CHAPTER 27
TUNA THREE WAYS
1:
3 ounces sashimi-grade ahi tuna
4 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
? small cucumber, spiraled
1 roasted Scotch bonnet pepper
1 clove garlic
3 tablespoons ponzu sauce
3 tablespoons basil leaves
2:
3 ounces sashimi-grade ahi tuna
2 tablespoons Cajun seasoning (thyme, cayenne, paprika, garlic, onion)
? cup cauliflower florets
1 cup veggie stock
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 clove garlic
1 teaspoon lemon oil
3:
3 ounces sashimi-
grade ahi tuna
2 tablespoons chili
ancho aioli
2 teaspoons Mexican
chimichurri
1 flour tortilla
berry
METHOD:
It’s been a week.
I met up with Mom for dinner once before she left, but she kept looking at me with tears in her eyes, like I’d told her I was never going to see her again. We ate quietly at a place down the street from Provecho, avoiding all sorts of elephants in the room.
If guilt comes knocking (it does), I have plenty with which to keep it at bay: the kitchen, Emma, the knowledge that Dad’s at fault. The electric lake, fireflies, impossible full moons. It was hard to see Mom take things so hard, but she should have known that I wasn’t just going to come running back home. Hasn't she noticed how how much more present I am, how the island has given me back my full self? Felix makes a few appearances over the week, playing in the clouds, swimming in a sauce, but he doesn’t say much.
I wake up on another day off, as early as any other day. Elias is downstairs making coffee. “Hey, man. I thought you had the day off today.”
“Still have a training session with Chef,” I say.
“Always at it,” Elias responds, opening the fridge and grabbing some eggs. “You doing anything with the day off? Sleeping?”
“Going into the city with Emma. Her dad’s in town for some event thing. She wanted me to go with.”
“That’s cool,” Elias says. “Getting pretty serious, huh?”
I shrug, play it cool, though the fact that Elias is even asking makes my stomach flop around with giddiness and nerves that he isn’t the only one who’s noticed.
I leave the house with a good-bye, my knife tucked under my arm. Sunrise, the fog reaching out for its usual morning embrace with the island. The forest is a dream to walk around in at this hour, and I’m still good on time, so I veer off the road. The paths that once seemed only visible to Emma are now familiar to me. I can spot where the grass has been matted by our footsteps; I recognize minute differences in the trees pointing the right way, like a map in invisible ink.
In the meadow, I pick out a handful of the orange berries, peeling them carefully and popping them in my mouth throughout my walk. I can’t help thinking of how I would cook with them, and though I vaguely remember Emma saying something about wanting to keep them a secret, I think maybe she’d be okay if I was the one who cooked with them. I keep a few in my pocket, just on a whim.
My lessons with Chef have varied lately. One day, she will put me back on omelets; the next she’ll tell me to roast a whole chicken, peel potatoes, sharpen every knife in the kitchen. Whatever the lesson is, I carry it with me the rest of the day, repeating the motions in my head so that the next time I’ll be better at it, faster, more precise.
I arrive at the restaurant, the tang of the berry still on my lips. Chef opens up, leads me in. Today, she heads straight for the walk-ins. The excitement of stepping inside has not dissipated. The instant chill, the sensory overload of all those colors, all those flavors waiting to be drawn out. Making sure I appreciate that first step into the walk-in is my nod to Felix, how he would want me to treat this place with reverence.
I look around for him, some acknowledgment that this is true. But it’s just me and Chef. She chews her lip, looks at me like she doesn’t have a plan or is second-guessing the one she already had. There’s a brief moment where I can see Emma in her face, and it freaks me out a little. It passes quickly, because she tosses the clipboard at me and I have to catch it before it hits me in the nose.
Save for the far-off whirr of whatever engine keeps the room we’re in cold, it’s dead quiet. I’m not quite sure what’s going on yet and am still a little scared to say anything to Chef unprompted. After way too long, my skin pinpricked because of the cold, Chef finally speaks up. “A prep garde manger position is opening up. I thought a little test for you would be fun. You’ve been working hard, both with me in the mornings and doing what you’re paid to do. Your staff meals are good, but those don’t really mean shit. It’s a little soon, but let’s see what else you can do.”
My heart quickens.
“I need specials for the day.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and nods to the clipboard. “You get to come up with one of them. If I like it enough, maybe I’ll put it on the menu.” I want to run and hug her. All those early mornings, those double shifts made harder by the extra work—this is what they were for. Elias was right. “And,” Chef adds, “I’ll promote you to the line.”
I can’t help but smile at the clipboard in my hands. My mind’s already going to what I could make, using the flashes of ingredients that I can see on the menu. Braised short ribs with mole colorado and a corn puree. Lamb vindaloo pizza on naan crust, topped with cilantro chutney. I’m not throwing this opportunity away.
“I want to see a detailed recipe with exact quantities of every ingredient you’ll use per portion. Make sure we’ve got enough for at least the day. I don’t want to eighty-six it before we’re even setting up for dinner.”
“Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef.”
She nods and heads toward the door.
“Um, Chef?” I ask, remembering all of Chef’s outbursts, thinking there’s gotta be some sort of catch to this. “What if you don’t like it?”
“Then I don’t make it and you don’t get the job, genius,” she says, not slowing down. “And I don’t let you cook again for a year. You have until the prep cooks show up.”
Having imagined this scenario plenty of times before, I expect to feel like I’m in one of those cooking shows I’ve watched over the last few years. I wait for the surge of adrenaline, the scamper to the pantry. I expect a giant timer to show up over my head.