Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Somehow I don’t believe him. “Nothing?”
“Yes, nothing.” Now he meets my eyes, his brows raised with indignation. “I’m serious. I took the kids and left.”
“She didn’t see you?”
He shrugs again and nuzzles Emily’s nose. She laughs and hits his cheeks with both hands. “We missed Mummy, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Dillan grins, making me grin just as wide.
“I love you all.” I kiss Nathan firmly on the lips and then my little girl, as Dillan clings tightly to my neck, and then I kiss him too. “Have you had a good day?”
“The best! We’ve sold out of Forever Connected charms; there are only a few left.”
“They’re becoming so popular,” I grin, proud of him for all of his accomplishments.
“I’m going to have to design and make new ones. I’ve had quite a few requests.”
“Maybe you can do a competition or something? See if people can design their own and the one you like the most will win an entire bracelet or something?”
“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea; I’ll have a talk about it with the others.”
“How bad is traffic?”
“Gridlock.”
Kissing him once more, I step back and thread my fingers through Emily’s wispy hair. “I should go then or I’m going to be late. Can we talk more about this later?” Taking our daughter from his arms and manoeuvring Dillan into his, we share a group hug and numerous kisses, and then I’m on my way.
I’m grateful that I have the night off tomorrow or I think I might die.
As expected, the traffic is manic but I’m ten minutes ahead of time when I finally make it to work. The relief I feel is substantial. I might have to start taking the underground though; it’d save me a lot of time and money. It’s just so scary!
“Good, you are here. Taste this.” A spoon is forcefully pushed into my mouth by Kerim. Patience stands beside him, looking hopeful.
The tangy soup hits my tongue and I’m not sure if I’m a fan.
“How is it?” Patience asks.
“Too much salt,” I state and Harold, the Station Chef claps his hands and calls, “I told you so.”
“Fuck,” Patience hisses, scowling at me as though it’s my fault she fucked up the dish.
“Next time don’t fucking argue or you’re fired,” Kerim bellows at her, throwing the spoon onto the same counter we chopped potatoes at in the early hours. “If I say it’s shit then it’s shit.”
“But…”
“No, you are the sous chef. You follow ME!” Kerim shouts, his nose an inch from hers. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Chef.” She mutters, her cheeks flushing with humiliation.
“Come.” Kerim grips my arm and leads me out of the door. “You will follow me. We need to order meat.”
“Will the kitchen be okay without you?”
“Probably not, but we need to order meat.” He half drags me around the restaurant. “You need to learn the best cuts versus the worst cuts as this job will be yours as of next week.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to learn meat quality, fish quality, you must know it all.”
My legs can hardly keep up with his long strides.
We stop at the corner and two large, unlabelled chiller vans come into view.
The men inside climb from the driver’s seats as though performing a synchronised move. I almost laugh when they both scratch their heads at the same time, though the performance ends when only the first man at the first van opens the sliding door on the side.
Kerim steps in first and then tugs me up alongside him.
There are pallets full of red meats on the left, all carefully sealed and contained, and the same for white meats on the right.
“We need goose meat, lamb, beef, chicken and duck.” Kerim barks at me. “See this?” He holds a full, small duck up. “This is no good. Why?”
“Because… umm…” I don’t see any imperfections.
“Because it is not balanced. There is too much fat.”
“So, no fat?” I enquire.
He rolls his eyes. “Meat must always have fat. Fat holds a lot of flavour and makes the sauces taste good. It needs to be balanced. Seven percent fat to ninety three percent meat for the ducks. They are too small to allow more.” He throws the duck into the bin behind him. “Are you following?”
“It makes sense.” I watch as he skilfully fondles each individual bag of meat, looking for the best cuts, until he has four plastic pallets full of the meats he needs. He pays the van man from a packet of money stuffed into the breast pocket of his white coat.
“Okay, now the fish.”
“I genuinely don’t know much about fish.”
He turns to stare at me, his face an expressionless mask. Then he turns back to the second van as the van man from the first van takes the pallets towards the restaurant.
“Then we will teach you this too.” He waves his hand and, like before, we step into the second van and he immediately peruses the many fish within. I can’t tell a haddock from a bass. This is going to require some serious research.