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Authors: James Runcie
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greater than that borne by any other woman in the city: a concoction baser than the excrement of your dog.’
She turned for the doorway, brushing past a surprised Pedro.
‘It is a good drink. It simply needs refinement. Let me see you once more,’ I asked, desperately.
‘From now on, you will only visit me in company, at which I will offer only the customary courtesies. Do not fear; I will not slight you. I am a lady. But I will never forget or forgive you this day, and you can no longer expect any favour from me.’
I was so nervous that I wanted to laugh.
‘Do you think this is funny?’
‘No.’ But the situation was so terrible that I was, indeed, filled with a desperate merriment.
‘Do you?’
‘This is the gift of which no man knows. I have fulfilled my quest.’ I smiled.
‘There can be no greater insult. Think only of how you can redeem yourself, and pray to the Lord in Highest Heaven that he might, after a prolonged period of penance and self-mortification, forgive you this most grievous of sins.’
And then she was gone.
For the next few weeks, together with María and Esperanza, my maid and my cook, I seldom left the house. Pride filled my being and I became obsessed with the desire to make my chocolate recipe a success.
During this period of seclusion I began to learn the art of preparing food to perfection, until I was able, under the watchful eye of Esperanza, to make a few of the finest delicacies a Spaniard could hope to enjoy: tamales, tortillas and menudo; empanada de bacalao, seviche de camarones, and pollo al pibil. Spices arrived in the marketplace from the Orient, from the Indies and from Africa, and I even endeavoured to recreate the Mexican sauce, the mole poblano , that Ignacia had cooked for me, filling a turkey with chocolate, chillies, spices, raisins and almonds, in preparation for a future banquet. Furthermore, by proper addition of vanilla, sugar and spices in good measure, the yolk of an egg, and with an impressively insouciant action with the molinillo , I was also able to make what seemed to be the perfect chocolate drink.
Esperanza then invited Sylvana, Isabella’s own cook, to share a meal in our company. This large and humourless woman was initially suspicious, and I feared that she might complicate matters by telling her mistress of my plans, butas the chocolate began to beguile her palate, her face broke out into the broadest of smiles, as if she was a child who had been given the key to a secret treasure chest.
‘Even if I never taste such delights again, I know that I can die a happy woman,’ she declared. ‘Tell me everything you know about this wonderful ingredient. It will change our lives for ever.’
The two women resolved that Isabella should be given a second chance to appreciate the finer points of chocolate. Together, and with my help, they would make a mole poblano for the Feast of St James, a day which was to be celebrated by a banquet at the house of Isabella’s duenna.
Here at last was the chance to restore my dignity.
Nights passed in relentless anticipation. I was determined to prove that I had fulfilled my quest, and that I was a true adventurer, worthy of the respect of those who had done little with their lives apart from staying in Seville.
I was a conquistador.
Isabella would not humiliate me.
When the day finally arrived, the kitchens sang out with activity, Maria and Esperanza joining with Sylvana to create a feast for eighty people while I sought out extra provisions from the markets. Almonds, chillies, olive oil, vanilla, aniseed, raisins, sesame were now combined with the last of the criollo beans that I had received from Ignacia. It would be a feast for the gods.
As well as supervising the creation of the meal in secret, I was to be one of the guests, Isabella’s father remaining ignorant of the turbulence of our relationship. However, when the time came to take our seats at the table, I discovered that I was placed as far as
She turned for the doorway, brushing past a surprised Pedro.
‘It is a good drink. It simply needs refinement. Let me see you once more,’ I asked, desperately.
‘From now on, you will only visit me in company, at which I will offer only the customary courtesies. Do not fear; I will not slight you. I am a lady. But I will never forget or forgive you this day, and you can no longer expect any favour from me.’
I was so nervous that I wanted to laugh.
‘Do you think this is funny?’
‘No.’ But the situation was so terrible that I was, indeed, filled with a desperate merriment.
‘Do you?’
‘This is the gift of which no man knows. I have fulfilled my quest.’ I smiled.
‘There can be no greater insult. Think only of how you can redeem yourself, and pray to the Lord in Highest Heaven that he might, after a prolonged period of penance and self-mortification, forgive you this most grievous of sins.’
And then she was gone.
For the next few weeks, together with María and Esperanza, my maid and my cook, I seldom left the house. Pride filled my being and I became obsessed with the desire to make my chocolate recipe a success.
During this period of seclusion I began to learn the art of preparing food to perfection, until I was able, under the watchful eye of Esperanza, to make a few of the finest delicacies a Spaniard could hope to enjoy: tamales, tortillas and menudo; empanada de bacalao, seviche de camarones, and pollo al pibil. Spices arrived in the marketplace from the Orient, from the Indies and from Africa, and I even endeavoured to recreate the Mexican sauce, the mole poblano , that Ignacia had cooked for me, filling a turkey with chocolate, chillies, spices, raisins and almonds, in preparation for a future banquet. Furthermore, by proper addition of vanilla, sugar and spices in good measure, the yolk of an egg, and with an impressively insouciant action with the molinillo , I was also able to make what seemed to be the perfect chocolate drink.
Esperanza then invited Sylvana, Isabella’s own cook, to share a meal in our company. This large and humourless woman was initially suspicious, and I feared that she might complicate matters by telling her mistress of my plans, butas the chocolate began to beguile her palate, her face broke out into the broadest of smiles, as if she was a child who had been given the key to a secret treasure chest.
‘Even if I never taste such delights again, I know that I can die a happy woman,’ she declared. ‘Tell me everything you know about this wonderful ingredient. It will change our lives for ever.’
The two women resolved that Isabella should be given a second chance to appreciate the finer points of chocolate. Together, and with my help, they would make a mole poblano for the Feast of St James, a day which was to be celebrated by a banquet at the house of Isabella’s duenna.
Here at last was the chance to restore my dignity.
Nights passed in relentless anticipation. I was determined to prove that I had fulfilled my quest, and that I was a true adventurer, worthy of the respect of those who had done little with their lives apart from staying in Seville.
I was a conquistador.
Isabella would not humiliate me.
When the day finally arrived, the kitchens sang out with activity, Maria and Esperanza joining with Sylvana to create a feast for eighty people while I sought out extra provisions from the markets. Almonds, chillies, olive oil, vanilla, aniseed, raisins, sesame were now combined with the last of the criollo beans that I had received from Ignacia. It would be a feast for the gods.
As well as supervising the creation of the meal in secret, I was to be one of the guests, Isabella’s father remaining ignorant of the turbulence of our relationship. However, when the time came to take our seats at the table, I discovered that I was placed as far as
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