“What did you sabotage?”
Julien’s mouth twitches. “Nothing.”
“Julien.”
He folds his arms.
“If I tell you, it isn’t a test.”
“If I discover you’ve hidden shellfish allergies in table notes again, I’ll make you personally apologize to every langoustine in the walk-in.”
“That seems time-consuming.”
“We have six days.”
Julien’s face stays composed, but his eyes give him away.
“You are in a generous mood.”
“I’m in a precise mood.”
“That is what you call generous when no one is bleeding.”
I hand the schedule back to him. “Run it.”
Julien turns toward the kitchen and raises his voice.
“Full-room simulation in twenty minutes. We run the opening menu exactly as written. No one improvises unless they’re dying, and even then, they should make an effort to die quietly.”
Thomas looks up from his station.
“Yes, Chef.”
Elise says, “Understood, Chef,” without lifting her eyes from the tray.
Marc wipes his hands on a towel and says, “Finally.”
I look at him. “Finally?”
Marc pauses because he is intelligent enough to know when enthusiasm has become evidence.
“I meant we’re ready, Chef.”
“No, you meant you were bored with preparation.”
Marc says nothing.
“That’s dangerous,” I say.
“Bored cooks make expensive mistakes.”
“Yes, Chef,” Marc says.
“Good. Try not to become interesting today.”
Julien walks past me and says, “That was almost motivational.”
“I’m expanding my range.”
