Tales from the Qrypt 2

My job was like no other, I guess because Maco was the mastermind behind it all. One night he abruptly turned to me and said, “you need a job? meet me tomorrow at Marie’s”. Marie was the Haitian woman who owned the Copa Cabana bar as well as another bar on Nelson Street. When Maco told me to meet him at Marie’s I was more than a little taken aback. Everyone knew that the sleek and sophisticated ladies who came from Milan and other parts of Europe were housed over on Nelson street above Marie’s other establishment.

I decided that Maco probably had a good reason for asking me to meet him on Nelson Street. When I arrived at Marie’s, Maco was waiting impatiently. ‘Come on up’ he called down to me from the balcony overlooking the street. I went up and he ushered me into a large sitting room with plush red carpeting and long white leather sofas.

There were two gorgeous, well-dressed women sitting on stools in front of a mirrored wall. They were applying makeup to their already perfect faces and chattering in a foreign language.  They were both expensively dressed and apparently getting ready to go somewhere. I realized that Maco had disappeared through one of the doors and I sat down at the end of the nearest sofa and tried not to stare.

Eventually, Maco returned with Marie in tow. Marie was a plump, pretty woman with a girlish voice who I had met once before. She wore a colorful headwrap and matching dress along with jangling bracelets on both arms.  I stood up to greet her. “Hello, my dear,” she said reaching up to hug me, “thank you for coming.” She sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her indicating that I should also sit. I sat down and waited in silence for her to speak, she seemed to be looking at me rather intently.

“Can you cook?” Marie asked suddenly, I stared at her for a moment in confusion then I said: “yes I can cook”. She gave a girlish little laugh and clasped her hands together looking at me over her fingers. “I want you teach me to cook” she said in her own personal brand of English. “Can you do that?, you make list and I buy then  you tell me how to do and I do like you say eh?”

I sat there blankly for a bit then I caught myself, “of course! yes, I can do that”. She gave her little laugh again then patted my hand. “Good, good! so we start tomorrow eh? tomorrow I want to cook cake” she said excitedly…. And that’s how it all started. I thought her how to bake a cake the first day then how to make pastry the second. The pastry-making was actually a new experience for us both but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that!

By the third day Marie had put me in charge of the bar’s kitchen, I started at 10 am each day. At first, I was told to prep the bar snacks for the evening shift with the help of an older Haitian woman who spoke very limited English. By the time I get in at 10 am Ms. Emma would have already cleaned the kitchen and the worktops and prepared the chicken quarters to be seasoned. If the picnic ham in the display case was almost down to the bone then she would leave a new ham in a covered container on the countertop to thaw.

 Marie loved the flavor I added to everything I cooked hence her reason for giving me kitchen duty – which by the way I actually enjoyed!  The truth is, I did not do anything special, I personally love the taste of garlic so everything I cook has more “garlic to taste” than salt. I also love the flavors of thyme and basil and spring onions (or is it chives?), I honestly can never remember which is which! My secret flavoring was all of the above along with salt and pepper. I would put all of the fresh herbs in the food processor to pulverize then basically smother the chicken with that mixture.

The container went into the chiller to marinate in its aromatic herb mix. Then that’s it I’m done! The bar staff would usually turn the fryer on as soon as their shift starts so it’ll be hot and ready for the first order. I was beginning to enjoy my new routine – work for 2 hours, go for a swim or hang out with Celia or my other friend Leona. Then one day I was called up to the office to see Maria’s husband.

Henderson was a tall, sturdy, thick-necked man with a shiny bald head. His features were reminiscent of a retired boxer’s, blurred by time spent in the ring. He was always dressed in colorful muscle tees that showed off his thick arms and jeans that hugged his muscled thighs. Several heavy chains draped his thick neck and almost every finger was adorned with chunky rings made of gold. The jewelry did nothing to improve his brutish look and reddish-brown freckled complexion.  

To be continued.