Chef tapped the side of his head. ‘Use your imagination. The structure, the shapes, the colours, the atmosphere the building creates. One of my favourite dishes was inspired by Westminster Abbey.’
‘You see?’ Cal smiled. ‘The kitchen is a lot cooler than you think.’
I was almost impressed by the whole thing but then Cal had to go and say, ‘The kitchen is a lot cooler than you think,’ and ruin it. How he thinks it’s acceptable to make these lame comments in public is beyond me.
‘Of course, it’s not about the kitchen itself.’ Chef clapped his hands together. ‘It’s about the people in it.’
He began to point to various people around the kitchen, describing what each of their specialities was or what they were training to do, before claiming with a chuckle that he was going to test me on it later to check that I had been listening. Which would be unfair because there’s no way I’d pass a test – not that I hadn’t been listening, but because there were SO many members of his team and so many different components and departments to the kitchen.
I mean, one guy, Liam, was just in charge of the herbs. HERBS. That was Liam’s job role, to look after all the herbs.
I only know the name of one herb.
‘Really? Which one?’ Cal laughed when I made that point to him. Chef had rushed off to taste test some hollandaise sauce, instructing Cal not to let me near the baking cupboard while we waited for him.
‘Parsley.’
‘That’s it? Parsley? You seriously can’t name any other herbs?’
‘All right, Herb Guru, name some.’
‘Coriander, basil, rosemary, sage, mint, thyme . . .’
‘And this guy is in charge of all those?’ I interrupted, pointing at Liam, who was tending to some weird sort of plant. ‘Isn’t that more like being a gardener than being a chef??’
‘Not at all,’ Chef corrected, returning and catching the end of our conversation. ‘The right herb can transform a dish.’
‘Flick has a lot to learn when it comes to cooking,’ Cal informed him, stealing another croissant from a tray and taking a large bite.
‘Excuse you, but I am anexcellentcook!’
Here’s the thing: I am a terrible cook. My brain cells just don’t seem to connect when it comes to the kitchen. I have tried to cook, like the time with the pizza, but I always get bored or distracted, so I figure it makes more sense to let other people cook for me and then the building won’t get set on fire or anything.
I don’t know what it is with Cal, but the way he says things always makes me want to argue with him. Maybe it’s because he’s always so sure of himself – I just want to prove him wrong, even if I actually have no idea.
Which is how I found myself announcing that I was an excellent cook to a kitchen full of professional chefs.
Cal put his croissant down and rubbed the pastry crumbs off his hands.
‘You think you’re an excellent cook?’ he asked with a mocking smile.
You see what I’m talking about? Who wouldn’t want to wipe that stupid smile off his face?
‘Yes. I am.’
‘OK then.’
‘OK then, what?’
He gestured at the stove next to him. ‘OK then, cook. We’d love to see your signature dish.’
I opened my mouth to explain that we didn’t have time for cooking when we were supposed to be learning, but everyone suddenly fell silent and stopped what they were doing to stare at who had just walked into the kitchen.
Skylar Chase.
She came clacking across the floor to us in her very high heels, smiling at all the chefs as she passed. I’d asked Chef earlier if she could come join us and he’d given his approval, as well as offering me the unwelcome information that he often sang her songs in the shower.
‘Hey,’ she said cheerily, a wave of expensive perfume hitting me as she pulled me into a hug. ‘It feels like ages.’
