Don't Walk Away My Raspberry Beret

1. Welcome To My Kitchen

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food." George Bernard Shaw

Michael's Point of View: 

Chopping the scallions seems like art to me as I prepare them for the steak.

"Another order of our steak and onions ala flair..." My brother and partner in this restaurant, Prince yells.

"You heard him, team. Let's go get it done!" I say to our other prep cooks and patrons of the kitchen. I go on a speech about how important food cooked with love is.

Food speaks to the core part of my soul, and I give every dish I make love. My brother and I started this restaurant with a dream to feed the souls of those who are unaware of the beauty of food. With each order that came in, I tightened my line cooks, barked at my servers, and made sure my dishwashers never dared to drop a plate.

As Executive Chef, my name and reputation were on the line. The worst part of it all is we were only a four-star restaurant. A food critic by the name of Paul Gellar was our harshest analyst. My team thinks I am a nitpicker, but not compared to Paul. He refuses to give out five-star ratings, and unfortunately, our restaurant is always on his chopping block.

"Michael table seven wants, no carrots in the salad, steak rare, no onions on the steak, no side of asparagus, they want broccolini, sauteed not blanched, oh and they want our primrose chicken, without the primrose..." Prince comes back and says, and now I am frustrated.

"All these substitutions, no, I am going out there." I say, taking off my apron. It's one thing for someone to have an allergy or maybe even a bit of hesitation when trying adventurous cuisine. However, we had a little something for everybody. I literally have a substitution menu, and neither meal is up there because of the customer's considerations when ordering.

"Mike, man, calm down; look, remember the customer is always right." Cici, Prince's wife, says as she meets me at the kitchen door. 

"Cici, sis, I love you, but this is ridiculous. Why eat here if you hate food? My recipes tell a story. They speak to the soul. It means nothing if it's ripped apart and dismantled like a piece of commercial fast-food slop!" I say yelling loud enough. I think our patrons heard me. 

"Michael, that is the mayor and his wife in there requesting this. We do not need any problems politically!" Cici says, narrowing her eyes at me. 

"Fine! Get Walter to cook this order than because I refuse!" I say, placing the order slip back into Prince's hand as I step outside. The cool autumn air, which would normally surprise me, did little to cool the raging fire brewing beneath my angered shell. I kicked over an empty trash can, and the rumbling sound became alarming the alley cats using it as a hiding place, most likely. 

"Fuck the mayor and his wife! They don't know good food any more than they know politics or have morals not to wear dead animals on their backs!" I yell to no one in particular as I paced back and forth. If this was solely my restaurant, I would never have them eat in my establishment. 

"Are you done having your toddler tantrum?" Prince asked me at the doorway. 

"Fuck you!" I say glaring at him as he just shakes his head and laughs. 

"Looks like you need fifteen more minutes in time-out mister with that kind of language. Michael, that was unprofessional of you to walk off and not take the order. Look I get it bro, food is your craft. However, food also goes into the bodies of every individual, and they should have a say so of what goes into their bodies." Prince says and I kicked the turned over trash can again.