One Star One Shot

Quincy Perdomo stepped outside and stooped low holding his cell phone. He had never been fired before and he wasn’t about to let it happen now. Not without speaking his peace.

Sergei Romonov, owner and head chef of the Bistroline Inn, storms out back to come at Quincy, but his sous chef, Petra Perchinko steps in front of him to keep from trying to fight. Quincy gets up slowly; he had seen his former boss, Sergei, get upset before but not like this.

    “THIS…is all your fault,” Sergei screamed above Petra, trying to whisper in his ear. His face became beet red, which was high on the Sergei meter that someone had set up on a private chat years ago. The redder his face became, the more they knew how tense the kitchen and back office would be. Quincy looked at him concerned that he would cause his blood pressure to lead him to a stroke.

    Quincy walked around the scene and started to grab his bag when Sergei squeezed by with enough room to kick it across the alley.

    “No!!” Quincy threw himself on the bag protectively as Petra backed up, fed up with Sergei’s attitude. He got up slowly, brushing himself off and noticing his arms scratched up from the gesture. Sergei saw blood on Quincy and backed up. He looked at The New York Times review with a photo of the baked potato honey salmon dish that made his restaurant booked solid for 3 years.

    “If you hadn’t experimented with the…”

“We all agreed that I would lead as sous chef to direct that new dish,” Quincy interrupted, carefully picking up his knapsack, checking his leftovers. The plastic containers with his ingredients and food were intact. “And if you hadn’t interrupted it being plated, it would have scored us a higher…”

“No! No! I did NOT agree to this,” Sergei snarled at Quincy, with Petra holding him back from him. “We wouldn’t have gotten a 1-star rating if it wasn’t for you. Why don’t you go cook for ÁlCaté with rats running around their feet? Or better yet, Elixer? They are always swimming in low reviews since they lost their Michelin star,” he spat out, snickering, and balling up the newspaper, throwing it at them. He flicked off Quincy, walking back in the restaurant and slamming the door. Quincy walks towards Petra who holds up his arms.

    “What happened? I thought you said…”

    Petra held up his hands as Quincy shook his head. “Look, we didn’t know Ms. Maschler’s and her assistant was coming to visit for lunch. It’s rumored that she’s still a contributor with…”

    “The Evening Standard, yeah, I know. I thought you kept our restaurant afloat on critics coming through before they guest contribute with The New York Times or Tatler.”

Petra looked away and shrugging his shoulders, and Quincy squinted his eyes at him as Petra seemed embarrassed.

    “My inside source was hospitalized this week, so we weren’t…”

    “Aw man, I have been here for 8 years, slaving in the back under you and Sergei for years. I just finished my externship with Make My Cake and Eleven Madison Park, to become a sous chef. And now this? I’ve been station chef way too long and I deserve…”

Petra steps in front of Quincy upset, crossing his arms as they locked eyes.

“Deserve? This is the food business; you must earn your place! I put myself out for you, but now you almost ruined us. Sergei wanted to black ball you, but I convinced him to just fire you instead.”

“It wasn’t my fault that he didn’t know that I was changing the dish. Petra, it tasted great…”

“No, you’re done here. And you have to go. Your coat for your pay; now leave.”

Quincy snatched his final check from Petra as he took off his treasured monogrammed chef coat and shook his head. He held back tears as he put on his Italian leather bookbag and rubbed his hand on the linen business card given to him the day before. I’ll bounce back, I always do, Quincy thought.

    “Leave Quincy, and don’t come back until invited,” Petra angrily muttered as he stepped back inside the restaurant, leaving him all alone outside. Quincy looked up to see snowflakes come down. He took out the dark red business card from the sous chef from their competition that approached him while in school. He walked off to the only spot he never wanted to work at: Elixer.

    Two months later, Quincy was finishing a lamb and onion rings taco dish as Head Chef Jamie Kinatta and Deputy Chef Lynn Potts were rolling up their gear for the evening and securing the lockers near the freezer. Kinatta ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and straightened out his jogging suit as Potts wiped her polished Crocs. She always kept her bleached blond hair in a tight bun.

    “What are you working on Chef Perdomo?” Kinatta hollered as three waitresses ran in to get their items from their lockers. Potts held the door to the kitchen open with keys, waiting on the waitresses as Porter Lakisha Daniels locked up the back office. Her hazel eyes locked with Quincy’s. They date quietly, but sometimes he stared at her like he did in bed.

Quincy’s eyes smiled wider at him, looked up at him quietly with a twinkle in his eyes. Kinatta returned the energy back weakly with a slim grin through an exhausted 12-hour day on his body. His stomach growled at the strong aroma from the dish on the counter.

    “Be careful,” Daniels joked as she walked around to look at the dish closely, “When he doesn’t talk, that means what he is making could be quite good.”

He smiled widely back at her as he stepped back and ran his fingers through his dreads and over his tattoed arms.

    “Should we try it?” Daniels requested to Quincy as Kinatta dropped his bag and grabbed a fork. He stabbed at the dish as Daniels grabbed another fork; the waitresses ran out of the kitchen as Potts walked over to check out Quincy’s dish. They took their time eating at the dish as Kinatta put his fork down and looked at Quincy with a quiet intensity.

    The men stood silently as Kinatta forked over some of it at a dish nearby and finished it with his hands. Daniels followed his actions for her own dish as well; they ate quietly nodding their heads.

    “I mean it looks good, but I will pass,” she declined as her stomach growled loudly. Everyone snickered as Quincy shook his head at her.

    “Why don’t you try…” Quincy started as Potts shook her head.

    “Your stomach says otherwise,” Kinatta teased as everyone snickered again. Potts turned red as Quincy handed her a fork and started to pick at Kinatta’s dish. He pulled back as Daniels and Quincy laughed. He pulled out plastic containers filled with the same food to each of them.

    “You gave me a chance when my reputation was defamed after a successful externship and working 60-hour weeks with school. This is my way of saying thank you; especially to you Chef Kinatta.”

    “Oh, don’t thank me yet; I need to know your placement from graduation so we can discuss next steps around here,” Kinatta dryly muttered, drinking from a water bottle.

    “I graduated last weekend, and I placed second,” Quincy retorted as Potts and Daniels clapped; he bowed as Kinatta swatted a towel at him. Quincy laughed back as Kinatta hugged him.

    “I’m very very proud of you,” Kinatta glowed with emphasis of his Italian accent, “that’s the last bit of affection you’ll get from me. You only got love for that delicious dish, did you add cooking wine to…”

    “Baking powder and corn meal…” Daniels interrupted, staring at her lover’s face as he smiled and turned to Potts.

    “I say lobster gravy and…”

Everyone groaned as she shrugged her shoulders.

    “What?! I hate having to guess flavors in a dish. That’s why I’m not an inspector; I hate writing and reports.”

    “Speaking of which, word is on the street…” Daniels spoke seriously, as they all grew quiet.

    “On the street?” Kinatta queried as he took out his language notebook with his half pencil. Quincy smiled at him, leaning in.

    “That’s a cultural slang term, Chef. It means what the industry or neighborhood is talking about… like…”

    “The words or word on the street. Ah,” he responded, writing vigorously in his notebook. Daniels rolled her eyes as she began again.

    “As I was saying,” she repeated, winking at Kinatta smiling, “although the pandemic has slowed down critic reviews, the Red Guide wants to finalize their new findings in the next 2 weeks. So, we need you,” she retorted, licking her fork, “to make food that speaks like this.”

    “We have a decent and ambitious menu, it’s just that Yelp has started a critic certification program with journalism majors to help boost their already popular site. They are rumored to be working with Michelin to sponsor a food festival by the Fourth of July to mentor writers on fledgling spots…”

    “Like us,” Kinatta interrupted, grabbing everyone’s dish and washing them in the sink. He walked over, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s easier to judge a 1-star restaurant and finish the assignment then go to a 4- or 5-star restaurant and do the work.”

    “Wow, so what’s the plan?” Quincy responded as they all walked out the back kitchen door. Potts checked the entrance and ran back out in time after arming the building. Kinatta looked around as they all jumped into his Black Land Rover as he drove them home.

    “We need something different like your dish, Chef Perdomo,” Kinatta admitted, looking at him seriously. “I’m no saying Potts can’t pull it off, that’s why you both share the position. Soon I’ll be the executive chef, but I can only move into that spot if I have a head chef to take the spot. And my wife,” he kissed his lips and made the cross in midair, “God rest her soul, pursued a Michelin star but it was so ambitious. We thought we were close with our old kitchen team, but Petra…”

    “Petra? What?” Quincy reacted back, spitting out his drink, “sorry Chef. Didn’t mean to mess up your dashboard.” Quincy quickly cleaned it off with napkins as Kinatta looked at him in frustration.

“Yeah, he said he knew someone that worked with the Red Guide and gave us the heads up about critics coming. That’s why we held our 4-star rating with Yelp and The New York Times for years. But when he didn’t get the head chef position, he left to come and work for Sergei, and we never knew when the Michelin inspector was coming. Then after a few bad reviews…”

“No one could take you seriously, business went down with high turnovers,” Quincy finished as Kinatta looked at him in shock. They pulled up at Potts’ apartment.

“How did you know that?” Kinatta inquired as Quincy exhaled loudly and shook his head, pulling his dreads. Potts and Daniels looked at each other in surprise.

“Let’s just say patterns reveal who we are; I was blamed…”

“I know, but I saw your work at the university…”

“Didn’t matter. I was hoping to become sous chef when Petra was going to become head chef; Sergei was open to it, but Petra would demand my recipes when Sergei raved about a new dish I made. When they cut my hours, I shadowed in those other spots to broaden my expertise and Petra always acted like he cared, but he was just using me.”

“So, get him back by cooking like you do. The Red Guide is coming out soon, and other restauranteurs have been nervous about inspectors coming or food critics showing up. They are just getting to ABC City where we are. I believe if we continue to cook and treat our customers like kings and queens, even Homeless Betty…”

Everyone snickered, thinking of the toothless and harmless patron, who sweeps their kitchen and washes dishes in exchange for food and warmth.

“We will come out ahead. I don’t care what Sergei did to you, you belong here. And Potts you do too, we just need to be ready before we get to work. Your Porterhouse steak and carbless potatoes…”

Daniels moaned in delight on her food as Potts and Quincy laughed.

“Yes, it is very good. But it must be better, like exquisite. So, the challenge is, how would cook if Pete Wells is in town and wants brunch? Jonathan Gold or Ruth Riechl want dinner? We don’t just feed Homeless Bettys, but we must cook for the food critics too. That,” Kinatta emphasized looking at Quincy and Potts in the eyes, “is your challenge.”

    Quincy walked into work promptly at 6am to prepare food samples to match possible menu items for the day. Hours later, he joined Kinatta with the cooking and wait staff team to test the food and discuss plating options and matching beverages for the menu.

    As Kinatta dismissed the team, Daniels went to unlock the restaurant. Quincy leans over to Kinatta.

    “This may sound spooky but I think this week is our week.”

    “Is there your island grandmother’s premonition…”

    “intuition…yes,” Quincy seriously spoke as Kinatta snickered as they put on aprons together, “Today may be the day. The sample I produced goes good with caviar on top; tried it in Paris.”

Kinatta looked at his face and responded, “the answer is no.”

    “Come on Chef, you said it yourself you want exquisite.”

Potts walked over with her apron.

    “What’s going on gentlemen?”

    “Chef Perdomo thinks we should add caviar to the baked potato…”

She shook her head as the kitchen team worked on side salad and turned on the stoves. Quincy followed her in frustration.

    “Look, Petra intercepted my dish through Sergei, and it was a disaster. He thought it was something else and replaced it with a lesser fish. But we got a great shipment in yesterday and I can prep it just in case.”

Kinatta looked at Potts and responded, “It’s your call because you are 6 months his senior.”

    “Fine, if I can co-lead with you Chef today…I can prove what I can do. As back up head chef.”

The staff looked up in surprise as Kinatta ran his fingers through his hair.

    “Okay Potts, it’s projected to be a slow day. Perdomo you’re stay in sous chef position, and I’ll ask Daniels to assist Tremblay.”

    Hours later, Daniels walked in yelling at Tremblay in French. Quincy remade the onion rings and lamb dish for the team, who kept taking their own sample. He made one fresh dish as the pace had picked up at lunchtime, as Potts had Quincy and the team working on popular dishes. Quincy had never seen Daniels look anxious before.

    “Hey what’s going on…” Potts started.

    “Tell them!” Daniels screamed at Tremblay, who was visibly afraid of her.

    “Jim Famurewa is here,” Tremblay squeaked in his romantic Creole accent. Kinatta walked in the kitchen with a red face.

    “I suppose you heard,” Kinatta growled as he looked at Potts. “It would be today, wouldn’t it?”

    “Exquisite, right Chef?” Quincy responded as he looked at Potts and Kinatta. Daniels walked to the maître d and came back to Potts.

    “Make your baked dish as if your life depended on it, because it does,” Pot8ts growled as Kinatta watched her and Quincy shouted commands around the kitchen. He whispered to her and sampled everything as Quincy produced his dish, adding caviar at the end.

    As they plated the dish, Quincy pulled out his new dish. Potts started at him, saying, “See if Famurewa wants a fresh new sampler.”

    Quincy smiled as Daniels spoke to the maître d to mention Quincy’s new meal. He came back quickly as Potts and Kinatta decorated the plate for it.

    The kitchen finished plating Quincy’s baked potato with Potts’ Porterhouse steak, as Kinatta barked orders at Tremblay and the waiting team on refreshments.

    As Daniels watched from the kitchen door windows, Quincy paced outside. He saw Potts come outside struggle to light a cigarette with her hands shaking. Quincy walked over to help her light it and take a slow inhale.

    “I didn’t know you smoked,” he inquired as she turned her head to the side to exhale away from his face.

    “I don’t, not until now,” she admitted as they both laughed out all their anxiety. Kinatta screamed in Italian as they both ran back in.

    The next morning, Daniels and Quincy caught a cab to work. 

“How do you think we did?” Quincy asked her as they climbed in a cab.

    “The paper comes out later so…”

    “You can have my copy,” the nosy cabdriver mentioned as they pounce on his New York Times like lions fighting to eat prey. As they climbed out to run into work, the restaurant read their own newspaper.

    “Wow! He called the lamb & steak ‘a royal success’” Quincy reacted.

    “Famurewa’s review for The Times is official, right?” Potts asked Kinatta.

    “Yes, one-star Yelp to Michelin 1-star fame, all because of you Quincy.”

    Potts and the kitchen clap for him as he points to Potts.

    “And to our new head chef, Lynn Potts,” Kinatta announces as the team cheers as she smiles. Sergei calls Quincy’s phone and he turns it over.