“I…”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
Tonight, I’m taking back my kitchen. Since Dulip became the hottest restaurant in town, I’ve taken on a new chef, giving myself the time and dedication to the business side that is needed, but I’m fucking sick of it right now. After the split with Tessa, I have way too much pent-up frustration to sit in the office and stew over it. So, I’m going back to basics. I’m running my own kitchen, and the surge of satisfaction I get from the perfect plate of food has me coming up with all kinds of new ideas.
“Take these to table one. They asked for whatever I wanted to cook.” One of my best friends, Pierce, is here with his wife tonight and gave me carte blanche with their meal. As surgeons, they save lives every day, and I always want to prepare them an exceptional meal.
“I’m on it. I already served them drinks.” I love my staff. I interviewed and handpicked every hire. It’s imperative to have good, efficient workers out there representing my restaurant. If the food is great, but the servers are shit, you’re not going to succeed.
“Great. There are the appetizers, so keep an eye on when they’re done. I want the timing to be perfect for the main course.”
“These look amazing, boss.”
“Thanks, Rick. We should be ready to go with mains in about twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.” My head server conducts himself well in the restaurant and keeps this place running tight with the staff.
I’m making one of my favorite dishes. Nothing fancy, but it put my name on the map.
Chicken Scarpariello. I hand peel and fry up rosemary fries to go with it. A simple dish packed full of flavor, and something you could find at a restaurant in the hills of Tuscany.
I know everyone raves about French food, but Italian is where it’s at for me—simple ingredients, focusing on flavor over quantity. We have a habit in this country of thinking we should addeveryingredient in our kitchen to every dish. I learned early on to pare it down and really put my heart into creating a perfect bite of food.
My grandmother—my nonna—was Italian, and my dad was always really proud of that. He owns a franchise of restaurants, but I would say his food is New York Italian, notItalian,Italian.
Some of my happiest moments have been made in the kitchen. It’s one of the things I love about food. A taste or a smell can take you back in time. Think how many of us have childhood memories of the dishes we would eat on the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Food is a time capsule.
Before my nonna died, she made sure I could make all of her dishes down to the last pinch of salt. I’m so glad she did. When I cook up a batch of her Napolitan sauce for the family, the atmosphere is close to what it was around her rustic dining table.
Rick appears with the empty plates from Pierce’s table right on time. I finish plating up their main course and hand them over. “You’re a legend, Rick.”
“Just be glad I love my job. If I didn’t, I would eat this right now. It smells fucking amazing.”
“I’ll make you one on your break. I’m feeling generous tonight, being back in here where the action’s at.”
“Sweet.”
He disappears with their food, and I go about filling orders. On a Saturday night, we’re at one hundred percent capacity, booked out from opening to closing. I couldn’t ask for anything more, but I’ve had to spend so much time on the business side, and VIPs want to talk to the owner. I’d had enough last night, so I gave my head chef the night off, and I’m busting my balls back in the kitchen tonight. It’s a fucking rush. Then, I’ll reward myself by losing myself in a willing sub for the night.
Pierce and Freya come back to give me props for their meal, especially my secret recipe dessert. “Fucking hell, Ry, that tiramisu is next level. Best I’ve ever had.”
“I would hope so. It’s my nonna’s family recipe. It’s easily a hundred and fifty years old.”
“Holy shit,” Freya exclaims.
Pierce looks to her. “You’ll pay for that cuss at the club tonight.”
“Promises, promises.” They only have eyes for each other. I’m chopped liver at this point.
“I’ll be swinging by Venom when I’m done.”
“Cool. We’ll leave you to it. Thanks again for such an incredible meal, Ry. It was nice to have a date night. We haven’t had the same night off in months.”
“Glad I could be of service. I’ll catch up with you at the club.”
“Good. Drinks are on me.”
“Deal.” I never charge my friends to eat at the restaurant. What’s the point in having success if you can’t share it with your friends and family? Hell, the guys at Venom are family now. We’ve all been through so much together.
