Chef Maurice and the Bunny-Boiler Bake Off by Lang J A

Author:Lang, J A [Lang, J A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cThriller
Publisher: Purple Panda Press
Published: 2015-10-11T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The next morning, Patrick arrived at the restaurant to find Chef Maurice and Alf hard at work in the dining room, heads bent over a notepad of scribblings.

Given that neither head chef nor commis could possibly be described as naturally early risers—if Chef Maurice was to be found in the kitchens before the hour of six a.m., it could be relied upon that he had not gone to bed the night before—Patrick regarded this impromptu morning tête-à-tête with all due suspicion.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, Patrick! Come, sit.” Chef Maurice kicked out the chair opposite him. “The weather, I find it so good, that I have decided we will start our Spring Menu one week early. And I have decided that I must be more, how do you say, loose with my decisions. It is time to let others make a show of their creativity.”

“Right.”

Clearly, this was yet another move in the sous-chef retention game. Chef Maurice knew how much it rankled him, Patrick, to have to argue, plead and cajole to get each of his new dishes onto Le Cochon Rouge’s daily menu. This, though, was definitely a case of too little and much too late.

On the other hand, though, he still had a few days to make his decision, and he had a spice-crusted rainbow trout dish he’d been angling to get onto the—

“And so,” continued Chef Maurice, “for our new Spring Menu, I have decided that we will have six new dishes. Two entrées, two plats principaux, and two desserts. All to be designed by Alf.”

A meaty slap was dealt to the gangly commis chef’s back. Alf, for his part, looked as if he’d died and gone to a hot, dark place containing a lot of pitchforks.

“Whu-uh?” he managed, not daring to meet Patrick’s gaze.

“Oui! I have much belief that the best of ideas may come from the places most unexpected. You will present to me your dishes in two days. Now, allons-y, there is much preparation to do this morning.”

Chef Maurice drained his coffee cup and marched off into the kitchens.

“He’s doing this to punish me, isn’t he?” said Alf, head in hands.

“Why do you say that?”

“Remember that coriander-flavoured ice cream I made last week by mistake? Instead of using the mint?”

“At least we didn’t serve it. And chef managed to offload the whole tub to Arthur in the end. He said he was going to serve it with his cumin chicken at the next dinner party.”

“Yeah, but six new dishes? Chef knows it’s going to be a total disaster. And then I’m going to get the sack.”

“He can’t do that. He’d have no staff left,” said Patrick absently, staring down at Alf’s scribblings.

Alf gave a gasp of horror. “Wait, you mean you’re actually thinking of going?”

Patrick paused. Up until this point, he’d had a firm fence-shaped groove developing under his metaphorical buttocks. But if Chef Maurice was going to continue playing games, then he was damned if he was going to stand around waiting to be hit by a leather ball.

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