Keith

by Dale Mayer

  He smiled. “I’m not asleep, just resting. Boy, that coffee sure smells good.”

  She walked in and set the tray on a small table, unloading the contents. “I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought milk and sugar, just in case.”

  “Normally nothing,” he said. “Definitely not sugar but sometimes a little cream, depending on how strong it is.”

  She added a little milk and passed him the coffee cup. “I’m not sure if you’re up for pasta or not, but check this out.” She held up her phone to show him a picture. “One of my guys just finished making these.”

  He looked at it in surprise. “Fresh noodles?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll have pasta,” he said. “Lunch or dinner?”

  “We might split it and do both,” she said with a frown. “Or we might leave half the noodles to dry and have them in a couple days.”

  “Well, whatever you do, save me a little bit,” he said. “I can’t get much down, but I would really enjoy some fresh pasta.”

  “Have you ever had it?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. My mother used to make it,” he said with a smile.

  “In that case, we better tell Robin it’s available too,” she said.

  He laughed at that. “Yeah, I don’t think she’d like it if I got special treatment andshe got left out.”

  “Well, you are a patient, after all,” she said, as she walked back over to the door. “Now you better drink your coffee, then get a little more sleep if you can. Otherwise, wake up and enjoy the day.”

  He lifted the cup and took a tiny sip, then leaned back with a blissful sigh.

  Still chuckling, she headed down the hallway.

  As soon as she walked in the kitchen, Gerard looked at her and smiled. “Now that’s an interesting look on your face.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, not really understanding what was on his mind. But, then again, it was Gerard after all.

  “You like him,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “What’s not to like?” she said. “The guy has survived over thirty surgeries. I’d like anybody who was still finding a way forward after being as patchworked and pieced-together as he is. If nothing else, I like his grit.”

  “And that’s something you’ve always admired, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I admire anybody who deals with adversity and still gets up.”

  “Because you have done so too,” he said with a nod.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

  “Better than teasing you? No,” he said with a laugh. “But I am sitting here, wondering what I want to do with the pasta. I made a lot.”

  “I was wondering, as I walked back down, about using half of it today and letting the other half dry out a couple days to be used later.”

  “You know something? That’s not a bad idea. I wouldn’t be at all unhappy to try some more fresh pasta next week—or maybe some raviolis.”

  “I’m up for that too,” she said. “I think I’ll make some fresh bread this morning. Maybe a double-baked Swiss loaf.” Putting down her cup, she grabbed a big bowl and starting measuring ingredients.

  “I still don’t understand how you can keep all those recipes in your head,” he said, as he watched her.

  She smiled, adding the yeast and just enough warm water, plus a dab of sugar, to proof before measuring the flour, and she had a ball of dough quickly mixed up. She tossed it from the bowl onto the marble counter and kneaded it. “I’ve probably got enough here for what, six loaves?” She thought about it and then took a knife, cut it into multiple long loaves, and said, “It’s not very much for breakfast. I guess what I probably should have done was double that.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “We always have so much variety at breakfast that not everybody even wants bread.”

  She nodded. “Then maybe we’ll add some raisins and butter to this loaf.”

  He immediately snatched up another one and said, “Let’s have cranberries and walnuts in this one.”

  Together, the two of them laughed as they created several breakfast rolls, instead of the double-baked Swiss bread she had started with. The other breads still used the same basic foundation recipe, but she could do so much more with these. By the time they finished adding lemon peel and extra butter to the last one, they had all six stretched out to rise, each a good two feet long.

  Other staff members were coming in, and two were in the back, already cooking the bacon for breakfast. The ham would go on next; then the sausages would work their way onto the big grill. Pancakes still had to be done. Then, of course, the eggs and all the extras.

  Dennis walked in just then, following his nose, smelling the coffee. “Wow. Every time you have espresso,” he said, “it’s like a hit to my heart, and it makes me smile.”

  “It’s a weird way of smiling,” she said.

  He walked past the open storeroom, stopped, and then whistled. “Man, I hope that’s for lunch,” he said. “I sure want some.”

  “See?” Gerard said. “Everybody wants fresh pasta.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Ask her who she delivered coffee to this morning,” Gerard said, nudging Dennis.

  He turned and looked at her in surprise. “You delivered coffee?”

  At his tone, she fisted her hands on her hips. “And what if I did?”

  He immediately held up his hands to ward off any comments and stepped back in mock terror.

  She just sighed. “What is it about guys and gals?”

  “Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Gerard said, “because you delivered coffee to a guy, and you came back with a special smile on your face.”

  She groaned. “Oh, my God, you two. The guy just got here, and he’s had a raw deal. He was awake, so I offered him coffee. End of subject.” But she watched Gerard and Dennis nudge each other, laughing like schoolboys. “Maybe you two would want to get some work done, huh? Everything ready for breakfast?” she asked, heading over to the latest arrival. “Need you to step up on the juices, if you don’t mind, and make sure the coolers are stocked.”

  Dennis called over to her, “I just came in to get a dozen juice bottles, but I’ll fill the big cooler instead, and we’ve got to get the coffee going. Are people out there now?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got six. I did a small pot for them and then refilled it, but we’ll have a bunch more now, so let’s get the big coffeemakers going.”

  And with the hustle-and-bustle happening in the kitchen with breakfast preparation, before long the rush was to get everything out on time and then, of course, to feed everybody. She stepped in the back of the cafeteria line and kept watch to make sure there was enough and that everything went smoothly. It was weird how one day the big run was on eggs, the next day no sausage would be left, then a few days would go by, and it seemed like nobody was even hungry at all, but then not a slice of bacon was left in the building.

  By the time breakfast was over, everybody was happy and settled, the dishes were well in hand, if not done, and they were already prepping for lunch. She had several roasts in the oven, and she left Gerard to deal with the pasta. She would do up a huge roasted veggie platter, so the preparation was underway for that.

  “I want something with fish,” she said to one of her guys. “What can we do that we haven’t done lately?”

  “How about we roll it up in parmesan and add a bit of a lemon zest to it.”

  She looked at him in surprise. Sammy hadn’t been with her very long, but he had some really good ideas. “You know how to do it?”

  He looked at her in surprise and then slowly nodded.

  “Good, you’re it,” she said. When he hesitated, she looked at him and said, “Questions?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I get that I’m it, but I don’t know how much to do.”

  She thought about that for a moment and said, “Let’s do twenty pounds.” She walked wit
h him into the freezer, and they pulled out fillets. By the time she had what she thought was a perfect amount, and they had them laid out on cookie sheets to thaw properly, he was already preparing the breading for them.

  “Remember. Not too strong,” she cautioned. “Lots of touchy tummies around here.”

  “I know,” he said, “but it’s a really good recipe.”

  “Sounds like it,” she said, “and we also have to make sure that, when we fry them up, it’s not greasy.”

  He hesitated before he said, “We could do it in the oven. That would be faster.”

  “Wouldn’t necessarily be as tasty though, correct?”

  He grinned with relief. “No, that’s exactly it.”

  “Well, we have the fryers,” she said. “We’ll have to set the temperature for fish, not for french fries, and then they’ll have to be babied.”

  “I got it,” he said.

  She watched him as he straightened his shoulders and stood a little taller. She nodded. “You do. So let’s see what you’ve got.”

  With that, he grinned and turned back to his dish.

  She wandered over to check on the roasted veggies. It was amazing just how much they shrunk down by the time they went through the oven, so, to end up with a great big roasting pan full of roasted vegetables, plus another full roasting pan for backup, meant that she would have to cook a good forty pounds of the raw veggies. She watched as they brought out the fresh parsnips. “Wow,” she said, reaching for a big long white one. “I haven’t seen anything this size for quite a few months.”

  “They look really good,” Jose said, as he picked up his chopping knife and started whacking away at them.

  She watched the veggie piles build up really fast. Then she grabbed the olive oil and drizzled it over them, throwing in rock salt and taking up her big pepper grinder. By the time all of the veggies were prepped, seasoned, and into great big roasting pans, all the ovens were ready, and everything went in.

  She walked over and turned the air conditioner up a little bit. By the time the ovens were running at four hundred degrees, the kitchens got very hot. She didn’t mind hot, but she didn’t want it getting so hot that they all got tired and too fatigued. Lots left to do.

  “Where are the desserts?” she called over to the far side of kitchen, where the sweet endings to a meal were being made. They had the usual things, like pudding, an institute staple. But also black forest cake, cardamom cake, and three pies, and it looked like Sandy was making some miniature crumbles. “Are you baking those?”

  “No,” she said, “these aren’t custards though. They are cream based.”

  “Interesting,” she said. She reached over with a spoon, snagged up a little taste, and nodded. “It’s a bit bland. Maybe a tad more vanilla.”

  Obediently Sandy picked up the vanilla, added a bit more, and mixed it in, then tasted it herself. “Yeah, you’re right.” And she went back to work, creating these parfaits. What Ilse thought was crumble on the top was just spices.

  With all of that on the go, she headed over to check on the basics, like bread, muffins, and buns that were done on another side of the kitchen. They had so many ovens going on a regular basis here that something was always cooking. As she watched, a whole mess of dinner buns came out of the oven. She smiled at the fresh yeast smell. “Do you have anything else to go in these ovens?” she asked Bert.

  “These buns are done,” he said. “I don’t have anything else to go in for”—he checked his watch—“about forty-two minutes.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, as she adjusted the temperature. “I’ve got six loaves to go in.”

  They quickly got those in; they only took fifteen minutes. Once they were done, she brought them out, quickly sliced them, and set them on the counter. Most of the breakfast foods were done, but still a lot of people came through looking for something light. As soon as they smelled the fresh bread, it disappeared quickly, and, with such a commotion at the cafeteria line, many of the people sitting down got up and came back for some.

  By the time she had a chance to turn around and to check the cafeteria line, all the loaves were gone, and just one tiny piece sat off to one side. She quickly snagged it up, stacked up all the pans the bread had been on, and brought them back in empty.

  The guys looked at her, then looked at the pans. One shook his head. “Those guys are pigs.”

  She laughed. “That they are, but they sure enjoyed it. One piece is left.” She handed it to Gerard.

  He snagged it, took a bite, and a blissful smile crossed his face.

  “Don’t tell me that’s your special bread you made this morning,” Sandy said sorrowfully.

  “It is,” Ilse said. “Nothing’s left.” She pointed at all the empty serving dishes. “It’s all gone.”

  Sandy shook her head. “Next time make twice as much.”

  Laughing, Ilse said, “It wasn’t even what I intended to make.”

  “That’s what you said last time too,” Gerard said. “It’s hardly fair when you don’t even intend to make something like this, and it turns out absolutely divine.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll have to do something else tomorrow,” she said. “I just like to have dough in my hands.”

  “Feel free,” Sandy said, “whatever you want to make.”

  “I might make a nut braid or something or other for dessert tonight,” Ilse said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  The trouble was that, even as she was thinking, her hands were working. Or at least wanting to work. She snagged up another big bowl, started measuring in flour, added two pounds of chopped butter, then walked over and grabbed ice water from the fridge. She added more salt and more yeast, while everybody surreptitiously watched her. She ignored them.

  She had recipes in her head from her grandmother and her mother, and this was an old favorite. It was super-superlight and fluffy, and, with the dough already mixed up, she chopped more butter in until it was flaky and almost too soft. Then she sprinkled out a bit of flour on the marble countertop, laid the dough there, and kneaded it gently. Then she kneaded more butter into it. By the time she was done, she had this huge ball of soft butter dough.

  “What will you do with that?” Gerard asked, standing at her side. He was boiling fresh pasta noodles and making a bacon and cream sauce beside her. Leftover bacon from breakfast had him tweaking his original cream sauce idea for the pasta, so he used all the bacon for that.

  She rolled out the dough quickly, then made up a brown sugar, walnut, and raisin mixture, placing a thick, heavy bead of it down the center. She then braided over the top slices that she had cut, closing it up on either end, leaving her with a great big soft buttery braid. She put it on the baking sheet, let it rise for twenty minutes, and, when that was done, popped it into one of the ovens that was about the right temperature.

  “Why is it you never seem to worry about temperatures?” Sandy asked thoughtfully. “Everybody is really specific about being so long at a certain temperature.”

  “There’s optimum, yes,” she said, not really paying attention. “The trouble is, not every oven is the same. You have to understand what your oven can do, and then you have to figure out what your leeway is on each item.”

  She waited twenty minutes. When she pulled it out, everybody walked over to take a look. It had risen and flaked, so now the walnut brown sugar center was gooey, inside this very buttery dough. Everybody just looked at her, and she laughed. “It’s for lunch.”

  “I thought you’d make something for dinner,” he said.

  “I was, and then I decided to do this.” She cut it into thin strips and carefully laid it on two separate plates so that it could be taken out for dessert at lunchtime. She left several slices in the pan and said, “But now it’s coffee time.” Everybody immediately grabbed one.

  Gerard pushed his over toward her. “Don’t you want a bite?”

  She looked at it, hesitated, “Maybe a bite,” she said. With her second cup of coffee
, she took a bite of his, then headed to her office. She got to play in the kitchen a lot, but that didn’t change or take away from the fact that she had a ton of paperwork to do as well.

  As soon as she sat down, she realized she probably should have taken a little piece of that to Keith. She walked back out, saw one piece still left there, and asked, “Is this mine?”

  Nearly in unison they all said, “Yes.”

  She immediately put it on a small plate and walked out. She heard Gerard say, “So much for her eating it. You want to take bets on where she’s going?”

  She sighed, knowing that just being friendly to a patient was causing her to be the butt of the gossip. She knew they meant it only in the best of ways, but it was still kind of irritating. She walked down the hallway to see one of the doctors stepping out of Keith’s room. He smiled at her, turned, and went the opposite direction. She stepped inside his room. “I know that you’ve got nothing but traffic coming and going here,” she said, “but I thought I’d bring you this.” She placed it on the small tray next to his bed.

  He looked at it in surprise. “Wow, I don’t even know what that is.”

  “I’m not sure I have a name for it either,” she said. “It’s one of my grandmother’s favorites.”

  Picking it up, he took a bite and sank back onto his bed. “My God,” he said, barely able to speak. “This is delicious.”

  “Good,” she said. “I did one huge loaf, which is cooling now, in order to go out for lunch.”

  “Man, I’ll get so fat while I’m here,” he muttered.

  “You could stand to put on some pounds,” she said, laughing. “You’re skin and bones.”

  He nodded. “The surgeries haven’t been too easy on me.”

  “No, but that’s done and gone. It’s a new day.” She looked at her watch and said, “I better get back. Lunch service will start here soon.”

  “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to go to the lunchroom,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve got a tablet there. Call Dani and ask her.”

  He looked at it in surprise and asked, “Can I do that?”