Mask churned out one impeccable plate after another. Carlo wasn’t fooled, and neither was Ransom. Garrett wasn’t here. The dance went on, but the music was gone.
****
Garrett let the rhythm of Ransom’s line pick him up and carry him along. The tasks were simple, but the timing was critical, and he knew he was off. He called the starting courses for the next two orders, both tables with four tasting menus. He refused to look at the table numbers. Almost everyone ordered the tasting menu at Ransom, and a few straggling orders from the first seating were still making their way in. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to know whose food he was preparing.
Behind him, he could hear Hector calmly organizing the rest of the brigade, checking times, taking up the slack from his boss.
By the time they hit the second seating, he had the timing back, and Hector’s voice intruded with less and less frequency. Chatter on the line faded as the night went on until it was down to the minimum necessary for communication.
He didn’t care.
The food kept coming, plate after plate landing next to him. He took the components, the main ingredient, the sauces, the garnishes, and the sides, and he transformed them. He made them more than the sum of their parts. This was who he was, what he did. Nothing else mattered so it had to be perfect.
And, for the rest of dinner service, it was perfect. Golden brown sear, sweeping arc of sauce, the curl of thinly shaved fruit, the delicate scent of lavender—this was beauty, life, love. He shut out the kitchen behind him, the servers in front of him, Carlo standing silently a few feet away, and concentrated on the things that mattered.
He offered up the last plate of the night to utter silence in the kitchen. Best night ever—
not a single item presented to him had been less than outstanding. Not a single dish he sent out had come back. He wanted to tell the crew how proud he was of them, but they were already busy breaking down the line. No one seemed to want to meet his eyes, and he didn’t know what words to use anyway. Hector would hand out the appropriate accolades, or Carlo.
Carlo.
Carlo waited for him at the end of the line, eyes blazing with some emotion Garrett couldn’t decipher. Anger maybe. He thought Carlo might be angry, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t have the trick of reading people.
He headed into the office and pulled off his jacket, preparing for the trip home. When he turned around, Carlo stood in the doorway, watching him.
“Garrett?”
“It was a good service, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was a fucking awesome service, Sweets. Not a single complaint.”
Garrett didn’t know what to say to that. Carlo didn’t sound happy about what had to be their best service ever.
Carlo shut the door and moved a step closer to him. “Babe? Do you want to talk about your parents being here?”
No. Absolutely not. The thought terrified him even though he wasn’t sure why. Was that why Carlo was angry? Something to do with his parents?
The idea penetrated the bubble of satisfaction over the great service, and he realized he was tired, bone tired. He really should go home. But first he needed to deal with Carlo.
“Carlo, I’m sorry. I asked you to stay in the kitchen. They’re not….Whatever they said to you….” What had they done? “They can be insensitive around staff sometime. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Insensitive around—?”
Carlo broke off and shoved a hand through his hair, looking at Garrett as though he had never seen him before. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “Garrett, they didn’t say two words to me. Jesus, it’s not their treatment of me I’m worried about. ”
What else? Arriving without notice? “Look, if they ever show up out of the blue like that again, just don’t seat them. Simple, yes?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, babe. I don’t care if they show up with the President of
****
Garrett let the rhythm of Ransom’s line pick him up and carry him along. The tasks were simple, but the timing was critical, and he knew he was off. He called the starting courses for the next two orders, both tables with four tasting menus. He refused to look at the table numbers. Almost everyone ordered the tasting menu at Ransom, and a few straggling orders from the first seating were still making their way in. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to know whose food he was preparing.
Behind him, he could hear Hector calmly organizing the rest of the brigade, checking times, taking up the slack from his boss.
By the time they hit the second seating, he had the timing back, and Hector’s voice intruded with less and less frequency. Chatter on the line faded as the night went on until it was down to the minimum necessary for communication.
He didn’t care.
The food kept coming, plate after plate landing next to him. He took the components, the main ingredient, the sauces, the garnishes, and the sides, and he transformed them. He made them more than the sum of their parts. This was who he was, what he did. Nothing else mattered so it had to be perfect.
And, for the rest of dinner service, it was perfect. Golden brown sear, sweeping arc of sauce, the curl of thinly shaved fruit, the delicate scent of lavender—this was beauty, life, love. He shut out the kitchen behind him, the servers in front of him, Carlo standing silently a few feet away, and concentrated on the things that mattered.
He offered up the last plate of the night to utter silence in the kitchen. Best night ever—
not a single item presented to him had been less than outstanding. Not a single dish he sent out had come back. He wanted to tell the crew how proud he was of them, but they were already busy breaking down the line. No one seemed to want to meet his eyes, and he didn’t know what words to use anyway. Hector would hand out the appropriate accolades, or Carlo.
Carlo.
Carlo waited for him at the end of the line, eyes blazing with some emotion Garrett couldn’t decipher. Anger maybe. He thought Carlo might be angry, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t have the trick of reading people.
He headed into the office and pulled off his jacket, preparing for the trip home. When he turned around, Carlo stood in the doorway, watching him.
“Garrett?”
“It was a good service, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was a fucking awesome service, Sweets. Not a single complaint.”
Garrett didn’t know what to say to that. Carlo didn’t sound happy about what had to be their best service ever.
Carlo shut the door and moved a step closer to him. “Babe? Do you want to talk about your parents being here?”
No. Absolutely not. The thought terrified him even though he wasn’t sure why. Was that why Carlo was angry? Something to do with his parents?
The idea penetrated the bubble of satisfaction over the great service, and he realized he was tired, bone tired. He really should go home. But first he needed to deal with Carlo.
“Carlo, I’m sorry. I asked you to stay in the kitchen. They’re not….Whatever they said to you….” What had they done? “They can be insensitive around staff sometime. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Insensitive around—?”
Carlo broke off and shoved a hand through his hair, looking at Garrett as though he had never seen him before. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “Garrett, they didn’t say two words to me. Jesus, it’s not their treatment of me I’m worried about. ”
What else? Arriving without notice? “Look, if they ever show up out of the blue like that again, just don’t seat them. Simple, yes?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, babe. I don’t care if they show up with the President of
Similar Books
