Page 38 of Brutal King

I remembered that commercial and smiled. It hadn’t been my father’s idea, and he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of appearing on television. However, the ad had been a success. People absolutely loved him.

“Everyone could learn a thing or two from him,” Trent went on. “If you have the chance to meet him, start a conversation. You’re bound to learn something, even if you only speak to him for a brief moment. He’s a leader like no other.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing such glorious praise of my father made me happier than I would have thought.

“Speaking of leadership,” he said. “What are you looking for in our Executive Chef?

“Needless to say, someone who knows their way around a kitchen. Technique is good, but a talent for flavors and textures and plating is important, too. Our candidate has to be hard-working, with a capacity to lead with a firm yet fair hand, all while be able to work as part of a team; a creative team.”

“Good,” he said.

“So, when we meet and interview these potential chefs, how are we going to assess their ability to create tasty Asian dishes; Asian fusion to be more precise.”

I cocked my head to the side and looked at him. “What exactly do you know about Asian cuisine? I mean, what brought you to manage a restaurant that specializes in Asian food?”

He chuckled. “Fair question.”

“I didn’t mean any offence, I just...”

“No, of course not. Like I said, fair question. You see, I grew up in Asia.”

I was genuinely surprised. “Really? Where? What country?”

“Vietnam at first,” he said as he sat back and revisited his childhood. “My father worked as Head Chef for The Orchid House at the Intercontinental Hotel Chain in Eastern Asia. We moved around a lot, my mother and I following him as he worked his way up; Thailand, Singapore, Japan.” His eyes gleamed with joy. “I can tell you that I had a very interesting, not to mention tasty, childhood. When I was fifteen, I worked alongside him in Singapore. I loved it.”

“I’m sorry for being so surprised,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said with a wry grin. “I guess the blond hair and blue eyes makes me look more like a beach bum than a connoisseur of Asian cuisine.”

“I guess I’m guilty of stereotyping you a bit.”

He smiled. “What about you? I don’t want to stereotype you in return, but...”

“...my connection to Asian food is obvious?” I finished for him, a playful grin on my lips. “Don’t worry. I know about and fully embrace my Asian features. And yes, the link to Asian cuisine is as obvious as my heritage.”

“Have you been... I mean, to Asia?”

I nodded. “I’ve traveled extensively throughout, as a child with family, and later solo. I’ve tasted food from virtually everywhere between China and Malaysia. However, unlike you, I grew up here, in America. My hands-on knowledge of Asian cuisine is limited to times in the kitchen with my grandmother.” It was only a little fib.

“Cooking with grandmothers is always a learning experience,” he said.

“But you; you’re practically an Asian native.”

“Indeed,” he said with a laugh. “A blonde native.”

I chuckled. “Unlike you, my cultural and culinary references are almost entirely American.”

“That’s not a bad place to start.”

“And I bet those baby blues really caught women’s eyes out there.”

He blushed and seemed genuinely embarrassed.

“Tell me, did you learn any of the languages while you were living out there; Mandarin, Thai, Japanese?”

“Mostly Japanese,” he said. “Just enough to be able to hold a simple conversation with someone who doesn’t speak too fast. Then a bit of Mandarin and just a few Thai words.”

“I’m so impressed,” I said. “You must miss it horribly. Asia is so beautiful.”