Married This Year 2: Simmering Love Read online

  As if!

  Chapter Eight

  In early November, they made plans to see a movie and grab dinner. Henry arrived at her house with chocolates and an enormous smile on his face. He was in excellent spirits and Rachel couldn’t help but laugh at him. He couldn’t keep quiet during the movie and she had to keep shushing him before the people around them got annoyed.

  For dinner, he’d told her he’d made a booking at an Indian restaurant near her home and she was highly amused when he pulled into the carpark behind Britta's, the restaurant she’d bought the curry dinner from that first night. Hiding any sign that she recognised the place, she ate her meal and chattered away to him. He ordered fish, rather than chicken, so there was no chance of her getting found out. She laughed along with him when he made the occasional joke, and she crossed her fingers that the staff would not recognise her from all those weeks ago.

  When they were eating their dessert, he grew serious and took her hand across the table. “I have to tell you some news.”

  “What?”

  “I have to go to Sydney for work… for a month.”

  “Oh, a whole month? Why?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s confidential at the moment, for work. It’s nothing big—an industry thing—but I need to be in Sydney the whole time, and I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  “You can’t even tell me?”

  “I can’t,” he ran his free hand across his chin and watched her face. “I hope you can understand.”

  “I can, I think. I hope you won’t be this secretive once we’re married.” She smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “I promise I won’t, and don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about that proposal, either. I meant it, although I thought you’d be wearing that great ring I got you more often.”

  “I had to take it off—the girls at work were just too jealous.”

  “I can understand that.” They laughed together and she was struck again by his warmth. The waiter had chatted to him when he took their order, and it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed people telling him all about themselves.

  People like Henry instantly.

  “In all seriousness, I will replace that ring one day, if you still want me to by then.”

  “I guess that depends how your month away goes. If you’re being honest with me, we’ll have no problems.”

  “I’ll call you every day.” He blew out a breath, relieved that she was taking his news so well.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  And hope this doesn’t turn out to make me look like a fool.

  ***

  Right, it was time to get a new plan—to make a new goal. No matter what Lori said, she’d decided for herself. If Henry could keep secrets, so could she. She had a whole month available now, and if she wasn’t going to tell Henry that she couldn’t cook, she was going to have to learn. After a quick internet search and a phone call, she was booked for two lessons per week for four weeks. By the time he got back from Sydney, all her worries would be a distant memory. The first lesson was tonight, and the cooking school had provided a list of ingredients she needed to buy.

  As she cruised the aisles of the supermarket, she consulted the list. 2 zucchinis, eggs, buttermilk, raw sugar, and baking powder. It was an odd assortment, but how hard could it be? The eggs and the zucchinis came first, and were both simple. The baking powder required a search of the aisle with all the cake-making supplies. No matter how many times she scoured the shelves, she couldn’t see it. She examined a packet of baking soda and bit her lip. Perhaps the list had a typo? Were baking soda and baking powder the same thing? Into the basket it went—better than arriving with nothing. Raw sugar proved to be another confusing purchase; so many different types of sugar lined the shelves.

  White sugar, caster sugar, brown sugar. Ahh! Brown sugar—that must be it!

  Her search for buttermilk proved fruitless. Nowhere could she see what she needed. What was buttermilk, anyway? Her phone beeped with a reminder that the cooking class was in an hour. With a thirty-minute drive ahead of her, she needed to get moving. Again, not wanting to show up empty-handed, she grabbed a small carton of full cream milk and went to the checkouts. When her items were loaded into the car, she felt semi-confident with her choices.

  Registration for the class was quick, and she was soon seated in a room with five other hopeless cooks. Each participant looked worried, and Rachel noticed several people fiddling with their plastic bags.

  There’s a chance I might not be the worst cook here.

  The teacher arrived soon after. “Hi, everyone. My name is Jackie and I’ll be taking you through your paces for the month. I want you all to relax. You’ve made it this far, and while you might not be making five course meals when you leave, you’ll know what most cooking terms mean and be able to make basic meals. Your families will notice the difference, I promise. Now, let’s all introduce ourselves.”

  They went around the room, each person saying their name and why they were there. When it was Rachel’s turn, she blushed and told them the truth. “My name is Rachel, and I’m an awful cook—the worst. My new boyfriend is a chef and I need to learn some kitchen skills before he finds out and dumps me.” The class laughed and she sat back in her seat, relieved to have told someone besides Lori, even if these people were strangers.

  “Let’s go through your shopping bags and see what you’ve bought.” Jackie looked a bit too happy and Rachel worried about what was coming. She had fretted over the list—the items didn’t seem like basic ingredients to her. “Everyone, hold up the eggs.” Each person did as asked and Jackie smiled at him or her in turn. “So far, so good. That was the easy one. Now, show me your raw sugar.”

  Rachel held up the brown sugar she’d bought. As her hand held it in the air, she glanced at her neighbour’s sugar and saw that his packet said “raw sugar.”

  Damn. Mine is wrong, then.

  “As you can see, about half of you have raw sugar. The other half purchased brown sugar. You can put your hands down.” She waved her own hand and they put their sugar on the tables. “There is a distinct difference between the two types of sugar, and if you use the wrong one in your recipe, you can have unexpected results. Brown sugar has molasses added to it, which is why it has a distinct taste and a ‘wet’ feel.” Blank faces greeted her around the classroom. Evidently, this was news to everyone in the room and Rachel grinned as she discovered she was amongst her people. More torture was to come, though. “Can everyone please show me the baking powder they bought?”

  Rachel had worked out hers was wrong by this stage. It was clear that this had been a test to teach them about shopping for the right items. She’d failed this first challenge.

  Jackie smiled as each person in the class except for one held up baking soda. “Well, you haven’t let me down. In every class I teach, some students do not know the difference between baking soda and baking powder. When you switch these two ingredients, the end result will not taste right. If you replace baking powder with soda, you will have a bitter taste. If you are baking an item that needs to rise and you mess up these ingredients, your item will most likely not rise. So, the first lesson of this class is to always use the right ingredient for your dish. No swapping items off the shelf because you don’t have the right one.” Several people in the class giggled, including Rachel. “I know what you all do,” Jackie pointed her finger at them. “I’ve seen it all in my three years of running this class. If you remember nothing else, remember not to substitute random ingredients.

  “Okay, now for the last ones. Buttermilk, anyone?” She looked around the room and all heads were shaking.

  Rachel laughed and couldn’t help speaking up. “I substituted mine.” She held up her milk carton.

  “Of course you did, dear. This class always does. For future reference, the buttermilk is in the desserts section—chocolate mousse, cream, custard—somewhere in that vicinity. Now, everyone show me the lovely
zucchinis you’ve bought me.”

  The class dutifully held up their purchases and Jackie nodded around the class—until her eyes fell on the produce Rachel offered.

  “Well, there’s always one. Everyone, please look at Rachel’s zucchinis and tell me what is wrong with them.” Everyone turned to look at her and she looked back, wide-eyed.

  What’s wrong with my zucchinis?

  The man at the next table, whose name she had forgotten, spoke first. “I think those might be cucumbers.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Jackie said. “You bought cucumbers, dear.”

  ***

  When Lori called her the next morning at work, she screamed laughing as Rachel relayed the story of her cooking class. Her friends on Facebook had ridiculed her after she’d posted photos of her cucumbers beside the zucchinis. Lori had called for the full story with all the juicy details.

  “Well, I told you not to take a cooking class, didn’t I? You should have just told him.”

  “I’m beginning to think you were right. I’m not giving up, yet, though. She had some useful information to pass on, and I’m going to learn a lot. It’s so strange to me that most people know this stuff. Half of what she said was completely foreign to me, and to most of the class. At least I’m with the appropriate beginner group. We were all awful. One guy ruined scrambled eggs and had me wondering how he could be so bad!”

  “Well, it was his turn. You had yours with the zucchinis. That was so funny; I was crying when I read it.”

  “You’re welcome. Lucky I didn’t add Henry as a friend, or none of you would have gotten that story out of me.”

  ***

  Three days later, she was back at her station in the group kitchen. The ingredients were supplied for the rest of the classes and Rachel was grateful she didn’t have to endure more laughter at her expense. Today, the schedule said they would practice chopping vegetables. Jackie told them there was a fine art to getting the preparation right and it would reflect in cooking time, as well as the presentation on the plate.

  Urgh… this will be my least favourite part.

  “Rachel, how much time do you spend preparing the ingredients?”

  “As little as possible. It’s so boring.” The rest of the class laughed and she gave them a little bow.

  “I guess it could be considered boring. Maybe you should look at it as an investment in the meal, though. If you put more effort in at the start, the end result will be so much better than you are used to. Now, let’s all start chopping the onions. First, I want you to chop an onion like you normally would, and then I’m going to show you the correct way.”

  “I don’t usually chop onions,” Sheila said from her station. “I use those frozen ones.” The class laughed again and Jackie turned to face them all.

  “Who else uses frozen vegetables to get out of chopping time?” Her eyebrows rose as everyone, including Rachel, raised their hands. “I think that’s the first time the whole class said they do this. Put your hands down. The reason to use fresh vegetables is that their texture is so much better than those flash-frozen ones.” Rachel could feel her eyes glazing over. “Don’t get me wrong, frozen vegetables have their place. If you’re making memorable meals for your family, though, you want to use fresh wherever possible.”

  I’m making memorable meals, all right. Not for the right reasons, though!

  They worked their way through the various vegetables with Jackie moving around the room and correcting each of them on their technique. The callous at the base of Henry’s finger now made sense to Rachel: he chopped a lot of vegetables.

  When it came time to cut up the pumpkin, she wrinkled her nose along with everyone else. Getting this vegetable ready to cook was like a mini gym workout, and the whole class seemed to agree. Jackie explained how best to remove the peel and then encouraged them to dice all the pieces in front of them.

  As Rachel was halfway through her portion, their teacher clapped and asked everyone to look at her. Rachel obliged and looked up. Unfortunately, she didn’t stop cutting and the knife sliced neatly through the edge of her index finger, causing her to squeal.

  All eyes turned to her, instead of Jackie, and she grabbed for a paper towel as the blood started to flow. “Sorry,” she mumbled as Jackie frowned in her direction.

  “Is it alright? Do you need first aid?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll need a Band-Aid, that’s all. You keep talking and I’ll get one when you’re finished.” She squeezed the end of her finger and wrapped the paper towel around it before putting it under the counter so no one could see how much blood there was.

  When Jackie instructed them to finish their cutting, she removed the paper towel and inspected the cut. It stretched from her first knuckle to her fingertip, and was deep, but fairly clean. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle when she went to the first aid cabinet, applied two Band-Aids, and went back to her chopping. Her finger throbbed, but she managed to finish.

  There’s no way I’ll be putting this shame on Facebook!

  ***

  “This is quite nice. You did well,” Lori complimented her that night as they shared the pumpkin soup she’d made in class.

  “It turned out great, didn’t it? Maybe the blood added a little flavour.” They laughed and Rachel broke another piece off the bread they shared. “Josh was right about pumpkin soup being easier. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have attempted pea and ham for the shelter.”

  “Well, you know for next time.”

  “Oh, there won’t be a next time! Imagine how much pumpkin I’d have had to cut up to feed all those people! I’d have no fingers left!”

  “True, now fill me in on the good stuff. When does Henry get back? Have you heard from him?”

  “He’s not back until the end of the month. He calls me every night, though. It’s sweet of him.”

  “Hmm… sounds like he could be in luurve.”

  “Hahaha… I hope so. I kind of miss him, to be honest.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard that from you before. Maybe you’re the one in love?”

  ***

  Next cooking class, Rachel had confirmation that there were a lot worse cooks than her in the class.

  Jackie took her place at the front of the class, waiting for all eyes to turn to her. As their voices died down she tapped a white screen on the wall. “Please watch this. I want you to understand what happens when you don’t pay attention in the kitchen, or you don’t understand how a fire starts.” She leaned forward and tapped her laptop and a video started on the screen. All eyes watched as various scenarios were shown. A demonstration of how oil fires start was first, and gasps filled the room as the fire quickly took hold of the kitchen. In a separate incident the kitchen curtains caught alight and the unattended fire spread to the rest of the house in less than ten minutes. The class snickered at this point. One of them had destroyed a curtain in class days earlier.

  When the video was finished Jackie closed her laptop and the screen on the wall went dark. “Okay, now it’s time to confess to your sins. What’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made in the kitchen? Who wants to go first?”

  Someone called out, “I once spent an hour topping and tailing beans. I thought you had to do them one at a time.” The class laughed and Jackie nodded. Before she could speak someone else called out.

  “I tried to cook an egg in the microwave when I was younger. I thought I’d discovered a new way to boil one until I lifted it out and it exploded and splattered all over me. I had dozens of little burns all over my face and chest and my mum didn’t let me back in the kitchen for months.”

  “That’s nothing. I learned the hard way that you shouldn’t put silver foil in the microwave. I heated up a slice of pizza at work and there were sparks shooting out everywhere. It had to be replaced and to this day they still talk about it at lunch time.”

  “I once used a microwave dish in a convection microwave oven. I melted the plastic dish and the cake stood there in the middl
e like a proud black brick.”

  “I threw out several cans of pink salmon because I kept finding little bones in them. I was so disgusted that the manufacturer had missed them in every single can and I was about to contact them when my parents got home and threw a fit at how much I had wasted. How was I supposed to know the bones were meant to be in there?”

  “Did anyone ever whip cream until it turned into butter?“

  “I have first hand knowledge of why you don’t put a knife into the toaster!”

  “Has anyone else melted a plastic chopping board right onto the stove top?”

  “Spaghetti tacos aren’t a thing—“

  “I boil things dry in the steamer.”

  “If I chat to people while I’m cooking the barbecue, everything becomes char grilled and none of the food is edible.”

  “I got my long hair caught in a mixer when I was making meringue.”

  The tales went around and around until Jackie called a halt to their laughter. “Those stories illustrate exactly why you are here. There’s so much to know about cooking food and you can’t take for granted that whatever you try will work out. I want you to keep paying attention. This class goes for many weeks and if you think you know everything you’ll fall back into your bad habits.”

  She looked at them each in turn since a couple of people were still laughing. “The skills you learn here will help you avoid the disasters we saw in the video. They’ll also help you eat more healthily than most of you are doing now and you might even be able to impress your mum.” She dismissed them and they headed into the kitchen to make the night’s meal.

  Rachel chuckled to herself as she heard someone say to their neighbour, “Yeah, but where would all our funny stories come from then?”

  ***

  Later, Rachel found herself standing by a pan of bolognaise sauce with a big smile on her face. Spaghetti sauce was one of the few dishes she felt confident making. It was easy and didn’t require her constant attention, standing over the pan and stirring it every moment—perfect for someone like her. She’d never manage a batch as great as Lori’s mum, but so far she’d hadn’t been ashamed serving spaghetti bolognaise to a guest.