Free to Write

It happens every morning at six o'clock sharp, the exact moment the clock tower sounds. He walks in through the service entrance, before the deliveries begin to arrive. Avoiding to glance at the glimmer of the pots and pans, the racks, the shelves, the walk-in fridge and the freezer, he passes through the line of work stations and heads into the office. He tries not to look at the clipboard, not yet. He needs to relish a moment of tranquility before switching to auto-pilot.

Same as every day, today too, he'll head back into the kitchen area to go open his closet to put on his chef's hat and wraparound apron that hangs on a hook. Also in the closet is his knife kit, which is a symbol for everything that he is. He thinks no one makes good knives like the Japanese. The nine-inch one may look large and bulky, but it is a good bone cutter, a cleaver of heads, and splitter of joints. After he is finished today's work in the kitchen, he'll take the nine-inch with him out of the restaurant.

That will jolt him into the real action, the action that won him the approval and respect of his Capo di tutti capi.