‘We’ve got theback-ups in the freezer bags,’ said Jocelyn, in a voice that said she was trying to convince herself.
Stopped at traffic lights, we looked at each other.
‘We’re trained chefs. How bad can it be?’ I said.
We were thrilled when we found our tent to discover that it had a gas and induction hob, an oven, a sink with running (cold) water and a small fridge.
‘Luxury,’ I said, delighted, as we examined our fiefdom.
After we’d dragged our supplies in, refrigerated everything and set up, Jocelyn went off to get us both huge coffees and Ire-checked our schedule.
As newbies in the food festival world, the Make Life Easier kitchen had three demo slots that day, a Friday. One at ten, when we figured there’d be few people around, one ateleven-thirty, and one at four. None of these were hot slots: those were reserved for big chefs. People who’d already made it in the cooking world and who would draw huge crowds had weekend lunchtime slots when the crowds would beeight-deep and screens would broadcast whatever the brilliant chef was doing.
The ten o’clock demo was performed to an audience of three, which was good given that Jocelyn almost instantly burned her hand on the gas hob because it was temperamental and the front burner reared up into a fiery jet with only the slightest twist of the knob and scorched her hand badly.
‘Keep going,’ she hissed at me, clutching her injury.
Calmly, I ripped open the First Aid box, applied agel-like burn bandage, hugged her and said:
‘Get to the First Aid tent. Now.’
So in front of my audience of three, including one tall guy who was holding a coffee, hiding behind sunnies and looked just grey enough to be hungover, I whisked up acream-filled chicken dish in record time, chatting away to hide my worry over Jocelyn and felt a surge of relief that at least, this mini audience wasn’t expecting too much.
Mr Hangover stood well back. Probably asleep standing up.
The other two, a mother and daughter combo who told me they’d been in since nine, had already got at least half a bag of merchandise from other stands.
If they stayed all day, they’d need a wheelbarrow to carry it all around.
‘Why’s this recipe got so much cream in it?’ asked one of the two women who made up my triad of spectators.
Kieran wasn’t there so I could say what I really thought.
‘In my opinion, this doesn’t need that much cream or indeed, any at all,’ I said chattily, deciding at the last minute that I would toast the pine nuts for the spinach side dish even though it was tricky to keep chatting, and my eye on all parts of the meal. ‘Personally, I like to add a little spoonful of cream cheese if I need a creamy hint to a dish or natural yogurt if it’s not going to split, as we could do with this. But cream is part of the luxury experience.’
That was Kieran’s favourite expression. Add cream to everything, even though I’d told him that more and more people were experimenting withdairy-free.
‘Smell the pine nuts,’ I added, holding the pan carefully forward. ‘I love that scent: a woody tang. Roasting them makes all the difference and lets the flavour out. No oil, no mess, just a plain frying pan and two to three minutes. Great in salads, too. Full of protein and magnesium. If you don’t have enough magnesium, you’re exhausted. And who needs that, right?’
We all laughed.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying but I’ve always wanted to make pizza dough,’ said the daughter, ‘except it looks hard.’
‘Not a bit,’ I said, giving my pine nuts an extra flourish by shaking them in the pan and decanting them expertly into a little bowl. ‘We can do that afterwards, if you’d like. I’m not busy and I am telling you, it’s the easiest thing to do. We get scared of things we’ve never tried. There.’
I presented the finished dish to them all, handed out cutlery and stood back. ‘Now, while you’re trying that, which is available in our Make Life Easier range, I’ll make pizza dough and if you come back at half eleven, when I’m making a lovely Guinness Pie, one of ourbest-selling dishes, I’ll show you afterwards how easy it is to get your pizza ready for the oven. ’
The dough took a moment to make, and both women were delighted to be so up close and personal to it. ‘See?’
I would have loved to have indulged in a bit of cheffy showing off by twirling some of the dough but I was aware that I had to tidy up and get ready for half eleven, and I needed to visit First Aid to check on Jocelyn. She could not help with an injured hand. She was going home in a taxi, I decided firmly. Kieran, skinflint, could pay.
‘Hope you can come back at half eleven,’ I said cheerfully to the women when they collected their belongings to leave.
Mr Hungover remained as the pair moved off, waving goodbye and saying they’d be back.
I couldn’t tell if he was watching me or not. Was he still drunk? Someone coming home from a night out, perhaps?
I thought I’d better send him on his way.
