
“I know you think this is stupid, but teaching others and leading is a key part of the position. Do you want to be the next head chef? You will need to learn how to communicate with people and learn how to teach. This is the best way for it. Plus, us being involved in the community is good for our image.”
The thought of me standing in front of a bunch of people and teaching a cooking class is certified insanity. I shift in my seat. Here I was, excited about getting dragged into the boss’s office, and thinking I had my promotion in the bag. So close, but so far.
“You succeed with this, and the position is yours.”
No pressure. Just teach a bunch of toast burners how to not catch their kitchen on fire, and the job is yours.
“So, what do I teach them? Are we cooking different things every night and I teach them new dishes?” I fidget in my chair, taking note of Chef. While I’m stressed, he’s clearly loving it. His gray eyes are bright with delight. It’s hard to believe he’s of retiring age with how well he has aged. His tan skin only has crinkles around the eyes. His dark hair is free from gray, and I kind of wonder if he doesn’t dye it or something. Surely, at sixty, he’d have some salt with that pepper.
“The curriculum is up to you to create. I’d recommend starting with the basics: chopping; how to measure; when to use a scale; and so on. This is your project. You can do what you please with it.”
My annoyed demeanor is doing me no favors today. But I have the utmost respect for the man looking at me. He’s been the best boss I’ve ever had and a great mentor in my career. If he says jump, I will.
“Okay, so, when do classes start?” My brain starts to tumble through thoughts on what I can do with this. Do I teach basics? Or should I make this more technical? Shaking my head, I refocus back on Chef Antony’s gray eyes.
“They begin tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. The participants have already paid. You can use whatever you need from our supply. Just let me know what you’re taking so I can make sure we are well-stocked.”
My back immediately straightens, and the professionalism falls from my face. “You mean, I have to create a whole curriculum for this class in one night?” This is a joke.
My arms cross as irritation rises. Down to my bones, I am a planner, and this short of notice kind of prohibits that. I hate half-assing things; if I’m going to do something, whether or not I like the task, I do it to the best of my ability. I’ve been doubted my whole life, and that adds all the fuel to my fire to be the very best.
“You cannot always plan for what may go down in the kitchen. Sometimes shipments don't arrive, and you have to make it up as you go. I believe in you. As much as you think you are a growly asshole, and for good reason, you are a wonderful teammate when you want to be. Learn from this.” He stands from behind his desk and hands me an information sheet about the class and attendance numbers. “Here’s what you’ll need to know.”
He shrugs on his jacket and smiles at me. “Good luck with your planning. I look forward to hearing about your first class.”
Guess that is my cue to go. He has put his neck out for me many times, and I have yet to let him down. He took me under his wing from day one and is a huge reason for my quick growth, not only in my career but in my skill. You would think my quick growth would come with a reward, not punishment.
Scouring the internet, I tried to come up with ideas that would be good for class. If the next step in my career rides on teaching a class to cook, I will make it the best damn class that has ever existed.
Breaking it down to basics, I took Chef's idea. Chopping, measuring, and all the things you have to know to be able to build a dish. He’s a total asshole for making me do this, but as much as I hate to admit it, this will probably be helpful in the long run. There will be team members I will have to build from the ground up. Everyone starts somewhere, and if they have a passion for anything culinary, I’d be doing a disservice to not help them grow.
From there, I broke it down to simple dishes, which will introduce basic ideas. Breakfast, some pastas, and some meats to help teach temperature safety. Trying to hype myself up, I convince myself that I can make my way through this. Come hell or high water, this will be the best community class ever. I didn’t come this far to stumble now.
Flicking on the switch to turn on the fluorescent lights of the community center building, I make my way to the small, round table at the front of the room. Seeing that the place is lined with carpet makes me cringe. Cleaning this place up must be a real pain in the ass. Each little workstation has a cooktop, oven, and small sink, everything we will need to roll smoothly. Moonlight shoots in from the large windows on the outside wall of the classroom.
I set up my table at the front of the room and get the supplies all out. There are four different sets of people coming. I guess it is a buddy and me class? The sheet Chef gave me has basic information, like how many people and how long I’ll be stuck doing this. I’ll take a couple’s class over a mommy and me cooking class any day. Kids are great and all, but when it comes to teaching, I’ll stick with adults; they tend to lick less bowls and don’t touch everything with sticky fingers. The kitchen is a place for order and cleanliness.
I set down the baskets of different fruits and vegetables they will be chopping up and two different kinds of knives to teach them which ones to use in what situations. Also, I took the liberty of printing out waivers saying we aren’t responsible if you cut your finger off, because I enjoy not being sued and my faith in the general population is pretty low.
Because I got here ridiculously early because no part of me wants to shit the bed when it comes to this process, I have plenty of time to burn. I spend the next few minutes finalizing some of my plans for the eight-week course. By the end, they should be able to make a full meal and dessert, and all without burning the place down.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see it’s about time for attendees to start rolling in. Taking a quick lap around the room, I make sure all is in place.
A familiar voice floats into the room. If my nerves weren’t frayed before they are now.
No. No. No. Absolutely not.
In waltz my future sister-in-law and her best friend, the smoking hot redhead, whose entire 5’3 frame is filled to the brim with sass and feminine rage. Our only interactions while she visited over Christmas were filled with arguments and smart-ass remarks.
Isla isn’t that bad, actually. I really want to like her, but around my family, I feel like a completely different person. My defenses go up and I detach myself. When you get burned enough, you learn your lesson to quit trusting people. It doesn’t help that we couldn’t be more different. Every one of them is successful in their own businesses and climbing the corporate ladder. And I hate anything that has to do with me sitting in an office all day.
My dad never lets me forget how disappointing it is that both his sons won't be taking over his enterprise. You know, God forbid I chase my own dreams. I did just that and found myself cut off. My dad wouldn’t pay for culinary school. I had to resort to cooking classes, much to my dismay, like this one. And now, here we are. Full circle. I am back where I started, and my family is still shitting all over my career.
“Sam? Is that you?” There goes my very farfetched dream that Isla wouldn't recognize me. We’ve met a couple times, but I’m wearing my Flambé get up.
“Hello, Isla. Welcome to class. Pick any station.” She smiles at me and picks the station at the front of the class.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Addie says as a smile spreads across her lips. The sparring will be starting early, I see.
I can’t help but wonder why she’s here and not Cal. Guess I should be considering myself lucky it’s her here instead. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her, and I’d almost forgotten how alluring she is. Her curly red hair tumbles down her back, and for a half a second, I wonder what it would feel like in my hands. But then I remember she is on the enemy’s team and snap out of it.
“Since you’re the one walking into my class, it looks like the cat dragged you in.” I should probably be more professional, but I just can't help it. I wonder why she is here on a Monday. Since she was just in Maine weeks ago, I figured the state was safe for a few more weeks. “Shouldn’t you be back in Colorado?”
“Real original, Chef Boyardee. And no, you’re looking at Maine’s newest resident.” Her eyes roll and she follows Isla to the station. Why did she even bother leaving after New Year’s if she was planning on moving here the whole time?
The rest of the attendees roll in, and class begins.
“Thank you all for joining me. I’m Sam, and I am a chef down at Flambé. I’ve been cooking for as long as I can remember, and I hope to share my love of all things cooking with you all. I’m excited to show you all some basics and help take your skills to the next level. We’re going to go around the room, and I would like some feedback on what you are hoping to learn during your weeks with me.”
I nod to the couple at the first table on the right, and they start firing off things. Lucky for me, most of the things are already on my list, but I take notes. If they are investing their time, it's my responsibility to make it worth it.
“Isla, you're up.” I nod to her.
“Oh, well, I’d like to be able to properly measure things and not almost poison your brother every time I cook for him.” I can’t help but chuckle at that one. At least she is honest.
Addie turns her head in my direction. “I’m only here because this bitch dragged me here. I already know how to cook.” Now that answer was not something I was expecting. Though, I probably should have.
Choking back a laugh, I nod and move to the next station before she can catch wind that I find her amusing. She’s funny and pretty. What a deadly combo.
We settle in and I hand out cards that break down measuring cups, fluid ounces vs. dry measurements, and when to use what. There are also basic cooking utensils and what they should be used for on there.
Drawing the attention back up to the front of the class, I dive into the meat of the lesson. “Alright, guys, we are going to learn different knife skills today. Go slow and be careful.”
I grab my chef’s knife and demonstrate the easiest way to dice a handful of different vegetables. “With onions, it’s done half the work for you with having layers. We are going to do a set of equally spaced lines throughout the whole onion, while avoiding the roots. Then, turn it, create a crisscross pattern, and cut equally as deep.”
I watch the class complete the step, correcting those who are mutilating their onions. It’s no surprise that my future sister-in-law is one of them. She mentioned not being great at the beginning of class, but I figured she was being dramatic. Obviously, I was wrong. I chuckle under my breath as I watch from a safe distance.
“What the hell are you doing?” An incredulous look fills Addie's face, as she watches Isla obliterate the poor onion. Its layers start to fall apart and crumble.
“I’m cutting the onion,” Isla says dryly. Which makes Addie flick her on the forehead. And then, Addie shows her again how to do it.
Round two, she does much better. Addie’s knife work is actually kind of impressive. She moves with control, and everything is equally proportioned. I’d compliment her, but it’d go straight to her head.
I finish the demonstrations and walk around the class, breathing out a sigh of relief every time I notice no blood on anyone's station. I answer all their questions from the sheet I had handed out. With their feedback, I add a couple of notes of things to add to my lesson plans. They all seem eager to learn, making this feel a little less dreadful. Surprise fills me when I realize I’m actually a little excited to see them grow in their skills.
Before I know it, the hour is up, and we wrap up class. They have successfully chopped everything up and avoided their fingertips. Before heading home, they all get a bowl to take home their cut up veggies.
Moving to the front of the room, I address the class. “Next week, we will move on to safe temperatures with cooking. Isla, that should help you not poison Cal.”
“We can only hope,” Addie pokes fun at Isla, and my smile breaks away before I can stop it. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s kind of funny. You know, when I'm not on the receiving end of her sarcasm.
The class slowly starts to leave, and I pack everything up. My mind wanders as I clean up, and every time, it goes back to Addie’s bright green eyes and the sound of her laugh.
As I make my way out the building, I dismiss the thought and bring it back to important things, like making it through the next few weeks without screwing up this opportunity.