Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I could tell that he liked the food. He wouldn’t be making all those noises just for show. That wasn’t the kind of person that Michael was. He was a straight shooter who said what he thought and did what he wanted, honest to the core. I could only hope that his obvious fondness for the food would be enough to convince him let me make the menu changes.
Michael sighed as he finished, looking over at me. “The food tasted phenomenal. You know what the fuck you’re doing. Easy to see why you were at the top of your class.”
I felt my face heating up and knew I was blushing like an idiot. “Thanks.”
“But.” Michael braced his hands against the edge of the table, long fingers curling over the edge. God I wanted those fingers stroking along my skin, up my thigh… “I’m not sure this is the right path to go down.”
He gestured at the food. “My customers - your customers now too - are used to fine dining. And they’re used to routine. They might not like the change, and even if they do, they might feel that this is… well. This is comfort food, Stevie. Hearty and satisfying and delicious, but comfort food, not fine dining.”
I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
This, I was prepared for. I’d known that he’d say this, because a lot of my teachers at culinary school had said it as well. And I wasn’t about to back down on it. I knew I was right, and if I was given the chance, I could prove it.
“You’re stuck with the idea that fancy food has to be complicated. So does the rest of the damn restaurant business. I’m sick and tired of seeing all these fancy places… these gastro pubs, and these deconstructed plates, and these tasting menus. It was cool to see people pushing the boundaries of what food is and what we can do with it, but now it’s just become pretentious. We have to get back to our roots.
“Fancy food isn’t arranged in a little pile with colorful smears on the plate. It speaks for itself. Take ramen, for instance. Ramen is comfort food in Japan. And ramen places just have a handful of ramen dishes that they do, all the same, no alterations no substitutions, no fancy additions. And I know of at least one in Tokyo that has a Michelin star. They only serve three kinds of ramen there!
“Simple, comfort food, done right, will get you farther than overly complicated dishes that aren’t made the right way. People can tell when you don’t know what you’re doing. And maybe those dishes worked for Theo. Maybe that’s just how he naturally is in his tastes and so doing stuff like that isn’t a big deal to him, it works for him, but that’s not how it works for me and I guarantee you that if they were really honest and took a good look at themselves, that’s not how it worked for all of the head chefs you’ve been hiring since Theo left.
“Well made food is what will bring people in here. Not elaborate, complicated food. Sure it might get them in the door to start, just to see what the hell it’s all about, but it won’t keep them coming back. And I’d argue that simple food is harder to make well than complicated food with a shit ton of ingredients. If you just give me a chance, I know that I can show you that customers will respond favorably to the changes.”
Michael looked at me for a moment, his mouth twisted up into an amused smile. Then he shook his head and turned to grab another bite of the hazelnut and pecan pie. I infused it with bourbon, and it was a recipe that I developed while in school - it was always a huge hit, I’d bring it to every party and it would always be gone in minutes.
“I suppose I have to give it a shot, don’t I?” he said, and I realized with a shock that he was teasing me, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. I shivered, wanting him to tease me more, to use that voice as he peeled my clothes off. “Since I can’t seem to pull myself away from it.”
“I’m so glad you’ve seen the light,” I replied, teasing him right back.
Michael finished his bite of pie and chuckled. “You’re damn cocky enough to be a chef, that’s for certain.”
“Hey, nobody gets by in this industry by being humble.”
“I’ll make you humble with some humble pie,” Michael replied, scooping up another bite with his fork and holding it out to me.
I dodged the bite, laughing in surprise at his playfulness. “Oh, no you don’t.”
Michael kept trying, advancing on me, backing me into the table as I laughed and twisted, trying to avoid it.