steak and organic onions and peppers, and now all she had was a pot of rice boiling on the hob and a great big lettuce salad. What was she going to give Matt for dinner?
He was working late and she’d promised to have dinner ready when he got home. Usually he did the honours and was cooking for her when she got in … he was the best boyfriend ever, and living with him was perfect, but he had a right to expect her to turn out the odd meal that was edible. It was sofrustrating! Everything she touched seemed just to go absolutely wrong … nothing she cooked or tried to make ever turned out right. She read the books. She studied the recipes, measured the ingredients exactly with the expensive kitchen scales she had invested in, and followed the method step by step, every time expecting some kind of decent result!
Nigella, Rachel Allen, Jamie, Neven Maguire, Sophie Dahl, Gordon Ramsay, Domini Kemp … she wasn’t an idiot, but how did it happen that, despite slaving over their recipes, no meal she produced even vaguely resembled the glossy photos of their luscious dishes in the cookbooks? It wasn’t fair. Matt’s mum was a cordon bleu trained cook, and his girlfriend a useless one!
She tested the sludge. It tasted burnt, and on closer inspection some of the meat was tough and blackened. Maybe it was their fan oven that did it. Was it too hot and burning the bejesus out of everything? God, what a mess! Better destroy the evidence before Matt got home, she thought, and getting the wooden spoon she began to scrape it all into the bin. She’d soak the pot, even though it looked like it could take days before the stain from the brown mess would wash off. Then she’d pop it into a bucket and throw a tea towel or two on top of it to hide the incriminating evidence. Maybe she should have phoned her mam and got her recipe for the beef stew she always made. The big pot of her mam’s concoction of meat and vegetables was a constant feature on the stove in the small red-bricked house on Riverfield Grove where she had grown up. The stew tasted even better by day two or three than when it was first served. It was almost like a soup by the time they all polished it off and got her mam to make a new pot. How did her mam do it? Turn out ediblemeal after meal? Kerrie certainly hadn’t inherited her mother’s talent for cooking.
She gave a quick tidy around and retrieved the packet of beef bourguignon from the freezer. Polly’s Pantry, their local delicatessen, provided a huge array of their own chilled and frozen meals that could be easily reheated.
Kerrie pulled the beef dish from its wrapper and packaging and reheated it in the microwave, turning it into one of her beautiful blue oven dishes. Then she poured in a drop of red wine from the open bottle on the counter before giving it a final touch by sprinkling on a few bits of red onion and some chopped parsley. It really looked homemade, she thought proudly, before popping it into her oven and hiding all the packaging in the bin.
She loved Matt; loved to hear the sound of his key in the door, his heavy footsteps on the floor, the smell of his aftershave, the steady rhythm of his breath as he pulled her close to him. Matt was the man she truly loved, her other half, her better half, her fiancé. He was so kind and good and intelligent, and she still couldn’t believe that in only a few months’ time she would be married to tall dark handsome Matt, and would be Mrs Kerrie Hennessy!
She was busy on the internet when Matt returned home.
‘Hey, that smells good!’ he said, smiling and kissing her.
‘It’ll be ready in a few mins,’ she warned, ‘so why don’t you get out of your suit and change?’
She watched proudly as Matt tucked into the beef. Everything looked perfect: their oak table and brown leathertable mats, their white plates with the ripple design and their modern glassware. The mixed leaves were in an expensive hand-turned salad bowl and the rice in a Stephen
He was working late and she’d promised to have dinner ready when he got home. Usually he did the honours and was cooking for her when she got in … he was the best boyfriend ever, and living with him was perfect, but he had a right to expect her to turn out the odd meal that was edible. It was sofrustrating! Everything she touched seemed just to go absolutely wrong … nothing she cooked or tried to make ever turned out right. She read the books. She studied the recipes, measured the ingredients exactly with the expensive kitchen scales she had invested in, and followed the method step by step, every time expecting some kind of decent result!
Nigella, Rachel Allen, Jamie, Neven Maguire, Sophie Dahl, Gordon Ramsay, Domini Kemp … she wasn’t an idiot, but how did it happen that, despite slaving over their recipes, no meal she produced even vaguely resembled the glossy photos of their luscious dishes in the cookbooks? It wasn’t fair. Matt’s mum was a cordon bleu trained cook, and his girlfriend a useless one!
She tested the sludge. It tasted burnt, and on closer inspection some of the meat was tough and blackened. Maybe it was their fan oven that did it. Was it too hot and burning the bejesus out of everything? God, what a mess! Better destroy the evidence before Matt got home, she thought, and getting the wooden spoon she began to scrape it all into the bin. She’d soak the pot, even though it looked like it could take days before the stain from the brown mess would wash off. Then she’d pop it into a bucket and throw a tea towel or two on top of it to hide the incriminating evidence. Maybe she should have phoned her mam and got her recipe for the beef stew she always made. The big pot of her mam’s concoction of meat and vegetables was a constant feature on the stove in the small red-bricked house on Riverfield Grove where she had grown up. The stew tasted even better by day two or three than when it was first served. It was almost like a soup by the time they all polished it off and got her mam to make a new pot. How did her mam do it? Turn out ediblemeal after meal? Kerrie certainly hadn’t inherited her mother’s talent for cooking.
She gave a quick tidy around and retrieved the packet of beef bourguignon from the freezer. Polly’s Pantry, their local delicatessen, provided a huge array of their own chilled and frozen meals that could be easily reheated.
Kerrie pulled the beef dish from its wrapper and packaging and reheated it in the microwave, turning it into one of her beautiful blue oven dishes. Then she poured in a drop of red wine from the open bottle on the counter before giving it a final touch by sprinkling on a few bits of red onion and some chopped parsley. It really looked homemade, she thought proudly, before popping it into her oven and hiding all the packaging in the bin.
She loved Matt; loved to hear the sound of his key in the door, his heavy footsteps on the floor, the smell of his aftershave, the steady rhythm of his breath as he pulled her close to him. Matt was the man she truly loved, her other half, her better half, her fiancé. He was so kind and good and intelligent, and she still couldn’t believe that in only a few months’ time she would be married to tall dark handsome Matt, and would be Mrs Kerrie Hennessy!
She was busy on the internet when Matt returned home.
‘Hey, that smells good!’ he said, smiling and kissing her.
‘It’ll be ready in a few mins,’ she warned, ‘so why don’t you get out of your suit and change?’
She watched proudly as Matt tucked into the beef. Everything looked perfect: their oak table and brown leathertable mats, their white plates with the ripple design and their modern glassware. The mixed leaves were in an expensive hand-turned salad bowl and the rice in a Stephen
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