The Hidden Recipe

Chapter Two: Survival Instinct

The next morning, Eddie arrived thirty minutes early, hoping to shake off last night’s disastrous first impression. The kitchen was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of dinner service. He stood by the prep station, his hands gripping the edge of the stainless-steel counter as if steadying himself for a fight.

The door creaked open, and a young man with wild black curls and a permanent smirk strolled in. Tommy Liu, the prep cook, tossed his backpack onto a stool and popped a piece of gum into his mouth.

“Look who’s early,” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to redeem yourself, Singapore?”

Eddie winced. “It’s Eddie. And yeah, about last night…” He scratched the back of his neck, searching for the right words.

Tommy leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You mean when you turned a dumpling into a crime scene?”

“Hey, I was nervous,” Eddie shot back, his voice defensive. “First-day jitters. I’ll do better.”

Tommy grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Nervous, huh? You’re lucky Chef Zhang didn’t toss you out on your ‘Michelin-starred’ butt.”

Eddie froze. Did Tommy know? Was he testing him?

“Relax,” Tommy said, reading his expression. “I’m just saying you’ve got some big shoes to fill. This place doesn’t mess around. People come here expecting the best. You screw up, you’re done.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I get it, okay? I just need a chance to prove myself.”

“Hope you can,” Tommy said, his tone softening slightly. “’Cause jobs like this? They don’t come easy these days.”

The words hit Eddie like a slap. He thought of the eviction notice taped to his apartment door, the dwindling balance in his bank account, the string of rejection emails from jobs he was actually qualified for. The economy was in freefall—layoffs, bankruptcies, foreclosures. The line at the community pantry wrapped around the block every morning.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Eddie muttered, staring at his hands. “This job is all I’ve got. I don’t just need it. I need to survive it.”

Tommy studied him for a moment, his usual smirk fading. “Alright, Singapore. Let’s see if you can survive prep duty without setting something on fire.”

“Again, it’s Eddie.”

“Sure thing, Singapore.”

By mid-morning, the kitchen had come alive, and Eddie was knee-deep in prep work. Chopping scallions, peeling ginger, portioning out sauces. The repetitive tasks gave him time to think—or, more accurately, to panic.

He could feel the weight of the restaurant’s reputation pressing down on him. Every flawless plate that left the kitchen was a reminder of how far out of his depth he was.

Mei walked past, her sharp eyes scanning his workstation. “Knife skills are improving,” she said curtly.

“Thanks,” Eddie replied, relieved she wasn’t berating him.

“But you’re still slow,” she added without missing a beat. “Pick up the pace.”

“Right,” Eddie muttered, gripping the knife tighter.

Tommy sauntered over with a tray of vegetables. “Word of advice? Mei’s always like that. If she’s not yelling at you, you’re doing fine.”

Eddie exhaled a laugh. “Good to know.”

“You wanna survive here? You’ve gotta be fast, clean, and consistent. No room for mistakes,” Tommy said, arranging the vegetables in neat rows. “And whatever you do, don’t let Zhang see you second-guessing yourself. He hates that.”

Eddie nodded, taking mental notes. But no amount of advice could calm the gnawing anxiety in his chest.

The lunch rush hit like a tidal wave. Orders flew into the kitchen, and the chefs moved with precision, shouting commands over the din. Eddie focused on keeping up, his hands a blur as he diced, sliced, and prepped ingredients for the line cooks.

“Singapore, pass me the soy sauce!” one of the cooks yelled.

“It’s Eddie!” he shouted back, grabbing the bottle and sliding it across the counter.

By the time the rush subsided, Eddie was drenched in sweat and running on fumes. He collapsed onto a stool in the corner, his hands stained with garlic and chili oil.

Tommy plopped down beside him, handing him a water bottle. “Not bad, Singapore. You didn’t crash and burn.”

“Thanks for the glowing review,” Eddie said dryly, gulping down the water.

Tommy chuckled. “Seriously, though. You’re holding up better than I thought. Most people c***k under the pressure here.”

Eddie didn’t reply. He couldn’t afford to c***k. Not with the economy in shambles. Not when the bills were piling up. Not when failure meant losing everything.

As the kitchen quieted down and the staff began cleaning up, Eddie stared at his reflection in a gleaming steel pot. The man staring back looked just as tired as the night before, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes.

He wasn’t just here to survive. He was here to prove—if only to himself—that he could make it.