Chapter 8: Hard to Describe the Taste of UmamiI stepped out in the alley for some air, escaping the chaos of Split’s kitchen.
It was Friday night, and around the restaurant, the Old Port streets were jumping with people. Though I’d quit smoking years ago, I could have gone for a cigarette right now. These last few days had been nothing but a string of demands, and I was crawling under the weight of my responsibilities.
I gazed around at the back lot, hearing the loud voices drifting from the kitchen through the closed door. Well, I couldn’t stay out here all night. I stepped back inside to find the service kitchen line obviously out of rhythm. I decided to stick around to put some order in the dance. I worked for a few hours, silently, not participating in the usual jokes and banter, and
