Liuzza's (closed for Niceandbrutal)

[brandijade]

Brandi got out of the car and straightened her little black skirt. She took her phone out and checked herself one more time. The white blouse was cut a little low, but everyone said tits get tips, and she had taken the advice to heart. She walked across the parking lot towards the front door, waving to a couple of the other staff that were coming in. The lot seemed fuller than it should be. It was 3 PM, and the night shift was coming in, but it still seemed like a lot of cars.

Liuzza's had been an institution in town since before Brandi was born, famous for the high end Italian food they served. Brandi had started working as a hostess a year ago, taking reservations, greeting people, seating them. Now she was 18, she'd taken the chance to train as a waitress, where she could start to make real money. When she pushed through the front door, everything was quiet. It was between lunch and dinner, so it wasn't surprising there were no customers, but there was no one even setting up.

Another waitress came in and almost ran her over.

"Stand and stare someplace else, maybe?" the older woman snapped. Brandi blushed and stepped away from the door, and the older woman looked at her with thinly disguised disdain. Brandi noticed her neckline was nowhere near as low as her own. Her skirt wasn't as short, either. "All staff meeting in the banquet room, didn't you get the email?"

"Oh yeah," Brandi said. She took out her phone, and found the email app. Over 16000 unread, because who used email anymore? There was a message from Liuzza@aol, and she opened it. "Staff meeting in the banquet room. 3PM Wednesday. All staff to attend...."

It was just luck that she was on the schedule. She headed towards the banquet room, nerves giving her butterflies. She hoped they weren't closing. There had been a lot of talk about how the numbers were worse than ever, and things had seemed slow. The banquet room was crowded, with the full staff of the restaurant there. The lunch shift had taken up most of the available seating. There was nowhere for her to sit, so she stood against the wall, chewing her lip nervously. What if she got fired before she even started? She'd never had another job.

Mr. Liuzza came in. And Mrs. Liuzza. And two of their three sons, the oldest having disgraced the family and gone into software, somewhere in California, from what she'd heard. To her surprise, Mr. Liuzza's father came in, white-haired, leaning on a cane, looking confused. They were offered seats by the fastest brownnosers in the room, and Brandi shifted along the wall to make room. As more people trickled in, she kept shifting, until she was standing basically behind the head of the long table, where there was no seat.

"As you know, business has not been so good," Mr Liuzza said. He stood up, scowling at the floor. He was faking an Italian accent, which he did when he was upset. She looked up, thinking a silent prayer that she wouldn't lose her job. "We have been running this business the same since my grandpa opened it in 1976. We work hard, we make the best food, we take pride in what we do, but I guess that is not enough anymore. My family and I have talked. We don't want to lose the place, there's too much history. So, we bring in a consultant, to help us make everything better." He sounded bitter, and the scowl deepened. Then he looked at Brandi. Her eyes widened. What had she done?

"Brandi," one of his sons said. The creepy one.

"It's three in the afternoon," Mr L said, indignantly.

"No, Dad," the son said impatiently. "Her name is Brandi."

"Oh, right, right," Mr. Liuzza looked at her. His eyes had almost disappeared beneath his brow, but his tone was softer. He sounded defeated. "Brandi, will you let him know we ready?"

"Of course!" she said, and her voice sounded horribly bright and cheerful in the face of Mr Liuzza's almost mournful speech. She wanted to say she was sorry, but that might just make it worse, so she pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. She gasped out loud when she saw who the consultant was.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Chef Luigi da Silva was half italian, half portuguese, and all american. His parents had emigrated to the USA with his mother already pregnant with him, and he was born a naturalized american citizen

Being the child of two cultures that both showed an appreciation for food, Luigi at an early age started hanging out in the kitchen with his temperamental but loving parents. He learned the staple dishes of both Italy and Portugal, and by age 14 he rivalled and sometimes surpassed his parents in the kitchen, much to the delight of himself, his parents, and his three younger siblings.

His upbringing was otherwise unremarkable. He had all the normal american rites of passage bestowed upon him. He played baseball with neighbourhood kids, he played hooky, got caught, got detention, played football in high school, dated and made love to nice girls around his age.

His parents, having decided to raise their kids as americans, did not impress their kids with more culture and tradition from the old countries than the kids themselves wanted impressed upon them. Their tempers, though, were still all Mediterranean. Fiery and scary, but quickly abated.

After a stint in the Army where Luigi made Sergeant after a tour in Afghanistan, he threw himself wholeheartedly into learning cooking as a profession. He paid his dues and worked and was tutored under several great chefs, rising through the ranks in a competitive, fast paced, and ruthless world where timing and attention to detail was the Alpha and the Omega.

At the age of 45, Luigi was now at the top of his game. He owned two small chains of restaurants that specialized in italian and portuguese food respectively. None of that "fusion" bullshit or hipster crap where food was served on shovels or served "deconstructed". At Luigi's restaurants you got served original national recipes made with good ingredients, and cooked from the bottom. No pre-fab shit in HIS restaurants, no Sir!

A TV producer friend of Luigi had contacted him with the idea of a cooking show similar to "Undercover Chef" and "Kitchen Nightmares". The difference was that Luigi and his crew looked at reviews of restaurants and selected some victims with diminishing scores. They went in cold with hidden microphones and cameras and recorded the restaurant visits. Only after the visits did they confront the restaurant owners, asking for their permission to air the footage and improve the place. Basically "Kitchen Nightmares" with a twist.

Luigi's approach to his cooking show was somewhere between Gordon Ramsey's theatrics and Anthony Bourdain's laid back style. He was strict, yes. He was merciless with incompetents and did not suffer fools. But where Ramsey raised his voice over the tiniest little details, he would address the culprits with his steeliest voice and a withering stare. He raised his voice only when it was absolutely necessary.

Luigi snapped out of his reverie and sighed impatiently. He had started a restaurant consultancy agency, and the methods they employed were pretty much the same they used on the cooking show. Hidden cameras, and food brought away in doggie bags to be analysed by Luigi and his crew of trusted chefs. The results were disheartening.

Liuzza's was once an institution, a place to go to for proper italian food. Luigi knew that the owners were italian and that tempers would be flying high today. He fidgeted irritably with his tablet, which contained damning evidence caught on tape, and the result of taste tests and analyses of the food. He knew there'd be shouting today. Lots of it. He decided to go in with the steely look and voice, to see if that could control the crowd like he controlled his own staff when necessary.

He was just getting his game face on when the door into the kitchen he was currently waiting in opened, and he heard a soft gasp. Looking up, he saw a voluptuous young woman with luscious lips and cascading hair that he recognized from his recordings. Brandi. He fixed her with his gaze, but felt no malice towards her. Quite the opposite, she was one of the few people making a good impression on the recordings.

"Yes?" He came across as brusque, and decided to go with it. "Is the hand-wringing over? Can I finally tell you people what you are doing wrong?" he all but snarled at her.

After her reply, he followed her into the banquet room. He, as expected, heard gasps of shock and recognition.

"People, you are in REAL trouble!" was his opening statement. That got their attention.

Luigi da Silva on a happier occasion: https://images.***********iWyu5E7EEy7T3iKZ7

 

[brandijade]

Brandi's mouth hung open as she stared. This could not be Luigi da Silva, standing in front of her. It couldn't be. He was one of her heroes. She wasn't much of a cook herself, but she loved cooking shows, and his hit the sweet spot. He was as rigorous and demanding as any celebrity chef, but he didn't go in for Ramsey-style histrionics. He was as cool as Boudain, but without the slouch. His temper flared up just enough to keep him from seeming glacial. And when he went into drill instructor mode, it was beautiful. Of course, that was after he had found out just how fucked up whatever restaurant he was helping was, and they were always fucked up.

"Hi," she managed to say, a breathless whisper.

"Yes?" He came across as brusque, and decided to go with it. "Is the hand-wringing over? Can I finally tell you people what you are doing wrong?" he all but snarled at her.

His aggression washed over her, she was too star-struck to notice that he was annoyed. She just bit her lip and stared at him. When he finished, there was a beat where she still stood frozen.

Then she shook her head. His words finally penetrated the fog of awe that had overwhelmed her. She giggled nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just a huge fan. You're, like, the best chef on TV! They should never have cancelled.... Are you going back on the air?"

She blushed. She could hear herself, sounding like some ditzy fan-girl.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, waving her hands frantically, as if she was literally collecting herself. "They're... we're ready. Come in. Please."

She opened the door for him, and held it. She felt like such an idiot, she couldn't even look at him as he strode past her into the banquet room.

She slipped in behind him, letting the door swing closed and taking her place with her back against the wall. Her hands were clenched in fists behind her back as she tried to contain her excitement, but she wanted to scream.

"People, you are in REAL trouble!" was his opening statement.

God, it was just like the show. She was almost vibrating with excitement as he began.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

He paused for effect after his opening statement to see if anyone would raise their voice in outrage or protest. A few flickering stares, a few cheeks flushed from anger or embarassment, but not one dissenting voice. Good.

"It seems we are in agreement on the first and most pertinent point. This is good. The less time we argue the main point, the more time we can use on the real issue at hand. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with me..."

He went on to introduce himself, listing his background, his schooling, his experience and achievements with cooking, and his now cancelled show. He briefly told of their methods in the show and how it was cancelled because it was neither showy enough nor laidback enough. Lastly he told of his lesser known but highly efficient consultancy firm, and of the methods they used.

All of this was delivered in a rapid-fire dispassionate speech. Not to brag, but for the gathered staff to be left in no doubt about who and what they were dealing with.

He paused for effect, then: "My parents used to come here on special occasions, and I, having grown up with both portuguese and italian cooking, always looked forward to our visits to Liuzza's." He turned towards the old man with the cane, offering him a genuine smile and respectful nod.

"The food here used to be the best. The menus changed with the seasons, and everything was made from the bottom. I spent several days before our visits checking the menus hanging outside to be ABSOLUTELY sure what dishes I could choose from. And your gellatos..."

He rolled his eyes and smiled wistfully at his remembrance of their homemade italuan ice cream. The staff seemed to relax at this, a few smiles among them. The steely eyes and cold voice returned and his voice lowered..

"This place used to be the best," he said, a hint of menace in his voice. And then he exploded: "SO WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?"

Real anger on his face. Both for the italians and the portuguese, preparing and serving shitty food was considered an insult.

Luigi told of how his agents had been here and, between them, sampled every dish on the menu. And how those dishes had been brought away in doggie bags for sampling and analyses.

"While I've been talking, my colleagues have seized the food stores of the restaurant, and we're going to go over how this restaurant is run. Step. By. Fucking. Step!"

He stopped cold. One of the cooks was yawning. Full DI mode set in as he pointed towards the woman. "Hey! HEY! Am I fucking boring you, lady!? Is listening to someone who knows what the fuck they're doing that are trying to save your livelihood boring you!?"

The woman stopped mid-yawn. She shrugged. "What's the big deal?", she retorted. "It's food. Fuel. We heat it and send it out to the customers-" She stopped abruptly as someone nudged her in the side.

Luigi turned to the man nudging the lackadaisical soon-to-be-unemployed cook and demanded with fury in his voice: "Anything you want to add to this?" The man shrugged and muttered non-comitally. Luigi wouldn't have it.

"Stand up straight and look me in the eyes! Now, what were you saying?" The man straightened himself and looked Luigi in the eyes."I wanted her," he indicated his female colleague, "to shut up. Because the fault isn't with the cooks. Sir."

Luigi gave a cold acidic smile. "You're half right. The problem isn't ONLY with the cooks. This is a top-to-bottom massively solid clusterfuck of a fuck-up. From what I've seen and heard, most of the staff, with a few exceptions, don't give a shit about their jobs. And why should they, when this attitude starts at the top?"

He turned to the old gentleman with the white hair and the cane and told him in italian: "Not you, signore. The decline started when your son started running this place. I regret to have to do this."

He then turned to the current "Mister Liuzza" and gave him his most piercing stare. "Care to tell me how you fucked up so badly?"

Luigi was turning on the man who'd hired him. This could get ugly.

 

[brandijade]

Brandi stood behind Luigi. It meant that she couldn't see his face as he spoke, but she could see the reactions he was getting. It also meant she could stare worshipfully at his back without him noticing. It didn't occur to her that nearly the whole rest of the restaurant's staff could see the wide-eyed, puppy-love-struck look on her face as he spoke. And she had watched and rewatched every episode of the show so many times, she almost didn't need to see him. She knew his expressions.

She was surprised to learn he used to come here as a child, and she almost laughed at the smile on the elder Liuzza's face. He nodded his head, accepting the praise with the air of someone who knows the praise is deserved, but it happy to have brought joy into someone's life. She thought that she would like to bring some joy into Luigi's life, and nearly giggled.

That would have been a disaster, because that was when he turned on the cold anger. And a moment later, his anger got hot when Becky yawned. And when she answered his question, Brandi winced. Was she crazy?

Luigi da Silva loved food. He was an artist and an artisan, whose passionate and sensual approach to cooking had captivated Brandi from the first moment she had seen him on TV.

Becky's answer could not have been more perfectly tuned to push his buttons if it had been scripted. Food was life, food was the heart of family, of romance, of pleasure. It was not fuel. Not at the Liuzza's prices.

Only Manuel's nudge saved Becky from getting reamed out from here til last week, she thought. When Luigi turned his anger on Manuel, Manuel's answer seemed to refocus him. The problem was the staff.

If Luigi had been looking, he would have seen Brandi's face fall. She looked around her, confused. Who didn't give a shit?

As hostess, she didn't have a whole lot to do with the rest of the staff. As a young girl with a body like she had, she got a lot of attention, but it wasn't generally work-related. But standing there, hearing da Silva, she thought about what she'd heard over the past months. Fuck it. Contempt for the customers, underhanded hostility towards the family, a general willingness to do the bare minimum. She'd always thought that was just how people were, that happy workers and team players was just what you saw on TV. So she just shut up and quietly did her best, which was why she had been about to be the youngest waitress ever to work at Liuzza's.

She was so lost in thought, she almost missed Luigi turning to the elder Liuzza. He spoke Italian, and while she didn't understand the words, she understood the tone. She also understood the look on the old man's face. There was steel, but there was something under it. Heartbreak. His life's work, and his father's, brought near to ruin by his son.

And finally, there was Mr Liuzza himself, glaring at Luigi.

"Putanna," he said. "Get the fuck...."

His wife put a hand on his arm, and he turned to her, glowering. He got the message. You can't fire him, you already paid him. So then he turned to his father.

"This fucking place," he snarled. "This was never what I wanted, but you never even saw that, did you? This was all you ever cared about. I spent my whole fucking life working on your dream, not mine. And now my sons, too. At least Paulie had the balls to make his own life."

Brandi stared at them in shock. This was better than TV. This was deep family drama. A psychologist would have a field day.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Luigi watched the drama unfold with a stoic look on his face. This was as much a family matter as it was a business matter. But more than that, it was also a community matter. And that's the angle he used now.

"I grew up a couple of blocks from here. Like I told you, going to Liuzza's was always a treat. But more than that, Liuzza's was a touchstone for italian pride and love of good, proper, italian food made with love and care. Because contrary to what some of you may think," and here he fixed Becky with a withering stare, "food should be so much more than just fuel. Food is love expressed by the time and effort to make a dish just right. Food is a gathering of family and friends, strengthening the bonds kber a glass of wine and some apetizers while you wait for the various dishe to be done. Food is sensual, and evokes feelings. Food is identity. Food is nourishment for body and soul. And if you don't get why this is important," and here he fixed Mr. Liuzza with a withering stare, raising his voice, "YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT TO RUN A RESTAURANT. GET YOUR FAMILY DRAMA SORTED OUT BEFORE YOU RUIN THIS- THIS LANDMARK!"

As if on cue a message beeped on his tablet. "Excuse me," he said, and read the message. He paled in anger, wrote a reply, and said: "It's worse than I thought. My assistants have just finished going through the storage spaces."

The door to the kitchen flew open, and a couple of Luigi's assistants marched in, holding large deep steam trays. Luigi turned to the old man and said: "I am sorry to break your heart, but you need to see this."

Luigi nodded, and the assistants started unloading the steam trays. Luigi's worst suspicions were confirmed. Box upon box of prefabricated italian foods from cheap wholesalers that could quickly be mixed or in some cases micriwaved directly, garnished to be given that "fresh" look, and then served at a steep price to unsuspecting customers. It was a travesty. It was an insult.

Luigi was, for five seconds, speechless. And then, in a voice that was shaking with emotion, he said oh-so-calmly: "Anyone with half a brain could figure out the problem here." His eyes roamed the assembled room and landed on the beautiful young waitress that had collected him from the kitchen and professed to be a big fan of his show.

"From the mouth of babes," he thought and smiled at her, his eyes lingering on her cleavage for a second. He pointed at her. "You. Brandi. Tell me, what is wrong with this picture? Seeing this- this mierda, does it make you proud to work here?"

 

[brandijade]

Brandi couldn't help feeling some slight satisfaction as Luigi ripped into Becky. The older woman had been the one that started half the kitchen calling her balloons, and it was not meant kindly. She'd always tried to keep the hurt to herself. After all, she had big tits, there was no getting around it, and it was something a lot of people liked. When he turned on Mr Liuzza, she watched with cold satisfaction.

Mr Liuzza had always spoken to her so sweetly. He encouraged her to wear shorter skirts and lower cut tops, and she'd always been flattered by his attention. She had always responded to people in authority, always been a good girl, eager to please. She worked hard to do a good job, because she felt proud to be someone he noticed. But today he showed her that he didn't even know her name. She was just a pair of tits with legs to him.

Now he was answering to a higher authority, Luigi da Silva, and he was getting told off properly. She was nearest the door, so she was the first one after him when he went into the kitchen. She took a strategic place by a prep table, so the flow of staff and family following them into the kitchen would go around her, rather than pushing her to the back again. So she could see Luigi's face. He was handsome, she thought, as she gazed at him, waiting for the crowd to settle.

"Anyone with half a brain could figure out the problem here." And then he looked at her. She blushed. Was he saying she only had half a brain? After her behavior when she came to get him, that was actually giving her the benefit of the doubt. When he called on her, like a teacher in school, she was determined to show him she wasn't just some bimbo.

"You. Brandi." She blushed, and stood up a little straighter. In that moment, the fact that he knew her name was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. She stood up straighter, head up, shoulders back, with pride. Pushing her balloon-tits out was just a side effect. "Tell me, what is wrong with this picture? Seeing this- this mierda, does it make you proud to work here?"

"No, this doesn't make me proud," she said, her voice was soft. She was never really very good at public speaking, but she knew Luigi da Silva. At least, the TV personality. She walked up and looked at one of the packages. "'Heat at medium heat for ten minutes. Serve over pasta with grated cheese.' I think that's exactly what they do, no more, no less." She picked up a package of grated parmesan cheese, and dropped it as if she'd been burned. "Wisconsin." A bottle of olive oil. "California."

"There's nothing Italian here. There's no craft, there's no heart." What she was doing could have been a parody of da Silva, if she had just done the accent and waved her hands a little more. As it was, she was looking at the food the way she had seen him do countless times on TV. What she was doing was what they meant when they said imitation was the sincerest form of flattery. But the last thing she said was not flattery. She quoted Becky, verbatim.

"It's food. Fuel. We heat it and send it out to the customers-"

Call me balloons again, bitch.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Luigi closed his eyes with almost rapturous joy when Brandi, timidly, but with growing confidence, spoke up. He realized that she was indeed mimicking his moves, but that flattered and amused him in equal measure. And the barb directed at Becky did not escape him.

Luigi was somewhat attuned to moods and social textures, and he guessed that Becky had established herself as a queen bee throwing insults and innuendo around, judging by the barb and the look Brandi had thrown her way.

Luigi nodded and smiled. "I couldn't have put it better myself, Brandi." He turned to the owners. Pointing at Becky, he asked, "Why is this estupida woman with no soul preparing something as sacred as food?" Mr. Liuzza muttered something about experience, and Luigi rolled his eyes and said acidically: "Experience with what?" Turning to Becky, he asked her, "What is your previous experience in cooking, Becky?"

Becky turned red and started screaming: " What the fuck are you picking on me for!? We all are asked to make the dishes like this because it's cheaper! The customers are idiots! They can't tell the difference! And neither can little miss Bal- Brandi here! She just wants to show off in front of her precious IDOL!"

Luigi took it all in, and fixed his stare on Becky. "You are apparently unaware that I've been given the power to make ANY" he shouted out that word, "alterations to the staff I deem fit and necessary. Your attitude is toxic, you are disrespectful to the customers and, I suspect, those you feel are beneath you." His eyes flickered to Brandi, a quick warm smile flashing across his lips.

"So guess what, Becky. You have just volunteered for a cooking challenge. One of my trusted assistants is preparing a spaghetti carbonara with proper ingredients. I want you to make it the way you usually do. We will have Brandi do a blind test. You don't seem to think much of her, so if she can tell the difference between the dishes, there must BE a difference, right? If she likes yours better than my assistant's, I will pay Mr. Liuzza back the fee he paid me and leave. If she likes the one my assistant made better, I stay on and make ANY alterations I see fit for this restaurant." Pause for dramatic effect, "INCLUDING staffing," he finished with a threatening glare at Becky.

He addressed the assembled staff. "While we've been talking, my assistants have filled the food stores with PROPER italian ingredients, and they are preparing dishes for tonight. You will shadow them and learn from them and me in the coming weeks. Becky, you know what to do. Brandi I'd like a word."

He took the beautiful young woman aside and looked her over. The closer he looked, the younger he thought her to be. "Brandi, first of all I want to apologize for this unpleasantness. Had I known which way this would go I wouldn't have picked you. It seems Becky isn't very fond of you." Luigi had a pretty shrewd idea why, but he didn't expand on that.

"I am curious, though. Is this just a job for you? Or do you want to become a chef? You clearly have the passion for it," he said, trying not to stare too openly at her voluptuous form.

 

[brandijade]

Brandi blushed a ferocious red when Luigi said he couldn't have put it better. She fought, and lost against the huge grin that spread across her face at this ultimate compliment from her idol. And the fact that with his next breath he rounded on Becky nearly made her hyperventilate. He was her hero, and now here he was actually being a hero. Defending her against the bitch that had taken every chance to make her time here just a little shittier. OK, maybe he wasn't really going after her to defend Brandi, but that was a small detail.

And of course Becky lost it, started screaming at Luigi. Brandi had seen this on TV. She didn't know who had screamed at Luigi before he got a show, but she had seen plenty of people scream at him on TV. It didn't bother him. Sometimes they were good people having a meltdown, and he endured it, and lifted them up. More often, they were assholes, and he endured it, and then he crushed them. Becky obviously had no idea.

But the last thing she said dissolved Brandi's smile. Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open in mute protest. She wanted to say that she wasn't trying to show off for chef da Silva, but she was. She wasn't just trying to show off, but she was so amazed that he was here, of course she wanted him to notice her, to praise her, to be pleased with her. She also thought she was right about what she'd said, and it seemed that da Silva did as well.

Because the next thing she knew, she was going to be the judge of a taste test that would decide whether chef da Silva stayed or not. And carbonara. It was a deceptively simple recipe, nothing fancy in the ingredients, but with proper timing and care, an almost alchemical transformation took place that made it so very much more than the sum of it's parts. And she would be eating carbonara prepared by chef da Silva's team. She was speechless.

The looks that she was getting, from Becky, from Mr Liuzza, from most of the staff were grim, hostile, angry. She could easily understand what they were thinking. She had been a hostess until today. She had barely graduated from high school. She was balloons, and now, suddenly, all of their futures depended on her.

There were a few who were maybe just as worried, but less hostile, because they knew that the business had been sorely mismanaged for a long time. Brandi noted them, and while she had no way to know this, da Silva's research had already identified most of them as keepers.

And then Chef da Silva, pulled her aside. Her heart was racing.

"Brandi, first of all I want to apologize for this unpleasantness. Had I known which way this would go I wouldn't have picked you. It seems Becky isn't very fond of you."

"She calls me balloons," she mumbled. He hadn't asked, but he had paused in a way that made her feel like she should say something. And because that seemed to be a strange thing to say, she elaborated. "Because of, um, my boobs."

She blushed fiercely, and risked a glance. And then he dropped the bomb.

"I am curious, though. Is this just a job for you? Or do you want to become a chef? You clearly have the passion for it,"

"I... I wish," she said, ruefully. "I'm not a very good cook."

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"Because of, um, my boobs."

Luigi sighed at that. He was heartily sick and tired of how toxic some women could be towards other women, especially when it came to looks. She blushed, clearly embarassed, and Luigi wanted to tell her something, but he needed the moment of her embarassment to pass, fearing that anything he'd say right now might compound her embarassment.

"I... I wish, I'm not a very good cook."

"That's just a matter of training. You come across to me like a very passionate young woman. You clearly have strong and clear opinions on food and cooking. That is a pretty good start. We can train you if you want. I have a good feeling about you. I also-"

He was interrupted by one of his assistants, asking for a judgment call on what nuts to use in pesto since they were out of pineseeds and the garlic was on the old side. They settled on chestnuts in the end.

By the time he was done dealing with that mini crisis, the carbonara dishes were done. They were placed on a wheeled serving table and were ready to be wheeled in and served when Brandi was ready.

Luigi grabbed a large napkin and made a blindfold from it. He gestured for Brandi to be seated. When she was seated comfortably, he went to her and gently but firmly blindfolded her.

He then whispered to her: "Follow your heart and don't hold back on the criticism." A quick pause, then: "And querida, there is nothing wrong with your boobs. They are magnifico, and don't you forget that!"

Luigi stood up and took a loud step backwards before announcing: "Bring in the dishes!"

Out came two plates with food. One was a plate with tagliatelle with a cream sauce, a mix of pecorino romano and parmigiano reggiano cheeses, black pepper, real pancetta, and the unmistakeable yellow tinge from an egg yolk that had been stirred in at the very end.

The other plate hade noodles swimming forlornly in some pale white sauce, no evidence of any egg yolk, no black pepper, and sprinkled with Bacon Bits.

The tasting was done thus:
First a bite of Becky's zombie nightmare trying to pass as carbonara, a sip of water to clear the mouth of flavour, and then the real carbonara.

Luigi had moved to the front to have a look at Brandi while she sampled the dishes. She looked cute with the blindfold on. A lazy horny feeling spread in him at the thought of this naturally gifted young woman blindfolded in another context.

He suddenly realized that she had tasted both dishes.

"We await your verdict, Brandi."

 

[brandijade]

"That's just a matter of training. You come across to me like a very passionate young woman. You clearly have strong and clear opinions on food and cooking. That is a pretty good start. We can train you if you want. I have a good feeling about you. I also-"

Then he was distracted by another conversation, which was probably for the best. Brandi was having a hard time controlling herself, and anything more at that moment might have broken her. Luigi da Silva had called her passionate, had said she had clear and strong opinions, which he clearly thought were also correct. More than any of that, he had just offered to train her. Not because of her tits, but because he had a good feeling about her.

It would mean switching to back of house, of course, but she would be working directly for him. It was a dream come true. As she sat, trying to remember every detail of this moment, someone announced that the carbonaras were ready, and the weight of the moment crashed into her reverie. There would be no training with Chef da Silva if she picked the wrong dish. She wasn't actually worried about making the right choice, but the stakes had changed dramatically.

She sat at one of the prep tables, and he stood behind her. She was shivering with excitement, just being so close, and as he put the blindfold over her eyes, she clenched her fists, holding back a coo of pleasure. She imagined him blindfolding her in another context, alone, definitely not professional. She blushed, and her heart was pounding.

"Follow your heart and don't hold back on the criticism."

She nodded briskly, trying to clear her mind of the erotic visions dancing through her mind. Chef's hands on her, undressing her, touching her. His cock on her tongue. Or thrusting into her, bent over this very table.

"And querida, there is nothing wrong with your boobs. They are magnifico, and don't you forget that!"

She sat up straight as if she'd been shocked. Her head snapped around to look for him, but she was blindfolded. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from completely embarrassing herself. Querida, she wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but she knew it was something romantic in Spanish. Was it different in Portuguese? Or was it Italian? It sounded nice, anyway. So did magnifico.

If only they'd been alone.

Then the dishes were brought out. She could smell them before they reached the table, and they hit the table loud enough for her to know they were there. She reached out carefully to find the plates, found a fork at 4 oclock on each one. She leaned over, forcing herself to breathe somewhat normally. Had Chef da Silva really just complimented her boobs? Was he flirting with her right in front of everyone? Right now?

She smelled cheese, bacon, pepper, all strong scents. All more or less as they should be. Then she smelled the same, but there was the sharpness of parmagiano and romano cheeses, the milder scent of pancetta, and the funky undertone of egg. She smiled and reached for the first fork. She twirled a little pasta around the tines and then lifted it to her lips, and paused, lowering it, untasted.

"Becky," she said. She was showing off now, but she was high. She wanted to find Chef and climb him like a tree. And the things she would do to his branch.... She took a bite, contemplated, chewing slowly. She shook her head. "The noodles should be al dente. The sauce, I'm guessing, is alfredo from a jar with bacon bits and a little pepper thrown in. The real question for me is why? Even if you're right, and your customer is an idiot who can't tell the difference, that's an opportunity. You could be the one to open their eyes, to let them taste something really beautiful, and even if they can't really appreciate it the way that you could, you never know. You could change their whole way of thinking about food. But this is probably easier."

She shrugged and pushed the plate away. She took a bite from the other dish. Chewed. Swallowed. Smiled.

"Magnifico," she said, and wished she could see Chef's face. She felt herself blushing, and bit her lip. Then she added "Can I finish this?"

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Luigi tried, but failed, to suppress a grin when Brandi calmly dissected Becky's dish and shamed her in front of her colleagues. It was beautiful.

"Bravo Brandi!" he exclaimed. "And yes, you may of course finish the dish! Finish it and come see me in the kitchen when you're done."

He invited everyone to try a bite of Becky's carbonara, and urged them to go into the kitchen to sample the real thing. He even, in the name of fairness, sampled Becky's carbonara himself. He had come down hard on her so he felt she deserved the benefit of his doubt. He concluded that Becky did indeed know what she was talking about. She was right on the money in her assessment.

"Becky, with me!" he said in his harshest DI voice. He cast a glance at Brandi savouring and enjoying her well-earned treat before he went into the office, sat down, offered Becky a seat, and in front of the owners told her:

"You've just been shamed by a young waitress, Becky. I've looked at your record, and I see you have no previous experience with cooking italian food. I see you have extensive experience cooking in diners where the emphasis is on deep frying. Which is fine, don't get me wrong. But would you put a car mechanic to tinker with an airplane engine? No? Do you see where I'm going with this, Becky?"

She nodded mutely, face red, eyes downcast. He continued more gently: "I know it's not only your fault," he said, shooting an evil glance at the reigning Mr. Liuzza. "My guess is that you were told to make do with cheaper stuff because no-one would notice the difference, and it made for a better profit margin." By Mr. Liuzza's squirming, he knew he was right on the money. "Well guess what, there is no profit to be made if you have NO GODDAMN CUSTOMERS!"

He knew they could hear him in the kitchen. This was the point. Mr. Liuzza took the bait, and an epic screaming match ensued. Mr. Liuzza was screaming about how he hadn't been expected to be berated in front if his staff and he did what he thought was necessary to keep the wheels going. Luigi on his end roared that the food here had gone from sublimo to infamo in the span of less than a year and how the main audience, italians and italian-americans, COULD tell the difference between shit and cinnamon.

They yelled at each other for a good ten minutes before things calmed down. Luigi said "solve the issue of who is running this restaurant TODAY!" The yelling had been many-sided, with allegiances shifting according to subjects. Becky was still sitting there, shell-shocked and horrified by the display of tempers that had unfolded in front of her.

Luigi smiled at her: "If you can't bring this level of passion into your cooking, you have no business calling yourself a cook, much less a chef."

She nodded mutely and took off her apron and handed it to Luigi. She left the room, defeated and weeping. Luigi felt bad for her, but in cooking, if you wanted perfection, you could take no prisoners, and she had offered herself up when she spoke out against him.

Passion. Perfection. He suddenly remembered Brandi. A surge of lust coursed through him. If she made love the same way she'd savoured the carbonara...

He shook his head. Focus. He said "Sort this shit out," as a parting shot to the Liuzzas, and went into the kitchen.

Brandi was standing to the side, seemingly absorbed by one of his assistants instructing the resident cooks.

"Brandi!" he called out. "We can't teach you to cook in a waitress' uniform. Let's see what we can find with the spares for now, and get you started."

He smiled disarmingly at her. He didn't want to frighten her unless he had to. First he needed to build up her confidence.

 

[brandijade]

Brandi did not end up finishing the carbonara. Once the blindfold was off and she saw what a huge portion it was, she knew she couldn't. Not unless she wanted to spend the evening in a food-coma. But God, it was hard to stop. She wondered how it had been made. Nobody seemed to notice that while she had torn into Becky's dish, she had only said a single word about the da Silva team's. She knew enough to talk about bad cooking, but she didn't exactly know how one made a proper carbonara.

Also, raging Italian tempers did not make the best dinner music, unless it was set to an opera. da Silva and Liuzza's argument raged. She left more than half the dish on the plate when she stood up. da Silva's team was busy, and the Liuzza's staff was hovering around, listening and learning. Or, more often, glowering and sulking. She stood nervously in front of the table where she had eaten. She didn't want to throw that glorious meal away, but she couldn't leave it just sitting there.

That was when Becky came out of the office, tears pouring down her face. Brandi felt a pang of guilt. The woman was a bitch, and she had put her own head in the lion's mouth, but Brandi had thrown fat on the fire.

"Hey," she said, gently, trying to find kindness for the woman who had bullied her her whole time here. "You should try this. It's really, really good and...." it might make you feel better, she didn't get to say.

"Oh, fuck you, Balloons," Becky snarled, shoving past her.

Brandi sighed. She had tried.

"Hey, Liuzza's people," she called out. "You should taste this. It's really, really good. Whichever one of you made this...." She put her hand over her heart. "It's the best thing I've ever eaten."

She saw the one guy smiling. He looked away almost as soon as she made eye contact, but his face hid nothing. That may have been best thing you've ever eaten, little girl, but you don't applaud the tenor for clearing his throat. She ignored the disdain, and went over to him.

"Thank you," she said. "What are you working on now."

"This is going to be marinara for tomorrow," he said. His hillbilly accent was jarring. She had expected all da Silva's people to be European, but that wasn't realistic, was it? No wonder they never talked on the TV show. At the moment, he was just sauteeing aromatics in oil. "There's no time to make a proper tomato sauce in time for tonight, so we brought some. I'm showing them how to make it."

She smiled. He might be a redneck, but he was rightly proud of his skills. Before she could ask him anything, though, Chef da Silva called her. She forgot the redneck, and the marinara, and everything as she turned to look at him. He wanted her to get dressed in a chef's uniform. She grinned. He had been serious about teaching her. She practically floated over to him, wide-eyed, eagerly soaking up his attention.

"Where are they?" she asked.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

She was gliding towards him, a look in her eyes he knew only all too well. She was starstruck. Luigi smiled at her expectant dreamy look. Sex, he thought, was a lot like food. The more preparation that went into it, the more rewarding the result. He was a man in his forties, he had the patience to wait until Brandi's passions were brought to a boil, so to speak. After all, why settle for a quickly made hamburger when you could enjoy a 12-course meal prepared with love and care to hit all the right spots instead of just stilling an immediate hunger?

"Where are they?"

"Come with me, Brandi," he told her as his hand gently wrapped around her lower arm. He let go a couple of seconds after they started walking towards the clothes storage.

Well inside, and a thought ocurred to him: "We may have to get you some sets of specially made jackets since, you know..." he said, gesturing at her impressive bosom.

"The jackets we have that would fit your, ahem, chest, would be like you walking in a chef's burka, and the jackets that would fit your waist would kind of... spill out on top. So..."

He thought for a second, then: "I think we'd be best off with a middle size for now. Small enough for you not to stumble or get caught on hooks and corners, big enough so that you're not... even more distracting," he said with an ambiguous smile. "But we may have to have it tailor made to fully fit your... form," he finished with a raised eyebrow, the smile never leaving his face as his eyes all but caressed her body. My God, the pleasures he could extract from and bestow upon this beautiful young woman.

And then he changed tack, his tone almost businesslike, though he was still warm and friendly towards her: "So tell me, Brandi, did you ever make pasta from scratch before?"

 

[brandijade]

For a moment, when he took her arm, Brandi felt like Chef da Silva was pulling her away for some wildly inappropriate reason. Not that she wasn't ready for that. But he let go a moment later, and she knew it was just wishful thinking. They went to the clothes store, which was really just a glorified closet. Working as a hostess, she hadn't seen this area since her first day when Mr Liuzza was showing her around.

Now she was here with Chef da Silva, the space forced them close, and she shivered with excitement.

"We may have to get you some sets of specially made jackets since, you know..." he said. He gestured at her chest, and she blushed. She'd never once thought that her tits would stand in the way of her dreams, but he made very good points. "The jackets we have that would fit your, ahem, chest, would be like you walking in a chef's burka, and the jackets that would fit your waist would kind of... spill out on top. So..."

She couldn't help pushing her chest out, just a little. The man was her idol, and he was talking about her body, and it was just a reflex. She knew how it must look, of course. The silly little teen, thinking she can get her way because she has big tits. She didn't want to be that. She didn't want to be balloons. She bit her lip, and tried to stand naturally, but she was far too self conscious to know what natural felt like.

"I think we'd be best off with a middle size for now. Small enough for you not to stumble or get caught on hooks and corners, big enough so that you're not... even more distracting,"

His smile made her head spin. Was she distracting? Was he flirting with her. Her eyes opened wide.

"Do you find them dist tract ting?" she said, stumbling over the last word in her nervous excitement.

"But we may have to have it tailor made to fully fit your... form," he finished, and then his eyes slid down, and she couldn't breathe. If he had asked her to do anything, she would have. He was looking at her breasts as if he wanted to dive into her and she wished he would. She wondered what he would do if she just got on her knees and started opening his pants.

"So tell me, Brandi, did you ever make pasta from scratch before?"

She blinked.

"What?" she said. Then she inhaled, shaking her head, trying to clear the lewd fantasies from her mind. "I mean, no. I never made, um, pasta from scratch."

She couldn't look at him, so she turned to the shelves of neatly folded chef's jackets. She pulled a medium off the shelf and turned back to him.

"I'd love to learn how," she said. "Anything you want to teach me." Was that too obvious? She could always say she hadn't meant it like that.

She tucked the jacket under her arm, and her hands went to the top button of her blouse. She waited for him to leave her to change, and wished she had worn a different bra. Something sheer and lacy, something sexy, but she was pretty sure she'd gone with a practical white one. If he stayed to talk with her, she was going to change right in front of him.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"I'd love to learn how," she said. "Anything you want to teach me."

Yeah. He hadn't been wrong. She was definitely wanting some action from and with him. He did not take the bait, though, but he wanted to make sure she knew he was aware of it and circling it.

"Oh, there's a lot I can teach you, Brandi," he said with a sly smile. "But for now, I want to focus on teaching you how to cook."

He stayed in the confined space just a little bit longer than necessary before telling her: "Better get changed, Brandi. I'll be outside." And with a last hungry look at her body, he left her to change into cook's clothing.

When she emerged, her breasts were still pretty much on display. He gave her a once over-look, and went behind her to check on her hair, tucking away some loose strands she'd overlooked, "accidentally" brushing the tender part of her neck at the same time, but outwardly being all business, of course. But his arousal for this morsel of a woman was mounting.

He led her back to the kitchen, abruptly turned around, and asked her: "Tell me, Brandi, what are the main ingredients in pasta. Do you know?"

 

[brandijade]

"Oh, there's a lot I can teach you, Brandi," he said with a sly smile. "But for now, I want to focus on teaching you how to cook."

Brandi bit her lip. For now. She blushed, thinking what he could teach her at another time. Was that what he had meant? She was sure it was. The way he had looked at her, the smile he gave her, what he whispered to her about her breasts. She shivered with excitement.

"Better get changed, Brandi. I'll be outside."

She nodded, a little disappointed that the moment was over, but what was he going to do? Stay and watch her change? With his staff and Liuzza's waiting outside. It wasn't like they wouldn't have noticed the attention he had been giving her. And, as she unbuttoned her blouse, she thought about it. He was older, mature. Maybe his idea of a good time was more than a quickie in the storage closet. She wondered what he did like, and pulled the chef's jacket on. It didn't quite button up over her tits, so she left it open. It displayed her cleavage obscenely, but her bra was modest enough. It wasn't as if anyone was seeing anything, she told to herself.

She found a pair of chef's pants that she was able to pull up over her ass. She was stuck wearing her heels, but she couldn't do anything about that.

When she came out, he looked her up and down. It looked like he was checking her out, and she resisted the urge to preen for him. But when he touched her neck, she gasped and her whole body stiffened in surprise. It was not an accident. Or was it? His face gave nothing away, and then he was leading her back to the kitchen, quizzing her.

"Um, eggs, olive oil, salt, and...." She scowled at the floor, trying to remember. She was forgetting something important, but she was too distracted. She took a deep breath, doing nice things to her chest in the process. "Oh! Flour!"

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Luigi waited with bated breath for her to remember the last vital ingredient. When she did, he smiled and chuckled. "You know your stuff, Brandi. So now we need to discuss ratios of these ingredients."

Luigi launched into a little lecture about how different quantities of the various ingredients might affect the dough for the pasta differently.

"But with time and training, it will become second nature to you. You will, with a simple touch, be able to determine if the dough is good enough to be served to paying guests. Now watch."

He collected all the ingredients and put them before her. "Making food should be a feast for the senses, Brandi. You must love it like you love good food... and other things," he added with the quickest of winks at her.

"You must overcome any squeamishness you have and embrace the feeling of, for instance, a raw egg slithering through your fingers," he said as he cracked an egg and let it run through his fingers into a cup.

"Feel it," he said, holding out his hand at her, waiting for her to run her fingers over his, made slippery with the egg white.

"Then," he continued, "the dryness of the flour and how it at first refuses to mix with the egg, the little rascal," he said smiling, as he poured the egg into a container with flour.

"Now put your hands in there and relish the conflicting textures and marvel at how they coalesce into something new by your hands. Go ahead. Tell me when you think it's done. There are no wrong answers, remember. I don't expect you to know everything, but I expect you to learn. And you did not expect to start your apprenticeship as a cook when you came into work today. So don't fret, okay? There will be no yelling unless you burn down the kitchen."

He would be watching her face as much as her hands for this, to gauge whether or not she understood the lesson. Recipes were for unfeeling buffoons, the true nature of good cooking was to sense the food.

Taste, of course. Listening, to determine when meat had the right sizzle, or to hear if bread was still fresh, for instance. Touch, for the right texture and temperature. Smell to determine the progress of the cooking. And last but not least, sight, for obvious reasons.

The five senses should culminate into a sum larger than its parts to create heavenly food. Luigi sensed this ability in Brandi, but he needed to know jyst how sensuous of a young woman she was, both for cooking and for... other pleasures.

 

[brandijade]

She hung on every word as he spoke about making pasta. It was glorious to have him paying attention to her like that. As if she was the only one there. She wished she really was alone with him, maybe then he would make a move. Then she could show him how much she appreciated everything he'd done for her today.

"Making food should be a feast for the senses, Brandi. You must love it like you love good food... and other things."

She saw the wink he shot her, and the pink tip of her tongue wet her lips without thinking. She nodded her head, agreeing with everything he said. At that moment, he could have told her 1+1=gefiltefish and she wouldn't have questioned him.

If anyone else had cracked a raw egg into their hand, she probably wouldn't have been thinking how sensual it was, and she certainly wouldn't have seized the chance to touch him. The egg was slightly warm from his skin, but it was still basically snot. Her fingers slid over his, and she couldn't resist wrapping them around one finger for just a moment.

Then she began to mix the dough, working the ingredients carefully together and massaging it. She'd never made fresh pasta, had no idea what the dough was supposed to feel like, and she was utterly distracted by her teacher, so she kept going, feeling it squishing between her fingers, wishing she had him in her hands.

She listened to him carefully, trying to soak in every syllable, to absorb his teaching. When else would she have a chance like this? It was just so hard to focus on what he was saying when she kept imagining things they could be doing.

Then she stopped.

"It's getting stiff," she said. Then she giggled, realizing it sounded like she was talking about something else. She blushed. "I mean the dough. Should I stop?"

 

[Niceandbrutal]

She seemed spontaneous and playful in her interactions with him. He loved it when she for a brief moment gripped his finger, a warm lustful little shiver running through him as he imagined her hand gripping something else.

When she exclaimed "It's getting stiff," he couldn't contain himself. He roared with laughter. "We need to add some lubrication to the stiff... dough," he said, not even bothering to hide the double entendre. "Allow me," he said.

"We need to add a little oil to this so it doesn't lose its pliability," he added, reaching for the green olive oil. He poured the oil over his hands and grasped her hands, bringing them onto the dough together.

He started kneading the dough, his hands over hers, working their hands in tandem as he lowered his voice: "Feel the change once again. From stiff and crumbly it now gets more slick and pliable without losing its firmness."

His voice was low and controlled, but he was starting to get very aroused himself. But he kept talking as if all he was doing was to instruct on cooking and nothing more.

"This is not a bad first effort at all, Brandi. But of course, you worked from my measurements. I wonder how it would go if I let you try it without my measurements to work from? The dough we've worked on now should rest. In the meantime, I think we should see how well you do on your own and try for a new dough."

He gestured for her to gather ingredients, watching her seductive form weave itself around the kitchen, swaying and jiggling provocatively as she went.

 

[brandijade]

Brandi continued to blush as Chef talked about lubricating the stiff dough. There was no way that was an accident, and when he poured oil over her hands, she gasped. When he took her hands in his, kneading her hands as they kneaded the dough, she nearly fainted.

No, it wasn't overtly sexual, but it was intimate. His voice was soft, only for her to hear, his hands guiding hers, showing her how to work the dough. Her heart was racing a million miles an hour, and she felt like time was moving for too quickly, and at the same time, everything was taking forever. She realized she was gazing at him, like... well, like a star-struck teenager with a crush on her older idol. She glanced around, but nobody was paying them much attention.

Then he stopped, satisfied with the dough, at least as a first try. He wanted her to do it again, only using her own measurements. She opened her mouth to explain she really didn't know how much to use. Then what? Would she tell him she had been too busy imagining kissing him to follow what he had been doing? Being jealous of the egg for dribbling down his fingers? Getting massively turned on by his hands sliding over hers?

She scooped flour onto the table. Salt. Then she had to go find the eggs. Did she put a little extra sway in her hips, or was it just how lubricated she was, making her pussy slide against itself that made it feel that way? She couldn't tell. Eggs and olive oil.

She set the bottle aside and cracked the egg into one hand, letting it slide through her fingers into the flour like she had. A generous punch of salt, a little oil to start off, and she began to knead, working the gooey dough. She wiped her hand on a towel, and added another scoop of flour. It went like that for a minute, adding, kneading, adding more of whatever she thought it needed.

As she worked, she leaned into it, pushing from her shoulders. Again and again, her breasts wobbled, nearly popping out of the too small jacket and the cups of her pushup bra. She felt it, and pulled back each time, but she didn't miss Chef's eyes enjoying the show.

"I think it's ready," she said, when she was satisfied with the dough. She let her hands rest on the table, her elbows pushing her breasts together, squeezing them out towards him.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"I think it's ready,"

It had been a delight watching her work, kneading the dough. Every downwards push of her arms squeezed those delightful boobs together, and no way in Hell was THAT an accident! She was giving as good as she got with the teasing, and Luigi absolutely loved it. He knew he was in charge and could probably have her right here and now, if he so desired. But first he needed to assert a bit more control.

He had already seen one mistake she'd made: too much salt in relation to the flour and the eggs. It could maybe be salvaged with a liberal amount of oil, but it would be too salty. Still, for a first attempt, he'd seen worse.

"I disagree, Brandi. As we speak, the dough is getting dry and crumbly," he said, holding up her lump of dough and squeezing it. Little bits of dough fell through his fingers. "You used too much salt. It may be salvaged texturewise with oil, but it'll be to salty to serve to anyone. Still, it's a good first solo effort. A good rule of thumb, querida, is to always go easy on the salt. If there's too little you can always add more. But you can't UNSALT a dish once you've added too much to it. The only way to salvage it now would be to double it with flour and eggs, creating more work. Fortunately, we are always in need of pasta here, so why don't you go ahead and add another egg and flour and work it into the dough you already made?"

He needed to see how she handled setbacks. Would she pout, throw a tantrum, or accept the correction from him?

 

[brandijade]

Her brow knit when he said the dough was wrong, and she fought back the urge to say something to make it somebody else's fault. She knew the quickest way out of Chef's good graces was an unwillingness to own one's mistakes. And he had told her very clearly that he wasn't expecting her to get it perfect the first time.

But she had wanted to. She had wanted to make pasta dough so perfect that he would have no choice but to whisk her away somewhere private and take her passionately and fiercely. Instead, it was crumbling and dry, oversalted, inedible. She bit her lip, hearing her family's mockery when she tried to cook for them. Highfalutin foolishness, her mom said. Pretentious bullshit, her father said. If you're trying to catch a man, stick to blowjobs, her brother said.

But this was not that. This was legitimate, constructive criticism from someone who very much knew what he was talking about. She took a deep breath and shook her head, clearing the defensiveness and the anger. She gave a brusque nod.

"Eggs and flour," she said. Then she looked him in the eye. "Thank you. I'll get better."

She turned to get the eggs, and came back, more focused on the work, now.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

He saw, practically FELT, her internal struggle. To be told off, even in a constructive manner, was never easy. He remembered many an arguments he'd had with his parents when he started cooking. He told them he'd followed their instructions to the letter. They shot back that ingredients were not uniform. The sweetness of tomatoes varied, as did the intensity of garlic and basil and... the list went on.

The beginning and the end of it was deceptively simple. Underseason and taste, add seasoning as needed along the way. It was like sex, really. Moods and hormone levels varied from day to day. What brought the big O one day might leave the same person cold the next time.

Brandi was about to learn that. In fact...

She returned with the eggs, and Luigi signalled for her to stop. "Food, like any sensuous experience, will ALWAYS vary from day to day. Ingredients will never be the same, depending on season and production, your boyfriend may want vanilla one day, kink the next... it's the same mindset for all sensuous experiences. Sample and adjust, sample and adjust no matter what, and you will always have the best possible experience. Start going on autopilot and you will fail sooner or later."

He pointed to his own head. "Mental agility, humility, combined with knowledge, certainty, and inventiveness." He held his hand over his heart, "passion above all, Brandi!" He placed his hand over her heart and thus her boobs. "As long as you have the passion, everything else falls into place."

He removed his hand, seemingly unaffected, though a wave of lust roared through him. "Now show me, Brandi."

 

[brandijade]

Brandi nodded, still stung by the criticism. It was less what he had said, which she understood was correct, as her own fear of failure. She thought about what he was saying. It all made sense, cooking was a sensuous experience. She smiled as he spoke of cooking like sex. Her eyes flashed to his, and he could feel the question not being asked What do you want? And her eyes dropped to his crotch when he said sample and adjust.

She blushed, trying to stay focused on what he was teaching her. His eyes had told her he wanted her, yes, but he was all business. Except he was talking about sex and sensuality. Except he was touching her hands, holding them as she kneaded the dough. It was so confusing....

His hand reached out and touched her chest, covering her cleavage. Her heart, he would say, but her top was open so low he was only touching skin, and her bra had her breasts pressed up and together that it was all soft, voluptuous flesh.

She gasped, her eyes went wide. Instinctively she pressed into his hand, and bit her lip.

"Now show me, Brandi," he said.

Her mouth fell open, she looked down at her chest, and then up at him, and then around the room where at least one or two people had noticed. She shivered with excitement as her hands went to the first buttoned button of her chef jacket. Just before she undid it, she realized he wasn't telling her to show him her tits.

She blushed a fierce red and cracked an egg. Her hands were trembling visibly as she caught the raw egg and let it slip through her fingers. She bit her lip and added a scoop of flower, and began to knead the dough. She glanced up at him, still blushing. Did he know how close she had just come to flashing the whole kitchen?