STAR

STAR

“Okay, you guys, listen up. This is it-the real thing. The first night for our new restaurant: STAR. No more rehearsals, no more fuck ups that we can get away with. Tonight, everybody needs to be on their A-game, okay? If you have a problem, let me know immediately. Do you all understand?”

In unison, the kitchen crew acquiesced.

“Yes, Chef!”

“I can’t fucking hear you. Do you all understand?”

“YES, CHEF!”

“Okay, fifty minutes to service. Let’s do this!”

Aldo turned away from his BOH staff and walked through the swing doors into the restaurant; his restaurant where the FOH team awaited their boss. Michelle, his ex-wife was the de facto manager who had agreed to join Aldo in this crazy enterprise because she had believed in his extraordinary culinary abilities but, tonight, after a week of soft testing with family and friends, would be the ultimate trial with actual paying customers and her stomach was in knots. Maitre d, Lorenzo, too, was keyed up but, if Aldo could get it together back of house, he was confident that he could do the same front of house. Aldo addressed the room in general but his eyes never left Michelle’s. He knew exactly what she would be going through. Her confidence that he could pull this off and make a success of it; his first attempt at owning a restaurant after years of honing his skills in other people’s kitchens all over the world, meant so much. Despite their acrimonious divorce -due, mainly, to his constant travel and stressed lifestyle -she had not hesitated to hear him out when he had come to her, cap in hand, and asked if she would back him in this venture. As much as this had been his life long dream, he was determined to make it work so that he could repay her faith. In almost reverential tones, compared to how he had addressed his kitchen crew, Aldo did a quick scan of the restaurant and spoke.

“Everything looks amazing. Thank you, each and every one of you. Forty five minutes to service. I don’t have to tell you how much is riding on tonight. A public opening can make or break a new restaurant. Word of mouth is so important. I’ll be back there doing my best to get it right and I know I can count on you to do the same out here. Thank you. Lorenzo, bookings?”

“Full house, Chef”.

“Okay, thanks”.

Aldo smiled at Michelle; a smile of confidence that did little to calm her nerves. Then, nodding absentmindedly to himself, he returned to the one place where he felt in control, his domain, the kitchen. For the next three quarters of an hour, he moved from station to station observing, cajoling, advising as his team cut, sliced, chopped, shredded, warmed, mixed, prepped ready for the opening salvo. Over and over, he ran through the menu in his mind. Finally, above the clamour of noise from pots, pans, blenders, fridge doors slamming, kitchen verbal etiquette, his attuned ears could detect the murmur of voices as the first guests arrived. The swing doors flew open and Lorenzo entered the kitchen.

“Doors open, Chef”.

Aldo’s ambition matched his genius and it was his aim to earn his first Michelin star within six months. He knew only too well the judging criterior and was confident that he could meet four of the five requirements: quality of ingredients, harmony of flavours, mastery of techniques and personality of the Chef expressed in his cooking. The only thing out of his immediate control was the fifth element: consistency over time: he would need to reproduce the same qualities night after night. Yet, such had been the marketing strategy put together by Michelle in the build up to this day, that, Aldo, having appeared on local radio and TV to announce the opening of STAR, had made no secret of his aspiration and he was sure that a Michelin representative would make an appearance tonight to check out the braggadocio of this local boy returning home ready to challenge the world. The name of the restaurant had been chosen to reflect his prime objective.

Aldo and his sous chef had spent weeks devising the menu, experimenting with different flavours, being adventurous but always, always making freshness, quality of taste and ample portions a priority. Having grown up in Toronto, he knew, only too well, that Torontonians appreciated gastronomy just as long as they went home with a full stomach. They were confident that their bill of fare catered for all palates. They were also aware that, no matter how good the entree and main might have been, a bad dessert could often spoil a customer’s first impressions. For that reason, they had been particularly stringent in their vetting process, finally selecting a young woman, Martha, as their pastry chef. Since coming on board, she had more than proved her inventiveness and creativity and, despite her young age, Aldo trusted her to come good though he had noticed that she could become feisty under pressure.

The orders for entrees started to come through thick and fast and the kitchen noises: clattering, clanging, clashing rose to a crescendo though the verbal communications rose above all: 

“Butter chicken vol au vents x 3”.

“Chef”.

“Sweet fried saganaki x 4”.“

Chef”.

“Prawn and ginger dumplings x 4”.“

Chef”.

 “Behind”.

“Corner”.

The kitchen came alive as the cooking began in earnest. Every dish had to pass the scrutiny of Aldo as he snapped out orders:

 “Too much seaweed”.

“Looking good.

“More pepper”. 

As the food passed muster, the refrain of “Hands” could be heard over and over summoning waiters to serve the delectable dishes.

The heat rose in parallel with the clamour and kitchen pristine whites became soiled, pots bubbled over onto the stoves and the floor became littered with offcuts.

“Okay, first mains: Hibachi Salmon x 4, 2 with Pad Soon Sen noodles, 2 with Jasmine rice”. 

“Chef”

Lorenzo sidled up to Aldo and whispered something sotto voce. Aldo looked up, alert.

“You sure?”

“He’s on his own, after booking for two. Looks sour faced. Maybe it’s because his date didn’t show but, maybe, you know…maybe, he’s the one?”

“What table?”

“One, right in the corner-where he can keep an eye on everything”.

“Okay, I’ll take a look”.

Aldo stepped to the swing door, the out door, so that no incoming waiter could bump him. Looking through the porthole, he was amazed to see the restaurant so full. He had been focusing so carefully on getting the orders out that he’d quite forgotten the people who actually ate the food. He looked over at table number one and saw the man sitting alone, observing the rest of the goings on.

“Huh? What do you reckon?”

Aldo turned back to Lorenzo.

“Could be, yeah. Looks the type. Who’s serving him?”

‘Pete. He’s good. Don’t worry”.

“What’s the name of that waitress, the pretty one. Blonde”.

“Alice? What are you thinking?”

‘I’m thinking…swap stations, maybe? Get a pretty girl to look after table number one? You get my drift?’

“I don’t know, Chef. Little too obvious, maybe?”

“Fuck it. Do it, Lorenzo. We need to use every advantage”.

Having given the order, Aldo returned to his duties. When the entree order for table one came through, he insisted on overseeing the prep himself. He did the same with the main course order. Sporadically, he peered through the porthole to watch the Michelin guy eat, his attention drawn to the man's reaction to each bite. So far, so good.

After a while, Lorenzo burst through the swing doors.

“Alice says he loves everything.. He’s ordered Eton Mess for dessert”.

‘Okay, I’m on it. Eton Mess x 1”.

“Chef”, Martha replied as she prepped her first dessert of the evening eagerly. Within five minutes, she brought it to Aldo’s attention.

“Too many strawberries. Do it again, chef”.

Martha stared at her boss in disbelief.

“It’s our version of Eton Mess, Chef. It has the exact number of strawberries that we agreed on…”

“I don’t have time to argue with you or explain why this particular dessert is so important, chef. Just do it again”.

“Yes, Chef”.

Resentfully, the young woman returned to her station. A few minutes later, she returned with a dessert that Aldo approved immediately.

“Hands!”

As the dessert was taken by the young waitress, Alice, Martha stared at her boss, peevishly.

“It was the same dessert; the one you said had too many strawberries. I didn’t make another one”.

Angrily, Aldo took Martha by the elbow and walked her down the side of the cool room where nobody could hear them.

“If you ever disobey my instruction again, you’re fired, Martha. That dessert was for a Michelin representative, not that that’s any business of yours. I needed to make sure that it was perfect…”

“It was perfect. You approved it, second time around. I don’t care if it was for a Michelin rep or a hobo off the street, I always strive to make the best desserts I can…Chef”.

“Martha, how can I make you see?”

Pointing around at the vast kitchen, he continued:

“This…this is like my stage and there can only be one star. What I say is law. I’m not saying I get it right all the time but…”

“A star is nothing without a good supporting cast, Chef. I tried to tell you that the dessert was perfect but you wouldn’t listen”.

Aldo could not argue with Martha’s logic.

“You make a good point and, in future, I will do my best to listen, okay? But you need to understand that, ultimately, what I say goes”.

Lorenzo interrupted them.

“He’s leaving. Alice said he thought the Eton Mess was exquisite”.

Martha walked off triumphantly.

“Should I go out and say something, d’you think? Should we comp him?”

“No way, Chef. We’d be tipping our hand. Just let him pay and leave like any other customer. It’s quieting down now”.

‘Okay, I need some air”.

Aldo pushed open the fire exit door and propped it open with a brick, feeling the cool night air hit him like a slap in the face. He slumped over and slid down the back wall of the building, exhausted but contemplating. Martha had been right. He had been too wrapped up in his concern for the one person who could help him achieve his lifelong dream when his focus should have been on all the customers. He felt foolish for having approved the same dessert he’d rejected only moments before, for having made waiters swap stations just to try and win favour. There was no doubting his culinary ability but, if he was going to make a success of this restaurant, he had to improve his man management skills. Lorenzo found Aldo out back and slid down the wall beside him..

“It wasn’t him”.

“It wasn’t?”

‘No. The guy paid with a company credit card: Ace Bathroom Accessories. He’s a travelling salesman”.

The two men looked at each other and burst out laughing at their joint stupidity. Michelle discovered them both giggling hysterically.

“Well, I’m glad to see somebody is having fun. We hit one hundred and fifty covers, Aldo. Congratulations. It looks like we have a success”.

‘What’s our break even, again?”

“Ninety. Only one table left. They’ve all ordered the Eton Mess so I hope its good”.

In unison, the two men answered:

“It’s exquisite!!”