Mushrooms aren't something you can substitute easily. They're the star of the third course. Earthy, savory, meant to showcase local foraging and seasonal availability.
Going conventional means losing that narrative. Means serving something generic when the whole point is to celebrate what's here.
"Can he get more from a different location?" I ask.
"He tried. Says the season's tapering off and what's left is too young or too sparse."
"So we're stuck."
"Unless you want to redesign the third course."
I think about the menu we've been practicing. The flow from light to rich. The way the mushroom bridges the salad and the protein. Pulling it means restructuring everything.
Also means showing the Foundation we can't handle pressure.
"What if we adjust the portions?" I ask. "Serve smaller but concentrate the flavor. Make it an amuse instead of a full course."
Maya considers. "That could work. But it changes the pacing."
"Everything about this week changes the pacing. We adapt."
She makes a note. "I'll revise the service timeline. You'll need to rework the plating."
"I'll rework the plating."
Derek raises his hand. "Chef? Should we keep practicing the mushroom course or wait for the new specs?"
"Keep practicing. You need the technique even if the application changes."
The door chimes. Ivy walks in carrying a crate of something green and a slightly manic expression.
"I brought kale," she announces.
"We didn't order kale."
"I know. But Farmer June had a surplus and I thought maybe you could use it for family meal or backup mise or just general kitchen flexibility."
She sets the crate down. The kale is beautiful. Deep green, ruffly leaves, still damp from washing.
"Also I heard about the frisée situation," she continues. "Maya texted me. So I called around and found you a backup supplier in case the microgreen farm falls through."
"We're not going to fall through."
"Probably not. But I made a backup plan anyway because that's what I do."
She's wearing her utility vest and rubber boots. There's dirt under her fingernails and a smudge of something on her cheek. She looks like she's been working since dawn.
"You didn't have to do this," I say.
"I know. But you chose the local option even though it cost more and complicated your prep. So I figured I'd complicate mine and help solve problems before they happen."
Maya grins. "She's good at that."
"Control freak tendency," Ivy corrects. "But occasionally useful."
I look at the kale. At Ivy's determined face. At the temps who are watching this interaction like it's dinner theater.
"Thank you," I say.
