“I like to cook,” Emma admitted. “I like to play around with recipes and try new dishes, but it’s easier to cook for yourself. I couldn’t imagine doing it for an entire restaurant.” Emma actually thought it would be terrifying. She used to marvel at the intricate dance the chefs in the kitchen did. How they coordinated the timing of multiple dishes and parties mystified her.
“In a well-run restaurant,” Gary continued, “the front of the house and back of the house work in harmony. If it gets too chaotic out here, it can screw up the flow in the kitchen and then we have a real mess. Fortunately, we have a well-oiled machine, and that rarely happens. Not on my watch anyway.”
“I remember coming here for lunch with Grams and the dining room would be absolutely packed. The energy was so exciting, with all the well-dressed customers and the hustle and bustle of food coming out of the kitchen and tables being cleared. It was always a treat, coming here.”
Gary frowned and then smiled so quickly that Emma almost doubted what she’d seen.
“Is it still busy like that at lunch?” By the look of the reservation page, it seemed like they had a busy day ahead.
“Sometimes. Not often enough though,” he admitted. “There’s more competition now, more restaurants. Some of the newer ones are more appealing to the younger ‘foodie’ crowd. We’ve fallen off the radar some.”
Emma took an objective look around the restaurant. The colors were warm and inviting, the table linens crisp, but the carpet was uninspired, a bit faded and worn in spots. You really didn’t notice the carpet at first, but Emma wondered if it was just a symptom, a contributor to the overall ill health of the restaurant. She made a mental note to pay close attention to everything throughout lunch, at how many customers came in, what they ordered, and how happy or unhappy they seemed to be. She knew that Mandy had taken a copy of the restaurant’s financials home to look over with Cory. They were both great at understanding the ins and outs of financial statements and P & Ls.
Jason, the lunch chef, came out of the kitchen a half hour later and handed a slip of paper to Gary with the day’s luncheon specials.
“What did you think of the rollatini?” he asked Emma.
“Incredible. So delicious. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He turned to Gary. “What time do the Garden ladies want their soup?”
“Not until one-thirty. They want a full half hour with their cocktails before we interrupt them with food.”
“Of course they do.” He shook his head and strolled back into the kitchen.
“Has he been here long, too?” Emma asked. She guessed that Jason was closing in on sixty.
“Not too long. Five years maybe? He worked all over the North End before moving here. I think he is a native Boston-Italian. You can tell by his specials.”
“Rollatini, braciole and escarole and white bean soup with Italian sweet sausage. Oh, braciole, isn’t that the meat that’s stuffed and rolled up and then cooked for hours in a sauce?”
“That’s it. Evidently the theme for today is rolls. You’ll have to try a little of the braciole later this afternoon when we slow down. It sounds like a cliché, but it really does melt in your mouth.”
The lunch service flew by. Gary had Emma take all the calls that came in. After each reservation, he checked the book and showed her how to plan and how to stagger them so that the guests wouldn’t have to wait when they arrived and wouldn’t feel rushed as they ate. It was definitely a balancing act and Emma was glad that Gary was being so patient with her and double-checking everything because twice she needed to call a customer back and change the time slightly.
Emma was straightening out the pile of guest checks when one caught her eye. At the top of each check, the waiter always indicated the table number and size of the party. “Wow, this guy must have been really hungry,” she commented. The amount of food he ordered would have fed two to three people comfortably.
“Let me see.” A somewhat worried look came across Gary’s face as he read off the items the guest had ordered.
“Braciole and the rollatini plus the eggplant parm off the regular menu, escarole bean soup, Caesar salad, stuffed mushrooms, a side of ziti with marina sauce plus tiramisu and cheesecake?” He raised his eyebrows at Emma. “My dear, I suspect we had a food critic in today, and regretfully, I should have picked up on this while he was here. He must be new. I usually recognize them when they come in.”