“I really do appreciate your help,” I say again, throwing Mia a grateful smile. She grunts, shrugging off the compliment.
“Well, buckle up. Second seating is gonna start any minute now.”
As if on cue, the kitchen fills with the buzz of the ticket printers. The first dinner orders have started rolling in. A moment later, Oren strides over to our station.
“You ready, Berman?” he asks. I nod, lifting my chin resolutely. “Good. Because it’s showtime.”
From there, things move quickly. Within minutes, we’re swamped with salad orders, and I begin grabbing the dishes as quickly as Mia plates them, swinging them over to the pass.
“Service!”
Oren jogs over. “What table?”
“Um…”
Panicked, I turn to Mia. “Nine,” she responds coolly, glancing at the ticket. Thank goodness each station has its own printer.
“Nine,” I repeat. “And the hummus bowl is on twenty-two.”
Oren smiles approvingly but there’s no time to revel in my success. A flurry of white dishes soars past me, landing on the pass for plating. Timers ring out.
“Service!” Chef calls.
“To the pass!”
The buzzing of the printers is faster now, barely a moment of silence between each order. Two hours whirl by before they finally slow down again, and the entire atmosphere of the kitchen seems to exhale. Breathless, I take a glance around: the team is red-faced and sweaty, slowly bringing their messy stations back to order. Slumping against the metal counter, I take a long sip of water from my thermos. Just then, a plate of hummus and pita slides across the counter toward me.
“You should eat something. New cooks always forget to eat on their first night.” Ethan, the pastry chef, is standing in front of me, a small smile playing on his lips. He nudges the plate forward. My stomach growls and I realize he’s right—I’d been too nervous to partake in family meal, and now I’m starving.
“Wow, thank you,” I say gratefully. I pick up a piece of bread, dip it in the hummus, and pop it into my mouth. Ethan opens his mouth to say something further just as Oren lumbers over.
“Hey, nice job tonight,” he says.
“Thanks!” I manage, swallowing quickly. “I had a lot of fun.”
Oren leans over, grabbing a piece of pita off my plate and stuffing it into his mouth.
“So… can you start on Friday?”
My face splits into a wide smile. “Really?” A rush of excitement pumps through my chest. All my hard work, the struggles, the disappointment that led to this moment were worth it.I did it.I’ve finally gotten my first restaurant job.
He grins. “Yep. And service is rounding to a close, so we should be able to head out of here in an hour, once we finishmiseand clean-down. Join us at the bar?”
THE FIRST THING Ido when I step out of the service entrance is take long, greedy gulps of the cool night air. I can’t believe how fresh it feels in my lungs after spending the last twelve hours straight in the kitchen.
Crossing the street, I follow Oren and Ethan to Freddie’s, a wood-paneled pub that seems to be entirely filled with members of the food service industry.
Even though it’s well after eleven, and we’ve all been working for hours, the crowd inside is buzzing with energy. We make our way to the back, where Oren exchanges high fives with the bartender, a curly-haired man in his mid-forties.
The bartender retrieves a glass from beneath the bar and pours a glass of whiskey for Oren, which I find strange considering I hadn’t heard him order anything. I guess the staff really does come here nightly; the bartender seems to have memorized their orders.
“The team comes here almost every night after work. The closers will meet us a little bit later,” Ethan says, as though he’s read my mind. He slides onto a stool next to me, resting his elbows on the bar. Now that he’s changed out of his chef whites and into a light blue T-shirt that makes his blue eyes pop, he looks at least five years younger.
“Seriously?” I ask incredulously. “Aren’t you guys exhausted?”
He shrugs, running a hand through honey-colored curls. “When you work the kind of hours we do, there isn’t a lot of downtime. You need a place to blow off steam, you know?”
A sense of displeasure creeps through my body. Now that I’m staff, will I be expected to go out every night as well? The thought is wholly unappealing.
