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enormous egos and function like dictators.”
    Susannah said, “That’s because they’re men. It’s beginning to change thanks to more women being in top positions.”
    “Women can’t have enormous egos and function like dictators?” I asked.
    “Name one.”
    “Marie Antoinette, Leona Helmsley, Joan Crawford, Imelda Marcos – want me to go on?”
    Ice laughed.
    Susannah said, “None of those are chefs, Hubie. Are there any women working at Schnitzel?”
    “The chef de partie is a woman named Helen Mure. I haven’t met her yet, but judging from her countenance, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has an enormous ego and functions like a dictator.”
    “There must be other line chefs,” Ice said.
    “Only one other so far. He’s a sad case. He came from a wealthy family and went to cooking school because he thought it would be a nice hobby.”
    “Which school?” asked Susannah.
    “Cordon Bleu in Paris.”
    “That’s not a ‘cooking school’. That’s l’école culinaire.”
    “Yeah, that’s probably what he called it when he was there on a lark. But when he had to get a job in the real world, it was just a cooking school.”
    “Why would a rich guy need a job?” she asked.
    “His father frittered away the family fortune. Then when Mansfield went to work for a new place here in Albuquerque, he didn’t get paid.”
    “Mansfield?” asked Ice. “Arliss Mansfield?”
    “You know him?”
    “Yeah. I was the garde manger at Café Alsace, and he was one of the line chefs. Of course I didn’t get to know him well because the place closed not long after it opened.”
    “Which eventually led Ice to La Placita,” Susannah said with a silly smile on her face.
    I asked Rafael how he liked working at La Placita. I had decided I wasn’t going to call anyone ‘Ice’.
    “A Mexican food restaurant isn’t a great place for a garde manger,” he answered. “You don’t have the variety of cold appetizers served in a continental restaurant.” He smiled and stuck a chip in the salsa. “I mean, what kind of a career is it making salsa and guacamole every day?”
    I kind of liked the guy in spite of his nickname. “Maybe you should become the garde manger at Schnitzel,” I said.
    “Are they looking for one?”
    “No, but I suspect they will be soon.”
    “Why?”
    “Because Kuchen just humiliated the current guy, Barry Stiles.”
    “I know him, too. He was the aboyeur at Alsace.”
    Aboyeur, garde manger, chef de partie, saucier. I suspected Escoffier was responsible for restaurant people speaking in tongues.
    “What’s an Aboyeur?” I asked.
    “Basically a messenger. He takes the orders from the wait staff and relays them to the appropriate station. Sometimes he’ll do a few minors tasks like chopping or taking things out of an oven. I’m not surprised Barry isn’t a good garde manger. He wasn’t even a good Aboyeur.” He hesitated for a moment in thought. “Arliss and Barry. Hard to believe. I wonder how many other refugees from Café Alsace are at Schnitzel. Some of the names I remember are Terry Schroeder, a line cook; Jim Miller, the manager; Armando Dominguez, the grill master; Hank Schneider, the baker; and Wallace Voile.”
    “The only name I recognize from the list Molinero gave me is Wallace Voile,” I said. “He’s the maitre‘d, but I haven’t met him yet.”
    Rafael smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “The reason you haven’t met him yet is he’s a she. And her title would be maitresse‘d.”
    “Wouldn’t it be easier if you used English words?”
    “Actually, Spanish would be even better. Almost all the kitchen staff are Hispanic these days and many of them don’t speak English. I guess that lets you out of KP, Hubie.”
    “He speaks fluent Spanish,” Susannah said.
    So of course Rafael had to switch to Spanish, and after a few sentences between us, Susannah raised her hand in protest to change both the language and the subject. “A woman named Wallace. I