Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,25

glass, spinning it slowly in place. He had yet to take a sip.

“So, wait, she’s head chef here and her other job is to run her bakery? Why not just hire a full-time chef?”

“Believe me—she’s tried. It’s not enough money for the hassle.”

Shea threw him a look that begged explanation. “The hassle of what? Doing your job?”

“I told you…” Dev shook his head. “When Jenkins ran the place, the food was really, really good. He did all the cooking himself ’til the day he died. It was an impossible act to follow.”

“Then why stay open?” Shea wanted to know. “You said it’s a magical place, but it sounds near-impossible to recreate the magic.”

“There are other reasons,” Dev conceded. “This is the only full-service restaurant left in town. This kitchen is for more than just people who come in to eat. It services the Meals on Wheels for seniors. If The Big Spoon disappeared, it would destabilize the town.”

It certainly sounded serious, but Shea still didn’t see the issue with finding a chef. So she asked Dev again.

“When the food wasn’t the same, a lot of customers started complaining,” he explained. “The chefs didn’t like so many things getting sent back. That first round of new chefs all quit. Now that so many people have stopped coming, we can’t afford to attract someone good.”

Shea nodded in understanding. “Restaurants are a tough business. There’s a lot of risk. A lot that can go wrong.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Dev observed.

“My dad owned a chain of restaurants,” Shea explained. “The franchise nearly went under at least twice.”

“Does he still own it?” Dev asked.

She shook her head. “It’s been gone for years. I don’t think I ever heard my mom as relieved as she was the day they finally sold.”

“And your dad?” he asked, leaning in a little and lowering his voice, pulling her in as if it were she who should hang on to his every word.

Shea looked down into the icy bourbon of her drink as she continued stirring, repeating what her mother had told her about that day. “He cried like a baby. Said it was one of the saddest days of his life.”

Trudy chose that moment to descend upon them again, this time with an astonishing number of plates. She made return trips with armfuls of more for several long minutes.

“You really want me to do this?” Shea cast Dev one final, skeptical look.

“Be brutal…” he said with a note of desperation in his voice. “Delilah needs the help. You’ve met her. And you know she can take it.”

Nodding her acquiescence, Shea took a long look at what was around the table.

“Let’s start with the meatloaf,” she proclaimed, cutting off little pieces for both her and Dev. After taking a bite, she had the same thought as she had the first time she’d tasted it. She wanted to guide Dev through her thinking so she told him to take his bite.

“What’s the first thing you notice?”

“It’s a bit salty,” he observed. “And I guess it’s kind of tough—like, dry or something going down.”

She tried not to cringe when he washed a sip of his meat down with his Pinot. This particular meatloaf was doused in a vinegary barbecue sauce. Even imagining the melding of those flavors caused her to want to make a face.

Instead, she nodded in agreement. “That’s because it doesn’t have enough fat. I’m pretty sure the ground beef she’s using is 90/10. Not only that, it seems to be all beef instead of a mixture of beef and pork.”

“90/10?” he asked.

It had taken effort not to be entrenched in food for so many weeks. Shea got a little thrill from being in a position to explain.

“It’s a number describing the fat content in the meat. For something like meatloaf, more fat will give it better texture.”

“Wow.” Dev looked impressed. “I feel like I should be writing this down.”

Shea smiled. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“I don’t know…maybe to add oregano or something? I don’t really cook that much.”

Shea tried not to laugh. “That much is obvious, if you’re trying to add oregano to meatloaf.”

“Hey, make fun of me all you want.” Dev didn’t look the least bit offended. “Just keep the advice coming.”

Forty-five minutes later, Dev had, indeed, gone to get that piece of paper, and taken diligent notes on all of Shea’s advice. She’d only had a few bites of each meal, a rhythm that came with its own déjà vu.