Read Online The Chef's Choice by Kristin Hardy - Free Book Online

cube the carrots that they’d use to make the stock for the lobster bisque.
    Roman shrugged. “It’s gotten to be a habit.”
    â€œIt’s a good way to get ahead.” Damon reached for his knives. “How long have you been cooking, Roman?”
    â€œGoing on three years. Took a job cooking the summer after I got out of college. It stuck.”
    â€œCollege, huh? What was your degree in?”
    â€œBusiness. Kitchen’s for me, though.” He flashed a smile. “My mom about had a stroke. All that tuition money down the drain.”
    â€œNot necessarily.” Damon started cleaning beef tenderloins, the sound of his knife against the cutting board providing a brisk counterpoint to the steady tick of Roman’s. “The business degree could come in handy if you ever decide to open your own place.”
    â€œNo ifs about it, Chef. My wife’s from Rochester. We’re going to go back there in a few years and start a little place of our own. In the meantime, I’ll save money, get better in the kitchen. I figure I can learn something from you. I hear you’re supposed to be a pretty good cook.” He glanced up, humor in his eyes.
    Damon looked at the pile of perfect carrot cubes. “You look like a pretty good cook yourself. Now you’ve just got to work on coming up with your own food.”
    â€œI try things at home, sometimes.”
    â€œNot here?” Damon methodically sectioned the tenderloins into tournedos.
    â€œNathan liked to keep pretty tight control of his menu. Since he’s been gone, I’ve pretty much just been keeping up. Not a lot of time for specials.”
    â€œNow there is. It’s a good time of year for squash blossoms. Any growers sell them around here?”
    Roman snorted. “Not until July. This is Maine.”
    â€œSo I’m told,” Damon murmured.
    â€œYou want to get them now, you’ll have to have them shipped in.”
    Damon shook his head. “They’re too delicate. Besides, you can always taste when something’s been shipped.”
    â€œSkip the squash blossoms and try fiddleheads,” Roman suggested. “That’s one thing you can get local. They usually have them at the market.”
    â€œI must have missed them.” Too busy getting distracted by Cady McBain, he thought, annoyed at himself. “I’ll look again on Saturday. In the meantime, we’ve got ourselves some ramps. Any ideas?”
    Roman considered. “Twist a few of those babies around shrimp and give ’em a nice sauté. Forget about the restaurant. You and me, we could have ourselves a nice dinner.” He switched to celery, his knife a blur.
    â€œRamp-wrapped shrimp. You ever made it?”
    â€œA couple of years ago when I was working down in Jersey. I put it with a cilantro-lemon sauce but it was too light to stand up to the ramps. I’d probably do it again with something stronger, maybe roasted chilis or smoked paprika.”
    â€œTry it,” Damon suggested.
    The knife stopped. “What, now?”
    â€œSure. One of the farmers from the market is coming to dinner this Saturday with his wife. They’ve got an anniversary to celebrate. Chef’s tasting. His wife likes shrimp and garlic, by the way.”
    It was both opportunity and test. He watched Roman prep, first the shrimp, then the ramps. The young sous chef ran into trouble when he started to wind the green stalks around the shrimp, though.
    â€œYou need to soften them a little.” Damon spoke up. “Sauté the ramps separately and then twist them around the shrimp. Or blanch them.”
    â€œA sauté would give more flavor.”
    â€œMy thought, exactly.”
    This time, Roman worked two sauté pans, one with ramps, one with the shrimp, dusting them with spices and seasoning. He picked the hot ramps out of the pan, wrapping them around the even hotter shrimp. Tough hands, Damon thought,