Page 15 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“A fair few, though Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne only venture to a couple during the winter months. I believe this is Mr. Hawthorne’s favorite, but Mrs. Hawthorne isn’t particularly fond of it. She was a champion skier back in the day, but she hasn’t strapped in for years. Ah, here we are.”
Ali pushed through a pair of swinging double doors. The centerpiece of the kitchen was a large island, with a stunning marble countertop that would be perfect to roll out my croissant dough. The walls were a rich bluish-black under the pendant lights that hung above the island. My heart skipped at the gorgeous silver and black La Cornue stove and the twin walk-in fridge and freezer.
“Unfortunately, the provisioners couldn’t stock the kitchen last night,” Ali informed me. “So, you’ll have to make do with what you can find in the pantry and freezer. After lunch, you can shop for dinner at the market in town.”
My stomach hit the floor. Blood rushed out of my face while my fingers began to tingle. “You mean, th-there’s no fresh produce at all?”
“I’m afraid not. Will you be able to manage?”
“Of course,” I said, sounding maniacally cheerful. “No problem at all. I’ll make it work. Any allergies or preferences I should be aware of?”
“No allergies. I’m sure whatever you make will be suitable.”
That sounded like a trap.
Ali gave another tight smile. “Please find me if you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to it.”
Alone, I sat on the edge of a counter to take several deep breaths. A full-blown panic attack threatened to erupt while I looked around at the big empty kitchen that had just become my battleground. This was real. I was here for the next three months. For better or worse.
All I had to do now was plan and prepare a perfect welcome lunch.
Chapter 6
I started with a quick inventory. The pantry had plenty of shelf-stable dry goods and canned foods. The freezer was stocked like a fallout shelter to feed a village through the apocalypse, with plenty of meat, fish, and bags of pre-diced frozen fruit and veggies. None of which would make an ideal first impression for a gourmet lunch. The high water content in frozen veggies meant everything tended to taste flat and bland, like the inside of a plastic bag. Similarly, frozen meat never achieved the right tenderness again. It affected the composition of the tissue fiber.
Then there was the refrigerator. The smell that erupted from that walk-in nearly knocked me sideways. There were pounds of spoiled produce and mold bordering on a full civilization. Nothing could happen until I cleaned out the fridge, took out the trash, washed, and sterilized the walk-in, all of which took another two hours off my prep time.
When I’d taken stock of what I had to work with, I decided the least offensive ingredients at my disposal were some frozen Yukon Gold potatoes and spinach, chicken thighs, and white rice. The pantry had panko breadcrumbs and a generous array of nuts and spices. The best way to redeem a frozen protein was to deep-fry it. To me, that said one thing: chicken katsu with massaman curry over rice, with spinach and potatoes. Because when all else fails, throw copious amounts of seasoning at it, blend and pray.
It was a humble dish. Certainly not what I’d envisioned serving to the family for their first meal. And there was a voice screaming in the back of my head that I might be making a terrible mistake. But I didn’t have time to hear it. Not over the louder sound of the clock ticking like my heart banging in my chest. There just wasn’t time for second-guessing. I needed to pick a direction and go with it.
Strangely, as I pulled my ingredients together and got some pans heating on the stove, the apprehension and anxiety started to melt away. The first thing was to get my coriander and cumin seeds toasting in a pan with some peanuts. Then I ground the mixture and added it to some red curry paste. Next, I pounded out my chicken thighs and set them to marinate in a bowl with some gochujang and fish sauce. In a pan, I combined my curry paste with coconut milk, then added dried lime leaves and set it to simmer. While that bubbled away, I thought about an appetizer.
Normally, I’d serve a salad or some kind of fresh component to balance the fattiness of the curry, but my only produce came courtesy of the freezer. Then I saw the frozen peaches and raspberries. I decided on a tart peach and raspberry sorbet as a sort of palate cleanser. It was those sorts of pivots, the opportunity for creativity and improvisation, that gave me such a spark of excitement in the kitchen. It was never mundane when I was able to think on my feet and solve problems. I had stopped seeing this dinner as an emergency, but more like a game. I even found myself having fun. Because the kitchen really was my happy place. Turning disparate ingredients into a cohesive meal was my simple joy.
I brought the spinach and potatoes up to temperature in separate pans, then dried as much moisture from the greens as I could before adding them to my curry. I diced the potatoes and threw them in too, then set the rice going in the rice cooker.
Then, because I had time, I made some quick roti before dredging and breading my chicken thighs and frying them off, just as Ali returned to tell me the family had arrived and would be seated for lunch shortly. She was setting four places. I’d prepared enough for eight, just in case.
“Would you care to try some?” I offered. “I can make you a bowl.”
Ali glanced back to the doorway, then lifted her chin. “Yes, alright. Thank you.”
I placed rice in a bowl and ladled on the curry. Next, I seasoned and sliced the katsu chicken, placed it carefully on top and garnished with a piece of roti on the side. I handed Ali a fork at the kitchen island where she stood, and she took a tentative bite. Then another. She mixed the rice further into the sauce and stabbed a piece of chicken to get a little bit of everything in one bite.
“This is quite delicious,” she said stiffly. “Very good.”
I began to second-guess myself. “You don’t think it’s too much starch on starch? Potatoesandrice?”
She shook her head, dabbing at the corner of her mouth to wipe away some stray curry. “Not at all. Good for this sort of weather. And it balances the heat of the sauce.”
I smiled. That had been the idea. Always better to err on the side of caution, when I still didn’t know the family’s tolerance for spicy food.
“I’ll just finish this,” she said, hugging the bowl close to her. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m going to start plating.”
I’d always found food to be the great icebreaker. With any luck, it would work on the Hawthornes as well.
