Bill chose a slicer, two chef’s knives, one smaller than the other, two boning knives, also different sizes, and a primo sharpening steel.
Jimmy stood by carefully watching the new cook as he made his choices. He saw that Bill was decisive, sure of himself. He knew exactly what he wanted and of the ones there he found those that best suited him. It was about the feel. Nothing more.
From away from the cabinet he selected two different kitchen forks, both two-pronged, one with straight prongs and very pointed, the other with a longer handle and curved prongs that were a bit more broad though still pointed at the end. He tapped the first one against the table and held it to his ears, listened to its sound, that of a tuning fork. The sound rang for him, sang its hum.
He also chose a spatula. He picked an older wooden-handle one with slight curves at the edges. He actually held several of the same ones, felt each one carefully until he finally held on to the one he would keep.
“Well, all those will be yours now,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said when Bill was done selecting. “If you ask me, I think you made some great choices.”
“Thanks,” Bill said.
“You knew what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“I know what I like. And I know the feel I like in my hands.”
“Good man,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “Let’s go check on your partner and his uncle.”
Bill shrugged his shoulders indicating that it was up to the banquet chef, and off they went.
Jimmy G and Victor were sitting in a corner of the room they used to defrost the vegetables. Jimmy G was reading a Greek newspaper. Victor was staring out into space, from time to time glancing over Jimmy G’s shoulder at the paper.
“My two hardest workers,” the banquet chef, obviously being sarcastic, said to Bill as they entered the room.
On his initial tour through the kitchens on his first day, Bill had seen this room. It was empty, unoccupied and mostly dark. Now it was brightly lit. The line of sinks, deep ones, that had all been empty then were now all full. In each one were pans of broccoli set one on top of the next, one pan lengthwise, the next one laid across it. Cold water ran from each faucet cascading waterfall-like from the overflowing top pan on down and overflowing on down from every other pan.
Beyond that line of sinks was some space, then a partial waist-high wall with a break in it. Where it picked up, it ran waist-high to the room’s full back wall.
Beyond that small-wall was the line of stock pots, steam rising from the first two of them which were being tended to by kitchen stewards. Bill’s position as cook was higher up and much better paid than the stewards.
“We all set?” the banquet chef asked.
“All set,” Victor said. “Waiting on you.”
“Well, let’s go,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said.
The main kitchen was busy now. What was happening, Bill thought, was rather interesting. The different elements of the banquet crew that had been working in different locations were now coming together. Pantry women were making the salads and stewards were standing by to ladle on the salad dressing when the salads were dished-up. Vegetable men, three of them, had cut and panned the potatoes that would now be sautéed in onions and browned by the banquet cooks, the two Jimmies, Victor and Bill. Once browned in humongous roasting pans, the cheese sauce would be mixed in and the pans would be set into the rotary oven to bake. Those same vegetable men would drain the water from the broccoli and transport all those pans into the kitchen.
And then the fun would begin.
