Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the SMeyer. I'm just playing.
4:15 am.
Alarm.
Moan. Turn over. STOPTHENOISE.
On my feet. Bathroom. Mirror. Washcloth. Toothbrush.
Makeup? Not for Starbucks. Shower? Later, after my nap. Contacts? Seriously? Before 5 am? What do you think this is? But fuck, where are my glasses?
Found them.
Hat. Apron. Purse. Keys. Lock the door. Find the car. (Did I park it in the garage? Under the carport? Close to the door? Why don't I make a note of this when I park it?)
Found it.
Ignition. Reverse. Wait of gate to open. Blinker. Highway. Exit Ramp. Red light. Another Red light. What time is it? Am I late? Stupid lights. Why do I never take into consideration the lights?
Siren sign. Blinker. Parking lot. Park. I'm early. Wait for the manger. Is that his bike with the ridiculous light? Yes.
In the store. Answer his pointless "How are you?" With an "Awake." I'm on pastry case. Make it pretty. Make it fast. There's still coffee to grind.
Put on my Apron. 5:00 am. Open the door. 10 people walk in. I'm on bar. Grande 2 splenda Latte. Doppio over ice. Venti 5 pump chai, 2 pump caramel, nonfat Chai Latte. Venti Bold, Room. Tall Americano, no room. Ice Venti 2 pump Mocha Americano. Grande no foam Latte and a Grande Pike in a Venti double Cup. Venti Iced Coffee, no sweetner. Grande decaf, 2 pump, Skinny Vanilla Latte. Venti Soy Latte.
Shit, Venti Soy Latte is hot. Why does he have to see me at 5:05 in the morning when I look like hell warmed over? I can look good. People have said so. But not this early, not on 3 hours of sleep. What color is his hair anyway? Red? Brown? Coppertone Baby? Whatever, it's fantastic. Did he say something to me? I think he did. I smile. Answer him with a semi-coherent sentence that I don't really remember. It must have made sense though, because he laughed. Seriously, why is he so awake right now?
He's out the door.
A lull. Coffee time. Iced grade cup. 2 pumps mocha, 1 pump sugar-free vanilla, 1 pump sugar-free hazelnut, 6 shots of espresso, splash of nonfat, ice. No lid. Drink it in one gulp. Iced coffee in the same cup. Lid. Straw. I'll fill it back up at least 4 times during my shift. I almost feel human.
The morning rush. I'm awake now. Alice walks in, apron already on, looking like she actually showered before coming to work. Hate her. We joke with customers, sing, and call the drinks. I'm an espresso machine. What do you need? A 2/3 decaf, triple Grande soy, 3 splenda, no foam, extra hot Latte? Got it. Milk, splenda, espresso, let the foam settle, free pour. Perfect.
What, you need a Venti red eye with 6 honeys and four inches of cold soy? Fine. But you know your drink is stupid right? 6 honeys? Seriously? That is a shit ton of honey. And you want me to put it in? You know you're the reason the next 10 people will have to wait for their drink, right? You have to cut honey packets. CUT THEM. That means finding a scissor, finding the honey, getting the honey in the cup. Why don't you just keep a honey bear in your car? And 4 inches of soy? You are barely drinking coffee. Your drink is just honey and milk. Executive decision. 4 honeys. 2 inches of soy. Listen, I'm doing you a favor.
Venti black coffee. You're my hero.
4.45 hours later. Clock out. Drive four miles. Park on the street. Change hat and apron. Pastry time. Walk into the Sun kitchen. The boys are already there. Hi Riley, Hi Garrett, Hi Alec. Como Estas? Bien, bien.
Go to the fridge. What needs to be made? Brioche, lemon cream, Chocolate Pot de Crème. I also need to bake off some of the Cardamom cookies I made yesterday and do I quick inventory so Chef knows what to order for next week. How much time to I have before school? 4 hours? Doable.
Start the brioche. Weigh the flour, eggs and yeast. Warm the milk. Mix in the Hobart. Let the sponge rise for 45 minutes.
Move on to the lemon cream. Squeeze the lemons, weigh the eggs, sugar, water. Set up the double boiler. Whisk like crazy. Sweating. It's at 180 degrees. Let cool.
Set up the pot de crème. Melt chocolate under warming lamps of the line. Best. Short. Cut. Ever. Tempers the chocolate perfectly and I can forget about it. Heat the heavy cream. Add brown sugar and cinnamon sticks. Let steep for 30 minutes.
Add more flour and eggs to the brioche sponge. Add sugar and mix. More flour. Let the Hobart do its thing for 30 minutes.
The lemon cream is at 140. Pour the mixture into Kitchen Aide. Small dice 3 pounds of butter. 1 pound for the lemon cream. 2 pounds for the Brioche. Turn on Kitchen Aide and slowly incorporate butter.
Butter time for the brioche. Turn up the speed on the Hobart and start slowly added the butter. While I am feeding butter to the cream and bread gods I strain the heavy cream pot de crème mixture. I stir I the melted chocolate and slowly pour the mixture into a pot de bomb so I don't scramble the eggs. I strain it again into a container and put it in an ice bath and label it. It will need to cool and sit over night before I can bake it off.
Lemon cream is done. Container. Ice bath. Label.
The brioche is looking good. The butter is incorporated. It is a sticky, shiny, and glorious mass of bready goodness. I clean and sanitize my station, flour the surface and wrestle it out of the Hobart. Weigh out 4 loaves and 10 buns. Cover with a moist towel and put them by the oven. I ask Garrett if he can deflate them and put them in the walk-in for the third overnight rise. He says "Si." He knows the drill.
Cookies? Baked. Inventory? We need yeast and vanilla.
Done. God, I'm good.
1 pm. School. Change into school chef whites. It's a service day. Finishing Buffalo Tar Tar, Grilled Vegtable salad with bulgar wheat, Lamb Provencial, and Mustard Green Ravoli. My team is killing it, as always. We even managed a break. I sneak a 10-minute nap. I present. (I always present). I eat. Is this the first time I ate today? No I totally stole an Asiago Cheese Bagel from Starbucks. Mom would be so proud.
5pm. Home. 1 hour nap. Shower. Contacts. Minimal make up. New chef whites. Drive 10 miles. Walk into a different kitchen. Eclipse this time. Service is on full blast. I'm Swing tonight so I call "What do you need?" Sauté is the first one to respond. Jump next to him. Read tickets. Hanger steak for table 45. Halibut for 34. Salmon and Chicken 33. Catch him up. Call again. Brick oven this time. Weeded with 6 pizzas. Throw some dough. Assemble some pies. Catch him up. Call again. Chef needs me to run food to the dining room. Where is Brianna? Sick. Again? Yes. I run the food. Table 23.
Well, fuck me sideways. It's Venti Soy Latte. Well, at least I have make up on this time. But I have also been up for almost 18 hours even with my naps. I'm sort of delirious.
He says, "I told you I'd stop by."
I stand there with my mouth open.
He says, "The pizza looks good."
Time feels as if it is suddenly standing still. I can't remember the last time that happened. People seem to suddenly stop moving, stop asking me for things, stop being people I need to feed, caffeinate, impress or help. All I saw was his green eyes and his lopsided smile. All I heard was his sweet, honeyed voice asking me questions that I apparently have lost all capability of answering.
He says, "Here's my number. I know your really busy, but give me a call."
No. He. Just. Didn't. Things like this didn't happen to me. I was too busy, too focused, too…
Still standing there with my mouth open.
Where's my sass? Fuck, I have been in a kitchen with horny guys for most of my day. I am exceptional at talking to the male species. Sure, it's mostly in broken Spanish, prefaced with "Fuck," "Shit," or "Dude" and finished with "Asshole," "Douche," or "That's what she said." But I have wiles. I have confidence. Where the hell did I put it?
Found it.
"Baby boy, I get off at 12. If you're still around, I'll consider getting the bartender to comp you a drink."
We stare at each other for a minute. Or 12 years. I can't tell. This is the slowest I've moved in 2 years. He smiles and says, "I'll be here."
Heavy. Fucking. Sigh.
Go back into the kitchen. Hyperventilate for 15 seconds before I call. They need me on the app station.
I guess today is going to be even longer than usual. At least I don't have Starbucks tomorrow.
9 am is sleeping in. Right?
A/N: So, what do you think?