With food still in her mouth, she just nodded slowly and said, “It’s heavenly.”
He clapped his hands together and smiled. Viktor looked young, younger than Cierra, in fact, and she was curious about how he had ended up with a gig like this. And how much it paid.
The rest of the evening was lovely; Viktor did not disappoint, and she was happy that Mia had dragged her along. The following courses were brilliant, and for dessert, he flambeed a twist on a Baked Alaska, eliciting gleeful cheers from the inebriated guests as flames emanated from the marshmallow-y dome containing carrot sponge cake and salted caramel ice cream.
As he headed back to his station after the last course, Cierra stopped him. “Um, this is a strange question, but can I go back with you?” she asked timidly. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a kitchen. I’d love to chat more about your work.”
Andrew and John exchanged intrigued looks, and Viktor seemed all too happy to invite her back.
“Sure thing, I’d be happy to.”
Cierra asked him questions about his journey and how he came to be a private chef. He told her he’d only lasted a couple of years at another notable restaurant before becoming incredibly burnt out. It seemed like he had run into similar issues — loving to cook but hating restaurants and all that came with it. Then he showed her his Instagram. He had nearly eighty thousand followers, which made Cierra’s eyes bulge. “How did you manage all this?!”
“Well, I wanted to try out new recipes, and I figured if I couldn’t share them with my guests, why not try to share them with the world?”
“But weren’t you scared? Isn’t there a lot of competition?”
“I was a little nervous at first, sure. I was worried people wouldn’t take me as seriously if I was an ‘Instagram’ chef. But then I thought, well, I am a chef. I have a lot to offer. I guess I was at a point where the uncertainty or judgment was a better option than hating where I was, but doing nothing about it. Know what I’m saying?”
Cierra nodded solemnly, embarrassed that she hadn’t previously realized how common so many of her problems were. She smiled gratefully at Viktor. While to him it was probably just another night, for her, it was an awakening about her next steps.
“You know, with your experience, you’d be a great private chef. I know you said you have some other opportunities lined up, but if you’re interested, there’s a couple here on the huntfor one. The wife’s name is Zella, I think? Or Zel . . . something funky.”
Cierra thought about the glamorous punk-rock woman who she had come in with. “Zelda? Zelda Lawson?”
“Yes! The Lawsons — those are the ones. They asked me if I’d be available at the last function, but I’m pretty tied up between part-time gigs for three other families and, honestly, I’m barely managing that.”
“But I don’t understand. How do you make money working for just a few families?”
Viktor laughed and then lowered his voice. “Oh wow, you really don’t know how this shit works. What the hell were they teaching you over at Terra, huh? Actually . . . that figures.” He straightened up. “Listen, these rich people will pay you north of $100k a year to help them meal prep, go on vacations with them, and to help with whatever social nonsense they’re doing.” Viktor shook his head. “Sorry, I’m rambling. What I’m trying to say is, if you have any interest — you should seriously think about giving it a go. With Michelin experience? They’d want to hire you in a second, for bragging rights alone.”
“But how do you find new clients?”
“I’m telling you — social media. At this point, it’s mostly word-of-mouth, but when you’re getting going, it’s all about content. If you post, they will come.” Cierra stayed with Viktor for maybe half an hour longer in the kitchen before eventually returning to her seat.
As entertaining as the rest of the evening was, Cierra’s mind was busy racing with ideas. The path Viktor had chosen for himself had inspired her and made her question whether she had been looking in all the wrong places for her next move. Further down the table, she saw Zelda and Elliot laughing with their heads thrown back, as Mia appeared to be in the middle ofan animated story. Cierra slowly took another sip of wine. She had a plan.
Mia was right; it was good to get out of the house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Cierra was wide-eyed and, for the first time in what felt like a year, optimistic towards her career direction. Before leaving the dinner party, she’d approached Zelda and Elliot, telling them that Viktor had mentioned their current predicament and how she might help. Despite her lack of experience with being a private chef, Zelda was intrigued at the mention of Cierra’s Michelin-starred resume, and Elliot looked all too happy to go along with his wife. They scheduled an interview for that Tuesday, which was in two days.
After making herself some coffee, Cierra headed to Mia’s dining table overlooking Central Park and realized that, if all went well, soon she wouldn’t have this view anymore. Not daily, that is. And while she’d miss it, she was desperately ready to get on with a new job and the freedom which would come with having her own space.
A notification chimed on her phone, distracting her from the view, and she was shocked to see a message from Julian. It was in response to her apology the previous day.
Julian: Haha no worries, we’ve all been there. How have you been?
She paused, re-reading the message. That’s it? She hadn’t completely blown it?
Cierra: I’ve been good, went to a dinner party last night. It was . . . interesting lol what about you?
Julian: Interesting, huh? I’m alright. Work, catching up on sleep, the usual. You busy today?
She thought about her upcoming interview with the Lawsons, but she had plenty of time to prepare for that.
Cierra: Not really. Have an interview in a couple days, so might do some research later. You?
