Page 3 of Sabre’s Guard

Sabre has already started chopping his shallots with his head down. I’d comment on his technique but he’s cutting them in a brunoise—a fine dice—which is exactly how I want them cut for the sauce, so I don’t say anything. The man’s been one step ahead of the entire class all evening. That’s when I realize his comment wasn’t some sad attempt at white knighting for me. He simply balanced the scale in my favor and went back to work.

Near the end, when the pan sauces are simmering and the room smells like butter, wine, and somebody’s slightly scorched shallots, I stop at Sabre’s station for the demonstration.

“May I borrow your knife? I want to show the room the finishing slice, and mine’s at the front.”

“Of course,” he responds.

I pick it up again. This time I test the weight of it in my hand, pay attention to the way it feels, and notice how the balance sits dead center at the pinch point. The handle might be worn to somebody else’s hand, but it still fits snugly in mine. The edge is so sharp and clean that it glides through the perfectly cooked steak like it’s cutting butter. I cut the steak into long thin slices for everyone to see. “I want you all to make this cut and then we’ll compare.”

“Nice edge,” I say, handing it back to him handle first.

“Nice hands,” he says. Then, before I can decide what he means by that, he clarifies, “Technique, Chef. I meant to say, nice technique.”

“Sure you did.”

“I’m tryin’ to be real polite like. That don’t mean I’m very good at it,” he shoots back.

This class ends the way the good ones do, with everyone eating standing up at their stations, proud of themselves, comparing sears and sharing bites of each other’s steak. Even the bickering couple is smiling and happy. I see several individuals swapping numbers.

The women wearing Gilded Fig shirts give me a warm hug. “Thanks for teaching us everything we need to know to make a really good ribeye. We’ve already signed up for your cheesecake class next month.”

I give them a conspiratorial smile. “Tell me your favorite flavor and I’ll work it into the class.”

One whispers, “Strawberry. Definitely strawberry.” They both leave delighted and whispering to one another.

Station five shakes my hand and admits, “Sorry I burned my shallots. I was looking for a new filter and time got away from me there for a second.”

“It’s alright. Things like that happen when you’re a content creator.”

“Yeah, the videos I watched left some things out.”

“I don’t know for sure,” I tell him, “but that smells like opportunity to me. You know, for you to do one better.”

A gigantic smile jumps onto his face. “You’re right. You have a real knack for marketing.”

“Everyone who does anything these days needs to have some marketing skills.” I give him one of my cards and he leaves, already thinking up new ideas for his channel.

I’m satisfied and tired in the best way. A full class that goes well reminds me why I do this on top of fifty-hour weeks.

Soon, it’s just me and the big biker. He’s cleaning up, not only his station, but all of them, one at a time. I lock the door and walk over to him.

“You don’t have to clean up. This is a cooking class, not a party.”

He chuckles, “No, ma’am. This certainly wasn’t any kind of party that I recognize.”

I gather up the rest of the wine glasses and bring them over, while he washes the knives, and dries them one at a time. He slides his knives into his roll, closes it, and ties it up before helping me wash the wine glasses. We clean all the cutting boards and oil them down. By the time he shoulders the knife roll and his bundled-up apron and chef’s whites, the stations look like nobody was ever there.

“Thank you,” I say, walking him to the door. “For coming and for helping me clean up. You’re a good egg.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m probably signin’ up for the next one, especially if you have one on new ways to make eggs.”

His sense of humor is a little corny and for me, it hits just the right way. I have a weakness for dad jokes.

“You liked the class enough to come back for more?”

“Yeah, I like the whole vibe here, picked up a new knife technique and learned to make that sauce. And to be honest, I liked the teacher. She’s smart and easy to talk to.”

He says it plainly, sounding sincere. I wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that.