The man wrinkled his nose at the mention of the Midwestern state and Eric laughed out loud.
“You’re such a fucking snob,” said Comme Ci’s executive chef, Marcus, teasing. “I thought you were from Michigan.”
“Exactly,” said John with a grin. “Anyway, I moved the reservation and I expect an expensive bottle of scotch – which I will politely decline – the next time the Andersens come in.” He held his hand up in front of him before Eric could comment.
“Anything new with the serving staff? Anything I should know about?” asked Eric, leaning back in his ancient metal rolling chair. It matched the industrial 50s gray green enamel desk that was sure to survive a nuclear blast.
“Not anything to worry about. Everything is working the way it should.”
“How about the kitchen?” asked Eric, turning his attention to Marcus.
“We’re good. I found a farm just outside the city in Treemont that has fantastic greens. They’re using hoop houses to extend the season. They say they have greens, mesculin and leaf lettuce through the winter and even early peas a month before our regular supplier. We’ll see.”
Marcus tipped his head in a noncommittal gesture, but Eric could tell he was excited. Every true chef preferred to work with the freshest ingredients they could get and for Eric and his staff the more local the better. It’s why he knew Julie’s idea would be a success.
“I placed an order for a sample of what they’ve got available. It will be here Friday. I figured we’d design the tasting menu around it and if it’s as good as it looked we can add them to our regular order.”
“Sounds good,” said Eric. “If Jenners still has quail eggs available maybe we could do a nest of wilted greens with a soft boiled quail egg and lardons. The eggs look great on the plate and it could be a good response to the heavy root vegetables we’ve been serving lately.”
He felt more energized talking about the menu with Marcus than he had in a long time. Maybe when they got back from New York he’d take Julie to visit the farm in Treemont and see what else they had. It might be a good way to keep her thinking about the aquaculture. If she got a glimpse of how the ordering and delivery went and had some idea of how much product just Comme Ci went through, maybe it would make the idea more real to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he realized Marcus had been talking while he was daydreaming about Julie. “I missed what you said.”
“It’s nothing major. Just a staffing change. Ramirez, the dishwasher, fell off the face of the planet. I sent Johnson to see if he could find out anything from where he was living but nobody had seen him.”
“Any idea what happened?” asked Eric.
“No. He had family out west. He may have gone there. I always liked him and I hadn’t pegged him as someone who’d leave without notice, but the police don’t suspect foul play or anything. I guess I don’t either.”
“Have you replaced him?” The busers could pick up the slack in a pinch but the restaurant couldn’t go for long without a dishwasher. And they’d never make it through a weekend without one.
“Yes actually. It was the damnedest thing. I had a guy stop in the day before Ramirez walked looking for a job. His references checked out so I went ahead and hired him.”
“How’s he doing?” asked Eric.
“So far so good. His name is Branson. Andy Branson,” said Marcus. “He works hard enough and so far he seems to get along with everyone. I’ll keep him on probation until I’m sure, but I don’t have any reason to think he won’t work out.”
“Good. Anything else?” Eric waited until both men shook their heads and then he stood. “I’ll help with prep today.”
“Are you cooking tonight?” asked Marcus, his eyes wide.
It was unusual for Eric to put in more than a quick appearance in the kitchen unless it was a holiday or special occasion. The idea held more appeal than it had in a long time, but he didn’t want to leave Julie any longer than he had already, and he had to be on the set of the morning show by five the next morning.
“No,” he said with some reluctance. “I can help set up and then you have the kitchen until the day after tomorrow. I’ve got the TV segment in the morning and meetings in the city the rest of the day. I won’t be back until dinner service Friday night.”
Eric followed John and Marcus out into the kitchen, closing his office door behind them.
The line was already busy, with the sous chefs and prep cooks breaking down the ingredients for that night’s dinner service. Eric moved into place beside one of the newer cooks, a fresh faced woman who looked impossibly young in spite of her sleeve of tattoos and the row of piercings along one ear. As he watched, she expertly separated a rack of rosy pasture-raised veal into individual small chops, her knife moving with speed and precision honed by hundreds of hours of practice.
He trimmed a loin, removing the silver skin from the rich garnet colored meat. He looked up and smiled at her when he realized she’d stopped what she was doing to watch him.
“Sorry, chef,” she said, blushing when she saw that he’d caught her.
“It’s okay,” he said, finishing the loin with a few quick strokes. “I learned from watching other chefs, too. And you’re doing good work there.” He motioned to the plate of chops and she grinned.
“Thanks, chef.”
Had he ever been that young?His twenties felt impossibly far away most days. At least they had until Julie reappeared in his life. She brought something back with her. Something from the summer they’d spent together before Paris and the cookbooks and the celebrity endorsements. Something he hadn’t even realized he’d missed.
