SEQUEL TO - ESPRESSOLY FOR YOU; a one shot.
Daisy, twenty-two and a culinary graduate was set to crack her first interview and impress the head chef but when asked to meet the restaurant manager for a final word, things took a turn into the surprise...
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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.
