The Queen of Minor Disasters (13 page)

“Great,” he says
sarcastically.

“What did Chuck say?” I ask.

“He got the job at the Villa.
They called him right before he came into work.”

“When’s he leaving?” Lucy asks
the question I’m scared to. I smile at her and take a sip of my wine.

“Tomorrow’s his last night.”

I can barely swallow. “What?”

“Yeah, they need him to start
right away. He has to.”

“That’s so messed up,” I say
in shock. “He should at least give two weeks’ notice. That’s standard.”

Lorenzo looks at me as if I
should know better. There are no standards in the restaurant business. Still, it’s
hard to be mad at Chuck since he’s been such a good employee.

 “He has to take the job,”
Lorenzo says. “It’s good for him. Steady all year round. Plus he gets health
benefits and paid vacation.”

One of the hardest parts of
having a seasonal restaurant is finding consistent help. No one wants to only
work for three months out of the year, so you run the risk of having a
revolving kitchen door, hiring chefs for only one season, meaning you have to
train someone new each year. We’ve heard horror stories of restaurants having
to break in new chefs, only to realize, mid-July that they’re not any good. So
far we’ve been lucky that Chuck has stuck with us. In the winters he’s helped
out part-time at La Cucina. He didn’t say much when we told him my parents sold
the place, but I guess that’s what prompted him to look for other jobs. Still,
I’m scared of how the rest of the summer is going to go.

“What are you going to do?” I
ask.

“I guess I’ll ask the Russian
guys if they know anyone. I can train someone fast.”

Every summer, a group of
students from Russia comes to the Island to work. We always hire a great crew
from Russia to wash the dishes and bus tables, but we’ve never had a Russian
kid in the kitchen. It doesn’t seem like a good solution to me, but for now,
it’s the only one we’ve got.

“I’m sure
it’ll all work out,” Lucy says looking at Lorenzo.

“Whatever.”  He stands. “I’m
going home. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya.” I wait until I hear
the back door shut. “I’m worried,” I say to Luce.

She takes a deep breath and
sighs. “I know. It’s going to be really hard without Chuck.”

“Who’s gonna do the cakes?
Lorenzo can’t train a Russian guy to do those.”

“Do you have the recipes?” she
asks.

“Yeah, they’re all written
down in a binder in the office.”

“So why don’t
you
do them?” She flashes me a smile.

Lucy knows me better than
anyone in the world, and knows how much I love baking. I’m always the first one
to bake a birthday cake for my friends, or cookies for customers on Halloween;
it all ties into Food Therapy. But baking for fun is one thing. Doing it
professionally is a whole different ball game. “I’d never be able to.”

“But some Russian kid can?”

We both laugh picturing Ivan
in an apron, whisking eggs and sugar together.

“Just try it Stella. What’s
the worst that can happen? You fail. Who cares? You can easily buy some good
cakes to serve. But if you’re good at it, this could be something big for you.
It can be a career.”

I smile and take a sip of
wine. Why is it that a best friend can bring out the potential in you? “You’re
right. I’ll try it.”

We sit for a few more minutes,
finishing our wine. “Want to get another bottle so we can sit on the deck,” I
say getting up. I collect all my paper work and put it in my bag.

Lucy looks down. “I’m actually
gonna stay at my aunt’s tonight.”

Ok, she
definitely
didn’t mention this before.

“My cousins texted during the
night. They’re all down.”

“Oh,” I say disappointed. I
guess that makes sense. It is Fourth of July weekend. Sort of anyway.

Lucy waits while I gather my
papers from the office. I slip the binder full of recipes into my bag just
before shutting off the light. After I lock the front door, we go in separate
directions. I don’t know why, but it bothers me that she didn’t invite me to
hang out. She’s such a big part of my family, yet I barely know hers. I think
of calling Drew, but stop myself before I can. Instead, I call my mom and tell
her all the details about Chuck as I walk home.

Mario shows up early the next
morning. “I’m here to save the family business,” he says as he opens the door
to our house. I’ve barely had two sips of my coffee and can’t handle his
sarcasm. I knew he was coming though. When I called my mom last night and told
her the situation she thought it best to send Mario down. Out of all of us, he
is the only one who could help Lorenzo in the kitchen. Even though he didn’t go
to culinary school, he knows the menu inside and out, and can easily prepare
any dish on it.

I can tell Mario’s
already
unhappy about the situation, so I
try to remain positive.

“Want some coffee?” I ask.

“How about a valium?” he says
and lugs his suitcase up the stairs.

I roll my eyes and continue flipping
through the recipe binder. I remember typing all of these up after our first
summer, when Lorenzo handed me various scraps of parchment paper with recipes
scrolled all around. We figured if we catalogued them it would be easier to
train the kitchen staff. The pictures of all the food proved to be a great help
to the wait staff as well.  But there are fewer recipes in it than I remember,
and I try to get a mental picture of our dessert tray to see if everything adds
up. There’s the chocolate cake, crème brulee, tiramisu, cannoli, and ricotta
cheesecake. I wonder what kind of desserts Chuck’ll make at the Villa. I hope
they give him set recipes to follow and stifle his creativity. I close the
binder and turn on my computer, searching for some new desserts to introduce to
the restaurant.

That’ll show Chuck.

By eleven a.m. I’m dressed (in
an actual dress, not gym clothes, you never know who can pop in) and on my way
to the restaurant. Tomorrow starts my new career as pastry chef extraordinaire,
so I want to pick Chuck’s brain before he goes. 

Yields 12 servings

Just one of the many desserts
I know I can make.

Don’t be scared to try this
one ladies, if you mess up, who cares? You can always buy something to serve.

3 pounds whole milk ricotta

1 quart whole milk

10 eggs

2 cups sugar

1 lemon zest

1 orange zest

1/4 cup flour

1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs
( finely ground)

butter for greasing the pan

1)
     
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2)
     
Grease a 12” spring form pan and dust with graham
cracker crumbs.

3)
     
In a large bowl, beat together ricotta and sugar
until smooth. Slowly pour in the milk.

4)
     
Beat the eggs in a separate bowl, then slowly pour
into the ricotta mixture.

5)
     
Add citrus zests and flour to the ricotta mixture.
Stir to incorporate.

6)
     
Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

7)
     
Wrap aluminum foil around the sides and bottom of
the pan so it doesn’t drip in the oven. Place on a baking sheet.

8)
     
Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes, then lower the
oven to 350 and bake for an additional 30 minutes.

9)
     
Give it a light shake, if the cake still appears
too liquid bake for an additional 10 minutes.

10)
 
Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely
before removing from the pan.

11)
 
Refrigerate until ready to serve.

12)
 
Dust with powdered sugar immediately before
serving.

Mario is a terror in the
kitchen. He questions everything that Lorenzo says and the two of them have
already gotten into dozens of fights (three of which were loud enough to be
heard in the dining room. Granted, it was before service, but still). Honestly,
I don’t know how Lorenzo is dealing with it. Every night it’s like I’m holding
my breath, waiting for Lorenzo to throw him out. Of course, then he’d lay into
me in the dining room. He’s already started to micro-manage my wait staff.

And if that wasn’t bad enough,
the temperature outside reached 102 degrees and has stayed that way for the
past three days. I read in the newspaper yesterday that it’s the hottest it’s
been at the beach in forty-seven years. The air is on, but it’s already warm in
the restaurant and no one’s even here yet. I can only imagine what it’ll feel
like with sixty people crammed in here. I fan myself with my hand.

Truthfully, I think the heat
might be radiating from me. I’ve been so miserable lately.

There’s been no word from Drew
and we’re going on four weeks now. I’ve stuck to my guns and haven’t called him
(unless you count the other night when I was stressed and accidentally reached
for the phone and called him. It was like an automatic response to stress or something,
but I hung up before he could respond, and anyway, it was an
accident
).

Lucy thinks my plan to get
Drew back is ridiculous, but what does
she
know
about relationships. Let’s be honest here. Lucy’s never really had a boyfriend
so she’s not one to be dishing out advice.

 “Will you just forget him?”
she says when she comes into work. “You’re miserable and it’s not making it
easier on any of us.”

This infuriates me.

Why do
I
always have to be the happy one around
here?

Why does Mario get to waltz in
and be the big mean boss?

How come Lorenzo gets away
with yelling at the waiters?

I’m not hurting anyone. I’m
just not smiling like normal. At least not until the guests come in.

If there’s one thing I’ve
gotten to be very good at over the years it’s acting. My father taught me to
never
let the customers know you’re upset.
“If they see that,” he says, “the dream is over.”

 My dad has this theory that
people go out to eat to escape their problems, their worries, and their
everyday. When they enter a restaurant, they step into a dream world where
they’re kings and have complete control.

It makes sense if you think
about it.  At a restaurant, you get to choose what you want to eat, have other
people prepare it, serve it to you, and clean up after you.

Which is exactly why I’ll
plaster a smile on my face from 5:00 to 11:00 tonight.

Even if Drew doesn’t call me.