Happy Eater

Chef Kim entered the kitchen of his restaurant promptly at 3:45pm, like he always did, and the staff immediately stopped what they were doing, like they always did. He demanded perfection in his kitchen. From their attire down to the stone floors. He would fire anyone who dared enter his kitchen with dirty shoes or without their head completely covered by a hat or cap. Hands were to be washed immediately and often. And most of all, there should be no blood.

La Viande (The Meat) was known for serving up protein not easily found in other restaurants. His meat went beyond what game hunters could get. In fact, he’s been known to turn away excellent ostrich and alligator. If he didn’t catch, slice and dice it himself, he wanted nothing to do with it. This was common knowledge by the staff and even the customers. Everything was prepared by Chef Kim alone, at night, when the last customer has eaten his last bite and the staff have all gone home. This is when Chef Kim gets to work.

On the following day the staff arrive promptly at 3pm to nothing short of a crime scene. Blood, and only blood, is everywhere. Splattered on the walls, puddles along the floor. But there are never any bones. Nothing to suggest the animal that gave its life for the evening’s menu. It was up to the staff to get rid of the blood and they only had 45 minutes to do it, before Chef Kim would arrive to begin prep work.

He had gone through many members of staff. Some were squeamish and others asked too many questions about where exactly all the blood came from. Chef Kim wasn’t in the business of answering questions. And when a chef of his caliber could get customers willing to pay him hundreds of dollars without themselves asking questions, there was no wonder where his arrogance and his secrecy came from.

On this particular morning, he stood in the middle of the kitchen and took in a deep breath. Blood was a smell he could easily detect if not cleaned properly. He did this twice, sometimes even three times, until satisfied there was no blood, at least that he could smell. He would start his visual search in the walk-in freezer, accessible only to him and his assistant chef, Lydia. The freezer needed a four number passcode in order to get inside and he needed to entrust one member of staff to assist him whenever he needed more portions to be brought out for cooking. What amazed Lydia the most was his ability to know exactly how many portions they needed, so that the meat in the freezer would always be used to the last portion for his customers.

Chef Kim scanned the freezer and smiled to himself at the rows of plump pink and white meat waiting to be handled delicately and placed on a hot pan. His mouth watered with anticipation for the first throng of customers at 6pm. He quickly shut the freezer door, not wanting anyone else to get the same pleasures from his work that he did. He spun in place and maintained a smile for his staff, who waited patiently for his inspection to be complete. They stood with their hands folded behind their backs and their eyes facing forward. Their occasional blinking was all that proved they were still members of the living.

He walked around the kitchen, lifting plates and running his index finger along the tops of shelves as he moved. Then his eye caught sight of a bead of sweat holding steady upon the brow of his Chef de Partie. He lingered near their station and took another deep breath. Something wasn’t right and Chef Kim’s right eye twitched.

Lydia took a careful step towards the swinging doors that led to the seating area for customers. She knew what would happen next.

The Chef de Partie felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead and drip off his eyebrow. He followed and watched it land on his shoe. Chef Kim watched as well and as he slowly scanned his Chef de Partie’s clothing his eyes widened. On the underside of the apron, wrapped tightly around his chef’s waist was a discoloration, hardly noticeable to the naked eye. Chef Kim tugged on the apron knot and it came loose easily. He quickly lifted it close to his eyes and examined it closely. Lydia took another step, this time catching the attention of the other members of staff, wondering what she was doing, but none of them willing to do or say anything.

Chef Kim checked and checked, but could find nothing of interest on the apron. Frustrated, he threw it on the counter beside his Chef de Partie who moved his arms from behind his back in anticipation of catching his apron, and there it was! Chef Kim saw it and his Chef de Partie remembered it was there, cringing at his mistake. He might’ve been able to get away with it if he hadn’t moved. But there, on the fingernail of his thumb, was a stain of blood.

“I’m sorry, chef. Time got away from me, and—”

“Shh. It’s fine. I understand,” Chef Kim said, his smile growing wider. From where Lydia stood, mere inches from the swinging doors, she swore his eyes danced under the fluorescent lights. “Lydia,” Chef Kim said, and she stopped in her tracks, her hand raised, about to push through the doors, “be a dear and hit the lights on your way out.”

She nodded and did as was asked. Turning off the lights in the kitchen. She walked briskly, yet calmly towards the front of the restaurant, glancing at her watch and counting on her other hand how many employees she would need to hire on short notice. It was 4pm and the hostess of the restaurant was right on time, smoking a cigarette outside, waiting for Lydia to let her in.

Lydia opened the door, letting out the sound of crashing plates and screams. The hostess handed her a cigarette and held up her lighter. Lydia took a drag and let out a puff of smoke, slow and smooth.

“You can call anyone who was on the waitlist for today and give them the good news,” Lydia said, taking another drag of her cigarette.

The hostess nodded. She understood all too well.