Chapter 17

New York in fall has its own particular magic—the light different, golden and clear, making even the grittiest corners of the city momentarily transformed. Matthew appreciated this as he jogged in Queens’ Kissena Park. One of his chef instructors at ICE had suggested a rigorous workout regimen was a necessity for physical and mental health. A suggestion he followed up on religiously at the fitness club near his tiny apartment over the Golden Dragon.

Freshly showered and shaved, his day off stretched before him with the promise of rare freedom. A month ago, he had risen to become a junior sous chef—a promotion that had raised eyebrows in the insular New York culinary world where such advancement typically took far longer.

After a satisfying couple of hours spent chatting with the vendors at Greenhouse Farmers Market, he stopped for a beer at McGuinnes’ Saloon. His notebook—the latest in a series that now filled a shelf in his tiny apartment—lay open before him, pages filled not with the usual recipe development or technique notes, but with broader questions about his future.

Matthew knew he was, by any objective measure, successful. His signature dish remained on Hearth’s menu, joined by two others that had become customer favorites. Food critics had begun to mention him specifically in reviews, rare for someone below the executive chef level. Chef Reynolds had recently arranged for him to be featured in a rising talent segment for a prestigious food publication.

He knew he should be satisfied, yet despite these achievements—or perhaps because of them—he found himself at an unexpected crossroads. The fierce determination and surety that had carried him from a Chicago group home to an acclaimed restaurant kitchen was now replaced by a growing discontent.

He was slowly but surely coming to the realization that cooking food for the gourmands who could afford and appreciate the menu was not it.

That led to the question--what next? Where did he want to go?

And the next question, what to do about it?

His phone buzzed with a text from Rey: “Japanese delegation tonight. Chef wants to know if you can come in to help with a special menu.”

It wasn’t really a question. At Hearth, such requests were understood as professional opportunities rather than impositions. Matthew texted his confirmation, then returned to his contemplation, knowing his unstructured morning had just been abbreviated.

The notebook page before him contained a list of possibilities he’d been considering:

1. Continue at Hearth, aim for Chef de Cuisine within 3-4 years
2. Go international—Paris? Tokyo? Bologna?
3. Move to another NYC restaurant for broader menu experience?
4. Begin thinking seriously about restaurant concept of my own?

5. Go a different direction?

Each option represented a good path forward, and each had its own advantages and sacrifices. Hearth had become a place to create and test his limits. Chef Reynolds was a generous mentor who continued to push his growth. The stability and recognition were pretty nice, too.

He sensed he was approaching a plateau—not in skill development he still had a lot to learn. Lately, the voices whispering most insistently in his mind lately suggested that to truly develop his culinary perspective, he needed to experience other traditions.

Fuck. What the hell was wrong with him. He’d been given more than he deserved and here he was whining about wanting more.

Matthew’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Plotting world domination?” The question came from Paolo, Hearth’s pastry chef, who had apparently entered the saloon unnoticed. He gestured to the empty chair at Matthew’s table. “May I?”

Matthew nodded, closing his notebook, but not before Paolo glimpsed its contents.

“Ah, the “what’s next” crisis comes to the wunderkind,” Paolo observed, his tone gently teasing but sympathetic. At thirty-eight, he represented a different generation of culinary professional—one who had worked through the brigade system in traditional fashion, taking the expected decade to reach his current position.

“Yeah, just thinking about what comes next,” Matthew replied.

Paolo sipped his espresso, considering his younger colleague. “You know, most cooks would kill to be where you are, barely twenty-three. Executive track at a respected restaurant, name recognition building, mentor who champions your development.”

“I know. I’m grateful for all of it.”

“But?”

Matthew hesitated, then decided on honesty. “But I’m not sure if staying in one place—even a place as good as Hearth—is the right thing for me. There’s so much I haven’t learned yet.”

Paolo nodded, unsurprised. “Chef has been expecting this. He mentioned something about it last week.”

This caught Matthew off guard. “He did?”

“He said you’re reaching the point where Hearth alone can’t provide what you need. That your development requires broader exposure.” Paolo smiled slightly. “He’s not wrong. That’s the blessing and the curse of this business. You have to move to learn it. Chef’s not the type to hold talent back for his own benefit.”

The insight was unsettling. Chef Reynolds had seen this coming before, Matthew himself had been aware of it.

“What would you do?” Matthew asked. “If you were in my position.”

Paolo considered this seriously. “I’d remember that time is on your side. At your age, you don’t need to build your own restaurant empire tomorrow. You have the luxury of time.” He tapped Matthew’s notebook. “Those international stages? That broader NYC experience? You probably should do both before settling into any permanent path.”