I would have denied access to everysingle one of his moles except I couldn’t screen as thoroughly as I would haveliked. Not while I was busy cooking. And not while he dressed them in disguise—orat least made them take off their chef jackets.
Not to mention, when it came down toit I was afraid to refuse service to anyone just in case they didn’t work forKillian. Refusing to serve customers based solely on my irritation with the manacross the street would obviously be very bad for business.
So, to combat Killian’s ruthlesscriticism, I kept the menu at one option instead of two. And I honed every oneof my techniques to master level. I became a freaking black belt at cooking.
The notes still didn’t stop.
The weekend I made meatloaf burgerson onion buns he sent this back:Mushyand over seasoned. I’m taking away your salt privileges. And if you don’t stopusing parsley as a garnish, I’m suing. I will sue you for defamation.
The next night, Friday night, Ichopped up four cups of parsley out of spite and sent it over toLilouin a to-go container. I made Wyatt give it toKillian. Actually, I tried to get Wyatt to throw it in his face and yell, “Makeit rain, motherfucker!” But Wyatt was a giant, skinny chicken. Basically, Wyattjust handed it to him and explained my evil plan. And then apparently, they hada nice chuckle over it. I hated them both.
Lesson learned, never send a man toget a woman’s revenge.
That Saturday night, I’d removed theparsley from the dish—mainly because I used it all in my flop of a prank—tightenedup the spices and added a thorough fry to the meatloaf burger on the grill topto make it less “mushy.” Killian stopped by afterLilouclosed to suggest I use Panko in the burgers instead of regular breadcrumbs,add turmeric to the seasoning mix, and top them with fried onion rings insteadof sautéed onions.
His suggestions were obnoxious.
And genius.
The weekend I served a mashup ofpoutine and pot roast with slow-cooked chuck roast over French fries with friedcheese curds, gravy and a side of roasted balsamic carrots, he sent this lovelynote:What is this, Canada?Make it taste better,Delane.
I’d actually sent a note back thattime that said,What does that evenmean?
He didn’t waste any time. Not fiveminutes later he wrote:
1.Chuck roast—cheap. It’s so cheap. Why are you so cheap, chef?
2.Fries—soggy.
3.Cheese curds—stringy.
4.Carrots—how are those working out for you? That’s what I thought.
5.…
Well, to be honest, I already knewwhat number five was going to say, and I didn’t want to read it. Or care aboutit. Or bother with it.
5.Gravy—I’m sending someone over to confiscate your salt. Don’t fight this. It’sthe best thing for both of us.
That Friday morning, I stopped byTractor Supply and picked up a twenty-five-pound salt block for $6.99. I madeWyatt take it over to him later that night. It had been as satisfying as Iimagined it would be.
He stopped by around midnight andtricked Vann into letting him order. I’d made his food and had it halfway outthe window before I realized it was him. Before I could pull it back, he’dgrabbed it and taken off across the street.
I shouted after him, “You betterrun, Quinn!”
He’d turned around to flash me asmug grin and almost got hit by an oncoming Volvo.
The weekend I tried a play onReubensby stuffing biscuits with pastrami, Swiss cheese, house-madesauerkraut and Thousand Island aioli to dip it in, Killian made a trafficticket out of an order pad and fined me one million dollars for “Forcing soggybiscuits on unsuspecting customers.”
One million dollars.
I copied his ticket on an orderpaper of my own and fined him one billion dollars for being such an asshole.(Molly’s idea!)
He stopped by that Saturday night toadd ketchup to my aioli, and I quote, “Because nobody ever expects ketchup.”Then he showed me how to bake the biscuits halfway so they didn’t get mushy andsqueeze the excess juice from the sauerkraut—something I had known how to doonce upon a time. But let’s be honest, I didn’t work with sauerkraut a whole bunch.I was bound to forget something every once in a while.
This weekend I’d picked chili dogsto feature, and I was keeping those pretty straightforward only because mychili kicked ass. My butcher had gotten me a sweet deal on spicy kosher hotdogs, and they had a fair amount of heat to them. I’d pickled my pickles twomonths ago and then quartered them for the hot dogs. They were the perfectblend of spicy and sweet, crunchy and soft.
When Killian sent back hiscriticism, I was beyond being surprised by his notes or him as a human. I’daccepted this as my new reality. Yes, I owned a business, set my own hours andmade whatever I wanted! Yes, I also had to deal with Killian Quinn every day—mypunishment for living the dream.
