Matthew's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 19
Matthew stepped into the small diner on the Lower East Side, scanning the scattered lunch crowd until he spotted her — Loralee Pachinko — sitting in a corner booth. Her blonde hair was now streaked with a vibrant purple, and her posture was more confident than he remembered. It had been over two years since he’d seen her, their communication maintained through occasional text messages and social media updates that gave him glimpses of her continuing culinary journey.
He’d reached out to her occasionally, curious about her progress and somehow feeling that reconnecting with her was important. Their shared history at Denny’s represented a significant chapter in his development, one where he’d first experienced the satisfaction of helping another find their path in the kitchen.
“Holy shit, look at you,” Loralee exclaimed as he approached, rising to greet him with an enthusiastic hug. “All worldly and classy?”
Matthew smiled, accepting both the hug and the assessment with equal ease.
“Things are going well,” he acknowledged. “How about you? The purple is new.”
“Culinary school graduation present to myself,” she explained, gesturing for him to sit. “Figured I could get away with it until I hit the serious kitchens. I’m still working on that part.”
As they settled into the booth, Matthew noted subtle changes in Loralee beyond the hair — her movements more deliberate, her previously manic energy channeled into something more focused, the raw talent he’d recognized at Denny’s now refined by formal training.
“So you finished the program,” he said, genuine pride in her in his voice. “That’s fantastic. How was it?”
“Hard as hell,” Loralee replied with characteristic bluntness. “But good, you know? Like, the kind of hard that makes you better instead of breaking you down.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I kept hearing your voice in my head during knife skills. ‘Intention plus attention, equals precision.’ Drove my instructors crazy how I was always mumbling that to myself.”
Matthew smiled as he remembered the mantra he’d concocted to help her keep her focus during their early training sessions. The fact that it had stayed with her, continuing to guide her practice long after they’d parted ways, was unexpectedly moving.
“And after graduation?” he asked. “Where are you working now?”
A flicker of disappointment crossed her features. “That’s been the tough part. Got a line cook position at this American bistro uptown, but it’s ... not great. Chef’s a screamer, menu never changes, nobody cares about actual food — just getting plates out fast and cheap.” She shrugged, attempting to downplay her evident frustration. “It’s a job, though. Pays the bills while I figure out my next steps.”
The server interrupted briefly to take Matthew’s order — just coffee for now — before Loralee continued.
“Enough about my crappy situation. Tell me about Hearth, and what amazing things you’re doing there. And then tell me what made you want to check on little old me.” The self-deprecation was classic Loralee, but there was genuine curiosity beneath it.
For the next twenty minutes, Matthew shared highlights of the Sunday supper series he was helping to develop. He spoke not just about techniques and about the underlying philosophy that was increasingly guiding his imagination, but also of the creation of community through a thoughtfully prepared meal shared in communal settings.
Loralee listened with complete attention, occasionally asking questions that revealed her own developing culinary perspective. As their conversation progressed, Matthew realized that despite their different backgrounds and current positions, they shared a fundamental understanding of cooking as something more meaningful than just technical displays.
“So that’s the direction you’re heading?” she asked when he had finished. “Building something around food as community? As, like ... a chosen family?”
“I think so,” Matthew said. “The Sunday suppers at Hearth are a way to develop the concept while continuing to learn and grow there. But yes, ultimately I’d like to create a place centered around that idea.”
Loralee nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense for you. You’ve always had that greater philosophy thing going on, even when you were showing me basic shit at Denny’s.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Where do you want to go with your career?”
Loralee looked momentarily caught off guard by the question, as if she wasn’t accustomed to being asked about her culinary aspirations.
“Honestly? I don’t know exactly. I know I want something better than where I am now. Something where excellence really matters, you know? I didn’t pay all that money and work my ass off to get an education to be fucking average.”
She traced patterns in a small puddle of spilled coffee on the table. “I still think about those lessons you gave me. Not just techniques, but the whole approach. How you’d explain why something worked, not just how to do it.” She looked up, her expression unusually vulnerable. “I think I’d be good at that part too, the teaching, the sharing. Especially with people who don’t have traditional backgrounds.”
“You would be,” Matthew agreed, recalling how clearly she had been able to explain concepts to newer staff at Denny’s once she had mastered them herself. “You have a knack for communicating complex ideas so people can understand.”
He paused, considering something that had begun to take shape in his mind during their conversation. “Have you thought about what direction your development needs to go?”
Loralee’s expression shifted from surprise to genuine interest. “Not really. I mean, I figured I’d just try to work my way up through restaurants. That’s what they tell you in school. Pay your dues, climb the ladder, maybe get your own place someday if you’re lucky.” She leaned forward slightly. “But what you’re talking about sounds more ... I don’t know, meaningful? Like taking control of my future.”
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