The Contract |On Hold While Editing

1|Rock bottom

Follow, vote, comment, share

"I NEED THREE DORI and two  wagyu fillets!" The sous chef shouts over the sound of frying,blenders whirring and pots banging against the stainless steel benches and stoves.

"Yes chef!" I shout back, scooping the raft out of the pot  of
mushroom  consommé that has been clarifying for about two and a half hours.My mother always told me that the only way to be happy in life is to find your true passion and I believe I did just that.

Cooking sets my mind at ease,it helps me focus. Being a chef to me is more than just a job,it is my everything,the very essence of my being. Creating a dish that brings smiles to people's faces and satisfies their cravings makes me happier than I've ever been and I wouldn't trade that happiness for the world.

"Jo could you please watch my fish I need the loo." Andrew asks by our shared stove top as I put the pot back on the stove to intensify the flavour of my consommé. It's the colour of dark aged honey so it shouldn't take much time .

"I don't think that's a good idea,Andrew I've still got to cook my beef." I say to him, hoping he'll leave and drop the subject. Andrew isn't the greatest chef at Temper—the two hat restaurant we work at. Several of his dishes have been brought back for being under seasoned or overcooked.

His brother owns the restaurant so firing him is out of the question.

"Oh come on Jodie, I really need the loo. I'll be back in two minutes I promise." Andrew whines bringing his hand down to his crotch. My eyes widen and I nod, the sooner he's out of my way, the sooner I can finish my dish.

"Okay fine go."

"Thank you Jodie."he smiles and proceeds to leave. I look over at the pan and cut a blob of butter, throwing it in. The fish is almost cooked so all that's needed is basting.

Once the fish is basted, I remove it and place it on a grease proof paper before getting my wagyu fillet and putting it in the pan.

A familiar flushed face comes back in my line of vision and I feel relieved now that Andrew is back to finish off his dish.

Over the next few minutes, I strain the clear rich consommé,finish my wasabi and broccoli puree,and cut the meat that has been resting. All that's left is to plate up now.

My hands freeze as the door flies open and the waiter rushes in with a plate heading in the sous chef's direction.  From where I'm standing, it looks like Andrews dish—a Jack Dori with a lavage emulsion, fondant potatoes and a lemon beur blanc.

"Everybody stop what they are doing!" An authoritative voice booms and my gaze lands on the owner of the restaurant who burst through the door.

"What is the first rule when cooking fish?" He questions, his hands trembling.

"That it is filleted  correctly and there are no bones remaining in the piece of fish." I answer realising where this is going. Andrew sent out fish that wasn't pin boned properly. That is the worst thing any chef could do.

"So who cooked this piece of fish?" His voice is trembling and his face flushed as he comes closer to us. Mr Devonshire is definitely not happy and I wouldn't want to be on the recieving end of his anger.

"Jackson Kensington,one of our patrons just chocked on a bone. He had to be rushed to the hospital and now he demands that the person who cooked this fish be fired.They will be fired because we cannot afford to lose one of our best customers. He will be checking in with us once he's discharged.  So I will ask again, who cooked this fish?"  My heart starts to pound. This is not good