for Six Sentence Stories where the given word is Centre.
I’m not normally one for digging up pieces I’ve written in the past, but now and again something comes to mind that I think deserves a second outing. This a drastically reworked version of a piece I wrote when I was a pub chef a few years ago and it seems to fit the bill quite nicely!
I spend hour upon hour in the kitchen where dressed in my pristine whites I am top dog, master and mentor for this is my empire, my territory, my domain, the centre of my universe.
Suppliers come and go, butchers, greengrocers, fishmongers, poachers even, for this is where I conduct business, where I weal, deal sometimes pass cash under the counter!
I have helpers in my kitchen, some cook, some peel and chop, one washes pots, and it’s also my consulting room, my advice centre; a surgery where I witness teenage angst, advise on relationships, stick blue plasters on cuts and proffer a friendly ear when required.
The kitchen is my studio, my workshop and my laboratory, for this is where I embrace my passion for all things gastronomic, where I experiment and create surrounded by cookery books, hastily written recipes and copies of old menus.
It’s where I receive orders from my hungry customers, where waitresses bring me scraps of paper containing orders, some scribbled, some wordy and many illegible!
At the end of service, I stand back, look around and tell myself how lucky I am to work in this kitchen, then I close the door behind me, and with the sound of the day still ringing in my ears, I thank God it’s all over until tomorrow when I’ll have to bloody well do it all over again!
Thanks to GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting.