The Secret Ingredient

by KD Fisher

  “So,” Riccardo said heavily and my whole body seemed to drop through the floor, “I know you saw the article. Such a shame we lost out on the award.”

  “Yes. Sir, I’m so sorry, I did everything I could—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Adah. Marcus did reach out to me directly to compliment your off-menu dish.” Another heavy sigh. “I’m a big enough man to admit that I made a mistake.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, my list of ideas for turning Bella Vista around ready on my tongue. But before I could say a word, Riccardo continued.

  “You’ve seen the numbers. What we’re doing just isn’t profitable. Clearly when the tourist trade dies down, so does business. I’m thinking we’ll have to do a complete overhaul. Tone things down a bit to draw more people in.”

  Beth’s words about scaling back for the winter echoed in my head. I’d been so confident that I’d known the right path. And now I had nothing but failure to show for my arrogance. “Sorry,” I cut in, “but what do you mean? Because I have some ideas.” I hoped my worry didn’t show in my voice. Across the kitchen I caught Jay’s eye, their face the picture of incredulity.

  “Oh darling, didn’t Sean tell you?” Riccardo sounded genuinely surprised.

  “No, Sean didn’t tell me anything,” I ground out.

  “Oh, well, I’m thinking of going in a different direction. Closing for a few weeks in the new year, changing up the space a little. Going for more of a fast casual approach. And making some changes to the kitchen staff.” This last sentence came out fast, clearly not news Ric had wanted to deliver to me personally.

  I knew what this meant. My job was gone. There was no reason to pay my salary and benefits when a brand-new culinary school grad could churn out an overly fancy menu of sandwiches and salads. Dang it, Beth had been right all along, these jerks really didn’t care about anything but the bottom line.

  “Do I still have a job?” I sounded like a scared little girl. Heck, I felt like a scared little girl. If this didn’t work out, if I’d uprooted my whole life, my son’s life, just to fail, I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jay making frantic motions but I focused hard on the table in front of me, the nicks and divots in the soft pine surface. Pete and I had spotted this table on the curb in our neighborhood back in Chicago, racing home to get the car to load it into, grateful we’d no longer be eating picnic-style on the floor of our apartment.

  “Oh of course, my dear.” Riccardo’s words cut the strings of tension holding me upright and I sagged with relief. “But you’re expensive. I know you care deeply about the food, that’s why I hired you. And I know you’re worth it.” I felt another but coming. I’d been exhausted before this conversation, after it ended I expected to be laid out comatose on my kitchen floor. “If I’m honest I think your talents are being wasted up there. You should come back to Chicago. We miss you at Café Eloise. And I’d love to take you on as executive chef. Sean recommended someone to run things at Bella Vista as we, I’ll be frank, dumb things down. This guy is just out of school and...well, he has different standards for running a kitchen.”

  I ended the call a moment later, perfectly polite. Riccardo promised to check in with me in a few weeks once he’d made final decisions. My heart seemed to be racing hard against my rib cage and struggling to beat at the same time. Logically, I knew I was still sitting in my kitchen, in the apartment that was just starting to feel something like home. Soon I’d have to get myself up and bundled to pick up Pete from a school he’d grown to love. A gust of wind off the water rattled the frost-etched windows. I felt disembodied and numb. I knew I should be angry, maybe panicked, but my mind was strangely blank. There was nothing I could do. The decision was out of my hands.

  “This is trash. I’m quitting.” Jay’s outrage pulled me back to myself. Clearly, they’d heard most of the call.

  Then the panic came in a tingling wave. I was hot, my skin suddenly two sizes too tight. I was going to have to run again. Leave everything behind. I wouldn’t wake up to the low foghorns in the bay or the shrill cries of gulls. I wouldn’t hear Vanessa downstairs shout-singing along to Madonna. I would lose the closest thing I’d ever had to a real mother. Pete was going to lose his family all over again. And I was going to lose the woman I loved for good.

  “I don’t want to leave,” I whispered.

  Jay’s eyes practically popped out of their head. “You can’t be serious. You want to keep working with Sean after he fucked you over like this? Because I can guarantee you that this whole ‘fast casual’ thing was that idiot’s idea.”

  I shook my head slowly, like the motion might clear my blurred thoughts. “I don’t know. I guess I have to take things one day at a time. See what happens.”

  If Jay weren’t as docile as a lamb, I think they would have physically shaken me in that moment. Instead they pushed a beautifully made omelet across the table to me and mumbled that I needed to eat. The kitchen was silent for a long moment as I cut into the carefully folded eggs and cheese, willing myself to chew and swallow. Jay was an excellent cook in addition to being a truly gifted baker, but the dish could have been a gas station burrito long-forgotten in the back of a warmer for all I enjoyed it.

  Once I’d taken a few bites, Jay continued their combination pep-talk-rant. “You know you don’t have to keep your head down and take whatever shit Sean and Ric pile on you, right? You’re an excellent chef. Another place would snap you up in a hot second. No matter what you do, I’m giving my notice tomorrow. There are about a million bakeries in South Bay. Hell, I’ll work at a coffee shop again before I work for that piece of shit snake. You know he wouldn’t have done this to you if you were yet another big macho dudebro. He doesn’t want people to shake things up and you fucked with the hierarchy that keeps him on top because you’re such a stoic motherfucker and you actually treat everyone with respect.” They paused and stole a bite of eggs. “You know what? I’m going to email him my two weeks now. I don’t owe him anything and I’m sick of making melon sorbet in the middle of fucking winter. No one wants to eat it!”

  We both smiled then. Jay had been shocked and appalled by the new dessert menu Zest had come up with. Instead of their thoughtfully made takes on Greek and Middle Eastern desserts, they were now expected to churn out complicated petit fours, a variety of powders and foams, and sorbets that no one ever ordered.

  Then, without warning, Jay launched out of their seat, the kitchen chair tipping back and clattering to the floor. My heart started back up with its fast, heavy beating and my eyes darted around the kitchen for the source of the commotion. But Jay was beaming, pacing in front of the stove. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” Their fever-pitch, excited words reminded me of Beth getting geared up for one of her passionate rants and I tried to ignore the fresh wave of sadness washing over me. “We’ll open up our own place. This city desperately needs a good, high-quality neighborhood diner. Right now folks have to choose between tourist traps and the old-timer greasy spoons. We could make everything from scratch and do a nicer dinner service. What do you think?” They were nearly vibrating with excitement.

  The idea sounded about as practical to me as opening up a restaurant on the moon and my reluctance must have shown on my face. Jay shrugged and mumbled that it was just one idea before righting their chair and sinking back into it. But the more I thought about the idea, the better it seemed. Realistically, it would be almost impossible to get together the money, but I wondered what it would be like to work for myself. To have control over my own menu. To be able to bounce ideas off of Beth. I realized then, how much I’d been underestimating her the whole time. I’d assumed what she did, despite seeing her in action, was somehow easier than my work. In reality, though, the opposite was probably true. She just made it look effortless because she was that amazing.

  * * *

  After a re
stless night of tossing and turning, fears about my future racing through my head, I slipped out of bed before the sun came up. My body felt full-up with crackling energy. After a series of push-ups and planks did nothing to dispel it, I decided to make Pete a big breakfast before school. Most mornings we were in a hurry to get out of the house by seven so I could get him to his before-school program and get into the kitchen before anyone else arrived. I loved the quiet calm of my space, taking care of any loose ends before the chaos of the day began. Now, I decided, I wouldn’t bother with going in early. Pete could go to school at nine and I would head into the restaurant after. It was high time the two of us enjoyed a leisurely breakfast together.

  A half hour later my son had demolished two large helpings of biscuits and gravy and was eyeing the stove for leftovers. His appetite had skyrocketed the past few months, which meant a growth spurt and a trip to Goodwill for a whole bunch of new clothes would be soon to follow. I pushed my plate over to him and he attacked it like a hungry coyote. I took a huge gulp of coffee, hoping the steady stream of caffeine would make me at least semi-functional for whatever awful scenario waited for me at work.

  “Mom,” Pete said through a mouthful of food. I gestured for him to swallow before continuing. “Did you and Beth break up?”

  The question hit me square in the chest, surprising me so much I answered honestly. “Yeah, honey, I think we did.” I hated that he’d gotten to know her, that he’d gotten close to her, only for me to screw everything up. And now I was failing as a parent too. Fantastic.

  “You don’t seem very happy.” He looked at me for a long time and I had to wonder what he saw. I knew I looked tired, my face gaunt and hair a rumpled mess.

  After shoveling a few more bites into his mouth Pete scraped back his chair and headed to his room to get ready for school. I sat at the table, my coffee going cold as I tried to figure out how to fix this disaster I’d gotten myself into.

  Enough snow had fallen overnight that I was surprised Pete’s school hadn’t closed. But I had to hand it to the city of South Bay. The roads were plowed clear and salted, the sidewalks shoveled. The fresh snow glimmered in the weak morning sun, almost pretty. I trudged the half mile from Pete’s school to the restaurant, past cute tourist stores selling homemade jam and nautical memorabilia. It wasn’t even a week after Thanksgiving but already the town had put up a giant Christmas tree made of lobster traps, pine boughs, and twinkle lights. All around me people were heading into work, clutching cardboard cups of coffee, bundled up in heavy scarves and hats. I’d forgotten both and the wind blew icy snowflakes down the collar of my coat, making my whole body shudder.

  As much as my sluggish brain wanted to toil over what to do and what to say when I got into the kitchen, it was like my thoughts were moving through molasses. What I did know was that spontaneously quitting like Jay had would be a huge risk. I had just managed to switch out of financial survival mode, opening a savings account and putting money into it regularly for the first time in my life. On the other hand, that account did mean I had a little cushion. And if I swallowed my pride, I could probably land another job in South Bay within a few weeks. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but it would be money, a chance to take stock of what I wanted and how I wanted to move forward. At the end of the day, what mattered was Pete. Right now I was barely spending time with him and when I was home I was so exhausted and distracted I could barely pull together the gumption to help him with his homework, much less play marathon games of Go Fish and War like we used to. What was the point of missing out on my kid growing up for a job I might lose anyway?

  I must have really been out of it because when I looked up from the steady blur of white and gray, I was at Bella Vista. The kitchen door was already propped open and inside I could make out the clatter of pans and distant buzz of the sports radio the prep cooks listened to when I wasn’t around. No quiet time for contemplation this morning.

  Neither Mac nor Jay was in when I rounded the corner, still buttoning my whites. But Sean was. And the silky smile on his face rocked a chill down my spine. It was like the reverend’s placid calm right before he sent his fist through the wall.

  “Well good morning, Adah. In a little late today, are we?” He was using his front of house voice, overly hearty and weirdly emotionless at the same time. When I didn’t say anything a tiny cloud of irritation passed over his face, but he soldiered on. “Ric told me you two talked yesterday.”

  I nodded briskly and dropped my shoulders, never breaking eye contact. I was done with his games. “Yup. He told me he was gonna take some time to figure out next steps. We talked through a few ideas I have for turning things around.” This last part was a lie, but Sean didn’t need to know that.

  He smiled his creepy shark grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I do too. I shared a few of them with Ric this morning. He and I decided you should stay on.”

  My jaw actually dropped as his words registered. Was it possible I’d been wrong about Sean this whole time? That I’d been reading bad intentions into his behavior when really he was just trying to do right by the restaurant? Maybe my hair-trigger negative first impression of him had been wrong.

  “In a more...supportive capacity,” he continued. Okay, heck no. I hadn’t been wrong at all. I wanted to go back in time a few seconds, pluck that thought out of my brain, and throw it right into the garbage disposal. Sean was a bad egg through and through. “You did well in that role at Café Eloise. I think you shine when someone else...a better team player, is running the show. Does that make sense? If we just bring in a guy with a fresher take—”

  I lifted a hand to cut him off. The fog lifted and I knew exactly what I needed to say. “Thank you for the generous offer, Sean, but I don’t think that’s the right role for me.” I gave myself the pleasure of pausing and looking at his splotchy potato face getting angry for a moment. “I quit.” I savored the power of those two words. “Honestly, I’ve had enough of you trying to make this place as uncomfortable for me as you could. Bella Vista isn’t the kind of environment I want to work in and you have a whole lot to do with that. But good luck with the whole fast casual thing. Hope it does real well for you.”

  When I walked out the door a few minutes later, knives and a small handful of my things stuffed into a canvas tote bag, I felt lighter. Free in a way I hadn’t since I left home all those years ago. And I knew where I was going next.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beth

  About ninety-nine percent of the time I wished computers had never been invented. Sure, dog videos and the whole limitless access to information thing were great...but at what cost? Having to deal with social media, endless emails, and now, apparently, setting up an online reservation system, made me want to go back in time and stop Al Gore from inventing the internet. Really, it shouldn’t have been that hard. All I wanted was to add a button to our stupid piece of garbage website that people could click on to reserve a table.

  After the Best of New England feature officially ran in print copies of Gourmand a week ago, our phone had, no lie, not stopped ringing. I thought poor Ahmed’s ear was going to fall off, he spent so much time sweet-talking into that flour-crusted cordless. After a few nights of parking lot Tetris and hordes of angry people from Boston and even New York lined up in the snow and getting mad about our first-come-first-served policy, we realized something needed to change. A woman had actually cried when she realized she wouldn’t be able to join us for dinner last night. So, a reservation system it was. Since we’d posted on our Instagram this morning that we were now open to reservations, we’d already booked out for the entire rest of the month.

  Without a doubt, this was the moment where the whole having a business plan thing might have been a good idea. Staking my ability to expand my business on winning a paltry sum of cash in a local food festival probably hadn’t been the best example of thinking ahead. As it stood, I had no earthly idea how to de
al with this volume of business. And with Nina leaving at the end of December, I was starting to panic. No, not panic. I trusted the path I’d chosen. Besides, my favorite astrologer’s yearly overview for Taurus had promised that this was the year I would settle into the groove that was right for me. And seeing as it was late fall I was kind of running out of time...everything was going to be just fine. So what, I was back to officially running on day-old bread, tepid coffee, and catnaps. Who cared that my mom and dad were basically taking full-time care of my dog? No big deal that I’d managed to destroy the best relationship I’d had with the only woman I’d ever truly loved. I shoved that last thought down to the very bottom drawer in my mind and locked it up tight. If I let myself think about Adah I would start crying again, and I wasn’t quite sure if my body had enough liquid left in reserve to support another weep session.

  I stood, shook out my hands, and shuffled out of my tiny mess of an office to the equally tiny, but very visually pleasing, dining room. When The Yellow House had still been Summers’s Corner Café, the space had been perfect for my mom’s needs. A few tables for folks to camp out at and chat, a bar overlooking the hearth (then purely ornamental and crowded with family photos, dried flowers, and a creepy taxidermy owl). Now Ahmed had to weave through tightly crowded two tops clustered around the big, communal farmhouse table. Even before the latest award things had been...cozy. Now, with the addition of a few more stools at the bar and a lot more guests hoping to crowd around the big weathered wooden table, it just wasn’t working. In fact, if the fire marshal, my dad’s old baseball buddy, happened to stop by, even he might not be able to look the other way at the tight quarters.

  No doubt about it, we needed to expand. Really, we needed to build a whole new dining room and turn the entire cottage into an expanded kitchen. But that meant money that I didn’t have. And no way was I raising the prices so high folks in town couldn’t afford to eat with us. And the idea of an investor telling me how to run my business made me want to preemptively scream. But as soon as more customers started pouring in, the energy in the kitchen had been a little more charged than I preferred. Even though my brother and Eitan liked to make fun of me about it, I swore up and down that any stress we carried in our bodies would come through in the food. There was no denying that I was radiating stress at the moment. But I also had barely been cooking with all of this administrative bullshit on my plate. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for sending Grace my way. She’d been the one to bake the tarte tatin with rice and chestnut flour crust that Marcus devoted two whole paragraphs to and the one to keep things positive and fresh in the kitchen since we’d gotten so horribly busy.