"Papa," I say, leaning against the edge of the prep station and setting down my clipboard. “Is everything alright?”
"Isabelle." He sounds tired, not irritated. "We have a situation in New York."
My stomach tightens and I press my free hand against the cold metal counter. "What happened?"
"Lacy Chapman was at the restaurant last night." Papers rustle on his end. "Laurent called me this morning. The duck was overcooked. Timing issues on two other courses. She left before dessert."
Doublemerde.
Lacy Chapman writes for theTimes. She's not just a critic, she'sthecritic in New York, the woman who can make or break a restaurant with a single review. If she left before dessert, that means she'd already decided what she thought of the experience.
"Did she say anything?" I ask.
"No, but Laurent said she looked disappointed." He pauses. "This is a problem, Isabelle. That kitchen should be running flawlessly, especially this close to your transition. I know you're focused on the pop-up, but you need to stay connected to what's happening in New York."
I rub my temple. "I'm three thousand miles away, Papa. Laurent is in charge. What exactly do you expect me to do about a duck dish I didn't cook?"
"I expect you to be managing both," he says. "You insisted on doing this pop-up against my better judgment. I told you it was a distraction, that you should be focused on New York, but you pushed for it anyway. So if you're going to do both, then you need to actually do both. That means staying in touch with Laurent, checking in on service, making sure things don't fall apart the moment you're not looking over everyone's shoulder."
"I have been checking in?—"
"Clearly not enough." He cuts me off. "I had to hear about this from Laurent, not from you. You should have called me the moment you knew Lacy was in the dining room. Instead I'm finding out twelve hours later from someone else."
My jaw clenches. "I didn'tknowshe was there. Laurent didn't tell me."
"Then you're not managing your team properly." His voice isflat, matter-of-fact. "A good chef knows what's happening in their kitchen even when they're not there. You wanted this responsibility, Isabelle. This is what it looks like."
I close my eyes and press my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose. "What do you need me to do?"
"Call Lacy." His tone brooks no argument. "You have a relationship with her. Reach out, acknowledge that the kitchen wasn't at its best, invite her back for a proper service. If Lacy publishes a negative review the week you take over that restaurant, you'll spend six months trying to recover from damage you didn't even cause."
I say nothing, staring at the rows of perfectly prepped ingredients lined up along the counter. Everything organized, everything in its place, everything ready for tomorrow night. The kitchen looks like a photograph, like something out of a magazine spread. But three thousand miles away, the kitchen that actually matters is burning.
"You should be in New York right now,” he continues, sounding frustrated. “Your actual career is on the other coast. If you were in New York where you belong, you could have been there last night. You would have caught the duck before it went out."
"I wanted to do this, and you even told me you thought it was a great idea!" I say, keeping my voice level even though I want to throw my phone across the room.
"I know." He sighs, sharp and impatient. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have responsibilities in New York. Running a restaurant at this level means managing everything at once, even when you're not there."
"Right," I say, my voice flat. "Of course."
"Call Lacy tomorrow morning. And I'm taking the early flight tomorrow. I should arrive a few hours before service. I'll have a colleague from NYC with me as well, we’re flying back from Paris together while going over a potential deal."
“Yep,” I say stiffly. “Sounds good. Just text me when you land. I’ll give you an update on the Lacy thing tomorrow, I’m sure I can get it worked out.”
"Isabelle, you know I adore you. I'm hard on you because I know what you're capable of, not because I doubt you. But these things are important. Projects like Napa, while admirable, shouldn't get in the way of your future. Your real future."
"I know, Papa."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow night.Bonne chance."
He hangs up and I pull up Lacy's contact and stare at her name on my screen. We've hung out a few times through mutual friends, always in group settings, always brief. I don't know her well enough for this call to be anything but awkward. She'll know exactly why I'm reaching out, and she'll know it's damage control.
Inevitably my thoughts drift to Alex and how he'd handle this. He'd call her up like they were old friends, be so warm and self-deprecating that she wouldn't know what hit her until she'd agreed to come back and give the kitchen another shot. He makes it look so easy, that kind of effortless charm. I've watched him do it with Morrison, with the suppliers, with the staff, with me.
Maybe I can channel some of that. Probably not, but I can try.
I'll call her first thing in the morning. She's probably asleep now, so I tuck my phone back in my pocket and return to my checklist. I try to focus on the tasks in front of me, the final checks that need to happen before we start prep in the morning. But I can feel the weight of New York pressing down on me, heavier with every passing second.