Appetizer

by Blane Thomas

  “There are uniforms of different sizes in that wardrobe,” Ryan pointed to the cupboard in the corner. “Put one on and quickly meet me in the kitchen. I am going to introduce you to everyone.”

  Before Corey had a chance to thank Ryan for the opportunity, the executive chef had already flown out the office, leaving the door closed behind him. Corey was left alone in stuffy, cold office. A window was open and it let the cold air of outside in. Taking a deep breath, he put his knife bag down and walked over to the cupboard. Inside were freshly laundered uniforms wrapped within clear plastic coverings. Nervously, he took a pair from its hanger and laid it on the office chair. A mid-length mirror abutted the wall, and Corey looked at his own reflection.

  Removing his coat, then shirt, his torso was caressed by the cold air of the room. Shivering ever so slightly, he rubbed his hands together. At perfectly six feet tall, Corey was leaner than he was muscular. Brown hair formed a thin carpet around his chest. Tiny goose bumps protruded around the darker brown, coin sized areolas in response to the chill, giving him a slight tingling sensation.

  He tried on the white chef coat. It was too large for him. So was the pair of trousers. Wanting to save time, he stripped the uniform off, standing in the middle of Ryan’s office in only a pair of black briefs. It was at that moment that Corey was reminded of impending laundry day. He was down to his last pair of clean briefs. While the front pouch cradling his rather hefty cock was a solid black, the fabric covering his entire intimate area was stretch of black mesh with the tiniest of fishnets. His ass facing the mirror, he could see that the underwear left nothing to the imagination when it came to his perfect twin globes. The dark brown birth mark on his left buttocks could be visible through the porous fabric.

  Though he had not hit the gym in weeks, his body was in more than decent shape. The wide shoulders tapered down at an angle to the smaller circumference of his waist, before swelling up to reveal toned hips, thighs and calves. Having run during his college and culinary arts school years, the exercise gave him the most delectable V-lined obliques.

  He absent-mindedly reached for another shirt in the cupboard when the door suddenly flew open and thudded noisily against the wall. Corey gave out a yelp.

  “Ryan, I want to talk to you about…,” a cold voice called out.

  In the dimness of Ryan’s office, Corey could only see the silhouette of his intruder. But there was no mistaking it. The outline of the man had been burnt into Corey’s mind. He remembered how the high cheekbones jutted out; the messy yet stylist pompadour, decorating a long face. Though Corey would not see the man’s face, he knew that this was the same man who had earlier collided with him outside Trainyard. All he could do was stand in an awkward angle, dressed in nothing but his meshed underwear, his butt facing the intruder at the door. There was something about his presence that extinguished the only little warmth the room had to offer.

  “He…, he’s not here,” Corey stammered. “I’m just…”

  But the man was not listening. He peeked over at Ryan’s table. Conceding that the executive chef was not in his room, the mysterious figure walked away, leaving the room wide open.

  Furious, Corey recovered from being petrified and slammed the door shut. With trembling hands, he turned the lock on the door. Unable to focus on anything but the man’s presence, he wiped away a tear and bit his lip, wanting the pain and humiliation to go away. He could not understand why he felt so degraded when he met the man’s face. It was as though he had the power to easily make Corey submit! Twice, within the span of thirty minutes or so, the man had easily shamed Corey without saying a word. Rude, callous, without an apology, he had reduced Corey to an infinitesimal being.

  Corey hoped that it would be one of those chefs he did not have to work with, but that was highly unlikely. When it came to staging, Corey had to assist all the chefs in the kitchen, and there was no way Corey would be able to avoid him.

  Buttoning up the warm, white coat, he took another deep breath and brushed his hair back with his fingers. Green eyes stared back from the mirror and he blinked.

  “You got this,” he said to himself.

  Chapter 2

  The chefs in a restaurant kitchen worked in a seamless dance. Three chefs worked different tasks to put on a five-course meal for its elite clienteles.

  When Corey stepped into the kitchen, Ryan beamed and took him by the hand. They walked over along the L shaped kitchen to a woman with her hair tied in a bun. Though no fire sizzled, the chefs worked quietly to prepare their mise en place – an array of ingredients arranged meticulously in front of them, to be cooked as when requested by the patrons. Potatoes were scraped. Somewhere, the clinking of wine glasses sounded like the peals of a hundred bells. Everything in the kitchen was both chaotic and precise.

  The prep area had three stoves, each designated for one of the three chef de partie of Trainyard. All Corey could see were the bodies of two other chefs on the opposite. He gulped, knowing that the rude one was probably one of the two, though he could not say. Pots and pans hung across a horizontal, metal pole along the length of the prep area, obstructing his vision.

  “Lalitha,” Ryan said quickly, “…this is Corey. Corey, this is Lalitha. She’s my most experienced cook in Trainyard!”

  The chef turned from her task, dicing carrots, without stopping.

  “You’re the intern?” she spoke in the most delicate of accents. A smile appeared on her round face.

  “Yes, chef!” Corey said. All thoughts of the intrusion of the mysterious chef evaporated. He ached now to have his hands touch a knife, slice an onion, anything!

  “You’re preparing the duck confit today?” Ryan asked, looking at Lalitha’s work station.

  “Yes, chef!”

  “Good, so you get all the help you need from Corey over here!” The executive chef beamed. “Corey has experience. Teach him the ropes.”

  Then, the older, stocky man turned to Corey and wished him good luck. “Stick close to Lalitha. If you have any questions, ask her. Don’t worry, she won’t bite!”

  Corey nodded enthusiastically.

  Lalitha swept up the carrots from knife to hand, and gingerly dropped them into a small ceramic bowl in front of her. Already, her mise en place was beautifully assembled, without an ingredient spilt out of its bowls.

  “The duck legs are already in the oven. It still has about 3 hours to go.” Lalitha pointed below her. “I will need you to take them out later and get them ready for plating. Now, help me with these spuds.”

  While peeling potatoes, Corey learnt that the Trainyard had two other chefs; one named Keith and another, Gus. Lalitha, in the middle of also making the entrée, was stirring the soup while her mouth rattled on. Occasionally, a clean spoon was put into the brew, and she tasted it with a frown on her face.

  “Does this taste good to you?” Lalitha asked Corey who stood next to her. A bowl of thirty or so peeled potatoes were nestled cleanly inside a large plastic bowl.

  Corey took a taste of the soup from the large pan. He thought that it was creamy enough, but it needed something to give it a sweeter hint. But what was it?

  “Needs cilantro,” came a cold voice from across the kitchen. “You don’t need to ask an intern to taste it. They don’t know anything anyway.”

  “Zip it, Keith.” Lalitha rolled her eyes.

  Corey’s face fell at the snide remark that came hurtling out of nowhere. It had come from one of the other chefs who was working on the other side of the prep area. He knew then that the owner of those long, thin fingers now chopping basil, the man who had shamed him twice that morning, had a name.

  Keith.

  Corey stood there with a downcast look on his face. “Ignore, Keith,” Lalitha said in a low voice. “He is the biggest cunt in Trainyard. And that’s coming from me. Ryan never allows any interns to work with him. Dude has one of the foulest tempers I have ever seen in a person, ever!”

  Corey reached for the cilantro requested by
Lalitha. His hands occasionally caught the glint of Keith’s knife, cutting the herbs at breakneck speed. That man was no ordinary chef. The way his knife moved implied that he had been doing it for many years. Hypnotized, Corey continued watching from his workstation as the partially hidden chef worked on his appetizers.

  “Does he work well with you guys?” Corey asked over the sizzling of meat from the other side. He smelt the aromatic sweetness of meat caramelizing. Gus, whose station was diagonal to Lalitha, was in charge of steak today.

  “Keith’s got the social skills of a skunk,” Lalitha grinned, stirring her soup.

  “He smells bad?” Corey asked amusedly. “Is that allowed in the kitchen?”

  The chef laughed. “Oh, my god, no! What I mean is he keeps people at bay. No one is allowed to go near him, at all times. He does the prep, cooking and assembly by himself. Does not trust ANYONE, and I mean, ANYONE, to do it. If he is in charge of the main course and he cannot take on the job of the assembly, only Ryan can do it.”

  “He makes the executive chef do it?” Corey asked. “Doesn’t Trainyard have a sous chef to oversee such matters?”

  “Who? Brianna? She left last week. Said she wanted to go to greener pastures somewhere in the West Coast. Nice girl. The only one who could tolerate Keith’s nonsense too, actually,” Lalitha replied. “But anyway, yeah, that’s that. Keith now demands that Ryan helps assemble his dishes. Doesn’t even allow Gus or I to help out!”

  Lalitha tasted the soup once more and smiled.

  “Why doesn’t he trust anyone to do it?”

  “Ryan once had an intern help with the staging of Keith’s meals once,” Lalitha’s voice dropped. “Pretty girl, blonde, tall, we suspect she was Ryan’s new fling trying to get into the restaurant business. Poor girl did not know what hit her.”

  “What happened?” Corey asked. He was done peeling the potatoes.

  Immediately, Lalitha snapped her fingers. “Rule number two of the kitchen, even when gossiping, your hands need to be constantly on a particular task! Start with the custard for the crème caramel please!”

  “Oh… right!” Corey fumbled around. He put down the peeler and got out a bowl and whisk.

  As he started whisking some eggs, Lalitha leaned in. She was bent diagonally, supporting herself on one foot, the other extended out. One hand still stirring the pot, she cupped the other towards Corey’s ears. “The girl was doing a pretty fine job but she fell short of Keith’s impossible standards.”

  Lalitha regaled the story of how Keith took a plate of ravioli with asparagus, an inadvertently threw it at the wall.

  “He did what? Why would he do that?”

  “Said her assembly was sloppy. One button mushroom, which was supposed to be a decorative piece, was not browned properly. So, he took and threw the whole dish away and yelled profanities at her. Said that she was ‘an untalented hack’ and that ‘the smear of pea puree looked more like something from an infant’s diaper.’”

  Corey gulped.

  “The point is, Keith is a bully, but Ryan puts up with it. Says that Keith is this really great chef that we can’t do without. I don’t see it. His work is above mediocre at best, but hey, if Ryan wants him, we’ve all got to deal with it, I guess.”

  With that, Lalitha went back to her soup, occasionally taking in the sweet scent emanating from the soup. The hectic hour was almost upon them when Ryan came around the kitchen, calling all the chefs to assemble.

  “That means you, too,” Lalitha hissed, patting Corey on the shoulder.

  Wiping their hands on small towels, they stood in front of Ryan. It was the first time Corey was ever in a pre-lunch hour meeting. Standing next to Lalitha, he dared just the slightest of peeks to his left. A towering figure of a curly red-haired large set man was next to Lalitha. This had to be Gus. Gus was so large, he easily eclipsed the chef who stood to the left most part of the line, Keith. Corey was adamant in getting one last look at Keith. Something about the way he behaved in the kitchen intrigued him. If he was such a difficult chef, why was Ryan willing to close one eye over his transgressions?

  “All right, guys,” Ryan said, addressing the four of them, “… we’ve got a full house today. Lalitha, how are those confits coming along?”

  “Just fine, chef. We still have an hour left on them. Soup for the entrée is almost done, too.”

  “Gus? Steak?”

  “All ready for the clients. And the sponge cake is currently baking. It will be done in 90 minutes.”

  Ryan frowned. “That is a little too long. Sharpen up next time, please.”

  “Yes, chef!” came the deep reply.

  “Keith, you are in charge of the appetizers today. Anything to report? How are the two dishes coming along?”

  “You don’t have to micromanage me, chef. I know what I am doing,” came the sharp, simple reply.

  Corey was shocked with Keith’s audacious nature. He could see two lines deepen along Ryan’s forehead, but the executive chef was quick on his feet.

  “I don’t want any behaviour problems from any of you. We have an intern here today, Corey, and he is paired up with Lalitha for the day. As always, keep the standards to perfection, because he will be absorbing everything that you teach him from here on!”

  After laying out a few more orders for the chefs, Ryan dismissed them back to their workstations. Gus walked over to Corey and gave him a bone crushing handshake.

  “The new intern, eh? Pleased to meet you!” He slapped Corey on the shoulder.

  Corey smiled at being so welcomed at the Trainyard. Keith did not bother to introduce himself to Corey however. He was already back at his station, frying the asparagus in one pan. This time, Corey was granted a partial view of Keith’s profile.

  From the side, Keith’s hair was messily combed backwards. The sides were slightly shaven. On his left ear was a single, clear ruby stud. Clean shaven, he had the slightest of pouts on his lower lip that was rather captivating. If he were standing alone in the middle of the street, there would be nothing magnetizing about Keith. But with his right hand on the frying pan, his left reaching for a wooden spatula, his entire frame and attraction suddenly developed tenfold. He occupied the space within the kitchen like a glove. The long fingers lovingly cradled the spoon as he continued frying his vegetables. It was like a dance, but not for the entertainment of others, but for himself. The man was in his own world when it came to cooking; and was devoid of distractions.

  “Corey!” Lalitha called out from her work station.

  He did not realize that he had been staring at Keith. Shaking his head out of the reverie, he returned to Lalitha and helped her prepare the crème brulee, which was to be one of the desserts for the day.

  When lunch hour came, Corey had to put all thoughts of Keith at the back of his mind. This was when the clients would begin ordering their food. The headwaiter poked his head through the small gap separating the dining room from the kitchen, yelling out his order, and Ryan, who was the coordinator, would write down the orders while assisting wherever the chefs may need help. Corey noticed that Ryan would occasionally dart between Lalitha and Gus’ stations, but never Keith’s. It was as though the executive too kept the chef at arm’s length.

  “I need 10 asparagus, Keith!” Ryan suddenly yelled out of nowhere. “Ten!”

  It was a normal practice for chefs to acknowledge orders with a ‘Yes, Chef!’ but none came from Keith. All Corey could hear was the sizzling of vegetables and clattering of plates from Keith’s station.

  But true enough, within ten minutes, ten plates of asparagus were neatly assembled and carried to the pickup station.

  Lalitha beckoned Corey silently to go see the plates of asparagus that had been assembled by Keith. “Go on. Just take a quick glance.” She smiled. The duck confit was soaking in a large pot of oil. She was laying out plates to prepare for the main course.

  Corey walked over to the pickup line where the plates of food were put for the waiters to collect an
d bring to their patrons. On the large, rectangular marble platform were ten of the most brilliantly assembled asparagus dish he had ever seen. Each plate had three asparagus stalks arranged to form a kind of snowflake, one atop another. Though fried, they retained their shiny rigidity. Apple slices were cut into spiralling ribbons, and they twirled around each asparagus stalk, forming a spring like perimeter around the snowflake. Even when the vinaigrette was drizzled across the plate, it was not sloppy. Each plate had the same streak at the same length, all touching the asparagus at the same spot. Corey thought that each of the ten plates were mirror images of each other.

  “Fucking hell,” he whispered. It was nothing like he’s ever seen before. He looked at Keith, who was now preparing for another round of appetizers.

  Two waiters silently came from beyond the kitchen pass and gingerly picked up the plates to be served. Corey wanted to yell at them suddenly for removing such an elegantly crafted piece of art from him. He felt like the waiters had stolen his will to live, to be lost within the elegant hypnosis conjured up by each of Keith’s dishes.

  Walking back to Lalitha, he shook his head.

  “That…,” he said impressively, “… was something else.”

  Lalitha had wanted Corey to agree with her. The left eyebrow went higher than necessary as she casted him a sceptical look. “Was it really that good?”

  Lalitha’s body language became guarded. It was evident to Corey that Lalitha did not share her sentiments when it came to Keith’s cooking and presentation. Reluctantly, he knew he had to lie to appease her. He wanted her to like him.

  “Not really. It was just like you said, mediocre,” Corey whispered. He did not want Keith to overhear his lie.

  The bun-haired chef beamed widely. “Right? Said that he wasn’t that good, didn’t I? I don’t understand why Ryan likes him so much!”

  Lulled into thinking she had recruited another ally to hate on Keith, Lalitha went back to preparing her confit. She also beckoned Corey to join her in plating and assembling the main course. Her hands moved speedily, without trepidation. Darting fingers in and out of the mise en place, she needn’t look at the many bowls and its condiments and ingredients. Lalitha had their locations all memorized. Once, her hand even slapped Corey’s wrist for being too sloppy with the location of the thyme that was to be parallel to the duck’s thighbone.