One day, one of the kitchen prep cooks badly cut his hand and left for the day. The head chef told her to grab a knife and an apron, and he showed her what to do. The next day he offered her a permanent job in the kitchen. Jackie jumped at the chance.
The head chef liked her. She was smart and enthusiastic, and didn’t put up with any crap from the guys in the kitchen. He started her in food prep, but over time began to move her up the line. He knew she had talent, and when an opening became available at the best Italian restaurant in Vail, he called his friend who owned the place and enthusiastically recommended her for the job. Jackie was ecstatic.
The executive chef at the restaurant took her under his wing and taught her amazing techniques. She loved it. One day, Jackie approached him with the idea of attending culinary school. He was a native of Italy and told her that if she really wanted to learn to cook, she needed to work in kitchens instead of classrooms. He was from the Italian town of Trieste and spent a few weeks finding a restaurant that would take her in as an apprentice. Initially, she was hesitant. She had never been to Europe and certainly didn’t speak Italian.
“Don’t worry about talking,” he assured her. “Learn with your eyes, your nose, and your hands. Any school can teach you the correct measurement of ingredients for making fresh pasta, but until you’ve stood at the hip of someone who has made it every day for thirty years, you’ll never really know what real pasta is.”
Ultimately, she agreed, and off to far northeastern Italy she went. She spent six months in Trieste, then a year in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Venice. After that, she spent a year in Florence and another in Palermo. She could have continued her culinary odyssey in a kitchen in Turin, but she was homesick. So she packed up her knives and moved back home.
After two weeks of kicking around town and gorging herself on the cheese enchiladas and the chile rellenos she so desperately missed overseas, she bravely scraped up all her savings, wrote a detailed business plan, and found a small restaurant space and a banker crazy enough to loan her the money to open her own place.
Austin was a barbecue and fried chicken town served with a side of fajitas and margaritas. Her traditional Italian restaurant serving authentic cuisine struggled at first. It made her cringe, but she finally got used to customers asking for spaghetti and meatballs, so she put them on the menu. It made her furious and slightly disappointed in herself, but it was the best damn Spaghetti e Polpette di Carne in Austin. Once a local food critic found her place and proclaimed her a “feisty, blonde-headed culinary genius,” business exploded. Soon she moved to a bigger location downtown, and “Ristorante di Jacqueline” became an Austin institution.
Kip had been walking through the streets of downtown Austin for about six blocks. Turning the corner on a street bustling with nighttime revelers, he spotted the quaint sign that announced he had arrived at his destination. Entering the packed restaurant, he approached the hostess, who was juggling a stack of menus and a reservation pad with a phone tucked under her ear. Waiting his turn in line, he finally reached the front of the stand a few minutes later.
“Welcome to Jacqueline’s.” The hostess smiled at Kip. “Did you have a reservation with us tonight?”
“Well, yes and no. I spoke with Jackie this afternoon, and she said to tell you that I’m Kip.”
“Oh, sure,” the hostess replied. “She has a spot at the kitchen counter saved for you. Mark,” she said to a young man wearing an apron who had just arrived at the reservation stand. “Will you take this gentleman to the chair reserved at the end of the chef’s counter and let Jackie know that Kip is here?”
“Certainly,” the young man replied. “Please follow me, sir.” The young man led Kip through the maze of tables draped with white tablecloths and boisterous diners seated in their red leather chairs. Reaching the end of a long counter that faced the busy open kitchen, he pulled back a chair for Kip. “Right here, sir. I’ll let Jackie know you’ve arrived.”
“Thanks,” Kip replied as he took his seat. Peering into the kitchen, Kip looked for Jackie. It didn’t take long to spot the pretty blonde directing her kitchen staff as she inspected three plates ready to head to the dining room. Mark approached Jackie in the kitchen and pointed in Kip’s direction. Her blonde ponytail whipped behind her as she spun around from the plates she was reviewing, and she smiled from ear to ear when she spotted Kip. Motioning for someone to take her place, she disappeared from view for a moment before bounding out of the kitchen door and quickly making her way to the end of the counter. Kip stood and caught Jackie as she leapt into his arms.
“So good to see you!” Jackie said, practically choking Kip as she hung from his neck.
“Look at you!” exclaimed Kip as he set her down. “You look fantastic.”
“So do you, Kipper! I’m so glad you made it.”
“Me, too. Look at this place,” Kip said, motioning toward the packed dining room. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks, man!” Jackie replied with a smile and a playful punch to Kip’s shoulder. “It’s pretty nuts on a Friday night, but I love it. This is kind of rush hour, but it’ll settle down in a while and we can catch up. You don’t need to be anywhere soon, do you?”
“Nope. Bennett lifted my curfew tonight,” he joked.
“How is Bennett? He drops by occasionally, but I never get to spend enough time with him. You have such an interesting father. He just cracks me up.”
“Well, he’s been sick lately, but you’d never know it.”
“Yeah, I heard. Don’t you worry—he’s as tough as barbed wire and way too ornery to let anything slow him down.”
“That’s the truth. Now, you get back to your kitchen and come visit when you can.”
“Did you eat yet? You better not have,” Jackie said, shaking a finger at him in jest.
“Absolutely not. I’m dying to see what you learned overseas all those years. You know, I’m practically a New Yorker these days, and I know what the good Italian stuff is.”
“Well, I don’t normally serve yankees here, but I’ll make an exception for you. I’ll have someone bring you a menu.”
“Actually, why don’t you just put something together for me? Chef’s choice.”
“Do you drink wine, or are you still just a beer and bourbon man?”
“I love wine.”
“Great! I know exactly what to make for you.” Jackie hugged Kip one more time before spinning around and hustling back to her kitchen.
A few minutes later a bottle of wine appeared. It was closely followed by a series of four magnificent dishes. After the last empty plate was removed, he returned to his glass of wine and watched as the restaurant began to empty of its patrons. When the majority of the room was cleared and the frenetic pace of the kitchen and wait staff had slowed, Jackie emerged from the kitchen with an empty red wine glass.
“Jackie,” Kip gushed. “That was amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it, big boy. Hope the selections worked for you.”
“Absolutely. I particularly liked the pasta with the anchovy and garlic sauce.”
“That was always one of my favorites in Venice,” Jackie said as she poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle.