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FFS. Not again. What was it with men and P-based foods? Pie and potatoes and peas and puddings. Margot had whipped up an interesting-looking dish at the bistro last week that I was desperate to try out. Pan-fried duck with a hot red sauce, Thai-spiced vegetables and coconut rice. Duck pie with a twist, if you will. Sans lid.
I fed Basil and opened the windows to let the heat in. It was twenty-three degrees outside, which coincidentally was my go-to, year-round temperature for the flat. I couldn’t stand feeling cold. Maybe it was being a winter baby; I came into the world snuggled in a blanket and zipped into a onesie and not much had changed in twenty-seven years. Soft, warm, and cosy was how I liked it.
I unwrapped the duck breasts, removing the skin and laying it flat on a tray in the freezer. Mum’s voice rang loud and clear through my head as I got the rest of the ingredients out of the fridge.Every meal starts with an onion.I put a large pan on the hob and added half a bottle of white wine, a good slug of Chardonnay vinegar, five-spice, garlic and chicken stock.
‘Alexa, play Ella Fitzgerald,’ I instructed while slicing a fat Spanish onion into perfect circles. The brass band kicked in and ‘Ain’t Misbehavin’ rang out as I scattered the onion rings across my trusty frying pan, where they hissed and sizzled, slowly turning translucent as I added cherries and beetroot.
‘Alexa, volume up,’ I called while chopping the celeriac julienne, neatly and precisely, just as Margot had taught me, adding it to the onion with salt and a splash of red wine over a low heat. A 2009 Bordeaux. Far too good to cook with, and almost too good to drink, but I added another glug to the pan and poured myself a large glass. I was running out of time to have nights in the flat like this and I deserved a treat. The absolute luxury of cooking a meal and relaxing with some nice wine and a bit of Ella. Basil happily curled up by the window, a cat after my own heart, always looking for the warm spot.
‘We’ll be alright, won’t we, Basil? You’re going to love the new house. There’ll be so much more space for you to roam around and hang out with other cats,’ I said in earnest as he silently blinked.
‘Miaow,’ he said, which clearly meant,How can you know I’ll love it when you haven’t even seen it?
He had a point. I seared the duck on both sides, then added some fresh chillies to the sauce and covered it with a lid to stickify. What if Basil didn’t like it in Surrey? What if he was lonely in the middle of the countryside, away from all his friends? Away from London and his flat and everything he’d ever known. I stopped to take a couple of deep breaths.
The duck went in the oven to cook through, and I put the rice on. Ten more minutes and everything would be perfect.
The sound of keys rattled in the door and Basil trotted over to welcome George home.
‘Hi, babes,’ I called as George pinned himself to the wall, edging around Basil to avoid the dreaded white hairs. ‘You’re fighting a losing battle.’
‘I know,’ he said, making a run for it, ‘I need to start carrying a lint roller.’
‘Hmm, sounds sexy,’ I said, as he kissed me on the forehead. I was at a crucial stage in coconutting the rice, so I couldn’t let go of the pan.
The brass band were in free flow, building up to a glorious crescendo, as Ella sang her heart out.
‘Alexa, off,’ George barked.
‘Ahhh, I was listening to that,’ I said into the silence.
‘Are we not having pie and mash?’ George said, looking around for his P-foods.
‘Not exactly,’ I replied, with a smile. ‘I thought I’d treat us to this amazing new recipe Margot taught me last week. ‘Done right, it’s Michelin-star quality, so I hope you’re hungry.’
‘Oh,’ he said, looking disappointed.
‘We can have pie and mash anytime,’ I said, exasperated. ‘This duck is going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.’
‘I’m not a massive duck fan,’ he said, as my heart sank. I finished off the rice and took the duck skin out of the freezer to fry and serve. It was too late to stop now, even if I had to eat it by myself. I placed the frozen skin in the frying pan, with a weight on top, and cooked it until it was golden and crispy. ‘I was looking forward to some chicken. Sorry, Hols, you know my tastes are simple.’
‘Totally. Sorry, I should’ve checked before doing it. I can put a chicken burger and some chips in the oven?’ I said, taking the duck skin off the heat. George smiled and put his arms around me, nodding into my back.
‘And some baked beans?’ he whispered in my ear.
‘Urgh. If you absolutely must…’ I rolled my eyes and cracked open a tin.
‘I can’t wait to marry you,’ he pulled back and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Our kids are going to be so beautiful and kind with you as their mother.’
‘Not for a few years yet,’ I laughed, grabbing the yellow foods George had requested from the freezer and bunging them on a tray.
‘You might change your mind once we’re married and in the new house.’
‘Noooo George, I won’t. I’m not ready to have kids yet. We’ve had this conversation a million times.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense. There’s no point putting our lives on hold so you can serve wine and chips every night at Chez Margot.’
I was stung by the accusation. He knew how much I loved working at the bistro.
