Sauté in Olive Oil Instead of Butter (courtesy of Castabout and 2021)

It was getting late and I was pulling a double shift. I don’t normally have problems, but tonight I did. Having no previous experience with this type of case and no other detectives to help, I went by the book. I told the Desk Sergeant to place these two in different rooms after booking. I was going to have to ask a question (or two), walk to the other room, ask the same question, and walk back to the first room to repeat the question in order to see who was lying. I figure a minimum of four hours and two miles on sore feet. This was not going to be my night.

What was to make it worse was the report. How do I write this one? Even the book had no precedent on this type of crime. In all fairness, I do not know it there even was a crime committed by anyone. And even if there was, I do not believe either of the accused may want the other charged. Oh, the patrons of the restaurant will want their pound of flesh. Either way, the owner will sue. As will the waiter. As will the bartender. As will all who frequented The Arbitrage tonight. But as far as criminal offenses, the jury is still out on this one.

First, the details. He is Gunter Mach. I know his name has one of those umlauts above the u, but I can’t find it on this computer. It seems Gunter Mach (GM) knows everything there is to know about German food. Tonight was game night and GM was to butcher the meat. Apparently his knife skills are above reproach. From what I know about chefs, most have similar talents. She is Concetta Delfina (CD) and every bit as Italian as GM is German. If she can cook half as good as she looks, then I would buy a place and hire her to run the house. It seems CD is the counterpart to GM in the kitchen with neither conceding anything. The owner disclosed a wager he has with the two of them. After one week, whoever has the most favorable written reviews from the paying customers becomes the new Executive Chef. Whoever comes in second place becomes the other’s Sous Chef. My guess is the pay difference is equal to the title difference. At least I have motive established. Now for the questions.

I decide to begin with GM. He did not fight the arresting officers nearly as much as CD. Two hours in a room, by yourself with nothing to do but wait, and one begins to think clearly. Such magic worked its spell on GM.

“Hello Mr. Mach, My name is Detective Mason. You made a statement to the arresting officer and he made his. How about you go over it with me, line by line, word for word?” GM agreed. Too easily for my tastes. But, his eagerness did allow the work to pass quickly.

GM began with a mild German accent tempered by a few years in the states. When he remained calm, I understood him clearly. “I began my shift earlier than normal to ensure that Concetta did her job. This kitchen was mine and she knew it. Mr. Kobart (the owner) hired me three years prior to that Fotze seducing her way into the job.” I had to ask. “Who did Miss Delfina seduce?” I would look up Fotze later. GM replied with a rising anger in his voice. “The customers and the staff. Have you seen her? What she has on is more than she usually wears. The kitchen is sacred to me. The customs, the recipes, and the uniforms are not to be changed. What she did was make her body the reason to frequent The Arbitrage and not the food. I worked for years to prove myself. She reversed everything on her first day.” I let him calm down before I continued. “Then why didn’t Mr. Kobart fire Miss Delfina immediately? If she cannot cook and has to use her charms, couldn’t he see through her?” As instantly as GM began to relax, he began to smolder. “I never said she couldn’t cook. She just cannot cook as well as me. Her attire and her sex appeal did increase sales. That is why Mr. Kobart kept her. She is a distraction in my kitchen; nothing more, nothing less.” With that, I began my marathon between GM and CD. When it was her turn, I asked the same questions.

“So, when the pigliainculo speaks, you listen, Detective Mason. I understand. The Kaiser’s right hand man grumbles and suddenly it is all my fault.” CD then began an entire rant in Italian complete with gesticulation. If the department had video, I wouldn’t have to try to write anything down. “He thinks he runs the kitchen? Ha! All he can do is run his mouth. He complains about what I do. He complains about how I look. He complains about how I flirt. I think he is jealous, maybe gay. More of the customers come because of me than him. I think Mrs. Kobart wanted to see a tall, blonde, muscular man, look like a Viking, and work in the kitchen. That is exactly what she got. If you want to see muscles flex, then watch Herr Mach perform. However, if you want to eat the best food, then watch me cook.” As I left CD, I began to understand. This was not just a contest for a job. This was a clash of egos with a decent amount of sexual tension tossed in. Freud would have a field day with these two. I however, had a job to do and very little time to do it. So I cut a few corners. The rest of my report omits the repeating of initial or follow-up questions and my travels between the rooms. While GM and CD remained separate at all times, I wrote the report as if they sat next to each other during my interrogation.

“The waiters reported hearing shouting then breaking of glass. How did this start?”

GM: “She came to work 1 hour late so I yelled at her.”

CD: “He thinks if you are not 2 hours early you are late. I had to use small words so he could understand me.”

GM: “The kitchen requires discipline. I have it. She does not. One thrown glass and she understood.”

“Mr. Kobart told me of the contest. Did this contest have anything to do with the trouble in the kitchen?”

GM: “Of course it did. I am the clear favorite. She is the pretender.”

CD: “The contest was mine to win. I used all that I have to win. He may be good looking, but I am better looking. He is just jealous.”

“Tonight was wild game night. The menu listed boar, elk, and pheasant. Tell me, what happened?”

GM: “As usual, I had to begin breaking down all of the meat by myself. I had each piece weighed and wrapped so as to minimize cooking time and maximize flavor; in the strict German style of preparation.”

CD: “When I arrived, I began correctly preparing the menu for the night. Gunter may know how to use a knife, but only on meat. When it comes to vegetables, he won’t lift a finger. When it comes to stock or soups, let’s just remember all the great German soups renowned the world over. Unless the entire clientele for the night consisted of carnivores, Mr. Kobart should move Mach to a prep station where he belongs.”

“The menu had the boar listed two ways; roasted and sautéed. I have had roasted, but never sautéed. Why sautéed?”

GM: “Because Concetta unbuttoned another button and begged Mr. Kobart to add it to the menu. Who ever heard of sautéed boar?

CD: “Who ever heard of sautéed boar? Who hasn’t? If you can roast it, fry it, bake it, or sear it, you can sauté it. My grandmother used to sauté fresh game in olive oil. Not butter. Just olive oil, and some garlic, some herbs, and some magic. This brings out the flavor trapped within. The boar is boring otherwise.”

GM: “She said boring! I’ll give you boring. Have you ever seen a single person attend to a single chop for 10 minutes spooning olive oil over it? It may be a great tasting dish for one customer. But with a packed house of over 150 people, it would take 25 hours to feed them one piece each. She gets one nicely written review. The other 149 bored patrons suddenly have the time to write 149 nice reviews for me. Who is boring now?”

I decided to change gears. “Who started the food fight?”

CD: “Mach threw a plate of elk at me. Each of the medallions went flying across my work space. He disparaged the food. In the kitchen, that is a crime. Politically, it is similar to treason. Since a few of the medallions became unservable, I threw two of them and the plate at his head. This way, at least he had to think about the venison.”

GM: “It is a good thing this Concetta does have a great body. Because she now has two skills she displays with no talent; lying and cooking. First, the venison was NOT to be sliced into medallions because it was to be carved table-side to enhance our guests dining experience. She cut the medallions with a dull knife and wanted to sauté them also.

Everything does not go well with olive oil. Venison requires fire and butter and time. I prepared the tenderloin hours before opening by searing it first to lock the flavors in and then slow roasting it over low heat. The tenderloin she butchered was an extra. Even so, her method was not on the menu. I threw the plate toward her, not at her. Once again, she is lying.”

CD: “Detective Mason, ask Thor about the lump on his skull. You will see who got the better of whom.”

“How did the olive oil spill on the floor?” I already knew the answer to this one from interviewing the dishwasher.

GM: “Since she swims in the stuff, it should come as no surprise some makes it to the floor of her station.”

CD: “When I left the kitchen to receive congratulations from a table of guests who thoroughly enjoyed my service, Mach must have spilled olive oil on the floor in front of my station. My next request from additional pleased guests had to wait until I recovered from slipping and crashing into the busboy. I KNEW what caused my fall and I knew who was responsible. All tonight, Mach has been calling me a liar. It is he who is lying.”

“Who threw the first knife and more importantly, why?”

CD: “Mach threw first. I just replied.”

GM: “I threw first and second and third and fourth. I would have thrown fifth and sixth also. She left high quality knives to soak in the sink like a common set of dishes. If it was in the sink, I threw it. Besides, I am very good with knives. She never got hit once. I only threw them as close as I did to get her attention. Any reaction she displays is merely acting. Ask her about the incident. Watch the tears flow upon command. When you return to her, she will have her legs crossed and her skirt raised just enough to be provocative. The tears will be unnoticeable if her top is unbuttoned. Her chest will begin to heave. Watch if you dare detective. Sirens are beautiful but deadly.”

Upon my return, Mach was correct on all counts, except those concerning his ignorance. Miss Delfina showed a section of her uneven hair where one of the knives trimmed a lock. No blood, but a close call none-the-less.

“Why did you throw the knives, pans, and other dishes back?” I asked both of them.

CD: “Mach started it. I was to hold my ground. Let a brute start pushing and there is no end to it.”

GM: “She needed to be taught a lesson.”

“When you were out of hardware, why did you move to appetizers and desserts?” I digressed at this point in my report. Bystanders, both in the kitchen and dining room, unanimously agree that seeing Miss Delfina covered in chocolate pudding and Herr Mach smothered in fondue oil was both frightening and strangely entertaining. Both rolled upon the floor, separated, cursed in their native languages, and went back to their respective combat activities. The bartender was astonished that the combination of chocolate and fondue oil adhered completely and prevented grappling due the slickness of the two. Neither could gain an advantage, though not for the lack of trying. One guest said he had not seen anything like this since his fraternity days. At this time, Mr. Kobart notified police and soon The Arbitrage closed for the night.

So now I ask each, “When you were out of hardware, why did you move to appetizers and desserts?”

GM: “It was all I had left that would not mortally wound her. I wanted her gone. I did not want her dead.”

CD: “If I killed the beast with scalding water or a meat cleaver, I wouldn’t stand a chance at the Executive Chef position, now, would I?”

Always the flirt with CD. Always clockwork with GM.

And always fun with Detective Mason here at the 6th Precinct at 4:30am, Sunday morning. Not just another dog and pony show for public consumption. No sir indeed. In the few hours I spent with each of the contestants, I see an aggressive competitiveness that consumes the two of them. If they were married, it wouldn’t last. If they were dating, they would break up just to get back together again. GM and CD are not fire and ice, they are napalm and lava. To prove each other was the best, they lost sight of the one piece of significant evidence that should matter most to the both of them. In reality, I forgot about this also until the early birds of the day shift began rolling in after hearing the news of the restaurant wars. My early morning flatfoots managed to collect the written reviews from Mr. Kobart composed by the patrons at ground zero. After closing, most of the customers returned to complete the cards so important to the occupational and egotistical sense of the combatants. Of course, Mr. Kobart looked at them. He is the owner, he has that responsibility. Both disgusted and amazed with such behavior, he gave the stack to an Officer, who in turn, brought them to me. I took an elongated coffee break to read the comments. So rarely do I get to savor anything. Today is one rare day.

I returned, with a leisurely pace to a waiting room. I directed two officers to bring both GM and CD into the arena with me, with no cuffs and no other police presence.

Hesitantly, my officers followed orders. Both CD and GM were escorted to their seats.

Even after 6 hours in a police interrogation room. Even after 6 hours covered with dried food all over them. Even after 6 hours of time to think and calm down, they both were ready for another round. And would have begun if I had not flashed the review cards for full display. Securely sealed in an evidence bag, I placed them on the table between CD and GM. The shock on their faces was a Hallmark moment. While the other rooms do not have video, this one does. I know this. CD and GM do not. I think the word for this is Priceless.

“What you see before you is an evidence bag containing 101 review cards for the previous night’s activities at The Arbitrage. And before either of you gets any funny ideas, tampering with evidence is a crime.” I let that sink in so as to stifle any creative urges either might have. After a few awkward moments, I began again. “The two of you have behaved like two year olds with seismic temper tantrums and not the professionals you both believe you are. That is a shame.” I watched both of them finally understand their dilemma. It finally sank in. “Right now, Mr. Kobart was seriously considering firing the two of you, UNTIL, the guests of The Arbitrage returned to fill out these review cards. I do not know about you, but to me, that speaks volumes of the caliber of patrons The Arbitrage has. Will it speaks volumes of the caliber of guests The Arbitrage will have? That I do not know.” CD wanted to speak, but I shot her a look only an angry family elder could use. It worked instantly. GM knew better than to interrupt.

“In retrospect, I do not know what to do with you two. Technically, neither of you committed a crime. However, there is the matter of civil damages. After viewing the damages and loss of income, and loss to his reputation, I suspect it exceeds more than a year’s salary. And if it was up just to me, this case would be settled when you both pay for the damages. However, it is not just up to me. There is the matter of the review cards and Mr. Kobart. I called Mr. Kobart when I received the cards and asked him what he wanted.” The hope implied in this single statement made both CD and GM sit up straight; quite Pavlovian. “Mr. Kobart wants his establishment back to the shining beacon on the hill it was until last night. Mr. Kobart wants a PROFESSIONAL Executive Chef and Sous Chef. And he did not want either of you; until he read the review cards. Then he began thinking. Then he began to wonder. Mr. Kobart is a man of good intentions and he wants to abide by the rules of the contest. So he re-read the cards. Then he gave me the cards. Then I read the cards. They are evidence, so I read them VERY carefully. I even had the results logged in as evidence should there be a trial.” All of the hope CD and GM recently displayed disappeared equally as quick.

I am going to send a thank you note to a psychology teacher I had in 2-year college. He always said that whoever wanted something the most would show it in their face. These two were showing everything in their face. He also said that whoever wanted something the most would pay the most for it. That man earned his paycheck that semester.

“So, the two of you have a choice to make. And since I hold all of the cards here, I get to make the rules we are all going to agree to. To freely walk out of here, both of you two must be in agreement on all points. Any dissention means the deal is off. Both will stay in a holding cell. Both will see a trial. Neither will work at The Arbitrage ever again. Say only yes or no if you understand.”

GM said yes, first. CD said yes, soon afterward.

“Good. Here is the deal. You can walk out of here, only owing the civil damages for last night and never work at The Arbitrage ever again OR you can both open and read the reviews and abide by the decision of the patrons of The Arbitrage. The latter will secure both of you employment and no trial. The cost of this decision is whoever is the Sous Chef will have to work for and not with whoever is chosen as the Executive Chef. Even then, both Mr. and Mrs. Kobart will have new rules to keep both of you two on a short leash. These will include attire, scheduling, language, appearance, and attitude. It will not be easy and a good deal of your pay will be deducted to offset your debt to the ever-so-generous and patient Kobarts. It will mean you will cook with the passion and skills you both have. It is just that your energies will be directed to a more profitable direction.”

“So Gunter Mach and Concetta Delfina, what is it going to be?” Such a simple question. Such a long time to wait. For the first time since meeting these two, I saw them conference with each other. They actually were talking and not yelling. Miracles do happen.

After two minutes they spoke. They would take the deal and open the evidence bag. They promised to abide by the results. I took them for their word and shook hands with both. It was now that I reminded them that the entire conversation was on video. They said they understood. They opened the evidence bag and began reading the reviews. Placing the cards in stacks for GM and stacks for CD took time. The height of the stacks indicated a clear winner. The winner of the Executive Chef position working for Mr. Kobart at The Arbitrage was