by Blane Thomas
Though separated from the kitchen, the walls dividing the kitchen and locker room were paper thin. Corey could hear the clinking of three plates against the metallic surface of the pickup counter.
Anger and a need for revenge overtook his shame. Corey stepped out of the locker room to find the pickup counter deserted except three porcelain white plates. Footsteps in the kitchen told him that Keith was heading for storage unit for the salter butter and caramel ice-cream.
He knew what had to be done.
Heart thumping, Corey quietly walked over to the main course Keith had prepared for Anais, Theo and Ryan. Though still livid by Keith’s mistreatment, Corey had to concede that the dishes exuded a profound glint of perfection. The ravioli, handmade by Keith a few hours ago, had an exquisite fluting around its sides. Each plate had three slices of caramelized venison on the left, brown as the tree barks of a conifer three. To its side was the circular porcini ravioli, made to seem as though its attached to the steak, though it was just a clever trick of Keith’s arrangement. It really did reflect the coniferous forest theme he was aiming for.
A waiter arrived at the pickup counter, his hands extended out for the plates.
“No, wait,” Corey said.
The waiter stopped and looked confused. “It’s not ready? Keith ringed the bell earlier,” he said.
“N… No,” Corey replied, thinking fast on his feet. “Just give me a minute. It needs some finishing touches.”
Praying that Keith was still in the storage unit, Corey ran towards Lalitha’s workstation, his heart thumping madly. What he was attempting was pure madness. He might get yelled at, or worse, fired, and have his name tarnished if this plan did not pan out. But Lalitha’s advice served as talisman.
He was going to put a little bit of Corey Littman on the main course. This was not going to be a purely Keith Harding achievement! Atop Lalitha’s workstation was a metallic bowl, immersed in hot water to keep its content warm. He removed the lid of the bowl, relieved to see his work still intact.
Unbeknownst to Keith, Corey had taken some time in between his preparation to prepare three pinecones to suit the forest theme of the main course. What made these pine cones amazing was the fact that they were assembled together using caramelized yellow onions. Each scale had the quintessential browning a normal pinecone echoed. He had been proud of this work – eager to share this with Keith. But now, Corey knew he must put his pinecones onto the dish without Keith’s approval, or awareness for that matter.
Keith’s words stung. And he needed to be taught a lesson, Corey thought. Fuelled by this desire to prove himself, Corey quietly took the bowl, not caring that the heat burned his fingers. Occasionally, he would look back to see if Keith was going to come out of the storage unit, but he didn’t.
The waiter was none the wiser over Corey’s plan. He just watched with polite interest as the junior chef placed the beautiful pinecone-shaped onions on each plate.
“Are those real pinecones?” he asked as Corey slowly pushed each pinecone to nestle in between the ravioli and venison.
“Onions. Do they look convincing?” Corey asked uneasily.
“Oh, my god!” the waiter gushed, much to Corey’s relief. “They look so real! Keith has really outdone himself this time!”
Corey did not have the heart to correct the waiter. Nervously waving him off, he watched as the three plates moved towards the dining area of the restaurant. Just as the waiter made a turn to the left into the dining room, Keith came out of the storage unit behind Corey.
The blonde chef did not acknowledge Corey’s presence at the pickup counter. He moved to his workstation to plate the desserts. He was unaware that Corey had added the pinecones to his main course. Corey was determined to not look at Keith’s direction. A tumult of emotions overcame him – exhilaration at having put his own element onto the plate; guilt from imposing his own creativity onto Keith’s dishes; pleasure from fulfilling his vengeance towards Keith; disappointment from the awareness the both of them had just exploited each other for their own gains…
Chapter 7
The desserts were served, and Keith hummed a small tune under his breath. He busied himself by placing the used pots and pans into the washing basins. The cleaners would come over around ten to make the kitchen spotless for tomorrow’s round.
He did not realize how much time had gone. Though his forearms and fingers ached, it also throbbed with a visceral kind of pleasure, at having crafted an atmospheric five-course meal for the patrons. It did not matter to him whether they liked it or not – they were not the true connoisseurs of the artform anyway.
“Keith!” Ryan called out from the entrance to the kitchen. “Anais and Theo want to meet you!”
He looked around to see his executive chef stand with breathless excitement on his face.
“What do they want, chef?” he replied, wiping his hand with a wet towel. “Is there a problem?”
“No, quite the contrary! They want to thank you personally!” Ryan huffed proudly. His slight double chin protruded out as he held his breath. “You’ve done it, Keith! You’ve made Anais Heart happy!”
“Like it was any surprise,” Keith rolled his eyes. “But do I have to meet them, chef? Can’t they just thank you instead?”
“Don’t be a stick in the mud! Come out, now!” Ryan laughed. But his eyes also denoted that it was an order. He did not want Keith to think that the chef de partie had an authority over him.
“Fine…,” came the reply.
“Where the hell is Corey?” Ryan asked, looking around the deserted kitchen. The chef assistant was nowhere to be seen.
Keith shrugged as he removed his apron. Unwilling to keep his guests waiting, Ryan jostled a sullen Keith out the kitchen door.
“Honestly, would it hurt you to smile a little?” Ryan asked, following Keith out of the kitchen.
“Yes, yes it would.”
Unwilling to bicker, Ryan gestured for Keith to follow him into the dining area. All the tables were empty except for one in the middle of the restaurant. Seated at the table were a rather sophisticated pair.
The pale looking woman was probably in her mid-forties. Faint lines ran along her cheek and forehead, adding more intelligence to her already sharp eyes contained within thick, square glasses. Her hair was covered with a shawl, tied to a frilly bunch hanging on her left shoulder. In front of her was a distinguished gentleman in his thirties. Tall and dark, his hair was cropped short, and the shirt he wore did little to contain the rippling muscles pressing underneath.
Keith had seen the man, Theo Devereux. He had of course heard of Anais Heart. Both did not hold much place in his heart, though for the former, the reason was more personal. They had slept together a couple of years ago.
Theo did not acknowledge this shared past when Keith and Ryan appeared by their table. Instead, he continued conversing with Anais, his deep voice cutting through the chilly restaurant succinctly. Anais was nodding to his every word, sipping her Bordeaux wine.
“Anais, Theo, I would like to present you, Keith Harding,” Ryan said magnanimously, gesturing for Keith to stand next to him. “He is your chef for this evening!”
Keith stood in front of the two of them, feeling awkward. He did not like being paraded in front of these so called ‘connoisseurs’ who deemed themselves as the true voice of fine dining. Who made them the arbiters? They had no such qualifications – except perhaps money. He gave Anais a curt nod as she lazily stared at him, her heavy eyelids giving him a once over. Theo, however, graced Keith with a slightly coyer smile, both of which Keith let pass over his head. He wished to be anywhere but in front of the two of them.
“Dinner…,” Anais drawled out slowly, as though about to announce the winner to a competition, “… was fantastic.”
Beside him, Keith could hear a discreet but relieved sigh escape Ryan’s breath.
“Thank you,” was all Keith could manage. He did not look directly into Anais’ eyes. There was somet
hing rather off-putting about her irises. To most, it may be perceived as intelligent, but all Keith could think of was ‘vulture-like’.
“Really, Keith!” Theo crooned seductively. “You’ve outdone yourself. Everything was spectacular from start to finish.”
Anais Heart nodded at this. She rubbed her diamond ring absent-mindedly, her face breaking into a small smile. “I especially enjoyed the presentation of the salad. C'était magnifique! And it tasted incroyable, too!“
“I’m glad you liked it, Miss Heart,” Keith said again, his voice devoid of emotions.
“And the main course, how quaint. The venison, and the ravioli…,” Theo began.
“Ah, yes.” Anais’ eyes widened. Her heavy lids pushed themselves upwards from excitement. “And… and the pinecone shaped onion slices! Genius! Pure, utter genius!”
Keith’s eyes widened. “I… I don’t understand. There was no…,” he stopped. He could not bear to finish his sentence. Clearly, his main course had been tampered with.
Theo raised his eyebrows. “No what?”
“N… nothing,” Keith mumbled, balling up his fist to keep his anger intact. He knew then that Corey had secretly added the onions onto the main course without his approval.
Anais was unaware of the typhoon raging within Keith’s mind. She went on and on about the presentation of the main course, cooing at how the onion pinecone elevated the whole dish to a whole new level. “The artistry, Theo! The artistry! And the elegance. How riveting it was to see such elegance on the plate! And not to mention, the ravioli and venison tasted amazing, too!”
“Anais, you compliment too much!” Ryan laughed comfortably. He reached for the bottle of purplish Bordeaux wine on the table and poured more into her cup.
Theo however, fixed his discerning eyes onto Keith. When the onions had been mentioned, he could see the microscopic nuances of Keith’s face suddenly change. Though still wholly impassive, the tiny crinkles of anger at the corner of his eyes were obvious to him. Anais continued raving about the whole five-course meal, and happily raised her almost full wine glass to Keith, toasting him for a fantastic experience.
Keith gave another curt nod and excused himself, leaving Ryan, Anais and Theo at the dining area. Overcome with fury, he stormed to the kitchen and opened the door forcefully. As the door hit the wall in a loud bang, a yelp came from the kitchen help, who was fastidiously washing the dishes. He ignored her and marched over to the employee locker room. No one was in there. He half ran, compelled by anger, towards Ryan’s room where he knew Corey often kept his bag. No one was in Ryan’s office, but he could see Corey’s bag still there. That rat was still in the restaurant somewhere.
Coming out, he walked to the kitchen help who could not help but stare. She was unused to seeing the usually quiet chef produce such a racket with his door slamming.
“Where is Corey?” he bellowed at her.
She flinched and let out a terrified squeak. “I… I saw him having a smoke out in the b… back, c… c… chef…”
He did not wait for her to finish the sentence, leaving her with a dirty plate in one hand, a still running jet-water hose in the other. She watched him fly towards the backdoor of the kitchen, eager that it was not her who was going to be at the receiving end of Keith’s rage that night.
Corey was out smoking when the backdoor flung open unexpectedly. He had stepped out of the kitchen for a cigarette to calm his nerves after tampering with Keith’s main course. Oddly enough, he wasn’t too guilty or afraid when Keith’s steely glance fell upon him. Corey blew out the smoke and threw the cigarette onto the floor.
“Why did you add the onions onto my main course?” Keith asked, the seams of his calm threatening to tear open. He tried his best to contain his rage.
“Didn’t they like it?” Corey asked obtusely. Though he was Keith’s junior in age and experience, he could not stand to be browbeaten by his senior.
“That’s not the point. Why did you tamper with my dish?”
“Because it is not YOUR dish solely, Keith. I had a hand in suggesting it to you! I deserve the credit, too!”
“Credit?” Keith laughed mirthlessly. “Is credit the only thing you want? Why don’t you just bend over and lick the critics’ assholes then?”
Keith’s laugh was the creepiest thing Corey had ever heard. It came from the throat of someone who was unused to lacing his words with pleasure or joy. Instead of conveying happiness or bemusement, his guffaw sounded extremely terrifying.
“Why are you mad, then? If credit does not matter to you, why are you mad? Did they hate the dish? Did they have something bad to say about my onions?” Corey challenged.
“They loved it,” Keith said a matter-of-factly. “But that’s not the point.”
“Jesus, Keith. What is the point, then? Why are you angry? They loved the dish! Isn’t that all that matters?”
Keith stepped forward. Rage was not a good colour on his already gaunt face. It made him look increasingly hollow, a furious man watching an enemy burn down his house. Without warning, he punched Corey in the stomach.
Corey grunted out in pain and doubled backwards. Clutching his abdomen, he keeled over, leaning against the wall. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” he gasped out.
Keith stood there, fist slightly extended, mid-air where it had struck Corey just a few seconds ago. He looked like a man possessed. “Never, ever touch my dishes ever again. I will let this go once, and once only.”
“You can’t stand the fact that I did something better than you,” Corey seethed angrily. Still grimacing in pain, he drew himself to full height. When Keith had struck him, it had also removed his fear and respect for the blonde chef. Now, all he saw was a jealous, insecure man in front of him. “Face it, Keith. You are just a sad, pathetic loser. Gus and Lalitha were right about you!”
“I don’t care what you think of me,” Keith said, his voice embracing its pallid tone once more. “Your existence from here on forth, is insignificant to me…”
Something about the way Keith had enunciated his words made Corey blind with white anger. He lunged forward and slammed his fist against Keith’s left cheek. The stubble on Keith’s cheek scratched against Corey’s knuckles.
The blonde chef staggered to the right, knocking a garbage bin in the process. The lid fell on the floor, clattering noisily into the silent, deserted narrow lane.
“You are the insignificant piece of shit here!” Corey screamed at Keith, whose gaze was averted from him. “YOU LOST TO ME, KEITH!”
Keith did not bother retaliating. He picked himself up and rubbed his left cheek where Corey had struck him. Against his already pale skin, it radiated in an angry purple bruise. A tiny trickle of blood oozed out the corner of his lips. Corey stood there in a defensive stance; fists out, knees bent, unsure if Keith was going to retaliate. But Keith merely stood there, his face registering no pain whatsoever at being punched. He looked at Corey passively before walking back into the kitchen without a further glance.
Corey stood there feeling like a fool. Livid, he went back into the kitchen.
“KEITH!” Corey yelled. He was still not done expending his anger.
But Keith was not listening. He was silently walking towards the other end of the restaurant.
Corey yelled out his name angrily again but was blatantly ignored. “Come back here!”
The kitchen help could only watch in timid curiosity as the brown-haired assistant chef chased after the blonde, senior chef. She saw the latter walk out the other door, heading into the dining area with the former in hot pursuit.
Corey half-ran to catch up with Keith. He was convinced that Keith was going to report this to Ryan in an attempt to get him fired. He had to put a stop to this, especially when Keith was the one who threw the first punch! Keith strode speedily, not once looking at Corey.
They both walked into the dining area, one chasing the other. Anais, Theo and Ryan were still there, conversing and laughing. It was Theo who saw
Keith approach their table first. He put his glass down and gave a curious smile at the incoming duo. Ryan’s face fell when he saw the angry welt on Keith’s face, and was horrified to see an angrier Corey pursuing behind. Anais, who was slightly sloshed from the wine, surveyed the entire scene without much of an opinion.
“Ryan, don’t listen to him…,” Corey spouted out, still a few meters away from them.
“Ryan, Ms. Heart, Mr. Devereux,” Keith cut across confidently, “… I have to admit that the pinecone-shaped onion slice that you gushed so much about, was not in fact my work. In fact, it was done by this chef right here, Corey Littman.”
Corey froze in his tracks. Though Keith’s back faced him, he heard every word enunciated as clear as a sunny day.
“In fact, the entire meal was actually possible because of him. He deserves all the credit, not me.”
Ryan Nicholson wished that the ground would swallow both his chefs up. He struggled to keep quiet, unable to defuse the situation.
Theo frowned. “Is this true… err…, what is your name again?” He lifted his muscular arm and gestured towards Corey to approach the table.
Corey was too dumbfounded to speak. He was fully aware of the significance of the duo seated in front of him. They were the true connoisseurs of fine dining. No one’s opinion but theirs mattered, especially Anais Heart’s.
“Corey Littman… sir. And yes, the… the pinecone was mine… my idea,” Corey stammered stupidly. He tried to speak coherently, but basking in the glory of such eminence rendered him dumbstruck.
“Now, Corey, don’t be modest,” Keith gave out a wan smile. Something in his voice made Corey uneasy. “Your entire contribution deserves to be heralded. Let it be known that you planned the five-course meal from start to finish, and I was the mere helper throughout all of this!”
“Then it is to you I have to raise my glass of wine!” Anais Heart simpered gleefully at a still stupefied Corey. She was red in the face from all the wine she had drunk.
“Are you a new chef in Trainyard?” Theo eyed Corey interestedly from head to toe. “I have not seen you before.”