Chapter 21

Matthew’s twice monthly shifts at the Jamaica Family Center had quickly become a valued part of his routine. Every other Thursday, he would wake, go out for a run, all the while planning the menu based on whatever Gloria had told him was available in her inventory. The rest of the day, he’d spend cooking for the center’s residents.

He didn’t let on to anyone at Hearth about this commitment. This was not out of secretiveness, but from a desire to keep the experiences separate. The center was a space where he could focus entirely on the fundamental purpose of cooking — nourishment, comfort, community — without the professional considerations that shaped his restaurant work.

One Thursday, he arrived at the center to find an unfamiliar face in the kitchen. A woman in her thirties with a notebook and a professional-looking camera hanging around her neck talking to one of the volunteers. Gloria introduced her as Alyssa Morgan from the New York Times.

Ms. Morgan shook his hand and explained that she was working on a series about community service initiatives in Queens.

“I mentioned that we have a professional chef who volunteers regularly,” Gloria said, “and she was interested in including that in her article. Is that okay with you?”

Matthew hesitated, instinctively private, about this aspect of his life. “Ms. Morgan, I’m not really doing this for publicity,” he said quietly.

“‘Alyssa,’ please. May I call you Matthew?”

He nodded his okay.

“Thanks. I hope you’ll share your motivation with me. Genuine service without self-promotion is rare in this city. But I would understand if you’d prefer not to be featured.”

After thinking about it for a bit, he nodded his permission. The center could benefit from positive media coverage. It might attract some more volunteers and donors. His personal preference for privacy seemed less important than that potential benefit.

“You can include me in the article,” he conceded. “But please focus on the center’s work, rather than on me personally.”

Alyssa agreed readily, explaining that she would observe, take some photographs during preparation and service, and ask a few questions, but would otherwise stay out of the way. True to her word, she maintained a respectful distance as Matthew and the kitchen staff worked. Today’s meal was a hearty beef stew with root vegetables, cornbread baked in the center’s temperamental ovens, and a simple fruit compote for dessert.

During service, she took photos discreetly, capturing Matthew interacting with residents and working alongside the regular staff. At one point, she had a brief conversation with a mother of three who told her, with evident emotion, how the quality and care evident in the center’s meals made her family feel warm and safe for a little while.

By the end of service, Matthew had nearly forgotten Alyssa’s presence, absorbed in the rhythm of serving and the brief interactions with regular residents who had come to know him over the past three months. He answered a few personal questions, then redirected the conversation toward the center’s broader work. He assumed that would be the end of it ... a small mention in a longer article about community service initiatives.

A week later, he arrived at Hearth for his usual afternoon shift to find an unusual atmosphere. Staff members glanced at him with curious expressions, conversations paused as he passed, and Rey intercepted him before he could reach the locker room, a folded newspaper in her hand.

“So,” she said, her tone somewhere between amused and accusatory, “were you planning to mention this to any of us?”

She unfolded the newspaper — Sunday’s New York Times — to reveal a half-page feature in the Metropolitan section with the headline: “From Michelin to Mercy: Hearth’s Rising Star Chef Serves Queens’ Homeless.” Beneath it was a large photograph of Matthew on the serving line at the Jamaica Family Center, carefully portioning stew onto a tray for a young family, his expression showing the same focused attention he brought to plating at Hearth.

Matthew stared at the image with a feeling of embarrassment at being unexpectedly exposed that changed to concern about how it might be perceived by the staff.

“Crap. When I talked to that reporter, I asked her to concentrate on the center, not me. I didn’t know it would be ... this.”

Rey’s expression softened. “Why the secrecy? Did you think Chef would object to you volunteering?”

“No,” Matthew replied honestly. “It wasn’t about hiding anything. It was about keeping that experience ... pure, I guess. Not about career or connections or building my profile. Just about cooking for people who need it.”

Before Rey could respond, Paolo emerged from the pastry kitchen, catching sight of Matthew and breaking into a dramatic slow clap. “The modest hero reveals himself!” he declared with typical Italian flair. “Feeding the masses on his day off while the rest of us sleep in or binge Netflix.”

Though the teasing was good-natured, Matthew felt increasingly uncomfortable with the attention. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid. He hated that his private commitment was transformed into public performance, subject to others’ interpretations and judgments.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said, moving toward the locker room. “Just something I started doing a while ago. Can we focus on prep for tonight?”

The attempt to redirect conversation might have worked with the kitchen staff, but the day’s surprises weren’t yet complete. As Matthew emerged from the locker room in his chef’s whites, Chef Reynolds appeared in the kitchen doorway, beckoning him to the small office.

“I assume you’ve seen the article,” Reynolds said as Matthew took a seat across from his desk.

“Just now,” Matthew confirmed, still processing his own reactions to the unexpected exposure.

Reynolds studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Three months of regular volunteering, and you never mentioned it to anyone here. How come?”