The Boiling Point of Regret
The kitchen at Le Coeur d'Argent opened at six in the morning, before the delivery trucks arrived and the line cooks set up their stations. Julian Croft liked this hour best. The ovens held the residual warmth of the previous night's service. The copper pots hung like sleeping birds. Julian was twenty-seven and had been the sous-chef for three years. He knew every burner, every recipe, every...
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