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“Like who?” Islip stared at him. “Chef, this is important to know. Anyone who might have an issue with you could be at the root cause of this problem. You should have told us if someone had a beef with you.”
“I’m in a unique position at the restaurant to decide who and what organizations can book our private room for large events. Imagine you were trying to impress the boss or business associates. You’d want to book the hottest restaurant in the city, show them all that you can get things done. But I learned very early in my career that mixing politics, religion, or anything controversial in the moment with your income is foolish.”
“And you’ve done that here?” asked Otto.
“I’ve turned down more than a dozen prayer groups, bible study groups, that sort of thing. Which I’m sure is not popular with the very Catholic and very southern Baptists. But I don’t want holy wars over how I use my restaurant.
“I’ve also refused to hold a dinner here for Edmond Davis, the man running for governor. I don’t care for his politics. But to be fair, I refused the opponent as well. It may seem ironic now, but I also refused a gun club’s annual dinner and the board of directors’ dinner for the opera house.”
“You don’t like opera?” frowned Luc.
“I love opera. I despise the director. He’s a pompous asshole who insults my staff and my cooking every time he’s here.” The three men nodded, chuckling softly.
“Do you have cameras in the building?” asked Luc.
“Only at the entrance and exit. Nowhere else. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do, but it’s very expensive.”
“It can be,” said Gabe, “but it might tell us what we want to know right away. If you’ll give the approval, our team can install them while we’re here. We can always remove them later if you like.”
“Can I think about it?” he asked.
“Sure. Why don’t you tell us what we need to be doing?”
“I’ll place you and your brother in dishwashing,” he said, nodding at Luc and Gabe. They both stared at him, knowing they’d never mentioned that they were brothers. “I’m not stupid, gentlemen. There were at least five men in that room in your office building who looked like they’d come from the same egg. Even I can tell that you’re brothers.”
“Fair enough,” smirked Gabe.
“I believe you mentioned that you cooked while in the Navy,” said Islip.
“Well,” smirked Otto. “To be fair, I was a chief in the Navy, not a chef. But I know my way around the kitchen.” Islip actually laughed for the first time since they’d met him. He nodded, opening the door to squeeze by the three men.
“Talbot. Marks. This is Otto. He’ll be assisting you with whatever you need. These other two,” he stared back, unsure of which was which.
“Gabe.”
“Luc.”
“Yes, Gabe and Luc are our new dishwashing team. We lost Ezra and Monty yesterday. They’ve both moved on.”
“Yes, chef,” said the men in unison.
It sounded eerily like the military to the three men. Everyone echoing the commander’s name and order. In some ways, they supposed, it was like the military. Precision drills, everyone with a role, and hopefully, putting out the best meal they could possibly create.
“Right this way,” said Marks. He grabbed two aprons and pointed to the boxes of gloves on the wall. “The water needs to be extremely hot for us to meet code on the cleaning and sterilization of the dishes. Use the gloves, or you’ll have more cuts, sores, and shredding skin than you care to.
“This is the glass washer. Much easier than by hand. Simply empty the glasses in this sink, place the glass over this automatic brush for ten seconds, then over this water dispenser, and set them in the racks upside down to dry. Easy as pie.”
Luc and Gabe nodded, having seen the machine a million times in their own cafeteria back home.
“Pots and pans have to be done by hand. Plates and bowls can be placed in these racks. Fill them completely, then press wash. That’s all you have to do.”
“Got it,” they said in unison.
“Listen, I’m not a stickler for this, but when addressing chef, please say ‘yes, chef.’ It’s out of respect for him, and since the entire staff has to do it, it would seem odd if you two did not.”
“Do you respect him?” asked Gabe. He stared at the two men with a funny look on his face, then gave a half-nod.
“I do. He’s tough. Tougher than anyone I’ve ever worked for, but he’s rarely, if ever, wrong. If he says it needs more salt, it needs more salt. If he says it’s too sweet, it’s too sweet. I’ve grown exponentially in this kitchen, and I hope to be half the chef he is one day.”
