She worked for an hour, covered in a layer of sweat, filling orders. Mostly sandwiches, burgers, and melts with the occasional salad. Nothing terribly complicated.
When she tried to garnish each plate, Laney swept them away and tsked. “This ain’t the Four Seasons.”
Gina had been doubtful about JoJo but he manned the fry station like a champ while she dredged pieces of chicken through her own batter. If anyone had noticed that it wasn’t Jimmy Ray’s secret recipe they hadn’t complained. At least there were vats of his waffle batter in the fridge.
A little before one o’clock, Laney pushed ten four-tops together and taped a piece of notebook paper in the center that saidreserved. Soon after, members of Tiffany’s party began trickling in with colorful gift bags. Every so often, Gina discreetly popped her head in the dining room to gauge the crowd size.
Full house.
Dry Creek needed another damn restaurant. She used her arm to wipe the sweat from her face and went to work on four “Jaspers,” steak sandwiches with sides of fries and frosty mugs of homemade sarsaparilla. According to Laney, the special was named for Sawyer’s grandfather.
“We need more fries, JoJo.” Only one hour working together and already they were like a well-oiled machine.
She threw four steaks on the grill and caramelized rings of onions, going on instinct. Until someone cried foul, she was winging it. To take the time to go through Jimmy Ray’s recipes would back them up at least an hour.
She flipped a tuna melt, let it turn to a golden brown, plated it with a scoop of Laney’s potato salad, and called “order up.”
Laney bustled into the kitchen with her notepad in hand. “Whoo-wee!” She pressed a hand against her lower back. “We’re busy today. Ten chicken and waffles, eight chicken-fried steaks, six Caesar salads with chicken, four Cobbs, three patty melts, three tuna melts, two soups, and two Jaspers for the Tiffany party.” She hung the order from a clip on the wall behind the griddle.
“Shit.” Getting everything out at the same time was going to be a bitch. “You hear that, JoJo?”
“Yep.” JoJo wasn’t much for words, but he could fry like nobody’s business.
“How we doing on the rest of the crowd?”
“So far, so good.” Laney grabbed up two of the Jaspers, settled them into the crook of her arm, and went for the other two. “Maria’s got us covered at the front of the house. I’ll come back and help y’all with Tiff’s order.”
Gina made up more batter for the chicken-fried steak and went back to dredging chicken. While those were on the skillet, she’d work on the salads, which would take a little time.
When Laney returned, Gina was putting the finishing touches on the Cobbs.
“Oh, hell no.” Laney stood over the salads, disgusted. “That looks like a museum exhibit, not like a lunch entrée. Put some more food on that plate, girl. Last I looked lettuce didn’t cost that much.”
“It’s a deconstructed Cobb.” Gina let out a huff.
“More like anemic.” Laney scooped up handfuls of romaine and dumped them on the plate, ruining Gina’s presentation. “You want to starve my customers?”
“For damn’s sake, at least put a little care into it.” Gina rearranged the lettuce leaves, added more boiled eggs, grilled chicken, bacon, and blue cheese. “That enough for you? Finish here while I grill the steaks for the Jaspers.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Gina saw Laney retrieve two store-bought salad dressing bottles from the cooler and yelled, “Don’t you dare.” She swiped the bottles out of Laney’s hands. “Watch the steaks. I’ll make dressing. Where do you keep the anchovies?”
Laney sniffed. “At the Whole Foods in Roseville.”
“Seriously?” Gina threw her arms up in the air. “How do you have Caesar salad on the menu and no anchovies?”
“This is cattle country. We don’t do surf, just turf.”
“Whatever.” Gina rolled her eyes and found a blender on the appliance shelf. Within minutes, she’d gathered up the ingredients to make a mustard shallot vinaigrette for the Cobb and a classic Caesar dressing, sans the anchovies.
As soon as the dressings were done, she diced up some sourdough bread to make croutons for the Caesar.
“How are the steaks doing?”
“Done.” Laney took the meat off the grill and sandwiched them inside toasted French rolls slathered with Jimmy Ray’s secret sauce. Probably A1 and Worcestershire, if Gina had to guess.
“JoJo, how’s things at the fryer?”
“Good,” he grunted, filling a basket with frozen potato slices.
