2019-07-29 - Apply Yourself

The patisserie's doing fairly well so far, overall. Today, in particular, it's a nice morning despite the rain, and the morning's been busy. But getting on for 10:30 or 11, things have settled down into the between-times lull, just a couple people in the shop, lingering over tea and cakes and in one case an actual newspaper. The other person's reading some kind of paperback thriller. They're not together.

At the counter, Carmen and Liane are using the time to make sure everything's perfectly tidy and perfectly arranged, and also getting in a quick cup of tea themselves while they can.

Entering the shop is a neatly-dressed individual. For once, Corey isn't in jeans and a plaid shirt, and his hair isn't a mess. Smart black trousers and a white shirt with a thin gray tie is his wardrobe of choice today, along with black leather boots and his hair combed back tidily. It absolutely won't stay that way for more than an hour, but hopefully that's long enough. He steps in with a curious eye, taking a slow, deep breath as he does so, savouring the sweet, fruity, buttery aromas of the patisserie.

Approaching the counter, he offers the women there a polite smile, before requesting, "Would it be possible to speak with Mr. Vydal?"

Carmen gives Corey a bright smile and "Good morning!" when he enters, and Liane offers a more subdued one. He likely knows them to one extent or another; both are townies, and Carmen's close to his age -- probably a year or two behind him in high school. Usually, one would have to go through Mr. Vydal's PA. But she's currently on leave for a family tragedy. This is possibly the reason for the look the two exchange at Corey's question. It's brief, and followed by Carmen saying, "I can go check for you! But he'll want to know what about, I'm pretty sure." Which she waits for an answer to, despite it not actually being a question.

Rather than beat about the bush with subtle suggestions of what he's here for, Corey opts for his usual plain, simple approach. "I'm a student chef, looking for work." Short, sweet, to the point. "I appreciate he might not be free now, but if he can spare the time, I'd appreciate it. If not, I'll leave my resume with you and be on my way." He has a quiet confidence about him; not arrogance, but a solid self-esteem. Which, for anyone who has ever worked under a demanding head chef, is no mean feat.

No unimportant quality for working under another, either. Carmen tilts her head just slightly at the answer, and Corey receives another smile. "Good luck! Can I take your resume in with me?" Once she's given it, she disappears through that door in the black wall.

It takes a little. Liane attempts to make some small and slightly awkward conversation in the meantime. Unless he'd like to talk about tea! Then it's small but not at all awkward, at least on her side of things. Still, after some minutes, the door opens again, and Carmen leans out. She doesn't have the paper anymore, and she gives him another quick smile when she catches his eye, and beckons him in.

Carmen leads him to the back office, gesturing him to one of the seats. "Break an egg," she says quietly, grinning, and heads back out. A minute or so later, Vyv arrives, in his whites as one might expect, and gives Corey an appraising look. "Mr. Jones, is it?" he inquires. It's plenty to make the accent obvious.

Tea is as good a topic of conversation as any. Corey is no tea-expert, but he's happy to listen to Liane wax lyrical on the topic, prompting with interested questions now and then. "Thank you for the conversation," he murmurs her way once Carmen ducks out, beckoning. "But I think I'm being summoned."

He makes his way around the counter through to the kitchen, pausing on the threshold to take in the magnificent symphony of machinery and organisation. Just for a moment, there's a clear expression of awe, and then he shakes it off and follows Carmen through to the office, smiling at her well-wishing. "Thanks."

Then he waits, taking the gestured-to seat, hands resting on his knees. A brief glance around, and then he rises to his feet again when Vyv makes his entrance. "Yes sir," he confirms, not extending a hand to shake; that's the chef's privilege, if he's so inclined. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Vydal."

Liane gives him a small smile and nod when he takes his leave. There's a few people working in there when he steps into the kitchen, as well, though no one gives him more than a curious glance or smile. They're busy.

At the confirmation, the chef seems to take a further moment of assessment, then does in fact offer a hand. "Vyvyan Vydal," he says, "but clearly this is not precisely news. Do have a seat." He walks to the other side of the desk and does so himself, picking up the resume that Carmen has apparently left there. "Mm," he says, scanning it, though it seems likely he probably already took a look, or had her mention the highlights at least. Still, there's a moment or two of silence before he looks up again, focusing on Corey. "Culinary student. Why?" Brows faintly lifted, but the expression's difficult to read beyond interest.

Shaking the hand offered, his grip firm but not macho-trying-to-crush-fingers firm, Corey then sits as suggested with a polite, "Thank you." He doesn't seem inclined to interrupt Vyv's perusal of his resume, waiting for the Maītre Pātissier to look up and ask that very simple, very core question that he's actually never been asked in a pseudo-job interview before.

It takes the student a few moments to figure out how to word it in a way that doesn't take ten rambling sentances, and then he offers, "Satisfaction, sir. Turning basic ingredients into something special, something that fires the senses, it's.. immensely satisfying. Figuring out how to do it again, consistently or with a twist, is even better."

Vyv is, if nothing else, patient with the pause. It may, in fact, be interesting in itself; there's a subtle sharpening of the regard in that time. When the answer comes, the brows lift a hint higher, and the there's a small nod. He picks up the fountain pen laid neatly at hand and uncaps it, making a small note of some kind. "Which is more satisfying, and which do you feel is more important? Consistently, or with a twist?" It's fair to assume that if there's a standard next question, that isn't it, so at least it suggests the answer didn't bore him.

"Experimenting, finding something new and good, is more satisfying to me," Corey acknowledges with a slight duck of his head. Which is probably why he's doing culinary science, rather than a more traditional work-based apprenticeship. "But I'd find it hard to say which is more important. If the result isn't consistent, then people are disappointed. But you don't just want to serve the same thing day after day." He thinks for a moment more, before finally allowing, "I would have to say, with a twist. If it's always good, then it doesn't matter if it's different day on day."

The preference gets another faint nod, and a brief note -- so brief it seems hard to imagine it could be an actual word, rather than some kind of mark. As Corey goes on, though, Vyv studies him, watching as he works through the decision. "Mm. Mightn't that depend on whether the recipient simply wants something good, or a good, say, profiterole in particular?" It could very easily be rhetorical, but he looks as though he's actually waiting for an answer.

Notes, marks, tally counts - Corey isn't really paying attention to what Vyv is or isn't writing, instead thinking about his replies for a moment or more before giving them. "If the recipient wants a profiterole, then they get a profiterole. Consistency is good, yes. But with ordinary cream, or flavoured? Dark, milk or white chocolate, or salted caramel on top? Or inside out?" he asks, and this really is rhetorical because he's not expecting the Maītre Pātissier to pretend to be a customer. "If we don't experiment, maybe they'll never find the profiterole that they love rather than just the one they like." Well, that's his opinion, anyway.

Another little 'mm,' of acknowledgement, quite noncommittal, but there may be a tiny upward quirk at one corner of the older man's mouth. "And what's your eventual aim? Where do you hope to take your skills, once they're fully developed?" A pause, and Vyv adds with a slight shrug, "Figuratively, though I suppose literally might be interesting as well. I see you spent a year in Canada." That last part's not a question, except somehow it also is. What it's actually asking is, alas, left for the applicant to divine.

It might come as no surprise that Corey admits, "Ideally, a research and development kitchen." He's made no secret of his particular drive in the area of culinary experimentation, after all. "And after that? I guess it's a cliché to say a restaurant of my own, but I figure we all want that or we wouldn't be trying to reach the top." A slight nod towards Vyv, acknowledging again that the Maītre Pātissier has done just that. The question about Canada draws a smile, albeit brief. "Yeah. Milking cows, making butter and cream from scratch, grinding flour and picking berries for the fillings, as well as the same sort of thing for regular meals. I don't want to be a farmer, but it was a really good experience, working from the farm's produce rather than packets and tins."

The tilt of Vyv's head suggests it's at least a little bit of a surprise. "Interesting." The more usual answer gets another faint quirk of a smile, this one a little bit clearer than the last, and a similarly small inclination of his head to acknowledge the nod. He seems to give the answer about Canada a bit of thought, and takes another glance at the resume.

"So, these twists," he says, looking up again. "Your own research and development, as it were. Tell me about the best one you've come up with, how it came to mind, and how you went about... twisting it. Why that food, and why that change to it?" There's another note made, something quick but a bit longer than the one before, and he still seems to be watching closely when the answer's given. If it weren't a job interview, it would be edging on rude.

It would be lying if Corey said he didn't have a favourite creation. It does take him a moment or two to recall the process, but he answers with, "Carrot, cinnamon and cream cheese scones. My mom volunteered my services to make some goods for a charity cake sale, but in a super up-scale golf club. I figured that they would like fancy scones with their breaks for drinks, but my cupboard was a bit limited on extras at the time. I did a few iterations of different spices, and they were.. okay.. but not really what I'd been hoping for. Took a break for a snack, and noticed carrots in the fridge.. and it went from there. Took some experimentation to get the size of the carrot gratings right, and the best balance of cinnamon and cream cheese, but.." he trails off, nodding. Apparently yes, they went down well. His smile is a little bit sheepish. "Not divine inspiration, exactly, but it worked."

Vyv's interest remains clear as the answer comes; he's paying close attention both to the content of it and the way it's given. There may be a sense that, whatever he was looking for in that, he found. So that's probably good. "Carrot, cinnamon, and cream cheese. Yes, that sounds promising, as long as the base scone it's modifying is already good. A bit of a carrot cake, carrot flan flavour, I'd guess?" It's thoughtful, and there's a bit more of a small smile for a moment. "All right. That leads to the obvious question of how you feel about pātisserie, and how much that's been covered in your training thus far. I see some work experience, and a bit of a hobby... How would you rate your knowledge in the area?" It's clearly a rather important question... not that much here is likely not to be. Time here's time not baking, after all. Whether there's a particular answer he's looking for is, again, unclear.

There's a nod to the guess about flavour, and then the real question comes in. Corey takes a breath, and opts for his usual open honesty. "I know my filo from my choux and my flaky pastry from my puff. I've made croissants and madelines and a couple of other pātisserie basics, but that's about it." He gives a moment to let that settle, before adding, "But, I follow orders well, and I'm a quick study."

Vyv considers that. There's some clearer mulling going on there than before, though the studying is exactly as clear as before. If only because it was already pretty damn clear. Some things, he apparently doesn't always bother with subtlety. "Mn." It's that last addition that gets a nod, one fingertip tapping a couple times against the desk, near-silent. "I suppose I could extrapolate from that, but since I'd rather not assume... Why are you applying for this particular position? And are you imagining a fairly standard position, or more of an apprenticeship quality? What are you hoping to gain from it? And," definitely a faint half-smile, one brow lifting again, "What do you feel you specifically have to offer us? Why, not to put too fine a point on it, ought I hire you?" "

"I'd like the chance to learn in a practical setting, the things that youtube videos and recipe books can't teach me, and that honestly my college classes wouldn't cover anywhere near as well," Corey responds frankly. There's no particular flattery in his voice or his words, but it's clear he's intending to learn from a better quality of chef. "I'd figured something between apprenticeship and a basic commis role." As before, he's open about his thoughts.

He considers the final questions, eyes half-closing in thought for a moment before he answers, taking that same brief time to corral his thoughts as he has with most of the other questions. "What do I offer? Initially; dedication, precision, reliability, and a really great pair of hands holding the rolling pin. Later? I guess that depends on how much input you like from your team. At the very least, a fresh mind thinking about how and why things are made the way they are."

It's not obvious what Vyv thinks of the first part of the answer, but the part about the rolling pin brightens his eyes even if the smile's no less a hint than earlier. "That," he says, watching the younger man, "is a good answer." It must be, if he's explicitly saying so. "I could call your references, and I suppose I probably will," though the thought of doing so seems to annoy him; he brushes that off. "But I think I'm more interested in seeing what you can do. What sort of schedule are you currently keeping, are there summer classes?"

The student nods to the comment about references, no suggestion of unease there, and then Corey smiles slowly. Much more expressively than his interviewer, his expression lighting up. "No classes 'til August 27th," he replies regarding his schedule; a solid almost-month gap. "And I've got my class times on my phone, for when they start. Mostly I'll be studying late mornings and afternoons, so if you wanted me in early, before the shop opens, that would be doable?"

"Ought to be quite doable," Vyv says, "for some strange reason I find that isn't the most popular of all available shifts. And there is, of course, quite a lot to be done then." A moment of consideration, and then a nod. "Yes. You have whites?" Despite implied expectation in the phrasing, it's still a question. "I'd like to see you here tomorrow at," a quick glance toward the kitchen proper as if he might read something off of it, "10:30, I think. It should be quiet enough then. We'll see how a few things go, gauge a baseline. But if you can reliably make a caramel without burning it, you'll already be one up on David. Granted, he may lead to me needing to make very good friends with a pig farmer at the current rate, so perhaps aim a bit higher, mm?" It's probably a joke, but if so it's a pretty damn deadpan one. "Barring complete calamity tomorrow or a reference warning me you ran off with two ovens and a sous chef, I believe we can consider this an agreement. My assistant should be back," a tiny pause, "soon, I hope; she'll contact you for all the official paperwork sorts of things." Unless she's gone too long and he has to, but let's not even entertain that thought.

Of course there is. Fresh pastries don't cook themselves! "I have whites," Corey confirms with a nod, his eyes widening ever-so slightly as Vyv mentions 'David' and the potential need for a pig farm in the near future. Then again, he's heard as bad in other kitchens, albeit much less eloquently put. "That's.. amazing, thank you. Thank you," he voices, enthusiasm breaking through the mask of 'employable human being' that every serious interviewee wears. "Um. Can ask a couple of questions, Mr. Vydal?" he then hazards, figuring that it's best to get those out of the way now rather than when he's being tested in the morning.

"Good." One corner of Vyv's lips definitely quirks upward at the enthusiasm, and he inclines his head in acknowledgement. "I'll take those thanks while they're available. I can't promise you'll never want to rescind them." Corey's been in other kitchens; he probably has a feeling about how likely that may be. "And yes, of course. Generally I'd ask if you had any, so I'll consider this proactive on your part." Rather than delayed on his. Win-win.

There's a quiet laugh from the newly-employed student, entirely expecting he'll regret those thanks the first time he properly fucks up. "Your honourific, in the kitchen. Everywhere else I've worked, the head of the kitchen has been 'Chef'; is it different here?" is Corey's first question, a reasonable one. The second; "I've got my own knife set, okay to bring those in?" Because any chef worth his salt has their particular, personal set, but given he's never worked in a patisserie, he's no idea if the rules are different given the specialism.

"It's 'Chef' here as well," Vyv confirms, "and with the assumption that they're properly cared for and in good condition, yes, you may bring them if you prefer." It should go without saying, but this is apparently an area in which he's not willing to just take it as read. "There's likely to be a fair bit of chopping, after all, particularly as things settle in." He regards Corey for a moment more, then asks, "Anything else weighing on your mind at present?"

It should go without saying, yes, but Corey has a feeling maybe David's knives weren't up to scratch. Oops. "No, that's about it, thanks. I'll see you here at ten thirty tomorrow?" he double-checks, rising slowly to his feet. And of course, undergoing work-related tests when Lady Luck doth not smile is going to go perfectly..

"Ten-thirty tomorrow," Vyv confirms, rising as well, and he moves toward the door, opening it for Corey. "We'll be ready for you then. I do hope you'll be ready too." There's another faint smile with it; if the remark's a mild challenge, it's presumably one he expects the younger man to meet. After all, why hire him if not? A glance toward the kitchen door. "It should still be Carmen and Liane -- tell them I'd like them to box up a croissant, an eclair," he considers, "the chocolate-orange entremets, and a couple of the chocolates to go with you. I may have questions for you tomorrow." That little quirk of his lips returns, with a mild, "Pleasure making your acquaintance, Mr. Jones."