by Terri Osburn
His generous, no-pretense attitude also disarmed her. Not counting their hit-on-or-not-hit-on conversation, they’d spent a comfortable hour together exploring the farmer’s market. He spoke to her as a peer, which was novel in her experience, but at the same time he’d educated her on the ins and outs of finding food suppliers on an island as remote as Anchor.
When she’d accepted the job at Pilar’s, that had been Lauren’s biggest concern. Could she get the ingredients she needed to make her dishes sing? Thanks to Nick, she now had a pocket full of business cards plus one crab-shaped magnet that would help her keep the pantry stocked.
“Have you come up with a menu yet?” Nick asked as they rested at a picnic table with two peach iced teas they’d purchased from a food truck.
“I have a few staples I know I want to add, but now there are all sorts of ideas racing through my head.” She’d known an island would rely heavily on seafood, but she was surprised by the other proteins that were available. All fresh and naturally sourced.
“How about items from the Marina menu? Are you considering any of those?”
Lauren hadn’t planned on incorporating any dishes from the previous restaurant. “Not really. I’d rather create my own.”
Nick rubbed a thumb down the side of his paper cup. “You aren’t just feeding the tourists. You’re feeding the locals, too. The Marina operated for thirty-two years for a reason. It couldn’t hurt to pick one or two favorites to make the place feel familiar.”
Something to consider. If she hired any of the previous staff, she’d take suggestions from them and have them prepare the dishes she believed might fit her concept. After tasting the options she’d make a final decision.
“Did you apply for this job?” she asked, truly curious.
“What job?”
“My job,” she clarified. “You seem to have put a lot of thought into how to get Pilar’s up and running. Odd for a man who has his own kitchen to think about.”
Nick shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I didn’t apply. I’m just thinking about what’s best for this island and the people on it. It’s a habit. Once you’re here for a while, you’ll do the same.”
Would she? Lauren had never been a joiner or put much thought into the community around her. All of her past experience was in urban areas where people minded their own business and preferred that others do the same. Plus, the demands of restaurant work barely left time for sleep let alone neighborly concern.
Changing the subject, she asked, “How does the Best of the Fest contest work?”
Nick rolled with the change. “Food is served throughout the three-day event and on Sunday, attendees cast their votes for one final dish that each vendor puts forward.”
Lauren sat up straighter. “So the committee doesn’t pick the winner?”
“No,” Nick replied, shaking his head, “but they have to count the votes. That’s where your conflict of interest comes in.”
“I still don’t see the problem.” She finished the last of her tea and rose to her feet. “Are there categories or does everyone compete against each other across the board?”
Nick finished his own drink and followed her lead, retrieving his bag of vegetables off the bench beside him. They tossed their cups in the green recycle can as he said, “There are things like best burger and best seafood dish, but the Best of the Fest is an overall award.”
“What dish did you win with the last two years?” Lauren asked as they strolled side by side back to the main market area.
“The first year was my lobster linguine with chiles,” Nick said, “and then last year I made an artichoke chowder with soft-shell clams.”
Lauren stopped walking. “But Dempsey’s menu is all bar food.”
Two steps ahead of her, Nick stopped and turned around. “Yeah, but that isn’t all that I make.”
“If you can make dishes like that, then why do you work at a bar?”
His eyes turned dark as his jaw tightened. “Cooking is cooking. So long as it’s full of flavor and satisfying, then no one food is better than another.”
She begged to differ. “Bullshit.”
“Not bullshit.”
“The hell it isn’t. There’s a reason a burger joint has never won a Michelin star.”
“And plenty of Michelin star restaurants have burgers on their menus. It isn’t what you make, Lauren. It’s how you make it.” Shaking his head, he added, “Any chef worthy of the title should know that.”
Fuck that.
“Last I checked, you were a head cook without a culinary education. You can tell yourself learning on the line is the same, but it isn’t. So the next time you feel like handing out free advice, save us both the time and stick it up your ass.”
Pulling her keys from her pocket, Lauren strode off toward the parking area and could almost feel the smoke coming out of her ears. She was a chef, goddamn it, and she didn’t need Nick Stamatis or anyone else’s approval to claim the title. Not about what you make? What nonsense. A chef’s dishes were an extension of who they were. The culmination of years spent mastering techniques and honing their skills to be the best.
Lauren would be considered one of the best someday. Even if it was over one bar cook’s dead body.
“What the hell did you say to her?”
Nick spun to find Mona Bradwell behind him, her eyes on Lauren in the distance. A ball cap covered her short black hair and a pair of sunglasses sat atop the bill of the hat. The UNC hoodie was two sizes too big for her, but matched the teal Chucks.
“Something she didn’t want to hear,” he replied. “That’s what you get to deal with if you go back.”
Mona smiled. “The only part I heard was her telling you to shove it up your ass. I like her.”
Not the reaction he expected. “I thought you didn’t like hotheaded chefs.”
“Who says she’s hotheaded?”
He looked toward Lauren and back. “Did you not just see that?”
The woman share a wry smile. “You pissed her off and she snapped back. That makes her ballsy in my book. Let me guess. You were telling her how to run her restaurant.”
Not exactly. At least not in that moment.
“All I did was point out that fine dining isn’t superior to bar food.” And he’d questioned her right to call herself a chef, which had been out of line.
“According to whom?” Mona shook her head. “Nobody is going to pay caviar prices for one of your crab cakes.”
“Who’s selling caviar?” Deborah Prince asked as she joined them. He should have known the two would be together. Deborah’s sweatshirt was similar to Mona’s, as they both had daughters who attended the university.
Mona turned to face her friend. “Mr. Nick here thinks his bar fare is on the fine dining level.”
“I never said that.”
“The male ego is a wondrous thing,” Deborah said, ignoring his response. “I can’t argue that Dempsey’s serves good food, but you are not serving up anything that competes with a five-star restaurant.”
“I didn’t say Dempsey’s is a five-star restaurant.”
“You said it was just as good.”
“I’m saying all food is equal so long as it makes people happy.”
Deborah snorted. “My husband makes me happy, but I don’t delude myself into thinking he’s just as good as George Clooney.”
“George is so fine,” Mona mumbled.
“Yes, he is.”
Nick was losing control of this conversation. “Who said anything about George Clooney?”
“It’s called an analogy,” Deborah replied. “Proof that all men are not created equal, just like all food is not created equal. What’s good will always be subjective, but equal is a whole other matter.”
“The best cheeseburger is never going to beat the best filet mignon,” Mona added. “So I see why Chef Riley told you to stick it up your ass.”
“She said that?” Deborah asked.
“Loud and cle
ar,” Mona assured her.
“Then I like her already.”
This was not how Nick saw his morning going. “We’ll see if you two feel the same after spending a week in her kitchen. And that’s if she gives you a job.”
“I sense a little rivalry going on,” Mona murmured.
“He’s definitely feeling threatened,” Deborah nodded.
Nick didn’t like that implication. “I am not threatened by Lauren Riley.”
“If you say so.”
The women didn’t look convinced.
“I have a restaurant to run.” He held up the greens as if they were proof of his claim. “Good luck working with your new chef. When it falls apart, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He walked away before either could toss out another sarcastic remark. The last thing Nick expected was for the two kitchen powerhouses to actually like their potential new employer. They were probably only messing with him, and if he were honest, this was the best thing that could happen. Lauren needed help and she clearly wasn’t going to take it from him.
Maybe he’d just done her a favor. Getting Mona and Deborah on her side instead of fighting against her would make the reopening go that much smoother. By the time he reached his truck, Nick was patting himself on the back for turning a potential problem into a solution. She would never know it, but he was saving her ass already.
5
Since the tables and chairs were finally being delivered to the restaurant, Lauren held the staff interviews at the Destination Anchor offices. Roxie checked them in as they arrived and then sent them to Lauren in the conference room one at a time. So far, three dishwashers, six waiters, five waitresses, and five cooks had passed through. All but four had served on the previous staff and none had given Lauren any reason not to hire them.
The interview with the former pastry chef had been the most encouraging. Deborah Prince knew her stuff, and she’d made clear that she was ready and willing to work for Lauren. The enthusiasm was appreciated and had quelled much of the concerns with which she had started the day.
The current interview was going just as well.
“Your level of experience is impressive.” Lauren scanned farther down the resume. “How did you end up on Anchor Island?”
“I came for vacation,” Mona Bradwell replied, “and I never left.”
Lauren looked up. “Really?”
“Really. I was working in Atlantic City and I hated it. The Marina had a sign on the door that said they were looking for a cook. Me and my daughter, who’s off at college now, could live on the ocean, afford a better place than the crappy studio apartment we were in at the time, and within five minutes of meeting Jackson, I knew I could actually enjoy the people I worked with. Have you talked to him yet?”
“No, but he should be in next.”
“He’s the best,” Mona assured her. “I’ve worked with every kind of chef you can think of. None are as calm and steady as Jackson. He doesn’t expect anyone to do what he isn’t willing to do himself, and he was always the first one in and the last one out.”
At this rate, Lauren wouldn’t need to conduct the next interview. “How do you think he would do as second-in-command instead of leading the crew?”
“Oh, Jackson doesn’t care much about that. He made the schedules and expedited the orders, but we were all equals in the kitchen.” Mona chuckled. “He might be the only man I know who doesn’t have an ego the size of Texas. The only chef for sure.”
The man sounded too good to be true.
“Speaking of egos,” Mona continued, “I caught some of that little head-to-head you had with Nick Stamatis at the farmer’s market.”
That had not been Lauren’s finest hour. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me.”
“On the contrary. Deborah and I talked to him after you stormed off and got the gist of things. Good for you for telling him where to shove it.”
“What did Nick tell you?”
“That nonsense about all food being equal.” The woman shifted to lean her elbow on the back of her chair. “Not in a million years.”
Lauren couldn’t help but smile. If Jackson proved to be half the paragon his friends made him out to be, then as of that moment, Lauren could relax knowing she had a full, capable staff to help make her dream a reality.
“Ms. Bradwell, how would you feel about the station chef position?”
This was essentially the third-in-command and in larger restaurants would be held by multiple chefs. Considering the size of Pilar’s, plus Mona’s extensive experience, she was the perfect person to fill such a vital role.
“Chef Riley,” she replied with a grin, “you can count on me.”
Feeling better than she had in weeks, Lauren rose from her chair and extended a hand. “I look forward to working with you.”
Mona rose and accepted the handshake. “Same here. When do you want me to start?”
Since her visit to the farmer’s market, Lauren had nearly finished her menu, but she needed the weekend to add the final touches, and then a couple of days to get in the ingredients so they could begin building the dishes.
“Wednesday morning will be good. I’ll have Roxie email the details by the end of the day.”
They walked together to the door and Lauren showed her out. Waiting outside was Jackson Moore, right on time.
“Jackson, come on in,” she said, holding the door for him.
“Thank you, Chef,” he said as he stepped through. The way he straightened his tie revealed his nerves, but a genuine smile still reached his eyes.
“Have a seat.”
He waited until she’d taken her own seat before following the order. Lauren appreciated his manners.
“You have a lot of fans on this island.” Others before Mona had sung his praises. “I hope you can live up to the hype.”
A blush rose on his ebony cheeks. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but I’m a hard worker and would like the opportunity to earn my place in your kitchen.”
“That’s good because this interview is just a formality. Your years with the Marina say a lot about your dedication, but the people who worked with you have convinced me. There’s only one issue to discuss. You were the head chef before, but at Pilar’s you would be the deputy chef. Will this be a problem?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, Chef. I’m a big believer that a kitchen doesn’t run without a solid team. We all have to pull our weight and I’ll do that in whatever capacity you need.”
A hundred-pound weight lifted off her shoulders.
“Excellent. Then it’s settled.” Rising, she added, “The others will start on Wednesday, but I’d like to add one or two staples from the Marina menu to give the locals something familiar. Are you available to come in on Sunday? I’d appreciate your help in determining which dishes to add, but I’ll have to try them first.”
Her new sous chef stood with a grin. “That’s a great idea.”
She hated to give Stamatis the satisfaction of following another of his suggestions, but he’d been right. Damn him.
“Then Sunday it is. Leave a list of ingredients with Roxie and I’ll pick them up tomorrow. Then we’ll meet at the restaurant at nine Sunday morning.”
“Yes, Chef.”
Jackson left the conference room with a skip in his step and Lauren relaxed back into her chair. She’d done it. She had her first kitchen staff and they were ready to work. Test one over.
Only a thousand more to go.
When Nick moved to Anchor Island, cell service was spotty at best. In the two years since, nothing had changed. Thankfully, most businesses on the island offered free Wi-Fi so while making calls remained difficult, islanders were still able to stay connected through the needy little devices in their pockets.
Nick wasn’t a slave to his phone, but it did come in handy on days like today, when he was stuck in Alex Fielding’s waiting room while his grandmother had her regular appointment. Though Nota insisted otherwise, she was no
longer a safe driver. That made Nick and Mia her chauffeurs and today was his turn.
The text from Jackson was a welcome distraction. Lauren was bringing back the entire Marina crew plus a few additional team members. She’d also asked for Jackson’s input on picking staples from the previous menu to offer on Pilar’s. Basically, the woman had taken all of Nick’s suggestions after telling him he could shove them up his ass.
Both annoyed and vindicated, Nick didn’t notice the doctor enter the waiting room until he’d tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, looking up from his phone. “Is Nota okay?”
“She’s fine,” Alex said. “Can we talk?”
He glanced around the doctor and didn’t see his grandmother. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he assured him. “Nota is as healthy as she was when she walked in. This is something else.”
Nick relaxed. He and Alex were more acquaintances than friends, but if the doc needed to talk, Nick saw no reason not to oblige him. He followed the man down a narrow hall to a small office on the left. Alex motioned for him to enter first, then followed him in and closed the door.
Either he’d been lying about Nota’s health, or the doc had some confession to make. Why he’d choose Nick of all people to tell was a mystery yet to be revealed.
“How are you?” the doctor asked once they’d both taken a seat.
“I’m good. How are you?” he replied, going along with whatever this was.
“I’m okay, thanks for asking. No one ever does that.”
“Does what?”
“Asks me how I am.”
Right. Was the doc raiding his own medicine cabinet?
“When was the last time you had a physical?” Alex asked next, taking Nick by surprise.
He had to think about his answer. “Before I moved here so I guess a couple of years ago.” Leaning forward, he said, “Does Nota need a kidney or something? What is this about?”
“You just had a birthday, didn’t you?” the doc said, ignoring the question.