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The other door led to a storage room twice the width of the office, crowded with tall metal racks that held a variety of spice containers, cans, bulk staples like flour and sugar, plastic bags of hamburger buns, and sacks of potatoes and onions.
A smaller rack, separate from the food items, held cleaning supplies.
The linoleum floor looked worn and stained, but clean, even under the shelving.
The back of the room was a featureless wall of stainless steel, with a latched metal door of a relatively modern walk-in cooler.
Summer stepped inside. A chilly blast of air greeted her. She checked the thermometer settings and found everything in order. Then she inspected the contents of the cooler.
Like the dry storage area, the diner’s walk-in cooler was clean and neatly organized, which was a relief, with all the perishables stored according to food safety principles.
The only things missing were date/content labels on the storage containers. She’d have to remedy that… “first in, first out” was the iron-clad rule of good food storage management. With the way the diner had been running out of ingredients, she didn’t think anything in here was past its expiration date, but even with that, better to be safe than sorry.
Impressed with the food storage areas’ overall neatness and cleanliness, Summer jotted down a few notes for improvements, then checked her watch.
It was almost time for the diner to open, so she headed for the kitchen.
“Hi, Summer!” said an older woman who was busily cracking eggs into a large stainless-steel bowl. She wore a long white apron, a colorful scarf folded over her hair, and bright red lipstick. “Don’t you look all grown up in your chef outfit!”
Outfit? Does she think I’m playing dress-up?Summer blinked, then recognized Marlene Wittenmeyer, who’d been working at the diner ever since Summer could remember. Her annoyance vanished immediately. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Wittenmeyer! Ithasbeen a while. How are you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain,” Marlene said, smiling as she began rapidly dicing onions. “Is it true that you’re gonna be working with us now?”
“Yes, I’ll be here until September.” Summer could feel the heat from Mr. Grumpy Pants’ angry eyes drilling into her back like laser beams. She ignored him.
“How’s Abigail doing?” Marlene demanded.
“Much better. She’s supposed to be coming home from the hospital this afternoon,” Summer reported.
She began her inspection. The floor, countertops, and appliance surfaces all looked clean. Likewise, the walls, with their vintage subway tile. So far, so good. She bent to peer under the stove and asked, “How are Katie and Austin doing?”
“I’m doing just fine,” said the tall, brown-haired teenage boy who sat on a stool in one corner of the kitchen, peeling potatoes. “I graduated a couple of weeks ago. I’m heading to Gallatin College in the fall. Got accepted into the Culinary Arts program.”
“Congratulations,” Summer told him. “I know that’s a hard program to get into.”
He grunted, then asked, “Is it true that you own your own restaurant in San Francisco?”
Before she could answer, Brock snapped, “Less talking, more peeling, Austin. Or we’re gonna come up short again today.”
He stood in front of a tall, heavy-duty Hobart mixer, mixing up a batch of pancake batter from scratch.
Again?Summer made a note to follow up with him. Exactly how often was the diner running out of basic items?
But she was pleased to see that Brock wasn’t using frozen fries and hash browns. Not only did fresh potatoes taste better, they were much cheaper.
Summer completed her inspection, aware of three pairs of eyes intently tracking her around the kitchen. “Everything looks great, guys,” she announced. “This is one of the cleanest commercial kitchens I’ve ever seen.”
Brock snorted, but didn’t stop scooping flour into the Hobart’s giant mixing bowl.
Terri entered the kitchen from the dining room, and began clipping the first orders to the ticket wheel, calling out the items as she did so.
Summer sighed. She really needed to talk to Brock again about purchasing an integrated POS system that would print order tickets directly to the kitchen.
Now that the diner was open for business, it was time to order some waffles and coffee, and observe how the front of the house handled breakfast service.
With only a few customers, things started off smoothly, even if both of the young servers on duty paused frequently to look at their phones.
Grandma Abigail mentioned that the diner’s manager had quit a few days ago. So, it didn’t surprise Summer when things descended into chaos a half hour later.
