Love at Second Sight

Chapter 8

Passion is energy. Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you.

~Oprah Winfrey

***

Savannah was moving around the kitchen checking, sniffing and sampling whatever was cooking. She didn't leave a single pot unchecked. Occasionally, she would ask for some changes to be made, but otherwise, she just surveyed through the dishes. The skillsets of these chefs were amazing. Not one thing had disgusted her yet, which was fairly rare. Most kitchens she'd worked in had something that displeased her. But till now, there was nothing here that disappointed her. Good.

"Well, Xavier, where do I help?" she asked once she was done assessing.

"Wherever you want," he hesitated. Again.

"Xavier. Tell me where," she said sternly.

"Okay, okay. You could start with the pot pie?" he suggested. "You promised you won't bite," he muttered.

Savannah laughed. "I didn't bite, did I? Just barked. My bark is worse than my bite, which is why I never said anything about bark."

"Oh... Smart."

"Yeah. I know. Well, everyone, after the lunch shift is over, I'll be heading for a quick visit to Mr. Sifton. And, if all goes well, by the end of the day, we'll have our menu for the gala. Okay?"

"Okay!" all chefs chorused.

"Well, I'm getting on with the pot pie."

She diced the veggies she required into bite-size chunks, shredded the rotisserie chicken and mixed in some salt, pepper and cayenne—that was her little twist to the usually monotonous pot pies—and set it aside to rest. Then she flamed the stove and put a huge pot over it. She generously added butter to the pot once it was fairly heated and let it melt, then added flour and whisked continuously until it came to a bubble. Then she whisked in chicken stock and stirred until smooth.

Finally, she added the chicken, carrots, peas and French beans. Some rest to her hands after the continual whisking. Though the chicken was already mixed with some spices, she usually put a dash of a few herbs in the pie filling, so she added some dried basil and thyme, some garlic powder and a dash of Cajun seasoning. Her variation of the typical pot pie.

Done. She covered it with a lid after she'd added a pinch of salt and let it simmer on heat for five minutes.

"Lily, come here."

"Yeah?"

"I want you to taste this gravy."

"Me?" she asked surprised.

"Yeah. You."

"Oh, Jesus! Oh-kay," she squealed, and Savannah looked at her curiously. "Um, no, just really euphoric."

"Euphoric?"

"Yeah. You've been my idol ever since I started culinary school. It's like I've been...stalking?...you on Facebook, Instagram—wherever—possible. And then, yesterday you were standing in front of me, I couldn't believe my eyes. I was about to faint, I didn't, but if you'd shaken hands with me or something I'd have definitely fainted."

"Then, thank God I didn't, huh?" Savannah supplied.

"I don't know. And, now you asked me to taste your food—like it's gonna be anything short of exceptional," she said incredulously.

"Oh, no, no. You give me too much credit, Lily. Even I err sometimes."

"I don't believe you, but okay. Anyway," she clapped her hands, "I'll taste it. Wishes do come true, after all," she said, before scooping out some gravy and tasting it.