Considering our criminal complicity in the macaron affair, Bianca and I had imposed an implicit truce on our pastry feud. So when I told her that I needed to be assigned to the staff lunch, she shared her personal strategy with me without asking for anything in return.

First, we had to finish the preparation of our station by ten-thirty. Easier said than done, but two hypercompetitive people were what it took to meet unrealistic deadlines. At that point, Cesare would assign us some extra cleaning to occupy the unexpected free time, and Bianca would assure him that all the refrigerators and shelves had already been cleaned two days ago.

"Go downstairs then and lend a hand in another station." The plan went smoothly.

As we entered the main kitchen, we saw the Sous chef traversing the no-man's land between her station and the appetizer station, dragging Gioele by the collar of his jacket.

"Take him with you before I drown him." Michela stopped in front of the Garde-Manger chef. "I'm not here to babysit."

In response, Flavio burst into a loud laugh. I hadn't had the chance to get to know our Garde-Manger chef yet, but just seeing him, with his ever-ready smile and his Santa Claus belly, brought me serenity.

Perhaps Gioele wasn't feeling the same way, because he looked like a mouse that, after escaping one cat's claws, falls into another's.

"The little guy and I will have fun." Flavio said to the Sous chef. Then, he turned to Gioele and winked at him. "Right, little fishbone?"

Tentatively, Gioele's lips stretched into a small smile, and I felt twice as light.

"And you two?" Michela barked when she saw Bianca and me standing still in the doorway. "Don't you have anything better to do than occupy space?"

"Cesare sent us down to lend a hand!" Bianca promptly replied. "The pastry section has already finished the preparation, and we cleaned everything thoroughly two days ago. Can we do something here? I could show the new guy how to prepare the staff lunch."

The Sous chef was taken aback. She seemed to carefully analyze those words searching for something to criticize, and when she found nothing, she just waved and told us to get on with it, that nobody here wants to eat lunch right before service.

Bianca tugged at my sleeve, and I obediently followed her beyond the doors of the dining room. It was the first time I had seen it. It was a majestic room, not flashy or ostentatious, but simply elegant. The waiters moved swiftly and attentively with their black aprons and squeaky shoes. There couldn't have been more than thirty tables, but the precision with which tablecloths, glasses, and cutlery were arranged still required a long preparation.

"Come." 

I followed Bianca to a sideboard loaded with place setting dishes. Next to it, the chef was speaking quietly with a woman who looked stern, dressed entirely in black.

She must have been the maître, I was sure of it. She had that commanding air imposed through terror that all head waiters have.

A maître is the white shark of the restaurant world, except you don't need to fall into water to end up torn apart. I was sure that elegant little woman could have devoured our fearsome Michela without leaving even the bones.

Bianca was braver than me because she cleared her throat and interrupted the conversation between the big bosses.

The chef raised a questioning eyebrow.

"We need the menu for the staff meal. I'll show the new kid how to do it."

"Aren't you two supposed to be helping Cesare?"

"We finished the preparation, and everything's clean. He sent us down."

The chef kept that raised eyebrow steady on his forehead. He looked at me and looked at Bianca, but mostly he looked at me. "Very well."

He handed a sheet to Bianca and dismissed us with a nod of his head.

As soon as we were away from the cannibal woman, I seized the menu and quickly read what was planned for today.

Radicchio, arugula, lamb's lettuce, edamame beans, and cherry tomatoes salad. Porcini mushroom risotto, potato gnocchi with tomato souce, mozzarella, and basil, grilled mackerel with olives, capers, and rosemary drizzled with lemon sauce.

Wonderful. Gioele wasn't going to eat any of this.

"Uhm, I can make some small changes, right?"

"Why are you so interested in preparing our lunch? You won't impress anyone with a plate of gnocchi with tomato sauce."

"Do you think everything I do is just to impress the chefs?"

Bianca just crossed her arms and lazily leaned against the dining room wall.

"Well, you're wrong. It's for..." Yeah... how do I explain it to her? "It's for my... schoolmate. He's having some trouble with food, skipping a bunch of meals."

"If he has allergies, just let the chef know."

"He doesn't have allergies, he's just... extremely picky."

"You mean we busted our butts to finish an hour early because your friend is picky?" Bianca waited for me to deny it, and since I had no way of doing so without blatantly lying, she ended up emitting an incredulous sound. "What the hell? Do you have a crush?"

"I don't have a crush."

"Uh-huh. And why were you holding hands on the first day?"

I turned my back on her and went back to the kitchen.

"So what do we have to prepare for your crush?" Bianca blurted out above the clatter of pots and pans, following behind me. "You know we'll piss off the chef if we waste good ingredients for the staff meal."

"I don't want to waste good ingredients. I want to remove the good ingredients. Or at least set some aside before adding them. No edamame beans in the salad, mozzarella in the gnocchi, and lemon sauce with the mackerel. And the onion for the risotto must be practically pureed."

I hoped I had deciphered Gioele's diet correctly. I wouldn't let him have another lunch of bread and oil.

Rick was very happy to know that we would take care of the lunch for him, so much so that he offered to buy us drinks after the shift. I had the half feeling that the invitation was exclusively for Bianca, and that it wasn't the first time the girl turned him down.

We quickly divided the tasks.

While Bianca grilled our mackerels on the grill, I stationed myself at the sink by the appetizer station to clean the salads. There wasn't a real reason for choosing that particular sink. It was just that it seemed slightly wider than the others, and the fact that Gioele was working on the counter right behind me was entirely random.

Gio seemed so absorbed that he didn't realize I was right there beside him. It was okay anyway. I liked watching him when he was all focused.

The appetizer chef had lined up dozens of ceramic trays in military rows for Gio to fill.

First, he put two spoonfuls of quinoa, then, on the side, a slice of grilled zucchini rolled up like a death roll, a handful of grated carrots, and two black olives.

When he started garnishing the trays with yogurt sauce, I stood there gawking at him. He had a steady hand, all the lines were precise, symmetrical, of the same thickness. He was good. I- well... not that he hadn't been good before.

No, no, okay. It had been a disaster. He messed up one thing after another and forgot any instruction after five seconds. I wouldn't have thought I could see him so... focused, fast. Precise.

Flavio complimented Gioele when he finished decorating the last tray. He put a hand on Gio's shoulder and then pinched his cheek as if he were his favorite nephew.

Why didn't the chef assign the interns to Flavio? Clearly, he had more aptitude for coaching than Michela.

I had never seen Gioele so relaxed in the kitchen.