Peppermint

Chapter 1: Pierre's Determination

Pierre hit the snooze button on his alarm. He closed his eyes for an instant, but only an instant. He knew that there was no sleeping in. Not now.

He forced himself out of bed and pulled off his clothes, his feet slapping on the floor of the bathroom as he reached for the nozzle and switched it on. While he waited for the water to warm up, he ran a hand across his chin checking for signs of stubble. At his job, as a sous chef in a famous French restaurant, Le Soliel D’or, their executive chef and chef de cuisine, Dominique, had particular rules that one never dared challenge. As both owner of the restaurant and head overseer of the kitchen staff, it was her way or the highway.

“Yes, a quick shave then.” Pierre decided, not wanting to draw the ire of his superior, especially at the beginning of the week.
Showered, dressed and cleanly shaven, Pierre grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in his tiny kitchen. He spied around the room and grabbed a banana as well. ‘You’re losing too much weight, my friend.’ He said, running a hand along the waistband of his chef pants. In that industry, it was usually the opposite, but Pierre treated his body like a temple. And besides, the stress of his job was enough to drive the thought of food from his mind and often, when he returned home at the end of a shift, the last thing Pierre wanted to do was eat.

Pierre opened his front door and stepped through, though not before catching a reflection of himself in the hallway mirror. “Let’s make it a good day, mon ami.” he said, smiling.


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The vaulted ceilings of Le Soleil D’or seemed to mock Pierre as he worked tirelessly beneath their intricate gold patterns. Their grandeur symbolized the excellence demanded by the restaurant—excellence Pierre embodied but rarely felt acknowledged for. His hands moved with precision, slicing through the soft flesh of a sea bass, the blade a natural extension of his will.

Pierre thrived in the chaos. He understood the dance of the kitchen: the symphony of clanging pans, sizzling butter, and barked orders. Yet no matter how perfect his execution, the weight of someone else’s laziness always seemed to land squarely on his shoulders.

‘Why do I stay?’ Pierre often wondered during these grueling shifts. The answer, though buried under layers of exhaustion and frustration, was simple: the dream.

Since his first apprenticeship at a small bistro in Marseille, Pierre had envisioned his own restaurant. It would be a haven for innovative French cuisine, a place where every plate reflected his artistry and care. Not like here, he thought, glancing at Charlotte, who was twirling a strand of hair instead of preparing the béarnaise she was assigned.

Charlotte was Dominique’s golden child, despite her glaring flaws. Her ability to deflect responsibility was almost admirable. Almost.

“Pierre!” Dominique’s voice shattered his thoughts.

The head chef stormed toward him, holding a small tasting spoon. Her eyes were as sharp as her tongue. “This sauce is too salty!”

Pierre’s stomach dropped, though he knew the mistake wasn’t his. “I’ll fix it, Chef,” he said, forcing the words out.

He could feel Charlotte’s smirk without looking. She’d prepared the base of the sauce but had conveniently disappeared when it went wrong. It was always like this.

‘Why doesn’t she ever call her out?’ Pierre thought bitterly as he grabbed a new pan and began again. The herbs were crushed under the heel of his palm, releasing their fragrant oils as if they, too, bore the brunt of his frustration.

As Dominique strode away, Pierre’s hands moved faster, his jaw tightening. One day, he told himself. One day, I’ll have my own restaurant, and no one will treat me like this.

But for now, he had to endure.


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