The Chef's Choice Read Online Free PDF Page A

sells a lot of tuna to Japan for sushi, Chef. You could probably get some shipped in.”
    â€œI’m not going to get it shipped in when it’s fished right here.” He walked past Roman to the boxes of produce that had been delivered that morning. Farm Fresh From California, the labels proclaimed, but how fresh could it be if it had been shipped across the country by truck or plane or train? And why were they getting goods from California when New Jersey and Florida were probably growing everything they needed by this time of year? Doing business in Maine was proving more of a challenge than he’d expected.
    At least the kitchen was in good shape, all white walls and gleaming counters and terra-cotta tiled floor. The powerful fans at the ceiling were silent at this hour. When the stoves were fired up and the unbroken surface of their tops became one giant radiator, the fans and AC would kick into gear. Not that it would help much. Once the dinner rush was on and all the cooks were working on the line, all the air-conditioning in the world wouldn’t keep the temperature down.
    At this hour, though, the kitchen was cool and empty, quiet save for the soft tick of Roman’s knife.
    Damon turned back to his tiny office, the walls lined with clipboards that held the order sheets, a separate one for each day of the week. It was an organized system and Roman had kept it up, Damon would give him that. Actually, he’d give him a whole lot more, having seen the guy work the line during service the day before. A good man with a knife, Roman, and he ran a clean station. He moved easily from the grill to sauté to apps as necessary, turning out clean, consistently plated dishes each time.
    Damon had the facility, he had the staff. Now it was up to him to come up with the right food.
    The Sextant’s menu currently ran to entrées like baked haddock, steamed lobster, steak. Basic, satisfying fare, good enough for guests who didn’t want to deal with going into Kennebunk or Portland, but nothing that was going to bring anybody to the restaurant on purpose.
    The thing to do was to hold on to the New England traditions but rework them, take the lobster and blueberries and turn them into something more than the sum of the parts. It was that aspect of cooking that he really loved, letting his imagination take flight, playing with flavors, mixing elements to come up with a new twist that made the taste buds sit up and take notice.
    Of course, the thing to do was to go gradually. He’d ride with the current menu for a week while he developed the new dishes and Roman and the rest of the line cooks perfected making them. Then they’d rotate a few dishes in each night until at the end of the second week they’d be serving a revamped menu featuring the familiar flavors but taken to a new level.
    The restaurant currently had two stars in the guidebooks. The McBains were hoping for three; Damon had vowed to get them four. Of course, that had been before he’d found out what kind of food stocks he had to work with. A look at suppliers and food cost requirements meant jiggering things a bit, but he could still do it. He was going to blow away Ian and Amanda McBain. And their daughter.
    Especially their stubborn, opinionated daughter.
    She was definitely an original. Nice enough looking, he supposed, though you’d hardly know she was aware of it. He was used to women who flirted, women who were experts at polishing their own allure. He wasn’t sure he could remember ever meeting a woman who just purely didn’t give a damn about making a good impression, on him or anyone else. As annoying as it was, he had to give her credit. Her redhead’s skin might look milky smooth but that tough, compact body could go toe-to-toe with anyone.
    He remembered her scent and smiled. Going toe-to-toe with her could be kind of intriguing.
    The phone rang and he picked it up absently.