Eustace dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I’d like for Gage to run the restaurant, but somehow I don’t see that happening. It’s going to be a lot of responsibility for my girls, because they have husbands and kids to look after. We used to open every day for lunch and dinner, but that’s before we started catering. Now we open Monday through Friday from eleven to two for lunch.”
“What about the weekends?” Tonya asked in between forkfuls of cheesy grits.
“That’s when we cater parties. And if we don’t have anything on the calendar, then we kick back and relax.”
“Once I move down here I’m willing to help out. It’s probably going to be a couple of months before the guesthouses are converted into eating establishments, so in the meantime I can hone my skills working here.”
Eustace blinked slowly. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“I’m very sure. If I’m going to prepare New Orleans dishes, then why not learn from the best?”
“I’m a cook, not a chef, Tonya.”
“And I’m not a cook, but a chef, Eustace,” she countered. “Right now you’re the teacher and I’m the apprentice. If I begin as your sous chef, then maybe your daughters can take some time off to be with their families.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a long, penetrating stare. “We’ll begin with you working in the kitchen one week for the lunch crowd so you can get an idea of how we operate. After that, you can help with catering. I’m sure Gage will appreciate the extra help.”
Tonya knew Eustace was being optimistic, because she had learned from past experience that chefs were territorial when it came to their kitchens. Pushing back her chair, she stood up, Eustace rising with her. “I’m going to check on the wings.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Tonya watched Eustace as he took a bite of a wing slathered in sriracha sauce and sprinkled with green onions. “Do I pass the test?”
“Damn, woman. These are insane! What did you do to cut down on the heat?”
“I mixed the sauce with mayo and lime juice.”
“Nice!” he drawled with a wide grin. “What other varieties do you make?”
“I’m partial to a citrus pepper rub, a bourbon-espresso barbecue sauce, and my personal favorite is a Thai peanut sauce. But I’m always careful with the peanut sauce because some folks have peanut allergies.”
“You have your first assignment. Prepare them all. I’ll make certain to label the tray with the wings with the peanut sauce.”
Eustace tuned the satellite radio to a station featuring Motown classic hits. Tonya lost herself in the music as she sang along with Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, the Four Tops, the Temptations, and Gladys Knight and the Pips. She concocted the various sauces for the wings while Eustace put up a pot of red beans and gathered the ingredients for his seafood pasta. She and Eustace worked well together, she assisting him shucking fresh oysters, peeling and deveining shrimp, and chopping green onion and shallots, halving the time it would have taken him to prepare the dish alone.
He uncorked a bottle of dry white wine, filling two glasses and handing one to her. “Whenever I cook with wine, I always have a glass.”
Smiling, Tonya touched her glass to his.“Voici un merveilleux professeur.”
“Je vous remercie.”
“You won’t think he’s a wonderful teacher when he begins yelling at you.”
Tonya turned to find Gage standing only a few feet away, smirking at her. He had come into the kitchen without making a sound. He had exchanged his t-shirt, jeans, and running shoes for a white golf shirt, khakis, and cognac-hued loafers. She glanced up at the wall clock. Where had the morning gone? It was almost one o’clock.
“What if I yell back at him?” she teased in French.
Eustace glared at his brother. “Don’t start none, there won’t be none,” he warned.
Gage held up both hands. “It’s all good, big brother. What can I do to help?”
“We’ve made everything but the bread pudding.”
“I’ll make it,” Gage volunteered. He glanced over at the trays of wings. “I know you didn’t make these.”
Eustace shook his head. “Tonya did. There’s a plate over there with a few samples.”
Gage washed his hands, slipped on an apron, and headed for the plate with the wings. He picked up one, biting into it and chewing it slowly. “Sh-it-it!” The expletive came out in three syllables. “This is the best Thai wing I’ve ever had.”
