The dish station is tucked away, hidden from the rest of the kitchen by a wall, though there’s another entrance that leads back to the prep area. There are multiple counters where pots and pans are already being stacked up. Isaiah walks in carrying a huge vat that’s still steaming. “Comin’ in hot, man,” he says as he heaves it alongside the others with a deafening clang.
“Roberto’s the chef plongeur, so he’ll be your direct boss. You do what he says, when he says it, exactly how he says it. And that’s basically true of anything anyone else tells you in here. I don’t want to see you holding a knife unless you’re washing it, okay? In my kitchen, you wash dishes. That’s it.”
I look around the little room. If I’m still, I can hear the hood roaring in the kitchen. The cooks are starting to wake up, perk up, speak up. Their voices are still soft and muffled, often overtaken by the work they’re doing.
“Roberto’ll be here soon, but you can get started. Don’t break anything. Clean dishes go over there,” Chef says. She turns to leave, but before she goes she says, “I want you to work a double today, stay until we close. Roberto will tell you when you can take a break, and when you can leave, but other than that you stay right here. Work fast, work clean and I’ll let you come back.”
Then Chef is gone, and I am left alone. I turn and face the sink. Felix shows up on my shoulder as a fly, rubbing his little forefeet together. “What the hell just happened?” I ask him out loud.
He buzzes around for a bit. Excitedly, I can tell. I stare at the pile of cookware, cast-iron and shiny with grease. I reach out to touch a wok, just to make sure it’s real.
“Felix. I didn’t ask for this.”
“But you got it, brother,” he says immediately. He always, always had a quick response. I don’t know how he never faltered when it seems like that’s all I do. “What else are you going to do?”
“Not work at this restaurant?”
“Okay, so you go home. Then what?”
I stammer for a second, because he can’t really expect me to just start working here. That’s not in the plan at all. I’m not, like, a huge fan of the established plan, but this is too much. This is Felixesque, and I am not Felix.
I think about what comes next: a flight back to Mexico, Dad chewing me out, the internship, all the days bleeding into one foreseeable future.
I told Mom I only had to do something for Felix. But I did that and nothing changed. Even in this room, where every surface is stainless steel and reflective, I’m fuzzy, out of focus. What if Felix wasn’t leading me to this restaurant just to eat here? What if he’s trying to lead me to something bigger?
Gingerly, I reach out to the faucet, turn one of the knobs. The water shoots out, removing a few loose flecks of food from the pan on top of the pile. It’s a high-pressure burst, immediately hot, and there’s something satisfying in its potency. A buzzer rings out, and a few seconds later I hear the back door open and Elias greet someone.
I’m not sure why, but the thought of fleeing saunters away and instead I find myself reaching for the scrubber.
CHAPTER 8
STAFF MEAL BURGERS
3 pounds ground beef, molded into 8-ounce patties
American cheese
METHOD:
The day is long.
Sometimes I can hear the laughter of people making jokes, the sound of knives coming down and orders being called out. During service there’s a din of activity beyond the partition that feels like a dream. I’m not sure why I don’t just leave, explain to Chef that this is all some misunderstanding. It has something to do with that din, though.
Steam from the sprayed water makes me sweat, grime gets under my fingernails. My arms are tired from lifting the pots, many of them so hot I can’t even touch them at first, which makes the work pile up, which leads to people yelling at me to keep up. Anytime I have a moment to myself, I look around and I think: Where am I?
Roberto gives me instructions in a voice that’s quiet and gruff but kind enough. He works in a blaze, often singing along to the music on the little radio he keeps in a dry corner of the room. His motions are a blur, and several times I get caught staring, trying to mimic his movements.
It doesn’t take too long for Felix to make another appearance. He’s in the suds at the bottom of the stainless-steel sink, he’s in the steam, he’s in the swirls of grease that refuse to mix with the hot water as they sluice down the drain.
“Look at you! Washing dishes and shit.” His little sudsy face raises its eyebrows, smirks the way it always does. “If Mom and Dad could see you now.”
“They’d go nuts,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “They’d say I was taking after you too much. Slumming it.”
“Is that how it feels?”
Before I can answer, Matt slams two more saucepans and three mixing bowls behind me and then goes to pick up more pots from the clean-and-dry rack. “Pick it up, dickweed. We’ve got sixty more covers for lunch and your clean stack is low.”
I get a couple of fifteen-minute breaks throughout the day, which I use to go to the bathroom and get off my feet. I decide to go out back and call Mom to check in. I want to share this crazy new development with her, though I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say. I’m standing near the patio, that insane view of ocean, trees, sky. Things are so serene here, everything still as a painting.
Mom picks up on the second ring. She gets going right away. “Carlos, honey, I know you’re having fun doing whatever you’re doing, but I wanted to get your flight info. There are some dinners coming up that I want to make sure you’re back for.”
I try to find the right words or just push out the obvious ones.
“Carlos? Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Memo shows up, two heaping trash bags at his side. “Mom, I need more time here.”
A long pause. I wonder if she’s considering putting Dad on the phone to try to change my mind. I wonder if she regrets letting me go, if she’s getting déjà vu, memories of Felix’s escape. She sighs. “Okay. How long?”
How many nights like yesterday will I need before I feel okay to leave? How many nights like yesterday will I be granted? “I’m not sure,” I say.
“Your dad’s not going to be happy.”
“I know, Mom.”
She sighs again, says something in Spanish away from the mouthpiece, either to Dad or Rosalba, I can’t tell. “How are you?”
I hear three loud pops. My heart spikes, and I know that when I turn around I’ll see Felix on the ground. But it’s just Memo knocking on the door to get back in. “I’m fine. I’m just...not ready yet,” I say. I glance quickly at the screen to see what time it is. I have to get back to the sink. It’s strange how quickly I see it as my obligation. “Mom, I have to go,” I say, though I can’t bring myself to tell her why.