“Fishand chips is hardly groundbreaking,” I told him, frowning over his latest nouvelleidea.
“Yeah,but we would put our spin on it. Make it amazing.”
“Idon’t see how battered fish fits Lilou’s menu. Ezra likes things old school.Besides, it’s not exactly up to par with the other protein dishes we offer.”
“That’sthe point. Lilou isn’t accessible. It’s outdated and stuffy. I want to make themenu more inclusive, add a few more classic options that feel brand new.”
“Isn’tthat what Vera and Killian are doing with Salt?”
Hesnapped his fingers excitedly. “Yes! But also no. Vera and Killian are extendingher philosophy from Foodie. They’re doing all new Americana with a twist.They’re taking already trendy food and putting their spin on it. I don’t wantto do exactly what they’re doing. However, from when Vera had her food truckparked across the street, I know there is an outcry in this city, particularlythis area, for that kind of familiar food. People want to eat here, but theyalso want to have a handle on what they’re eating. Everybody is a food criticthese days. Everybody thinks they’re a foodie. Thanks to Netflix and Top Chef,our customers come into this restaurant with an expectation that they can pickapart our dishes with earned expertise. And then they have our food, don’tunderstand what the fuck they’re eating and rip us apart afterward.”
“Youmean in Yelp reviews?”
Heleaned forward, his eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah, in Yelp reviews, onGoogle and Instagram accounts that somehow have garnered thousands offollowers. Our social media presence is tanking.”
“Ithought you said our waitlist was six months long?”
“Fornow,” he growled. “But it’s not a sustainable expectation if we keep churningout the same old shit day after day.” He slid forward in his chair, growinganimated with his argument. “Vera and Killian are going to blow up as soon asSalt opens. That’s a given. Those two are powerhouses on their own, imaginethem together.” He had a point. “If Lilou wants a chance in hell at survivingthat kind of competition, we’re going to have to mix things up. We’re going tohave to take risks and try new things. We’re going to have to up our game.”
“Whatdid you have in mind?”
“A deconstructedhamburger, for instance. It will still have the Lilou flare. Wagyu of course,with heirloom tomatoes and artisanal gruyere cheese. I’m thinking a champagne glazeand maybe some kind of caviar garnish. Expensive, interesting, but comforting.”
I leanedtoward him, eating up every word, totally enraptured by his vision. It wasgenius and ballsy and impossible all at once. “What else do you want to add?”
Hesmiled and pulled out a notebook from the side drawer of his desk. “Amodernized Croque Monsieur, with an American twist. It would convey easy,nostalgic, but also elegant and sophisticated; a fancy grilled cheese and tomatosoup option. I’d use pork belly instead of the traditional ham; finishing itwith whipped brie. We could call La Parisienne to find out what loaves theyhave available for our kitchen, maybe something with olives and rosemary—theentire city knows their baker is extreme. I’ve been playing around with thesetomato soup bites. Warm soup injected into a hollowed out cold cherry tomato. Iwant it to be this surprise bite of comfort food that just bursts to life inyour mouth. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I think I’m headed inthe right direction.”
Istared at him. Who was this man? I had expected a Killian clone. Not a manwilling to go head to head with Killian to hold his place at the top of thiscity’s fine dining experience. At the very least, I expected a man that towedEzra’s line because he was more afraid of losing Lilou than his identity. “Haveyou talked to Ezra about this?”
Henodded. “A bit. He hasn’t, uh, exactly approved my direction. But I think he’sopen to change. I think losing Killian has been an eye-opening experience forhim. And it would kill him to lose to Killian at anything, but especially inthis.”
“Thereservation list is still months out though. Ezra doesn’t have a whole lot ofincentive for change.”
Heshrugged, hiding his notebook away again. A pang of something bloomed across mychest. His notebook was like his diary, the place where all his most secret andintimate thoughts flowed. It was instinct to hide it away, to protect it. Notonly would it expose his still formulating ideas if someone found it, but itwould also give them away.
Itwas like the holy grail. In his hands, his potential for success was unlimited.But if it fell into the wrong hands, his work would be for nothing. They wouldtake his thoughts, his ideas, his innovative risks, and make them their own, claimingtheir origins.
Thereprobably wasn’t anybody in this kitchen with the balls to do that, but this wasa cutthroat industry where creativity was questioned every day. It was unfairlyeasy to accidentally mimic someone’s brilliant dish or abuse inspiration basedon someone else’s hard work. Integrity was preached, but rarely practiced. Wewere all paranoid at best, raving conspiracy theorists in our worst moments ofinsecurity.
“I’mnot worried about months down the road,” Wyatt admitted. “We have thisbrilliant, complicated menu that makes no sense to seventy-five percent of ourpatrons. I’m not saying I want Lilou to be known as the best snobby burgerjoint in the country, or that I want any old Joe to wander in off the streetsto order something to go. But I do want to meld together old world culinarywith new world innovation. I want to update our painfully outdated menu andgive our diners something they recognize, but also something that will changetheir entire definition of what good food is and how it can change their life.I want to welcome Killian and Vera to the neighborhood and then fuckingannihilate them on every level.” He grinned, showing his teeth and sending sizzlingheat spiraling through me.
Mychest squeezed again and this time I recognized the feeling as jealousy. Thiswas brilliant. Incredible. Fucking genius. If he got his way, he was going tobe the guy responsible for evolving Lilou into her best version yet. It wasn’ta totally original idea, but it was in this caliber of fine dining.
Andhe was right about Salt. It would kill us the second it opened unless we didsomething innovative, something that could truly compete with it.
Mostchefs, for that matter, aspired to mimic Lilou’s style, not skydive off theprecipice to become more relatable to the common man. Wyatt not only saw theneed to up our game before Salt became real competition, but he also recognizedthe necessity of keeping our social media game on point. I was blown away byhis foresight and insight into the industry. He saw years down the road andknew what he had to do today to keep us at the top.
“I’mimpressed, chef. This is a good idea.”
Hiseyes sparked with the compliment, but his words surprised me. “You shouldn’tsay that.”
Thatlook was back, the one that had gotten me into so much trouble last night. One partconfident, sexy man, two parts vulnerable and open.
“Saywhat?” I whispered.
“Chef.”
“Butyou are a chef.”
