Path of the Vampire forum

Location: Thai Boulevard

He could do better. Windsor knew it too, but they acted like he couldn’t. The economy was just bouncing back after years of crap, and he should be glad he had a job, let alone a job in the chosen profession that Windsor loved. As Windsor tossed in some broccoli to the already boiling water, he sighed and started working on the other part of the dish; the sauce. He could make this with his eyes closed and blindfolded. Probably with one hand tied behind his back to boot.

The garlic he had minced about ten minute ago was tossed in the pan of grease, and stirred for about two minutes. Windsor moved to the boiling noodles and broccoli, drained them in a strainer and then went back to the saucepan where he added some paprika (because the customer wanted a milder thai peanut course), ginger, and brown sugar into the saucepan and let that come to simmer for a couple of minutes more. He moved to grab a few bottles and a container; sprinkling in some soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and four tablespoons of peanut butter. Windsor wiped both hands on his white apron, then pulled a whisk out from a drawer to the right of him and began rolling his wrist in a frenzy to create the peanut flavored sauce.

As soon as the sauce began to bubble in the pan, the broccoli and noodles found a home in the low key thai peanut sauce, followed by some grated carrot he had put aside before mincing up the garlic. All the newly added parts needed to be mixed together immediately to keep from transforming into a large clump of brown...well….crap, sooner than later. With an unsatisfactory sigh, Windsor grabbed a pair of tongs and dished up the Thai peanut concoction and placed it on two house plates, before turning to the warming window and setting them down. Windsor let a solid hand hit on the bell, indicating the order was up so the owner’s daughter could come grab it and give it to the young kids who wanted to venture off the college campus, but didn’t have the audacity to waste any of their booze money on something much more appealing that Windsor could make somewhere else. He had settled for the first and only place that had called him when Windsor moved to this part of Canada two years ago; but was always hopeful for something better. Every chef was-but it was hard to get that something better, because when a chef found that better, they rarely left it for something else. So, he was resigned to life being mundane and mediocre at best, which sometimes left Windsor in a mood.

”Order!” Came an all too familiar sounds followed by the ringing of a bell, which had Windsor rolling his eyes. Tonight seemed to be unusually busy for some reason, so he had to wonder if there was something he was missing. Some special? He had made three too many peanut flavored dishes in his mind. Maybe an event? Chances are, if it was either of these things, he wouldn’t know because the communication in this place sucked. Which was why he was always leaving in a bad mood, after screaming a couple times too many. Sometimes, Windsor wondered why they even hired him, because the boss’ daughter came sniffing around too many times. If they wanted to cook their food a certain way, or expect it to be just like they make it themselves, then they should have cooked it themselves. Who says a white guy can’t cook some damn good thai food?

Windor grabbed at the ticket that was hanging from the sky and looked at the order. “Bring me a challenge sometime.” Windsor yelled after the woman, who probably didn’t deserve his mood swings, because Windsor knew she was only doing what she did because her dad told her to do things. Or not do things. He decided to start with the Rad Na, since that took the most time between the two dishes. Tapioca flour was scooped into a bowl, some pieces of pork were tossed in after it. In another bowl, some more flour and water were mixed together after the pork was covered to Windsor’s satisfaction. Broccoli was cut into small pieces once the sauce mix was finished being stirred up together, and some minced garlic was set aside on the same cutting board.

In a nonstick wok, Windsor began heating up a couple tablespoons of oil. Noodles that had been made about two hours ago were pulled from the fridge and once the oil was at a temperature to cook things, they handful of noodles found a home in the simmering oil. He stirred them for a couple minutes, then added some dark colored soy sauce and stirred that too. Windsor did this for four or five minutes until he removed it from the flame of the stove and let it sit on the metal surface next to the stove. Another pan was brought out, and again Windsor heated up two tablespoons of oil. The garlic and pork were tossed inside once the simmering began, and then finally the flour and water mixture was added too. His wrist rolled quickly to keep the sauce from clumping, until finally the sauce started to boil and the mixture started turning clear.

Soy sauce, two pinches of sugar and yellow bean sauce were sprinkled into the mixture, while the other hand stirred. Slowly, the sauce turned into a gravy like consistency, but was maybe too thick. So, he added some water, grabbed a spoon and gave it a taste, then followed it up with some more soy sauce and grabbed yet another spoon and finally nodded his head. Perfect. Perfectly boring for the usual boring and bland customers that came in here this time of night. The Chinese broccoli was added, along with some ground white pepper before Windsor moved to grab a plate to serve it up, before he tossed both fry pans in a sink for the dish guy to start cleaning, before Windsor got to work on yet another Peanut Thai dish. There had to be a special, or everyone in this place besides the person that ordered the dish he had just made, lacked any real appreciation for Thai food. When he was done with that dish, both plates found the window where Windsor stopped and took a look out into the dining area to see if he could guess what every single boring person in the place would order, leaving Windsor completely unchallenged. Surprise, surprise.

And then a waiter moved out of the way to reveal a somewhat attractive male sitting by his lonesome self, but that wasn’t the thing that caught Windsor’s attention completely. It was who the man was that had his jaw go slightly agape. “****.” He said before turning away. Tonight just couldn’t get any worse.

Windsor had turned away from the cook’s window and looked at the other two guys in the kitchen. The dishwasher would be worthless, but the other guy was going to have to get his *** in gear and step it up tonight. He gently cleared his throat and then moved towards the cook’s assistant. They didn’t even get the titles they went to school for in this place. Just ‘cook’ and ‘cook assistant.’ He made sure he was out of the window’s view before Windsor informed the washed out second in command of what they were dealing with. “We’ve got a food critic in the house. International.” Windsor knew the faces of the critics that mattered. The local ones that came in once or twice a year. The regional critics that came in every other year and the internationals that came in whenever the wind blew them this way. There were ones that came in every now and again, ones that worked for some shitty tabloid that always gave bad reviews, but then summed it up with statements like ‘at least it’s better than eating your aunt’s two week ham and egg bake dish.’ Pricks. “So we’re going to cook our *** off.” Windsor said after a few seconds of silence and internal debate. He didn’t want to just cook to get Thai Boulevard in a magazine, he wanted to cook his greatest and best to get recognition and get his name out there. It might be his saving grace from this **** hole.

”Order!” The bell at the window sounded as a fast, but heavy hand slapped down on it. Windsor moved to the window and grabbed the ticket to see what the critic wanted. When he saw how ‘easy’ the order was, he groaned. Anyone could make a great pad thai. He was never getting out of here. “This is it?” He asked as the waiter started to move away, who only looked at him and shrugged. ”That and...he asked for you. Windsor. Asked by name.” Obviously the guy misunderstood what Archie wanted; maybe he was tired, or unfamiliar with the fact that Thai Boulevard carried that wine, but Windsor blinked and then looked in the direction of where the critic was. “He did?” A broad smile crossed his features before he stood up taller and puffed out his chest. Now it made sense. He heard about this place from one of the local critics who must have written something good about Windsor that he missed. Only way he would know of him by name. “Alright. He wants a pad thai with shrimp. Don’t **** it up.” Windsor said as he rubbed his hands on his chef apron, took it off and placed it in a bunched pile at his small office desk. Still feeling on cloud nine, he waltzed over to the table and took a confident seat across from Archie and extended a hand. “Big fan. I read your article last month about the new restaurant in Paris. You have a way with words.” Windsor said, his eyes flicking over Archie, before landing on his dark irises.

Photos of the food critic, when Windsor thought of it, didn't do the guy any justice. They never did in propped still frames that only showed the top half (if lucky). To see Archie in person; face to face, was a real treat. Windsor took in the way his cheeks and jawbone were angled, his shoulders, and chest definition. Down boy,Windsor had to remind himself with a smirk that came close to the one Archie was wearing.

Windsor was as far from a traveler as any person who didn't go around the world for work. Vacations were not something he took-not because he wasn't interested, but because the guy was -almost- done with paying off his years of study. Just about a thousand dollars to go; which he would pay off next month. Archie nodded, putting the name of the place along with the bulk of Paris on his 'bucket' list. One day.

His thoughts moved away from something that may, or may not ever transpire, to the here and now when the critic talked about 'getting lucky.' That came with wanting Windsor, which the chef now realized what he meant by asking for Windsor. He wasn't looking for him, but for the damn Whiskey. Language barriers. Instead of being too upset about the mistake and the fact that the food critic wasn't here for him Windsor decided to make it about him. “If we do, it's only a year old at best. Still smooth as a baby's bottom going down...” Windsor furrowed his thick brows together, eyes dancing with mild danger. “But, if you want some real kick to your night, might want try the 1980 version later, baby.” With a wink, he was up from the table, and scooting in the chair. “Let me see what I can do for you about that drink.” Windsor stated with a hint of promise to his voice.

On the way back to the kitchen, Windsor stopped at the bar, pointed the food critic out to the guy behind it and all the little details about who was in the building. There was no hesitation to the haste the guy made once Windsor made a point to tell him to move his ***, before disappearing into the kitchen to see how his partner in crime was doing. “How we doing?” Windsor asked, steam enveloping him in all its potential wonder. Hopefully enough wonder to amaze the guy for such a small, hole in the wall place. “Give me that.” Windsor grabbed a fork out of a container that just went through the dish washing machine, and submerged it in some noodles and whirled it around his fork. A few noodles came up and were popped into his mouth, allowing Windsor to sample it. It COULD be better, but...hopefully it was good enough. Wasn't spicy enough for Windsor's liking, but few people these days could handle anything genuinely spicy. “Wait.” Windsor moved to grab some parsley from off a bunch, cut some off with a small blade and placed it to the top, left side, while he moved to a lime, cut it in half, then the half in half, before setting one of those halves against the parsley so they were nestled near by, but not quite overlapping the other. “Get it out of here.” Windsor waved his free hands towards the swinging door, with a final, “Go.” What happened from here on out was out of his hands.

Apprehension filled him as Windsor stayed back in the kitchen. There was so much riding on that pad thai. If it wasn't good, not only would the restaurant get a bad rep and might go under, but his name would be attached to the pitiful and failing menu. "****." He growled as his eyes narrowed, Windsor grabbing his hollow ground Nakiri knife with one hand, while the other finding an onion. He set it on the counter, moved to get a cutting board and began slicing the onion, the side of the blade grazing against Windsor's middle knuckle as he cut it straight up and down. The knife was his favorite-it should be for the price he paid. Nothing ever stuck to the blade, unlike most American or Canadian rip offs.

There was no reason to be slicing the onion other than the apprehension he felt in the core of his stomach. After a few minutes, the onion sliced and diced, he tossed his hands in the air with an "aaauuuh." He had to see what the critic thought of his personal recipe. Both hands found the white apron he had tied around his waist when Windsor re-entered the kitchen to wipe them and dry them. He tugged the apron off, tossed it on the counter and moved to the kitchen door. "We've got orders." He grabbed the single ticket that just came in and read it. "One sweet and sour pork, two spring rolls and a beef broccoli. Try and let them get some broccoli this time, they're ******* paying for it." He gave narrowed eyes to his second in charge, remembering the last time he had only seen two ******* bunches on a plate. "Move your asses. Expect to see it plated in ten." He clapped his hands together, before Windsor pushed open the door and stared at the critic's table.

"Did you get the drink you were looking for?" Windsor asked once he was within earshot of the table he was planning on sitting at. A hand came out for the chair across from Archie, turned it and spun it so the back was pressed against the table and he was sitting in the chair with both arms at the top back of the chair. "Bet the drink pales in comparison to the big noodles in your mouth." A smirk found his lips when he heard how it sounded. It sounded different when he was thinking about it in his head-but this was much better.