Page 48 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
English cuisine is sadly not exactly famous for being good. The French, Italians, Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai — all celebrated. But English food? Not so much. That’s why you rarely see restaurants abroad featuring the best of our beautiful kingdom.
Yet here’s Gabriel. A genius. A man who truly understands good food and conjures up the best dinner I could hope for.
"Then it was about time," he says with a small smile.
He eats like a gentleman, savoring each bite. No gulping, no smacking. Every mouthful is a pleasure. He closes his eyes now and then, smiles, nods, then glances at me as if to make sure I’m enjoying his dishes too.
"My parents run an inn in Scotland," I tell him. "They only serve buffets, and always the same dishes depending on the season. There’s a lot to do — thirty-two beds, and many guests to take care of. The food’s good and complaints are rare, but you can’t compare it to this."
"Wait until the main course," Gabriel says, clearing the empty dishes and plating two large servings on the counter.
"You never wanted to work there?" he asks.
"I did. But then I came to London and studied. After that, I really wanted to stay, so I worked a lot. You know my résumé."
"Inside and out," he says.
"I actually wanted to go back now and help them until I figured out my next step. But then your offer came along. So, for now, I’m here."
Gabriel returns with the two plates and leaves me amazed again.
"Will your parents forgive me?"
"If you invite them to dinner sometime, definitely…"
What on earth is on my plate?
Gabriel pours us more wine as I look at him, puzzled.
"Gladly." He shows me the bottle. "A Chablis. Chardonnay. An elegant white, mineral, fresh, and light — perfect for a fish dish."
So, itisfish. I wasn’t quite sure.
"For the main course, we have monkfish medallions with lemon butter and saffron risotto."
Oh wow. Monkfish.
"I’ve never had anything like this. You’re completely spoiling me."
I look at the beautifully arranged plate, fascinated, then try the fish. It’s amazing.
"Firm. Juicy. It hardly tastes like fish. It’s more like lobster as a flavor."
Gabriel nods. "Fascinating, isn’t it?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
After the main course comes dessert. The question is on the tip of my tongue. It’s a bit bold to ask, but I can’t resist.
"So… you do realize I’m going to want you to cook for me every day now, right?"
“Since I love cooking for others, I’m sure it’ll happen more often. But we’ll also be out and about a lot, so there won’t always be time,” he says as he comes back to the table carrying dessert. “Lemon panna cotta with berries.” But that’s not all—on a long tray beside it are neat little confections. “Petits fours, filled with pistachio and raspberry ganache.”
“But youboughtthose, right?” I ask, staring at how perfectly shaped and glossy they are.
“No, also homemade. There are plenty more in the fridge. The biscuit base gave me over fifty pieces. I’ve already taste-tested a few, I’ll admit.”
He picks up his dessert spoon, so I decide to leave the petit fours for later and dig into the panna cotta first.
