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“He told us he was having some issues,” said Luc.
“Yes. Someone is really playing with us. Fresh food that arrives in the morning is suddenly rotted by afternoon. Hundreds of pounds of fish or beef disappear.”
“Hundreds? Someone would need a truck to get that out of here.”
“Yep. We know,” he nodded. Staring at the two men, he shook his head again. “Look, I might just be a chef, but you two are not dishwashers. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I need this job, and the truth is, so do all these other people. This is a great restaurant, and the city needs it.
“We’re competing against the beasts of the city. Galatoire’s, Two Sisters, Brennan’s, and so many more. We are changing how outsiders see New Orleans and food. It’s not all about fat and butter, although those are certainly in our food. It’s also about artistic preparation.”
“Do you think one of those restaurants is a part of this?” asked Gabe.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Listen, we’re all turning people away every night. Every single night, every week, every month, all year long. There is enough business for everyone. And the truth is, Chef Islip turns away more business than anyone because he doesn’t want to mix politics in the restaurant.”
“He mentioned that,” said Luc. “Do you think someone he turned away is pissed off about that?”
“Could be. Listen, I have to get started on prep. If you guys need something, let me know. I do hope you help him. This is a great place.” He left them standing near the sink, awaiting their first load of pots and pans.
“Why would someone want to shut this place down?” asked Gabe.
“I don’t think it’s this place. It feels personal to me for some reason. I think it’s Islip or someone else who works here.”
“Keep your eyes open. Otto? You read?”
“Loud and clear.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The restaurant was slammed with people inside and waiting outside the restaurant. There were no tables available, but hopefuls waited it out, anxious to see if any reservations would no-show. It was like this almost from the moment they’d opened their doors. People began raving about the food and the restaurant staff, and immediately La Fromage became the talk of the town.
“I’m fucking glad I’m using the gloves,” said Gabe.
“Me too. This water must be over a hundred-and-twenty degrees. They start a new pot or pan every time they do a dish. They’re impeccably clean.”
“Agreed. Anyone giving you a vibe yet?” he asked his brother.
“I’m not sure yet. Oh, oh. He looks pissed.” Gabe nodded toward Islip walking into the kitchen with a plate in his hand.
“Why is this rare? Why? It was ordered as medium rare. Do you see this?” he screamed at the man, shoving the piece of red meat at him.
“Yes, chef. My apologies. I’ll remake it.”
“You’re fucking right you will. Do it again, and you’ll pay for the next one out of your check.”
“Yes, chef.” Gabe frowned at his brother.
“If you can’t do this, I’ll find someone who can. I will not tolerate fools and idiots in my kitchen! Is that clear?” he screamed.
“Yes, chef!” came the cry of the people in the room. They cringed as he moved toward the sauces. Sauces were a hot button for him, and he wanted them perfect. Every. Single. Time.
“Idiots! You’re all fucking idiots! Does this look like a béchamel?”
“No, chef.”
“Then remake it!”
“Yes, chef.”
He walked the line, staring at the food that was being prepared. He picked up a handful of cucumber slices.
