blonde curls, a round face and huge blue eyes.
“Marcella come down on you?” she asked.
“Yeah, she did. I didn’t chop the nuts right,” Ali admitted.
April laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Her bark is worse than her bite. She’s not bad.” April swiped on some lip balm.
“We’re all going to over Max’s for a drink. Want to come?” she asked Ali.
Ali was beat, but maybe getting out with the staff would help tomorrow be a little easier. She would go for one drink.
***
Three hours later Ali walked into her apartment with an entirely different viewpoint. She’d stayed and had a burger and met the whole kitchen crew while learning John practically lived on smoke-break and if you couldn’t find him just look outside; Marcella was the kitchen “Mistress” as the staff called her and although she didn’t move much, she knew everything that was going on at every moment.
The Pastry Chef was Adolphe, who was from Belgium and thought of himself as above the rest of them. The pastry kitchen was its own domain and different from the regular kitchen where the staff was three-fold larger and more boisterous. Adolphe liked a quiet, intense environment and could not bear the barroom atmosphere that went on in hot foods.
“You may not meet him for weeks,” she was told by April who was a line cook and not only friendly but slightly protective of Ali as another female on staff. “These guys will eat you up and spit you out,” she said. “I’ll keep ‘em in line,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Ali. The few minutes she’d spent in the hot kitchen was like a different planet from the pastry kitchen. They were all shouting orders and various other things, including several four-letter words back and forth. The kitchen where she worked was quiet and practically sterile in comparison.
“Wish I’d had someone like me when I started. I was the only girl in a sea of rowdy guys,” said April drinking her beer.
“Really? That must have been rough.”
“Yeah, it was a regular frat house,” she said. “I was pretty naïve. I’d just gotten out of school and had only one other job, working at a coffee shop up in Wisconsin.”
“Where’d you go to school?” asked Ali.
“Cordon Bleu, here in Chicago,” said April.
“I’m going there,” said Ali.
“No surprise. Most of us went there,” said April unimpressed. “It’s a workhouse, but you’ll get most of what you need to know.”
“Most?” asked Ali.
“Yeah, you don’t really get to know what it’s like to work in a real kitchen until you do,” said April. “Have you had other jobs?”
“No, uh, I’ve just been baking and cooking for private families,” said Ali, suddenly feeling incredibly unprepared for her new opportunity.
April laughed. “Well, hold steady, keep your nose down and work your butt off,” said April. “That’ll at least keep you out of trouble.”
Ali thought it sounded like ominous, but good advice. She resolved to keep it in mind.
By going to Max’s, which she learned was the local hangout for the restaurant crowd, Ali had had a full education in the Golden Palm’s kitchen etiquette and procedures and by the time her head hit the pillow that night she realized she had never been more tired, more confused and more happy.
***
Ali didn’t meet the elusive Adolphe for several days.
“He works when others don’t,” Marcella told her and then rolled her eyes. It was a look that told Ali most of what she needed to know about Adolphe. High strung, high maintenance, genius.
Ali paid studious attention and worked hard. Her efforts were not unnoticed and when Adolphe appeared suddenly at her elbow, she was startled. He watched her pipe Bavarian cream onto pastries. She abruptly stopped and stood back wondering if she should continue.
“Go on,” he said quietly. He
“Marcella come down on you?” she asked.
“Yeah, she did. I didn’t chop the nuts right,” Ali admitted.
April laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Her bark is worse than her bite. She’s not bad.” April swiped on some lip balm.
“We’re all going to over Max’s for a drink. Want to come?” she asked Ali.
Ali was beat, but maybe getting out with the staff would help tomorrow be a little easier. She would go for one drink.
***
Three hours later Ali walked into her apartment with an entirely different viewpoint. She’d stayed and had a burger and met the whole kitchen crew while learning John practically lived on smoke-break and if you couldn’t find him just look outside; Marcella was the kitchen “Mistress” as the staff called her and although she didn’t move much, she knew everything that was going on at every moment.
The Pastry Chef was Adolphe, who was from Belgium and thought of himself as above the rest of them. The pastry kitchen was its own domain and different from the regular kitchen where the staff was three-fold larger and more boisterous. Adolphe liked a quiet, intense environment and could not bear the barroom atmosphere that went on in hot foods.
“You may not meet him for weeks,” she was told by April who was a line cook and not only friendly but slightly protective of Ali as another female on staff. “These guys will eat you up and spit you out,” she said. “I’ll keep ‘em in line,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Ali. The few minutes she’d spent in the hot kitchen was like a different planet from the pastry kitchen. They were all shouting orders and various other things, including several four-letter words back and forth. The kitchen where she worked was quiet and practically sterile in comparison.
“Wish I’d had someone like me when I started. I was the only girl in a sea of rowdy guys,” said April drinking her beer.
“Really? That must have been rough.”
“Yeah, it was a regular frat house,” she said. “I was pretty naïve. I’d just gotten out of school and had only one other job, working at a coffee shop up in Wisconsin.”
“Where’d you go to school?” asked Ali.
“Cordon Bleu, here in Chicago,” said April.
“I’m going there,” said Ali.
“No surprise. Most of us went there,” said April unimpressed. “It’s a workhouse, but you’ll get most of what you need to know.”
“Most?” asked Ali.
“Yeah, you don’t really get to know what it’s like to work in a real kitchen until you do,” said April. “Have you had other jobs?”
“No, uh, I’ve just been baking and cooking for private families,” said Ali, suddenly feeling incredibly unprepared for her new opportunity.
April laughed. “Well, hold steady, keep your nose down and work your butt off,” said April. “That’ll at least keep you out of trouble.”
Ali thought it sounded like ominous, but good advice. She resolved to keep it in mind.
By going to Max’s, which she learned was the local hangout for the restaurant crowd, Ali had had a full education in the Golden Palm’s kitchen etiquette and procedures and by the time her head hit the pillow that night she realized she had never been more tired, more confused and more happy.
***
Ali didn’t meet the elusive Adolphe for several days.
“He works when others don’t,” Marcella told her and then rolled her eyes. It was a look that told Ali most of what she needed to know about Adolphe. High strung, high maintenance, genius.
Ali paid studious attention and worked hard. Her efforts were not unnoticed and when Adolphe appeared suddenly at her elbow, she was startled. He watched her pipe Bavarian cream onto pastries. She abruptly stopped and stood back wondering if she should continue.
“Go on,” he said quietly. He
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