The kitchen was a sleek marble-and-stainless-steel space. It was not a place for clumsy happy cooking rather it was a clean professional setting.
With an uncomfortably tied white apron around her waist, Annabel stood in the middle. It had a costume-like feel. A sink full of soiled pots was indicated by the chef a strong man with a permanently stern face.
“Start there.”he ordered in a deep rumbling voice. “It must all be immaculate. Next are the blades. They should be polished as opposed to merely cleaned. I’ll be watching.”
He turned away without waiting for a response, disappearing into a walk-in pantry.
Annabel inhaled deeply. She dipped her hands into the hot soapy water. The first pot was heavy and had a stubborn residue coating on it.
Her hands were not used to the weight and
