A Chef's Story

“Fuck you! I quit!” I said, after slapping him on the cheek with my soapy hands.

“You can’t quit, we’re in the middle of a dinner! Have you gone completely insane?” He replied, clutching his left cheek, that has began to show a visible red mark left my by hand.

“Try me! I’m done with you!”

I walked hurried past Peter Meier, bumping his shoulder on my way to the backroom. I needed to get out of here, out of this fucking restaurant that I worked so hard for nothing.

“What the fuck are you all staring at? Get back to your fucking work!” I heard Peter shouted at the shocked crew of the kitchen, all have stopped literally on their tracks, with his thick German accent. 

I walked past Irina, my best friend, bending over a plate of pasta, in her hand was a prong with a delicate purple flower, her mouth slightly opened, looking at me with her huge blue eyes as she was about to put finishing touches to an order I called out just minutes ago.

I think she saw me wipe a tear that fell down from my eye.

I started unbuttoning my white jacket off, the front of which says my name: Clark. I thought it was funny at first, having it embroidered to begin with, and not putting in my first name, which was Alice, working at the 3-star Michelin restaurant, run by the man who has insulted me, over and over again.

I was down to my fourth button, when I heard hurried footsteps.

“Alice, what is wrong with you?” Peter Meier said, his voice has a slight tone of urgency to it.

“What is wrong with me? There is nothing wrong with me, but there is obviously something wrong with you!” I said, trying to stop myself from shouting.

“You insult me, you belittle me, you treat me like shit, in front of all those people,” I looked at him, trying to take off my white chef’s jacket.

“You have zero respect for me,” I went on, “you…”

Peter took me by the arm, grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me.

I tried to pierce myself from his grasp, but his hand was powerful, and his kisses, him…

“Stop talking.” He whispered, and kissed me deeper in the mouth.

I stopped fighting and kissed him back.

I kissed him, and I knew it was wrong, this feeling of wanting him all for myself can never be. But I kissed him nonetheless.

Finally his kisses slowed down, “what’s wrong with you?” 

He kissed me lightly on the lips again, “you know I want you…” 

He kissed my jaw, my neck, “you know I was doing that for a show…” 

He kissed me back on the lips, “you know you have worked so hard for this…” 

I pulled back from him. 

“You are insulting, and you, you bring your shit in the kitchen. I know you’ll never leave her, you will never leave her for me.” I shook my head, and looked him in the eye.

“Alice, this is not the right time to discuss this.” Peter replied. I always loved the way he spoke my name. 

“Stay for the night, go upstairs later after the kitchen closes, I will come and join you,” he kissed me back again, “I will book a suite for us, don’t worry…” he kissed me yet again, “just go back to the kitchen, and let’s get through this night, ja?”

“I can’t go back there, I just did a fucking show, I said I’ve quit!” I said. Which was true.

I slapped him because he called me a ‘fucking slow bitch’ for the third time in front of all those people, while I had my hands full, preparing four plates, all at once. I am the sous chef, for fuck’s sakes, and he…

Peter Meier, the rockstar chef of the hotel restaurant here in Bern, Switzerland, with another 2-starred restaurant in Milan, Italy. His reputation of being the blond, handsome, foul-mouthed famous chef is always plastered on the magazines, from the shittiest ones, to Forbes.

And he, together with Olivia Pierce, are the power-couple. She, with her long legs, complete with the blonde and blue eyed Barbie look, is now in London, partying with the likes of the other celebrity couples they both hang out with, because she just happen to have her face on the cover of British Vogue this month.

Married for two years now. I was at their wedding, he invited me. He asked me to come, and I did. I went. He even said he had vegan food prepared just for me, he even said the cake was vegan too, which I doubted. 

I didn’t eat it.

I went to their wedding because I know it was all a joke.

There was a stag party several nights before the wedding, it was in the news. His celebrity friends, his brothers and male cousins in a yacht in Ibiza, it was too predictable. He told me about it, because I had to be here at this restaurant, taking over it during his absence.

And I did, and it all went smoothly. I could even say that the restaurant ran better without him in it, because he was too intense, shouting at the crew, making them more tense, but with me running it, everyone was happy to work.

The night before the wedding, he was with me. Yes, he called his fiancée, telling her he cannot wait to marry her, telling her sweet nothings, calling her ‘baby’…

He called her right in front of my face, on the bed, telling her he loved her, while he was looking at me straight with those blue eyes of his, and he was speaking those words, those lies to her, as if he was talking to me.

He hung up, and kissed me deep in the mouth, and we made love, and fucked hard the whole night.

That was why I went to the wedding, to mingle, to make connections, because to celebrate his so-called happy ever after was a joke.

“Ah, fuck it.” I resigned, “you are such a fucking asshole, do you know that?” I kissed him, “you insult me again, one more fucking time…”

“Don’t worry about it, if I say those words…” he kissed me, as he tried to pull my chef’s jacket back up on my shoulders, “I don’t mean them.”

“Now button up, and get out of here, and I will see you in the kitchen. Just ignore me.” 

He kissed me quick in the lips, started walking to the corridor, and turned around, “when the kitchen closes, just go immediately to the suite, I will handle everything down here, you just relax, and I will be there, ja?”

He left.

I buttoned up, splashed some water to my face, and went back out again, back to the kitchen.

It was still busy, and like he said, I ignored him. Speaking to him only if I had to. 

Back on my A-game once again. The kitchen ran smoothly, and he shouted less at the other people working there. 

I saw Irina looking at me, kept glancing at my direction. She was watching how I was, and glancing at him too. She knows the full story, and she thinks I am stupidly wasting time with him.

I know she is right. I am only twenty-four years old, but I have worked so hard to be at this restaurant, and…

To have Peter, to have him want me, maybe even love me, was just the tip of a hopefully vegan icing on a cake.

I went immediately out of the kitchen, just as Peter instructed me to, exactly at eleven thirty, took my stuff from the backroom, and went straight to the suite.

‘Cristine Beech’ was the name I gave at the reception, the woman gave me the key card.

I have always used this name whenever I had to meet him.

‘Cristine Beech’ was an actual classmate of mine back in high school, and like her last name, she was an actual bitch.

I took a fast shower, put on a robe, and waited.

It was eleven forty-five. It takes him normally twenty minutes to dispose of everyone back at the kitchen, with all of it back to it’s spotless state.

There was a bottle of Dom Perignon waiting for me in the suite, chilled and ready.

I uncorked it without waiting for him, poured myself a glass, and sat by the window.

2019 was a good year.

I placed my feet by the window and crossed them, without touching the glass. Thankfully, it is not snowing outside and the small lights down below the mountains made the small, lighted chalets and houses were looking very calming.

The room was dark, save by the small lamp on the side of the bed, and with the darkness of the room, I can see clearly some fireworks popping from time to time, made by excited well-wishers for the coming year.

I glanced at my phone, and turned it off again.

I sipped some champagne, and thought of the events of the past year.

I have quit smoking, and started vaping, which was better than smoking, so that’s one.

I am still vegan, well, kind of. The restaurant is obviously not vegan. But I do not know how to resolve being a chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant and have my dreams of owning my own vegan restaurant, without having the credentials I needed.

Hopefully my future vegan restaurant would have it’s own Michelin star too, that was my dream.

I still have to resolve that fact though. I still do not know what to do with that. Working with Peter, he knows I am vegan, so he tries, as much as possible, to assign me dishes with has less meat, or no meat at all, or creams, which was hard.

This is Switzerland, and the people who come here from all over the world to ski and have their R&R want their steaks, and creams, and all the rest of it.

Peter was very understanding about it. He knew of my plan, I spoke to him many times about it and he supports me, he even made me whip up some vegan options for the restaurant, and from time to time people would order that, so there’s hope there.

Peter...

I have feelings for him, that I know for sure. I am not in this relationship just because he is this famous chef, known all over the world, well, at least, my world. 

This world we are in, this world of creativity, of art, of the intricacy of cooking.

I sipped some more champagne, and thought of him. Of us.

How long would this last? How long would he stay with me? How long would he want me?

And why was he with me?

He told me he loved me, told me he love my passions, that fire that is in me. 

He even laughed and told me he love me because I am vegan even if he is not, because he told me being vegan in this world we shared is an impossibility but he loved that I stand my ground, that I have my dreams…

And he told me, questioned himself as to why he even bothered get married when it was me he wanted, that he loved…

But still, he is with her. 

The sound of my phone sounding a bell made me jump of my seat. A message.

It was actually a good news, though, I still do not know what the news he wanted to tell me was about. He wrote it was about the restaurant in Milan, and will explain to me later when he comes.

Milan…

I have too much memories there, that is where I met…

I still think of that man, and his smile, and the only kiss we shared was enough for me to think of him over and over again.

Life is so funny like that.

There, back in Milan, at the back of a small vegan restaurant where I worked just three years ago.

He was there, he was waiting for me, and he wanted to tell me something.

The old, peasant lady was not there that night. I normally give her some leftovers from the kitchen from that back door the nights I was there at the restaurant working, whenever I had my short, smoking break, but that night, she wasn’t there.

But he was.

His dark hair, and dark eyes…and the smile he gave me the moment he saw me…

It was one of those times where the peasant lady was not there, and we were left alone, talking to each other, sharing things, laughing…

He was also there for the old woman. He said he knew her from the other street where he used to run around from, and always gave her some change so she can feed herself.

But that night, we were alone.

I teased him, that his girlfriend was waiting for him back at his apartment, he said no.

I remembered he said he will break up with her because he was in love with someone else.

I remembered the back door opening, and Irina calling me back in.

She waved at him, and shouted back to me, and told me the orders were piling up.

I shouted back and told her I’ll be there in one minute. She closed the door behind her.

I remembered he said, “one minute?”

I laughed, and nodding, I replied back to him,

“Yeah, you have one minute.”

And he kissed me.

For one minute.

I kissed him back, and I think my world has completely turned upside down.

I still remember that kiss.

And I still remember his name.

Adam…

Adam Coxon May….

I know his full name now because his name is always in the news.

Touring the world, singing his songs for everyone. 

His love songs.

Singing his love songs for everyone, but not for me.

I glanced at my phone, it was almost midnight.

I sipped my champagne and thought of him.

10...9...

Some fireworks has already started lighting up the skies…

8...7...6...

And I do not know if we were looking at the same dark, but colorful canvass…

5...4...

But I am thinking of him.

3...2...

I am still in love with him.

1.