“Well, hello, Ms. Santana, and welcome to DAX! I’m Gloria. I’m the pastry chef here,” she said in a hearty voice with a thick Brooklyn accent.
“Pleased to meet you, Gloria,” she replied.
“I’ll be helping you get set up. Julien has a molecular gastronomy conference in Long Island City tonight and will be in later. Shouldn’t be hard—he mentioned you had your own restaurant before?”
Lumi winced and nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Gloria leaned forward as if she was about to comfort her with a hug, then seemed to think better of it and straightened up.
“Well! We’ll have to get you a key card by the end of the day. Come, come,” Gloria said, waving her toward a row of lockers just off the service entrance, her cropped platinum curls bouncing. “Here is yours,” she said, pointing to the open locker in the row.
Lumi peeled off her purple peacoat and hung it inside. Then Gloria gestured for Lumi to follow her into the kitchen, and she did.
It was nothing like her cozy galley back at Caraluna. Just like Julien’s office, it was painted white, and all the appliances were either white or brushed metal. There was a massive island in the middle of the kitchen with dozens of drawers and cabinets underneath, and it was flanked on both sides by two Sub-Zero refrigerators. Lumi’s eyes followed the length of the space all the way down to the opposite end, where she could see the outline of a heavy oak door that looked to be a wine closet. She made a mental note to check it out later.
Gloria stopped in front of a metal chair next to the kitchen island, where a crisp white jacket and hat were waiting.
“These are for you, hon, and that’s your workstation,” she said, pointing to a corner of the island where a wooden cutting board and knife block sat.
“Thank you,” Lumi said.
Gloria clasped her hands together in prayer position and nodded. “We aim to please here, Ms. Santana, that you will learn,” she replied, widening her eyes and pursing her lips into a comical expression.
Lumi laughed, wondering what she meant by the face she made but not daring to ask. “Please, call me Iluminada. Or Lumi,” she responded.
Gloria nodded as she pulled stitched sacks of flour out of the pantry for the phyllo dough and beignets. “Well, Lumi, I hope you will feel at home with us here at DAX. We are like a family . . . one with a grumpy father!” She laughed. “But don’t let Julien scare you. His bark is all he has, no bite there . . . most of the time,” she quickly added, no doubt realizing Lumi would have read the papers. “Anyway, behind all that there’s a heart of golden butter,” she said. She grinned as she completed her speech.
A heart of golden butter? Lumi thought. That sounded like a gateway to health problems.
Gloria began to measure the dry ingredients and Lumi felt her attention drift away. She could tell Gloria was friendly but not one for small talk. Just as well . . . neither was she.
Looking to get started, she glanced over the specials board for the night: phyllo duck, ratatouille, cucumber dill salad, and raspberry beignets with crème fraîche. She perused the kitchen island and found a deep earthenware dish, bringing it to the station that had been set up for her. She paced over to the refrigerator marked PRODUCE with cursive black letter magnets and pulled out the eggplant, zucchini, and other ingredients she would need to get started. She also found a round, crisp green apple. She picked it up and rolled it from right to left in her hand. It could add some contrast to the flavor profile.
This was the way Lumi cooked at Caraluna: she started out with a basic recipe in mind and added several new ingredients for an eclectic taste. At DAX, every chef cooked from memory too, so how could she be wrong for not following the recipe? For a moment, she wondered if it was the best idea. After all, DAX was much more staid. But then she shrugged. People were coming to DAX for a unique dining experience. If they wanted plain French cuisine with no pizzazz, they would have gone elsewhere. A little touch of tart would make their dinner more memorable, she was sure of it.
She laid the vegetables and apple on her wooden cutting board. First, she sliced the eggplant in thin rounds. Then the zucchini, onion, peppers, and, finally, the apple. She stood the slices up and packed the dish as full as she could.
The oven was warm and waiting. The phyllo duck that Gloria had prepared was already inside being broiled to golden crispness. Lumi popped the dish in the oven and set a small timer she found in one of the drawers below her workstation.
One by one, she peeled and sliced the cucumbers for the salad. She checked her watch: it was 4:30 P.M. The ratatouille would be ready just before 5:00. She turned back toward the produce refrigerator to get the dill, and as she was pulling out a bundle of sprigs, the kitchen door swung open again.
In walked a man with caramel-hued straight hair slicked back in a pompadour, bronze skin, and an expression of smug self-assurance. He was dressed in a black crewneck sweater and fitted pin-striped pants, and his fingernails were painted gunmetal gray.
“Richard!” Gloria boomed.
He crossed the kitchen in two strides, and they exchanged an air-kiss.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
Gloria nudged him in the ribs and cocked her head in Lumi’s direction.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “And who is this angel?”
Lumi gave him a small wave from her workstation.
“Don’t be shy, reina!” he said.
He walked over, taking her by the hand, raising her arm, and rotating his wrist as if to twirl her around. She followed through the turn, a giggle barely escaping her throat, feeling her face flush.
“Welcome to DAX!” he said, bowing from the waist. “I am Richard Olivares, sommelier, at your service.”
Lumi curtsied in response to him. “Iluminada Santana, new sous chef here.”
He smiled. “Oh! See, Gloria, she knows how to play the game!”
Gloria rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
“Ruben!” he called to a portly man with deep brown skin setting up the grill.
The man walked over and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Ruben Carr here.”
Lumi returned his smile. “Iluminada Santana.”
“Iluminada Santana . . . Are you Dominican?” Richard asked.
“Yes.”
“Wepa! We taking over this kitchen,” Richard said with a little whoop of glee at the end. “I’ll leave you two to continue getting ready. We’re going to be great friends, angel, I can tell. I’m going to take you to SoulCycle class with me. And just entre tu y yo, if you ever need a little sip on the job—”
“Richard! You lost your damn mind?” Gloria asked.
“What, sweetheart? You know it can get stressful here. Well, be back in a few! Gotta make my selection for the night before that ginger ogre gets here.” And in a flash, he ducked into the wine closet, and Ruben returned to the grill.
Lumi giggled under her breath at Richard’s comment and, dill in hand, wandered back to her workstation. At 4:45, Fallon, Heather, and Timothy, the three waiters working Thursday night, arrived, hung up their jackets, and prepared for a night on the dining floor. Their greetings to Lumi were brief but cordial.
At 4:50, the oven timer rang with a shrill ding. Lumi put on the purple silicone gloves she had stowed in her purse and pulled the baking dish out of the oven. She grinned to herself as she set the dish on a hot pad and resolved to set aside squares for Richard and Gloria, so that they could be the first to try her avant-garde version of the time-honored favorite.