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“I am indeed interested,” Laurel began. “What kind of job would this be? Bailey didn’t really tell me the specifics.”
“I’m looking for someone with skills in the kitchen to make meals for the customers at my lodge. I include free meals whenever customers stay, and I know that around all the craziness of fishing season, a lot of the expert fishers like to know that this is one less thing they have to worry about,” I said. “You’d also be cooking for myself and the other employees here at the lodge.”
“That doesn’t sound that hard after working in a few restaurants.”
“I was curious about your work experience. Bailey had mentioned that you’d have a résumé to back up what she calls your fantastic cooking,” I said. “Where have you worked in the last few years?”
“Well, a few different places. I’ve been working up to head chef but seem to get stymied here in Chicago. I’ve been a pastry chef at a fine dining restaurant here in town, and I’ve been a line cook at a few other places.” She listed the restaurants and gave me the names and numbers of a few references. “Obviously my favorite is having free reign over my home kitchen,” she said. “I love to cook. I’d be game to do anything at this point, too.”
I raised an eyebrow but decided that remaining professional was more important. That way, if she doesn’t take the job, it’s not my fault.
“I see,” I said. I made note of her previous places of employment on a piece of paper in the kitchen as well as the name of the culinary school she’d attended. Moroni definitely didn’t have these qualifications, but he’d done just fine. Her experience almost made me more wary of hiring her.
“Do you want to video call and see me cook something?”
“Considering you’re in Chicago, I don’t think that will be necessary. I trust Bailey to give me an accurate description of your cooking,” I said. “I do have a few other candidates to interview, but I should have an answer for you before the end of the week. Will that be too soon for you to make plans if you are chosen?”
“Not at all. I’ll probably be flying in, since it’s a good two or three-day car journey between, but I’m willing to fly in,” she said.
I smiled a little. She was willing to work, which was good.
“Besides,” she continued, “no need be exhausted before the season begins.”
And she had a bit of humor. While she wouldn’t be interacting a ton with the customers, I was glad to hear that there was something more than honesty to her. Sometimes, hiring those from Waterfront backfired in that they weren’t ready for the biting wit of some of the customers from other states who came here specifically to fish.
“Then, I’ll let you know what I decide I want to do with this job,” I said. “It was great talking to you. Have a good day, Laurel.”
“And you, Mr. Delaney.”
With that, I ended the call. Without hesitation, I pulled up the browser on my phone and searched up the menus of the various restaurants that Laurel had worked at before. The places she’d worked at a few years ago were all decently simple places, which bolstered my confidence that she could do what I wanted. Most of these places offered similar dishes, so she’d had a lot of practice. She’d even mentioned a sub place that she had worked at in college, which meant she was a little out of practice at the most common thing made here, but that could be easily fixed.
It wasn’t like learning how to make a sub sandwich was the hardest thing to do in the kitchen. I’d argue that it was perhaps the easiest thing expected of a chef here.
That and scrambled eggs. Those were two dishes that she probably knew how to do well, given all the experience she showed me she had with the various dishes in the restaurants. It might have been a good idea to ask which was her favorite and why, but I didn’t want to get into the specifics.
The fine dining restaurant she’d worked at most recently—as head pastry chef, she’d said—was way too fancy for my taste. The menus were rotating, seasonal, and expensive. I closed the browser when I read ‘flambé’ on the dessert menu.
As long as she could cook, she would do just fine here.
Rick entered as I put my phone away.
“Well, if that was an interview, that was quick,” he said. “I’ve scheduled you an interview for noon and two in the afternoon tomorrow. There aren’t a lot of people looking for this kind of work here in Waterfront right now. You’re lucky you’ve even got two people looking, I’ve been told.”
“Three, actually,” I informed Rick, “but the third lives in Chicago.”
Rick raised an eyebrow.
“Chicago?”
“I know. I wouldn’t believe it either, but she interviewed well. Has a good résumé of places that she’s worked,” I said. “Her name was given to me by one of her friends who lives out here. I guess we’ll have to see how the other interviews go.”
Rick only nodded. If anything, this was perhaps the oddest way to find a new chef. Suddenly shaking himself, Rick exclaimed, “I almost forgot! Got some bad news…”
I waited, suddenly nervous. We had already lost a chef; what more could go wrong?
“Wyatt and Seth aren’t coming until the summer. They called while you were running errands to let you know they were going to go to Oregon for a fishing tournament before heading up to us for the summer rush.”
I sighed. This spring fishing season was shaping up to be a headache.
