Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Twenty-Four





BY 8 A.M. THE following morning, Zoe was wearing whites, with the logo of the cookery competition embroidered on her breast. She’d been given an area to work in and all her ingredients were in boxes around her, apart from those in the fridges and chillers. She felt numb. Gideon was furious with her. She’d just have to find time at the party to explain to him. He’d said he’d sort it, but she knew he couldn’t. He’d be angry, and she might lose him, but the thought of what Cher might do with those photographs was far, far worse.

She had decided she was going to put every inch of heart and soul she had into creating this meal. At the last minute she’d do something – she didn’t yet know what – to ruin it. But of course if something went wrong, she wouldn’t have to do that, she could just make out to Cher that the mistake was deliberate. Gideon would just have to get over it. Once he’d had time to reflect he must realise it was the only thing she could do.

She was aware that ‘three ways with fillet’ wasn’t usual, but she wanted to do it. She’d sourced some beef from her home area that had been hung a very long time and was sure it would be delicious. She decided to start making the brioche dough for the bun for the mini-burger. No one would expect a burger and with the mini beef Wellington it might be a bit filling, but her other courses were fairly light.

Once the dough was proving she started on her rough-puff pastry. She would have to roll it out and chill it several times. Next, the soup. Fresh peas, podded and without their skins, briefly cooked in chicken stock, thickened with cream. She would whizz it up at the last minute and serve it in her mother’s coffee cups and call it cappu-cino. She made a pile of parmesan crisps, drying them over a rolling pin to give them the look of Pringles.

Next she made her choux buns for her croquembouche. The television company had hired her a mould at vast expense, which should be much easier than building it freehand had been.

She didn’t want her meal described as heavy, or too much. She started on the big fat squared-off chips. She was going to fry them at least three times in duck fat for maximum crispiness. There was a deep-fat fryer there for her.

She consulted her list. It was very important not to get into a panic and cook things out of order. Everything that had to be cooked in advance needed to be done but not so far in advance they’d be past their best. The chips would get their final fry while the judges were eating their John Dory. (The lemon thyme, from her mother’s garden, was, like the coffee cups, another good-luck talisman.) She put the wild mushrooms that were going with the John Dory in a bowl of water to soak.

She was just beginning to feel she might get everything done by one o’clock, her slot, when along came the television crew and a celebrity chef to interview her about her menu. (Cher had been beside herself with glee at the line-up of celebrity judges they needed to impress.)

At least it wasn’t Gideon. That would have been awful.

‘So, Zoe, you’ve got quite an unusual menu here: cappuccino of fresh peas. That’s just a fancy way of saying pea soup, isn’t it?’

He was a chef known for his confrontational attitude but as Zoe felt she’d already lost everything she cared about she didn’t flinch from straight talking.

‘That’s right. Part of fine dining is making the food seem as attractive as it can be. Calling it cappuccino and serving it in coffee cups is part of that.’

‘So you’re not giving us much soup?’

‘No. When you have four courses you don’t need much soup.’

‘And is soup enough of a challenge to qualify as fine dining?’

‘Any food can qualify as fine dining if it’s done well enough.’ She was pleased with this one.

He nodded. ‘It’s a bit eighties, but retro is in at the moment.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Zoe promptly, who thought soup was soup and didn’t know it could be retro.

‘So then we have John Dory, simple enough, but three ways with fillet? Are you taking the – are you joking?’

Zoe laughed. ‘Not at all. We have beef Wellington, a bit of steak, simply cooked in the pan, and a miniature burger.’

‘That is a bit out of left field, if I may say so, Zoe.’ The chef grinned. Perhaps he was coming round to Zoe’s way of thinking. ‘A burger? For a fine-dining meal?’

‘Why not? What is more delicious than a perfect burger?’

‘Will you mince the meat yourself?’

‘I’m going to chop it finely. I’ll have more control that way.’

‘And serving it with … ?’

‘A brioche roll and tomato and chilli relish. I’m using cherry tomatoes.’

‘Small but perfectly formed, eh?’

‘That’s what I’m aiming for. I might make a mustard mayo to go with it. Oh, and micro herbs for a bit of colour.’

‘OK, and then we have the croquembouche. That’s a big pudding!’

‘Yes. I could have made a smaller version but I thought, where’s the fun in that? A croquembouche has to be big. That’s the point of it.’ As she talked Zoe felt her nerves subside. She was used to the cameras now. She could do this. She just hoped when it came to the crunch she didn’t bottle it. Even if she had to bow out, she’d do it gracefully.

‘You’ve made a croquembouche before, I assume?’

‘Oh yes, for a friend’s christening party. That time I didn’t have a mould so I think it’ll be easier this time …’

‘And gold-leaf physalis?’

‘Yes. I wanted little golden spheres, like jewels.’

‘Well, good luck, Zoe. I look forward to tasting it all later.’



Zoe was on a roll. Putting Gideon out of her mind felt a bit like shifting Nelson’s Column a little to the left, but she did it. Somehow her anxiety about him and their relationship (if they had one at all now), and the fact she was being blackmailed, focused her. It was all so awful she just blanked it out and used every corner of her mind for her cooking.

And everything went right. She felt as if she’d turned into a cooking robot that couldn’t put a foot wrong. Her brioche dough for the bun was as light as air and crisp so no one could accuse the bun of adding lead to her dish.

She’d always had a knack for pastry but wondered, as she worked on her rough-puff, if her artificial calm made it even better. Cold hands were good for pastry; maybe a cold, shut-up heart also helped? She made tart cases with the leftovers, after she’d measured enough pastry for six little beef Wellingtons.

Then she started on her mince. Her knives were so sharp they might well have been able to cut a silk scarf had she felt this test necessary, and her mother’s butcher hadn’t let her down – the beef was perfect. It was so tender she had enough finely chopped in a very short time. She fried some off to taste it and decided to only season it lightly before making her burgers. She could have added onion or herbs but felt it was better just as it was.

And all the time the cameras focused on her, moving in for close-ups and pulling away. By now Zoe was so used to their presence she hardly noticed them, any more than you notice the noise of a fan or a fridge. They were just part of the background.

After some thought and experiment at home she had decided to wrap the beef for her Wellingtons in Parma ham, and to add onion and a little garlic to the duxelle of finely chopped mushrooms. She made this by hand too and not in a food processor so she could control exactly how fine the chopping was. She didn’t want a purée.

Then, because she had the time, she did the initial searing for each piece of beef separately, so if she made a mistake she hadn’t ruined all of them. As she tested the first one, she wondered why she was taking so much trouble when she had to lose the competition. But her pride meant she wanted to lose it on purpose and not because she was lacking in skill.

The croquembouche was almost easy, with a mould to help. She’d perfected getting all the little buns the same size and the end result was beautifully conical and didn’t lean to one side or the other.

She glanced at her watch and checked she’d done as much as she could. She decided now was the time to get her cape gooseberries gold-leafed. Again it worked wonderfully well. She’d dipped the physalises in sugar water to make sure they were tacky and then caught up some gold leaf to produce perfect little gold spheres. The turned back leaves of the physalises looked like wings. She wouldn’t add them to the pudding until the judges were eating their fillet three ways. The spun sugar would also be very last minute.

She checked her list for the hundredth time and finally began to get nervous. While she’d been cooking she’d been totally absorbed but now she had to wait until everyone was seated before she could finish her dishes and get them out. And the thought of Gideon somewhere out there on the other side of the wall didn’t help her nerves. She wondered if the others were nervous too. They were all working in separate rooms Zoe was glad she was going first.

She was also glad her parents weren’t up in London, for the final judging and the party. Her mother had been right, she’d have worried about them. What with Gideon, having to ‘fail’ and everything else, she didn’t need any more distractions.

At last Mike came into her kitchen. ‘All right? All ready? You seem very calm and organised. You know you’re the first up? When you’re done, a car will take you over to the viewing theatre and you’ll wait until all the contestants and everyone is there, and then you watch the show. Of course it’s the uncut version but you get all the judges’ comments.’

‘I know.’ They had had all this explained earlier, but she knew Mike was fairer than fair and wanted to make sure Zoe wasn’t in doubt about anything.

‘OK, get ready with your starter.’