Chapter Text
Jack could remember vividly the day he held little Dennis Abbot in his arms in the ER. It was chaotic and life-changing.
He held the unnamed baby close to his chest, bouncing the boy gently up and down to calm to crying. Jack really didn’t know what to do. He never expected him to have children, but he knew the baby in his arms was the one.
“Dennis Abbot!”
Jack sighed heavily and tapped his foot repeatedly on the kitchen tiled floor. They were going to be late... again.
“Dennis Whittaker Abbot, the bus is going to leave without you,” Jack tried again.
He could hear a thump from upstairs and hurried steps coming down the stairs.
There in all his glory, Dennis hopped down the last three steps and dashed into the kitchen to grab breakfast. The young boy grabbed a half-burnt toast and overcooked scrambled eggs and shoved them into his mouth before he gave his dad a messy kiss on the cheeks. Jack made a face but laughed at his son’s hurriedness. He asked if his son packed everything before seeing him to the front door as the bus just stopped on the corner of their block.
“Love you, Dennis!” Jack shouted loudly.
Dennis rolled his eyes shyly and stepped into the school bus. He was getting too old for his dad to be embarrassing him like that these days.
Back in the kitchen, Jack looked at the burnt toast and overcooked eggs. He should do better than that. He knew that his son was too nice to comment on the shitty food he cooked, but that didn’t mean that Dennis wouldn’t one day say something about it.
Jack needed to do better.
So Jack Abbot, aged fifty, found himself in school again. Never did he imagine himself as a student in school again. Sure, he had his med school done years ago, but for culinary?
In his culinary uniform, white jacket, white chef’s hat, checkered slacks, and kitchen shoes, he felt out of place even though the age range of his class ranged from highschool grads to students in their mid-thirties. He was so out of place.
Everyone picked their own tables already. Jack was left alone in the front and center of the lecture room by himself. It was okay. If he were to be with the younger kids, it’d be too weird.
The paired off students talked amongst themself before the minute had struck twelve and the hour hit eight. In walked the instructor. Jack’s eyes followed the man and was surprised. Of course, teachers could be old, but never did he imagine someone that looked like him. Greyed hair and eyes sunken with stress and life. Jack related to that.
The instructor dropped a heavy textbook onto the lectern, the thump startling the rest of the class that wasn’t paying attention to the teacher as he walked into the room.
“I assume everyone here is going into the culinary field,” said the instructor.
He looked around and saw nods from the students. He nodded as well before introducing himself.
“I’m Chef Robby,” Robinavitch said. “You cannot address me as anything else other than my title and name I give you.”
Oh, boy. Jack thought to himself. This brought back memories from his time in the army. He nodded to show acknowledgement to the instructor’s words.
As the introduction of the course went on, Chef Robby stated that he held everyone to high standards. Even though the school was a community college, it was still a hospitality school.
Classes were four days a week, Tuesday to Friday, Eight in the morning to one in the afternoon. It was a hands-on experience that required a lot of attention and time. Chef Robby said that points would be docked if anyone was out of uniform, be it jacket, hat, apron, or shoes. No one would be spared from his strict policies.
Jack looked to this side and saw some of the students' expressions turn into regret and anxiousness. He straightened his posture and looked directed into Chef Robby’s eyes with a challenge. He wasn’t going to back down from a challenge. He was doing this for his son.
After the initial introduction to the first part of class, the chef took everyone downstairs to the kitchen area where the second half of the class would be held. Here, the students would be working hands-on with the equipment and ingredients provided by the school. Jack and every one of the students marveled at the size of the industrial kitchen and all the fancy machines they’d be able to use when cooking. It was pretty cool.
Everyone clearly wanted to get out of the lecture for the day, but Chef Robby had other plans.
He clapped together his hands. “Alright, guys! We are going to go with the basics today.”
He announced that even though it was the first day of class, and most of them were expecting to leave early, he wanted to get the ball rolling.
He instructed the class to pair up and head to a cooking station. No one wanted to be with the oldest person, so Jack was by himself. That was fine.
Chef Robby pulled out a whiteboard with the instructions. He explained to the class what they were to do and let them grab the ingredients from the walk-in fridges. Before Jack was able to walk away, the instructor called for him.
“Chef Abbot,” he said, “Looks like I’ll be your partner for now until someone leaves.”
Ah, guess that was the plan. Chef Robby had told the class that he was very strict. People eventually dropped like flies during midterms. It was to be expected when you had a teacher like him.
Jack got the stuff from the fridge and went to his station that was right by the instructor’s.
Placing the stainless steel pan on the inductor stove, he poured oil onto the pan and cracked an egg into it. Jack looked hopelessly at the pan wondering why it wasn’t sizzling. He took his spatula from his knife kit and poked at the egg. It was stuck. Now he was panicking.
He was about to turn around and call for his teacher when Chef Robby materialized by his side.
“It’s done,” the instructor said, taking the pan and scrapping the egg into the trash bin. “The trick with stainless steel is that you need to get it super hot in order to make it nonstick.”
Jack had thought that he’d be yelled at, so used to having his drill sergeant raise his voice at the entire squad. But no. It was the opposite. Chef Robby actually took the time to explain where he went wrong and how to correct his mistakes.
Now with the second attempt, Jack raised the heat to the highest the stove would go and waited a little longer before pouring the oil into the pan. For good measure, a tip from the chef, he flicked a few drops of water at the pan and waited to hear the sizzling sound come from it before cracking an egg.
It cooked loudly, the sizzle sounded lively. Now with a few strips of bacon, Jack gently placed it next to the egg that was frying. He wanted to try frying a sunny side up egg as he always opted for scrambled since he didn’t know when eggs were cooked enough to consume with a runny yolk, but in this class, he learned that it was perfectly fine to eat runny yolks when cooked to the right temperature.
Chef Robby had noted that plating was also key to the presentation of the food. Jack remembered that and placed the two eggs on the upper part of the plate and added the three bacon strips in a curved position to resemble a smile. He walked to Chef Robby’s counter and presented his dish.
Chef Robby looked up from his textbook and eyed the plate with amusement.
“Do you have a kid, Chef Abbot?” he asked with a small smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes.
Jack nodded. “He’s about to be eleven this year. Gettin’ pickier and pickier with what he wants to eat each passin’ day.”
The instructor laughed. “Let’s see how this is.”
The presentation was a pass. Jack was happy that the chef found it amusing that he plated a smiley face with the food. His eggs were done fine; it could’ve used a minute more to make sure the whites were cooked thru. The bacon was nice. Not overdone, not underdone. It was crispy but not cooked to the point of crumbling and dry. Overall, Jack was pleased with the results he was given and how he performed on the first day.
The next morning, Dennis came down to the sight of perfectly cooked eggs and bacon. He looked at his dad whistling without a tune as he cooked his portion of breakfast.
“Dig in, Dennis,” Jack instructed. “I woke up early just to make this for you.”
Hesitantly, the boy grabbed a strip of bacon and chewed on it. The meat wasn’t burnt, so he turned his attention to the eggs. It was garnished with a little salt and pepper. Dennis laughed out loud when he realized that the food was plated like a smiley face. The eggs were yummy. The edges were crispy and the bacon grease enhanced the plainness of the eggs.
“When did you learn how to cook like this, dad?” Dennis asked.
Jack turned off the stove and pivoted his body to face his son. “Very funny, Whittaker. I’ve always been this good at cooking.”