Another kitchen disaster

(This entry comes with a disclosure: I drank a lot last night. Forgive bad writing.)

Really, one day I’ll succeed at making something for somebody in the kitchen. Honest. The cake in June failed miserably, the cookies I tried to make for the boys at the bar were terrible, and I’ve only successfully made dinner for more than myself once – and it was baked macaroni and cheese. I’m not sure it’s possible to fuck that up.

Today I offered to make lunch because poor Patricia does so much. I’d like to make every lunch so she only had to worry about dinner, but I think after today they’d rather me not. The food was great. Delicious. But there’s more to eating than just food.


We spent the morning stuck in traffic and food shopping. Upon returning a little after one, Patricia sighed heavily and announced she was hungry. I had a lot to do. It was never going to happen on my own. So I recruited the help of the ever-willing Francis, who dropped what he was doing just to give me a hand.

In fact, he has been a wonderful companion to me all week. We’ve discovered that we get along quite well and have a lot in common (from our love to discuss philosophy to our desire to learn the tango) which makes for many long, interesting conversations. I have never met someone so kind; he has smiles and big, boisterous conversations with every single person he meets (even complete strangers in the supermarket), he takes the time to give change to the beggars, he is wonderful with the children and the dog, and he is always sure to include me in whatever activity the family is doing and, if I don’t understand, he takes the time to explain conversations in English. I find it terribly ironic that in Paris he is a defense lawyer for white-collar criminals. He’s too nice to defend corrupt politicians. But I’m so happy to have met this man, this intriguing human who has been a best friend to Ludo for nearly all his life. And Ludo, too, is an amazing person. I adore him, have adored learning about his likes and his life and everything else in between. He has such a good heart. But something pulls at him, something is always lurking behind his goofy smile and easy-going demeanor. I don’t know what it is, but I hope he finds better happiness soon.

Regardless, Francis and I bought what we needed and returned to the kitchen. Work quickly, efficiently. Somehow we threw together a rice salad with veggies and a beautiful fruit salad dressed in a delicious sauce of grapefruit juice, eau de sucre and rum. (Thank Francis for the rum. He’s from the Caribbean. Rum goes in everything. And of course, as he poured this rum in the salad he poured us glasses as well…)

The problem was my grilled cheese sandwiches (they were gourmet, don’t worry! Baguettes with fig preserve and goat cheese) which had to be eaten warm but I could only make two at a time. I was in the kitchen making them with Francis while everyone else sat and ate the salads, waiting for their batch of sandwiches to come out. By the time everyone had their grilled cheese some people were done with their entire lunch, and poor Francis and I hadn’t even started. Looks of disgust all around – despite how tasty the meal was.

At the same time, we laughed through the whole thing. It was a hilarious affair, and – as Francis said – courageous, considering what an excellent chef Patricia is. But the fact remains that I screwed up food. The French live and die by food. That sucks. Not to mention that Patricia has guests.

Yes, I was mortified. I’m glad I had good company to keep me lighthearted. And tomorrow I’ll prove myself by making lunch successfully and smoothly. Gourmet mac & cheese.