things considered, the class went pretty well. By the time I was ready to demonstrate how to make the peach sauce for our ice cream sundaes, I was feeling content and pretty pleased with myself. From where they stood off in a corner watching and no doubt critiquing the proceedings, I could tell Marc, Damien, and Monsieur Lavoie (who had just joined us and was already sampling a glass of the dessert wine we'd be serving tonight) were, too. No doubt, Jim would be getting a positive report. Three recipes down and one to go (I didn't count the rum punch, since there was no fire involved), and I hadn't set off the smoke alarm even once.
For me, this was a record.
"OK, we already put our peaches in boiling water for a minute or two, we peeled them, and we chopped them." I held up the bowl of peaches for my students to see and hoped they weren't too picky. Some of my peach chunks were big, others were so small, even I had to squint to see them. Some looked more like peach jam than peach pieces. No matter, I told myself. I was on a roll. My confidence boosted, I breezed on as expertly as if I was one of those celebrity chefs on the Food Channel.
"Now we're going to get the sauce going. You know, you could cook this entire dessert on your grill. You'd need heavy aluminum foil, and you'd put everything on it, wrap it up good and tight, and throw it on the grill for . . ." I'd remembered this much of Jim's instructions, but had to consult his recipe for the rest. "For about twenty or twenty-five minutes. Tonight, since we don't have a charcoal grill, we're going to do the whole thing on the stove." I waved the students closer to the industrial stove that took up most of one wall of the kitchen, and they gathered around.
"I've got my chopped peaches . . ." I scooped them into a pot. "And I'm going to add the lemon juice, the honey, the ginger, and the allspice." This part was easy, since Marc had already measured out everything and had it waiting for me.
Margaret Whitemore raised a hand. "But what if you don't like all the ingredients?" she asked. "Ginger's too spicy for me. Why, I remember once, I had dinner at an Indian restaurant and I spent the next three days burping."
"And allspice . . ." Agatha rolled her eyes. "Who has that kind of stuff in their cupboards?"
I hadn't expected a mini rebellion. I scrambled, wondering all the while how Jim would handle this.
I could just about hear his voice in my ear. "Cooking is all about being creative," I said just like he would (though I left out the long ooo in cooking , because I figured that would be too much). "If you don't like the spices, don't use them. You could substitute something like . . ."
I didn't have a clue. I looked to Marc and Damien for deliverance.
"Cinnamon." Marc stepped forward. "It's a spice, too, of course, but it's also a flavor more of us are used to and like. And it goes really well with peaches. The smell is great, too. Think about those cinnamon roll places at the mall. That same aroma . . . it will waft through your whole house."
Listening to a kid with purple hair use a word like waft struck me as funny, but our students didn't seem to mind. They nodded in unison.
"Or you could even add a little bit of balsamic vinegar," Damien added. Since the combination seemed odd to me, I wasn't surprised the suggestion came from him. Of all our employees, he was the most like Jim. I don't mean Jim has a prison record like Damien does. Not a chance! But Damien is just as daring and creative as Jim. When it comes to taking chances with flavor combinations ordinary mortals would never dream of, Damien was the guy for the job.
"So, it's whatever you like," I added, along with a smile of thanks to our two cooks. I had the pot with the peaches and the other ingredients in it in one hand and with my other, I turned on the stove. "And remember, Jim would be the first to tell you that if you
For me, this was a record.
"OK, we already put our peaches in boiling water for a minute or two, we peeled them, and we chopped them." I held up the bowl of peaches for my students to see and hoped they weren't too picky. Some of my peach chunks were big, others were so small, even I had to squint to see them. Some looked more like peach jam than peach pieces. No matter, I told myself. I was on a roll. My confidence boosted, I breezed on as expertly as if I was one of those celebrity chefs on the Food Channel.
"Now we're going to get the sauce going. You know, you could cook this entire dessert on your grill. You'd need heavy aluminum foil, and you'd put everything on it, wrap it up good and tight, and throw it on the grill for . . ." I'd remembered this much of Jim's instructions, but had to consult his recipe for the rest. "For about twenty or twenty-five minutes. Tonight, since we don't have a charcoal grill, we're going to do the whole thing on the stove." I waved the students closer to the industrial stove that took up most of one wall of the kitchen, and they gathered around.
"I've got my chopped peaches . . ." I scooped them into a pot. "And I'm going to add the lemon juice, the honey, the ginger, and the allspice." This part was easy, since Marc had already measured out everything and had it waiting for me.
Margaret Whitemore raised a hand. "But what if you don't like all the ingredients?" she asked. "Ginger's too spicy for me. Why, I remember once, I had dinner at an Indian restaurant and I spent the next three days burping."
"And allspice . . ." Agatha rolled her eyes. "Who has that kind of stuff in their cupboards?"
I hadn't expected a mini rebellion. I scrambled, wondering all the while how Jim would handle this.
I could just about hear his voice in my ear. "Cooking is all about being creative," I said just like he would (though I left out the long ooo in cooking , because I figured that would be too much). "If you don't like the spices, don't use them. You could substitute something like . . ."
I didn't have a clue. I looked to Marc and Damien for deliverance.
"Cinnamon." Marc stepped forward. "It's a spice, too, of course, but it's also a flavor more of us are used to and like. And it goes really well with peaches. The smell is great, too. Think about those cinnamon roll places at the mall. That same aroma . . . it will waft through your whole house."
Listening to a kid with purple hair use a word like waft struck me as funny, but our students didn't seem to mind. They nodded in unison.
"Or you could even add a little bit of balsamic vinegar," Damien added. Since the combination seemed odd to me, I wasn't surprised the suggestion came from him. Of all our employees, he was the most like Jim. I don't mean Jim has a prison record like Damien does. Not a chance! But Damien is just as daring and creative as Jim. When it comes to taking chances with flavor combinations ordinary mortals would never dream of, Damien was the guy for the job.
"So, it's whatever you like," I added, along with a smile of thanks to our two cooks. I had the pot with the peaches and the other ingredients in it in one hand and with my other, I turned on the stove. "And remember, Jim would be the first to tell you that if you
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