Page 82 of Brooke
“Chef…” she sputtered, pursing her mouth to control a riot of feeling. “I cannot tell you what your praise means.”
He only patted her shoulder, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. “Iknowwhat it means, as we spent years shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen.” He turned, keeping his hand on her. “Nanine, you could not have found anyone better to take over for you than Chef Madison. I hope you know I would only have ceded her to someone such as yourself without a fight.”
A worldly grin flashed on his wrinkled face as he looked over to where Nanine sat between her original boss, a man who’d won a Michelin star when she’d worked with him, and Brooke’s father. She immediately rose and crossed to embrace Madison warmly. Those strong, slender arms wouldn’t let her pull away quickly, and she had to bite her lip to keep her eyes dry, because Jesus, all this praise and kindness was killing her!
“Your brilliance makes my soul take flight.” Nanine cradled Madison’s face in her hands as her signature ChanelNo. 5 wafted over her. “My dear Fifth Course, I believe you have found your ultimate menu.”
She coughed to clear her throat. “I was lucky to inherit an incredible staff,” she said, waving out a shaking hand to the men and women gathered behind her. “And Chef Thea, for the incredible breads and pairings. Thea, I…”
Then she was striding over to where her roommate sat beside Jean Luc, hauling her out of her seat and hugging her like an idiot.
“I’m so happy it all worked!” Thea blurted out, gripping her with every ounce of her strength. “I was so nervous I was almost sick. Being a baker is never this stressful.”
When they pulled apart, Thea had tears running down her face. Madison swallowed thickly again. Someone pressed a glass in her hand, and she turned to see Kyle grinning at her, his blue eyes ablaze with pride and love and… Oh God!
She took a hasty drink. Mezcal. Her favorite.
“I personally think the lobster salad could have used a little more lemon,” a familiar voice called out.
She choked on a laugh as Kyle’s eyes narrowed to murderous slits in his gorgeous face. Turning toward her former colleague from Marcel’s kitchen, who was now a Michelin-starred chef himself in a place close to the Louvre, she put a restraining hand on Kyle’s arm so he wouldn’t growl.
“Rico, I wasn’t sure a Paris restaurant should add lemon, like we would have in Miami, so I added white wine instead.” She waggled her brows at him, aware of her hot face and the strain of so much emotion.
The playboy chef with the whipcord build and fallen angel face kicked out his rangy form in his chair like the cocky thirty-eight-year-old hot chef he was. “I understand your reasons, Madison, but I maintain the lemon would be better.”
“I couldn’t disagree more, Rico!” Marcel exclaimed, andthen the room broke into the chaos she’d both dreaded and craved.
Marcel and Rico battered the elements of the menu and service like a bull and a bullfighter, both circling each other at times and then suddenly going in for the kill. She pulled up a chair and joined them, her mezcal forgotten. Some of their points involved old debates about French cuisine, with Chef Marcel noting Rico couldn’t possibly understand it fully since he was half-Spanish. Madison laughed at that, which seemed to assure her nervous roommates.
She’d heard these two insult each other before after many hot nights in the kitchen. They both held passionate views and liked to poke at each other to create more excellence—or so they’d say.
“But the duck with cherries dish with the frizzled tarragon!” Chef Marcel touched his fingers to his mouth and gave a kiss. “My God! Themélangeof flavors.Incroyable!”
Rico touched his glass to Chef Marcel’s with a loud clank. “Yes! The green with the fruit. The perfect blend. Brilliant, Madison. I am so glad Nanine ordered it for all of us to try. She said it had been in the works for months.”
Her bitch, Madison thought. “She gave me a good chase, but I caught her in the end.”
“I can tell,” Chef Marcel said with a nod of his sagging chin in her direction. “I am glad Rico and I can agree on something at last.”
“Well, I find you are both completely ignorant about the true nature of a stuffed pumpkin,” Nanine’s old boss, a Michelin-starred chef himself, broke in finally. “You must allow the pumpkin to soften as Chef Madison did—or your patrons will only eat the added ingredients! Trust me on this.”
Chef Champion shot her a short smile with what might be interpreted as a wink. She’d been hoping he would give them his thoughts as he’d let the other two chefs dominate theconversation so far. “What else did you think, Chef Champion?” she pressed.
“Yes, Louis!” Chef Marcel gestured with his brandy glass. “Enlighten us, please.”
Since they were also old friends and Nanine was smiling, Madison didn’t hold her breath like some in the room. Some of her staff were practically green now. No matter. They would all sit down tomorrow and reset. Truthfully, according to the comments so far, there was little to address. A little less tarragon here. A sliver of a black bread instead of a whole piece to avoid overwhelming the dish. Important notes, but easy to adjust.
“I had the roasted pork with the rhubarb glaze, and I thought the dish excellent.” Chef Champion lifted his chartreuse. “Nanine, Chef Madison could not have been a better choice to take over. Likely the only item Louis and I agree on. There is only thing I would change about the dish.”
Madison’s stomach gave a ripple as she leaned forward. “Yes, Chef, what is it?”
“You need a new supplier.” He knocked his fist on the table, making the silverware sing. “Mine. The pork itself would have been more tender and flavorful.”
“But I have used that butcher for twelve years, Louis!” Nanine broke in, drawing herself up with a flash of fire in her brown eyes. “He has always delivered. Chef Madison. Is there more pork left?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I want to try this dish and decide for myself,” Nanine insisted.
