Foolish Wisdom
12 Restauranteur
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that the girls would have called all the other girlfriends. When I talked to Hannah Thursday morning she was the bright and cheerful girl I left and not the sad and sullen girl I’d talked to last week. Well, she was probably the only one of my girlfriends who would understand all the words I used, except maybe Renee. I was sure, though that Elaine got a kick out of it. I could see it coming up on Saturday Night Live in a few years.
“Liz is upset that you called Jennifer and Courtney lubricious,” Hannah laughed. “She thought that term only applied to her.”
“Well, she’s in a class by herself,” I said. “I can’t believe everybody heard about that already. It only happened two days ago.”
“Yes, but you got out of it without a fight and the bad guy doesn’t even know he was had. I’m so proud of you, Brian.”
“I just hope it means that he won’t bug Jen and Court again,” I said. “I’m not sure if he really gets it.”
“He won’t bug them,” she said. “All that stuck with him was ‘Don’t mess with my girlfriends.’ I guarantee it.”
“I hope you’re right. You really sound chipper and happy this morning. It’s good to hear.”
“Sam’s here.”
“Already?”
“She spent the night.”
“Wait. Are you saying that you and Sam and Sarah all shared my bed last night?”
“Yeah. Again.”
“I’m sorry, honey, but I might need some time to let that image settle.” She giggled.
“Do you ever, Brian?”
“Hmm? Ever what?”
“Um… think of me when you… um… you know.”
“I… uh… don’t know how to answer that, honey. Don’t be mad.”
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not like I’m actually doing it with you. And it’s kinda cool. I like cuddling with Sarah and Sam at night. They get hot and sweaty, though. Our skin just slides all over each other.” I groaned. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess maybe that’s something you should think about when you’re doing it, too, huh? I sure hope I catch up soon. I do like to cuddle, though. I’d like to cuddle with you right now. Then we could go deliver the papers.”
“I suppose it’s time, isn’t it?” I sighed.
“Yeah. Even though I’m happier, I still miss you, Brian. Love you.”
“Love you, honey.”
“I think three dozen at a time,” Bill said. He was flying high. “Specialty of the house. Our compliments. I love it. We pull the ribs out of the oven at five-thirty so we’re ready to serve the first ones at six. If you heat the oven then, you should be able to pop the muffin pans in at five-forty-five. That won’t work. They take too long to bake. We’ll bump the temp at five and pull the ribs as soon as we see the meat thermometer top 125. It will continue to cook when it’s out of the oven. You should have the first batch in the oven by five fifteen. Make up the second batch and pour out three dozen more. As soon as the oven is back up to temp, pop them in. We should have a fresh batch of three dozen every forty-five minutes. This will be great. No one will expect this. If it works tonight, we’ll do it every Friday and Saturday night with the prime.”
I was sitting there with my James Beard recipe calculating how much batter it took to make three dozen popovers at a time. My recipe only made six. What’s six times ‘a dash?’
This would be my first full evening actually in the kitchen and it was one of their two busiest nights. He wants popovers. I’m fifteen, man! What are you trying to do to me?
I baked popovers. Three times servers came back wanting more before the second batch was out of the oven. I upped the recipe to four dozen at a time for the last three batches. Of course, the nine o’clock batch had half a dozen left over and the servers made short work of those.
It was settled that I’d be working two five-hour shifts on Friday and Saturday night devoted to making popovers for the rest of my stay. Bill and I talked a lot about the process and decided that instead of using the big roasting oven and baking four dozen at a time, we’d switch to using the two smaller ovens with two dozen at a time. I could maintain getting two dozen out every twenty minutes that way. Guests would be offered one hot popover as soon after they were seated as possible. If there were any left, earlier guests would be offered a second.
The other twenty hours of my training this week was on restaurant management. Crystal and I went over everything in the next section of the operations manual, including the ordering process for their food. You just never think about the fact that everything in the restaurant has to be ordered. Potatoes by the fifty-pound bag. Fresh vegetables by the peck or bushel. And beef… by the cow. Every weekend, Bill cooked six prime ribs on Friday and six more on Saturday. That’s six cows a week. They bought them on the hoof down in Silver Lake at the cattle yard and they were delivered to a local butcher who did the slaughtering and preparing of the meat. It was all Prime Hoosier corn-fed Angus. The butcher cut everything exactly to Bill’s specifications. Steaks, roasts, and even hamburger were made up. Certain parts weren’t usable in the restaurant, but they were sold through local grocers. The butcher was USDA certified, so the meat could be sold by the cut. The hides were sent to a leather tanner. Everything was accounted for and the revenue from the extra beef helped offset the cost of the cows and butchering. They ground up a lot of beef for the daytime and grill work. Even the all-beef hotdogs the Tally Ho served at noon were from the same cows as the prime rib.
“We made the reputation of the restaurant on beef. Sure, the lunch grill includes breaded pork tenderloin sandwiches. You can’t have a grill in Indiana without that. And of course, you have to have Broasted chicken for the non-meat eaters that come with their families. But the rest of the menu is pretty much beef,” Crystal explained. “By buying it on the hoof, we control the exact weight when we butcher so that every cut is as near identical as we can make them.”
It wasn’t just the food that was in the budget. There were salaries, taxes, maintenance and repair, laundry, liquor and wine for the bar, insurance, business licenses, inspections, advertising, and mortgages. I looked through the financial report which was pages and pages and a pad of columnar paper with numbers written in pencil. It was mind-boggling. Of course, the one thing I was interested in, I couldn’t find. How much money could you make in the restaurant business?
“Crystal, forgive me for being nosy, but is this bottom line all that you and Bill get to keep?” It seemed like a pretty thin margin to live on.
“No. Every penny on that bottom line goes back into building the business. Capital expenditures like a new stove or even six new muffin pans come out of that.”
“But you aren’t included in the salaries, either.” I’d already seen that my name was listed with the two paychecks I’d already received.
“Good eye, Brian. You might consider a career in accounting or banking if chemistry and cooking don’t work out.” She sighed. I thought maybe I’d overstepped. “That’s the problem with any business venture, but especially with a restaurant. Bill and I haven’t drawn a salary in six years. I received a small inheritance when my grandfather died eight years ago. We considered all the possibilities, including packing up Courtney and going off to see the world. Bill was a chef at the Athletic Club and had a good reputation. I’d been doing pretty well in office management with a law firm in town. But we’d always dreamed of the day when we’d own a restaurant. The owners of the Tally Ho were retiring and looking for someone to take over. They financed the purchase on a ten-year contract with a balloon payment. You can see that line item on the spreadsheet. We devoted all the revenue from the restaurant to paying for itself and a bank floated us a short-term loan to pay for the first six months of operating expenses based on the historical record of the business. We’ve lived carefully off what I inherited. We know that in the next eighteen months, we need to increase the revenue of the restaurant by fifteen percent in order to start living on it. That’s because the remainder of my inheritance will go to pay off the balloon payment on the mortgage in four years. All we’ll have is the restaurant.”
“That’s scary, Crystal.”
“You don’t know the half of it. The closer that time comes, the scarier it gets. This fall, we’ll be going to a seven-day-a-week open schedule. We’re maxed out on our capacity for Friday and Saturday nights and Sunday is always profitable. But we have to build that daytime and weekday clientele somehow. I’m afraid Courtney is going to feel even more abandoned.”
“Maybe not. You should talk to her. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tell you what you should do with your daughter. But she’s been talking to me a lot since I’ve been down here and she’s beginning to see what a big job the restaurant really is. I think she’d be willing to help some more.”
Thursday morning, I heard the phone ring and was ready for a cheerful hello from Hannah. I wasn’t ready for it to ring four times and a man’s voice answer. “This is Reverend Gordon. God bless you. How can I help you?”
“I’m… oh! Uh… Reverend Gordon, this is Brian.”
“I was hoping it was you.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“That’s just it. If it was someone else calling at four-thirty in the morning, something would probably be wrong. Why are you calling here?”
“I was… um… calling for Hannah. We try to talk on Thursday mornings.”
“But the girls are staying at your house.”
“Still? I thought when Mom and Dad got back they were going to go home.”
“Well, you should get the story from her, I think. If you hurry you can still catch her before she leaves for her deliveries.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I woke you up, Reverend Gordon.”
“What happened to calling me Brighty?”
“Yessir. Thank you, Brighty.”
As soon as he hung up I was dialing home. Hannah picked it up on the first ring.
“Oh my gosh, Hannah. I woke up your dad!”
“Did he tell you to go play in traffic?” she giggled.
“No. But… What are you doing still at my house? Mom and Dad are still home, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but Marilyn-Mom said she liked having a house full of girls and invited us to stay. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve taken over your room.”
“You and Sarah?”
“And Sam. It’s such fun, Brian. We both enrolled in 4-H. Sam is going to show Rika at the Fair and I’m going to whip all their butts at barrels on Silk.” I laughed.
“Wow! Just the thought of you three all in my bed is going to keep me awake at night.” Hannah suddenly dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Sam said to tell your Kokomo girlfriends that we have a pussy-pile in your bed every night.”
“I don’t think I want to give them any more ideas!”
“You hug them and kiss them a lot, don’t you, Brian? Every evening Sarah takes us all to another girlfriend’s house or to a boyfriend’s house so we can all hug them. We all need that.”
“I wish I could hold and hug you, too.”
“Only three more weeks and a few days,” she said brightly. “I’m ready to roll. Got to get the news out.”
“Ride safely, sweetheart. I love you.”
I made popovers. Lots of popovers. But since I was over my hours for the week, I didn’t have to work on Sunday. Three days off, except for my reading assignment. This week it was all on balancing menus. Even in a beef restaurant, there is the whole process of figuring out what vegetables to have available, what to put on the salad bar, offering both rice and potatoes, how many styles of potatoes—mashed, baked, French fried, scalloped, hash brown, tots—and even what beverages to buy. How many different steaks should be offered? What is the percentage of beef to chicken? There’s also the problem of what equipment you have to cook each thing. Can you handle an order for seven steaks all at a different doneness on the grill at once? How many cooks fit in your kitchen? Who is preparing the salad bar and the side dishes? Holy Man Alive!
I was sent to the kitchen on Friday morning when Bill went in to get the prime rib in the oven at five. My task for the day—however long it took—was to create a menu for a restaurant. I had access to the Tally Ho’s recipe file, but I could introduce my own as well. Part of what I had to do was get the balance right and have profitable dishes. The food on your plate costs about twenty percent of what you pay for it. The other eighty percent is what it costs to serve it in a restaurant. You have to know what you can give away and what you need to charge for.
“Bill, I think the popovers are a bad idea,” I said as I sat at the planning table and he worked on the meat.
“Why is that, Brian? Everyone loves them.”
“Yes, that’s true. But people don’t come here for them. I don’t think we’re seeing an increase in business or a tendency toward higher priced orders just because we’re giving away popovers. That means that since I came, you’ve actually decreased the profitability of your most profitable nights and menu items.”
“That’s a good point, Brian. What would you suggest?”
“Well, it’s a short-term promotional while I’m here and I don’t suppose you’ll keep serving them after I leave. It’s been great education for me and really helps fulfill my class credit. But I wouldn’t keep serving them. If you launch a special promotion like that in the future, it should be at one of the restaurant’s weak times. Say at lunch or on Wednesday or Thursday evening, or as a special enticement when you decide to open Monday and Tuesday.”
“So, what you are saying is that when I have you prepare chateaubriand as your final project, it should not be on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.”
“Right. If we… what? What do you mean? Me prepare chateaubriand for the restaurant?”
“Mmmhmm. We’ll talk about it when you get your project menu finished. If I were you, though, I’d include it on your menu. Better figure out how many of them you could prepare in a night, too.” Those sneaky…
“Brian, it’s Monday. It’s our day off. Come on. We want to play.”
“Court, did you know what they were going to do? Crystal printed up special reservation forms they handed out this weekend and for next weekend, too. They’ve already taken eighteen reservations for my chateaubriand for the last Thursday I’m here. Look at this card she had printed up!”
“Hmm,” Jennifer laughed. “‘The Popover King serves Chateau Brian on Thursday, August 13.’ Hey! My birthday dinner a day early! Isn’t it supposed to be chateaubriand?”
“Yeah. Clever, huh? ‘Intern Chef Brian Frost will serve his own rendition of chateaubriand, an elegant steak for two diners. This special menu, created by Chef Brian, will be a four-course prix fixe meal that includes a Stuffed Mushroom appetizer, his already famous Gazpacho soup as seen on The Homemakers’ Hour with Miss Polly, the entrée steak with potatoes and seared asparagus tips, and the Tally Ho’s own Chocolate Decadence Brownie Cake for dessert. Coffee or tea is included with dessert. At a modest additional charge, the Tally Ho has acquired several bottles of Washington State Merlot and will serve by the bottle or by the glass. Bar service will be available at normal prices.’ And they already have eighteen reservations! I can’t do this!”
I was in a flat-out panic. I didn’t even know it was going on until Bill and Crystal dropped the bomb on me at breakfast this morning. I mean Bill said I’d prepare the chateaubriand as my final project, but they were like banking the whole evening’s restaurant capacity on it. They’d been so clever. Introducing my popovers to their best customers and talking about their new intern. Then doing the special reservation cards. They’d taken my menu project and were creating a limited menu for the night based on what I’d written. The whole kitchen staff was going to be working to make my ‘final project’ successful. I was hyperventilating and thought I’d pass out.
And then they left. They left and Anna left and the girls wanted to do something and didn’t anyone know I was panicking?
I don’t know where it came from, but all of a sudden Jennifer’s nipple was in my mouth and I was sucking like a little baby. She squealed. Okay, so I know in general where it came from. It was still attached to her. I mean I never saw it coming. And I never felt Courtney get my pants down to my knees so I was just in my underwear and my T-shirt was under my armpits and her breasts and tummy were rubbing up and down against my stomach and over my cock that took leave of my senses and was doing what it does naturally. In a big way.
“Wait! Wait!” I cried. “They just left. And they could be back. And we’re still in the fucking kitchen.”
“What a good name for it,” Jennifer cooed. “The Fucking Kitchen. If we ever start our own restaurant, that’s what we should call it.”
“Mom said they’d be gone at least two hours. Please suck our breasts and let us rub ourselves all over you, Brian,” Courtney said as she began licking my nipples. Oh God! What could I say?
“Permission granted.” I went back to sucking on that beautiful breast for all I was worth. My hands found Courtney’s breasts and she let me push them together as she rubbed up and down on my covered cock. One layer of clothing. That’s all the agreement specified. I started to moan with an imminent release. All of a sudden Courtney moved back and used her hand on my cock. I could feel the fabric come down below the crown just as I started spurting. “Oh God!” As soon as the last spurt died, Courtney pulled my briefs back over so my cock was secure and the two girls had a contest to see who could rub the most of my come into their breasts.
I’d been leaning against the kitchen table and sank down into one of the chairs. I wasn’t exactly hyperventilating anymore. In front of me, Jennifer and Courtney proceeded to lick my come off each other.
“It’s not bad,” Jennifer said.
“It was all I could do to not shove it in my mouth,” Courtney gasped. “Did you feel it, Jen? Did you feel how hot it was when it hit our tits? Oh baby, I love you. I want to lick him off you every time!” Jen and Courtney smashed themselves together again in a kiss that told me my cock wasn’t done yet.
“Lucky. You felt it all. I want to feel it.”
“We agreed,” Courtney said. “You get to feel it in the shower. Look at how sweet he is. He’s ready to go again.” I was pretty glazed over, but seeing Courtney and Jennifer licking my seed off each other and then kissing like the girlfriends I knew they were was so hot I nearly passed out. They closed on me from either side and kissed me in a long loving three-way kiss.
“Come, darling boy,” Jennifer said, tugging at my hand. “It’s time for your shower.” They led me to the bathroom and pulled off my T-shirt and briefs.
“Hey. I’m supposed to keep my underwear on,” I said. Jennifer turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature as I grabbed for my briefs.
“Huh-uh,” Courtney said. “The rules only require one layer of clothing between us. See what we’re wearing?” I tore my eyes away from her boobs and down to her panties. They were like granny panties. “We shopped long and hard to find these while you were studying. They are the softest and silkiest panties we could find that actually covered the important parts. You can rub your hard cock right up against our butts or our pussies and there won’t be any skin-to-skin contact.”
“And just wait till you feel what they’re like when we get them wet and soapy.”
“Brian, we want your explicit permission to touch you to the fullest extent the rules allow, and we give you that same permission.” I could hardly speak, but I managed to get the words out.
“I give you explicit permission to touch me to the fullest extent the rules allow.”
It was one hell of a shower.
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