Le Repas
By: Kevin Dehbozorgi
1.
Apéritif
Lucas Hughes is a 23-year-old lad living
in the concrete jungle of New York City. Lucas is about 5’ 10”, brown hair,
scrawny, and is a rather shy, yet smart individual. He sometimes lacks
confidence, but is apt at learning new things. At times, his social skills
could use some work, but Lucas is a nice man with good intentions, and is
relatively easy to get along with. His work ethic was that of a strong ox, though
his external appearance is that of a calf. He accepts a challenge when one is
thrown his way. Even though he does not seem like a strong person if he is
insulted, he will state his opinion and not be ashamed of it. Lucas is not a
fan of scheduling or time management. He is spontaneous and works better under
pressure and chaos. Being the only child, his parents always have the spotlight
on him (and not in the good way). They expect him to do great at school, go to
a good college, and follow in their footsteps. His parents were lawyers from
New York City, and were always absent due to work and were not around much of
his childhood. Thinking of a cook as an improper career, Lucas’ parents were
not supportive what so ever. Independently living Lucas lives in his cramped
studio on 9th and W. 20th St. His apartment was dimly lit
and decorated, resembling a police interrogation room. Every now and then the
ground grumbles and the lights sway, not from an earthquake, but from the
11:07a.m. 6 train stretching from the Bronx to Brooklyn. Inside was a living
room connected to a bedroom, down the hall and to the right was the kitchen.
Though the refrigerator was small it was always packed with some cooking
ingredients for post-workday meals. The living room had a TV, some posters, and
a table that had scattered beer cans, some magazines, and an ashtray.
Lucas’ start for the adoration of
the culinary arts began at age 16 in England visiting his extended family. His
grandmother was the head chef for his family in England. Surviving the German
bombing raids of World War II, she was able to express her skills of cooking
for Lucas. Scones, beef wellington, Shepard’s pie, and English breakfast were
among the list of delicious meals produced by Mrs. Hughes. His grandmother’s
Shepard’s pie specifically, his favorite dish, was the catalyzer to becoming a
chef. Her Shepard’s pie was legendary and near perfect. She would ground the
lamb herself, mash the potatoes manually, and peel and chop the onions,
carrots, celery, and garlic. The layers of meat and vegetables were topped with
the mashed potatoes and a mixture of cheeses. This masterpiece was placed in
her 60’s-esque oven. Once the light blue ceramic pot was taken out of the oven
the potatoes and melted cheese were a nice golden brown color. Placed on
her classic glass English serving plate it was profusely steaming due to the
fact that just two minutes before this the dish was radiating in a near
200-degree Celsius oven. Not only did the tastes inspire Lucas, but the fact
that a frail, wrinkled, 70-year-old woman was responsible for this laboring
meal. Returning back to the United States Lucas applied to some restaurants,
hoping to excel his culinary career. He was lucky enough to land a job, where
he worked throughout high school, and was a busboy, server, dishwasher, and the
occasional fry cook. Lucas read many books by famous chefs and food writers,
such as Mark Kurlansky, Michael Pollan, and Gael Greene. During his free time
he would spend it in the kitchen recreating his grandmother’s recipes and
practice techniques and dishes that would be difficult for a line cook.
Julienne cuts, dicing, fileting fish were some of the easier techniques Lucas
mastered. Engastration, coddling, and poaching were among the advanced techniques
Lucas attempted in the Hughes’ kitchen. Since Lucas did not have a cleaning
crew in his kitchen, like many restaurants, his parent’s kitchen was left a
mess with pots, whisks, a mound of flour on the counter, and wine spills. After
graduating high school he went to college for one year. During this brief
chapter of his life Lucas did mainly three things: cook, smoke marijuana, and
skip class. In fact he found his clique of interested college kids that love
drugs, music, wine, and great food. Instead of going to dance clubs and
parties, his crew went to quiet dive bars where there was a good selection of
music, quality (but cheap) beer, and pool tables. Duff’s was the usual go-to
for Lucas and his friends. He ended up dropping school, which is just the first
thing that pissed his parents off. Since his parents were both reputable
lawyers, his dad was able to get Lucas a job as a mail-boy at his buddy’s law
firm.
2. Hors d’Oeurvres
Aimlessly slapping his nightstand,
optimistically thinking that he would hit his snooze button and extend his
slumber for five more minutes, ultimately waking up at 6:30 a.m. Lucas would
need to gain strength to rise from bed so that he won’t be late for work. Lucas
is a 5’10” slender fellow with dirty blonde hair. He looks rugged due to his
facial hair, but his personality says otherwise. Lucas’ personality is in a
weird limbo of introvert and extrovert. While being capable of making social
interactions and relationships, Lucas is typically shy and often times keeps to
himself. He is intuitive and smart, but often times his brightness is shadowed
by a lack of confidence to speak out. He perseveres to the bathroom and starts
his routine he has repeated for the past 730 days. Lucas showers, brushes his
teeth, puts on one of his seven work shirts, his pants and belt, and goes out
the door.
When walking to the train station he takes
the same route every time. A right towards Jackson St. Then three blocks turn
left on 41st street and he will be at the 41st street
subway station. Scanning his train card it misreads and Lucas is jolted by the
sturdy metal bars in his way. Behind Lucas, rushing commuters pile up like
plaque clogging an artery, embarrassed by the fiasco Lucas skirts towards his
stop. The F train will take you to the heart of Manhattan. A 25-30-minute ride
will bring you from the outskirts of the skidrow-esque Steel District to the
metropolitan sphere of New York City. After he arrives in the concrete jungle
never-ending skyscrapers fill the view rather than Lucas’ usual sight of subway
tracks and a long steel bridge that has barnacles crawling from its legs. D’s
Donuts, a small yellow donut shop with just one fan to cool the employees and
customers cool during humid summers, is Lucas’ spot. Mr. Chew, the elderly
Chinese man who runs the place, knows his order by heart. “One glazed bar and a
black coffee!” Exclaims Mr. Chew. “Thanks Mr. Chew, but what temperature do you
heat the oil for the donuts?” Lucas responded. As Lucas repeats himself a
couple times and Mr. Chew gets a bit closer he responds in broken English, “Family
secret.” covers his mouth and laughs. Lucas and Mr. Chew enjoy talking about
food, Lucas typically asks Mr. Chew about the wonders of Chinese cuisine. Mrs.
Chew makes a dank Xiaolongbao (Shanghai style dumpling). Delicately wrapped,
the meat’s fat renders down into a flavor filled broth that when bitten into,
will unleash a flow of lava hot broth. Even though it scalds the roof of your
mouth, the flavor and essence makes the pain somewhat pleasurable. Mr. Chew and
Lucas’ relationship has grown over the past couple years, in fact Mr. Chew was
the source of Lucas’ sanity. The ten- minute interaction Lucas has with the
aged Chinese man is over and reluctantly walks to his job.
Working as a mail boy for the Fox & Hunter
Insurance Firm, Lucas does not admire his work. The only reason he is even
there is because Lucas’ parents are among the top lawyers in the Manhattan
peninsula. Delivering mails and pressing elevator buttons was not Lucas’ true
passion what so ever. Instead, the culinary arts were his muse. His workday
starts by saying hello to Danny, the 53-54-year-old doorman. Danny is a down to
Earth man with a decently sized gap between his two top teeth, some circular
glasses, and a grey-haired moustache that resembles that of Teddy Roosevelt’s.
Making his way to the elevator and presses 17. Lucas is an observant guy, he
notices random noises, routines, and actions people do or make in given
situations. Neil, a douchebag representative is always trying to make a move
when he notices estrogen in the elevator. When the 17 light goes out and the
elevator makes the generic and depressing “ping” sound, Lucas squeezes through
the crowd and makes his way to the mailroom to see what his day will consist
of. His manager hands him a basket filled with white envelopes, manila folders,
small packages, and those strange cylindrical canisters offices have for some
reason. Once they are in order from lowest floor to highest he commences his
run. Once he is done with the first fifty, Lucas is welcomed back with more
envelopes, manila folders, packages, and weird cylinder things. After his 10th
mail run Lucas feels like his workday is just about over. He strolls to the
main office where a line of white and grey clocks are horizontally set up
against a white wall with signs reading: London, Beijing, Tokyo, Taipei, Los
Angeles, Chicago, and finally New York.
Reading 11:00 in London, then quickly darting his head to the very left
(because he could give a less of a fuck what time it was in the Taiwanese
capital) Lucas looks at the clock and the hour hand is hovering directly in
line with the minute hand forming a 180-degree line which equates to another
workday being over.
Before grabbing the F Train back to the
rusty district Lucas stops by a local grocer to buy some ingredients for a meal
tonight. Since it’s Friday, Lucas thinks he needs something special, possibly a
steak dinner. Browsing through the produce section the shades of green were in
abundance and the leafy heads of lettuce and kale were still dripping water
from the overhead sprinklers. Swooping some white mushrooms, potatoes, baby
broccoli, garlic, and rosemary and thyme for aromatic features, he moves on to
the protein of the night. Chuck, Rib Eye, Sirloin, Ribs, Shank, and Flank were
lined up behind the clear glass. Lucas eyes a sirloin and points to it. The
chubby, lackadaisical worker hands him the steak and now Lucas moves on to the
finishing touch. Basket full of meat and veg he slowly approaches Aisle 16. The
Wine & Spirits Aisle. Venturing down he sees the Darks. Tequilas, Whiskies,
the liquids that for the time being will make you feel like an impenetrable
fortress, but will wake you up with a handful of regrets. Then come the Lights,
Vodkas, some Gins catch the eye. These are the reliable choice that ensures a
good time, but still have some recollection (All enjoyed in moderation of
course). Finally the wine section arrives and Lucas directly hits the Red
Wines. White Wines and Steak…what. Piecing together in his brain what cut of
beef he acquired he diverts his attention to the Cabernets. A 2014 Columbia
Crest H3 will suffice for the evening. Snatching some more goods before
checking out he heads out the door to catch the next train outbound.
Approaching his home Lucas leans over, along with all the items in the bag,
trying to finesse his carabiner off his belt loop. Groceries on the counter
Lucas is mid-way de-corking the bottle of wine. The burgundy, purplish liquid
glistened the light from the lamps beautifully. He picks the groceries from the
bag and lays them out on the counter. He looks upon the ingredients and
pictures what each ingredient will do to complement each other in the dish, as
an artist would do with colors on a canvas. Mise
en Scene was deeply followed by Lucas. He sips from his wine, takes a
cutting board from the drawer, and unsheathes a knife. Blasting some Dick Dale
Lucas starts slicing the mushrooms in halves. The knife pierces the fungi
effortlessly. Once the mushrooms were prepped it was time for the potatoes.
Slicing the yellow potatoes in near symmetric medallions Lucas soaks them in
cold water to avoid starch build up which will lead to sticking while cooking.
With a swift crunch he cuts a head of garlic in half. The odor would kill at
least ten vampires within the vicinity. The oven is basting the Rosemary Garlic
Potatoes in heat, the aroma inches its way through the many tiny crevices in
the oven. Enticing one with an appetite. It’s time to season the steak. The
steak was lying flat on a plate, the flesh was as red as a fire engine. The
marbling ran through the beef in all directions as would a river delta flowing
into an ocean. Seasoning steak is simple, salt and pepper. As Lucas breaks the
grains of course Sea salt with his thumb and index finger the abrasive texture
creates friction, then the broken-down pieces fall like meteors to the surface
of the steak. The Black Peppercorns add a smoky flavor and the steak needs a
heavy dose. Once the steak is seasoned, in the oven for 20 minutes for a
stunning medium-rare. Potatoes half way done, steaks in the oven, it is now
time for the mushrooms to get some tender, love, and care. Lucas grabs his
trusty iron skillet, slaps some olive oil, and lets the pan get really fucking
hot. Once he notices the pan is smoking, in the mushrooms go. Literally the
millisecond they hit the cast iron, a symphony of sizzles fill the room. As the
orchestra plays, the music entrances Lucas to forget about his manager,
parents, the 576 envelopes and packages he delivers every day. Even Neil the
self-serving, suit-jockey escapes Lucas’ hippocampus. Not many people enjoy listening to mushrooms
getting the water sucked out of them, but Lucas does (that’s also the reason
why they sizzle so loud in a pan). Keeping the heat high so all the water is
flushed out and the mushrooms get some color, he gives the pan a good flip and
a flame roared from the stovetop like a solar flare. Lucas was COOKIN. Salt,
Pepper, Garlic, Sprigs of Thyme, all went into this mushroom extravaganza. A
(couple) teaspoon of butter went in and the mushrooms were glistening and
brown. They are done. 20 minutes elapsed and the steak was ready for the
skillet. Grabbing the head of garlic, both Thyme and Rosemary, and the secret
to anything delicious. Butter. Olive oil in the hot pan Lucas lays the steak
away from him. Once the oil and steak makes contact with each other a flavor
fusion occurs that sends a shockwave of peppery aromas, Lucas sneezes a couple
times and makes a mental note “A tad less pepper next time.” Recuperating from
those ahchoos he flips the steak. The only time he will flip the steak. At this
point Lucas throws in about three teaspoons of butter, the garlic, and the
aromatic herbs. As the solidified butter melts away to a scorching liquid, he
tilts the pan creating a small puddle of melted butter. Drowning the fat-side
into the butter the fat renders and enhances the flavor Lucas is looking for.
Lucas then stacks the herbs and garlic onto the steak and with a spoon, bastes the
steak in the butter and rendered fat. It is quite the gastronomical spectacle.
The steak cooks for approximately 90 seconds on the other side, and rests for
about five to ten minutes. This process is not over yet. Lucas loves plating,
in fact he dreams about plating his own dishes at a restaurant one day. The
potatoes are done, crisp and golden medallions that can resemble gold coins of
El Dorado. On a white plate he lays the coins of potatoes flat forming a bed of
potatoes. The time has come to cut the steak. To reveal whether this endeavor
was a success or not. Slowly cutting away at the beef Lucas cuts in quite
easily. Always a good sign. He sees the interior of the steak. And wow. The
crust was nicely done, but the progression of color was immaculate. The pink
slowly transitioned to a nice subtle red. Just enough medium and just enough
rare. With the strips of cut steak he forms a teepee of beef in the middle of
the potatoes. He then scatters some of the mushrooms around the steak. The
colors of this dish resembled scenes of Autumn days. The potatoes shriveled and
golden yellow like fallen leaves, the browns of the mushrooms and exterior of
the steak for the dead leaves that rejuvenate the soil for more trees to
flourish. And garnished with Rosemary and Thyme leaves for the leaves that have
just fallen to the ground. Placing this luxurious plate on the not so luxurious
coffee table. Refilling his wine glass and scrolling through the channels, he
finds a Bourdain re-run on CNN and settles on that. As the episode finishes he
takes his last bite and gets up to wash the dishes. In order to preserve the
flavors accumulated on the cast iron skillet all Lucas does is get a napkin and
give Ole Ironsides a wipe down. When the dishes were complete, Lucas goes over
to his nightstand and starts shuffling things around. Moving empty nug-jugs,
notebooks, pens, a watch, gum, a Sour Patch kid, he finally closes in on this
skinny plastic green tube. He squeezes the lid off with a “Pop!” An odor of
skunk crawls out of the tube and punches Lucas right in the nostril. Popping
the J in between his lips he grabs his white porcelain ashtray. The ashtray was
elegant, white with finishes of gold edging around the rim. Goodwill treats its
customers well sometimes. The near empty wine bottle, a filled wine glass, an
ashtray, TV remote, and a few magazines were the only objects scattered on the
wooden coffee table. He walks towards the record player his grandmother from
England gave to him, and places a vinyl of The Zombies on. “Time of Season”
begins to play and Lucas sparks the J up with his light blue BIC lighter. As he
inhales the lit portion glows bright red. Lucas pushes the smoke through his
mouth, the smoke coming out like Old Faithful at Yellowstone. Bottle finished,
J smashed in the ashtray, Lucas’ eye bags are gaining weight. His vintage Casio
reads 12:30:47. Eyes red, he shuffles to bed to brace the next day.
Accepting
the fact that it is 7:00 a.m. and the weather is quite gloomy and melancholy
Lucas’ attitude and confidence is ecstatic for a change. Filled up from that
gargantuan meal last night, Lucas skipped the donut shop and instead had a
workingman’s breakfast, bread and butter. The bread, a crisp French baguette.
Lucas believes the secret behind a good baguette is the crunching noise you
hear when your press it. The crackling like a fire, if the bread is at ultimate
crispness, the sound is sublime. Walking off the F train in the midst of the
chaos of New York City Lucas walks on his usual route, but is forced to change due
to some road construction, the street was ripped open revealing pipes that must
have been around since Rockefeller has been alive. While on his non-generic
walk, past a boutique store catering towards upper echelon New Yorkers can buy
“premium” sportswear sits two doors down from this building painted in a flat
black color, and a sign that read: La
Table in an elegant cursive white paint. Peering through the glass, Lucas’
breath fogged the windows a bit. Tables, chairs, wine glasses, silverware,
Lucas is looking upon a dream. He notices a small “hiring” sign in the bottom
right-hand corner. In small font the note read: Line Cook position needed.
Bring Resume and Cover letter. Be here at 11p.m. sharp.
Lucas
took a picture on his phone, and scurried off to work.
The whole day all Lucas thinks of while
he wastes minutes maybe hours in elevators is about the damn restaurant. On his
break he googles the restaurant, finding piles of articles on the place, he was
astounded. Articles read, “Stunning!”, “Brilliant!” Bon Apetit even stated, “La Table is en route towards Michelin
stardom.” Lucas is overwhelmed by all these remarks. Lucas finds out that the
Head Chef and Owner, Gerard Lacazette is a character in the food world. He is a
stick up the ass cook and Frenchman. Ironically, he often times admits chefs
that don’t meet all the credentials as a professional chef in his restaurant if
they are dedicated and can withstand the pressure. Lacazette loves seeing the
progression of skill increase in his kitchen. In an interview he stated:
[In
an interview with Food & Wine Magazine 3 years ago]
Interviewer:
Why do you like to allow such amateur chefs in your cutthroat kitchen?
Lacazette:
Growing up I was very fascinated with Charles Darwin. In the Galapagos Islands
the Naszca booby creates nests to lay their eggs. The beautiful, yet sad thing
is that the mom lays two eggs, but only one hatchling can survive. The two
siblings will fight for food, the loser naturally will die. It’s natural
selection. We don’t know who or what controls that, but it is a mind-blowing
phenomenon. I see the chefs that try out and I analyze them, see their moves,
their personality, their skill. If they succeed in all the categories, they are
the strongest of the group. Survival of the fittest.
Lucas got in the elevator for another
mail run, but this time the elevator was empty. Lucas finally had some alone
time, but it was short lived, just one floor up and the elevator stopped. As
the doors open Lucas lets out a troubling sigh. The sigh was cut short as Kelly
walked in. Kelly was a new employee too, only been working 3 years with the
company. She was a well-off girl who went to college and had a job waiting for
her after her four years at Brown University. She works with the advertising
team for the company and is often time on Lucas’ floor giving the mail room
cylinders to mail out. Though she may come off as spoiled, she was a down to
Earth human being. Often times giving the homeless man outside the firm a
dollar or two. Lucas liked this girl. Her straight black hair, complemented her
jet-black eyes. Her outfits and style were always superb, sometimes embroidered
with hints of Asian influence due to the fact she was half Japanese and half
Korean. Alone in the elevator the tension was real, both parties noticed each
other’s presence, but silence. As Lucas takes a breath to say something the
elevator doors open and the man of the hour decides to show up, Neil. As Neil
comes in with his Paul Smith Navy suit, Burberry tie, and freshly shined tan leather
shoes (he left no tip) he instantly notices Kelly. Within 3 minutes of being in
the elevator Neil tries and makes his first move.
Neil
says, “Sup Kelly, what are you up to Saturday? A friend of mine works for the
opera house and he hooked it up with two tickets to Swan Lake. Was wondering if
you wanted me to join for a nice dinner and an opera?
Kelly
responds, “Thanks Neil, but I’ll think about it.”
As
Lucas is listening to this ensue he just thinks of the time he overheard Neil
talking about how Kelly has the finest ass and how he’s got this plan to take
her out. This thought angers Lucas, but also brings a worry-some feeling in his
gut.
“What?
Is that not good enough for a Brown girl like you? He snarked back
sarcastically.
Kelly
rebuts firmly, “Calm down and no, I may be going to dinner with my parents that
night.”
Kelly
leaves the elevator. As the door closes Neil says, “Jeez. What a bitch.” One
more floor and Neil leaves. This elevator ride worried Lucas. He was always
thinking about whether or not Kelly will go with Neil. What will they do? As
the day progresses the mail decreases, but the pressure and nervousness
increases. La Table and Kelly were
the only two things on Lucas’ mind.
6:30 arrives and Lucas goes home, but he
cannot rest yet. He makes himself a quick dinner, prints out a resume and cover
letter, and is constantly thinking of what entails this meeting. The 11 p.m.
part confuses Lucas the most.
Nearing
11 p.m., the frigid air nipping his exposed flesh, Lucas sees a group of 4 other
individuals. One was this blonde named Sarah. She was quite short, skinny, and
seemed like she couldn’t carry a giant pot of water. The second person was this
tough looking biker guy, Trevor. He had tattoos rooting from his neck and
sprouting all the way down to his wrists. The third was this European guy,
Augustus, a softly tanned, Belgian with a thick accent, but he spoke French.
The last person was this awkward looking pencil man. He was slender, tall,
lanky. If Barnacle Boy was real, this was the guy. He had tiny circular
spectacles, he seemed like he knew what was good in the restaurant business.
Lucas never got his name. Lucas does not mingle much, and once the clock
strikes 11:00 p.m. on the dot, this older gentleman walks out and barks at everyone
to go inside to the kitchen. The group, Lucas and all walk to the kitchen and
are greeted by a fairly tall gentleman. His face was always stern looking,
wrinkled and cigarette worn. He says, “I am Gerard Lacazette, I graduated top
in class from Institut Paul Bocuse, I
am the owner and head chef of La Table.”
With a heavy French accent he commandingly says, “Resumes and cover letters on
the counter. Everyone take a station.” Everyone follows. He continues, “At each
station there is a paper saying what you will make, make the best dish and one
of you will get the positión.”
Everyone gets a card and they look at it. Sarah got Cioppino, Trevor got
Chicken Parmesan, Augustus got Ratatouille, the mystery man gets macaroons, and
Lucas looks at his card and it says: Steak Frites. Lucas thinks, “Eh, could be
worse. I feel bad if someone got a soufflé.”
Lacazette orders everyone to start.
Everyone begins prepping, Sarah grabs her seafood, Trevor gets started on
breading his chicken, Augustus is quickly slicing vegetables in thin disks.
Lucas looks over and the mystery man is making moves, he looks like he really
knows what he’s doing, moving around the kitchen as if he designed the place.
Lucas starts and is instantly in the zone, realizing this is call of duty. Peeling
potatoes like his life depended on it, he cuts them in thin ribbon like strips.
Moving on to the steak he swiftly throws on salt and pepper and slaps it in
pan. While grabbing some produce Lucas hears an alarming “FUCK!” from the
kitchen. Trevor’s breading completely fell apart. The chicken breast laid bare
in some parts with pieces of breading still attached. It was a mess. As the
steak cooks, and the potatoes are frying to perfection, Lucas moves on to a
horseradish-chive sauce to accompany the steak. Chopping small pieces of chive,
freshness aromatizes the workstation. Some heavy cream, horseradish, and a bit
of Dijon mustard are mixed together. “The cooling factor is necessary.” Lucas
thought. Every now and then Lucas gets to scan the competition. He sees the way
Sarah works. She is very delicate when cutting, her technique is flawless, and
she can plate with a steady hand. Lucas thought, “Trevor is fucked, I feel bad
for him, but he is probably not gonna make it.” Augustus was a cocky fucker,
but he was a good cook. Mystery man was an A5 candidate he was precise and very
articulate. He was going to get it for sure. While getting the fries out of the
deep fryer, Lucas was right in the splash-zone. Insanely hot oil splashes on
Lucas’ skin, stinging like a wasp’s sting. He fights the pain and lets the
potatoes sit. Plating the dish, the steak medallions are placed around the
plate like a clock’s numbers. In between the gaps were the ribbons of potatoes,
and in the center laid a beautiful spoonful of that fresh horseradish-chive
sauce. As time commenced everyone was ready to present.
Lucas noticed he was last in line.
Everyone presented their plate and Lacazette took just one bite. Each time
expressing no expression, it didn’t make a difference who was tasting your food
Gerard Lacazette or an Easter Island head. Sarah went first, Lacazette took a
spoonful of the broth, and tasted each type of seafood in the dish. While he is
doing so he remains emotionless. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and moves to the
next person. Unfortunately (for Trevor) it was his turn. The stern French chef
looks at the plate and just asks him to leave. Lacazette stopped and waited for
Trevor to gather everything he brought, watching him as he is doing so. Once he
walks out the door the judgement resumed. Augustus was up and again, Lacazette
did the same exact thing. When it was Mystery Man’s turn Lucas was sweating
bullets. The macaroons the man made were green tea infused. Lacazette takes one
macaroon and eats the whole thing. As he swallows the last bit, he smiles and
claps. At this point Lucas is yelling his head, “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit.”
Lacazette approaches Lucas and the interaction is crucial for Lucas. Just
inches away from one another, the tension is gut wrenching. He cuts the steak
medallions to see the color, the steak was cooked perfectly the center was a
warm pinkish-red. He takes a bite without the sauce, and then a bite with the
sauce. He pierces the potatoes with a fork and the fork penetrates with ease,
and the potatoes are light and crispy.
After tasting all dishes, he marches back to the front and center, as if
he was General Patton and stands there. Silent. No one is moving, talking, a
strange phenomena in a restaurant kitchen. All of a sudden silence is broken by
Gerard going up to the Mystery Man and hugging him and shaking his hand. He
goes on to say, “This man’s macaroons are the best in the world!” All the other
chefs and Lucas were disappointed, but then Lacazette says, “This is my Chef De
Cuisine, Franc he has been working for me for about 15 years. Lucas now knows
why he was moving around the kitchen so easily.
After that He says simply, “Everyone except the man on the very right
leave. Goodnight.” Lucas is shocked and speechless. All the other people leaned
over, one after the other, and looked at Lucas as if he had just won the
lottery. After Lacazette, Franc, and Lucas are the only ones in the place he
brings Lucas to his office. A quaint office, not much furniture, but a cherry
desk, a rolling chair for himself and one chair for a guest. On the desk was a
typewriter, an ashtray with a cigar butt and shit ton of smashed cigarette
butts, and a bottle of VAT 69 whiskey with two classes next to it. Lacazette
pours two glasses of the whiskey into the glasses, and hands one to Lucas.
Lucas replies, “Thank you chef.” Lacazette takes a sip and takes something out
of his drawer. With a simple gesture he reaches for a blank white chef uniform,
he hands it to Lucas and says, “You do not deserve your name on the gown yet.
See you tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. Welcome and goodnight.” Lucas replies, “Thank you
sir, I look forward to it. See you tomorrow.” Lucas then looks at the chef
shirt and then chugs the rest of the whiskey. Lucas is shitting his pants at
the moment, not knowing what to expect in his workday tomorrow.
Comments
Post a Comment