by MJ Post
“Yuh,” said the cameraman.
“How’d you find me?”
“The official address you incorporated under,” answered Herschel. “We wanted to surprise you on the job, but you didn’t show up there, so we tried this address. We casting directors are resourceful people. Come on out of there so Ricky can get a better angle instead of up your nostrils.”
Toby climbed down from the truck. “You’re really from a TV show?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. We never show footage without a release. You want to be on TV? America will think you’re serious boyfriend material.”
“Thanks for your opinion. What’s the TV show? A cooking show?”
“Oh, we’ll be way better than anything you’ve seen on Fox or Food Network. We have a new format and a great celebrity chef to put a face on the brand. You’re guaranteed plenty of TV time because of our innovative format. We’ll have a small cast and a triple elimination competition, and in your case, you don’t even have to cook for the boss first. She already knows your food.”
“She…” Toby had cooked for plenty of Boris’ guests, including plenty of prominent women, but he had a sinking feeling. “Not…”
“That’s right. Our celebrity chef is the unique and amazing Nina Lestrade.”
“But…” Toby considered, then leaned back against his truck. “Turn the camera off a minute there, Ricky.”
“Yuh,” said the cameraman.
“Herschel,” Toby explained, “My mentor is her ex-husband, and it wasn’t pretty when they split up. So how would that affect my chances on the show?”
“Oh, we love the idea of that drama,” said Herschel. “No one knows if it will help you or hurt you. The judge knowing a contestant would normally help, and make it unfair, but in this case, she might be against you to hurt Chef Winfrey. We’ll play it up as best we can.” He spread his hands wide. “Ratings gold, if you know what I mean.”
Toby chewed on this. “You’re a casting director, you said. And what is that, exactly?”
“I’m scouting to find eight up-and-coming chefs who will be good for the show. You need to be an expert in the kitchen, you need to be able to show some personality on camera. Being easy on the eyes is not required, but if you are, it’s definitely a plus. Clearly you fall in that category, Toby. Finally, I’m looking for that intangible, that star quality. That thing, what do they call it?”
“Je ne sais quois,” said Toby.
“Exactly. Nina says you have it. I’ve just met you, so I’m not sure, but early indications are good. So are you interested?”
Toby was not afraid of being on TV. He’d done demonstrations for local news, and they’d come off without a hitch. But he was still slow to say yes. What would he really be in for if he did this? Reality TV could make stars, but it could also spoil reputations.
“Take me to Indianola Fresh Market,” he said. “I’ll shop, you’ll pay, I’ll make us dinner, and then we’ll talk about it. Sounds good, Ricky?” He gave the cameraman a winning smile.
“I could eat,” said Ricky.
“You shoot some footage of me cooking. Maybe you can use that. If you don’t, I get to use it for my advertising.”
“That could work,” said the cameraman.
“Hey, you’re a master negotiator,” said Herschel. “I’ll run that past the show runner while you’re shopping.”
At Indianola, his favorite fish market in Oxford, he bought catfish fillets to fry along with fresh cornmeal and seasonings – why not replenish the truck at Herschel’s expense? Dinner for three would have to be made a little at a time, since too many filets at once in his cast iron skillet would cause the oil to cool and get absorbed. He decided to make dirty rice, one of his specialties, in another pot on the side.
Herschel got a confirmation of plans for the footage, paid for the ingredients, and they headed back. Toby fired up his propane generator and prepped as Herschel explored the tiny truck interior with Ricky shooting video. This was interrupted by a rap at the truck door. It creaked open and Lillian came in. She was wearing a green dress that gave her eye-catching elegance, and she flashed her million dollar smile at the strangers. “Should I go get some extra napkins?”
After introductions, Toby started cooking, and Lillian started questioning. She soon got a fuller story out of the casting director.
The show was shooting in New York starting in two weeks. The Kitchen Network had built a dedicated new studio in a Manhattan high-rise and was converting offices into multiple-occupancy dorms. There would be four contestants of each gender who would meet and learn about each other on-camera. Elimination was like baseball: three strikes and you were out, off the show. Nina could give you a strike whenever she wanted, which was intended to keep the contestants on edge all the time. The prize was the exposure on TKN, appearances in TKN’s magazines, videos at TKN’s web site and YouTube channel, and the chance to present a restaurant proposal to a panel of investors. All expenses were paid. The contestants would be cloistered and have to win contact with the outside world in kitchen challenges.
They ate at the picnic table in the garden. Lillian fell naturally into the role of hostess, as she’d learned from her mother. Toby served and spent more time listening than talking. After the meal, Herschel volunteered to clean up, so Lillian had time to take her brother aside. She explained, “I recommend you do this, and here’s why. You’ve already learned the benefits of networking in the culinary trade, and you’re sure to meet plenty of professionals at all levels on a show like this: mentors, guest judges, you know.”
Toby nodded.
“The pay is about ten thousand dollars, which certainly you can use although it’s not enough after tax to get a brand new business set up in New York. You’ll also make contacts in the television industry, which could lead to paying TV gigs. Herschel is right, Dark. You are good-looking, and that matters. Charisma and confidence on camera matter, too, and you’ll have to get those together, but you can. Being on TV is how you get good at TV.”
“None of this is about cooking food and taking care of customers,” Toby objected. “That’s what I do.”
“Hear me out. The one thing you won’t get is increased opportunities in restaurants based on fame. Top restaurant people aren’t influenced by that, right?”
“Skills and contacts matter most.”
“Right. And you’ll get the skills in that environment. They create drama with lots of pressure, so you build psychological toughness and stronger coping skills. Plus you’ll work with new ingredients and with different cuisines, which extends your range.”
“I learned a lot of that at Delta, but I still take your point. Anything else you want to add in?”
“Well, it shouldn’t influence your decision, but anyone I meet through you helps me build my own network, which helps me help myself and help you again later. Oh, and of course, you get to drive me up to New York. We’ve never done a road trip together, so that will be fun.”
“True.” Toby worked his jaw a little. His business was good in Oxford and he didn’t want to have to rebuild it. He thought Nina was ruthless — she’d pulled no punches in the divorce, and Boris only had the mansion because she didn’t want it. She might destroy him on-camera. It was a risk.
He trusted his twin, though. “I’ll do it,” he said. Moving to hug Lillian, he called over her shoulder to Herschel. “We’re set. I’ll do it.”
“You’d better,” the casting director answered. “I want to eat your cooking again!”
Chapter Four
Koryo Burger
The inside of the former Mexican restaurant was a grimy, dusty mess. Kacie did a walk-through and made a list of things that had to be done. Scrubbing, mopping, cleaning the overhead, scraping the flattop. Cleaning the ice machine, replacing loose racks in the walk-in. The walk-in’s motor was sluggish. There were no utensils, the pots were shit and needed replacing, and the new restaurant would require entirely different flatware and dishes.
>
“Paper plates, plastic forks,” said Jinwoo.
“I don’t want that crap in my restaurant. It may be a burger joint, but it’s going to have some class. No plastic utensils. No paper plates.”
“But then we have to hire a dishwasher.” There was no room in the kitchen to install a machine unless they ripped out the sink that the previous dishwasher had used, a complex proposition requiring a construction permit.
“My way or no way,” Kacie told him.
“But…”
“That was the deal. You can’t replace me with anyone half as good at the salary I’ll be drawing. You’re getting room in the budget there, so spend it how I say.”
“You’re tough, cuz.”
“You’re cheap, cuz. I’m not.”
There were no roaches, mice, or rats, though — that was good news. They spent four days cleaning the place with brushes, Brillo pads, cleansers. They went through box after box of rubber gloves. Kacie got nose-blind to the chemicals, over-inhaled, and nearly passed out. Her mother visited, supposedly to help, spent ten minutes stroking a counter with a rag, and went to get her hair done.
At night, Kacie slept with her arms around Whitey and didn’t wake up.
She went back and forth with the hired graphic designer for several days preparing the logo and designing the banner, signs, menus, and napkins. She spent an hour explaining to Jinwoo why restaurant furnishings could not be purchased from IKEA. She lost ten pounds in the first two weeks.
The first day after the cleanup, Jinwoo waited out front with the radio playing awaiting deliveries, and Kacie put on her apron and gloves, laid out her Wusthof Classic Ikon knives, and began to work on the menu.
The stove, of course, chose that moment to break down. It took two hours and calls to four appliance repair services to persuade Jinwoo it would be best to replace it. The walk-in’s new motor broke also, the same day, and had to be replaced. It was under warranty, but apparently the vendor had only one repairman on staff and he was suddenly laid up with double pneumonia.
Before opening, they needed to pass health inspection. They had made an appointment but needed to change it because of the failed appliances. Kacie called a culinary school instructor she’d had and asked him to call his health inspector friend to intervene. This backfired, as her original inspector got mad about the turf violation, moving the new appointment even later. She went into the not very cold walk-in, shut the door, and screamed.
Jinwoo heard and burst in. “You okay, cuz? You got hurt?”
“No, I just can’t stand any more of your chicken nugget farts. Get out!”
Kacie knew her cousin was in over his head, but it wasn’t just him. She was working eighteen hour days and things still kept going wrong. Someone more experienced would handle the problems more smoothly, right? She was just a kid; it was too much for her. She didn’t want to cry, wouldn’t, would stay firm, because what else was there to do?
She’d had training in being a restaurateur, but had never expected to do it herself before getting seasoned by working for others. This was the hardest way to learn, with too much at stake for her to be making rookie mistakes.
∞∞∞
It was over a month before everything that needed to be done was done, everything that needed to be fixed was fixed, and everything that needed to be bought was bought, delivered, stocked or put in place.
Koryo Burger opened at 10:30 AM on a Thursday. At 11 AM their first guest, a Mexican man, came in, looked at the menu, and left. Kacie, watching from the pass, wanted to scream once more.
A few minutes later, two workers from the nearby Elmhurst Hospital entered, a black woman and a white woman in brightly colored scrubs and sensible shoes. Jinwoo, sitting at a table clicking at his phone, stood and greeted them.
“You’re new,” the white nurse asked.
“Brand new, and already the best!” he chirped. “Our special today is…”
“Just a plain burger, lettuce, tomato, mayo, pickle, small fries. You writing this down?”
“What’s the special?” the black nurse asked.
“We have bulgogi — grilled flat steaks - with a side of cellophane noodles.”
“Is it very spicy?”
“It’s flavored with garlic and onions — as Rachael Ray says, deeeeee-lish. Our chef cooks the best bulgogi in New York City, I promise.”
“Oh you have a chef? I thought this was a burger joint.”
“Chef Yookyung Lee. She was supposed to be working in Paris by now, but she promised me a few months to help get this place started. Try the special. I already ate like ten of them.”
The nurse assented. Jinwoo took a drink order and came through the swinging door to the kitchen. “We’re in business.”
The next day the two nurses came back with three men in scrubs. “It was soooo good,” said the white nurse. “We brought you some more customers.”
“I didn’t try Korean for years, but that bulgogi was amazing,” said the black nurse. “It’s my new favorite. Really sticks to your ribs.”
Jinwoo had finally hired a waitress, an Ecuadorian girl named Nely, who gave the workers a stack of paper takeout menus to leave in the hospital lounge.
∞∞∞
Hospital workers appeared in greater numbers over the next three days. At 7 PM on the fifth day the place was open, a half-hour before closing, a man and woman in dark suits strolled in. They chatted about wine and an article in the Wall Street Journal. They were markedly different from the hospital staff and occasional day laborers who had been in before. They ordered the Koryo Burger special, a regular burger, the bulgogi special, and a bibimbap with shredded radish salad. As they ate, Kacie watched them over the pass, her mind racing. They had ordered way too much food for two slim people. Their mouths talked about the financial markets, but their eyes talked about the food. She could see that — these were real foodies for sure. What were they doing at her brand new restaurant?
When the other orders were cleared and she had nothing left to cook, she listened in on their conversation with Jinwoo.
“You mention that you have a chef,” the woman said. “But we’ve never heard of Yookyung Lee. Where did he work before? At Jungsik or Hanjan perhaps?”
“She’s my cousin,” said Jinwoo. “She was supposed to go to Paris, but she stayed to help me get this place launched.”
“Can we meet her?” the man asked.
Jinwoo said, “I’ll check,” and came through the swinging door.
“I don’t know who…” he began.
“I’ll handle it.” Kacie put her hand over his mouth, nudged him out of the way, and exited to the table.
“I’m Kacie Lee,” she told them, shaking hands. “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
“It’s funny,” the man said. “My cardiologist is up at Elmhurst Hospital, and he told me his nurses are crazy for this place. Now I see why. I’m Burton Shaver.”
“I’m Christine McNab,” the woman said.
Kacie knew those names, and a tremor ran down her spine to her legs. They were restaurant critics for the Times online edition.
“I’d like a favorable write-up,” she told them. “I think I’ve earned it.”
The two critics looked at her blandly.
“Do I get one?”
“How much restaurant experience do you have?” McNab asked. “Who did you work for before this?”
Kacie identified some of her culinary school teachers.
“You have…” Shaver asked, “…no prior experience at all?”
“I’m learning on the job,” Kacie answered, “and I’m kicking ass in that kitchen.”
“That may be,” said Shaver. “But it’s not good etiquette to ask about your write-up. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Nice to meet you,” said McNab.
“It’s on the house,” Jinwoo said unhelpfully.
“You can’t comp a critic,” said McNab. “Against our journalistic standards. So, tell me, what
name do you prefer, Yookyung or Kacie?”
“Kacie. K-A-C-I-E. It stands for Korean Chef.”
“Oh, that’s funny,” said McNab. She laid three twenties in the tray with the bill. “No change.”
In moments the critics were gone.
“They liked us,” Jinwoo told Kacie and Nely. “We made it! We’re in business now!”
“Not for sure,” Kacie said. “What I learned in class was that critics may be friendly in person and then give you a scathing review. But why would they come here all the way from the City to do that? Why bother?”
Cleaning and prep for the next day occupied all her attention for several hours until she got home close to midnight. She then sat propped up on her bed with her laptop on her thighs and Whitey curled up by her feet and checked the two reviewers’ column listings, refreshing every ten minutes. She was exhausted and longed for sleep, but her fears kept her stomach queasy. Would the two critics destroy her career just as it was starting? Jinwoo would be okay — any clean burger shack would do well in a hungry, hard-working neighborhood. But she had tried to create distinctive fusion flavors and to put a personal spin on Korean comfort foods. If branded a failure, she would have the bad review as a black mark on her future reputation as a culinary professional.
She fell asleep like that. First thing in the morning, with Whitey whining to go out, she checked again, first one critic, then the other.
Shaver had the review.
“The best burger in Queens can be found in an unassuming Jackson Heights hole-in-the-wall. Sensational new flavors, pungent, authentic, and inventive. Yookyung “Kacie” Lee can only be called a rising star in the firmament of fusion cuisine.” And so it went, for word after word of unreserved praise.
At the restaurant later, Jinwoo was full of plans to expand, but Kacie opposed them. “Keep the hole-in-the-wall thing going.”
“My dad said…”
“Listen to me, not him.”
“But…”
“Expand slowly. Hire me a sous chef. I can’t take on the increased workload alone.”