“According to Chef Dugasse, your pie crust is too thick,” Lexy’s assistant Deena said as she fitted a sheet of dough into a pie pan taking care to flute the edges the way Lexy had shown her.
Lexy glanced up at her as she worked the marble rolling pin over the dough, pounding it a little harder than necessary.
“I don’t think Chef Dugasse knows his pie crusts,” Lexy replied pushing down the anger she felt and wondering for the umpteenth time why she had agreed to fill in as pastry chef at the rustic lakeside resort.
When her grandmother Mona Baker, or Nans as Lexy called her, had phoned with the offer, it had sounded like fun … at first. The current pastry chef had been taken ill, they were desperate for a temporary replacement—and they were willing to pay very well for it.
Still, Lexy wasn’t sure why she had accepted. She had her own bakery to run where she was the boss and didn’t have to listen to a pompous overpaid head chef berate her baking. But the promise of a free two week vacation in a rustic cabin with her fiancé, Jack, had won her over …
… And she had regretted it every day since.
“How’s this?” Deena stood back, indicating the pie plate.
Lexy tilted her head, inspecting the work. Deena had a part time job in the kitchen for the summer and Lexy had been training the enthusiastic teen on various baking techniques. Deena reminded Lexy of herself at that age—full of energy and eager to learn everything about baking. Training her was one of the few things she’d enjoyed about the temporary job and Deena was turning out to be a quick study.
“That looks great.” Lexy squatted down so that her eyes were level with the table, then turned the pie plate and pointed to one section. “It’s a teeny bit higher here.”
Deena looked at the pie plate from table level and nodded. “Oh yeah. I can see that from this angle.”
Lexy shrugged. “It just takes practice. You did a really good job for your first try.”
Deena beamed with pride. “Thanks. If you ask me, Chef Dugasse is just being a jerk. Your pie crust is delicious.”
Lexy agreed. Chef Dugasse was a jerk. He had been a thorn in her side since she took the position. She wasn’t the only one that thought so, either. Most of the staff was at odds with him and it was no wonder with the way he was always yelling and screaming at them.
But he was world renowned, and his food was excellent, so he could do as he pleased and the resort kept him on.
Lexy glanced around the kitchen. The resort itself dated to the 1940s, but the kitchen had been recently renovated. Billed as a rustic-campy get away with five star dining, the meals had to be cooked to perfection so the kitchen, which sat inside a gigantic antique log cabin structure, was top notch.
It would be a pleasure to work in it … if it wasn’t for the domineering presence of Chef Dugasse.
Dugasse’s voice thundered from the other side of the kitchen as if sensing Lexy’s thoughts. “Theeze eggs are not up to our standards! You vill throw them out and start over!”
Lexy turned in the direction of the screaming. Dugasse was in a white chef’s outfit complete with a tall hat. His six foot frame carried a three foot wide body, his gigantic bulk towering over a terrified first year cook, Thomas, who cowered in the corner. She watched as the head chef picked up the warming tray full of scrambled eggs and dumped them in the trash, then stormed off toward the back door that led outside.
Lexy saw Sylvia Spicer, Dugasse’s long suffering sous-chef, rush over to soothe the cook’s ruffled feathers. Sylvia’s eyes shot daggers at the retreating back of the head chef before she started toward the door after him.
Lexy turned back to Deena who was still looking in the direction of the cook, wide-eyed with terror and her heart clenched for the poor girl. Lexy didn’t see why Dugasse had to run the kitchen this way, almost everyone was terrified of him and it created an unpleasant work environment.
“Uh hum …”
Lexy turned toward the throat clearing noise to find one of the chefs, Brad Meltzer, standing next to her. Brad worshipped Dugasse and the head chef often took advantage of that by sending Brad to do his dirty work, which Brad appeared to delight in.
Brad was as thin as Dugasse was wide. He had narrow, beady eyes and a pointed face which made Lexy think of a weasel. He didn’t seem to like Lexy very much, which was fine with her since the feeling was mutual. Lexy raised an eyebrow at him.
“Dugasse says you have to make the cornbread for the Chili Battle.” Brad jerked his head toward the back of the room where Dugasse had just disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“The Chili Battle. They have it every year and it’s a huge deal. The winner gets their own chili label to be sold nationally in grocery stores. Everyone knows Dugasse has a prize winning chili recipe so he’s a shoe in. But he needs a cornbread side and that’s where you come in.”
Lexy felt her cheeks growing warm, anger causing her pulse to pick up speed. Having your own chili label was worth a lot of money, not to mention the branding opportunities for the chef. But she didn’t see why she should have to put in extra hours to help make him rich and popular—not someone as mean spirited as Dugasse. She was sure he wouldn’t do the same to help her if the tables were turned.
“That’s not part of my job. I’m up to my eyeballs in pies and desserts here. I don’t have time to make cornbread so that Dugasse can win some contest.” She punctuated the chef’s name by slamming her palm on the counter a little bit harder than she probably should have.
Brad’s eyes grew wide. He took a step backwards and spread his hands at his sides. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”
Lexy swiveled her head toward the back of the room. Dugasse wasn’t there—he must still be outside.
“Sorry, Brad. I know that. But I’m sick and tired of being bossed around by Chef Dugasse.” She spun on her heels and started toward the kitchen door. “And I’m going to put a stop to it once and for all.”
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