Fifty Recipes For Disaster - Book 3

Chapter One I STEP into my steam shower, seal the door behind me, and turn on the spray. As the hot water falls over my aching muscles, the enclosed walls trap the relaxing steam in the stall. I reach for one of my fancy new aromatherapy body washes and marvel at the way my life has changed in the last month. I’d arrived in New York City four and a half weeks ago, shell shocked and numbed by Jenny’s revelation: Robbs was the father of her unborn child, not Paul. I tried to tell myself that the news didn’t change anything, but deep down I knew the truth. If Jenny had been honest from the beginning, Paul and I would still be together. I’ve been thinking about that a lot since I arrived in the city, and I still can’t decide if that would have been a good thing or a bad thing. The flight landed at JFK Airport at ten p.m. on a cold March night. Having had to take care of myself since the age of sixteen, I’d never had the money to visit Dallas, much less somewhere as far away as New York City. James O’Toole, my new boss, had arranged for a car to pick me up from the airport and take me to The Plaza, where I’d be staying until I found an apartment. I’d told James that I’d be happy to stay somewhere more affordable, but he’d laughed off the suggestion and insisted that I have the best. That was my first sign that life in New York would be unlike anything I’d ever experienced. As the Town Car carried me through the city, I became so absorbed in my new hometown that I completely forgot about Paul, Jenny, and all of the drama I’d just left behind. New York had an amazing energy, and I was ready to be a part of it. As we crossed the bridge into Manhattan, I pulled out my cell phone and blocked Paul and Jenny’s numbers. I wanted to cut all ties with my old life so I could fully experience my new one. All ties that is, except for Chase. When I arrived at the hotel that first night, a package was waiting for me at the front desk. I waited until I was alone in my elegant room before opening it. The box contained a subway pass, individual maps of each borough, an electronic planner, and an envelope. I broke the seal and found a letter and a Platinum card. The letter was from James, telling me that he’d be out of town for the next month filming the overseas finale of Kitchen Wars. You’ve got a lot of work to get done before I get back. I’ve listed forty of the greatest restaurants in the city in the enclosed planner. I expect you to visit all of them and have critiques ready when I return home. I’ve also made several appointments for you. They are listed in the planner as well. The real estate agent will show you apartments within the budget I authorized. Use the credit card for your meals and to pay everyone else. I’d immediately scanned through the planner; not only would I be meeting with the real estate agent, I also had meetings scheduled with a hairstylist, a personal shopper, and my new faculty advisor at The Culinary Institute of New York. My first week in the city was an absolute nightmare. Between making it to all of my appointments and fitting in one of my assigned restaurants, I barely had time to take a breath. But on my third day, I met with the amazing Myra Owens, who showed me my dream home. It was the third apartment I looked at, and I immediately knew that I had to have it. I now live in a spacious studio; it’s modern and elegant, with hardwood floors and quartz countertops. It’s only a one bedroom, but it’s more than enough space for me. I still haven’t recovered from the shock of learning just how much James O’Toole was willing to spend to keep me happy in the city. I lather the citrusy soap over my body and reach for the shampoo that was custom blended for my hair. Frankie, the stylist James had sent me to, was a genius blend of chemist and artist. He’d given me highlights and lowlights and then whipped up several products for me to take home. When I’d pulled out my Platinum card, he’d shaken his head. “Mr. O’Toole has already taken care of it,” he’d told me. Each of the personal shoppers I’d met with had said the same thing. When I’d called James and insisted that I couldn’t accept any more gifts or favors from him, he’d simply laughed. “I’m in the limelight,” he’d explained. “Photographers follow me everywhere I go. As my apprentice, you’ll now be photographed just as much as I am. I insist that you look your best at all times. Anything less would be contradictory to my brand.” From that point on, I hadn’t felt bad about spending his money. I ordered everything I wanted from the restaurants I visited, to the point that I often took half of it home for later. I didn’t worry about the price of the clothes I bought on Fifth Avenue, and I added enormous tips to every receipt I signed. After all, generosity had to be good for ‘the brand’. But my four weeks of play time have run out; James flew in last night, and I have to report for my first day on the job in an hour. I turn off the water and step out onto the heated stone floor. I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and head into my closet to decide what to wear. I assume that I’ll be spending most of my day in the kitchen, covered in a chef’s coat, so I select a pair of lightweight black slacks and a designer white silk T-shirt. I put on a light layer of makeup before sliding into the clothes and blast my hair with a blow dryer. I stop with my hair still a bit damp, gather it in the middle of my head, and weave it into an intricate braid. I twist the braid into a bun, secure it with bobby pins, and pronounce myself ready for the day. >> One of the best things about my new apartment is its location. I’m within walking distance of both Central Park and The Madden Crowd, the five-star Michelin restaurant that is now my place of employment. After a quick stop in my kitchen to fill my travel mug with coffee, I grab my keys and leave the apartment. I ride the elevator down six floors, walk through the marble entryway, and step out onto the busy sidewalk. I’ve walked my route several times in the past few weeks, trying to gauge how long it will take to get to work. My best time has been eleven minutes, the worst twenty-seven. I’ve learned that the time of day plays a big role in how fast you can move about the city. Today, the trip takes me just under fifteen minutes; I’m fifteen minutes early for work. The Madden Crowd may be the only fine dining restaurant in New York that I haven’t sampled yet. James had been adamant that I not step into the place until he returned; it didn’t really make sense to me, but I’d felt it pointless to argue. An apprentice’s job is to do as they’re told, and I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. I take a deep breath and pull open the birch door. A thin, blonde woman in a fitted black dress greets me with a look of confusion. I glance around at the customers in the dining room and realize that I’m horribly underdressed. “Hello,” I greet her sheepishly. “My name is Kiara Sands. I’m supposed to start working with Chef O’Toole today... I’m sure there’s a back entrance or something that I’m supposed to use...” I trail off. “Just a second...” She pushes her long hair to the side and reaches for an earpiece. I realize that she’s wearing a discrete intercom system, and I’m impressed with how up-to-speed the place is technology-wise. As I wait for the woman to turn back to me, I take a closer look at the dining room. The restaurant has clean white walls adorned with delicate, intricate birch carvings. The scenes depict all sorts of nature elements, and the sleek stone floors draw the look together perfectly. It’s one of the most beautiful restaurants I’ve ever stepped foot in. The blonde turns back to me with a stiff smile. “Chef Sands? Chef O’Toole will be up shortly.” “Thank you,” I tell her warmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name?” “I’m Vanessa,” she tells me with an air of boredom. “It’s very nice to meet you, Vanessa.” “Do I hear that charming Texas drawl?” James calls out playfully as he approaches. He greets me with a hug. “Kiara, I’m so happy you’re here. Forgive Vanessa’s greeting; the staff usually enters through the kitchen. You didn’t know, and that’s my fault. I was so tired when I landed last night that I forgot to send you an email.” “It’s no problem,” I assure him. “I’ve just been admiring the dining room. Did you design the restaurant yourself?” “Oh, please.” James laughs with a dismissive wave. “Of course not. I hired a designer... a team of them actually. And that was after I hired the market researchers and the branding specialists... I’m glad that you like the place, though. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the real genius happens.” He leads me across the dining room and through a set of swinging birch doors. My jaw drops as I lay eyes on the kitchen. I’d thought that Fission was luxurious. In The Madden Crowd kitchen, each chef had their own work area twice the size of the kitchen in my Austin apartment. The appliances are state of the art and plentiful; six ice cream machines churn on the back wall while pheasant, venison, and elk spin in a massive rotisserie. A staff of sixteen works on the food without shooting a single glance in our direction. James sees the look of awe on my face and smiles. “The money I’ve spent on you so far kind of makes sense now, doesn’t it? What’s a five-hundred dollar haircut to a man with a three-million dollar kitchen?” I’m too impressed by the kitchen to be put off by his arrogance. “This is amazing... I can’t believe that I get to work here.” “Not just yet,” James tells me with a smile. “First, I thought we’d go to my office, and I’ll explain the apprenticeship position.” I think the position is pretty straightforward, but again, he’s the boss. “Lead the way,” I tell him with a smile. The right wall of the kitchen has two doors. The second obviously leads to the walk-in cooler; I follow James through the first. The room is small but clean, with just enough space to hold a desk, a filing cabinet, and two chairs. James sits behind his computer, and I settle in across from him. “I take it that you’ve completed your homework and have tried the restaurants I listed in your planner?” he asks as he shuffles through his top drawer. I nod. “Fantastic. Consider that an ongoing assignment. Food trends are constantly revolving. It’s imperative for an executive chef to always be aware of what his... or her... competitors are serving. Did you bring your critiques?” “Yes.” I hold up a thick spiral notebook. “Jesus, don’t you have an iPad?” he asks in disbelief. “Until last month, I was a struggling culinary student.” I laugh. “If I’d known that an iPad is required, I would have charged one.” “They’re not required, but I’ll order you one anyway. They’re f*****g useful... okay,” he says, turning back to my notebook. “We’ll go over your thoughts on everyone else’s food after we’ve made some of our own. But before we start cooking, I want to explain what your normal day will be like. I run things a lot differently than Weston. You’re my apprentice, which means that you work with no one else. I’m in the kitchen Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights and all day Sundays... when I’m not traveling or shooting the show, of course. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I come in and work the end of the lunch rush through the beginning of dinner hours. My sous chefs can handle things on their own, but I like to be here at least a couple of hours a day. My schedule will be your schedule. Any questions?” “Is there a set day that you usually do menu planning?” I ask. “Carter handles all of the menu planning,” he tells me. “That’s my lead sous chef. I let him know when there’s something specific I want to make, but otherwise I let him take the reins.” I nod. “I assume he does the inventory and ordering as well?” “Of course not,” James laughs. “Raven, my kitchen manager, handles all of that.” “You have a really large staff,” I observe. “That’s the secret of running a successful business without having to live in it,” he explains with a shrug. “The most important aspects of being an executive chef aren’t taught in culinary school. You have to know how to spot talent in others and how to delegate to those people. Otherwise, you lose your mind and then your business. Like your old boss Weston,” he adds with a cocky grin. “What do you mean, like Paul?” I ask. “Fission is doing incredibly well... at least it was just a month ago.” “You haven’t talked to him then? That’s good.” James gives me an approving nod. “Paul Weston doesn’t deserve you, in his kitchen or anywhere else. I’m glad you’ve cut off contact with him.” “There’s only one person from Austin that I’m still in contact with, and it’s not Paul,” I tell him. “But what were you talking about before? Is Fission in trouble?” James shrugs. “I’m sure he’s still filling seats, but word in the industry is that he’s burning out fast. His menu’s been static, the kitchen is sending out sloppy plates... he’s stopped paying attention to the small, important details. If he doesn’t snap out of it soon, he’ll be closing the doors within the year.” “Well, I hate to hear that, but Paul Weston is no longer any of my concern. Back to the topic of my schedule... I’m used to spending twice that amount of time in the kitchen... what else will I be doing? And what will I do when you’re shooting the show or on vacation?” “You’ll be doing whatever I’m doing,” he explains. “If I’m shooting Kitchen Wars, you’ll come to the set. If I’m doing an interview, you’ll tag along to that as well. As far as my vacations, you’re always welcome to join me, or you can relax and have free time to yourself. Your salary will remain the same, regardless of the amount of time we spend cooking.” I’m completely confused. The whole point of serving as an apprentice to a talented chef is to learn how to improve your food. James sees the confusion on my face and smiles again. “Look, Kiara, I know that most chefs spend a hundred hours a week in the kitchen, showing their apprentice all of the tricks of the trade. I don’t have time for that, which is why I hardly ever take on apprentices. But you’ve already got the talent; there’s not much that I could teach you about food that you don’t already know, or won’t learn from the culinary institute. I don’t intend on grooming you for a life in the kitchen. I want to groom you for a life in the spotlight, a life like mine. How does that sound to you?” I take a moment and think about how elegant and expensive my life has become over the last four weeks. And if James does what he’s promising, this is only the beginning. I could have a life of glamour and adventure... travel the world and taste all kinds of exotic cuisine. I look at James and smile. “A life in the spotlight sounds just fine to me.”