Page 37 of A Perfect Match
I swallow hard, realizing I need to tread lightly.“You’re right.And I want to point out the issues you found are relatively, well, minor.”
“The health and safety of Bayshore is no minor issue,” he snaps.
“You’re right.”I do my best to form a well-meaning smile and not let out a grunt of annoyance like I want to.“The rag situation is an easy fix.I can avoid using that prep table, and I’ll block off three whole tables in the dining room so we don’t go over capacity…”
He sniffs, looking around.“I think those remedies would be adequate to approve you for aprovisionallicense for take-out only.”
Take-out only.
Fuuuuuuck.
I’m grinding my teeth as I sign on the dotted line.Jerome nods my way and quietly leaves the restaurant.Once the door swings shut behind him, I release the groan that’s been building in my chest.
“Fucking take-out!On our soft launch day!What the fuck!”
Pat motions for the cameras to start filming.
“He might not come back to check,” Jackie suggests.“Maybe we can just…seat them anyway.”
I rake a hand through my hair.This is the worst news I could have gotten today.I shake my head.“No.We can’t risk that.If word gets out that we violated his decision on day one, that doesn’t bode well for the future.We’ve gotta pivot.Fuck.”
My mind is working on overdrive trying to formulate a new plan on the fly.I stride to the kitchen, pushing past the doors.
“Brady,” I say.“Change of plans.We’re not doing sit-down service today.”
Brady blinks from over top a fresh batch of braised short ribs, our soft launch feature.“Uh, we’re not?”
“Nope.”I check my watch.“Jerome approved us for takeout only.Got about two hours to prep for orders.At least we won’t have to worry about dishes today.”
He stares at me for a beat, then nods.“Right.I’ll go count to-go boxes.”
I knew I liked this kid.
“Let me know how many we have, then I’ll send Jackie or Tina to the store to buy more.And bags.We’re gonna need bags.”I head back to the front to begin doling out orders.
“Who here is great at handwriting?”
Jackie and Tina share a confused look.
“Whoever is better at handwriting needs to work on the chalkboard sign.The other one is going shopping with a list from Brady of what we need.”I reach into my apron pocket and pull out my scratch pad, which I always keep on me in the kitchen for noting flavors, ratios, and ingredients.I scribble out a quick message, tear it off, and slam it onto the table.“This is what the sign should say.It just needs to look…a lot better than this.”
Tina nods, picking it up.“That’s me.I’ve got you, boss.”
“Thank you.Jackie, you’ll head out as soon as Brady has that list.You’ll both be handling the takeout orders once we open.I know this isn’t ideal and cuts into our ability to upsell alcohol and get those tips, but I promise I’ll make up for it.”
What I didn’t mention was my ability to begin wowing customers for the Best of Bayshore competition, which officially began yesterday.Votes have been pouring in for the dishes each business submitted to the contest.My entry: the buttered lobster tail with morel and asparagus risotto.It was a tough call between that and the braised short rib taco, but I based my decision strictly on how loudly Piper moaned when she tried the lobster.
But that means that if I can’t get people to try my lobster tail, they won’t vote for me.Few people trust a lobster tail to take out.I’m not one of them.Buttered lobster tail is a dine-in experience, and I’ve crafted the entire meal around that setup.I’m more annoyed with Jerome than I can express right now.But I know that now isnotthe time to lick my wounds inflicted by the health department.
While my team is working on their to-do lists, I’m turning to social media.I need to start managing expectations.I craft a quick update to our page along with some pictures I snapped earlier of the prep process.It gets reactions within seconds.Apparently Bayshore is foaming at the mouth for my food…which I’m totally fucking here for.
The next couple hours fly by as I oversee the take-out pivot.Our chalkboard sign is completed, showcasing a cutesy but apologetic message about why we’re take-out only.Needed supplies have been acquired.About twenty minutes before open, a curious thing happens.
A line starts forming.
By 10:59 a.m., it’s halfway across the lot.
Panic settles deep in my gut.My limbs are electrified—this is the type of stress that activates me.After years working in food trucks, I know how to handle this.
