Chicken Cordon Bleu $14
Broiled Scallops $14
Broiled Flounder $14
Shrimp Scampi $15
Sides
choice of two with entree, or $3 each
Mashed potatoes, baked potato, French fries, creamed spinach, rice pilaf
For Children $5
PB&J
Hot dog
Spaghetti
Dessert $5
Cheesecake, Boston cream pie, sweet kugel, Mimi’s Favorite Chocolate Cake, tapioca or chocolate pudding
Jay Louis, Chef-Owner-King
* * *
Lady of the House
Returning to the dining room, I see a group of waiters dressed in black pants, white shirts, and black vests. The waiters are doing their opening side work, which consists of setting tables, organizing the bread station, stacking glassware, and cleaning menus.
“And you are?” A tall, portly, middle-aged man with ginger hair stands in front of me with his eyebrows raised and his hands on his hips.
“I am Mimi Louis.” From his outfit, I see that he is a waiter.
“Mimi, darling,” the man says. “I’ve heard so much about you. At last we meet.” He clutches his chest. “I am Christopher von Hecht. Everyone calls me Chrissie, although I ask them not to. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
So this is the lady of the house.
“I am the senior waiter on the floor,” Christopher says. “With the exception of Bette, who is not on the floor but on the counter. And she’s off today, which means I’m in charge. Are you here to eat dinner?”
“No,” I say, startled by his lack of transition. “I’m here to work, actually.”
“Well, there’s plenty to do,” Christopher says. “We have a party of ten and a party of eight coming in at the same time. School concert, apparently. They will be here at five o’clock and need to be out the door at six-thirty. I don’t know who took that reservation, but we don’t turn away business, do we? Do you cook?”
“Do I cook?”
“Yes, dear. Do you cook? In other words, will you be in the kitchen doing back of the house work, or will you be with us waiters in the front of the house?”
“Well, I…”
“Just trying to allocate resources, squash blossom. Now which is it? Front or back?”
I clear my throat and stand straighter. Chrissie here is doing what all waiters do when confronted with new management. He’s making a power play. While I respect his seniority and loyalty to Café Louis, I need to make it clear that Christopher von Hecht works for me. Not the other way around.
“I plan to observe both the back of the house and the front of the house,” I say. “It’s clear to me that some changes need to made in the restaurant, but I will observe first, before I make any decisions. And I would very much appreciate your input.”
Christopher looks down at me and raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”
Restaurant Music
All of a sudden, it’s five o’clock and the front door is clogged with people. The two big, back-to-back parties have arrived. Christopher and I get to the door at the same time.
“Good evening,” he says. “Welcome to Café Louis. I am Christopher, and this is Mimi. If the Duvall party will follow me, the Gormezano party can follow Mimi.”
Christopher has graciously given me the smaller of the two parties, but I am determined to prove my front of the house skills. Pulling menus from the pile, I seat the Gormezano party, take their drink orders, and hand them over to a waiter. Ta da.
After seating half the restaurant, I decide to check on the kitchen. When I open the kitchen door, a cacophony of noise greets me. Pans bang, voices shout, and a tangle of white ordering forms hang from the rack above the heat lamps. I should have realized that the cooks would be overwhelmed. A waitress is yelling for her food. “¡Oyé, oyé!” I shout. “Me llamo Mimi Louis. Soy la hermana de Jeremy. La hija de Jay. ¿Comprenden?”
Four heads nod at me. I grab the orders and shift them into a pile, guessing when they were delivered by my memory of when I sat the tables. “Mesa tres,” I shout. The cooks man their stations and wait for me to call out the dishes. “No platos primeros. Un sirloin medio rojo. Un pollo Parmesan. Un pollo Marsala.” Looking up, I see the cooks are keeping up with me. “Mesa catorce. Ensalada Greco…”
Two hours later, I’m still expediting in the kitchen. Sleeves rolled to my biceps, hair tied in a rubber band, and a white apron around my waist, I stand sweating in the kitchen. Working with the four cooks, who introduced themselves as the San Padre brothers, I have almost cleared the board. “Oyé, por favor. Mesa nueve. Un fettuccine Alfredo. Un flounder. Al lado: tres frites, dos arroz.”
A waitress bangs through the kitchen doors. “I need a side of mash and a side of rice pilaf on the fly.” She turns to leave, her black and red ponytail bouncing.
“Wait for it,” I tell her. “Oyé, por favor. Rápido. Un mash y un arroz.”
“What?” she says to me.
“Wait for it. You put in a fly order, you wait for it.”
“I’m totally weeded,” she says with her hands on her hips.
“You’re weeded?” She has only four tables.
Fly Girl rolls her eyes at me. “Weeded is restaurant talk for being, like, overwhelmed.”
“I know.” I smile indulgently at her. “I speak restaurant.”
Ten minutes after Fly Girl leaves the kitchen, the San Padre brothers put their hands on their hips and wait for more action. “¡Bueno, bueno!” I tell them. They smile, proud of their teamwork. Taking off my apron, I head for the dining room.
Because the orders came in all at once and the food went out at a fast clip, everyone is eating at the same time. Scanning the restaurant, I see general calm. Fly Girl looks frantic, swinging her ponytail to and fro, but after watching her for a few moments, I see that hers is self-induced mania. Some servers work better when they are on the edge. It’s a buzz, a rush.
Because I am completely disheveled, I don’t walk through the dining room. Instead, I stand at one end of the counter and lean against the wall. I’m starting to come down from my kitchen high. Closing my eyes, I listen.
Humming conversation, interspersed with laughter. Knives and forks clicking and clattering. The soft whoosh of the kitchen door opening and closing. Plates chiming as they are cleared from tables. Glasses ringing. This is restaurant music.
Jeremy Louis
After my day at the restaurant I decided to see my brother. To do so, I had to make an appointment. I look around the anonymous corner office Jeremy maintains as a junior partner in his Philadelphia accounting firm.
My big brother is a very busy man. Always has been. In high school and college, he was president of this, that, and the other thing. Sports, too. Jeremy was captain of Westfield High’s basketball team. Which was a handy way for me to get boyfriends.
Jeremy gives me the finger. “One minute,” he mouths, as he holds up his index finger. I smile and sit myself in one of the chairs facing Jeremy’s desk. While Jeremy talks about something financial and boring, I look at him and marvel at our physical differences. Whereas I have Dad’s dark hair, skin, and eyes, Jeremy has Mom’s light brown hair, green eyes, high cheekbones, and wiry build.
Madeline says that Jeremy is her married crush. “It’s not just that Jeremy is good-looking,” Madeline told me during a Louis family seder. “Part of his appeal is that he loves his wife and kids. See the way he looks at Allison? That’s hot.”
I don’t know about the hot. One thing is for sure. Jeremy’s got it all. Career. Attractive wife. Great kids. Two SUVs. Beautiful house.
At least one of us Louis kids got it right.
Jeremy puts down the phone. “Sorry, Mimi.”
Jeremy comes out from behind his desk and gives me a big hug. I always forget how tall he is. Same height as Dad.
“Ally told me about your breakup,” Jeremy says. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” I say,
pretty sure that I’m not lying.
“What are you going to do with yourself?” Jeremy retreats to his desk and I take a seat in front of it.
“I’m going to run Dad’s restaurant,” I say.
“What?”
“I’m going to manage Café Louis. It’s what I want to do. I think.”
“Think harder, Mimi. Running Café Louis isn’t a reasonable option.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because we’re selling the restaurant,” Jeremy says.
“What?”
“We’re selling the restaurant,” Jeremy repeats. “We have received a good offer from SHRED to buy the building. SHRED is Schein Real Estate Development. The company is in the process of buying the buildings surrounding Café Louis. SHRED wants to tear down the buildings and build a shopping center.”
“Just what the world needs.”
Jeremy sifts through piles on his desk until he comes to a manila envelope marked with a purple and red logo. He hands the envelope to me. “We got the offer two weeks ago. My lawyer looked it over and gave it his seal of approval. We just need to sign the papers and it will be a done deal.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’ Jeremy. I had no idea this was happening.”
“You haven’t been around, Mimi. I didn’t think you would care.”
“Not care that you are tearing down Dad’s restaurant?”
My brother sighs and folds his hands on top of his desk. “Don’t get emotional about this. Dad would want us to do what’s best for ourselves and our families.”
“Right,” I say. “And who gets to decide what’s best for me? You?”
“You don’t seem to be doing a good job of it.”
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy says quickly. “I didn’t mean that. You’re going through a hard time. I’m not trying to make things worse. Listen, Mimi. Selling the restaurant will give us a nice lump sum of cash. You can invest it. I can help.”
“Turning a profit at the restaurant would also give us money,” I say.
Jeremy exhales. “True. But that would require a lot of time and energy.”
“Doesn’t she deserve our time and energy? Café Louis is part of our family. How can we just give up on her?”
“Mimi, the restaurant is not a person. It’s a property.”
“Fine,” I say. “That property is half mine.”
Jeremy frowns. “Ally thinks that selling the restaurant is a good idea.”
“Yeah? Well, Ally also thinks it’s a good idea for Mom to start dating.”
“What?” Jeremy’s eyebrows stretch toward his hairline.
“Yep.”
Jeremy grimaces. The prospect of Mom dating obviously distresses him. He is silent for a few moments. Then, he shrugs. “Ally usually knows what’s best.”
“Gag me with a spatula,” I say.
Jeremy glares at me, but doesn’t respond. Jeremy isn’t a fighter. Never has been. Jeremy is the Brandon to my Brenda. “I’m sorry you feel that way” was his answer to any adolescent argument I tried to provoke. Antagonizing Jeremy isn’t going to help me now, so I stifle myself.
“Don’t you want to relax?” Jeremy says. “Take a vacation? Or at least regroup? You should spend time with Mom.”
“I am spending time with Mom. I’m living with her. Remember?”
“I’m serious, Mimi. Mom isn’t going to be around for long.”
“What do you mean? Is Mom sick?”
“She has high blood pressure,” Jeremy says.
“Since when?”
“Mom’s getting older. All kinds of things are going to go wrong with her.”
I squint at my brother. What’s this all about?
Squirming under my squint, Jeremy runs his hands through his hair and changes the subject to our other parent. “Do you want to save Café Louis because you think that’s what Dad would want? Because I don’t think that’s true.”
“I’m not doing this for Dad,” I say. “I’m doing this for myself. I don’t want to take a vacation. I need to find a new life, because my old life just got turned upside down. Café Louis is an oasis of stability.”
“Not financial stability,” Jeremy says.
“I know Café Louis, and I know restaurants. Why shouldn’t I try to rescue her?”
Jeremy starts to chew on his bottom lip. That’s Jeremy’s tell. When he’s questioning himself, he bites his bottom lip. When he’s really unsure of himself, he bites both lips.
“What about the people who work at Café Louis?” I continue. “A lot of them have worked for our family for years. Don’t we owe them one last try?”
Jeremy keeps chewing his lip, so I keep talking.
“Labor and food costs can be brought down considerably,” I add quickly. “I can easily rework the menu to increase check averages.”
“You’re going to do all of this by yourself?” Jeremy says.
“Madeline will help me,” I say. Madeline knows nothing about managing a restaurant. But it sounds better than saying that I will do this work by myself.
“Madeline?” Jeremy says, “The one with all the boyfriends? Isn’t she crazy?”
“Not in a bad way.”
Jeremy switches his bottom lip for his top lip. I talk faster. “If we do make Café Louis a success, SHRED can build the shopping center around the restaurant. A shopping center would be good, even great. It would increase foot traffic. More customers for us.”
Jeremy bites both his lips. I win.
“The Scheins aren’t going to be happy about this.”
“Tough nougies,” I say. “Café Louis is more important than a shopping center.”
Jeremy smiles. “We’d have to give it a time limit. Like, three months. If we don’t turn a profit by the end of the summer, we sell to the Scheins.”
“Summer is the worst season for the restaurant business,” I say.
Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “Not up to the challenge?”
“You bet your babka I am. Three months it is.” I offer Jeremy my hand. “Deal?”
Jeremy shakes my hand. “Deal.”
Zucchini
I’m in Philadelphia, so I might as well get my boxes from Nick’s.
Standing on the steps of Nick’s row house, I ring the bell and pray that no one answers. Nick should be at the restaurant, which makes this a good time for me to get in, get my stuff, and get gone.
Using my key, I unlock the door and walk into what would’ve been my home. “Hello?” I call, but the house is empty.
Thankfully, not much of my stuff is here. It’s in storage. We were going to rearrange the closets, then bring over the rest of my clothes. What is here fits into my car. Within fifteen minutes, Sally is packed. Grabbing my mustard collection, I walk out of the house. And right into Nick.
We look at each other, then stare at the ground. “I came to get my stuff,” I say.
Nick puts his hands in the pockets of his chef pants. “How are you?”
“Perfect.”
“Where are you staying?” Nick asks.
“The Four Seasons.”
I sneak a look at Nick’s face and see that he is grinning. “I miss having you around,” he says. “I miss talking to you about the restaurant. You gave me good advice.”
“Oh?” I say. “So now my job is a good thing? You want me for my brains and not my body?”
“You can still come to work at Il Ristorante,” Nick says. “With all the publicity hitting, I haven’t been around much. Like, now. I had to come home to shower before I go to a cooking class. Since you are in between jobs, I could pay you…”
“First of all, I have my own restaurant to worry about,” I say.
“Oh, your dad’s place?”
“Secondly, you better be careful that promoting the restaurant doesn’t get in the way of running the restaurant. Your ass belongs in the kitchen.”
“I won’t,” Nick says. He smiles. “See? You give me good advice.”
> “Yeah? Well here’s another piece of advice,” I say. “Don’t dip your zucchini in the house dressing. Ever heard of sexual harassment?”
“Everyone in restaurants fools around with each other. You know that.”
“Ironically, I told Claire, my replacement at DI, that she should know everything that goes on in the restaurants she represents. Like that chef in France. He’s screwing around on his wife. I know that. But I didn’t ever suspect that you were cheating on me. It didn’t even occur to me.”
“I didn’t want it to happen the way it did,” Nick says.
“Have you ever read Proverbs, five?”
Nick looks down at his kitchen clogs. “I was going to tell you, in a calm, rational way, that the relationship wasn’t working for me. I hoped that you would understand, and agree to work at Il Ristorante.”
“That would’ve worked out well for you. Nice and neat.”
“I would like us to be friends,” Nick says.
“Maybe we should’ve been friends before we were lovers. My mom has this theory about taking relationships slowly. But anyway, no. I don’t think we can be friends.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Nick says.
“I am changing my mind,” I tell him. “I’m changing a lot of things.”
Allison’s Kitchen
When I tell Mom and Allison that I have Big News, they immediately arrange for a family dinner. As I drive to Allison’s house, I think of how pleased Mom will be with my plan to restore Café Louis to her former glory. Surely Mom wants Dad’s legacy maintained. I’m less sure about Allison’s reaction. She has no sentimental attachment to Café Louis.
No one answers my knock, so I let myself in. I adore this house. If—nay, when—I have a big house, I want it to be like this one. The walls of the foyer are painted pomegranate red. The ceiling is eggshell white, meeting the walls in cream-colored crown molding. The floor is patterned in black and ivory diamonds, and an ornate chandelier descends from the ceiling.
Love, Life and Linguine Page 4