Waiting on You-Episode Three

As a private chef for Captain and Mrs. X, I worked from 12pm until whenever dinner was done (usually 8, but later if guests were tardy, dogs escaped, medicine was lost, but this is all for another episode).  Each day I arrived at noon and we had staff lunch. Part of my job description was to food shop not only for the estate but for staff lunch which consisted of chips, cookies, and deli meats and cheeses for sandwiches. If we ever had more than that, for instance, if someone brought a home-cooked treat to share, and Mrs. X walked by she said nothing but her face screamed with disapproval. My interpretation of that was that she didn't think we should eat as well as she.  Later, to remind us of our peasantry, she would add, "The Captain and I would never eat leftovers." 

As we sat and munched on simple food we talked about the day and the days to come. Where was Mrs. X going, who was visiting, what plans had changed four and five times by noon were all topics of discussion. In the middle of staff lunch, Mrs. X liked to be served hers. I would rarely sit and eat as I rushed to prep her lunch tray and attempt to guess what she would like on that particular day.  I started planning menus and getting things ready the day before. One afternoon I planned to serve broiled crabcakes with avocado creme fraiche and a light mixed green salad with Mrs. X's house vinaigrette (I failed to mention that in an effort to "teach" her chefs a thing or two, Mrs. X attended culinary school centuries ago. Lucky us.). Mrs. X buzzed for me and I sped down the corridor to her office. I stood in the doorway waiting for her to look up from her computer. The last time I interrupted her seemingly blank stare at the computer she alleged that I ruined her train of thought and she was incapable of finishing her uber-important email. I think she was reading spam.

She finally looked up and asked for her lunch. "My pleasure," I replied and sped back down to the kitchen. I set the tray with a pretty red and pink napkin scheme, yellow flowered plate, silver utensils, and crystal chalice. I placed the lightly breaded, oil-kissed, golden brown mini cakes on the plate and plopped the dollop of light green creaminess on top. Beside the cakes I gingerly mounded the mixed greens that I already tossed with X-house dressing. Finally, a sprinkling of chives for garnish. The most aesthetically appealing lunch-to-date made me smile as I confidently carried the tray back down to the office.

Mrs. X was not at her computer. I heard noises from the adjoined bathroom suite so I quickly set-up her lunch on the tray table next to her desk (another lesson learned: Never place lunch directly on the desk. Drinks could and almost always will spill over extremely crucial and sensitive documents). I felt I still had a bit of time so I ran to the library, grabbed a small vase and picked a tiny flower from a plant that decorated the hallway. I left her office with an even wider smile than before. Satisfied with the job I had done I sat down with the rest of the staff to finish lunch. I had earned it, or so I thought, as did everyone else at the table.   They gushed with compliments and joked, "Is there any left for us?!" I say "joked" because eating the same meal, even the leftovers, as Captain and Mrs. X would lead to termination in the very near future. Keyword: Peasantry. I appreciated their support, though.  "Thanks," I said, "I hope she likes it."

Two minutes later she rang.