Matt waited politely, but his skin crawled looking at the disorganized office. He made up his mind right then that he’d keep track of his own hours, and just have Bruce sign off on them at the end of the semester. The last thing he needed was for the paper to get lost in this mess. That would be a waste of three hundred hours of his life.
Well, not a complete waste, exactly. But itwouldsuck. He hoped Bruce didn’t expect him to organize the office for him. Matt was here to learn the restaurant business so he could run one himself someday. At least this was a good example of whatnotto do.
At last Bruce ended his call and looked at Matt. “Welcome aboard, Matt! Let me show you around.”
Matt nodded. “Sounds great.”
“I have to talk to Chef anyway, his crab shipment is going to be late, and he’s going to be rather crabby.” Bruce chuckled at his own pun, and Matt forced a grin. The manager patted him on the shoulder, suddenly serious. “Don’t let the old boy scare you; he’s all bark.”
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed as he started to follow Bruce out of the office. That seemed rather ominous. But he had read online that Chef Alphonse D’aureville was prone to outbursts. Seemed like the rumors were true.
He paused as he hit the threshold. “Where’s a good place to leave my lunch?”
Bruce looked at the thermal bag in Matt’s hand. “We’ve got a staff fridge in the kitchen, I’ll show you.” He led Matt back through the hallway, through the door marked “Staff Only” into the kitchen. Opening a smaller, domestic-sized refrigerator in one corner, Bruce gestured for Matt to leave his lunch inside. He led Matt around the front of house first, discussing things he already knew about the restaurant, like their philosophy and cuisine. As they walked, the discussion turned to his duties, and things he could expect to learn under Bruce’s tutelage.
“I’m also going to have you working as a host once or twice a week, I want you to really get a feel for the customer service aspect of this industry.”
Matt gulped. He did not look forward to that. “Do you … do you come through during dinner service often?” Maybe he should have gone for a hotel internship.
“On our busy nights, yes. Or my assistant manager does. At least they would if I had one.” Bruce rubbed the back of his head.
“What happened?”
Bruce shrugged and gave a nervous-sounding laugh. “The last one left and I just haven’t had time to hire a new one.” They headed back into the kitchen and Bruce called out to the man in charge of the kitchen, “Alphonse! Come meet my new intern.”
A short, round man with a gray mustache and short gray hair peeking out from under a chef’s hat came around the counter in his kitchen whites. “Oui,Bruce? I am busy with prep work right now.”
Matt could see sweat bead on Bruce’s temple. “Chef Alphonse, this is Matt Lundholm. He’s the hospitality management intern we brought in from …” Bruce looked to Matt. He didn’t remember where he went to school? That boded well.
Not.
“Virginia Tech,” Matt supplied, then reached out to shake Alphonse’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Chef.” The old man grunted and reluctantly shook.
“By the way, I also wanted to give you a heads up that the crab is going to be late. There was a mix-up at the fish market and they thought the delivery was tomorrow.”
Alphonse fired off in rapid French and it sounded like he was cursing Bruce’s mother. “Again, with this nonsense? Find me a new fishmonger, Bruce. Tomorrow.”
“Chef, this is the best one we’ve worked with.”
“And they are still not good enough!”
“We’ll talk about this later, Alphonse. I have to get Matt situated.” Bruce nudged Matt to start walking for the hallway as the chef stalked off in a huff.
Back in the hallway, Bruce gave him an apologetic shrug. “It would help if he didn’t insult every damn seller in Baltimore. Pretty soon we’ll have to import the fish from Virginia.” As a restaurant that boasted about its local seafood, Matt understood that would cause problems.
“Can you talk to him?”
“I’ll have to. This can’t continue.” Once they were behind the office door, the pieces started to fall into place.
“Is he the reason your assistant left?”
Bruce suddenly looked much older. “You’re a quick one, I like you. Just stay out of Chef’s way. If he does say anything to you, come to me and I’ll tell him to knock it off. You’re not getting enough credits to deal with that.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He’d just plan to stay far, far away from the volatile old Frenchman.
Hauling her hamper down to the basement of the building, Rosie huffed as it hit the floor. Half a dozen commercial coin-operated washers and dryers lined the cement block walls. She shivered despite the warm sweatshirt she’d thrown on. A space heater in the corner didn’t do much.
