Don't Walk Away My Raspberry Beret

3. Home is Where the Heat is

"Cooking is like painting or writing a song. Just as there are only so many notes or colors, there are only so many flavors— it's how you combine them that sets you apart."- Wolfgang Puck

Michael's Point of View:

"Daddy, are you excited to see Miss Talia today?" Paris asked me as I got her ready for afterschool. 

"I am excited to be at work today. Do you like Miss Talia?" I asked her as she seemed to be taken in by our new addition to the staff roster.

I can't believe Walter was leaving, I was just getting used to him in my kitchen. He finally knew how to be a line chef, and he was on the road to be Executive Chef one day. I am proud of his accomplishments. However, I now had to train a whole new person in the rules and regulations of my kitchen. 

"Yeah, she is so nice, and we have so much in common. Daddy, can you promise to be nice to Miss Talia today. I don't want her to leave, and she just got here." Paris says, and I shake my head fake gasping. 

"Parry, I am astonished by that accusation, I am always nice." I say laughing. 

"You know what I mean, Daddy. I mean, be extra nice and make her feel like she is home. I want her to stay she is really pretty too." Paris says, making that comment apparent yet again. 

"There's more to a person than looks Paris okay, you got to get to know someone as well." I try to inform her on better moral choices. 

"Hm, okay, I understand. I am going to miss you today, Daddy. Have a good day at work, and can you bring me home a snack, please? Homemade." Paris says, making me grin. She has a sweet tooth like me, and I know she wants one of the desserts from the restaurant.

"Sure, sweetheart, have a great day at dance practice, honey." I say as I drop her off at the dance studio.

I enjoy being able to pick my daughter up from school and taking her to her activities. It's the coming late at night, even early mornings, where I miss her bedtimes. Sometimes, that gets to me.

I decided to walk towards the train today and take that to work, of course I toss in the few dollars to the beggars on the platform and try to fade away from the conservative wall street types heading to work themselves. 

I listen to music on my iPhone through my airpods and watch the different cast of characters enter and leave the underrated vessel of transportation. I am at least calm knowing that Latalia seems to love food like I do. I still didn't want her near my Paul Gellar project. I will convince him of a five-star quality dish soon enough.

It took me about thirty minutes to get to work, and when I arrived, I saw Cici stuffing her face as Latalia was standing there talking to her.

"Talia, I swear you are a whiz in the kitchen. You need to be locked up the way your food can touch someone's soul." Cici says, laying the compliments on thick.

"Thank you. I try to put love into my food with every bite." Latalia says, and I clear my throat to alert them to my presence.

"Michael, you got to try this food. It's the bomb." Cici says, not stopping a bite.

"Here, Mr. Jackson, you said you wanted to try my infusions. Well, this is Shrimp Mozambique over a bed of couscous. I infused my shrimp with a citrus oil base and cooked my couscous in a rosewater and chicken broth base. The sauce has a blend of Italian peppers and a mango reduction with a bit of balsamic drizzle." She says, placing the bowl next to the empty space by Cici.

I wash my hands and change into my chef's clothes before I take a seat. Picking up the bowl, I take a sniff of the flavors in the steam and smirk. The flavor composition is a bit wild, but the smell was a bit mild. I wonder how she achieved that. I pick up my fork and begin preparing my bite of food.