Every chef had their own, unique way of dealing with stress. I’d seen Wyatt smash plates and dump just-shy-of-perfect filets in the trash. Most chefs I knew of subscribed to the might is right philosophy. To be fair, we were passionate creatures on a schedule.
And while it was easy to get irritated and scream at all the people that should be working as hard and perfectly as you, it was also dumb. I wasn’t a yeller by nature. I certainly wasn’t going to start yelling now just because I got a promotion.
And today, I was in a particularly good mood now that Blaze was staying, and brunch was going so well. That didn’t mean I would continue to send out subpar plates.
People paused what they were doing and looked over at me. When I was sure I had the attention of the room, I cleared my throat and said, “I appreciate what you all have done here. The change in schedule. The change in vision. The change in leadership. Y’all have managed to weather me like champs. And a part of me wishes that I could stop asking you to do impossible things. A part of me would love to tell you we’re just going to coast from here on out. That what you’re doing right now is good enough. That who you are right now is good enough. But it’s not. And you’re not. And I will never, ever settle for good enough.” They were staring at me. Not smiling or scowling or showing a single emotion with their faces. They were just staring at me and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or if they were ten seconds from staging a walkout. “I have audacious dreams for this place. I have giant, larger than life aspirations for this kitchen. I have huge, career-changing goals for all of you. And if you stick with me and help bring this vision to life, I know you’ll be proud of your work and your career. It’s not going to be easy. To be honest, it’s going to be hell most days. But that doesn’t mean it won’t also be good and worthy and the best fucking ride of your entire life.” A chef named Bryan smiled from the back and I found courage in that one encouraging expression to push on. “So, stop sending out wrong dishes. Stop doing half-assed work. Stop assuming that what you’re doing is good enough. Because it’s not. It’s time to strive for utter perfection. Let’s be better than the competition. Let’s be better than we are right now.” I paused for dramatic effect, and to catch my breath. I could hardly believe I was the person demanding excellence from my kitchen like this. I had never considered myself a leader before, never even wanted to be one. But here I was, rallying the troops and digging deep to inspire excellence. “Let’s be the best we’ve ever been!”
A cheer rose up around me, men and a few women clapping, a few of them drying their eyes. I felt like a general, inspiring my troops to win the war.
I nodded, once—a proud, proficient chin bob—and the kitchen burst to life again as my chefs poured over their work and did the best they could possibly do.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, my blood bubbling with the rush of victory. For the first time since I’d stepped inside Bianca as executive chef, she felt like mine. And I finally felt up to the task of running her.
What I’d said to my staff applied to me as well. I needed to get better. Be better. Do better. Always. I could never sit back on my haunches and coast. If I was going to do this well, then I would have to try hard at it every single day.
I took a steadying breath, accepting the challenge.
Okay, Bianca. I’m all the way in this.
“Chef?” a nervous server wrung her hands in front of me.
Oh great. What now? “There’s a table out front demanding to speak with you.”
Nerves plunged my stomach to my toes. This was never a good sign. And right after I’d given the speech of my lifetime no less. To the server, I went about looking busy and asked, “Did they say what it was about?”
She shook her head. “No, just that they needed to speak with you about what you were doing back here.”
To Blaze, I said, “You got this?”
He nodded. No problem. He was my second in command. For real now. Of course, he could handle this.
I wiped my hands on my apron and followed her from the kitchen. Bianca’s dining room wasn’t especially large, and it was totally open so I spotted the demanding table immediately.
I tapped the server on the shoulder and pointed toward it. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Okay, I got this. Thanks, Chrissy.” I marched past her toward the rowdy patrons at least two cocktails deep. “What is going on here?”
Molly grinned at me, waving her Breakfast 75. “We’re supporting you!”
I smiled at my friends. They’d taken up the largest booth in the restaurant, a circular monstrosity that barely held them all. Molly and Ezra. Vera and Killian. Kaya and Wyatt. Vann.
Butterflies jumped off cliffs in my stomach, plummeting toward my knees before soaring toward my chest. Everything fluttered in me at the sight of Vann. He smiled at me from where he was only half on the edge of the bench. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I whispered back.
“We’re not here for you,” Killian announced while he stabbed a piece of potato cassoulet, gesturing at his wife. “We’re scoping out the competition.” His chin jerked toward everyone else. “But they wanted to support a friend or whatever. We figured two birds.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing at his teasing. “Now that Salt’s open, make sure everyone knows who started brunch first.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure they know it was us.”
Kaya leaned forward, giving both of us the evil eye. “It was me. I did brunch first.”
Killian and I shared a guilty smile. That was true. She did. But Sarita wasn’t even in the same zip code as Bianca so surely, she meant over there, in her specific area. Just like I meant here, in this specific area.
Or something like that.
