Coffee By The River

Foreword:

This is the first chapter in an ongoing series set in places I know, the worlds of cooking and New Orleans. Being Lit, but, of course, everyone is well past the age of consent.

In the beginning:

Dave Trahan is a 100% pure Cajun, but he'd rather say Coonass. He grew up fishing and hunting in the bayous. But what he saw, there were only a few real possibilities to make a legit life out in the bayous today. Some of the guys he had grown up with would say they were in the import business. What they imported eventually took many of them from the bayous to prison for importing this and that. With that in mind, he left the bayous and moved to New Orleans, seeking fame and fortune. For sure, Dave knew how to cook almost anything that the bayous gave. But knowing how to make Turtle Gumbo wasn't what restaurants wanted.

His idea was to find a job as a cook in the city. But, he ran headlong into the problem many young men have. No experience that counted to the man he was talking with. Eventually, he got a job as a dishwasher in one of the major hotels in the city. Dave would watch what everyone was doing in the kitchen and absorb every detail he could. A few of the line cooks and the folks in the cold kitchen picked up on Dave watching them. But he never said anything. He was always taking in everything that happened in the kitchen. One afternoon, Chef Albert, who was the Executive Chef of the hotel, approached Dave and asked him what he thought about what he was seeing. With that question, Dave opened up and told the Chef about his dreams and what he wanted to do. When Dave finished talking, the Chef told Dave to come to his office the following day at ten. They needed to talk.

At ten the next morning, Dave went to the small glass-walled office of the Chef. Chef was on the phone when Dave got there, so Dave tried to make himself almost invisible. When Chef got off the phone, he looked up and saw Dave standing there. He called out to Dave, glad to see you. He explained in detail that the hotel had a mentorship program, which was designed to teach people, people like Dave, about the world of hotels and restaurants. Would you be interested in doing this, Chef asked. In that instant, Dave saw his dream become real. For the next two almost three years, he worked as a helper in one or another department in the kitchen, learning how to cook in a professional kitchen. Often, the Chef would ask, what have you seen? What have you learned? One afternoon, while working in the pastry kitchen, the Chef walked in with another man. Dave was told to follow them.

The only thought that came to his mind was a general oh shit. The Chef introduced Dave to the other man. He was the Director of Human Resources. Whatever that was. The Director told Dave that Chef had recommended him for a company sponsorship to attend chef's school. The school was in upstate New York, and the program was about two years long. The company would pay all of his expenses to go to school as well as other costs he would have. In return, Dave would be expected to work for the company for five years when he graduated. The only thing Dave could think was, Holy Mother of Jesus, it's happened.

The Monkey's On Your Back:

After two years of classes and an externship in another one of the company's hotels, Dave came home to New Orleans. As he walked into the kitchen, everyone there greeted him, welcoming him home. Eventually, he made his way to the Chef's glass-walled office. As he cautiously walked into the office, the Chef got out of his chair and welcomed his protégé back home. "Damm, you are a sight for sore eyes. Tell me, did you learn a damm thing?"

Dave had to laugh at that question. "Ya know, Chef Albert, I used to think I knew something. Now? I'm not so sure. But anyway, you tell me. What's next?"

That question got a smile from Chef. "Dave, let's find us a cup of coffee and a quiet place to talk for a while." Five minutes later, with a cup of coffee in their hands. The conversation began as Chef Albert took a deep breath. "All right, some major changes are coming, and you will play a significant role in these changes. As you know, the hotel has around 800 rooms. Over the next several years, the hotel will undergo an expansion to bring it to 1,500 rooms. That expansion will result in a number of changes to the kitchen. As part of this expansion, the marketing folks want the kitchen to have more Creole or Cajun items. They want some of these items worked into the Café's menu immediately and also have a full line of banquet offerings that are Creole inspired. Also, we will be doing offsite catering. You guessed it, that will be you. Oh, one other thing. As part of the remodeling and expansion, there will be a new restaurant added to the hotel. And yes, it will be a Creole restaurant. That will be in yours, too. Basically, you'll be our resident Cajun. Dave? I hope you have a strong back. Cause guess what, my friend, the monkey is on your back."

The expression on Dave's face was priceless. "Holy shit, never in a thousand years could I have imagined this. You gotta know, I will lean on everybody here for help."

Chef Albert smiled. "Dave? Here's the deal. First of all, my door is always open to you. Now, if you run into a closed door, and likely you will. Let me know, and I will open it, or I'll get it opened. You don't know all the people who are behind this effort. Know this, my friend. This will succeed. Ya got it?"

"Are you ready to get this ball rolling?" Chef asked. David answered the question with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "The General Manager of the hotel's wife, a really wonderful and supportive lady. By the way, her name is Caroline Ashford. Works with Vieu Carre Artists Alliance (VCAA). That group is one of the leading social groups in the city. The members of that group make things happen in the city. They will be doing a showcase for the artists who display their work on the fence around Jackson Square. As an FYI, at one time or another, quite a few very well-known artists have shown their works there. This will be our opportunity to introduce ourselves to the community as a new catering company capable of taking on high-end events. The event will be a showcase of our new Cajun and Creole menu items. You and I will be under the microscope for this deal. The driver behind all of these changes is Marc Angellotti, whose grandfather was one of the people who started the company we work for today. He'll likely be at this function. Oh, one other little factoid. By the time this dog and pony show happens, the word will be out about the changes coming here. So? No pressure? Right?"

While his mentor and friend, Chef Albert, was talking. Dave sat and listened, taking everything in. When Chef finished with his intro, Dave jumped in with both feet. "Like you said, the monkey is on my back. I have a ton of questions to start with. Has this hotel done an offsite catering event before? Or is this totally new for our hotel? Is there a menu? Where is this little soiree being done? How many people? What time of day or night? And that's to start with." Then Dave took a deep breath. "The quick answer is. Yes, this is doable. With the right support across the board."

Chef Albert just smiled. "I knew from the start that you were the right man to take this on. Now, do you understand why you were sent to Stowe, Vt. for your internship at school? And then, after school, to work in the Smoky Mountains before coming home? Both of those properties have major offsite catering operations that we will be incorporating here. And you've worked with the people there who make it happen. We can do it here. You and I will do it here."

On the Fence

Dave assembled a crew of cooks from the hotel that were damm proud to call themself a Coonass or a city-born Creole. They all knew the event was to be the introduction of many new menu options. About a month before the event, the hostess committee for the event was invited into the kitchen to sample the menu for the evening of the event. Their comments would be asked for.

Chef Albert arranged for the members of the hostess committee to meet him at the Front Desk in the hotel's lobby. He introduced himself there and then escorted the committee members through the maze in the non-public areas to the kitchen. In the kitchen, a table was set up in front of where the cooks worked. This table, the 'Chef's Table,' was occasionally used for customers who were deemed to be very important to the hotel. Chef Albert introduced Chef Dave as his protégé and the kitchen's resident Cajun, who would handle this evening's presentation and also the reception. Chef Dave gave a quick overview of his background in Creole and Cajun foods, and then he went on to introduce all of his team members and what they have for the committee to sample. Going on, he implored the committee to ask questions and freely make comments about each dish. The committee asked very few questions, and the consensus was that the evening was a fantastic experience for all of the committee. As Chefs Albert and Dave were escorting the committee back to the lobby, one of the people on the committee asked when they could take on an event at their home in the Garden District.

After they walked the committee to the lobby, Chef Albert asked. "Hey, Dave? Ya gotta minute? Come with me. I'll buy ya a drink." That was the first time that happened, Dave realized.

They walked to the Chef's office overlooking the kitchen. Where Marc Angellotti and Leon Ashford were sitting enjoying a glass of champagne. Mr. Angellotti looked up as they walked into the office. "Chefs! Please join us. Leon and I watched and listened in on CCTV. That presentation was spot on. Chef Dave, you are the one who will be the spark plug to drive the changes Leon and I have in mind for the hotel."

The following weeks were consumed with one after another meeting and numerous dry runs to iron out all the intricate details. Finally, the evening of the reception arrived, and the planning paid off. Chef Dave took his position where he could watch the guests as he stood to one side and directed the staff as needed. The reception was a major success for the VCAA and the hotel as well. Marc Angellotti and Leon Ashford, with his wife Caroline, were there as well. The three of them circulated in and out of the people for whom the reception was held.

All in all, the attendees were very impressed. No serious issues came up. Sure, there were a few minor hiccups that would be quickly ironed out in the future.

Dave scheduled himself off the day after the event to recover and catch his breath. He lay in bed in his small apartment in the Quarter, lost in the music that rose from the streets of the Quarter. He smiled. Yeah, he thought, that was good last night. Today, I can wander the streets and look at the menus posted outside of many of my favorite places, but mostly unwind. Maybe I'll grab a late lunch at my crazy friend's grease pit. But first, a long shower and thick black chicory coffee.

Getting out and walking the streets of the Quarter was his favorite way to spend a lazy morning. Looking in one or another shop, reading the posted menu of a restaurant. This was the best way to unwind after weeks of pressure that resulted in last night's triumph. His wanderings took him along Royal St and then down Pirate's Alley, which brought him to Jackson Square. He felt that the Square was the center of the Quarter and the city as a whole.

He walked around the fence where many local artists would hang their works, and a few did caricatures of folks sitting for a picture. As he wandered around, he heard a woman call out. "Excuse me, but did I see you at the Artist Alliance reception last night?" Dave shyly nodded his head. "You're the guy who was standing in the corner with the tall white hat on telling all the servers what to do. Right?"

That got Dave to chuckle. "Yeah, you got me."

The young woman went on. "Why do you wear that hat? It looks so silly."

He nodded. "Yeah, I suppose it is a bit of sight. But, like many things, there's a bit of a story behind the hat. It's called a Torque Blanc. It's white to symbolize and remind people of hygiene in the kitchen. Originally, it was to keep the cook's hair out of the food, which is a good thing when you think about it. The ripples in the hat indicate how many different ways a chef can cook an egg. Oh, by the way, there are 101 ripples in the hat, and yes, I can cook an egg in many different ways. The height of the Torque Banc indicates the position or rank of the wearer in the kitchen. The reason for that is it's easy to find the chef a cook needs when they need them. Or to help folks hide out when they want to avoid them. People know where you are. Your hat sticks up in the air. Now? If I may. I have a question for you. How did you like the reception last night?"

His question got a warm smile from the artist. "Well, I'm from Chicago and went to school there. But Lord God, the winters are brutal. When I finished my time at school. I started looking for a teaching position anywhere that is warm. A year later, the folks here found me, and well. Now, this is my home. I do love this city. But the local food you guys have isn't like the staid midwestern fare I knew. Like, no pickled whatever, which we always had back home. Then, like, say what? Ya gotta suck heads. I mean, I told one of my girlfriends that I thought she would die. But yeah, I liked it. People around me kept saying to one another, here, you gotta try this or that. So? I think you done good. Anyway, so, like you're one of the bosses there with that tall white hat?"

"No. No. Not me." Dave exclaimed. "I'm one of the guys who facilitates things for the line cooks and their helpers. They are the bosses in the kitchen. A kitchen is like a brigade in the Army. The guys who make it happen are the Sergeants, not the Generals. It's simple. Generals don't take a hill. Sergeants do. The General will make sure you have what you need to do it. But, it's the Sergeant who does it. Same thing in the kitchen. I make sure my people, the cooks, have what they need, then get out of their way."

"There don't seem to be a lot of people out here today. Any reason why?"

The young artist wryly smiled. "Well, this time of year, there aren't a lot of tourists in the city. It's getting to be summer. So, I come here to work on my tan and maybe now and then sell a picture. I have a couple of things at the VCAA gallery. Anyway, I'm gunna pack it in. It's dead slow today. Besides, I need to find a bite for lunch."

Dave saw that as an opening. "I was about to go and get something for lunch too. Would you like to join me? OH! By the way, I'm Dave."

"Hi Dave, I'm Amy. I gotta haul my stuff to my car, so, like, could I get a rain check on lunch?"

With a soft glint in his eyes, "Amy, I live about two blocks away. We can stash your stuff there and find something. That work?"

A cup of coffee

With a giggle in her voice, Amy asked. "Dave, are you trying to pick me up? Anyway, you can buy me lunch." Dave, being a gentleman of the first order, offered to carry everything to his place. That was an offer Amy couldn't or wouldn't refuse.

The short walk to his apartment was filled with the usual light conversation of two people meeting for the first time. In a few minutes, everything was dropped off, and they headed out for lunch. Dave turned to Amy, asking. "Is there anything you do or do not like? I'm an adventurous eater. If there is anything new to me or unusual on the menu, I'll always try that."

That got a giggle from Amy. "Well, Dave, I really don't like them hairy little fish they put on pizza sometimes. But other than that, I'm game."

"Amy? Are you saying anchovies?" The answer to Dave's question was a happy nod. "Duly noted, no anchovy pizza for the lady. But be forewarned, I will sneak them into different things. Anyway, do you know Bubba's Shrimp and Crab Dock just outside the French Market? I know the guy who owns the place. Actually, we grew up together. The rumor has it that we are twins. It's just that we have different parents. Actually, our folks knew each other before we graced the world with our presence. OH!!! Amy, one thing you need to know about Bubba. You can always tell when he is lying. His lips are moving."

With that, Amy had to laugh, "Dave, you are horrible. I'm sure Bubba is a nice guy. But! The jury is still out on you."

As they walked into the restaurant, someone in the background called out. "DAVE! My old friend, it's so good to see out of Angola again. How you doing, pal?"

Amy's face lit up like a stoplight as everyone in the restaurant looked in their direction. "As you guessed, Amy, that's my old pal, my best friend, lying Bubba."

The hostess who seated them looked at Amy. "Ma'am, you are in for a hell of a treat with these two clowns. It will be a minor miracle if somebody doesn't call the cops again. Just be thankful Bubba's wife, Cici, isn't here. Or, for sure, the cops would be too. Hell, I might even call them." Then, looking around, she grimaced. "Oh shit, I was wrong. Cici just walked in."

"Dave? Did I walk into a meeting of the circus clowns?" Amy asked as she shook her head.

Reaching across the table, Dave took Amy's hand in his. "Amy, look out. Here comes Bubba. Following him is his bridezilla of several years. So, we are in for the full treatment."

"Hi Dave, so glad to see you upright and sober this lovely day." Cici cheerfully chirped out. "And Dave, who might this lovely young lady be? Another one of your routine conquests?"

With that, Amy jumped in. "So, like, you got all the straight dope on this guy that picked me up over at the Square and promised me an amazing lunch? He says he's some kind of Uber cook or something. Is that right?"

Cici looked at Amy and came out with one of those radiant smiles. "Girlfriend, you is gunna do just fine with this bozzo. He's a fair cook. All ya gotta do is kick him in the balls now and then like I do with his stupid brother over there." Someone called out to Cici. "Hey, it's great meeting you. But really, he's a good guy who needs a serious woman to tame him."

Dave sat there shaking his head as Cici walked away. "Amy? This is what good friends are for. I've known those two, well, forever. I can't remember Bubba ever going out with any other girl. Cici would have kicked her ass if he did, and then she'd drag him off to the city dump. Ah yes, the joys of living in a small town." Looking around, Dave got a waitress's attention. "Excuse me, now that the clown car has left town. I'd like to get our order in. If you will, please, can we get a bottle of San Pelligrino then to start an order of fried dill pickles and then two mixed fried shrimp and oyster Po'boys?"

After they had demolished lunch, the waitress came back. "I hope you guys saved a little room for some bread pudding with our whiskey sauce."

Dave rolled his eyes as Amy groaned. Then Dave spoke up. "Young lady, would you please get us a cup of chicory coffee and give the bill to Bubba? Tell him he owes me."

Amy looked up from her coffee and smiled lightly. "Dave? One thing is for certain. Bubba and Cici care about you. A lot."

"Thank you, Amy." Dave leaned back and closed his eyes. "You know, over the years, I've gone out with one or another quite lovely young lady. But, well, there wasn't anything there, at least not for me. The restaurant business is a relationship killer. We work crazy hours and holidays, fuggedaboudit. I'm at work."

"Yeah, in a way, Dave is right. I've been a charter member of the Four F Club. That's Find'em, Feel'em, Fuck'em, and Forget'em. I've looked at my folks. They were like Mr. and Mrs. Clown over there. Totally committed to each other. That's what I want. What I'm looking for. By the way, I've never shared that with any young lady before you."