COPPER AND CAST IRON
Khalid had never seen so many different kinds of steel before. The textures were so visceral; the copper, the stainless steel, the cast iron and the latest carbon steel, they were old but in perfect condition. Better than perfect really, the pans were seasoned.
Each member stood alert as she walked in.
“Good Morning everyone!” sending shrills down their collective spines. Without wait for interruption she continued,
“This is Khalid, he’ll be working with you all from now on.” He placed just one foot forward before all eyes shifted onto him.
“Hello everyone,” he said. They did not care.
“He has that look in his eyes,” one whispered. “It’s ambition,” one said. “It’s delusion,” another said.
They had gone pale. Though Khalid would soon see firsthand what happens to ambition in this kitchen
“I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I have no formal training but I am confident of my skills,” Khalid proudly announced.
There was no response. The faces that Khaled could once see were all just roughly tied hair nets now.
“Go to Amir, he’s that one.” She pointed. “He’ll be in charge of you today.”
Khalid walked with his head held high. At first his gaze fell to the animals; the lamb that was hung to smoke three days prior turning deep mahogany, the bucket of wings that needed
to be plucked, purged and prepared, the echoes of Styrofoam being slapped perpetually alerting Khalid of the fish that were taking their last breaths but most of all stood out the cow. It hung down from the ceiling, cut into three pieces separated at the hind, shoulders and mid region. The marbling on the shoulder of the cow looked immaculate, as if it had snowed over the meat and the white specks just settled in.
“Watch where you’re standing!” He said as Khalid looked down and saw that his hand was placed on Amir’s work station, right next to the chopping board.
“Chef!” Khalid announced and stood alert.
Amir was a tall skinny man, he reminded Khaled a lot of his elder brother. A few inches taller than Khaled but visibly slimmer. His beard was spotted black and grey, and the color of his eyes were unusual; a shade that Khaled had never seen before.
“Don’t call me that. No one calls anyone that. This isn’t television.” His back arching, his body folding as he couldn’t control his laughter. “You’re a snob. You don’t belong here.”
Khalid gaze turned from the copperware on the top shelves to the single spec of mint on the floor.
“I really love to cook.” His voice barely audible.
“You think we’re here because we love to cook?” He placed his hand on the back of Khalid’s head and turned him towards the rest of the kitchen. “You see her? Fatima’s been here since the opening. She still can’t afford the car that you drove here. She’ll never be able to.” Amir was loud enough for everyone to hear.
All Khalid could do was close his eyes.
“It’s not over. That’s just one person. There’s seventeen of us. If you’re going to work here then you should know who you work with.” He turned Khalid to a man that was pulling the bones out of a chicken neck. “Him? He’s Kamran. When your work is done with me, you’re his responsibility. He earns 14,000 rupees a month. He comes in at 6:30 every morning and leaves at midnight. He doesn’t get to see his daughter but at least he’s sure she’s getting a chance to go to school.”
Kamran slammed his butchers’ blade into the block of wood he was working on. It stood erect, demanding attention.
“Enough! He is a kid. If he wants to learn it is his decision. He did not come here to learn about inequality, he came here to cook. So let him.”
What could Khalid even say? He had just bought his girlfriend a bracelet that would’ve cost Kamran two months of pay. He told himself it was on sale, it was only $200 so no reason not to get it for her.
Though at least Kamran had stopped Amir’s onslaught.
Khaled walked to the front of the kitchen and stood on top of a crate of fruit.
“I’m not stupid and I’m not a kid.” He said. “I will work hard. I will gain your respect. But you have to give me a chance. I’m not here to replace anyone or to be paid. I didn’t know that everyone was so underpaid here, but the truth is that if this place becomes better, then so will all your lives.” He wasn’t one to speak to people this way, and he found his knee shaking as he maintained his rigid posture. “I’ll work for free for two months. You can use my salary for family meals. That’s fair.”
Kamran was the first to respond, “No you don’t have to do any of this. Just work, son.” There was a warmth to his voice, an encouraging one.
“I want to. It’s been five minutes we’ve wasted having this conversation. Service is in three hours, so I don’t want to interrupt anymore.” With that Khalid went to Amir’s station and took the knife Amir handed him.
“All of those.” He pointed at several baskets of produce. “Chop half the ginger finely, and julienne the other half. Wear gloves when you work with the green chilies, but I want them fine; hair like. Oh and don’t forget to wash and peel all the mangoes you just stood on.” He finished with a sarcastic little note, though Khalid could detect that there was less hostility there.
It took him thirty minutes to get the ginger done and another hour for the chilies. After he finished his prep, he put the vegetables into their prescribed spots and went to wash his hands. Immediately he heard Amir’s voice.
“The board and the knife too, and wipe your station clean before you move onto fruit.”
Khalid just nodded and continued his work. He walked over to the front once again and got the mangoes. Observing the speed at which Kamran was working, in the same time Khalid completed the ginger and chilies, Kamran had finished butchering two sides of lamb.
“Oi, Stop!” Amir screamed across the kitchen.
Khaled’s hands loosened their grip and he dropped the crate of mangoes.
“You forgot to wear gloves. Go put your hands ice water right now, and then put gloves on,” he continued.
Khaled was in shock but he picked up the mangoes and placed them on his station before he followed Amir’s instructions. No one said anything for a while, until the mangoes were done and it was time for Khalid to move to Kamran’s station.
“You know how to make a chicken wing into a lollipop?” Kamran asked. Khalid shrugged but was observing Kamran intensely.
“I can try,” he said.
Kamran shifted to the side of the big marble slab he sat on top of and pushed what appeared to be the stump of a tree towards Khalid. He placed down a few chicken wings and a sharp small knife. There was a moment of silence in the kitchen, Khalid could feel all the eyes on him. He embraced the challenge with confidence; taking off the right glove to get a strong grip of the knife and placing the wing in his other hand. He placed the edge of the blade on the bottom end of the bone and ran the knife around cutting the flesh down to the bone. Then he flipped the wing over and scraped the bone until the flesh separated from all but the top, quickly pulling it with his hand and leaving the chicken wing looking more like a chicken leg.
“That’s impressive,” Kamran said.
“Thank you,” he said. “My father used to leave me at the butchers every week for a few hours so that I would be comfortable with meat.” He turned and continued to lollipop each wing with quick tenure.
As each hour passed, Khalid maneuvered through one task at a time, the only thing that was left for the end of service. It wasn’t coincidence that there was a private party of twelve on the night of Khalid’s first day. It was as if the universe had decided that today is the day that Khalid would be tested; not just as a chef but as an individual.
“Son, would you please work as the waiter for the service?” Kamran asked. “There has to be one of us with the guests so that we can constantly accommodate them.”
“Of course.” In Khalid’s eyes, it was a simple task, one he was happy to help Kamran
with.
With quick haste Khalid changed out of his apron into a crisp white shirt and took his place in front of the team. He asked them about the needs they have of him and then began the silence. Second after second feeling like prolonged moments, there was just constant silence.
“Khalid. Let’s go,” Akram let out. He led the waiting staff with authority.
Khalid followed him into the banquet room. It was closed off and there was a different kind of chill. There was a sharp prickly texture in the room as if all the hospitality and warmth of the guests had met its icy demise.
“They will come in thirty minutes and we will serve them in courses. After each fifteen minutes we will take out another course, and after the sixth course the bar will open. We plan to close at midnight, so the next two hours will be very difficult but do not forget that it is these guests that pay our bills and keep us fed.” The entire staff was disappointed, but they solemnly nodded.
Two hours into service and the dessert course had been sent back two times.
“What is that bald bastard doing? We keep making these goddamn Malpuras but they keep sending them back.” Amir shouted and the sound echoed through the restaurant.
“They are drunk,” Khalid said as he walked into the kitchen with another tray of soggy Malpuras and rubbing the hair on his head. “The sorbet is melting on it, and they aren’t eating
it fast enough.” He turned to Kamran, “not that they need to eat it quick, but as they drink more they wait more and it keeps going into the trash.” He sighed.
“Another round! And bring that dessert too.” Someone shouted from the banquet
room.
“He sends this back and I’ll scramble his brain.” Amir
They sent another. Khalid brought back another rejected platter. “Enough of this,” he uttered with restraint.
Khalid began to walk to the banquet room, on his way he grabbed a fluted glass from the bar. In a few long strides he stood alert in front of them and tapped on the fluted glass with a fork; ringing for their attention.
“We’ve been cooking for hours and serving you for the past two.” He gazed into their collective line of sight. “We will fire dessert one more time, and after which we will close the kitchen. Does everyone understand?” He stood there certain with his belief.
In the back of the kitchen Kamran asked Amir how Khalid could speak to the guests like that, finally understanding what Amir meant all this time.
Meanwhile back in the banquet room a scuffle had emerged.
“How dare you speak to us like this?” some drunk slurred. “Go do as you are told!” he shouted.
Khalid did not yell. He calmly walked to the door and pushed the oak open.
“Please exit. You are being asked to kindly leave the restaurant,” he said with the most somber look in his eyes.
“We won’t.” Another drunk stuttered.
Khalid turned to the kitchen and asked everyone to pack up and leave, then he turned back to the banquet room.
“I won’t ask again. You are on private property and you have been asked to leave, I will call the police if you fail to follow my instructions.” This time he was cold.
“Who do you think you are? Do you know what he could have done to this restaurant?” The first one shouted again.
Their words brought no relevance to Khalid. He hadn’t known the staff for but a day, but how could he be a coward?
“These people work hours you could not fathom.” He looked around and saw a blur of drunken stupor in front of him. “Their work ethic and their desperation is something you will never comprehend.” The hissing of a pressure cooker took over. “Even now they work and you just drink and discard. Discard your time, discard your money and discard our work.”
Silence surrounded Khalid as the sound of water being poured over the pressure cooker disrupting the hissing steam flooded into the room.
