The Kitchen
written by: Vladimir Andreev
@Vladimir_Andrei
“Nick, two lamb soups, two ‘Shopska’ salads, one tripe soup, and three chips ‘n’ cheese,” shouted the waiter.
“Alright. Give me five minutes for the chips, the soups are ready to go, the salads will be at the same time as the chips,” the young chef fixed his bandanna with red chili papers on it, and put the basket with potatoes in the frying liquid.
“Nick, was this your idea to launch a Bulgarian restaurant here in the middle of Bristol?” Sous Chef Tiffany put the dishes from a previous order on the tray and hit the bell.
“No, it was Daisy’s. She really believes in me and my skills. Ron, take this asap and bring it to table thirteen. It’s a special order.”
“I’m flying, boss,” the dark-haired waiter said, disappearing after a moment and running through a labyrinth of tables.
“Daisy is a smart girl, she always knows what she’s doing. Nick, by the way, have you already made the move? You know what I mean,” smiled Tiffany, and she grated some white cheese over the salads and the chips.
“Tonight is the night,” chuckled Nick. “This is the plan anyway…”
“Two dizzy watermelons, two sets of mixed barbecue, and five chips ‘n’ white cheese.”
“Alright, Robin. Give us twenty minutes for the barbecue; the chips are almost ready; bring a cart and be ready to take the watermelons.”
“Christopher, take two middle-sized watermelons from the walk-in and bring them here. Table five is ready!” Shouted the sous chef and hit the bell. “Stan, where did you put the syringe last time?”
“It’s next to the bottle of ouzo. Probably it fell behind the counter. Look carefully on the le…” A crimson-red, juicy watermelon hit the floor with a cracking sound.
“Christopher, what the hell? How did you smash the watermelon?! You aren’t all thumbs like your brother Jim, are you?” Tiffany got the syringe, filled it with ouzo, fixed the long steel needle, and after a few seconds, jabbed it deep into the succulent watermelon.
“It’s time to do some magic. The lucky people who ordered this gonna fall into euphoria after a few bits.” Nick got the berry and shook it furiously a few times.
“It slipped because of my greasy fingers. Here you are, the second one.”
“Thanks. Get a knife and cut it beautifully. Tiffany, check the barbecue, and…” The chef’s gruff voice trembled; it became gravelly and suddenly interrupted.
Nick’s eyes rolled, and he collapsed on the floor. He could see only silhouettes and hear wheezy voices. The tiny blood clot was travelling through the young man’s blood system with the speed of a gentle breeze. The death didn’t get him this time; it saved the date for later.
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