Miss Manners (17 page)

18

Tea
and Sushi

THURSDAY
, 28th APRIL

I’d never won any awards before. But this was one award I didn’t want to win. If anyone so much as suspected I wrote the blog, then my entire plan to win Miss Manners would be annihilated.

The Bloggie ceremony was on the same day as the Miss Manners contest, so I had to think of a way of detracting any suspicion away from myself until at least after the contest.
Well, it was no secret that Pinkie and Genevieve were rivals, so Genevieve would therefore have a motive. If I could only find a way…

‘
Right, girls,’ Brie sopranoed, interrupting my devious thoughts. ‘Today, we are joined by French master chef Jean-Pierre Chevalier, who will show you how to make sushi, as well as master tea blender Steve Schwartz, who will be offering you tea sommelier training. And, later today, I will be teaching you the correct way to lay out a dinner table.’

We
were all standing behind a long table in the ballroom. It had been set up with all the necessary equipment (wooden moulds, bamboo mats, etc.) and ingredients (rice, salmon, avocado, cucumber, etc.) for the sushi lesson. It all looked so tempting to eat.

To my left was Frunella, who
’d already cultivated a ‘Guess what?/Did you know?’ gossip-spreading image in the past few days. And to my right was Diamanté, who clearly wanted to be the next Pinkie. So it was up to me to start a rumour, then spread it.

‘
Now, I shall hand you over to Jean-Pierre,’ Brie continued.

‘
Bonjour,
Mademoiselles. Raise your hands if you have eaten sushi before?’ Jean-Pierre wore a sinister white apron (the sort you’d imagine Dr Jekyll wearing), looked as though he smoked Cuban cigars and spoke in a heavy French accent using extravagant hand gestures like a conductor.

I had bought a
sushi home-kit a couple of years ago, but only ever used it once or twice before relegating it to the back of the cupboard. Although I had eaten sushi before, I decided against raising my hands.

‘
For those of you who haven’t tried sushi before, it’s basically cooked rice topped with fish or vegetables. There are several types of sushi. But the one we will be learning to make today – maki – is the most popular in the Western world
.’

I noticed that there was a selection of
rice dyed in different colours – white, black, pink – which led me to suspect we would be doing a whole lot more than just making sushi, especially since I didn’t remember reading anything about multicoloured rice in my sushi home-kit instructions.

‘
Now, at the Miss Manners contest,’ Jean-Pierre started, ‘you will not only be making sushi, but decorating it. At the moment, the latest trend is sushi art, which was pioneered by Japanese chef and principal of the Tokyo Sushi Academy, Ken Kawasumi. So, you will be learning how to make sushi look like flowers, animals and faces, which will be judged on flavour, texture, presentation and creativity.’

‘
I’m going to make one that looks just like Tinkerbell,’ Pinkie gloated proudly.

Great. I c
an barely make sushi, let alone sushi art.

The girls looked at one another, slightly panicked at the prospect. I guessed most of them had probably never even used an oven in their lives.

‘During the contest, you will be required to make and decorate sushi in the space of sixty seconds, so you will need to get as much practice in as possible. Please watch me closely.’ Jean-Pierre began by picking up a mound of white rice, pressing it between the palms of his hands, then laying it on top of a sheet of seaweed, which rested on a bamboo mat.

‘
First, you need to figure out which design you want to create on the sushi. Once you’ve decided, you’ll need to start laying the rice on top of the seaweed sheet, also known as nori. Then, once you’re happy with the final design, you need to reinforce it using the bamboo mat, then cut it into slices.’

Around thirty
seconds later, Jean-Pierre turned to the rest of the class and presented his sushi art. ‘
Et voilà
. Four pieces of flowery sushi,’ he said, looking pleased with himself.

I have to admit, I was pretty impressed. The
sushi had a perfectly formed flower in the middle and looked extremely appetising.

‘
Now,’ he said, walking over to the other side of the table, ‘it’s your turn.’ Jean-Pierre picked up the plate of sushi and offered it to an excited-looking Brie and Steve.

‘
Mmm, beautiful, Jean-Pierre,’ Brie said, after a closed-eye mouthful of sushi.

I
had no idea where to start. I placed a piece of seaweed onto the bamboo mat, then added the rice on top. I didn’t have a clue what I was making, but it didn’t really seem to matter.

The first to finish their
sushi designs were Pinkie and Genevieve, trailed closely by Darcy, Posy and Lola.

Jean-Pierre walked over to each of the girls.
‘Good, Pinkie,’ he commended. ‘I like the dog’s whiskers. But perhaps you need a little more fish paste around the eyes. Lovely detailing of the petals on the flower, Genevieve. Perhaps you can add a carrot to the middle.’ And then Jean-Pierre stopped at my sushi. He bent over and inspected it silently for what seemed like an eternity. His smile had vanished, replaced with a constipated look. ‘What is this?’

‘
It’s, uh, it’s a... flower... animal?’

To be honest, I
hadn’t the faintest what it was, because it didn’t really look like anything. I basically tried to include as many of the ingredients on the table as possible, thinking less about the design and more about the flavour.

‘
A flower animal?’ he repeated, his face crumpling in confusion. ‘It looks more like a dying fish.’ He looked about as cheerful as a battery hen.

Pinkie cast a sly look in my direction,
then started to snigger. I wanted to knock her off her four-inch pastel pink Manolos.

‘
Of course, you are going to need a lot of practice,’ Jean-Pierre said. ‘A lot.’

After that comment, there was only one thing for it. I decided to stuff as much of my
sushi into my mouth as possible, throwing decorum out of the window. I probably looked like a puffer fish, but I didn’t care. I was hungry. But Brie was far from impressed.

Pinkie and Genevieve had been competing for the place of
teacher’s pet all morning, not to mention Darcy, Posy and Lola, and I couldn’t wait until lunchtime. I’d had enough of all the I’m-better-than-you small talk. Seriously, etiquette is a form of social apartheid. I mean, if Nelson Mandela knew about it, he’d hold a protest.

After
spending the rest of the morning trying to make maki, I decided it was definitely time to get my sushi home-kit out of storage and begin practising.

‘
Well done, girls, for making such an effort.’ Brie flashed a satisfied look at Pinkie and Genevieve. ‘Although, there are one or two of you who really need to practise before the contest.’ She eyed me suggestively. ‘But for now, it’s time for luncheon.’

After all that
sushi, I don’t think I could have eaten anything else. I felt more stuffed than a Christmas turkey. In fact, I was ready for a nap and a fairytale. Except that didn’t look likely to happen any time soon.

‘
Today’s luncheon shall be afternoon tea at The Dorchester Promenade, hosted by the incredibly talented Steve Schwartz. If you’d like to follow me to the bar, we shall await our seats at The Promenade for two-thirty there.’

W
e walked out of the ballroom and were led past the main reception and into the bar, which looked a bit like a nineteenth-century pharmacy, what with all the strange coloured bottles behind the counter.

As we sat down on the
‘reserved’ seats facing the bar, I couldn’t help being distracted by all the strange purple and orange phallic sculptures that were scattered all about the room. A sprightly waiter sauntered straight over and began to spray the table with what looked like a vintage nineteen twenties perfume bottle. He sprayed, wiped, polished and buffed the surface so thoroughly, I wondered if he was being sponsored by Johnson & Johnson. After the waiter had finished cleaning, I was extremely tempted to sniff the table. So I did.

‘
What are you doing?’ Posy, who was sitting opposite me, scoffed.

Posy had a small head. She looked like a cross between a gazelle and a pig.

‘Sniffing the table,’ I said matter-of-factly, my head still lowered close to the table. ‘What does it look like?’

Posy turned away, which was a good thing. I got back to sniffing the table.
It smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle. It reminded me of a holiday.

The waiter returned with a menu, then asked in a Jeeves sort of way,
‘Would you like a paper to read, M’selle?’

Ooh, I could get used to this treatment
, I thought to myself.

‘
No, thanks,’ I said, smiling on the inside.

Over the sounds of
jangly jazz, quiet chatter and popping corks, I could also hear snippets of conversation coming from the tables nearest to me. On the table to my left, a middle-aged woman in a suit was talking into a phone, ‘Okay, I’ll finalise the arrangement for the Russell Brand interview tomorrow.’ And on the table behind her, a couple of middle-aged Asian men were saying, ‘We need to lock the deal with the Indian foreign minister today.’

I looked at the menu and instantly felt sick. Most of the drinks were priced at more than
ten pounds. The cheapest was the Chegworth Valley organic pear juice, which was five pounds (excluding a 12.5 per cent discretionary service charge).

The waiter sashayed over again.
‘Aperitif, M’selle?’

‘Tap water, please.’

Everyone at the table stared at me as if I’d just sprouted a Salvador Dali moustache, so I ordered the Chegworth Valley organic pear juice.

‘
Wise choice, M’selle. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,’ he said, then glided off to take orders at the next table. The waiters I was used to seeing always looked so miserable. But this one was unnaturally cheerful.

I know you
’re probably not supposed to down a Chegworth Valley organic pear juice at The Dorchester in less than thirty seconds, but I was really thirsty. It didn’t go unnoticed, either.

Brie flung me an infuriated look
from three tables down, where she was sitting with Jean-Pierre and Steve. But it wasn’t long before a pearled-up, besuited and official-looking woman entered the bar and headed over to Brie to let her know that the table was ready. As we followed Brie in an orderly fashion, I felt a bit like Madeleine.

‘
In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines,’ I couldn’t help chanting to myself.

The place was very retro-chic, if such a thing existed. As we passed the pianist, we finally sat down on large bogey-green chairs at a white-clothed table. I sat against what looked like a headboard for a bed, so that I had a good view of the Promenade.
As the waiter arrived, Brie ordered the afternoon tea.

‘
Of course, Madam,’ said the waiter with a smile, before scooping up the menus. I watched him lambada away, wondering what was going on in his mind. Once the waiter was out of sight, Steve raised his right hand. ‘Now, the reason we are taking tea here today is so that I may teach you the correct manner in which you should serve tea. I have spent twenty-two years of my life perfecting the art of a tea sommelier, and during the last nine years I have had the privilege of serving tea for the Queen at Buckingham Palace. But, of course, you don’t have twenty-two years to perfect the art of tea-blending. So, we will focus on blending one particular type of tea – Earl Grey.’

Yes, yes, YES! My favourite. A taste I also happen to share with Sir Trevor McDonald. Thank Baloo the Bear it wasn
’t Darjeeling (basically, the posh version of PG Tips), which tastes like dishwater.

I think I
’ll enjoy the afternoon after all. Plus, I already have experience of tripping over a tea sommelier cart at the Tea Garden
.

A few min
utes later the waiter returned, accompanied by four others carrying teapots. Now there was a little teapot for each person on the table, along with a selection of loose-leaf teas.

‘
Normally, afternoon tea comes ready prepared,’ said Steve. ‘But today I will be showing you how to blend flavours to create a delicious tea.’ Steve picked up a measuring spoon, then scooped a small batch from the tea packages labelled Earl Grey, rose bud, jasmine and lavender, which he mixed into the teapot.

‘
Once you’ve mixed the blends into the hot water, you must leave it to fuse for a few minutes,’ he continued, stirring the china-white teapot with a silver spoon. ‘Now, a common question when it comes to tea is, “What comes first, the tea or the milk?” Well, the answer to that question is milk, the reason being that the high temperature of freshly brewed tea can denature the proteins found in fresh milk.’