First, there’s the financial aspect. My savings are embarrassing at best, dire at worst, and it doesn’t look like that will change any time soon.
Then there’s the location. Finding the right spot is crucial. It has to be accessible, attractive and affordable. I’ve seen the wrong location doom a restaurant before it’s even opened its doors.
And that’s not even thinking about all the—
‘Excuses.’
The Eve in my mind cuts me off, rolling her eyes exactly as I know she would if she were standing right in front of me. ‘You can have all the excuses in the world, Noelle. Sometimes you just have to take the plunge.’
I shake my head, ridding myself of the vision of my disappointed-looking sister, and refocus on the task at hand. Outside the double wide doors, I can hear the faint sound of a live band playing a jazzy rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’. Even for a place like The Avalon, tonight isfancyfancy. I don’t know exactly who we have dining with us tonight – all I know is that they paid enough to book out the restaurantfor just their relatively small party of ten for a decadent Christmas meal.
I’m no stranger to the insanely rich and famous descending on The Avalon, but tonight feels different. When I poked my head out earlier, the wait staff were setting out gold-plated cutlery on the large table that cuts across the middle of the room, and even Gareth has been more twitchy and overbearing than usual, paying actual attention to the menu I suggested for tonight. Usually, our quarterly meetings consist of me shoving a painstakingly researched seasonal menu – complete with a list of local suppliers – under his nose, and him simply grunting before signing off on it and leaving me to do what I do best. Not that I’m complaining; I work best when I’m left to do my job, and I’d expected the same for tonight’s meal, but he’d actually been moderately helpful – although a shadow of the restaurant manager he once was – and we pulled together a menu I’m actually proud of:
Appetisers and Starters
Truffle-infused caviar blinis served with a delicate dollop of crème fraiche and microgreens
Wild mushroom and black truffle soup topped with a drizzle of truffle oil and a sprinkle of chive blossoms
Mains
Pan-seared scallops accompanied by a cauliflower purée and a champagne butter sauce
Roast pheasant with a cranberry glaze served with a thyme-infused bread pudding, stuffing and Brussels sprouts
Herb-crusted rack of lamb accompanied with a side of garlic mashed potatoes, and roasted root vegetables
Desserts
A golden Christmas pudding flambéed tableside with brandy and served with a rich custard sauce
A selection of artisanal British cheese featuring Stilton, Cornish brie, aged cheddar, and served with quince jelly and artisan crackers
Definitely a little fancier than the massive meal I’ll be preparing with my grandmother at our annual family Christmas get-together in two days, but it’s the first time in what feels like years that I’ve been able to get this creative with a menu and I’m practically bouncing at the thought of getting it in front of our guests.
At least, I was. The excitement I felt this morning when I entered the kitchen has been snuffed out, replaced by agnawing sense of irritation and anxiety as I lay the newly sliced carrots on the tray and reach for the parsnips.
‘Focus, Noelle,’ I murmur to myself, shaking my head. I try to force my mind to zero in on the task at hand, pushing away any lingering murderous thoughts towards my two co-workers. Instead, I picture the plates being sent out – vibrant, colourful, delicious, the kind of food that can’t help but put you in the Christmas spirit.
‘Hey, Noelle?’ Jamie’s voice breaks though my concentration. ‘You need a hand with anything?’
I look up and see immediately that his show of camaraderie is laced with hostility. What a dickhead. ‘Just make sure the cranberry sauce comes out well,’ I snap back through gritted teeth.
Jamie gives me a mock salute and for the second time in less than an hour – surely this must be a world record – I conquer the urge to fling a metal tray at my co-worker’s head.
‘Everything ready?’ Gareth glides into the kitchen, wringing his hands and nervously looking around. The wait staff for tonight file in after him, all dressed in perfectly pressed and neat uniforms. ‘The guests have all arrived and they’re ready for their appetisers.’
I open my mouth but Will cuts across me and says smoothly, ‘We’re good to go, boss.’
Gareth smiles at him. ‘Thank you, Will.’
Thank you, Will.
Thank you to the man who has done nothing but roll stuffing into – admittedly perfect – little balls for the last five hours? I’m not even entirely sure how he’s managed to stretch out the task for that long.
My eye twitches and I swear I’m about five seconds away from short-circuiting.
You’re a professional, I remind myself for what has to be the umpteenth time today.Just keep it moving. You’ll be finished soon.
