I gobbled a sandwich. With stuffed mouth, my hands automatically wiped over my white apron. My last mentor, John the great gave me great advice when it came to cooking. "Don't stay hungry but don't be stuffed either before cooking." 

He used to nibble on snacks before opening the barista and I had never seen him have trouble, being near food. The practicality was far easier said than done. In a restaurant, especially in its kitchen, eating before time was frowned upon. Yet, the daredevil that I was, managed to stuff up. 

Marcella, my mentor hadn't shown up. She was running some restaurant errands. 

As instructions boomed through the sous chef's corner I paced up, pulling bowls stacked underneath the counter.

I was preparing Coq au vic blanc, a hollandaise reduction. Mastering French cooking made me fall in love with their words, soft vee and subtle cees which hardly got to resonate outside. My dream was to one day work at a Michelin star restaurant. Required to start somewhere, I was grateful for Marcella and her leap of faith.

The fish stock with a dash of vermouth and white wine simmered with shallots and thyme fighting to release their essence. Pale looking shallots reminded me of yesterday when Philip took me home. I matched that color while he was his charming self, running my introductions and taunting me to speak up. His family too was amazing. Mrs. Fernandez reminded me of my mother. Her kind eyes still danced in my memory. Having two sons, both of whom served the country was a gold notch, the Fernandez' carried proudly with them.

Steam danced over the pot, wafting into my nose. I checked the baseline before turning off the flame. The process was only starting. Pressing hard through the sieve, I drained as much essence from the solids before tossing them into the small bit near my feet. 

Warm breath hit the back of my neck. I turned to see Marcy, as she was lovingly called, looming over me. Carefully, I bought the liquid back to simmer, whisking the reduced cream. My heart pounded as she stayed in her position, eying me like I was her new prey. 

Liquid splattered a little. My eyes danced between the whisk and the entity watching my action besides. I knew the hawk was waiting for me to conduct a mistake so my eyes never left the pot. With a swift grab, Marcy took another instrument, whisking the contents harder, faster.

I moved to a side, watching the master make love to her work. She turned to me, her eyes travelled back to the pan before hitting me with instructions. "Into submission," she said.

"Sorry what?"

"You whisk it into submission," her labored breath was a result of the rhythmic stirring. I moved closer. Confidently picking up the stirrer, I waited. She didn't move. As usual, doubts encircled like scavengers. 

Did I screw up on the first day itself? Random thoughts of confusion faded like the vapors above the pot when she decided to encroach upon the red haired girl's territory; one standing besides me. We both shared the same elongated counter.

My arm moved with lightening speed, following her instruction. Yet again, another entity stood besides me. Without even looking, I rolled my eyes. Does nobody has any respect for personal space around here?

A shining spoon dipped into my pan. I scanned the light hairy hand holding it, before eying the person who conducted a taste check before me.

Jet black hair rested perfectly under his chef's hat, his forehead crinkled before lines smoothened. All that happened with his eyes shut. Upon opening, his aquamarine pupils dilatated. "Good," he uttered before walking away.

I moved to the side, picking a spoon for tasting. The red haired girl watched me and smiled. "You need to keep some in your pocket"

Yes. There wouldn't be time to fetch spoons. I needed to keep them in my pocket. Hand outstretched, the dusky girl spoke in a different sweeter tone unlike the other two entities I encountered. "Hi, I am Linda. You are?"

"Daisy," I let out a subtle smile. After I swirled the spoon and tasted my sauce, I closed my eyes to feel the silky texture and the hint of tang at the back of my tongue. La perfection. Linda had her eyes on me the whole time. She moved to do a taste check herself.

Standing back at her counter, I watched her mimic the man's expressions from a while back. "Oh wow.." She sighed, "Not bad". 

I furrowed my brows at her. Not bad? It was perfect. More than perfect. It was ambrosial.

Linda moved her hand to her curvy hips. Striking half a Superman pose, she grinned. "Don't get me wrong. You work here for a year and you'd know that 'not bad' and 'good' are the best compliments you would ever receive."

"Ever," with a dried mouth, I asked. She nodded.

"Yes hon. Steve is difficult to please." She moved inches closer, I bridged the rest. Her smile never faltered, like she was created with an elongated smile drawn across her face. "Yes. The previous sous chef left because of his arrogance." Her hand gestured to me move closer. Switching off the flame, I turned. It took me back to my school days when gossip was at its peak. "He apparently slept with her but when it was time for promotion, he took over without even giving her a chance."

Yup. Pure gossip. This place seemed less of a restaurant and more like high school. Drama, betrayal, competition all occurred simultaneously. Pulled out of my thoughts, I heard Marcy's voice. "Come on people. An hour more to go before we open the doors."

The lunch rush happened sooner than I thought. Kitchen heated up with the sounds of pots and pans clanking when placed abrasively over pan support. The place roared to life with food orders being yelled across the platform by servers. Marcy seemed to be in total control, eying every plate as they left through the door.

She halted servings which weren't perfect. Her eyes would catch the slightest of imperfections. I watched as her head dipped and raised, viewing the plating before a single head bob would address the server. Her silent affirmation was required before the plates travels out. The manufacturer's seal of approval.

Steve was her right hand. Henchman. He would check the serving, the taste checks and everything one could think of. Linda was called upfront. In at lightening speed, I turned back to my station. Sauces, I was asked to prepared and sauces I would make.

Whisking the liquids to marry together, I heard heated exchange. 

Steve was ranting about a sear which went overboard, roasting the meat to loose all its good juices. Linda stood stagnant, listening to his gritted words. She tasted her preparation before mirroring his expressions. There was no yelling. After all, there was no Gordan Ramsay here for it. But the tension in the air was thicker than my liquids in my pan. Noticing their tilt, I turned around quickly to eye my work.

God please please don't make me screw up. Please please.

Clinging to my prayers, I remembered the pointers learned at the culinary school. Adding pepper to my béchamel, I stirred the white velvety texture to mask itself with a dusting of black specks. The marriage of silky white with a hint of black was perfect. It resembled a fair skin girl with soft freckles. It only enhancing her beauty.

"Daisy," I heard my name. Turning around, I saw Marcy standing next to Steve whose vibrating body could be seen from afar. He pointed his index towards me and then gestured them into walking. I handed over my station and walked towards them. Up close, Marcy remained calm while Steve fumed. I hoped they weren't mad at me for daydreaming.

The freezer room opened and close. Teary eyed, red nosed Linda walked out after Marcy gave her a tight smile. She eyed Steve with a look which was the equivalent of someone whose friend gave the much awaited spoilers away. 

Words fell out before my mind could confirm on them. "Where is she going?"

"She is taking a break. And when she returns, she will hopefully behave better than before." Steve barked those words. Although not directed at me, his anger radiated off his body over to mine.

Marcy stood a silent spectator to all this. She only hummed a few times while her commanding officer raved on about how Linda almost screwed up. 

"So what? She overcooked the meat?" I said, immediately biting into my lips. A cook justifying overcooking was as wrong as a mother suggesting beating a child up. Even talking about it was a crime.

Marcy's face hung low. Steve patted her shoulder, acting over his age to pacify her disappointment. I had to justify my words. "What I mean was Linda overcooked something but we are all learning, right? Can't we give her another change?" 

My question promoted Marcy to walk into the walk-in freezer with Steve. The small glass that made the view of the inside, reflected their disagreement. Steve's hands rose up and down while Marcy's head turned the whole time. When they reemerged, Steve walked straight to me. His bloodshot eyes were an indicator of his new hunt. 

"If I were you, I would keep one eye open in the kitchen," he whispered, grinding his teeth to powder. Usually, I would be a crying sobbing mess but with the way things were happening in my life, I felt a surge of electricity run over. Holding onto the fork in my hand, I felt the power of Posideon's trident invigorating me. Fear vanished. Courage roared up momentarily. 

"If I were you, I would watch out for a sexual harassment at workplace suit." My reply even surprised me. Steve's flushed face drained to pale as he stood staring at me. With his mouth opening up slowly, he was ready to bark back at me. 

Yet when words didn't come, I felt the pangs of fear. A barking dog was better than a silent one. Steve had gone silent. Although I knew he would attack me anytime, not with knifes, fires and words at least. But he would ensure my life would be turned to a living hell. 

With his lips curling on the edge, I knew that my understanding was correct. I woke up the beast, now I had to pay the price. Steve's name was called out and he turned, floating away. My lungs drew a long dragged breath which remained held up all this time.

When Linda reemerged after her break, she pulled her into the washroom. I narrated the incidents in a haze. "Fuuuckk," she uttered. John had a joke about it. The more u were added in fuck, the more fucked were you. "You screwed up for me?" she asked, coiling her hands over my shoulder and pulling me closer.

Did I really screw it?

"No. No. I was saving you." My heartbeats were echoing in my ears and I was almost in tears when Steve walked in again. As if the previous nightmare wasn't long enough, he had come to ensure more. Linda scrambled back into a cubicle. 

Traitor.

Steve stood near the men's section, eying me. "You want to watch me pee? Is that one of your fetishes?" A giggle emerged from inside the cubicle. "You, Linda." he shouted. "Leave in a second or else I will tell everyone you are a loud farter."

Linda bolted out through the doors and grabbed my hand. She only stopped when we were greeted back into the warmth of the kitchen. Steve's remarks still resonated inside of me. Royally screwed. 

After the lunch, the restaurant was closed for evening preps. Most of the cooks rested. Linda got on a call, narrating the incident to someone. Her, 'I know' made me realize the entity on the other end resonated with her thoughts. Who wouldn't? 

Firing a person for one mistake! What were we? The crew who channeled Devil wears Prada's boss inside of us!

"New girl," someone called me. Not that I had a long name but whenever I heard that word, I knew the person didn't bother taking the trouble of learning my name. Steve stood at the corner of the door, holding it open. I walked in. 

"Listen, about today morning. Don't fret it okay?"

I nodded, letting out a half smile. "Is it because of the lawsuit? Don't worry, I won't sue." 

His lips curled up completely. Smiling Steve looked better than the brooding one. "I know you wouldn't but I wanted to apologize."

"The person you have to apologies is on a call outside," I pointed to Linda who looked as if she would blast Steve through her vision. "She is the one in need of it." 

Steve nodded, walking out. He held the door open and whistled. She removed the phone off her ears. "I am sorry," he yelled at her who stood at a distance. 

"Fret not," she yelled back, much to my surprise. 

Here I was, ready to place my head on the chopping board for her, justifying her mistake as armature after Steve's rude behavior and there she stood, forgiving him as if he spilled water on her. 

Smiling, Steve moved back inside. "Happy now?" 

"That was for me?" I asked. He nodded. His reaction made blood rush inside every part of my being. "Okay," was what I could utter, unable to fend myself under his charm. 

"Coffee?" Steve leaned in. I pointed to the machine, making him laugh. His rhythmic utterance resonated through the place, hitting us back. "I mean would you come out for a coffee with me?" 

Date. It's a date. Don't say yes. Say no. 

"Let me think about it." 

Idiot.

Steve bobbed once and walked away, leaving me at crossroads. I was left standing at a corner from where a left turn would take me to the kitchen, where Steve went. To my right, was the room with the golden words inscribed on its door, restaurant manager. 

~

Dearies

Hope you all liked this chapter. I loved writing about food and their mélange. 

Let me know what you think would happen next

Love

S