Page 39 of The Chef's Kiss
A curse flew past my lips, and I hung up the phone, slamming it down on the counter.
Before I could even think about what this meant, Jorgina walked in. “I heard anger. You going to yell?”
“No,” I bit out.
“I think you are.”
“And you’re nagging … that’s supposed to what, make me want to yell less?” If that was its purpose, it wasn’t working.
She shrugged. “Not really. I’m just glad it’s not directed at me this time. You have a temper problem, Mr. Silverman.”
“Don’t you have a menu to study?”
She gave me a two-finger salute that turned into a cruder, one-finger gesture.
“Real nice.”
“That’s me.” She winked. “A nice girl.”
What had I gotten myself into?
I carried two plates out to the table where Jorgina had half my menu crossed out. “No.” I set them down. “We aren’t remaking the entire thing.”
“You have two versions of lamb and not a single chowder.” She shook her head in disbelief. “And seriously, we are not serving veal.”
“We?” I took the seat across from her and pushed a plate her way.
She lifted the quesadilla to her mouth and took a bite without even looking at what she was eating. “Oh, mother earth, have mercy.” She closed her eyes and let out a low moan.
I glanced around the empty restaurant to make sure no one had walked in because Jorgina looked like she was enjoying herself a little too much.
“What is that?” she asked once she swallowed.
“A quesadilla with goat cheese, eggplant, and fried plantains.”
“Sounds disgusting, but it tastes so good. It’s like a war inside me right now. Do I want to admit to liking something with three ingredients that shouldn’t go together, or should I shudder and tell you never to do that to me again? I don’t know!”
I took a giant bite. Truthfully, I hadn’t been sure how it would turn out, but I had all three ingredients leftover from playing around with dishes for the menu. She was right. This was a masterpiece. I had to keep myself from echoing her moan. “Okay, that’s good.”
She threw a pad of sticky notes at me. “You didn’t know if it would be good and you made me try it first? Cruel.”
“It’s not my fault you were so hungry you didn’t even care what you were eating.”
“Give me a break. I’ve only had half a burrito today. Even your fancy food tastes good when my stomach is threatening to gnaw right through my skin.”
“That’s a visual.” Thoughts of Chaz and my new need for a talented sous chef faded away as I watched Jorgina take another bite. Seemed like one side won that war.
She brushed an auburn curl that had fallen loose from her bun out of her eyes and focused on the notebook. “Seriously, Hudson, some of this stuff looks really good, but you haven’t included enough of the local flavor.”
“Maybe that’s because none of the locals will talk to me about distribution.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “That will change now, but you need to have an open mind, okay? Stop with the fine dining thinking. The place can be nice and still edible.”
I laughed at her insinuation that fine dining food wasn’t edible. She was wrong, but not about the local flavor. “Where do we start?”
“Chowder. You can make it as fancy as you want, but it has to stay true to what chowder is, what people expect. Patrons don’t want you to give them the unexpected. They want what they ask for, just a better version than they imagined.”
“What makes you an expert in restaurants?” She’d never even worked in one, as far as I knew.
