“Did you ever consider becoming a chef?” Mark had asked that night as they finished the dinner.
“Me? No. No, no no no no. No. I’ve worked in restaurants before, and I prefer living. I like being at home at night; I enjoy not working on Saturday and Sundays. No. The kitchen life is a hard life. Lots of yelling, fighting. The pressure-cooker kitchen nears explosion most nights. Did you know that chefs occupy a space in the top ten professions who die by suicide?” Sammy stood to get the desert.
“It’s just your dishes taste as good as any I’ve seen served and paid for,” Mark said as Sammy returned.
“Thank you, very kind. The secret: presentation,” Sammy replied, displaying the plate. “If placed beautifully on the plate, it must be good to eat. Take this dessert, for example.” Sammy set the
