KaraMaeK

Blueberry Lime Basil Cheesecake. Served on a black slate plate. Confectioner sugar delicately sprinkled over a fork. Only an outline remains. Pure art. Diners marvel over the beauty; digging in. Delicious.

In the kitchen, among the clatter and clangs, bursts of fire from the stove, and chatter of the crew, works the sous chef. Tonight, she is also a pastry chef. On top of her already intense and at times overwhelming role as head of the kitchen, she is plating desserts.

One Wild Rice Burger with Yuka Fries and Chimi Aoli!

One Five Cheese Mac and Cheese!

One Margarita Flat!

She calls out the ticket to the line cooks.

Yes Chef!

She grabs the next ticket.

Blueberry Lime Basil Cheesecake for table 14!

The kitchen is humming. Tickets pouring from the printer. Upholding her promises to Exec. Cover desserts for tonight only. The Exec and Pastry Chef move their only child to college in Boston tonight. Her heart swells as she thinks of this little family moving on to their next chapter. She is reminded of her time at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris France. Long walks along the Seine River. Behind! Her attention is back to the plate.

Grabbing the slate from under the expedition table. sliding a spatula under the cake. Revealing a slightly brown slice. Plump berries on top. Placing it on the left side of the plate.

Where is the fork?

WHERE IS MY GOD DAMN FORK!? She yells.

The tenth cheesecake she has served and the tenth fork she has had to acquire.

She hears the shuffling of shoes behind her, a fork is placed placidly, perfectly on the right side of the slate.

Thank you, Grace.

Grace shuffles away.

A quick tap. Tap of the confectioner sugar container. A careful removal of the fork. Tucking the now white fork under the table behind her. A stack for next time. Finally.

Cake for table 14!

Joy whisks away the plate, grabs three forks, and hustles out of the kitchen as Sous grabs the next ticket and starts to call.

Without her noticing at all, Grace creeps back in, snakes her hand behind the stack of slate and grabs the sugar-coated fork. A quick wipe of the counter to clear any sugar left behind then quietly slithers back to her station where she places the fork into the industrial dishwasher.

Authors Note: This version has been edited by someone who is a much better writer than me and I am thankful for her help. I don’t say that to be self-deprecating, it’s just fact. The original version is one post back if you’d like to see the original version. Thanks for reading!