The name of the restaurant was Dean's Dining Delicacies and located in a good part of town, not rich, but safe and serene. It seemed to be its own little town, all focused around a refurbished, white gazebo in the park.
I noticed the sign with the big letters "D-e-a-n" and, as we got closer, I read the smaller letters beneath it "dining delicacies."
Excited, I turned to Shawn who parked the car and looked back at me. "Ready?" he asked, almost just as excited. "I think - well, I hope - so," I stuttered back.
"You'll be great. Knock him dead. By the way, babe, you look gorgeous."
"Thank you. Let's go in."
He took my hand and laced our fingers.
The entrance was chill, looking like a relaxed breakfast and luncheon bar. The options varied. There was coffee and crumb cakes to nachos and cheese. There were casual, but matching tables all over. Okay, so many this was a wealthier neighborhood, but it was very relaxed. I could feel the longing in me grow as I sensed and heard the buzz of the kitchen zoomed in the background. Shawn was drawn to the counter immediately, which had a sample of the food.
The waitresses didn't place us, which added to the casual nature of the place. The prices were insane though. I was surprised, but excited. The more expensive the more detailed or secret the recipe was. I was intrigued.
I turned to Shawn, "Get a water," I demanded, "that's always free."
"But I want some of these," he whined. "Look at the prices!" I shrilly whispered.
"I don't care. Now and then, it's nothing. Athalia you forget, I'm not a starving artist."
"Oh right, I forgot you were famous and wealthy."
We finally stepped up the counter, and the clerk noticed, asking, "What can I do for the lovely couple?" He had a slight French accent in his voice and I gave Shawn a playful if-I-wasn't-dating-you-I'd-be-dating-him face. Thank goodness Shawn knows I love him. A lot.
I piped up, "I'm looking for Chef Dean."
"Ah you must be the little interview-ee."
"Yes, he sad to come in at 3:00."
"You're early, that shows initiative. I'll go get him."
I was 5 min early, that's all. A female clerk waltzed over to the register and asked flirtatiously, "What can I get for your man candy here?"
Shawn spoke for himself, "I'd like a water and a chocolate chip muffin, please."
"Go ahead and find a seat you'd like and I'll bring you your food."
"Thanks."
Shawn found a seat nearest the kitchen. I think he wanted to be nearest to me.
A tall, slightly wrinkled guy walked out proud and strong. He looked younger than he must be if he was looking for an assistant. His hand reached out to mine, in a hands shake, and mine met his. They were burly and burnt hands, but had a presence of skill. "I'm Dean," he introduced himself, "pleasure to meet you - uh, remind me of your name again?"
"Athalia, and I'm pleased to meet you."
"And this is?" He gestured to Shawn.
"That's my boyfriend, Shawn. He drove me in support."
"Gianna!" he hollered to the lady clerk, "food for the young man is on the house."
"You don't have to do that," I insisted quietly.
"It's on me. Let's sit at a table and talk about you."
As we sat down he turned the chair around, put his legs on either side of it, and laid his arms on the back of it. "So you've been to school already?" He began.
"Yes, a vocational certificate in culinary arts."
"You found your calling quickly. How much time do you spend in the kitchen?"
"I couldn't even tell you. Normally every meal, unless I'm out and then several times in between."
"Everyday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Call me Dean."
"Dean, what do I need to do to qualify for this job?"
"A few more questions then you can whip up something for me to try. No cookbooks, but off the top of your head."
"Sounds good."
"Normally people are intimidated by that."
"I've been cooking since before I can remember. I have a million recipes in my head."
"Impressive. Do you have a car?"
"Yes."
"How far away do you live?"
"About 20 minutes most."
"Great. Do you have a kitchen to practice in at home?"
"Yes."
"Every week I will assign you a recipe of my own to take home and make. A single serve amount. I expect you to perfect and memorize it within the week. Can you manage that?"
"I don't see why not."
"Good, good."
"Will you follow all my kitchen rituals and rules without question?"
"I can't promise I won't ask why you do something, but it will not be in doubt, but curiosity."
"Reasonable."
"When can you work?"
"Anytime really."
"Alright. I expect you to be here from 7-4 every day."
"Done."
"Of course you'd be able to skip shifts easily, I don't wanna keep you chained here."
"Thank you."
"Would you like to see the kitchen now?"
"I'd love to!"
So he gave me a rundown of the kitchen, showing me briefly where everything was located. "When you come tomorrow," he told me, "I won't be working with you. Casper will take an extra shift and show you around the kitchen so you can memorize where everything is."
"All in one day?..."
"No, but he can tell you how my organization makes sense so you'll understand. I'm sure it'll be easy to catch on."
"Thank you so much, Dean."
"Now least have a taste of something of your own."
So I composed a delicacy and he waved a waft of towards his nose. "Magnificent!" He exclaimed, reached for a spoon, and started to eat it.
"You officially have the job. Welcome to my crew. I think we'll be lucky to have you."
