Yes, Chef

“Five minutes, Sophie. Hustle!”

Sophie grumbled, rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes. She sat up and let out a long sigh, cursing oversleeping during her early evening nap. She was staying at her parents’ home for the long weekend and taking a much needed break from her work as the leader of a nonprofit. They didn’t warn you that leading a nonprofit was exhausting, never ending work. Oh wait, they absolutely did.

She had taken advantage of her parents’ sports obsession to sneak away for a quick nap during the afternoon football game. She’d only meant to sleep for about thirty minutes, but that had apparently turned into a nearly two hour nap.

“Okay, up, up… up. Time to get up.”

Sophie pulled her one dress from her bag and padded her way to the guest bathroom. A splash of cold water on her face helped a little, but she was going to look a bit tired and disheveled regardless. After a quick brush of her teeth, Sophie piled her collarbone length, honey-colored curls onto her head and secured with a claw clip. A few tendrils fell across her face as she swiped on a coat of mascara and a lipstick just a hint more berry than her actual lip tone. She pulled off her tee, shimmied into her dress, and then stepped back to talk a look at the final product.

It could have been worse. The curls that had fallen around her face looked almost intentional, and her jersey dress was a deep jade green. It skimmed over the ample curves of her body, falling in a soft a-line that ended just above her knees. She had received compliments on it before, and it never wrinkled, so it had become her go-to travel dress.

Sophie nodded, adjusted her round gold-wired glasses on her nose, and smoothed the dress slightly before turning to trot down the stairs. This was the sort of dress that even five years ago might have had made her self-conscious, but at 35, she was passed that. She had curves. She had a belly. They were there even if she had wedged herself into shapewear or a more structured garment designed to hide her size. The size was still there, and she kind of liked the way the soft fabrics and freedom made her feel. Besides, she was 6’1” and had always been a bigger girl; being petite was never on the menu.

Sophie met her parents at the bottom of the stairs. Both of them were dressed and waiting impatiently. “Sorry,” she murmured as she pulled on a her black parka, stepped into a pair of flats, and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go.”

Her mother excitedly chattered about this restaurant as her father drove the twenty minute journey. The restaurant was called Fireside, and it was a a very small place that had opened just over a year ago. In the summertime resort town where her parents’ lived, there were some interesting restaurants. However, this place was unique. It offered a weekly set tasting menu made up of a number of individual courses, no substitutions, and a set seating time.

With only 24 seats, getting a reservation was apparently quite the challenge. Sophie’s mother had been delighted when she was able to make Sophie a last minute addition to their party on short notice, and she was very excited for Sophie to experience the place.

“Even though you’re only an hour away, we never get to see you!” Sophie’s mother, Moira, frowned and reached into the backseat to pat Sophie’s knee. “You’re working too hard”.

Sophie nodded, stifling a yawn both from her nap and her fatigue at hearing this from her mother. “I know Mom, but the stuff has to get done. We don’t do the work, the kids don’t get the programming.”

”Well, we’re delighted you could join us. You’ll love this place.”

Sophie leaned back her head and murmured an agreement. In honestly, the place had an interesting menu, but she wasn’t sold on the concept. While not a picky eater by any means, Sophie had a few foods that just didn’t appeal to her. She’d try anything, but not having control over her menu choices…

She stifled a laugh. Not having control bothers you? Shocker. She chuckled at her own self-awareness. She was not exactly known for being laid back or chill. Taking a nap today had been very out of the ordinary.

They pulled into the small parking lot. The building was fairly unassuming from the outside. Sophie’s father, Pete, held the door for his wife and daughter and they hustled in. The air outside was just beginning to get the true chill of early winter, so the warmth of the restaurant was welcome.

An efficient looking woman dressed in restaurant black at the door and showed them to their seats. The three of them would be seated at the bar, which looked directly into the kitchen and to a work area set up nearly like a stage. A woman with light brown hair pulled back in a loose bun and a white chef’s jacket was intently sprinkling something on to small plates in the work area, and a few more chefs were in the kitchen.

There were eight seats at the bar and small number of tables behind them. Sophie and her parents slipped into their seats, with her father taking an end, her mother in the middle, and Sophie towards the other bar-seated patrons. The other five bar seats sat facing them at a ninety degree angle. The two furthest seats were occupied by an older couple, quietly talking to each other. The three seats closest housed a trio of men in their mid-fifties. They were in suits and loudly talking, dropping words like “client”, “report”, and “partner”, so she assumed they were work colleagues. The man closest to Sophie, nearly next to her around the bend, caught her eye and offered an immediate wink and lacivious grin. Sophie held back a grimace and offered a thin-lipped smile before turning her attention to the restaurant.

It was simply decorated, but the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with natural woods paired with creams and browns. A fire crackled, and Sophie turned to note the warmth coming from a small corner fireplace behind her near the tables.

A sharp clap made her jump and turn back. She made eye-contact with the chef.