Shaking my head, I focused on the way Tobias sliced and chopped, noting the shaking of his hands. His form was horrendous. It genuinely made me nervous to watch.
Sighing, I showed him the best way to cut for what we used the ingredients for. He seemed to pick it up quickly, neither of us speaking the entire time.
Watching how quickly Tobias picked up on it when shown, I decided to try something else. “Do you know how to julienne?”
He shook his head wordlessly.
I nodded and grabbed a carrot, showing him rather than telling him how to do it. When I asked him to recreate it, he did so perfectly.
“From there, we can do brunoise.” I took the carrot pieces and shifted them a quarter, dicing them until perfect. “Your turn.”
Again, he produced flawless results. I was stunned at how effortlessly he could follow.
I upped the ante, showing him different ways to prepare vegetables. When he followed along easily, I took a moment to think.
The kid could follow directions, but I wondered if he was actually learning or if he was simply doing whatever I did.
Stepping away, I nodded toward the unchopped veggies we had. “Chiffonade.”
Tobias grabbed some spinach and did exactly as I asked.
“Batonnet.”
Perfect.
“Rondelle.”
Exact.
“Tourné.”
He grabbed a potato, taking his time to create a perfect, oblong shape with all seven sides.
I was fucking stunned. Tobias was taking in everything I showed him and could replicate it with precision, something I didn’t have when I first learned to cook.
Looking over the piles we’d made, I found the celery he’d mangled and compared it to the gorgeous array of precision he’d just shown me.
I shook my head, staring in awe. “Tobias, you just did something your fellow cooks took months to do.”
“I learn fast.” He shrugged.
“I’ll fucking say.” I huffed in amusement. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this, kid. Shoot me straight for a minute, will you?”
He nodded warily.
“I had no idea that all this time, all I had to do was show you what to do, and you’d be able to do it. First of all, that alone baffles me. Second of all, why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone, for that matter.”
Tobias shrugged again, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t know how to ask. I’m real good if you just show me. I ain’t stupid. Just don’t get stuff when it’s just words.”
That accent.
That had been the most words he’d spoken to me since I’d known him. Even our interview was short and clipped, full of yes or no responses. I needed another cook and liked the idea of someone whohadn’t had experience cooking with us. I wanted someone who was younger and could relate to the other cooks, who was eager to learn and could form an interest in cooking without any preconceived notions or opinions.
I hadn’t heard more than a short sentence come out of his mouth until now. It threw me off, making my brain short-circuit more than it already had been. “Are you southern?”
My question confused both of us. I wanted to stand firm and appear like I knew exactly what I was asking and why. I didn’t. But Tobias didn’t have to know that.
“Yes, Chef. I’m not from here.”
