Sizzling in Singapore (A Carnal Cuisine Novel)

by Falls, K. C.

  An hour until the meeting. I can do this. I'll focus on how grateful I am that Nick's here to take back the god-awful duties that were dropped in my lap. Mae tried to rationalize her way into a positive attitude. The deception still stung, but it was really not the worst thing the man could have done. Restaurant kitchens are notorious for sexual liaisons of all stripes. The atmosphere of food and fire just lends itself to thoughts of a sensual nature. Usually it was a chef doing a waitress, but other combinations were certainly not unheard of. Amongst her staff the affairs tended to be the high drama variety what with the abundance of gay Filipinos employed by the Elysium. Years back, Mae herself had had a wonderfully torrid little fling with a wine purveyor who was a relentless flirt. Great sex and the bennies were even better. I didn't drink a bottle of cheap wine for months! Too bad he turned out to be an utter turd. Too bad I allowed him to get too close.

  She reconsidered her attitude toward Nick. It isn't as if I had much conversation with him in the pool. I certainly offered myself up on a silver platter. She resolved to try simply act as if nothing had happened. Nothing did happen, Mae reminded herself. I went after a satisfying fuck with an extremely desirable passing stranger. He thought he was shagging a kitchen wench. Enough said. Over and done with.

  ***

  Nick had not quite adjusted his circadian rhythm to Singapore. He had heard it said that you need a day of adjustment for each hour of time difference. He had days to go before his body accepted that he was no longer in San Francisco. He had dug deep into the menus, the invoices and the countless other details of his uncle's huge scope of responsibilities during the long sleepless night. Just before dawn he made his way back to his room, showered and took a couple hour's cat-nap. He wasn't exactly raring to go, but he felt clear-headed enough to face the day and Mae. He pulled on some checks from his closet and a freshly laundered chef's coat. Note to self: dress warmly Nicky-boy. Your hot little water sprite has turned into a cold fish.

  Nagging at the back of his mind, no matter how much he tried to expunge it, was the memory of his romp in the pool with Mae. How could a woman evince such passion and abandon and turn right around and cut it off just like that. Nick had had plenty of little affairs 'just for fun' and managed to part on friendly terms with most of the lovely ladies who gave themselves up so freely to the handsome, virile chef. Hell, the last few years had been a bonanza for the guys in his trade. Being a chef had garnered glamour and sex appeal what with the all the TV food channels and the celebrity chefs who made women go all dreamy over a guy who could cook. The rough language, the competitive food shows, the proficiency with knives and machines and the working knowledge of foods most folks out in TV land had never heard of lent a certain charm to a formerly pretty mundane profession (at least to the public's eye).

  Added to his profession was the undeniable appeal of Nick's strange Euro-American accent that always aroused a woman's curiosity, and sometimes the woman herself. Nick's mother was Spanish, (Basque to be exact) and his father was Dutch. But a great deal of the early years of his father's career had been spent in New York where Nick was born and spent his formative years. Then his family circled the globe with his father's increasing status as a great executive chef capable of turning loss leaders into profit centers. Consequently, Nick's deep bass voice was laced with an indefinable and unique accent that women found very appealing.

  He had learned, in San Francisco that the accent could also lead to some assumptions about his gender preferences. His staff at the hotel never missed an opportunity to razz him ruthlessly about the number of times he got hit on by men. "It's the Euro thing, man," his expeditor buddy had told him one night after a particularly persistent guy had been hitting on Nick. " Plus you're a good looking dude. It's kind of hard to tell who's who and what's what these days. The lines get pretty blurry. You know we just give you shit in the kitchen. You get a piece more often than the rest of us and we gotta see that you pay a price."

  Nick wondered if he might be able to maneuver just a wee bit more warmth out of Mae by sharing his unusual background. Why do you give a shit, man? You have got to get yourself together. This is a temporary assignment and she was a temporary plaything. Good God, you're mooning around like a seventeen year old over a piece of ass that's likely poked by any stud that strikes her fancy. Get the fuck over it and do your job!

  Right now, the job was to meet the wench and prep her on his specials. Much as he admired his uncle's creativity in the kitchen, there was always room for twists and turns. Hotel menus tend to be predictable for a reason. Guests arriving from far afield want to have some choices that don't challenge their tastes too terribly much. At the same time, they want to 'experience' the whole foreign thing. It takes a rather delicate balance to provide both.

  Nick approached his little kitchen colonel yellow pad in hand, prepared for a real ice-goddess treatment. "Good morning, Chef Mae." He smiled a tad too brightly.

  He was surprised that she seemed more relaxed than he had expected. " Pull up a chair, Chef Nick, and let's see what you've got for me. And you don't have to stand on ceremony out of earshot of the troops, by the way. Mae will do fine. When the show's on, we try to stick to protocol, but other than that, we're all friends here."

  "Then I can hope that we can also be 'friends' while I'm here?"

  "Look, I'm sorry about the snippiness yesterday. Let's just forget about it and make the best of an awkward situation. Jumping into this kitchen on such short notice can't be easy for you and I don't want to make it harder. I love this place and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our standards." Mae's brow furrowed. "I am very worried about Kurt. I consider him a very dear friend as well as the best exec anyone could hope to work under."

  As uncomfortable as Nick was with the subterfuge, he could do nothing to allay Mae's fears. He had sworn not to tell anyone what he knew about Kurt's whereabouts, which was precious little anyway. "I understand that chef Kurt is one of the best," he said blandly.

  "I promise to do everything I can not to sully his reputation. So consider me an ally in your effort to keep this place running as if he were still here." Mae indicated that he should take the other chair opposite her so they could get started.

  Nick pulled up the rickety kitchen chair next to Mae and straddled it backwards as he flipped a couple pages into his notes. In the back of his mind he hoped that somehow that very masculine posture would jiggle the hell out of the composure Mae seemed to have so easily summoned up. It would be a great deal harder than he thought to concentrate on the specials he was proposing sitting within inches of her. Perhaps his body language would even the score.

  Nick tapped his pad with his pencil "Look, I know Kurt's lamb shank special was a popular one. Hell, how can you go wrong with apples, rosemary and lamb? But, I was thinking that since this is Singapore, maybe we try a different take...how about braised with mango, lemon grass and a hint of curry?" He looked up at her and chewed on the eraser.

  "Green mangoes would hold up better in a braise, but you might need something to cut the tartness if you go with green." She was thinking hard and it showed on her face. Nick saw the lines of concentration snake across her smooth forehead.

  "A little brown sugar?" he suggested.

  "Palm sugar would be a more local flavor"

  Nick was pleasantly impressed. As he went through his list of dishes that Mae was able to give him thoughtful and really quite creative feedback. Not only did she know her ingredients, but she seemed a lot less combative than others might be under the circumstances. Most chefs he knew would be stubborn on principle alone if a new guy walked in and started messing with a kitchen's traditions. He had to admire her loyalty to Uncle Kurt as well as her professional approach to her job. It made it all the more difficult to dismiss their shared passion in the pool as just a meaningless romp with a stranger. It just didn't jive with the person she revealed herself to be on the job.

  Then, just as he had begun to feel that perhaps things could mo
ve forward for them in more than just a professionally courteous way, she jolted him with an abrupt dismissal.

  "If you're finished with the briefing, Nick, I think it's time for me to source a few ingredients and get the staff working on the changes. You can see Maribel in the front office and she'll run you through the usual way we present the specials menu and have it printed for you. Later, we can bring the wait staff in for a tasting and description once the cooks have the recipes down. Unless you feel you need to walk me through, I think I can handle it from here. I'm sure there's plenty of paperwork up there in the office that I've neglected these past days. It's not my forte and I apologize in advance for whatever mess I've made of the invoices and cost analysis." She rose after her little speech with an unmistakable signal that, in her mind at least, the meeting was over.

  Nick was used to being in charge and it took him slightly aback to have 'his' meeting terminated so peremptorily. But, as she was right, and there was little else to say he simply nodded and went on his way. He wasn't thrilled about spending most of the day mired in paperwork when he would have much preferred to test and taste the new recipe concepts. But clearly that was Mae's bailiwick and he had the feeling it was best to let the waters stay calm after their rocky start.

  ***

  Mae's thoughts were running nearly along the same lines as Nick's. Here was a guy who clearly knew his way around a menu and his ideas were quite inspired. It wasn't as if she felt Kurt any less a chef, but here was a man who could take a classic and twist it just enough to make it intriguing without scaring the timid palate away from a new experience. It was going to be very difficult not to like the man. And Mae desperately did want to dislike him for the sake of her sanity. She had deliberately iced-down her demeanor at the end of their meeting.

  She noticed his slight change in body language when she rose to signal that the meeting was over. Good. I'd rather he knows now that it's best to keep his distance. It's hardly fair for him to sit like that in front of me knowing--I am pretty damn sure--that I can't stare into his crotch without thinking about...

  Mae gripped her notes as if they were going to escape. She squeezed her eyes closed then opened them to try to bring the words she had written into some sort of order. A quick phone calls to the produce purveyor made for an excellent distraction and brought her back to the tasks at hand.

  Most of the ingredients needed were on hand in the kitchen and those that weren't were easily dispatched to the Elys kitchen even before the lunch service began. She assembled the line cooks who would be handling the specials and efficiently described what tastes they were looking for and how to achieve them. Mae had a well-trained staff and there was not a great deal of explanation needed to get them cracking on tasting-dishes for her.

  If he was watching from the glassed office above the kitchen, Mae was determined to demonstrate her professionalism. She went into her 'go' mode and began briefing the various chefs who would take responsibility for executing the special. There were few words and a lot of nodding from the cooks. Everyone went their separate ways at light speed to attend to their various tasks.

  Nick was watching. She just knew he was. Mae patiently demonstrated how to make a signature sauce for the Elys's daily fish special. It was a sauce that Mae had stolen shamelessly from a former colleague and used to great effect time and again. The young Filipino saucier watched as she melted butter and added an equal measure of brown sugar and soy sauce to the mix. She whisked in about a half a cup of wasabi powder and the sauce magically came together topped with a hint of sesame oil and a kiss of grated ginger. It was a perfect foil for the black-sesame-crusted tuna grilled and served from the kitchen each day. She wordlessly followed the young cook's own rendering of her sauce. She tasted his. He tasted hers. She asked the fellow what the difference was in the two sauces. She nodded as the novice added just a touch more wasabi and a small dash of sesame oil. They tasted again. Mae patted the kid on the back and let him combine the two pots to go in the walk-in for service.

  She walked around the various stations with a sharp eye for quality control. There was never any malice in her corrections but there was nothing soft about her manner either. It was a strange combination of power and diplomacy rarely found in a kitchen of the stature of the Elysium. She stopped to point out the silver skin left on a tenderloin that a cook who had probably been cleaning filets for years had missed. He actually smiled at her for pointing out his lapse and she patted his back and walked on to check the next station, the next process, the next dish waiting for her approval.

  The day rumbled forward, the hectic lunch schedule giving way to the intense concentration of the quiet afternoon hours so critical to dinner service success. Mae disappeared, as was her custom, to power-nap at the shank of the afternoon. Even slammed in Kurt's absence she retained the habit. Fourteen-hour days require some sort of refueling. She returned refreshed at four o'clock to help put together the tasting for the new specials for the wait staff and, of course, for Nick. Mae grudgingly admitted to herself that he had kept his distance during the course of the day and allowed her to execute his ideas without interference. The last thing she needed or wanted at this point was someone breathing down her neck and critiquing her every move.

  Maribel had left the printed specials' menus at her station and Mae quickly proofread the copy to make sure the description was as written and without error. Maribel seldom made any careless errors and this time was no exception:

  Braised Lamb Shank with Curried Green Mango and Jaggery Sauce

  On Steamed Basmati Rice

  Macadamia-Crusted Pomfret with Tropical Fruit Coulis

  And Coconut Beurre Blanc

  Chili Prawns with Fresh Asparagus and Water Chestnuts

  Served with Bean Thread Noodles

  Pork Tenderloin Adobo Style with Ragout of Roasted

  Local Pumpkin and Baby Vegetables

  House-made Ceylon Tea Smoked Duck with Lychee Sauce

  Rice Pancakes and Garlic Greens

  Mae was pleased with the five specials as well as the several appetizers and soups that she and Nick had collaborated on. Once again, she mused at his lack of ego-involvement when they discussed his ideas. He seemed to welcome the addition of her local knowledge into his extensive repertoire.

  I admire his style. Very much like a smoother-talking version of Kurt. He seems to know enough to know what he doesn't know. Kurt used to say that was an essential skill so many so-called 'chefs' are too proud to cultivate. Damn, I wish I knew what happened to the bastard. He owes me some explanation…I thought I was more than an employee. I was his friend. Mae tossed off the worry and gathered her wits. Time to brief the staff and run the presentation by the chef.

  Mae tapped at the office door. "We're ready with the specials now if you want to have a look at them, Chef Nick."Cool and all business was Mae's watchword now.

  ***

  "I'll be right there." Nick threw on his coat and buttoned it as he descended the few stairs into the kitchen. This was not the time to appear too casual. Although he wasn't a tyrant, Nick still had a great deal of respect for the old-school formalities of the kitchen. It wouldn't due to review the first set of 'his' specials in a ratty old t-shirt from a decades past rock n'roll band.

  He was certainly not surprised to find all the specials lined up and perfectly plated. His uncle's hand was everywhere. Each plate had the elements of presentation represented in creative and effective form. Even the more difficult to present items, like the chili prawns, were successful. Instead of chopping all the asparagus, several whole spears leaned tall against a tight nest of the bean thread noodles. The shocking red of the chili sauce played beautifully against the green vegetable and the snow-white noodles and was artfully swept across one side of the big dinner plate.

  The lamb looked mouth watering. Nick knew that was going to be his favorite and a big hit. He had worried that it would be a monotone of brown, but the yellow of the turmeric in the curry sauce brighten
ed the braise considerably. Ringing the shank and sauce propped against the molded Basmati were shiny drops of a brilliant green that added just the right note to the entire look of the plate. "Cilantro oil?" he asked.

  Mae nodded. "I hope you don't mind that I made the addition. The color palette was a little dull."

  "Perfect touch. I was concerned about the color issue on that plate. Cilantro is the natural choice." Nick found nothing to criticize in the plating and began to methodically taste a tiny portion of each dish.

  "Personally, I'd like much more chili in the prawns. I suggest you offer the customer a choice of heats or provide some extra sauce with the serving, on the side."

  "Yes, Chef Nick," Tank answered. He was on sauté and that included the wok so the prawns were his responsibility.

  "I know that you don't want to serve the ragout as mush, but I do think that a few of those baby vegetables could use a minute or two more."

  The expeditor, Jonesie, would put this plate together. "It'll go under the salamander for a couple of minutes, Chef Nick. I'm hoping that will bring them up to al dente."

  "Very well," Nick allowed, " But check the first orders and make sure. It isn't pork adobo with salad'"

  "Yes, Chef."

  "Okay, then. Good job everyone. Let's get the wait-staff briefed and I think we're good to go." And with that Nick gave them all a postcard perfect smile and headed straight back up to his office.

  ***