Hot Potato

53. Grand Opening

Our first public openings, Tuesday lunch in all six branches, went off without any serious hitches. They weren't full houses, and this was good, allowing the staff to ease into their routines. With more media mentions, reservations increased through the week, some locations much faster than others. By Thursday morning, Yaletown and Coal Harbour had no tables available for lunch until the weekend, then none until the following Wednesday.

"Business lunches," Marcy explained at our managers' meeting after the lunch service on Thursday.

Dunc nodded. "Yeah, inviting Kira and her followers to the soft openings is paying off in spades Downtown."

"For sure." Suong looked up from her notes. "But we need to attract the local condo tower residents for evenings and weekends. Cynthia and I are working on that."

"Excellent." Marcy pointed at the stack of paper in front of Dunc. "What's the financial situation? Getting closer?"

"Surpassed. The Downtown branches haven't yet closed today's lunches, but our balance is already more than sufficient to cover the payroll. Two and a half days ahead of schedule."

"Oh, wow! And all the food cost, as well?"

"More than enough, Gigi. Now, our only uncovered liabilities are the PST and GST, and those aren't due until well into November. We're now solvent and self-sustaining."

"Excellent! And our bic count has now topped three thousand. We're on a roll."

Dunc looked at Marcy, tilting his head. "Bic count?"

"Bum in chair. A count of turnovers. One of my routines at Ridges was to track the bic/revenue ratio. I need to start that here to see how effectively the front sells."

"How enticing the menu is, as well," I said. "If we don't deliver intrigue and satisfaction, sales are more difficult, as is repeat business."

"True." Marcy took a page from her folder. "But to our immediate concern, this evening. Here's Cynthia's seating plan – final count sixty-three."

"Sixty-four, now," Dunc said. "Add Mr Plimpton."

"What?" We all looked at him with questioning expressions. "How so?"

"Circumstance, Gigi. A few minutes ago, he phoned to find out when I'd be here, so I could show him what we're doing. I mentioned this evening's opening, and seemingly on impulse, he said he would attend. I had no option but to accept his self-invitation."

"Hmmm! Might be traumatic for him."

"I suggested that. But he said his shrink had advised him to bite the bullet, revisit and resolve. Said this opportunity seems to be custom-made for that, a super deja-vu."

"A lot of courage." I glanced across at Marcy's page. "Need to have Cynthia find the best table companions for him. She knows them all, and she'll remember him from August."

"She'll be here by six, guests at seven thirty."

I pointed toward the kitchen. "I'll beg out of the rest of the meeting. Need to organise the prepping."

The next six hours were a blur of activity as we prepped, cooked, assembled and plated eight complex sampler dishes, each for sixty-four.

When the last of the final pair had been plated, and the parade of servers had taken them out, I congratulated the kitchen team. Then, while they turned to cleaning, I stood at the foodservice window with Logan to watch the activity in the main dining room. After a long silence, I said, "Easy to spot them in a crowd, isn't it?"

"How so?"

"John Cardinal taught me. He knows most of the food writers, and he pointed out some of their quirks. Watch how they examine the plating, turn the dishes this way and that to shoot photos, dissect and nose the food before they taste. Then begin with tiny bites, a bit of each separately before they start to eat. A whole room full of that going on out there."

"Yeah, like Min-Jun and Tom did when we served them in here."

"Exactly."

"We should tell the serving staff how to spot them. Let us know, so we can take extra care."

"We could, but we should always take extra care."

"True."

I pointed toward my office. "Need to change into my formal whites; Cynthia said it's almost assured that we'll be called. You should put on a clean jacket and have the sous chefs in clean shirts – Melvin, as well. Better to be prepared than not." I chuckled. "Make it look as if our nonstop six-hour-hustle was a breeze."

"Oh! You want us out there with you?"

"Absolutely. If they want me, that includes you; you're who made it work. If there were room, I'd have the entire team out there."

With the new curtains, my change was quick and discreet, and I was soon back out at the service window, watching. When Logan and the sous chefs joined me, I said, "Forgot your toque, Logan."

He shrugged. "Wouldn't want to confuse them, Chef."

"Go get it." I chuckled. "They'll know the one with boobs is me."

We watched as the tables were bussed, and when the last was cleared, a rotund man rose from his seat and stepped out into the aisle. Then waving his arms like a choirmaster, he sang, "One potato, two potato, three potato, four. Five potato, six potato, I bet there'll be more." A few added their voices to his, and soon the entire group was chanting the rhythmic children's song, repeating several times until he changed to, "Chef, chef, chef. We need the Chef. Chef, chef, chef. Bring out the Chef."

"That's our cue. You lead, Logan. Single file toward Cynthia – she'll show you where. I'll bring up the rear."

Applause filled the room as Logan led the parade. Then when I appeared at the end of the line, everyone stood and cheered. Oh, God! We did it.

As the hubbub subsided, John Cardinal remained standing and called for attention. "I begged my way into this dinner."

"More than worthy, sir," Someone called.

"Thank you. I needed to be here to confirm my judgement. I had recruited Gianna from the Four Seasons because she showed outstanding talent, and she blossomed far more than I had expected during her two years at Cardinal's. But being too small to handle limitless creativity such as hers, I let her go, knowing she would quickly rise to the level she deserves. With Hot Potato, she has already taken off, and I advise you to watch her as she soars."

Trembling, I dabbed my eyes with my neckerchief while I nodded in silent acknowledgement of John and the loud applause. As I scanned the crowd, I spotted Dunc and Marcy among the staff lining the room, everyone slapping high-fives and fist-pumping. Oh, God! The trembling increased.

While the room quieted, I worked at calming, and I was about to reply when a man rose and introduced himself as Arnold Plimpton. "Many of you knew my son, Arnie, and your praises helped him build this fine group of restaurants. Please, feel free to again use his name – to perpetuate it. Chef Gallini has well and truly continued his vision, and for that, I thank her."

"It's mine to thank you, sir."

He nodded and walked toward me, spreading his arms. "A hug to fill a void?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'd love that, sir."

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