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I rolled my eyes.I’m gone one night, and everything was already turning to shit?I felt bad for Kelly, but I couldn’t help but smile a little thinking of Daniel’s reputation suffering. And also, was I actually that good at pizza? Sounds like I sure was an asset to that kitchen, after all.Hmm, Daniel’s loss, not mine. Guess he really is the desperate one now.I felt my confidence boost as I thought about tomorrow’s trial. Great timing.
Me:Thanks for your message, Kelly, hang in there, hopefully things will get better. I’ll miss all the kitchen crew, but it’s time I move on and look for work someplace else.
17
The Trial
As Casa di Vitello came into view, I took a deep breath and pinched my arm to make sure that this was real. Just last week, I was at Patrick’s house serving him food from Mon Amour for his birthday, and now I was standing out the front of his restaurant about to walk in for a job trial. My heart raced, and all I could do was think about how proud my dad would have been that I was getting an opportunity like this – all thanks to his dough recipe. He would have hugged me and given me the kind of high-five that made your hand sting for minutes afterwards, just like he did when we aced a new dish together.
I smoothed my shirt before heading for the front entrance.You can do this, Naomi. You can, I repeated like a mantra in my head as I walked up three short steps and stepped onto the expansive wooden deck. There wasn’t a leaf in sight, and the deck looked freshly polished. The sound of cascading water caught my attention, and I turned to the white cherub wishing fountain. I reached into my pocket for a coin and tossed it in for good luck.
When I turned around, I noticed an exotic woman with glowing skin in her mid-twenties standing behind the outdoor service desk. She was examining the guestbook and bobbing her head to the classic Italian restaurant music coming from inside. I imagined the music was like something you’d hear in a restaurant in Rome. Her dark curly hair was twisted into a bun high upon her head, and a pen was balanced behind her ear.‘Casa di Vitello’was emblazoned in white letters across the chest of her silver apron, and the leather straps were duck-egg blue. Her simple uniform of a tailored white shirt and black pants gave her an air of casual sophistication.
‘Hi. How can I help you?’ She looked up with a curious glint in her eyes as she observed my black T-shirt and checked pants. After inspecting me, she looked into my eyes and gave me a warm smile.
‘I’m here for the job trial. Patrick asked me.’ I returned the smile.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She looked down at her silver watch. ‘You’re early.’
‘Yes. I’m Naomi. Pleased to meet you.’ I held out my hand.
She shook my hand. ‘I’m Clara. Come this way.’ She gestured for me to follow. I noticed the leather straps of her apron sat criss-crossed on her back. She began walking through the enormous restaurant that could sit over five hundred diners.
I followed her inside, reflecting on the differences I could already see between here and Mon Amour. On my first shift in Daniel’s restaurant, I got told to only ever come through the back andneverthrough the front. He gave very specific instructions in a text message, and would scream at any chef if they walked in through the front – that was a big no-no. It was like he was embarrassed of his kitchen staff. They weren’t classy enough for the patrons to view – no, they had to come in by theback entrance. The ironic part was the chefs were the real stars, being the ones who cooked the fabulous food.
Casa di Vitello was modern and decked out with crystal chandeliers, which added a warm, ambient glow. Each dining table had a perfectly positioned white linen tablecloth, shiny cutlery, velvet duck-egg-blue chairs, wine glasses, and a small white vase of pink roses. The flowers added a pop of colour in contrast to the lighter colour scheme of silver and white walls.
The bar was long and elegant with its white marble surface and duck-egg-blue padded barstools. A bartender dressed smartly in a white shirt and silver tie stood in front of the rows of gleaming, top-shelf liquor bottles, his face a mask of concentration as he shook a cocktail for a woman at the bar. He was a bit of a spunk with his hair styled in a quiff, and his white shirt truly complemented his olive skin. I watched him pour the yellow foamy liquid into a grande glass and instantly recognised it was a pina colada. He sprayed whipped coconut cream on top, which smelt citrusy, like limes, then garnished the drink with a maraschino cherry.
A waft of Italian cuisine greeted me the closer we got to the kitchen.Oh yum.That’s definitely pesto sauce.I could recognise the basil and pine nuts a mile away.
Clara must have noticed me breathing in the aromas, as she did the same, and said, ‘Everything is made fresh daily. Patrick owns a private farm from where he gets most of his produce.’
‘He has his own farm?’ I shook my head in appreciation.What doesn’t this guy have?‘That’s so cool. I bet it’s organic too.’
‘Yes, it sure is. He doesn’t use any pesticides on his produce. Everything is grown and made with love.’ She gave me a quick look up and down before continuing. ‘And congratulations for getting this trial, by the way. There were over one hundred other candidates eager for this position.’
I swallowed hard and tried to soak in what she just said.One hundred?I hoped Clara couldn’t tell how nervous I was, but to me, it felt like I was just about to cook for the Queen of England. ‘So, I’m the only one being trialled today?’ I raised a brow.
She nodded. ‘Yes, as far as I’m aware. You must have impressed him. He’s a very hard man to please.’
Knowing this did not help quiet the butterflies in my stomach, which were now flapping uncontrollably. As we stepped into the kitchen, I looked around with awe; it was the biggest, most pristine preparation area I’d ever seen in my life. With shiny worktables, and so many staff! I counted at least twelve chefs prepping and preparing for the service ahead, filling every section of the kitchen. We stopped at the first workbench, which was mounted to the wall near the doorway. It had fridges underneath the tabletop just like Mon Amour, and I noticed further down the kitchen there was a massive cold room for produce.
Clara craned her neck as if looking for someone. ‘Naomi, just wait here, and I’ll get our head chef.’
I stood and looked around, trying to absorb as much as I could, then closed my eyes and inhaled the aroma of Italian food – fresh and mouth-watering.
Clara walked over with a woman dressed in a white chef’s coat, tall hat, and
black pants. I was instantly reminded of Paul – black chef’s pants equal authority at Mon Amour – though she was fair-skinned and blue-eyed with red cheeks and a pointy nose. She grabbed a paper towel from her pocket and dabbed sweat from her forehead, and as she lifted her hat off, I noticed curly strawberry-blonde hair tucked up in a bun. She rolled up her sleeve, then put out her hand to shake mine. ‘Hi, Naomi. I’m Trisha. Nice to meet you, and thank you for being early.Punctuality goes a long way in this kitchen.’ She fanned her face with her hat.
‘It’s an honour to meet you! I’m so thrilled to have this opportunity.’ I smiled, hoping she hadn’t noticed my hand trembling. ‘Should I call you Trisha or Chef?’
‘Trisha, or Trish is fine.’
‘Sure.’ I smiled. She seemed nice so far.
‘Well, I’ll get back to front-of-house. Was nice meeting you, Naomi,’ Clara said as she darted out the door before I had the chance to say anything back.
