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The first time it happened, Carmy was on his hands and knees, scrubbing some sort of gross-ass congealed shit off of the floor by the oven. He hadn’t heard Sydney come in, but saw the tips of her shoes hit the gleaming tiles and then back off a little.
“It’s not the whole floor,” Carmy said, wiping a little sweat off his forehead and motioning to the left. “Take a wide step that way and it’ll be all good.”
Sydney took the step and Carmy assumed that was that, but her shoes were still in the corner of his vision. He looked up at her, confused, and she burst out into laughter.
“What?”
Sydney laughed even harder, and walked off to put her stuff down. Carmy went back to scrubbing. “Sydney,” he called out, as he dipped the rag back into the warm water. “Can we get started on morning checks?”
“Yes, chef,” Sydney called back. He could still hear the laughter but assumed that was it.
*
Marcus was whisking the eggs for the cake when Carmy stopped by to check on him. Carmy hadn’t told him yet, but he quite liked Marcus’ portion of the kitchen, with the baking inspiration taped on the walls and the lingering smell of sugar and the relative quiet. It helped that the mixer was going at regular speed, and the dry ingredients were altogether, waiting to be added.
Marcus smiled at him when he walked by, but Carmy could tell something was up. It was the way the corner of his lips tugged at the smile, daring it to break into something bigger.
“All good, Chef?”
Marcus broke. In between the fit of giggles, he managed to squeeze out an, “All good, Chef, right on schedule.”
Carmy decided to take it at face value but glanced back to see Marcus still chuckling quietly to himself.
*
Richie came in, looked right at Carmy, and burst out laughing so hard that no sounds came out. He pointed at Carmy, clutching his sides, and left the kitchen with tears in his eyes.
*
Three hours before opening, Carmy took a five minute restroom break, and spent all five of those minutes inspecting his face in the mirror. He looked—a little more tired than usual, sure. His haired could be more combed, but couldn’t it always? There were no food stains, no flour, no sharpie marker mustaches. So what was so funny?
Outside the restroom, he heard Sydney calling out for him, so he washed his hands and went back into the fray.
*
“Corner!” Tina shouted, and Carmy dutifully moved aside to let her pass.
He knew she wasn’t trying to look at him, but for some reason he caught her eye and she immediately started chuckling. Carmy watched her walk away, resolute in his decision to ignore it, but she put down the tray she was carrying and wiped at her eyes, and Carmy’s resolution splintered apart. “Chef Tina,” he called out.
Tina looked over, panic in her eyes, but Carmy said, “Make sure you wash your hands again,” and the relief flooded her expression.
“Sure, Chef,” she said.
“Oh, and Chef? What’s so funny?”
Tina pressed her lips together in a smile. “Mmm-mm. No ingles.”
“I know you speak English, Tina—”
But she was already walking off towards the hand washing station, and Carmy decided to let her go. He’d corner some other poor soul.
*
An hour and a half til opening, Richie leaned against the prep station in the most uncasual display Carmy had ever not paid attention to.
“Not right now,” he said, as he reached for another pepper and started chopping.
“That’s fine, cousin,” Richie said. His voice was three octaves higher than usual, which always meant he was trying not to laugh.“But, uh, real quick, did they teach you French at your little fancy school?”
“No, they did not teach me French. They taught me how to chop peppers and prepare food, which is what I’m trying to do right now—”
“Don’t you think you’d be less stressed with a fancy little chef’s hat?”
“No I do not think—What are we talking about right now, Richie?”
Richie scratched his neck. “I’m interested in your… formational education, is all.”
“Is that all? Can you go over there, to the register where you are supposed to be, please, and make sure the money is counted before we open?”
“It’s counted, cousin, geez. I think we need a mascot.”
“Richie please.”
Richie threw his hands up in surrender and walked away, and Carmy pushed away the question of what kind of mascot could they possible have, and refocused prepping the peppers.
*
Sydney called out an order, and Carmy repeated it back along with everyone else. The kitchen was running smoothly for the second day in a row. The order needed beef, and Ebra was working up some serious magic over there.
Carmy popped over to get the beef, and Ebra presented it to him with a little flaire. “Votre bœuf, monsieur,” he said.
Carmy let him plate it and decided to bite the bullet and ask. “What’s with the French?”
Ebra laughed. “You tell me.”
Sydney called out for the order again, and Carmy whisked it away, putting his head back in the game.
*
In the middle of a lull in business, Gary glanced at his phone, then right at Carmy, and burst out laughing.
“Yo, Syd,” he whispered, nerves working. There was only so much a guy could take. “Can I see you in my office for a quick second?”
Sydney glanced at him, then into the front, where hungry customers were eating and no one new was coming in. “Yes Chef,” she said.
Carmy didn’t bother to close the door once they got there. “The whole day, everyone has been laughing at me,” he told her, and Sydney immediately looked away. Guilty. “What’s going on, Chef?”
“I might have, accidentally, told everyone that you look like Linguini from Ratatouille.”
Carmy blinked. “What?”
“It hit me this morning! It had been bugging me for some time, and I don’t know, you like, looked up, and I was like, oh my god, it’s Linguini.”
Carmy scrubbed his face with his hands. “Jesus. That’s it? My first year working in a restaurant, that’s all they called me.”
“I don’t think that’s a compliment, but okay.”
Carmy let himself laugh a little. “No, it wasn’t. He can’t even cook.”
“Not at all,” Sydney agreed.
“Two beef!” Richie shouted, and Carmy looked at Sydney.
“Back at it?”
Sydney nodded. “Back at it.”
*
Carmy came in the next day to find a picture taped to the door of his office. It was a publicity photo of him from Food & Wine, in his chef’s attire, hat and all. Someone had drawn an outline of a rat onto his hat. His photo was side-by-side with one of Linguini and Remy. Carny laughed a little, cheered by the new decoration, and grabbed his apron.
After all, no there were no rats in his kitchen to do all the work for him.