Chapter 1: The Restaurant.
Axel exhaled through his nose upon looking at the run down building before him.
"So, this is it, huh?"
Tucked away between a narrow graffiti-covered alleyway in Lower Manhattan, NYC, a quaint little building lay tucked into its surroundings. With warehouses on each side and a separate apartment complex above, the two-story building stood alone like a different-colored block in a Jenga tower, fitting into the rest of the tower seamlessly as if its surroundings grew around it.
A quaint little blue door with peeling paint, dust-covered opaque glass windows in said door, a long-since dead and overgrown planter to one side, and a dirty, barely legible plaque with the address on it nailed into the wall beside it was all that stood out from its surroundings to show a building was there in the first place.
Stormy grey eyes stared down at a cracked, faded sign barely hanging from the door. The words bringing a hint of nostalgia to Axel's mind.
{The Titan's Bourbon}
He could almost hear the innocent laughter of his younger self a decade before, excitedly running to the door to rush inside and see his favorite person in the world.
Yet now, the faded sign alone was a better tell of where he was than the actual address plaque on the wall. If Axel didn't have faint memories of coming to the location as a child, he wouldn't have even given the place a second look. Hell, it didn't even come up on Google Maps.
A sigh left his lips as he thumbed an old key in his pocket and debated going inside, not wanting to tarnish the memory of what once was.
The restaurant was inherited from his late uncle. A man with a perpetual smile who instilled in Axel a dream of being a chef. A dream that began long before he ran headlong into the harsh reality of life. A dream that led him to work part-time jobs throughout high school to save up, in addition to having to take out atrocious student loans, all so he could go to culinary college without realizing the reality of what came after.
Working in tight spaces. Loud and unreasonable people yelling in his ears at all times of the day. Nightmarish working hours. Low pay. And the list went on. Hell, he just lost his last job for being blamed for the faults of others, and rather than argue with false accusations, he simply had enough and left before the last embers of his dream finally died.
Axel just wanted to cook. His parents never supported him. His few friends from college all vanished into higher-paying work environments, and he only ever had himself to rely on.
'Well, besides Uncle Jeff.' A quirk of his lips was all he let himself show at that thought.
His uncle passed down a love for cooking and combining ingredients. The man had a way of bringing a feeling of magic to the kitchen that left a seed of longing and desire in Axel's young mind. Despite a decade of effort and time trying to wash that seed away, it held on through it all.
He just wanted to experiment and hone his skills, not concern himself with the hundred various things about pleasing his boss, working with staff, being a waiter, or anything related to big restaurant chains.
He never had time for himself, was always stressed, had no money, and, worst of all, didn't have the money, time, or kitchen to hone his craft as he always wanted.
He was tired. His eyebags were so deep that it became the norm for others to ask if he wore eyeliner. He was done. Done with people. And done taking orders from others.
So when he quit his last job, he packed up and went to the last option he had. The one card his emotions refused to let himself take. The small, run-down, out-of-the-way restaurant he inherited when his uncle passed away.
It had been a decade since he passed when Axel was barely fourteen years old. His will had offered the restaurant to Axel in name, but his parents tried to sell it for the money. Money they didn't need since his uncle had passed along his savings as well. Savings that were supposed to help Axel's college fund yet were taken to satisfy his parent's vices.
He had tried to fight it then, but what was a fourteen-year-old's word to his parents?
Thankfully for him, the restaurant always became too much of a hassle to sell. Some kind of issue cropped up every time they tried, making the cost of getting it on the market far too much to deal with. And in the end, Axel got his wish and was given the deed when he turned eighteen.
Along with all the property taxes. A lesson in 'reality' his mother gloated about when she handed him the deed and booted him out the door on his birthday.
The memory brought a snort of dark humor to Axel's mind. 'Bah, screw them. It's in the past; Uncle Jeff's place is still better than having a boss or dealing with that alcoholic woman.' He had long since stopped referring to the woman as his mother. She lost that respect long before booting him out.
He rolled his shoulders with a sigh and inserted the key into the door, pushing it open on a creaky hinge, and heard a dull jingle of a bell above the door. The sound pierced through his dull mood with fond memories of his childhood.
Sunlight streamed in through the open door, illuminating the simple space inside. Even covered in dust and cobwebs, Axel could only smile at the sight. 'Hasn't changed a bit.'
A medium-sized space about twenty-five feet wide with three sets of four simple rectangular tables lined up in rows, each with two seats without backrests. Darker hardwood floors, walls, and crossbeam ceiling all the way to the far end, around fifty feet away, where a wooden bar top with a few stools lay fallen over, and an open kitchen on the other.
'Same old place. Just…older, I guess.' A chuckle left his lips as he flicked the light switch, only for his humor to die in the next second as it did nothing. '….lightbulbs need to be changed. Wonderful.'
Flicking on the flashlight on his phone, Axel stepped inside, waving away the spiderwebs as he stepped through a dusty curtain hanging over the empty doorway to the side of the bar top. 'Seems like the start to a horror movie in here. That or a rat infestation. God, I hope it's the horror movie scenario.'
Thankfully to his sanity, nothing of the sort appeared on the other side. The space from the bar top to the wall only went a few feet, where a closed glass cabinet with a sliding door that once held an assortment of liquor behind it sat. An older model cash register screwed into the wood was placed behind the bar, along with a cabinet beneath it holding dusty placemats and cutlery sets for guests.
The kitchen itself extended from the inside of the bar, where the guests couldn't see, in a long, narrow rectangular lane with the fridge, sink, stove, kitchenware, and such on both sides leading to an open doorway with a staircase at the far wall.
'Hm, seems smaller.' He was under five feet tall the last time he'd been there, and the place seemed massive to his young self. Yet now, at over six feet with broad shoulders, the space seemed much more average. 'Oh yeah, I used to call Uncle Jeff, Mr. Incredible, with the size comparison between him and the kitchen.' Young Axel had seen the movie, and the part with Mr. Incredible in his tiny-sized average human car stuck in his brain for his uncle's situation. 'He would just laugh and take it in stride. Saying he wouldn't have it any other way and that his kitchen was his home.'
Axel pointed his flashlight at a section of the wall, seeing the faint lines where his uncle would playfully measure his height in between his yearly visits, now covered in layers of dust and mildew. 'I miss you, Mr. Incredible.'
He rubbed a thumb over the faint line and shook his head. 'He'd cuff me over the head for getting sentimental. 'A chef's tears are only for cutting onions'.' A snort of humor dispelled his mood at one of his uncle's favorite lines.
The light was pointed back at the kitchen, his feet stepping on the unwashed water-proof tiles as he walked through the doorway.
To the right, a set of sturdy stairs led up to the apartment area on the second floor. To the left, a locked door without a knob remained just as it was years before. 'He never did let me in there. Always said it was where the 'magic' happened.'
The door had a keyhole, but Axel only received one key for the building, which was for the front door. He tried fiddling with the keyhole now, but nothing came out of it, and he suddenly felt like it wasn't worth the effort. 'Meh, I'll try to change the locks later.'
He turned away with an almost unnatural degree of disinterest before climbing the stairs to check out the apartment.
The lights were still out, but he easily toured the area with some natural light coming in through the large windows. A single open area with two sliding doors, one for the closet and another for the bathroom. All covered in dust, dead insects, and in various states of disarray. Yet even without the flashlight, it would still be lit by the large, slanted, opaque skylight letting in sunlight. As much as could get through the filthy glass anyway.
Sheets covered the king-sized bed frame lacking a mattress and an old couch, but almost every smaller piece of furniture was gone. 'Vulchers really sold off whatever they could fit through the door.' The thought irked Axel. His uncle's place was well taken care of and filled with cool stuff when he was a kid. He loved sleeping over when he could, and now it was practically barren and lifeless.
'A lesson in reality. Yeah, you guys were my first warning signs of the challenges ahead.' He should have been angry, but frankly, Axel was beyond caring for more than a few seconds at this point. His parents crossed the line when they had the balls to ask him for money for their extravagant vacations after years of pretending he didn't exist once he was out the door. And then calling him ungrateful for not responding. 'Good riddance.'
He wouldn't call his parents cruel or anything, never physically abusive or such. They were just a delusional couple who never planned nor wanted a kid. 'What did they even expect by not using a condom, a plasma TV?'
Tossing that topic aside into the mental trash bin, Axel flipped off the flashlight and exhaled, running a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. He plopped down on the edge of the covered bed frame, hearing it creak under his weight, and really took in the state of things. "Well, it could be worse."
He had a place to stay. A place to work with only himself in charge. A kitchen to call his own. 'My stuff is out by the street in the U-Haul, but I'm going to need to clean this place up first.' He unlocked his phone, switching to his banking app to check his account. 'Have enough for a couple months, not much leftover with student loans and utility fees, but hey, no rent.'
Rent was a concept soon hated by the youngest of legal adults that never stopped being hated until you were either rich or owned your own place.
'The kitchen still had all the necessities, albeit very old and dirty, but they weren't anything special, so no one went through the effort to sell them off. The tables and utilities are all still there and seem to be working. All this place really needs is a deep clean and the stuff I have in the truck.'
He inhaled through his nose and reached into his pocket, pulling out an old photograph with his twelve-year-old self standing next to the towering bald-headed man of muscle with a bold blonde mustache that was his uncle. "I'll fight till the end, uncle. Thanks for one final gift."
Standing back up, Axel dropped the photo on the bed sheet and stretched his arms above his head with a grunt. "Enough moping. Time to get to work."
He cracked the windows to let the air in and headed for the stairs, unaware of the gentle breeze blowing the photo into the air, moving it to land gently on the nightstand, conveniently cleaned of all dust.
0000
Cleaning was a pain in the ass. Axel was ready to fight anyone who said otherwise.
A few hundred bucks of light bulbs, replacement parts, and cleaning supplies went down the drain as he scrubbed, wiped, vacuumed, mopped, bleached, and damn near power washed every inch of the interior.
He started from the apartment so he could get his stuff inside, and that alone took an entire day and well into the night, with him sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag, ineffectively at that. The following day was spent getting his stuff out of the truck, through the narrow kitchen and stairway without letting anything touch the filth, and moving them up to the apartment so he could organize it and sleep on his actual mattress.
'Thankfully, Uncle had a bed frame that could support his stupidly large body, and a decade passing didn't put much wear on it. The same with the couch, even if I had to thoroughly clean that thing. I don't know why he had a ninja star stuck between the cushions, and I don't want to know why.'
Surprisingly, the bathroom was small for a man his uncle's size, and Axel could have sworn he remembered it being twice its current size. He shrugged and assumed it was his young age messing with his memories. The thought flew out of his mind when he practically fought a death match with the mold monster in the shower. 'I swear it howled at me.'
On the third day, he took care of the stairway and dining area, which were mostly wood that he had to wipe down or mop. A few of the table supports also needed some shining, but no damages were found. His uncle always believed in buying sturdy over fancy.
The fourth and fifth days were focused on the kitchen and all the pots, pans, dishes, cooking utensils, cutlery, utilities, and everything in between—even the ceiling vents and behind the fridge. Axel took a clean kitchen seriously, enough that he often fought with at least one co-worker in every culinary job he's had. 'I can still hear Uncle's booming voice in my ears. CONSTANT CLEANLINESS.'
It was a lesson that stuck with Axel for life, considering the towering mass of muscle that would flex every time he said it with a look that said he knew exactly how silly he sounded, yet took it dead seriously. 'A man that size should not take inspiration from Harry Potter books.'
The lesson was further enforced by the man expounding the Dao of why a clean kitchen was essential, with multiple mentally traumatizing, very rare, examples of what could happen if certain things weren't cleaned properly.
Day five ended with a sparkling kitchen so clean it would get a smile out of Mr. Clean, and a bone-tired Axel dropping into bed with a groan. Dead to the world till noon of the next day.
On day six, Axel waddled into the nearest home goods store with bed hair that looked like it had gone through a hurricane and moved through the aisles with a zombie impersonation that would make any NYC resident proud. Cans of paint, wood polish, a ladder, and everything else he needed were stocked up before he got them back to the building and got to work on the touch-ups. 'I never thought I'd be happy for how simple the entrance was.'
He repainted the door, replaced the shoe-cleaning mat, polished the address plaque, and put up a new sign. 'I'll keep the spirit alive, Uncle, but I'll let your shop name rest with you.'
{The Tiger's Bourbon}
If Uncle Jeff was a titan in body and mind, Axel was a tiger. He never had the physique to match his uncle, but years of labor and certain hobbies had built the lithe body of an athletic swimmer with broad shoulders. Not to mention his attitude whenever someone offended his craft was downright murderous. If it weren't for his perpetual flat look, dark eyebags, and messy black hair, he might have even stood out as handsome.
But standing out due to his looks was never the goal. If there was anything that he cared to stand out about, he wanted it to be his food.
And by the end of the sixth night since his entrance to the shop, Axel stood alone in his sparkling clean kitchen, put on one of his few sets of proper kitchen attire, and made himself his first meal in his own restaurant.
A meal to remember the old and bring with it the new.
The knives weren't special; Axel never had the money for high-quality tools, but the ones he had were well cared for and carried with him for multiple years as one of his few prides.
The pots and pans left over weren't special. His parents had long sold off anything expensive. All that was left were well-used but sturdy tools that an old craftsman would swear by.
The ingredients weren't special, just something average bought half off at the nearest corner grocery store with meager funds.
Yet none of that mattered. He wasn't making anything special. It wasn't a five-star meal fit for a king.
No, his first meal was a tribute to the man and the place that started the journey of his last decade.
Seafood Pot Pie.
The first meal his Uncle made for him. An iconic dish that started it all. A dish with the most positive memories Axel could recall of his childhood, and a dish that brought forth all the feelings of why he wanted to be a chef in the first place.
It's what inspired him to want to be a chef specializing in seafood.
It's what inspired countless hours, days, weeks, months, and years into studying the habitats of ocean life, where to find them, and most importantly, how to cook them.
It's what inspired a dangerous hobby in the form of Free Diving. An activity that brought him closest to the world in which the ingredients he loved to cook lived. Down in the depths, where the light faded and the silence became suffocating, he felt free. He felt alive. Like time stood still and the world was boundless.
But for as much joy as his hobby brought him, cooking was his true passion. And it began with a simple Seafood Pot Pie.
Butter was melted in a large saucepan, and onion, fennel, celery, and carrots were tossed in and stirred until golden. Then, flour was added to gently coat them like a second skin. Wine came next, adding an intoxicating aroma to the mix until it evaporated, leaving behind a lovely slurry.
Fish stock and cream followed, thickening the slurry into a creamy sauce that wet the appetites of even those who swore by meat for life. A bit of seasoning with soft green peas, parsley, and a mix of crab meat, scallops, and shrimp rounded it out for a perfect filling.
The next part was tricky, having to lower the heat and bring the contents to a steady warmth without letting the seafood cook through until it was time to move it over to a set of ramekins before they were set aside while he began preheating the oven.
With that heating, he focused on the puff pastry, rolling sheets into 13 x 13-inch squares before cutting them into quarters. Each sheet went over a ramekin, decoratively folded atop, and the edges cut in a personal style he preferred.
Whisking an egg and heavy cream in a bowl, he used the mixture to coat the pastry sheets before making a trio of small slits with a knife in the center of each sheet to allow steam to vent during cooking.
A final topping of fennel and parsley pressed gently into the pastry was the last touch before they went into the oven, where they churned and baked for forty minutes before completion.
A wave of heat and the rich scent of glory escaped the oven as he pulled out the finished product of his labor.
Golden crusts glowed in the light. The crispness damn near singing as Axel gently dragged a spoon across its molten surface. Yet, the satisfaction of witnessing it crumble like lava cake as he pierced it, exposing its creamy mouth-watering treasure hidden deep within, was soul-cleansing.
[Image on QQ]
The first bite of that treasure didn't send him on some euphoric trip, shedding his clothes in a shower of magical scenery, but it did bring with it the feeling he had so craved.
That feeling of hope. Of passion. Of release.
A warm meal was worth a thousand comforting words, and that one meal was the best he'd had in longer than he cared to admit.
So when he collapsed into bed that night, he felt comforted by the feeling of knowing everything was going to be alright.
Yet as he slept, he went unaware of the soft rumble that traveled through the entire building, sleeping peacefully under moonlight that was no longer his own.
Chapter End.