Chapter 22

A text message from Loralee pinged on his phone the afternoon the Times article broke.

**Saw ur famous face in the paper today! Didn’t know u were doing the soup kitchen thing. Can I help sometime? Miss that kinda work.

Mathew stared at his phone, surprised not just by the message itself but by the realization that he hadn’t considered including Loralee in this aspect of his life. Of course, it would resonate with her—her own path from difficult circumstances to culinary training made her uniquely positioned to understand the value of a meal as a temporary respite from hardship.

**Tomorrow, he texted back. Jamaica Family Center in Queens. Could use the help.

**I’m there, Chef Boy Wonder.

The simple acknowledgment of shared understanding confirmed Mathew’s intuition. Given Loralee’s background and the struggles she’d overcome, for her, service wouldn’t be charity or professional development, but something more personal—paying it back.

The next morning, Mathew found Loralee already waiting outside the center, her purple-streaked hair pulled back in a practical bun, a bandana and apron carried in a small backpack. Her casual confidence showed her growth.

“So this is your secret double life,” she said by way of greeting. “Fancy chef by night, food angel by day.”

“Just cooking,” Mathew replied with a slight smile, leading her through the staff entrance. “Different context, same purpose.”

Gloria met them in the hallway, her perpetually harried expression softening slightly when Mathew introduced Loralee. “Another professional chef volunteering? The Times article is the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Not exactly professional yet,” Loralee clarified. “Still working my way up. But I’ve done institutional cooking before.”

“She’s being modest,” Mathew added. “She’s a strong cook with excellent instincts.”

In the kitchen, Miguel greeted them with his usual mix of warmth and practicality, quickly bringing Loralee into the planning session for the day’s meal. The menu was ambitious given their resources—a hearty pasta e fagioli, garlic-roasted chicken pieces, simple sauteed greens, and cornbread.

As they organized workstations and began prep, Matthew observed how naturally Loralee integrated into the environment. There was none of the hesitation or awkwardness of most first-time volunteers. She moved with confident efficiency, adapting immediately to the center’s equipment limitations and workflow patterns.

“You’ve done this before,” Miguel noted, watching her break down chickens with practiced speed.

“Sorta,” Loralee replied, her hands never pausing. “Was on the other side for a while, then helped at a women’s shelter in the Bronx.”

Throughout the morning, Mathew and Loralee fell into an easy working rhythm that echoed their days at Denny’s, but with greater depth and purpose. They communicated with minimal words, anticipating each other’s needs, building on each other’s ideas. When Mathew suggested adjustments to the pasta e fagioli base, Loralee immediately grasped the technique and reasoning. When she proposed a simple but effective way to stretch the limited fresh herbs for maximum impact, he implemented it without question.

“You two work together like you’ve been doing this for years,” Gloria commented, observing their synchronized movements.

“We have, sort of,” Mathew explained. “Different kitchen, similar principles.”

As noon approached and the final stages of preparation intensified, Loralee’s natural teaching ability emerged. A volunteer helping with vegetable prep was struggling with basic knife technique. Without interrupting her own work, Loralee noticed, moved alongside her, and demonstrated a more effective approach—not with the condescending instruction that characterized some professional kitchens, but with clear guidance that immediately improved her performance and confidence.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” Mathew observed quietly as they moved on to final seasoning adjustments. “Teaching while doing.”

Loralee shrugged, though her expression suggested the compliment meant something. “Just remembering how it feels to not know what you’re doing, but wanting to learn.” She tasted the pasta and fagioli, adding a subtle touch of vinegar to brighten the flavors. “Just passing on a few tricks I got from a Denny’s line cook who took time with the newbie.”

Service began at 5:30, the usual organized chaos of feeding over a hundred people in a limited timeframe with limited facilities. Mathew and Loralee took positions on the serving line alongside the center staff, portioning food with the same care and attention they would have used in a professional setting.

Mathew wasn’t surprised at how well Loralee connected with the center’s residents. While his own interactions were genuine but reserved, she engaged with recognition—brief comments and jokes that acknowledged she’d been in their shoes.

“That purple chicken’s the best part,” she might tell a hesitant child. “Secret ingredient. Trust me, I’m an expert on good chicken.”

Or to a weary-looking mother: “Extra bread for you, missy. Carbs keep you going when everything else feels hard.”

These small moments of connection—without performance or condescension—created a subtle shift in the dining room’s atmosphere. The invisible barrier that sometimes existed between those serving and those being served was replaced by a sense of shared humanity.

After service, as they cleaned up alongside Miguel and the regular staff, Loralee’s energy remained high, her satisfaction with the day’s work evident in her animated conversation and ready laughter.

“So that’s every two weeks for you?” she asked Mathew as they sanitized the prep tables. “Regular gig?”

He nodded. “Started as a one-time thing, but it felt right. Kept coming back.”

“I get it,” she said, with the particular emphasis of someone who truly did understand from personal experience. “Keeps you grounded, right? Reminds you what food really means beyond all the fancy restaurant stuff.”

“Exactly.” The simple acknowledgment felt significant—recognition of shared values that transcended their different backgrounds and current positions.

After a brief pause, Loralee continued with characteristic directness: “I want in. Regular thing, every two weeks, you and me. Tag team.”

The proposal wasn’t entirely surprising, given her evident comfort and satisfaction with the day’s work. Still, it represented a commitment beyond casual volunteering—a regular investment of her limited free time, a choice to prioritize service alongside professional development.

“It’s a lot to take on with your jobs at the bistro,” Mathew warned. “Giving up a day off every two weeks.”

“Not giving up, investing,” Loralee corrected. “Besides, this feels like pay back for the help I got when I needed it, you know? Full circle.”

“Tag team sounds good,” he agreed. “Gloria will be thrilled to have another professional on board.”

As they finished cleaning and prepared to leave, Loralee checked her phone and grimaced slightly. “Gotta rush. Got the closing shift at the bistro tonight.” She hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic uncertainty, “This was good, right? I didn’t overstep or anything?”

“You were perfect,” Mathew assured her. “You connected with people in a way I can’t. We complement each other well here.”

Her smile returned. “Dream team, Chef. See you at Hearth tomorrow for that stage thing.”

The “stage thing” Loralee referred to was her scheduled trial shift at Hearth, the formal assessment that would determine whether Chef Reynolds would bring her on for the Sunday supper program, as Mathew had proposed. Despite her casual reference, both knew its significance for her professional development and potential future opportunities.

When she arrived at Hearth the following evening, her demeanor revealed the seriousness with which she approached this opportunity—the purple streak gone, her posture straight, her expression focused.

Reynolds met with her briefly before service, explaining that she would work alongside Mathew throughout the evening, assisting with his station while demonstrating her current skill level and adaptability to Hearth’s exacting standards. The assessment would be based not just on technical execution but on how she integrated with the kitchen’s workflow and philosophy.

“Remember what we practiced,” Mathew told her quietly as they set up the station. “Focus on fundamentals, clean technique, proper seasoning. Ask questions if you’re unsure, but trust your instincts.”

“Got it,” she replied, the nervousness evident in her terse response.