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MIKE

with him. He couldn’t sit still for one minute; he spoke at a million miles an hour; and he worked flat out all day in my restaurant, even when there were no customers.

‘These Bolivians are lazy,’ he would say. ‘I can’t stand it. They do nothing all day except eat and complain. Look at them. They’re fat.’

Not everyone in San Pedro got along with Mike, because he was so highly strung. His personality also made it tough to work with him in the restaurant, especially since the kitchen area was small and crowded. However, once you knew how to handle him, Mike was quite a good employee. For a start, he was an excellent chef: he could produce a delicious meal using a few simple ingredients, and he always seemed to know how much salt to add or how many more minutes the fries needed cooking. He hated it if he thought I was interfering.

‘You’ve hidden the salt again, McFadden. I can’t work under these conditions,’ he said one time when I moved some things during the morning preparation.

‘I’m only trying to help.’

‘Well, you’re not helping. You’re slowing me down,’ he complained, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder and then flapping his arms like a distressed bird.

Mike was very polite and professional in the way he dealt with customers. He was meticulously clean; he tucked his ponytail into the back of his jeans so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and he always wore an apron while he cooked. And like all good chefs, he couldn’t stand anyone being near him when he was cooking.

‘I can’t have this stress hanging over me all time, McFadden. When I was working on Fifth Avenue in New York, they gave me complete creative control.’

Mike also had eyes in the back of his head. He could be crouched down, getting something out of the refrigerator, but he would still know exactly where I was and what I was doing. I would sneak over to eat a french fry when he wasn’t looking, but he always caught me.

‘That’s it, McFadden. Get out of my kitchen. Out!’ He’d stamp his foot and then point to the door in the same way as Ricardo did, except that Mike was serious. ‘I’ve warned you before about touching my french fries.’

‘Your french fries?’ I’d laugh, wondering how he always got me. ‘I paid for them.’