But when I open the doors to the cooking area, I see that something on the stovetop has just caught on fire. Dez is trying desperately to put it out. Robbie is sitting in a corner and crying into his chef’s hat, with the bottle of rosé on the floor beside him.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper to my staff in horror.
“Ale-asshole posted a picture on Instagram,” Dez is explaining, as she runs over to the oven, where something else has mysteriously caught on fire. “With another man.”
Why are so many things on fire? Did Robbie just pour lighter fluid all over my kitchen? Did he try to flambé someone’s face? I am vaguely reminded of trying to become a chef in the Sims game, as a child, where things would randomly catch on fire in the kitchen.
Is this real life? Or some kind of alternate reality where everything goes wrong?
I sigh deeply as Robbie sobs. I stare for a moment at the disaster before me, then I roll up my sleeves.
“Okay. I guess I’m cooking.”