The Pot Thief Who Studied Escoffier Read Online Free PDF

me to barge in.
    Then the voices started nearing me. I ducked into the storage room and heard feet walk by. When I came out, the people attached to those feet were gone. But before I had taken refuge between the canned goods, I heard Mansfield say, “Kuchen should remember that I work with knives.”
    The trucker used a hand-cart to bring the boxes of clay to the private dining room. I told him to leave them on the floor because I didn’t know if I could lift the boxes off the shelves.
    I spent the next half hour wondering what I should do about Mansfield’s remark. It was probably just bravado. I didn’t think Mansfield was going to stick a butcher knife in Kuchen. But if he did and I hadn’t said anything to anybody, I knew I’d feel responsible.
    Then I remembered that Molinero had invited me to get to know the staff, so I decided to start with Mansfield.
    I found him in the bar studying a loose-leaf notebook. “Mr. Mansfield, I’m Hubie Schuze. Mind if I join you?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “Call me Arliss.”
    “Thanks. You heard Mr. Molinero say I should get to know the staff, so I thought I’d start with you since you did such a good job with the meatloaf. I know I shouldn’t call it that, but I can’t pronounce—”
    “It is meatloaf. Calling it Gebratener Leberkäse doesn’t make it haute cuisine. Anyone who can read can make it as well as I did.”
    Mansfield’s narrow face and long straight nose gave him a patrician look, an image reinforced by his delicate hands and pale skin. He did not look like a man who worked for a living.
    “Why did you choose to prepare it?”
    He gave me a wan smile. “I am a chef de partie, Mr. Schuze. What they call a ‘line cook’ in a diner. Except in that case there would be an element of honesty. Line cooks do not decide what to prepare.”
    I decided to interject my own element of honesty. “I take it you do not like cooking here?”
    “I despise it.”
    “Then I suppose I’m not likely to get from you that magical inspiration Mr. Molinero hopes I will find.”
    He smiled and shook his head.
    “Why do you do it?” I asked him.
    “Sadly, I need the money.”
    I made no comment. He closed the notebook and put it aside. He placed his hands flat against the table. “Ironically, I attended culinary school on a lark. My family travelled a great deal, and I grew up eating in fine restaurants around the world. When I finished college, I thought cooking would be a splendid hobby, so I attended Cordon Bleu.”
    He seemed to drift off in reverie.
    “And then?” I prompted.
    “Then my father died, and my brothers and I discovered why we had lived so well for so many years. He had drained the family fortune. I think he must have known exactly when he would die because it coincided with the bank balance reaching zero. Below zero, actually. He left us with monumental debt.”
    “Why don’t you pursue some other profession?”
    “Such as?”
    “I don’t know. What did you study in college?”
    “Classics.”
    “Ah.”
    “I thought about teaching, but I’m not cut out for it. Besides, I earn twice what a teacher does. At least I do when I get paid.”
    I raised my eyebrows, and he said, “I worked at Café Alsace in Albuquerque,” as if that explained it.
    “I’ve never heard of it,” I said.
    “I’m not surprised. It was open less than three months, and my only two checks bounced. Then the only position I could find was at an Applebee’s. I was happy to work for an employer who actually paid me, but franchises don’t pay much because they don’t need creative cooks. The menu is corporate. So I was delighted to get this position. I’ll be even happier when the first check arrives.”
    “You don’t get paid until the place opens?”
    “We get a small stipend paid in arrears. Then the salary goes up when customer cash starts flowing.” He looked at me and smiled. “I apologize, Mr. Schuze. It was in poor taste to subject you to my tawdry