Death Over Easy by Tawdra Kandle

Author:Tawdra Kandle [Kandle, Tawdra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Recipe for Death, Book 3
Publisher: Tawdra Kandle
Published: 2016-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

“THESE CUBES ARE too big.”

I lifted my eyes from the cutting board in front of me to see what Charlie held in her hand. She’d scooped up some of the potatoes I’d just finished chopping and was now giving me what I’d privately begun to call her stare of death.

“They’re fine.” I wasn’t in the mood to play culinary wars. We had a limited amount of time in the diner’s kitchen; I didn’t like to try to work around the regular cooks who served our customers, so I’d decided that Charlie and I would work after hours as much as we could. Tonight’s goal was prepping the two potato dishes, as we could easily re-heat them on the morning of the brunch. Earlier in the week, we’d made the sausage patties. The French toast and bacon had to be done on the day of the event, and the omelets would be made to order.

I hadn’t co-cooked with anyone professionally since the last summer I’d worked at my dad’s restaurant in upstate New York. And even then, my partners had been people I’d known all of my life, including my brothers. We’d had a rhythm, and since most of us had been trained by the same person—my dad—we kept that rhythm easily. We flowed like a river.

But things weren’t quite the same with Charlie. As quiet as she was most of the time, in the kitchen, she was bossy and dominating. She was as sure of her ability to cook as she seemed insecure about the rest of her life. And she certainly never hesitated to tell me when I was doing something wrong.

“They’re not fine.” She jiggled her hand so that the small squares of red potato tumbled against each other like dice. “If the potato cubes aren’t uniform, they won’t cook evenly. Some will be raw and others will be burnt.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a ruler for measuring fucking potato squares.” I dropped the knife on the counter and glared at Charlie. “This isn’t the food Olympics. We’re not cooking for the president or the Queen of England. They’re a bunch of old people who won’t be happy unless they have something to complain about. By offering them a variety of potato sizes, we’re giving them that chance. Look at it as a bonus.”

If I’d expected Charlie to back down, I’d have been disappointed. “It doesn’t matter who we’re cooking for or how important you think the meal is. Every time, we should be giving it our best. Otherwise, what’s the point in doing it at all?”

I turned my back to her and held tightly to the edge of the counter, my fingers turning white while mentally I counted to ten. I liked Charlie. At least in theory, I did. When I lay in bed at night, reviewing my day, I was usually grateful that she was part of it. Maybe not during the time I was actually interacting with her, but afterward, sure. The during part drove me crazy sometimes.

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