Recipe for Love (37 page)

‘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.’

ZOE HAD CHOPPED
some mint so fine it was like dust. This was to emulate the cocoa on top of the cappuccino. She added some peeled peas as the coffee beans. The parmesan crisps she served in a basket, as if they were tuile biscuits. Just for a second she was sorry she couldn’t take a picture of the soup for her mother. But still, she’d see them on television if all went well. All going well, of course, meant her not winning.

‘Service!’ she called, getting her mind back under control, and the minute the trays were away, she focused on her fish.

It was like being two people, she decided. Half of her was really enjoying the challenge and how well everything was going. The other half was in agony because she knew she’d have to ruin something any moment now. Gideon would be furious but he would come round in the end, wouldn’t he? She wondered how the others were feeling. She could almost sense Cher, demanding her to fail – or else!

It had to be the fillet. It was too late for the Wellingtons, wrapped up safely in pastry, Parma ham and finely chopped mushrooms, but as she lowered what she called Jenga chips into the deep-fat fryer for their third time, she decided she would heavily oversalt the steak and the burger. Then there could be no doubt about it. They might forgive one lot of seasoning being wrong, but not two.

She coated the burger in a fine layer of Welsh Rarebit mixture and flashed the blow torch over it. Then she picked up some salt from the salt-pig and, in a very cheffy way, holding it high, she put far too much on before adding the brioche top.

The soup cups came back. ‘How are you doing?’ said Mike. ‘Are you nearly ready with your main?’

‘Oh yes. Just one minute.’ She oversalted the steak in the same way, took a chip away from the pile for Mike and then said, ‘Service!’

‘Didn’t you put a bit too much salt on that steak?’ Mike asked, crunching into the chip.

‘Chefs always complain if you don’t season things enough,’ said Zoe. This was perfectly true, but she still knew she was lying. She couldn’t let Mike know she’d thrown her chances of winning.

As the waiter carried the croquembouche through to the judges, she knew she couldn’t have done anything to ruin that. Because she’d made it for Glory’s christening, it had too many happy associations. Messing it up deliberately wasn’t an option.

She did realise she’d taken a risk. With the spun sugar, the gold leaf and all the other things that could have gone wrong, she might not have had to oversalt her steak and her burger.

‘They seemed to like that,’ said Mike a little later, patting her shoulder in a friendly way. ‘Now you go back to the hotel to change and then the car will take you to the viewing theatre. There’ll be a restorative glass of champagne for you there. After the judging it’s the party.’

Zoe did feel wrung out. Although everything had gone very well it had still been a lot of cooking. The thought of a shower and ten minutes on her bed was very tempting.

She woke with a start thirty minutes later and had to
rush
. They’d been asked to wear chef’s hats for the judging and Zoe snatched it up and put it in her bag as she whisked out of the room and down to the waiting taxi. She’d work out how to put it on without looking like a complete idiot later.

The first person she met in the foyer of the movie theatre was Fenella. She had Glory over her shoulder and was patting her back.

‘Fen! How lovely to see you!’ Zoe was tempted to snatch Glory from her for a comforting hug.

‘Zoe! How did it go?’

‘Oh. Fine, really!’ Zoe put on a positive expression, suddenly desperate to confide in Fenella, but she couldn’t. She just had to live with it on her own.

After quite a lot more cuddling between Glory and her godmother Zoe, they went into the cinema. The lights were up and people were chatting. The room was full of what Zoe presumed to be friends and relatives of the contestants, and film crew who weren’t on duty. Glory, bored with the conversation, fell asleep.

Cher was the next contestant to arrive. She looked amazing, her make-up fresh and her chef’s hat appealingly slanted.

‘How did it go?’ she demanded, plonking herself down next to Zoe.

‘Oh! Fine!’ It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell Cher she’d oversalted her fillet with people all around, in case someone overheard.

‘You’re not going to win, are you?’ Cher asked brightly.

‘Who knows!’ said Zoe. ‘How did your meal go?’

‘Oh great. What was your menu?’

Zoe told her.

‘Soup? You did soup? Hardly difficult, is it?’

‘Well …’

‘Pudding?’

‘Croquembouche.’ Surely Cher would be impressed by that at least.

‘That’s so old-fashioned!’ Cher smiled delightedly. ‘You won’t win with that menu.’

Zoe shrugged. She could neither agree or disagree.

Becca arrived looking flustered. ‘Thank God that’s over! I’m never going to cook in front of people again!’

‘Ah, poor love!’ said Cher, as sincere as a snake in the grass. ‘What was your menu?’

Zoe thought it sounded horrendously technical but she had faith in Becca. She really wanted her to win because she was the best, not because she, Zoe, had deliberately blown it.

Shadrach turned up looking more than ever as if he’d had a run-in with a spiky hedge. ‘You look a bit stressed,’ cooed Cher.

He didn’t reply, he just fell back into his seat and rubbed his hand over his face. Presumably he’d had a shower after cooking but he was still sweating.

‘He’s no competition, at least,’ muttered Cher to Zoe and Becca.

Becca shared a look with Zoe. ‘Her confidence runneth over,’ she muttered.

At last, far too late for Zoe’s nerves, it was time for the showing. Zoe was very glad she was first. Her agony would be over quicker.

It was weird, the contestants agreed, muttering together, to see what happened to one’s food after you’d seen it on the pass. The waiters swooped into the dining room and placed the dishes in front of the judges. Only one judge from the show was there and, inevitably it felt, Zoe got Gideon. Cher pinched her arm the moment the cameras showed it was him.

He was with the cheery celebrity chef who had interviewed Zoe about her menu, another chef, two food critics, one of whom was famous for his tetchy reviews, and a woman Zoe didn’t recognise.

Zoe focused on the food so hard it made her dizzy. She was glad she had something to stop her fainting or being sick or showing her emotions in some other embarrassingly physical way.

On the whole she was happy with the look of her pea cappuccino. It looked very pretty in her mother’s cups and the mint did look like cocoa powder. But was the whole idea a horrible culinary cliché? She decided it was.

No one said anything for a few tantalizing seconds. ‘It’s good!’ said one of the chefs. ‘Surprisingly good.’

‘Simple yet delicious,’ one of the food critics agreed. ‘But is soup too easy for this competition?’

‘Let’s see how she copes with the John Dory,’ said the first chef.

‘Yes,’ said the blonde woman. ‘It’s a delicate fish. Easy to spoil.’

The coffee cups were removed and the John Dory brought in to replace it. ‘This is good,’ said Gideon, although speaking at all seemed to cause him stress. Was he waiting for something completely inedible or hoping Zoe had changed her mind?