Chapter 13: Cold Hands Make for a Flaky Crust“That’s all she wrote, folks,” Olivier yelled. “Good job!”
I looked over to the kitchen where the staff, cooks, waiters, and dish pit crew were cheering each other over Heineken beers. It had been a good night, but that meant a mess. No one left here until that kitchen was spotless, all food wrapped or vacuum-sealed, dated, and stored properly in the fridge.
Of course, as the executive chef, I got to skip that tedious part.
I threw my coat on and decided to leave through the front door. Walking across the empty dining room, I surveyed the premises. The ceiling was a massive wooden replica of a clinker built Drakkar boat hull—Derek’s idea—and the tables and chairs had been crafted to look exactly like seventh century Viking furniture. Again, D
