Determination had a strange effect on me. Since morning, I was more focused than every to get the dishes right. Absolutely right.

It may have been my way of deviating my mind from thinking and obsessing about one person and the things he divulged yesterday. Yes, with the confirmation that Philip had a girlfriend, I had nothing left but wishes for happiness for him. He deserved to have all the joys of the world and if that meant being with the spidery long legged woman, so be it.

Muscle memory was like a force of habit. Having always pictured him to be with me, it came as a shock since the time they walked in together at the gala. I know, there was no defense than to accept that I was obsessed with Philip and concluded he couldn't have a life outside the restaurant.

The fate that brought us back together had some sort of spiteful vengeance in its back-pocket. Either that or it was determined to get me rear moving away from Philip.

"Daisy," Marcy's panicky voice shot up as she leered at me.

I turned my vision towards the grill where the previously juicy meat now resembled a lump of coal. 

"Sorry. I am on it," I shouted before sliding to pick up another piece.

"Careful," she cried out to the waitress whose hand wobbled while carrying twice the sets of plates than her hand could contain. Although her anger was redirected, I knew Marcy's words were meant for me.

"Rare steak on fire," I yelled before placing the meat on the grill.

So where was I? Oh yes, the part about moving on. I had always talked about it but never mustered up the courage to do so. The lingering ties with Philip, I felt was hard for me to severe.

"Daisy, the stake has turned medium," yet another voice roared through the otherwise noisy and chaotic kitchen.

The staff at each stove turned to eye me as Marcy turned towards me. The waitressing line grew with every passing minute. Marcy pointed towards Steve who slid into her place, checking the plates, dish and placement before his nod of approval allowed them to be presented to the world outside.

With a cold hard stare at me and back to the steak, now resting off the grill, Marcy turned. "Where is your attention today, Daisy?"

Her tone was levelled and calm, it was the worst sort of yelling. In case you missed the reference, Marcella was one of those few chefs who didn't have to don the Ramsay Gordan image and persona to show her annoyance and displeasure. Her lowered eyelid conversation with constant sighs and pursed lips were enough an expression to plunge any chefs to the depths of despair and self doubts.

My lack of concentration resulted in me standing at the cliff of her disapproval. It would take everything to regain her lost confidence but another misstep would only result in a slid-down the dark dungeons of mistrust.

"I...I am..."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Daisy." Marcy pointed her finger at me and back to the ruby colored meat. "You have been distracted for days on end. Don't think I didn't see it. I never said anything because you were doing your job well. But today," she released a long displeased sigh.

The rest of the words were self explanatory. Without raising her voice or admonishing me, Marcy made my waterline brim up. With a heavy chest and hazy vision, I somehow managed to push the burden of disappointment off the back of my neck to look up.

Staring hard at the staff, all of whom have stopped every task of theirs to watch their leader, I felt the heaviness travelling back up my shoulder. With a fallen head, I endured what was to come.

"We don't make food here, Daisy, we make memories. We make time capsules and give it to the customer. Each time a customer takes a bite of what they order, they need to travel back in time and enjoy the first experience with that food. If its an experimentation they were planning on, then the food should tease and tempt their palette with the first memories of happiness and love, peace and serenity." After a brief pause, she continued, "your food should transport the customer sitting outside there doors to the times which they can travel back through food."

Glass of silence shattered as all the members clapped and whistled at her words. Even I, the naughty student of the otherwise good and disciplined gang couldn't help but clap upon hearing her words. 

"Daisy." Marcy turned to me and tilted her head towards the walk in freezer. Within seconds, we were inside, locked away from the warmth and chaos of the kitchen.

With my teeth clattering, Marcy's expressions softened. She bloated up her face resembling that of a puffer fish while I grounded my heels into the flooring, ready for what could be the much needed verbal assault.

"Are you having trouble adjusting?" Her kind words seemed to resemble like sunlight peeking from behind the cloud. The frigid place felt little less gloomy and depressing. Her warm words of concern made me stare harder into the ground as I danced a no with my head. "Then why the distraction, Daisy? I didn't expect this from you. You, I boasted to others as my favorite."

The aftermath of her words pushed me. Tugging onto a cold metal shelf suspended from above, I leaned. The metal creaked in the room, echoing eeriness into my bloodstream. I was Marcy's favorite and here I was, listening to her state it as a matter of sadness than pride.

You did it Daisy. You disappointed yet another being.

The encore of those soul crushing words were enough for me to heave out fogged breath. Marcy held my shoulders as they stooped lower with the burden of disappointment they carried.

"Everyone messes up, Daisy. Important thing is you should not hold it as the end of day." Straightening, her calm demeanor made way for her inbuilt leader to reappear. The commander who marched us all. "Whatever issues you face, set them aside when you enter the kitchen. Got it?" Her finger danced in front of my face.

"Got it," I flashed a half baked smile at her.

"You know, we all are troubled in our own way. Everyone has their own problems."

My eyes rolled inwards, remembering the happy faces that come to work everyday. "They don't seem like sufferers," I dialed down my answer.

Marcy, who my now was ready to pull open the door, stared hard at me like her vision was frozen with the sub arctic temperature inside.

"Just because we don't show doesn't mean we don't have problems. Just coz the people outside draw up a smile every time they cross the threshold of this place doesn't mean their lives are perfect." Suddenly, the temperature of the room escalated. With her words still dancing around in an echo, the scorned lady walked back to me. "I don't stand here and judge people's problems, may it be small or big. It can be a mere heartbreak or cancer. Nobody and I mean nobody has the right to judge another's problem."

Melted under her hardened gaze, I stood with my head held low. This day couldn't have gone any worse yet, the worse was only triggered when I opened my trap again. At the state where I was, feeling low and defeated was quite a normal symptom. With my words landing me in trouble and Marcy's respect diminishing right in front of me, I badly wanted to open my eyes and jolt up my bed to come back to reality.

Yet as the nightmare continued, we walked out with her sliding towards her station- the commanding post. All eyes were glued on me like I had blood smeared all over my apron. 

It wasn't always the case when a head chef has to rattle a sous-chef from their mental slumber but when it did occur, it could become a learning moment for everyone.

When a piece of marinated poultry was passed over to me, my hands trembled. I never had experienced nervousness while encountering food. I always tackled it like an A-grade student, ready to take the bull by its horn. But with a shattered confidence, I simmered the flame which roared up upon being lit. The meat sat in the center of the pan, happily tugged with a string at its leg while I bathed it in thyme infused buttery bath.

"You will do fine now," Marcy spoke over my shoulder as she scanned my pan. "Don't reduce the flame."

She walked away and her words commanded me to her instruction. After plating the dish, I slid it along the way for Marcy's inspection. Once she conducted her final check, her words floated out. 

"Order up," before tossing a soft smile for me.

I turned back, regaining a little bit more of that so called confidence from the dust and smithereens it crumbled in. Linda took a long step sideways to reach me. With a hand squeeze over my still shaky shoulder, she moved away.

It wasn't much but it was helpful in knowing I still had friends. I still had support.

"Daisy," when Marcy's words called me out, my head tossed towards her like the nightmare was being replayed.

I turned around with measured precision, unwilling to witness another screwup of mine. When I saw my plating sitting on the table before her, I learnt the disheartening reality that was the life of a chef.

The food was sent back. The customer didn't like it. It wasn't according to their palate. 

While Marcy inspected the food, I walked over to her side. Under the bright overhead bulbs that illuminated the area like a sun perched above, I saw a little piece of meat teared off from the side and graciously decorated on the customer's fork that tagged along on its way back.

"What did they say?" Marcy slid a hand into her picket and fished out a fork. With the precision of a surgeon, she make a deep but clean slit on the bird and dug into it.

"He said the bird is dry," the waitress rolled her eyes and placed her fists on the table. "He is very arrogant, Marcy."

"Cooked to perfection," Marcy's words floated although her eyes were closed, seemingly engulfed in the aftermath of taste explosion of buttery saltiness and sweet meat melded together. She slid the plate towards me and I mirrored her work, digging a piece.

"It's fine," I shrugged.

"Fine is when you cook at home." Marcy directed her voice to me while her hand swayed at the plate and Steve, whom darted towards it and took it under his command. "When you cook here, you are supposed to either perfect or nothing. There is no midway."

"Okay," were the only words that I could state. Marcy leaned over to look at my hooded eyes.

"Don't let what I said inside shatter you. That was for you to focus. But this bird was perfect and I won't take that away from you."

When I walked back, I moved to the sauces for the rest of the night. There was nothing else I wanted than to not be called upfront, atleast for today.

When the last of the plates exited through the main doors, I slid on the floor, feeling heaviness engulf my throat and chest. This day was bad. It wasn't what I wanted but when has that every changes the course of things for anyone.

Tugging my bag, I walked out of the kitchen and into the night. 

One one side, I had the clear path leading to my house and the other, into the night that was blanketed around the city. I walked toward the siren call of everything that shimmered and scintillated at a distance. 

I walked towards everything the city represented and I detested.

~

Please do vote and comment, if you enjoy. 

Do you really think Philip has a girlfriend?