it was. I understood that this was her job, and she was trying to do it to the best of her ability. This was my job, and I owed it to my employees and the owner of the restaurant to do everything I could.
There were two parking spots in the alley behind the restaurant, one for me and one for Randolph, or the manager, Anton, when Randolph was not around. Ricardo and Anton were leaning against Anton’s car.
“They kicked you out again?”
“Yeah, they didn’t want anyone in there.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t kick me out. It’s my kitchen!” I growled toward them as I made a beeline toward the back door. I yanked the door open and stepped into the back. There were two inspectors in the kitchen, both wearing face masks and gloves, and they turned to me when I stepped through the kitchen archway.
“You can’t be in here,” one man said.
“I most certainly can. I’m Ali Davidson, the Head Chef of this kitchen, and I oversee everything when Randolph is not around.”
“Where is the owner?”
“Randolph is currently in France.”
“Is he aware that your kitchen is precariously close to being permanently closed?”
“I don’t know how you can say that. There was one person who was reported to be sick with E. coli, and that was less than fourteen hours after he ate here. I’m sure you are aware of the incubation period, so I seriously question that this person might have contracted that from this kitchen.”
“It’s not unheard of for a person to get sick in less than twenty-four hours,” the gruff man said. He had yet to identify himself to me either.
“You need to go back outside and wait until we are done.”
“I most certainly will not!” I crossed my arms and glared at him. “This is my kitchen, and I will remain in it. I will stay out of your way, but I have every right to be here and oversee what you are doing. You cannot bully my staff or me, and you can start by identifying yourself to me and supplying me with a copy of the second complaint.”
I could only see part of the man’s face, but I could tell he was livid at my refusal and at my demand to have information. As he stormed off to the side, I glanced at the other man, and he winked at me. I frowned as I turned away. Was he flirting—or telling me that he approved of my outburst?
It didn’t matter one way or the other. The angry man came back and thrust a paper at me along with a business card. He glared at me, then spun around and strode off to get back to work.
I read the report. A female who had been in our restaurant the same night as the man had reported feeling sick and had gone to the hospital after intense stomach and bowel issues. She was confirmed to have E. coli in her system. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed slowly.
I moved down further on the report and saw that she had skipped the salad, eaten the fish, and had crème brûlée for dessert. Nothing that the other man had eaten, and from different stations altogether! This made no sense.
Fish was stored differently than our other meat, the vegetables prepared and cooked separately, and the dessert finished in a different area than the crepes. How were these people getting sick? Was it possible that we did have a more significant issue in our kitchen?
The paper dropped to my side as I scanned the room; where were the bacteria, and how many other people had we gotten sick?
For two hours, Henry Marks and his assistant, Carl, worked the room, searching and testing every surface, wall, floor, counter, and stove. They even got on a ladder and took samples of the ceiling and air vents. I was glancing at my watch, noting that the rest of the employees would start arriving soon.
“If you’re worried about the time, Ms. Davidson, don’t be. Your restaurant will be closed until we get these samples tested.”
“What? But you haven’t even had any positive tests in the swabs you have done!”
“Yes, that’s true, but with two people having such a severe reaction, and the fact that we can’t pinpoint where or how, until we get the swabs back, your doors will be closed.”
“You can’t do that!” I spouted angrily, and he turned, pulling his mask down and smiling at me.