He knew he had to continue with his double life. Plus, he could not exactly end his work with a mob officer and an FBI agent, then start posting dishes to Instagram or YouTube the next day. Or even after a while. It was a delicate combination of faking it, but being the realest he could be with his food.
If Alvin’s plates were going to be the most authentic thing in the room, then he wanted to be perpetually excellent at that.
So it did not matter where he was cooking. He just did not want to cook under such false pretenses. Coco was a funky boss, not in the best way, but if all the chef had to do was cook for a sketchy employer, that would not have been the worst thing for someone far down the totem pole of consequences.
Once everything lit up to red and blue siren lights, if Alvin was truly favored, he would be out on a food errand for the mansion when lady justice pounced on her prey.
“Could I have some eggplant and mushrooms in a few things this week?”
Alvin snapped his attention to Coco, who suddenly appeared before him. He had that eerie feeling, the workplace kind, that she was there for a little more than a moment before he noticed. But she was rather preoccupied with herself.
It was the first time the cook saw Coco in something other than formal or semi-formal clothing. In fact, the mildly startled subordinate was more prepared for a job interview, any one, in his chef outfit, than Coco would have been in her bonnet and thermal top – complete with a mysterious stain, sweatpants, and fuzzy house slippers.
The boss looked as if she was tired enough that her wall was down. Still all too prepared to assert her position, in that, there was no need for such behavior, since everyone knew who ran the place.
That day, she might have been slightly more agreeable. Normally, if she made a comment, her goons or other hired hands would know something was supposed to happen after she spoke it. Seemed as if Alvin could have asked to use the restroom directly and she would not have bitten off his head for such a simple, human needs question.
What was about to ensue could have been the damning evidence. Exhibit A in the case of the changing relationship of employee and employer.
“Just a meat substitution to what you already wanted this week?”
“Should suffice,” Coco responded, “but I’m out of my head. I just want to set something up and see that it works. Don’t let me down.”
“You’ll have what you need.”
Alvin was not worried. He was still on the payroll for a reason. But maybe the tired, more thoughtful Coco would taste food differently. He saw it before. Regulars at the restaurants he slummed at had their staples, but comfort food tended to be the case when things were going better than okay. It was more a relishing than a means to get better. But when the separation started, or a moment of uncertainty or turmoil, it was easier to go with the unknown. A little citric acid in the open wound. Food usually paralleled and complemented, more than it relieved.
It was clear Alvin got his assignment for the day, and under the routine of daily circumstance, Coco would be on mile ten, into some new endeavor. Uncharacteristically, she lingered.
“That ever happened with you?”
“Craving something else?”
“Not just a craving, but a desire to end at something different.”
This was a conversation of firsts. Alvin sensed, in a rare occurrence, this was not a trap to get lectured. Coco wanted an answer as a human being.
“They’re palate cleansers. You go with a different flavor profile, and sometimes, the main ingredient can do that.”
Something connected in Coco’s eyes.
“That’s it. You’re just looking for a different experience.”
She fell to silence and in the corner of his eyes, the could almost mistake the woman for chewing on her words. He decided to let her have all the space in the world to think.
“I don’t even think I like mushrooms all that much. Just wanted to make sure I don’t need to consciously eat them for a long time.”
She then observed Alvin prepping some produce, to the point he thought it would be more awkward to start talking to break the quiet, as impossible as that seemed. He kept working.
Coco broke her eye contact and stepped to the fridge with renewed energy. She popped it open, the hum of electronic air greeting her. With her head in the large, cold box, she spoke, “Perhaps you can help me cook food I want on the weekends, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I always wanted to try that out. Those subscription meal prep services pay their head chefs handsomely for their consulting.”
“Guess I’m happy to be a guinea pig. As you are mine.”
She closed the fridge door and emerged with a bottle of yellow mustard and some deli lunch meat.
“Don’t know if I ever told you this, but you’re actually my first personal chef.”
“An honor.”
“Pssh. No, it’s not. I have to be in my fifties for it to be something worth telling your grandkids one day.”
“Just don’t fill up on your snack. I should have breakfast ready in about forty minutes.”
“Pay no mind. I’m a bottomless pit today.”
With that, she turned towards her study and walked a determined step back to her lair of unknown trouble.
The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. There was a new hire whom Alvin imagined wished he failed whatever job interview involved hiring a henchman. As the cook was whipping up a bechamel sauce for dinner, the new guy caught a whiff of the base mixture and started live recording the chef.
Alvin never saw someone get
