Page 11 of Stolen Dreams

She draws in a sharp breath. “Th-thank you, Chef.” And then she scurries back to her place at the range.

Head down, a hint of a smile curves one corner of my mouth as I create art with the seasonal salmon dish. By no means am I oblivious to Cameron’s crush on me, but I will never exploit her with it.

After Chef Beaulieu hired me last year, he asked me to interview candidates for two more positions. People who were versatile in the kitchen and loved food as we did. Cameron was my first interviewee. Her knowledge base and competence blewmy mind. Her kitchen skills were impeccable as she cooked a dish for me and Chef Beaulieu. But it was the way she blushed when I complimented her expertise that caught my attention most.

Although I’d never cross the line with an employee—no one needs that kind of drama in their life—the faint rouge on her cheeks at my praise was the main reason I hired her. Yes, her culinary expertise was top-notch. Her time management was flawless. But her humble nature won me over.

Many in our field are arrogant and determined. We all dream of the executive chef title, of running our own restaurant. We work tirelessly to perfect our craft. And oftentimes, those qualities give us a superiority complex.

Cameron is an exception. She doesn’t have a pretentious bone in her body and is by far the most selfless person I’ve met in this industry. But her brilliance and innovative thinking outweigh her timidity. Her wild passion and outspoken nature shine when she conjures a new dish.

An expert in our field, I admire Cameron. But that’s where my feelings for her end.

I add a small spoonful of orange-ginger marmalade between the salmon and rice, followed by a slow-roasted garlic clove. I garnish the plate with dots of spicy orange-miso sauce, large to small, from the edge of the plate to the fish. For the final touch, a teaspoon of salmon roe and an edible flower atop the fish.

Straightening my spine, I turn the plate and look at it from every angle.

Perfection.

Plate in hand, I pivot and slide it across the marble counter of the pass-through window. The server opposite me takes the plate along with another and crosses the dining room to a couple in my line of sight. I stare on as the dishes are presented, my breath caught in my throat as I wait for their reaction.

The woman’s eyes light up, a hand coming to her chest. When the salmon is set in front of the man, his mouth forms anOas his brows lift with excitement.

Their reaction is one reason why I love what I do. Seeing someone light up at the sight of my food, hearing their praise before they leave the restaurant… it’s a high like no other.

“Another hit of magic,” I say loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear. “Proud of you, team.”

Shortly after I started at Calhoun’s Bistro, I came up with the termhit of magic. It’s the phrase I use with my kitchen staff to tell them we are on ourAgame. And since the kitchen is open to the dining room, it’s also a way to keep our vocabulary in check while on the clock.

If you think sailors and truckers have a colorful dictionary, you should step inside a closed kitchen. Other than dish names and culinary terms, fuck is the most used word away from customer earshot.

“Thank you, Chef,” they sound off as they work.

The rest of the night passes faster than anticipated. By quarter to eleven, half of the stations are being cleaned and prepped for tomorrow. Once the final dishes for the night leave the kitchen, the rest of the kitchen is scrubbed spotless.

“Fin, you still good to stay?”

His attention shifts from the steel counter he washes to me, and he nods. “Yeah, man. It’d take an act of God to keep me away.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

Once the last table clears and the staff head home for the night, I prep for anotherjobI’ve come to love. Filming online food porn videos.

Before Chef Beaulieu brought me on board, I worked with my dad at RJ’s Diner. I had a lot of freedom in that kitchen. Dadlet me come up with fun, unconventional creations to attract regulars more often as well as entice newcomers.

I recorded myself as I worked and figured out how to edit the clips down to a reasonable amount of time. Most of the videos were simple—me in the kitchen doing what I love. The first few months, a couple hundred people viewed my videos. Occasionally, someone left a comment and applauded my culinary skills.

One of those comments tipped the first domino to me going viral online. A follower asked if I would share a fancy meal anyone could make at home for a special occasion. I gladly acquiesced.

With Stone Bay being a coastal town, I decided on a seafood dish. As a bonus, I also made a romantic dessert.

Jerk shrimp with rice in pineapple bowls and chocolate lava cake is the video that garnered more than a million followers on social media within a week. A unique yet simple dinner for two is what skyrocketed me from an ordinary line cook in a small-town diner to sought-after sous-chef in a gourmet restaurant.

The food in the video isn’t what boosted my culinary career.HowI made the food is what made me an overnight sensation.

For decades, I’ve watched cooking videos and shows. Studied culinary masters and absorbed as much knowledge and expertise as possible. Followed countless foodies and drooled over their content.

When it was time to share my own abilities, I mirrored other foodies and used the same hashtag—#foodporn.

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