Spices of passion - The charming cook of chef Isabella

Isabella 

 The ringing of a bell on the counter caught my attention, and I walked over, picking up the new order that had been handed to me by one of the waiters. I returned to the center counter of the kitchen I was running in a restaurant in Miami's upscale area.

" Attention, marching. Table seventeen, One scallop, One lobster, Two lobsters with Champagne sauce " I read the order aloud.

" Yes, chef " the response was unanimous.

With a small smile I picked up a plate that had just been left on the counter waiting for my approval, I finished it with the orange sauce, wiping off any residue before putting it in the bowl, ringing the bell afterwards.

This was my routine for the last two years, when I became Chef at Le Petit Cuisine, a restaurant in Miami.

I loved my job but I couldn't say it was an easy life. I spent about ten hours on my feet in a hot and stuffy environment, often gave up my days off and barely had a social life, all that routine was exhausting me on a mentally dangerous level, it was for this reason that my therapist recommended that I take at least a month off before I ended up having a nervous breakdown at the age of twenty"seven. 

Once again the clanging, I went over, got the order, marked another series of dishes under the constant clatter of pots and pans. 

" 'Penelope, in case you haven't noticed, your filet mignon is on fire, we're out of lemon zest, who did the mise en place today? 

" I'm sorry, Izzy. I'll get more zest " Hugo, my sous chef warned.

That night was quiet, and I thought it would stay that way, but the entrance of Cora Mitchell, the restaurant manager, into the kitchen carrying a returned dish proved me wrong.

" I'm still waiting for the ceviche from table five," I declared before turning to the woman, analyzing a perfectly prepared and almost untouched salmon. " What's the problem?” 

" The customer wants to talk to you and explain what she wants in person," she gave me an enigmatic smile.

" Talk to me? Cora, I have a lot to do!”

" Hugo stays in your place for now " she waved to the boy, practically dragging me out of the kitchen, just giving me time to remove my apron.

I hated it when that happened, well, I didn't mind so much when it came to compliments, but this kind of customer who wants to teach me how to cook is the worst part of the job.

" Remember to be polite, Izzy.”

" I'm always polite, Cora.”

Our little discussion was stopped short when we reached the table of a typical upper middle class couple. It wouldn't have bothered me so much if it wasn't for the way the woman measured me.

I couldn't help analyzing her either, her curly blonde hair and prominent cheekbones gave her a youthful air, and, added to the debauched expression on her face, turned the whole into something odious.

" Are you the chef? " She asked in disbelief.

" 'Yes, Isabella Dempsey, our chef for two years,' Cora said proudly as I waited patiently for her to tell me what she wanted straight away.

" Really? I would have sworn the chef at this place was a fat, short, mustachioed old man.

" Lindsay! " the boy accompanying her mumbled, looking embarrassed.

" Well, I highly doubt there's a short, fat, mustachioed old man out there named Isabella Dempsey, so yes, I am the chef!

I noticed the boy hide a small smile as he lowered his face, while Lindsay continued with that same expression, staring at me.

" What can I do for you? " I decided to end it once and for all.

" 'Ahh yes, my dish tasted very fishy,” she declared with a serious expression.

I stared at the woman for what seemed like an eternity, before looking around for a hidden camera.

This has to be a prank!

" Lindsay, right?” 

She shook her head in agreement, waiting for an answer, while her boyfriend gave me an apologetic look.

" 'Well, Lindsay, you ordered salmon in Sicilian lemon sauce.” 

" Yes, that's what I ordered," she confirmed with a smile.

I glanced at Cora, who remained with that conciliatory expression on her face.

" 'Salmon is a fish.”

" Yes, but depending on the cooking method it doesn't taste fishy, and…”

" Lindsay, the cooking method won't change the final protein, I could cook the steak a thousand different ways and it would still taste fishy, because it is a fish! " I was trying hard to make her understand how absurd her wish was.

She took a deep breath as if I was refusing to comply with a simple request.

" All right, Isabella Dempsey, tonight is a special night for Carter and I, and I really wanted everything to come out perfect, so can you bring me another dish that doesn't taste so strongly of fish?”

" I can bring you a filet mignon medallion with a red wine sauce, and I guarantee it won't taste fishy at all. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work " I didn't give her a chance to answer, I just turned my back and headed back to the kitchen, Cora followed closely after apologizing to the couple.

Cora caught up with me as soon as I entered the kitchen, looking dissatisfied with my earlier response.

" Isabella, are you really going to therapy?” 

"Twice a week, as you demanded," I mumbled, walking over to the sink to sanitize my hands after once again placing the apron around my waist, smoothing it out until it was perfectly aligned with the dolman I was wearing.

I felt the attention of the entire kitchen staff on us, but I chose to ignore them.

" 'And you can't give a more polite answer?” 

I turned to the woman with a disbelieving look. What did she expect me to say to that woman!

" Cora, she asked me to take the fishy taste out of the salmon! My answer was too polite.”

I heard some stifled laughter from the kitchen, but I ignored it. 

" 'I swear, if you hadn't made my restaurant one of the best in the last few years, I would have fired you by now,” she muttered.

'She would have fired me, that's a good one! 

"Well, your restaurant got me into therapy, so the biggest risk is that I'll quit!". "But lucky for you, I'm going on vacation in three days and hopefully a few weeks in Alaska will help me clear my head so I can deal with stupid requests from stupid people," I declared with a smile on my face, receiving a roll of my eyes in return.

And I was counting the hours to be able to see Gwen, Zach and especially little Daniel, who at the height of his four years was the most active and intelligent child I knew. Not that I had contact with so many children.

The fact is that they were the closest thing I had to a family, and even though life took us to opposite sides of the continent, we kept in touch and were very close. 

And I couldn't wait to see them again.