372. Chef and demi-chef (1/2)

I love cooking. And what I like most about cooking is a) a challenge and b) anything flambé. This technique being a challenge in itself it is my favourite one and one I like to indulge in at Christmas. Perfect for dark evenings with the Christmas tree lights flickering, the candles glowing and the blue flames of my flambé dancing their way from the kitchen to the dinner table.

This year it was going to be lotte à l'Armoricaine. I had been wanting to prepare this for a long time; my mind was now set on this and the whole (lucky) family better be ready to appreciate very refined dining.  Since it was Christmas my husband was going to cook with me and act as demi-chef. He even told the kids to leave the kitchen. This was going to be the mum and dad team cooking, just like the good old times of lockdown (5 posts in all!).

It started with him having to get on his bike (literally) and cycle all the way to the seafood and fish place a little out of town to buy the lotte. No other fish would do, I insisted.

'Did you get lotte?' He was not even off his bike.

'It's expensive!' He said, passing me the precious (heavy) package.

Feeling its weight I wondered if he had taken double the amount just in case I messed up the dish first time round. I said nothing and asked him to go through the list of ingredients with me.

'Fish. I got that.' He said proudly. 'Expensive though.' He added.

'Yes, well. It's Christmas after all.'

'Tomatoes. We got enough from market. In fact I think we've got enough, maybe even too many.' I think he sensed that I'd want them peeled. I was half expecting a comment about the folly - and the price - of organic tomatoes in December in the northern hemisphere. It did not come. Which was good for peace in the kitchen.

I did not tell him demi-chefs are not supposed to make comments about price, quantity, etc. They're just supposed to do what the chef (me) tells them to do. I did not want my demi-chef to throw his apron and walk out on me so I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

'Herbs are free from our garden so that's good.' 

Really, the patience I need with my demi-chef.

'Ah.' He cried, sounding as if he had reached another problem ingredient on the list.

'Cognac!'

And off he went on his bike to the booze shop. Not even complaining that I could use the super expensive Cognac bottle, a gift from dear Uncle John. He had just left the house when I went through the rest of the list, worried I might have missed some other crucial ingredient and add a couple of miles to his bike ride. 

When he got back I set him on the chopping, mincing, crushing. He's used to this and he is good at it. He uses two of my big chef's knives and chops like a pro. I can't do that thing with the two knives. Maybe it's a man thing. Just like the barbecue.

To be continued ...