With the Fire on High(40)
I appreciate you sending some ideas for the fund-raiser. I actually need one more thing from you . . . do you think you can send me the family’s version for stuffing? I have an idea I think I could use to raise money.
With all my love & some cinnamon dust,
E
Every Day I’m Hustling
It’s been two weeks since I turned the proposal in, but finally Chef Ayden and the school administration have approved my fund-raising plan, and I officially have a new schedule that’s taken over my life. I wake up an hour and a half earlier than I used to, before the sun has even blinked awake, and get ready for school. The guards know two of us have special permission three mornings out of the week to be let into the kitchen early, where Chef waits to start the lunch special for the day. Although he never said anything, I know he had to argue with the principal on our behalf to reopen the small training restaurant attached to the downstairs kitchen.
Us students rotate so no one has to show up more than once a week, but if someone can’t make it, I fill in since I’m the fund-raising lead. In the afternoons, a different student volunteers to be the lunchtime server for the three different lunch periods; each day after school for a whole week one student washes the dishes and helps Chef Ayden clean the restaurant. Since people are getting extra cooking time in the morning, it should work out that everyone ultimately learns the same number of recipes.
I expected teachers would want the option of another food spot in the building, but I never expected the little restaurant to be full every single shift. Most days we run out of everything we’ve made and Chef has to turn people away. And at a profit of seven dollars a pop for a meal, and about ten to twelve teachers per lunch period, three lunch periods a day, we’re raising just shy of seven hundred dollars a week and have five weeks still left to go until our December deadline. I’ve done the math over and over, but it still comes out that we’ll hit about three thousand five hundred dollars by the Winter Dinner. I try not let my nervousness over how much we need to raise show when I give weekly updates to the class, but I know I have to do everything in my power to get as many people at the dinner as the gym will hold.
And putting all this effort at school isn’t easy. I’m still working hours at the Burger Joint, going to tutoring after school for math, and spending as much time with Babygirl as I can manage.
Before I know it, the first two months of school have flown by and we are in the middle of November. Which means that the Winter Dinner is coming up. And how much money we raise by December doesn’t just determine whether the class can go to Spain, it determines whether my ideas and sweat and time have mattered. Which means I can’t fail.
Out of the Frying Pan
I’m in the kitchen one early morning sticking some bread rolls in the oven. After I set the timer, I clean my station and look around the room. Pretty Leslie is stirring a massive pot of chicken-noodle soup, and Richard is slicing up tomatoes, onions, and lettuce for sandwich fixings.
Chef sits at a small desk in the corner, and I know this is my chance.
“Chef, I was wondering if I could speak to you?” He takes a second to look up from his computer and I see he has bags under his eyes. I’ve never wondered if Chef is married, or has kids, or how far he lives from school. And unlike us, he’s been getting up every single morning to be here early and lead the kitchen, and he often stays after school to prep for the next day.
“What’s up, Emoni? Everything good with your bread?”
I nod. “I had some ideas for this year’s Winter Dinner. Some ways we could flip it so it’s something new that people who come every year haven’t seen.”
He closes his laptop and gives me his full attention. “How so?”
“Well, they always do some canned ham and some simple ole green beans. The exact kinds of thing people make at home for the holiday. But what if we made it more restaurant style? Like a chorizo bite on a bed of herbed stuffing? Or individual portions of baked mac and cheese?”
Chef temples his fingers together. “What would you do to elevate the mac and cheese?”
I place a hand on my chest, offended. “Absolutely nothing. Baked mac and cheese doesn’t need elevation, degradation, hateration, or nothing else. It’s perfect in its purest form. Although we could add some gouda.”
Chef grins. “I love it. Why don’t you write up some ideas and we’ll figure out the measurements and portions.”
I walk back to the bread rolls, which have risen in the oven and filled the kitchen with the warmest smell. I’m creating a menu for hundreds of people. I feel like something has risen inside me, too, and it tastes a bit like hope.
Crunch Time
Thanksgiving is a week away, and two weeks after that is the Winter Dinner. We have only a handful of weeks to finish raising the money for Spain. The lunch sales have been going steady and we are almost at twenty-five hundred dollars. But winter break is coming, and the deposit is due a few days after the Winter Dinner.
Even though he tries to look super chill, I know Chef is nervous that we still have over six thousand dollars to raise. The school will pay us a thousand for the Winter Dinner, but that still leaves too much we might not be able to raise in December alone. I’ve sure gotten a lot better at math since I’ve taken on tallying up our sales every week to see where we are in the fund-raising.