Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
E mma was the first to start at the restaurant as Jill was still trying to iron out work issues and get her laptop connected to Grams’s internet.
She arrived at Mimi’s Place at ten thirty and was going to be learning from Gary, the assistant manager, all about the front of the house operations.
Downtown was busy with people walking along the cobblestone streets, many wearing sweatshirts with Nantucket emblazoned across the front.
Though it was early, several were also carrying multiple shopping bags from the stores that lined the street.
The restaurant was quiet when she walked through the door.
The only sounds were a faint radio in the kitchen and the hum of the dishwasher.
She could see some activity—kitchen workers bringing in crates of produce and cartons of milk.
Gary was waiting for her at the front desk with the book of reservations in front of him.
“This is one of my favorite times of day,” he said with a smile. “The calm before the storm. When we prepare ourselves for what’s on the lineup for the day. Coffee?”
“Thanks, I’d love some.” Emma accepted the mug and added a bit of cream and sugar before joining Gary to look at the book.
“Today should be fairly straightforward. We have the Garden Society luncheon group coming at one. They come once a month, and there’s only twenty or so of them. They’re a breeze. You’ll be amazed though by how much they drink in the afternoon. As long as their cocktails are flowing, all is well.”
“Grams used to be in that group, I think.”
“She was indeed.”
“I did a little serving during school but never really handled the reservations or hosting.”
“Well, the serving experience will come in handy.” Gary looked pleased to hear it.
“One of the biggest challenges with manning the front desk is controlling the timing and flow of customers to the tables. When possible, you try to avoid seating several parties in the same station at once, as that strains both the kitchen and the server.”
“I used to hate that. We called it being ‘in the weeds,’ when all your tables needed you at once.”
“It’s not pleasant for the guest either, so we try to stagger new tables as much as possible and work in reserved ones as well. And then of course we have our special guests. We’ll go over who they are and what you need to know.”
“Regulars you mean?” Emma asked.
“Regulars yes, but there are also special guests who don’t come in often, but we need to be aware that they are VIP status and make sure they are well taken care of. For instance, tonight we have Senator Jameson and the mayor coming in. They are VIPs.”
“Got it.” Emma smiled. “I imagine if things didn’t go well for them, that kind of PR would be terrible.”
“Exactly.”
As Gary walked her through the reservations and pointed out any regulars or customers with special requests, the kitchen door suddenly opened, and the most delicious smell wafted out. Involuntarily, Emma’s stomach growled, and she quickly took a big sip of coffee.
“Are they making eggplant parm?” she asked wistfully. It was one of her favorite dishes, and the scent of the roasted eggplants and rich tomato sauce was intoxicating.
“It might be a lunch special. Jason mentioned doing an eggplant rollatini today, like parmesan but rolled up and filled with ricotta. A bit like a savory cannoli.”
Emma sighed, then realized that the look on her face must have spoken volumes, because Gary chuckled and said, “I think perhaps you need to try a little so you can describe it to a customer if they ask.”
“Yes, in case a customer wants to know. What a good idea.” Emma had a feeling she was going to like Gary.
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with two small plates, each with an eggplant rollatini smothered in sauce.
They sat at the bar rather than risk dirtying one of the dining room tables that were covered in elegant white linen.
They ate quickly, with Gary glancing at his watch every few minutes and continuing his tutorial between bites.
“How long have you worked here?” Emma inquired. She guessed that Gary was in his midforties and wondered what he’d done before coming to Mimi’s Place.
“Forever,” he said with a smile, and Emma liked the way his whole face lit up when he talked about working at Mimi’s Place. “Actually, it will be twenty years next month. Time flies.”
“Every year does seem to go by more quickly. Grams always said that it would once you got older. I never understood what she meant until recently. What did you do before Mimi’s Place?”
“I was in college until we had some financial issues at home, and I had to get a job. Times were tight then. There were almost no jobs available to a kid like me without a degree and no experience of any kind. Your grandmother took a chance on me. My mother had been one of her students many years ago, and they were neighbors. I knew she put in a good word for me here, but I never knew until recently that she was actually the owner.”
“We still can’t quite believe it ourselves,” Emma said with a chuckle.
“Mimi’s Place has been really good to me.
I started out in the kitchen, washing dishes.
As you probably know, that’s just about the lowest rung on the ladder in a restaurant.
I was so grateful to have the job. I got lucky when one of the busboys was out sick.
I filled in for him, and that went well.
I think I’ve done just about every job here, except cook of course.
I’m terrible in the kitchen. Ironic, isn’t it?
You’d think I’d learn by osmosis, but I think cooking is like singing.
You either have the talent or you don’t. ”
“I like to cook,” Emma admitted. “I like to play around with recipes and try new dishes, but it’s easier to cook for yourself.
I couldn’t imagine doing it for an entire restaurant.
” Emma actually thought it seemed terrifying.
She used to marvel at the intricate dance the chefs in the kitchen did.
How they coordinated the timing of multiple dishes and parties mystified her.
“In a well-run restaurant,” Gary continued, “the front of the house and back of the house work in harmony. If it gets too chaotic out here, it can screw up the flow in the kitchen, and then we have a real mess. Fortunately, we have a well-oiled machine, and that rarely happens. Not on my watch anyway.”
“I remember coming here for lunch with Grams, and the dining room would be absolutely packed. The energy was so exciting, with all the well-dressed customers and the hustle and bustle of food coming out of the kitchen and tables being cleared. It was always a treat, coming here with her.”
Gary frowned and then smiled so quickly that Emma almost doubted what she’d seen.
“Is it still busy like that at lunch?” By the look of the reservation page, it seemed like they had a busy day ahead.
“Sometimes. Not often enough though,” he admitted. “There’s more competition now, more restaurants. Some of the newer ones are more appealing to the younger ‘foodie’ crowd. We’ve fallen off the radar some.”
Emma took an objective look around the restaurant.
The colors were warm and inviting, the table linens crisp, but the carpet was uninspired, a bit faded, and worn in spots.
Emma wondered if it was just a symptom, a contributor to the overall ill health of the restaurant.
She made a mental note to pay close attention to everything throughout lunch, at how many customers came in, what they ordered, and how happy or unhappy they seemed to be.
She knew that Mandy had taken a copy of the restaurant’s financials home to look over with Cory.
They were both great at understanding the ins and outs of financial statements and profit and loss statements.
Jason, the lunch chef, came out of the kitchen a half hour later and handed a slip of paper to Gary with the day’s luncheon specials.
“What did you think of the rollatini?” he asked Emma.
“Incredible. So delicious. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He turned to Gary. “What time does the Garden Society want their soup?”
“Not until one thirty. They want a full half hour with their cocktails before we interrupt them with food.”
“Of course they do.” Jason shook his head and strolled back into the kitchen.
“Has he been here long too?” Emma asked. She guessed that Jason was closing in on sixty.
“Not too long. Five years maybe? He worked all over the North End before moving here. I think he is a native Boston Italian. You can tell by his specials.”
“Rollatini, braciole, and escarole and white bean soup with Italian sweet sausage. Oh, braciole, isn’t that the meat that’s stuffed and rolled up and then cooked for hours in a sauce?”
“That’s it. Evidently the theme for today is rolls. You’ll have to try a little of the braciole later this afternoon when we slow down. It sounds like a cliché, but it really does melt in your mouth.”
The lunch service flew by. Gary had Emma take all the calls that came in.
After each reservation, he checked the book and showed her how to plan and how to stagger them so that the guests wouldn’t have to wait when they arrived and wouldn’t feel rushed as they ate.
It was a balancing act. Emma was grateful that Gary was being so patient with her and double-checking everything, because twice she needed to call a customer back and change the time slightly.
She was straightening out the pile of guest checks when one caught her eye. At the top of each check, the waiter always indicated the table number and size of the party. “Wow, this guy must have been really hungry.” The amount of food he ordered would have fed two to three people comfortably.
“Let me see.” A somewhat worried look came across Gary’s face as he read off the items the guest had ordered.
“Braciole and the rollatini plus the eggplant parm off the regular menu, escarole bean soup, Caesar salad, stuffed mushrooms, a side of ziti with marinara sauce, plus tiramisu and cheesecake?” He raised his eyebrows at Emma.
“I suspect we had a food critic in today, and regretfully, I should have picked up on this while he was here. He must be new. I usually recognize them when they come in.”
“Do you think we have anything to worry about? I’m sure everything he had was delicious.”
“It’s not just the food. Normally when someone orders like this, out of the ordinary for one person, we take note and assume that they may be a food critic or travel writer of some sort. So we’ll just take extra care to make sure there are no glitches and that service goes smoothly.”
“I think he was in during the busiest part of the lunch rush. I remember seating a single dark-haired man at the small table by the window. He seemed pleasant enough.”
“We’ll see.” Gary smiled at Emma, but she could still see a hint of worry on his face.