♫Shiny happy dogs♫
♫In pots and pans!♫

High Stakes
Chapter 17

    Neither of us stayed at the rawhide bar much longer. Truth be told, I was getting a little anxious about disguising myself as Jacques Pate. Before I left, I gave Morgan a few instructions. “Don’t tell anyone I’m coming,” I advised. “And you should pretend that you don’t know me.” She mumbled something about a long-standing wish, but I wasn’t really paying much attention. I ordered a couple of packs of rawhide sticks to go and was already on my way out the door.

    The language part of my cover was bothering me more than I wanted to admit. I was beginning to suspect that not knowing French could undermine the authenticity of my disguise. I stopped in my local Quik-E-Mart and picked up an English/French phrase book and a slushy. I was already feeling better.

    I skipped the “Greetings” section of the book since Morgan had already prepared me for that. I flipped to the section on “Useful Phrases in the Kitchen.” Perfect. Unfortunately, my eyelids were getting heavy and I was having difficulty memorizing anything. I settled for making a tiny crib sheet which I taped to the back of a pack of rawhides. Satisfied, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 18

    I arrived at Miss Steak a little before noon the next day. The hostess’ desk was empty, so I wandered back into the restaurant. I found Sadie sitting at a table near the front, folding linen napkins into complicated little triangles. I cleared my throat, waiting for her to notice me. She went on folding, and when it became clear that she had no intention of offering to help me, I spoke. “Excuse me, miss,” I began, but she cut me off without looking up from her napkins.

    “We’re not open,” she stated.

    “I have an appointment,” I replied, trying to sound indignant. It wasn’t easy, because I was so excited to meet Seva and see the kitchen of a real restaurant I could barely stand still. I couldn’t control the wagging of my tail, but luckily Sadie still hadn’t raised her eyes from her pile of napkins. I cleared my throat again and said, “I am Jacques Pate, famous French chef. Please direct me to the kitchen.”

    She stood up wordlessly and walked away. I could only guess that I was expected to follow. I trotted to catch up. Her cold demeanor might have been off-putting had I not been so eagerly anticipating my visit. I decided to make conversation. “You know, you should try making some of those napkins into swans. Everybody likes birds.” She continued to ignore me as we approached a huge set of double doors. Through the round window in each one I could see heart and soul of Miss Steak: the kitchen. I didn’t even remember to thank her as I pushed open the doors and entered. I felt like I had been hypnotized. Every surface was gleaming. The shelves were stacked with shining pots and pans of every size and description. Utensils and appliances I couldn’t possibly identify lined every countertop. The staff bustled up and down the aisles carrying armloads of produce and other ingredients. In the middle of it all stood Bullet, concentrating on an enormous side of beef he was carving. If I ever make it to Heaven, it will certainly look a lot like the kitchen at Miss Steak.

    Bullet glanced up from the meat and grinned. He walked over to me, wiping his paws on his apron. “You must be Chef Pate. Ms Seva told me to expect you. Welcome to my kitchen,” he said, offering a paw which I shook gladly.

    “Je suis bete, mais j'ai aussi un coeur d'or,” I announced proudly.

    “Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I don’t speak any French,” Bullet replied. I smiled inwardly until he continued, “But my sous-chef Beau Chein does. Hey, Beau!”

    The infernal French were everywhere. “No need to interrupt him,” I remarked hurriedly. “I was just saying that I’m delighted to be here. Can you show me around?”

    He began a narrated tour of the kitchen and I was mesmerized. Who knew so many things were required to grill a steak? “Oooh!” I exclaimed as I sniffed a wonderful smelling meat grinder. Bullet turned to look at me with a quizzical expression on his face. I caught myself just in time and added, “La la! Ooh la la! C’est formidable!” As Bullet turned to continue the tour, I slid out my pack of rawhides and took a peek at my crib sheet for more appropriate phrases.

    I had apparently been admiring my reflection in another shiny pot for some time when Bullet gently tapped my shoulder. “Chef Pate? Are you okay?” he asked.

    “Oh, yes!” I replied enthusiastically. “You just have the most…ooh la la-iest pots!”

    “I suppose they are,” he said, “but don’t you have a kitchen full of them yourself?”

    I didn’t know exactly how to answer that question, but fortunately I didn’t have to try. I caught the scent of something divine cooking on one of the stovetops and I knew just what to say: “Ah que ca sens bon! Pouvez-vous me donner une petite degustation?”
 

Chapter 19

    I was feeling a bit insulted, sitting alone as I was at a workbench away from all of the activity. I could still see and smell everything and I had the handy little sample spoon Bullet had just given me, but I couldn’t help but feel ignored. True, I had probably gotten a bit too close to that heavenly scent. It was barbeque sauce, as it turned out, and I might have accidentally dipped my tongue in for a taste. Evidently that’s poor form in the kitchen but fortunately I was able to successfully blame it on being French before Bullet had me escorted off the premises. I wasn’t able to talk myself back into the action, though. All I could do was stick out my shiny little sample spoon as the staff went by. Every now and then one of them would have mercy and offer me a bite of something or other. After a particularly delicious taste of chicken I peeked at my notes and raved, “Quel delice! Ce morceau de poulet me fair mourrir de joie!” I was hoping to have the chance to use that phrase again lest I die of hunger instead.

    Bullet had become somewhat reticent following the barbeque sauce incident and I suspected I wasn’t likely to learn anything else from him. I was mulling over my options when the wait staff entered the kitchen. I started to give a little wave to Samantha before I remembered she couldn’t possibly recognize me in my disguise. I covered my mistake with a flirtatious wink and was rewarded with her deep blush. The ladies love me. As soon as everyone assembled, the doors opened again and in walked a stunning Saluki.

    “Good afternoon, everyone,” she addressed the group. I recognized the dulcet tones of Seva, the restaurant owner. She was even more beautiful than I’d imagined. She continued, “Let’s make this a great day. Bullet has some exceptional dishes to offer and I’ve no doubt they will all be prepared and served with perfection. I expect nothing less. We have a guest today, Monsieur Jacques Pate, who will be observing in the kitchen. Please make him feel welcome.”

    I stood, bowed graciously to Seva and smiled winningly at the staff. Seva had already turned to leave and I hurried to catch up with her. “It is such a pleasure to meet you,” I told her as I opened the door for her.

    “We’re all happy to have you here,” she replied, and I was relieved to know that she wasn’t aware that might no longer be entirely true. “Is there something you need?” she added, realizing I was still following her.

    “Actually, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the restaurant if you have the time.”

    She glanced at her watch, hesitating. “I usually like to mingle as we start the day, but I could probably spare a few…” she stopped, mid-sentence as she pushed open a door simply but elegantly labeled “Seva.” I stepped around her to see what had caused the distraction. A beagle and a black lab whose appearance I could only describe as shady were seated on the couch in her office. Her voice turned icy and her words were clipped as she snapped, “What are you two doing here?”
 

Special thanks to my French tutors Gwen and Samantha and Morgan.