Chapter Text
Julia Child’s Beurre Blanc
3 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon minced shallots
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 pinch white pepper
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
**********************************************************
“One falafel special, please.”
“Sure thing. Eight bucks.” The woman at the window takes the guy’s money. “Alex, falafel.”
“On it!”
Alex glances around and sees a flash of dark skin and electric blue hair. This guy’s a regular, been coming for the last couple of weeks, almost always around 11 am. Always orders the falafel, but sometimes he gets two. Alex likes knowing his customers and getting familiar with their orders. It’s why he opened the food truck in the first place. He turns from the grill for a second, spatula in hand.
“Just one today?” he shouts with a grin.
“Oh, yes, just the one,” the guy answers, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. He’s got a British accent, which Alex has always found sexy.
Alex turns back to the grill and sears the tortilla on the flame. Working quickly, he drops the tortilla on the wax paper. He scoops up a spatula full of sauteed, pickled vegetables and plops them in the center. He rests the paper on the miniscule stainless steel counter. With one hand, he grabs two falafel patties from the warmer and drops them on the vegetables. With the other hand, he snags an ice cream scoop full of slaw. One generous squirt of his secret sauce over the slaw, and he spins around from the grill.
“One falafel special, here you go! Enjoy!”
“Cheers, mate.” The guy scurries away like he just committed a crime. Alex looks over at Nora.
“Hey, he look familiar to you?”
Nora shrugs. “He’s been here every day for the last week.”
There’s always a long line of customers and he doesn’t have time to worry about one. He turns back to his grill and Nora greets the next person in line.
“Welcome to Amigos y Migas! What can we make for you today?”
*****************************
“Christ, how is this so good? It’s like magic and science and...and I don’t even know what else.” Henry moans as he swallows another bite. “How the fuck does he do this? And how does he do it in a truck the size of our walk-in freezer?”
Pez leans back against the wall. “Are you eating that or getting turned on by it, Henners?”
Henry rolls his eyes, even as he tries to glare at his head sommelier. “Can’t I do both?” The sauce drips down his wrist and he shamelessly licks it off.
“It’s going to be hard to take that apart and figure out what’s in it, if you inhale it all again,” Pez reminds him. “I thought this was all for the sake of culinary espionage.” Pez taps his fingers together beneath his chin. He’s going for the evil villain look, but instead he just looks delighted. “Is it possible you just want to eat him? I mean it?”
Henry’s glare this time is much more noticeable. Pez just laughs, loud and pleased.
“Also, just so you know, he’s onto me. You may have to find another accomplice to go buy your strumpet’s food.”
“He’s not--” Henry starts, but then he takes another bite and his eyes drop closed in ecstasy. He moans a little more.
Pez laughs at him again. “I’m sorry, Henry, but if you’re trying to tell me you’re only interested in that beautiful man for his cooking--”
“Don’t you have some wine to uncork?” Henry growls. “Lunch service is in an hour.”
“The word is decant, my darling.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s cheek as he passes him and heads for the wine cellar. “And shouldn’t you be back on the line?”
Henry nods. He checks to see if anyone’s looking, and licks the last drip of sauce off the paper. With one last satisfied sigh, he crushes the wax paper into a ball and tosses it into the trash can in the break area. It’s a glamorous name for a few feet of floor with two chairs and a table. Most of the employees prefer to take breaks out back, sitting on milk crates, where they can smoke while they check their phones.
Henry’s been sending random employees to Alex’s truck for a while now, just so he can try different menu items without getting caught standing in line. He told the others he wanted to see if there was anything they could copy, but Pez knows Henry too well... knows there are other reasons Henry won’t go on his own.
Henry takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. He grabs his pristine white chef’s coat from the back of the chair and slips it on. He buttons it from the bottom up, repeating one of the stress-reducing mantras his therapist taught him with each movement. He stares at his toque but decides to leave it off for now. It’s terribly impractical but if his Gran happens to come into the kitchen and sees him without it...
He slips into the staff bathroom, grimy from years of use and half-assed cleaning, and stares at himself in the mirror. He grips the edge of the sink, then washes his hands in scalding hot water. He takes a few shaky breaths before he looks up to stare at himself in the slightly distorted mirror. In the reflection, he sees the reversed, cursive words on his chest, stitched in royal blue thread.
Henry Fox
Executive Chef
Chez Henri
He steps out of the bathroom and takes one more deep breath before he rounds the corner into the main kitchen area. His staff is already busy at work, heads down, prepping their mise for the lunch service. None of them notice him wringing his hands just before he tugs on the hem of his chef jacket, a nervous habit he’s had since culinary school.
“Let’s go over today’s menu,” Henry announces. He doesn’t have to shout, because everyone in the kitchen is attuned to his voice, his commands.
“Oui, Chef!” the group choruses as one. They all put down their utensils and form a semi-circle around him. He keeps his eyes on the list in front of him, too uncomfortable to make eye contact with any of his employees. He rushes through this part, eager to get back to cooking and only needing to interact with the food in front of him.
As he’s describing the beurre blanc that goes with the fish entree, his mind flashes back to the sauce he licked off the paper that’s now balled up in the trash. And if he briefly imagines licking it off Alex’s hand instead, well, that’s entirely Pez’s fault.