If you can't take the heat....

If You Can’t Take the Heat…..

Marcel was screaming again. He was a great chef, but when it got busy in the restaurant, he sometimes lost his cool. The brow-beaten wait staff and kitchen helpers were terrified of him, and more than a few had quit, unable to tolerate his volatile moods.

I was determined to hang in there because, although he was hard to work with at times, Marcel could be quite personable otherwise. When the dinner rush was over and things settled down to a dull roar, he could even be called pleasant.

Marcel was a perfectionist. Maybe that explains why he was so demanding. Every plate leaving the kitchen must be perfectly flawless, the garnish appealing, and the food cooked to perfection. I reasoned that if I wanted to become a professional chef, he was the one to learn from.

There was also the rather important little detail that I desperately needed the job. Rent and living expenses demanded I be gainfully employed. Marcel must have seen some glimmer of potential in me, because he offered me a better than average wage for an apprentice chef. Or maybe it was to compensate for his temper, of which I’m sure he was well aware.

When one of the staff was frustrated enough to mutter about the verbal abuse, Marcel was quick to tell them, ‘If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’

It was indeed a volatile atmosphere at times, but to me it was exciting to see the many superb meals being created to garner the restaurant its reputation of excellence. I was quite proud to be a member of the team.

One Monday morning, before the restaurant opened for the dinner crowd, (it closed after lunch was over until five p.m. when it re-opened for dinner,) Marcel came into the kitchen with two cups of coffee, and motioned me to the staff planning desk. He handed me one cup, and sat down in his chair with the other one. He obviously wanted to talk, and I was curious as to what he had in mind.

Our menu for the day was always planned a week ahead, and I had already taken the frozen items out of the freezers to thaw and be prepared for dinner. I hoped he hadn’t changed the menu at the last minute, making my preparations for nothing.

The morning cook staff looked after the breakfast and lunch hour. I was part of the evening crew, who worked from two till ten pm, when our restaurant was a popular dinner destination.

Marcel looked at me for a moment before speaking. He was clicking a pen open and closed, and I was becoming worried that he was going to tell me I wasn’t working out, and that my career and source of income were coming to an abrupt end. Instead, he surprised me with an entirely different offer.

“I’ve been impressed with your work, Trudy, especially with your attention to detail.’ He started. ‘Our pastry chef has left us for greener pastures, without giving any notice. I heard that she took off with her boyfriend; Whatever the reason, she has left us in desperate need of an immediate replacement.

‘I’m offering the position to you. It comes with an increase in duties and responsibilities, along with an accompanying raise in wages.

‘I hate to lose you, but I have two new apprentices coming in, starting tonight, to work as sous chefs. They have worked for me before, and are quite competent. Otherwise, I’d never let you go.

‘But I think you’ll excel in desserts, with your keen eye for detail and your good work ethic. It will be another notch on your belt of accomplishments.

‘The restaurant has a set menu of desserts, as well as a Chef’s Choice, which will differ each week. That will give you a chance to create something special of your own choosing.

‘I’ll give you the pastry chef’s recipe book which includes the planned weekly desserts. They include a Black Forest Cake, a white cake with vanilla icing covered in toasted shredded coconut, Crème Carmel, our own home-made ice cream with the customer’s choice of toppings.

 ‘Every day, your first job will be to make the dinner rolls. I’ll show you how to roll them; it’s really quite basic; in no time, you’ll be doing it without even thinking.

‘The quantity will fluctuate, depending on the number of reservations we have each day, so you’ll need to check the reservation book first thing every morning. You’ll usually need between two and three hundred dinner rolls per night.’

By my shocked expression, he realized I thought that was an enormous quantity. I couldn’t imagine making three hundred dinner rolls per day.

 ‘I expect that sounds like a lot,’ he grinned, looking me right in the eye. ‘But you’ve seen how many plates go out of the kitchen each night. We serve a bread basket on each table with enough rolls for every person to have seconds.

‘Well, girl, are you up to the challenge, or are you going to wimp out on me?’

He must have seen my deer-in-the-headlights look, because leaned back in his chair with a big smile, crossed his arms and waited for me to gather my thoughts.

“I’m flattered that you think I can do all that, Marcel,’ I said, ‘but I’ve never made dinner rolls before. I’ve baked pies and cookies at home, but that’s about all.

‘I can make pies with pastry that will melt in your mouth, but I’ve never heard of Crème Carmel; I don’t even know what it is, nor how to make it. Cakes are easy enough; the big challenge will be the dinner rolls. I hope you’ll show me how to do these new things, Marcel. I’m excited about a new challenge, but a wee bit afraid too.’

‘That’s the kind of attitude I was hoping for. If you’re willing to try something new and challenging, you’ll make a fine pastry chef. It’s not my specialty, but I know enough to help you get started.

‘The Crème Carmel is a custard, with browned sugar in the bottom of each custard cup. When inverted onto the serving plate, the sauce runs down over the custard, making a delicious dessert. It’s relatively easy to make.

‘It’s too bad our manager has decided that, in his own words, “Pies are for Peasants; We will never serve something so pedestrian in our Fine Dining Establishment.”

‘How silly of him, Marcel. Did you know there’s a restaurant out on the strip, that makes only pies. It’s called, “A Slice of Decadence,” and it’s tremendously popular. There’s always a line-up of customers waiting for a table.”

‘I’ve heard about it, but we must adhere to the management’s rules, so you’ll have to think of something other than pies to create for your Chef’s Choice, along with the regular dessert menu. I’m sure you can do it, otherwise I’d never have offered you the job.’

Those words sealed my fate. My hours would now be early mornings, extending long into the afternoons, until I became proficient with the dinner rolls. At first, it took me ages to roll them.

A giant mixer made the dough, which was richer and creamier than regular bread. But the rolling required a technique, which it took practice to achieve. As Marcel had predicted, in a week I was doing them automatically, while planning the other desserts.

I purchased a book featuring the most popular desserts from prominent Toronto dessert specialty restaurants, and modified some of them to become my ‘Chef’s Choice’ Dessert of the Week.

Late that fall, when the place was packed every night with offices holding their Christmas parties in our restaurant, and all five dining rooms filled to capacity, I asked for and was given an assistant. My wages increased regularly until I was making a substantial salary.

But I missed the excitement and bustle of the evenings in the main kitchen. I even missed Marcel’s hollering and verbal abuse of the incompetence of the under-staff, imagined or real.

On occasion, I slipped into the kitchen in the middle of dinner hour, just to say hi to everyone. I was treated as a friend, not just a fellow employee, and often given a small portion of some of my favorite dishes to sample.

Marcel swore he’d made too large a quantity, but I knew for a fact that he never did such a thing, and it was a special treat just for me.

The following June, I was surprised one Sunday evening by a knock on my door. To my amazement, it was Marcel. He had never come to my place before. He was dressed in his chef’s whites, and said he’d left his assistant to close the kitchen, since it had been a quiet night. He said he had a very exciting proposition for me.

‘I’ve been working in that restaurant for eleven years now, Trudy. I’m getting tired of the same old routine, the same management and the same menus. It’s time to move out on my own.

‘I’ve found the perfect location, overlooking the lake, with room for a patio to serve meals in summer, and I’m opening up my own restaurant.

‘It will be a supper club, with evening hours only, catering to the after-theatre clientele. It will feature seafood, fresh from the boats each day, and a limited menu of only the best items.

‘I’m offering you the opportunity to come in with me as a partner, to be my pastry chef, to make the desserts you like best.

‘Your dinner rolls, by the way, have been a real favorite. The servers say they’ve never been asked for ‘thirds’ on dinner rolls before. That’s a real compliment, Trudy.

‘You can have your favorite pies on the dessert menu, along with whatever you like to make. I’ll leave the dessert choices entirely up to you.

‘One of my assistant chefs is going to join us as my helper, and the other one has been promoted to take over the restaurant in my place. It’s an exciting opportunity, and I hope you’ll join me. If you have a few dollars to invest, I’ll make you an official partner.

‘I’m thinking of calling it ‘Harbor Lights Supper Club,’ since it is right on the lake shore and the patio will overlook the harbor, with all the boat lights at night. I want you to help me decorate it with a seashore theme. We can string tiny lights on the patio, making it a romantic place for theatre-goers and other evening clientele.

‘How does that sound so far, Trudy?’

Marcel had been so enthusiastic, that he’d talked non-stop. This was the first chance I’d had to speak. I was blown away by the idea; it sounded so exciting that I could almost see it as he was talking.

‘I love the fresh seafood aspect, and I think it could be a real success. It sounds wonderful, Marcel. I’d be delighted to be your pastry chef in a supper club.

‘The chance to bake pies again tempts me. But I don’t have a lot of money to invest. I have some savings, only a few thousand dollars, not near the kind of money it takes to buy a building and turn it into a restaurant.’

‘That’s more than enough money, Trudy. I’ve saved most of my salary over the years. With always working evenings and wearing only my ‘whites,’ I’ve spent little for clothing and even less for entertainment. I’ve been saving several years for a chance to have my own place.

‘I’ve already bought the building. It’ll need quite a bit of work to make it into a glamorous supper club. I’m chomping at the bit to get at it. I’ll enlist your decorating skills too, if you’re willing.

‘I have one of the under staff in mind to take over your pastry duties, if you decide to come work with me. I know we’ll be a good team, Trudy. You’ll have to work with her for a few days to make a smooth transition.

‘Think it over tonight, and let me know what you decide in the morning. We’re closed tomorrow, so that will give us time to take a look at my new place.’

Marcel was speaking like it was a done deal. I had to make a big decision, whether to stay with a steady salary in a job I’d come to enjoy, or if I should hitch my star to a brand-new opportunity.

‘I’d like to see your place, so I can visualize the end result. It sounds so nice, I’m excited for you already.’

To my surprise, Marcel hugged me as he was leaving. I’d never had any physical contact with him before, and I wasn’t expecting the intimate feeling it gave me.

It left me with my mind spinning. I made myself a cup of tea before going to bed, but in the midst of all the exciting thoughts, I totally forgot to drink it. I finally poured it out and headed for bed.

Sleep was long in coming. My mind was buzzing with ideas for decorating in a nautical theme and for a new dessert menu. It was so exciting I couldn’t slow my mind. But sleep eventually came, and I awoke to see sunlight streaming in my window.

I hurriedly showered and dressed in jeans and my favorite faded old shirt. It felt good to be putting on something other than my chef’s attire.

I was still mulling over the safety of a steady paycheck and a known position, and comparing it to the thrill of a new venture. In my heart, I wanted to be a part of Marcel’s supper club. But it felt strange to think of leaving my job, one that I had come to feel competent at.

I decided to wait until I’d seen the new building and could visualize the finished product. Maybe it would turn me off, or then again it might feel perfect.

While the coffee brewed, I put bacon into the pan and two slices of homemade bread into the toaster, then walked out to my garden and picked a ripe tomato, some dill, celery, parsley, chives and a lettuce leaf. With a little mayo, it would make a lovely toasted bacon and tomato breakfast sandwich.

I sat on the swing on my porch to eat, with the coffee pot handy on the little table beside me. One cup was never enough!

Marcel arrived just as I finished eating, and I went into the kitchen to get him a cup. He took it gratefully and we drank coffee together in the morning sunshine, not talking at first.

Finally, he looked into my eyes. ‘Well, Trudy, have you made a decision yet?’

‘I want to see the building before deciding. It’s been buzzing around in my mind all night. The concept is very enticing, and I’m torn between staying where I’ve been successful, or stepping out into a new challenge.’

‘Come on, let’s go and see what you think of my lakeshore place. We worked well together before; I think we would make a spectacular partnership.’

The traffic was light, rush hour being over, and we soon arrived at his building. It was an old warehouse of some kind, located near the docks. I could see it would take some doing to make it into a classy café. But it seemed solid and the location, right overlooking the bay, was perfect.

‘What do you envision for the building itself? Would you keep the rustic wooden walls?’

‘Yes, but I’d have the first three feet above the ground done in local stone, and then boards above. I want floor-to-ceiling picture windows all along the lake side, and maybe sky lights on the land side to provide extra natural light.’

‘How about the inside?’

‘Come in, and look around. I’ll tell you my ideas, and you can give me your thoughts. It’s all one big space now, but I’ll divide it off into a kitchen here, with a storeroom, walk-in fridge and freezer there, with an office space and washrooms.

‘The rest of the space would be tables, each with candles and a floating flower in a rose bowl.

‘There’s a ledge to build a patio with umbrella tables. I’d install safety rails around the edges. Maybe hanging planter boxes full of flowers on the railings.’

‘Maybe you could install a big fireplace on the land side, to make it cozy in cold weather. It could be of stone to match the base outside.’

‘Yes, that’s good thinking, Trudy. Let’s go to the quarry and see what kind of stone is available, and maybe they can recommend a stone mason to install it.’

He didn’t ask me again, but all the way out to the quarry, I was thinking of how I’d finish the décor, and planning my dessert menus.

It looked like I was embarking on a new adventure.