Recipe for Love (5 page)

Cher regarded her questioningly. ‘Is it? I didn’t take exams much.’

Zoe, who considered herself a fairly calm person, couldn’t help being impressed by Cher’s coolness. She could have been going to the movies, judging by how she behaved.

‘Come on,’ said Cher. ‘Let’s go to the front row. We won’t get noticed if we sit at the back.’

Zoe, feeling there was plenty of time to be noticed, meekly followed her.

As they sat, waiting for the judges, Zoe’s stomach churned with nerves and excitement. She’d already met one of them but of course she couldn’t admit this to anyone. She wondered if he’d acknowledge her at all. Cher, poised and beautiful, seemingly oblivious to the tension around her, checked her French manicure for flaws, but didn’t find any.

Mike came out to address them. He stood in front of a table that was obviously designed for the judges. Zoe’s nerves increased. This was it; it was all about to begin in earnest. Cher was still unmoved. She also had French-manicured toenails, Zoe noticed. Zoe, whose sang-froid had long deserted her, found her hand creeping up to fiddle with her hair. Cher, obviously spotting this from the corner of her eye, shot out her own hand and held Zoe’s down. No one was messing with her creation, even if she wasn’t wearing it.

‘OK, guys. This next bit isn’t going to be televised but just a few words about that part of it.’ He went on about sound and lighting guys as well as camera operators. ‘You’ll get used to the cameras very soon, which is good, but do please be careful not to swear. You’re going to meet the judges now, and then we’ll film the whole thing.’

Zoe glanced at the camera crew milling about with their equipment and clipboards. They were like a team of ants. She’d almost forgotten the television part of it all, she’d been focusing so hard on the competition, on cooking as well as she could.

‘Big hand for the judges, guys …’ finished Mike.

Everyone clapped obediently.

The first to step forward was the kindly television chef, Fred Acaster, who talked people through basic recipes with a gentleness which made the world love him. He was a little older than he’d appeared on the box but still looked friendly.

Cher, Zoe noticed, sat up a little straighter and paid him her full attention. It could have been some sort of magic ray that she projected towards him. He noticed her and smiled. Zoe couldn’t quite work out what she’d done but suddenly she was shining at him without really moving. It was impressive!

The second judge was a woman, Anna Fortune. She ran a cookery school and was known to be terrifying. She’d been on a television show when a team of professional chefs had a ‘back to school’ experience with her and she’d been savage. Definitely the one to impress. But Cher didn’t bother to connect with her.

And then came Gideon Irving. Her memory of him was when he was muddy, dishevelled and sweaty. Now his hair was still untidy but it was clean as was the T-shirt under his linen jacket. Armed with her inside information
that
he had not wanted to be a judge, Zoe felt his sultry grumpiness was in some way explained.

Beside her, Cher positively glowed. Zoe saw Gideon glance at her but what he thought she couldn’t tell.

She had felt at once that it was the woman, Anna Fortune, who would cut through the contestants in swathes, but Cher was focused on the men. It made sense in a way. There were two men to only one woman and if you could get both of those on side, you were bound to go through. Zoe felt uncharacteristically daunted. It was one thing to cook well at home, or in the small café where she’d had her Saturday job. To do it in such an (albeit modest) public space was hard enough; to do it with a camera pointing at you was worse again.

After introducing themselves Anna Fortune dived straight in. ‘Right, the first task. It’s been arranged for you to take over two restaurants. You’ll be put into teams and run one each. We’ll appoint roles for each of you. Listen out for your names …’

‘You can tell she runs a school, can’t you?’ said Cher, once again slightly too loudly for Zoe’s peace of mind.

Zoe sighed. It was going to be a long meeting.

ZOE FOUND HERSELF
in a team with one of the lads – Dwaine – Muriel the older woman, Alan the ex-actor and Cher. Bill, Shona, Shadrach, Becca and Daniel were in a restaurant on the other side of the village.

Gideon Irving was in charge of who did what in Zoe’s team. Anna had gone with the others and a car was on standby to ferry the judges between the two. After taking the keys from the owner (who had hovered nervously for a few minutes until Gideon had reassured him his restaurant was in good hands and he wouldn’t let anyone burn it down), he stared at them all for a few agonising moments and then said, ‘OK. Dwaine, you’re the chef. Muriel – sous; Alan – commis; Zoe – KP; and Cher, front of house. Are you clear of your roles?’

‘I show people to their seats and bring them menus?’ said Cher.

Gideon nodded. ‘You also liaise with the kitchen, organise the waiting staff – the owner has kindly allowed us to use a couple of his regular members of staff – and smooth over any difficulties.’

‘Easy,’ she said, her voice so full of innuendo Zoe was quite embarrassed.

‘Zoe? You’re clear what you have to do as a KP?’

Zoe gave him a look as evil as she dared, which wasn’t very. ‘Washing up. I get it.’

‘You’ll probably have to do a bit more than that and
although
it seems a menial task there is plenty of opportunity to shine.’ He paused. ‘We’ll be observing you from time to time as well as looking at the footage that’s been taken during the day. Nothing you do will go unnoticed – good or bad.’ He gave Cher a glance that made her giggle alluringly, infuriating Zoe.

When he’d made sure everyone knew what they were doing he turned to go. He glanced at Zoe and winked as he passed. She blushed, hoping no one else had noticed.

The restaurant, not unsurprisingly, was near to Somerby and served good basic bistro-style food. Reading the menu, Zoe saw that it did asparagus wrapped in parma ham that came with a poached egg. She knew this shouldn’t pose a problem to anyone, let alone someone in a cookery competition, but was very relieved she wouldn’t be expected to produce them. Of all the things that were supposed to be easy, poached eggs were definitely the hardest.

Dwaine was thrilled to be the chef although he looked at the menu disparagingly. According to him – and he liked to share his feelings – as there were no foams, veloutés or deep-fried soft-shelled crabs in tempura batter, there was no challenge in it at all.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! I can’t believe I’m supposed to cook fucking Chicken Kiev!’ He went on effing and blinding at the simple pub-grub dishes which were popular and reasonably priced until he realised that his expletive-per-minute rate was possibly record-breaking and that the faces watching him were not impressed. It was as well the cameras weren’t rolling yet. ‘I’m a chef,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘I don’t expect to serve up prepared food.’

‘There’s a restaurant with an open kitchen near me that pre-prepares a lot of stuff,’ said Alan. ‘Otherwise it would be bloody hours before you got fed.’

Dwaine grunted. ‘And what about the equipment? Where’s the rotisserie? The sous vide? The water bath? I’m not used to this!’

‘You’ll
get
used to it,’ said Zoe. ‘A chef with your high standards will be able to manage, I’m sure.’ She was checking out the dishwasher, glad that her work in the café had trained her well.

Once assured that her most useful tool was present and functioning, she took a look at what else there was there – or not there.

Apart from two massive cookers, there was a Bamix liquidiser, a toaster, a blow torch, the separate sink for hand washing, a sign on the wall about the coded cutting boards and also, worryingly, a glass cupboard in which hung some lethal-looking knives and choppers. She wondered if this was locked. Given the nature of their chef for the day, she hoped it was.

Dwaine was convinced he had been chosen because of his ability. This could have been true – his audition might have been brilliant – but none of the others knew and there was already muttering in the ranks.

Everyone had been issued with chef’s whites and hats but Dwaine had brought his own trousers with huge checks, and instead of a chef’s hat, he wore a bandanna in the manner of Marco Pierre White. Then he got out his knives. So much for the locked cupboard, thought Zoe as she and Muriel exchanged a look.

Dwaine unrolled the case revealing knives big enough to cut down small trees. He released one from its protective sheath.

‘Look at this bad boy!’ he said, making a few terrifying
passes
with it. ‘Samurai sharp, this is. Cut a silk scarf easy as anything—’

‘Oh, put it away, do,’ said Muriel. ‘You’ll hurt someone, possibly yourself, and then you won’t be able to cook at all.’ Her motherly reaction had the right effect and Dwaine stopped showing off for a few minutes.

There was a moment of uneasy calm and then they heard ‘start rolling’ and their first task in the competition began. Zoe felt a lot would have to be edited out if the earlier torrent of foul language was anything to go by, but that wasn’t her problem. Having sorted out where the dirty dishes would be put and where they went once they were clean, she was chopping onions. It seemed a good idea to keep herself occupied while she was waiting for something to wash.

Gideon Irving came into the kitchen. He surveyed it like a lion selecting a wildebeest. Zoe, who should have been beneath his notice as the modern version of a scullery maid, was his first victim. He pushed her aside from her chopping and picked up her board.

‘Where’s the cloth? Without a cloth under your board it’ll slip around! Put one there now!’

‘But you’re not a chef,’ said Zoe, finding a cloth and spreading it under her board. She could sense the watchful eye of a camera trained on them both.

‘That doesn’t mean I haven’t spent a lot of time in professional kitchens,’ he said. ‘Now, let me check your technique.’

Zoe had been happy chopping onions. They were making her eyes water but she was coping. She picked up her knife and started on a new one.

‘To start with, you need a bigger knife,’ he said. He selected one from the knife rack. ‘That’s better, it’s got a bit of weight to it.’ He tested the blade with his thumb
and
then produced a steel. He gave it several passes before he was satisfied.

She picked up the knife and made to cut off the root. ‘No!’ said Gideon. ‘Leave the root on, or it’ll bleed and make you cry more. Now slice it in half.’ He nudged her out of the way and took hold of the onion and held it. ‘This way, if the knife slips you won’t cut yourself. Either use the bridge’ – he placed his fingers over the onion – ‘or the claw.’ He shifted his position. ‘See? Show me.’

Zoe, feeling thoroughly undermined, and on camera too, made a few tentative cuts.

‘Better,’ said Gideon, less aggressive now he was teaching her. ‘Try it like this …’

Two minutes later, Zoe was chopping onions like a pro. Gideon might have been brusque but he was a good teacher.

Gideon and the camera had gone to where Alan was putting eggs on to boil but Dwaine was looking at her pityingly. ‘I can’t believe you entered a competition like this without knowing how to chop onions.’

‘Oh shut up,’ said Zoe calmly. ‘I passed the audition, same as you did.’

‘Yes but really—’

‘Leave her alone!’ said Muriel. ‘She’s doing fine. And what about you? Are you ready?’

Gideon, having swooped in like a trouble-shooting eagle and given nearly everybody some advice, left them to get on with it. It was only the contestants and a camera team.

‘Ok.’ Cher came in with a slip of paper. ‘There are some people in, and they want like, something really quick?’

‘Can’t they read the menu?’ growled Dwaine, determined to play the grumpy chef.

‘Yeah, but what can they have that is quick?’ insisted Cher.

There was silence while everyone looked at the menu.
Nothing
seemed really quick. Even the cassoulet that just needed heating up would take a few minutes to assemble.

‘What about a sandwich?’ suggested Muriel.

‘They want something hot,’ said Cher.

‘Toasted sandwich?’ suggested Zoe. ‘I spotted some of those bag things.’