by T. Neilson
Shit, really? He’d always prided himself on following in his father’s footsteps, running a respectful kitchen where people earned their places rather than stepped over the bodies of their former friends to become the next sous. But apparently it wasn’t quite as lovey-dovey as he’d always thought it was. Simon nodded. “Okay, okay. Thanks for letting me know.” He took another long sip of his coffee to give himself a minute to wrap his head around that. While he was sipping, Mark slid a paper over to him—the final draft of the proposed Luminara menu.
Simon glanced at Mark’s blue-ballpoint all-caps menu, and Mark cleared his throat. When Simon looked at him, Mark scratched one thick eyebrow and smiled and shrugged, all in one sheepish motion. He glanced at Jenny, who nodded with her whole body.
“What?” Simon asked.
“Ferreya,” Mark said. “There’s a two-star chef staying in town. It’d be ridiculous not to ask him if he wants to have a look at the menu.”
“No.” Simon felt a pinch of panic, a powerful desire to protect Luke from even the idea. He looked at Jenny and then Mark. “You guys, he’s out. Didn’t you hear him last night? He left the kitchen. He doesn’t want to work with food anymore.”
“I know,” Mark said, and he said it with a heavy significance that Simon couldn’t understand. “Can you imagine what that’s like?” he elaborated.
“Can you imagine how bad it must have been for him to get to that place?” Simon countered.
Mark nodded, his expression sober. “Terrible,” he said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it since last night. You know he spent the entire meal looking into the kitchen?” He shook his graying head. “You could see him wanting to get up and then stopping himself. I don’t think he tasted a thing on his plate,” he added with more sympathy than disappointment.
Simon sighed. Even though Luke professed happiness, he’d noticed the air of distraction, the unfinished glass of wine. “I bet it’s hard to turn off after a while. I guess celebrity is pretty exhausting.”
“Being in a kitchen is exhausting. Being in the industry is exhausting,” Mark said. “None of us do it because it’s easy, or for the pay,” he added with a faint smile at Simon, who spread his hands in an empty gesture. “I know,” Mark said soothingly. “The margins are tight. What I’m saying is, we do it because we’re all broken people. We love food more than we love money or rest. How about that?” he chuckled. “And people with Michelin stars? They’re the worst of us. They’re the most addicted. Those kitchens are brutal, and we all know that.”
Simon heaved in a deep breath. He knew only too well how many chefs Mark had nurtured in the brasserie’s kitchen, where Mark never raised his voice unless it was to be heard more clearly. People who trained under Mark rarely made it in other fine-dining kitchens, and not for lack of skills. They were far more likely to set up their own shops than take the abuse dished out in most kitchens.
“Maybe,” Mark went on, “maybe what he needs isn’t a break from the work. Maybe what he needs is a change.”
“Something quiet. Low pressure,” Jenny agreed.
Simon’s stomach clenched. “You guys.” He raised his hands in a calm-down motion.
“He came out to the brasserie… and with a food critic,” Mark said.
“Oh, come on,” Simon cried. “None of us have any friends who aren’t in the industry. You met your wife in the kitchen. You two didn’t even take a honeymoon.”
Mark conceded the point with a nod.
“Look, we wouldn’t be asking him to work,” Jenny said. “We’d be inviting him to give his opinion on the menu. Maaaaybe make some suggestions if he wanted to. No pressure.”
“We wouldn’t even set it up in the kitchen,” Mark added. “We could chat out here in the walnut grove.”
“That’s brilliant,” Jenny agreed. “It’s an outdoor menu anyway.”
“Oh my God, you two,” Simon interrupted. “He came out here to get away from everything.”
“Well, you know….” Mark bobbed his head from side to side. “I wonder.”
Simon gave him a flat look.
“You could ask him as a friend,” Jenny suggested. “That would be even less pressure.”
“The man clearly misses his work,” Mark said firmly.
“It’s mutually beneficial,” Jenny chipped in. “We want Luminara to be spectacular. His input could really put it over the top.”
“They’re right,” Ginger murmured. “We could use his help.”
Simon scrubbed his face with his hands. On the one hand, Luke was his friend, and he’d clearly made a decision that was hard for him. One the other… well, Mark was right. Even Simon had noticed Luke’s self-deprecating comments and his longing glances into the kitchen. Simon had seen chefs burn out before. Sometimes they ran too hot for too long and then suddenly bought a ticket to somewhere like Patagonia and vanished from the culinary scene. Maybe this trip was Luke’s equivalent of dropping off the map. But maybe what he needed wasn’t a complete break, just a step back—to work with his passion without the pressure to perform.
And there was Luminara and all that it meant to the hotel and next year. Simon groaned into his hands. They were right. They’d be stupid not to tap Luke’s palate and his experience.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Okay, okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll text him and ask him if he’d like to check out the new menu. Okay?”
Mark visibly perked up.
“And if he says yes, we’re just going to run it like a tasting. All right? Informal. Under the walnuts. He won’t even see the kitchen.”
Mark nodded. “Perfect.”
“And then if he says he wants to make some suggestions, fine. But let him initiate.”
Mark nodded again, and Jenny joined in too and grinned. Simon scowled at the two of them. “Listen you two. I will flip my shit if you try to get Luke into our kitchen. Understand?”
“Absolutely,” Mark said as he pushed himself to his feet. “We don’t want to force him into a kitchen again, just—” He framed a big circle in the air. “—make space for him to feel invited in.”
All at once, Mark’s phone chimed, and he got to his feet. “Well,” he said, smiling at Jenny, “I’m glad we got that done.” He nodded at Ginger. “Text me if I need to do anything for you. All right? I’ll have my phone on.”
Ginger nodded.
Simon frowned at Mark. “Are you heading out?”
Mark nodded. “I’m driving Helena to Coalville, remember?”
Actually Simon had forgotten. Mark’s wife had been having vision problems. The doctors thought it was migraines, but she had spent a whole day being tapped for blood and doing all kinds of tests, and the results were in. It wasn’t as though she could drive herself over there. “Text me if he says he’ll come. Okay? I need to tell the rest of the kitchen.”
Simon nodded.
“Great.” Mark’s grin was huge and boyish. “And if he likes that, maybe he could go tour the barns and the farm.” He had one hand on the doorframe but seemed like the kitchen was hauling him back. “If he goes to the farm, he should go in the morning, when everything is cool and you can still smell the herbs in the air. The gardens are perfect then.”
Simon shook his head, helplessly proud of Mark. “Do you want to be there if we go?”
Mark shook his head. “No, no. I’m a fellow chef. He won’t be able to stop himself from talking shop. Jenny shouldn’t go either,” he added. “Sorry.”
She shrugged.
“He should go with you,” Mark said. “Just friends. No pressure. Oh, and—”
Jenny sat back in her chair. “Mark,” she said, “it’s eight thirty.”
“Right.” Mark shook himself as though coming out of a dream. “Coalville.” He pointed at Ginger. “Let me know what I need to do for you.” He pointed at Jenny. “Take a look at the cream in the fridge. I think it needs a shallower pan.” Jenny nodded. He made finger guns at all of them. “See you guys later.”<
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When he disappeared, Jenny turned back to Simon. She had a satisfied smile on her face. “Oh, don’t look so worried, Simon. We’re not going to tie Luke up and throw him in cold storage or anything.”
He sighed. “Jenny, I do not have time to chaperone Luke all over the farm.”
Ginger suddenly turned her head just slightly and narrowed her eyes at Simon.
“I don’t.”
“Wouldn’t Luke do it for you?” Jenny asked.
Simon scowled at her. The answer was yes. In fact, considering the way Luke sought him out when he dropped out of culinary school and kept up with him online and kept him involved in the industry hotspots, he couldn’t help feeling that Luke already had.
“Touché,” he muttered.
Chapter Six
THANKS for the tip about the bakery!
The text from Luke flared to life on Simon’s phone. He fumbled a bit and then typed back, Did you like it?
Delicious. Tristan’s your brother?
Well, the cat was out of the bag on that one. God, he hoped Tristan had at least washed his face before Luke arrived.
Yeah. He’s a really great guy. Had a run of bad luck but he’s come back strong.
I heard about the fire. Crazy. Glad he’s back on his feet. Sounds like he deserves a little good luck.
Simon smiled at the phone. Yes, Tristan did deserve a little good luck. And if that good luck included a boyfriend who could, for example, afford to live off his own means instead of his sister’s, well, Simon wasn’t going to be obviously delighted about it, just privately delighted.
His guy seems good, Luke texted.
Agh. Simon slid down in his office chair and let his head come to rest on his paperwork.
He was there helping him out.
Simon frowned. Jake? Dark hair, scowls a lot?
That’s the one. Never saw a bakery with a bouncer before.
Well, okay. Simon did have to give Jake that. Glad to hear he was pitching in. Guy’s a bit of a deadbeat.
Tristan said you didn’t like him.
Simon groaned.
Got to run. Got a riding lesson. Haven’t been on a horse in years. Pray for me.
Simon laughed faintly and then turned off his phone and bit back a sigh. It was Monday morning, and Simon was in his office. Officially he was working, but in reality, he was staring out the window. The lake lay like a blue satin cloth in the bosom of the county’s green farmland, and with his window cracked open just a hair, he could hear the people at the public beach—yelling, talking, and laughing, and the distant splash of someone running or jumping into the water.
It must be nice to be at the lake, he thought as he stared through the little window. July had vanished, and August was running away. The little office was humid and small and dark and cramped. The tiny fan that rattled away on Simon’s desk seemed to just push the sluggish hot air around. He couldn’t help thinking that it, kind of like Simon, seemed to be doing far too much work for way too little result.
Outside his window the lake was expansive, beautiful to look at, and must be fresh and cold. It had been so many years since he’d gone there in summer. Maybe he could take Luke to the little boat launch where he loved to swim as a kid. The water there was clear and shallow and warmed fast in the summer heat. It was the perfect swimming spot, especially since it was so little used, and it would be a wonderful way to pass an afternoon.
But there was still Luminara to get through, and after Luminara, there were weddings on the horizon. And how long was Luke staying, anyway? According to the guest register that Simon had definitely snooped on, the Mazurek-Doren reservation was for a week, so he assumed that meant about the same for Luke. And the weddings were one each weekend until the end of September. The hotel would be chock-full of guests, and he would have to plan special wedding menus. By then Luke would certainly be gone. He groaned.
“Simon?” Mark poked his head into Simon’s office. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”
Simon raised his head and worked up a smile for Mark. “Nah, it’s fine. Just feeling sorry for myself. Ignore me.” Simon looked back at his computer. Right. He’d been looking at the logistics of getting a herd of dairy cattle so they could have more control over what was on the menu. It should have been reasonably easy, considering they had already navigated legislation around purchasing a beef herd, and that part involved transporting animals in from another state. It just meant all different legislation, the purchase of a ton more equipment, building a dairy parlor, and finding a dairy herdsman or woman willing to move out to Lake Balmoral to take the job. Sure, a cinch.
“Working on the cows?” Mark asked.
Simon nodded. He peered across the paperwork and met Mark’s eyes. “This might be too over the top even for us, Mark.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Mark said mildly. He knocked on the doorframe—shave and a haircut… two bits. “Anyway, it’s dinnertime.” Mark smiled, and his gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “Dry run night.”
Simon couldn’t help but grin back. “You’re pleased.”
“Jenny did the whole thing. It looks fantastic.”
“She’s got the makings of a great chef,” Simon told him as he got to his feet.
“I think so too,” Mark agreed.
He followed Mark out of the office, down the long service hall, through the kitchens, and out into the sun.
It was four in the afternoon. Dinner service at the brasserie started at five thirty and went to eleven, but everyone assembled early for their shift. A common practice in good restaurants, it was the tradition that all staff members arrived an hour before service and ate a meal together. Back in the eighties, when money was tight and credit scarce, it had been his family’s way of seeing that everyone who worked for them got at least one meal they didn’t need to sweat over, but it had turned out to be invaluable for team building and camaraderie, and when Simon took over the business, he kept the ritual.
Today Jenny and Mark had decided to serve outside. A hotel guest looking out the right window would have seen a long table draped in white linen and set for twenty-two, flanked by folding chairs and shaded by the walnut trees that ran to the edge of Lakeview Drive. Anya, their dining experience coordinator, had brought in handfuls of tall golden wild wheat, shaggy-headed wild oats, and baby blue cornflowers and bachelor’s buttons and put them by the handful into mason jars, and Hiro had provided a bottle of wine for every four people. They stood open and breathing on the shady parts of the table. Already the staff were assembling, seating themselves in their customary positions—servers with servers, chefs with chefs, and managers with managers. The air was full of good-natured teasing and name-calling, questions about the new menu, and laughter. They were pouring water, juice, or small glasses of the new wine and talking about the upcoming service.
As he passed the table, staff members glanced up at him and smiled, waved, or said hello. Whatever problems the staff might have had with the management, however much they might get on one another’s nerves, there was an unspoken rule about dinner before service—it was friendly. No serious business was ever discussed. And if those rules were ever broken, Simon could be sure there would be a staffing change on the horizon, not because he would fire someone for bad conduct at staff dinner, but because anyone who couldn’t be friendly at dinner would be hard to work with later. Harmony among the staff mattered just as much as quality ingredients and Mark’s careful perfection in the kitchen.
Simon took himself to his customary spot toward the end of the table. Mark always sat at the head with Jenny on his right and Simon on his left. There was a sort of medieval hierarchy about the way they sat, but he wasn’t sure if anybody else noticed. Mark was already looking down the table at the evening’s offerings, nodding to himself. He seemed pleased with the fare on display.
Ginger held a glass of white wine in one hand as she talked to David about the upcoming events calendar and wrangled the best wine list for the Luminara menu. David
would be gone before the event, and it would be up to Ginger to manage the whole thing. It would be her first event as head of beverage, and the biggest event of the year, barring Christmas parties. Simon gave her a smile that was meant to convey his complete confidence in her, but he tried not to think about it. Hiro grinned up as Simon came over to his usual seat.
Hiro had been at the brasserie for almost as long as Simon. He’d started as a dishwasher and worked his way into service, finally taking a year’s leave of absence to do his sommelier training. He returned with a rock-solid palate and a nose for what was up and coming in the wine world. There was something about Hiro that made Simon feel less anxious, as though his very presence and the continuity he represented were enough to ground Simon in the now and prevent him from worrying about the future.
Jenny, Mark’s sous, was unashamedly assessing Hiro. Like most of the really good chefs Simon had known throughout his life, Jenny decided what she wanted early on and then moved heaven and earth to get it. She was a kind and friendly woman in her twenties, and she had a backbone made of iron and was a force of nature when she had to be. There was a rumor in the kitchen that she had once broken the nose of a would-be mugger with her knife case while she was in culinary school, and Simon didn’t doubt it.
He had seen any number of in-house romances, and he was nearing 90 percent certain that Jenny was going to make a move on Hiro any day. Simon had never known Jenny to fail to get anything she went after—her job, the house she’d recently purchased, even the scholarship she won to complete her Red Seal and move into the kitchen. Simon would have to organize someone to cover when the two of them were on their honeymoon, but hopefully that wouldn’t happen until next spring or later.
Simon envied the two of them for a brief moment. Ever since his father died, he’d known the direction his life would take. But he hadn’t imagined how exhausting and all-consuming it would be to run the restaurant and the hotel. He found more and more that the years were running together, and more and more of the long-term staff were pairing off and starting families. Some, like Jack Peterson, who was sitting at the far end of the table near Sophie Ng, had gone on to start their own businesses in neighboring towns, though they made themselves available when people were sick, or on vacation.