A Catered Affair (20 page)

“Of course I’m here. I’m a refugee. I came to this country on the last Kindertransport.”

“I had no idea.”

“And look who came to collect me,” Nana said, “and take me out for a fancy dinner in Hampstead.”

“Hey, Tally,” he said. “Good to see you.”

“You, too. And I have to say I’m loving the Pillsbury Doughboy look.”

“Ah. The hat. Blame my aunty Pearl. She roped me into doing the catering and she decided it made me look more professional.”

“Who’s she? The cat’s mother?” a voice piped up. It belonged to the woman with the dishcloth who had been making a fuss about food being thrown away.

Kenny took off the hat—presumably because it felt safe, now that tea was over—and turned towards the voice. “Sorry, Aunty Pearl. Come over here. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Aunty Pearl put down her dishcloth, wiped her hands down her polyester slacks and came trotting over. “And the reason I asked him to wear the hat,” she said after Kenny had made all the introductions, “is that he isn’t really a caterer.”

“He’s not?” I said.

Kenny rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, “I’m actually a spy working for military intelligence. Buried in my chocolate mousse cake is secret microfilm, which I have to hand over at the stroke of midnight to a bloke in a fedora who will be waiting for me on London Bridge.”

“Very funny,” Aunty Pearl said. “My nephew, the comedian. The point I’m trying to make is that Kenny is actually a professional, top-class chef. He’s worked in all the best establishments.”

I looked at Kenny. “You never said. But it makes sense. Everything you make is superb.”

“I’ll second that,” Nana said. “The strudel just melted in your mouth. I’m ashamed to say that I was forced to have three pieces.”

“That won’t do your gastric reflux much good,” Kenny said.

“Would you believe it? The boy remembered my reflux. That is so sweet.”

Kenny asked her if she’d been in touch with Stewart’s mum’s alternative therapist.

“I haven’t, darling, but I will. I promise.”

By now Aunty Pearl was cutting into the remains of a chocolate mousse cake. “Here, bubbie, taste this,” she said, offering me a giant slice from the fingers that had, until recently, been holding the dishcloth. I took it from her and bit into the slice. “Wow. Kenny. I’ve never tasted anything like this. It’s fabulous.” I put the remainder back on the plate because I knew if I ate any more it would ruin my appetite.

“Here, wipe your fingers,” Nana said, handing me a tissue.

“He’s worked all over the world,” Aunty Pearl continued. “The Ritz, Tour d’Argent, Le Berkeley, Gordon Ramsay. You name it.”

“Aunty Pearl, London and Paris are hardly the world.”

“There was that place in Sydney.”

“I was eighteen. I chopped vegetables.”

“Actually,” Nana said, “we have some idea of how talented Kenny is. He did the catering for Tally’s wedding.”

I watched Aunty Pearl’s face darken. She looked at me. “Oh, so you’re married.”

“Actually,” I said, “the groom ran off on the day of the wedding.”

Aunty Pearl’s face lit up again. “No! What a thing to happen! You must have been devastated. So are you seeing anybody right now?”

“There’s nobody,” Nana said, looking positively mournful.

Aunty Pearl took my hand in both of hers. “Take my advice. Don’t leave it too long. You’re a pretty girl, but your looks won’t last forever.”

“Thank you for those words of wisdom,” Kenny said. “I’m sure Tally greatly appreciates them.”

“Anyway, I can’t stand here nattering all day,” Aunty Pearl said. “I have to get on and put away the clean crockery.” With that, Aunty Pearl took her leave and Kenny turned back to me.

“By the way,” he said, “thanks again for the Scotch. You really didn’t need to.”

“Oh, I so did,” I said.

Nana’s ears had pricked up. “I don’t understand. Why did you have to send Kenny Scotch?”

“Why? . . . Oh, well, after you left that night, I felt a bit queasy and Kenny came to my rescue.”

“Huh, I’m not surprised you felt queasy after all the drink you’d put away.” She paused. “Speaking of feeling queasy . . . You know, I’m not sure I’m up for dinner. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“But you were fine a minute ago.”

“It just came on. All of a sudden. I’ll get Millie to drive me home.”

“What? Millie’s still got a driver’s license?”

“She’s a very good driver, I’ll have you know.”

“But she’s so small. She can barely see over the dashboard.”

“Tally, stop fretting. Millie has no problem driving. You stay and chat with Kenny. Maybe the two of you could go out to dinner.”

Wasting no time, Nana kissed Kenny and me good-bye and went in search of Millie Siderman.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I said, turning to Kenny. “My grandmother isn’t always the most tactful of people.”

“What about Aunty Pearl? Did you see the way her face fell when she thought you were married?”

I admitted that I had.

“Sorry I blabbed about the Scotch,” he said.

“That’s OK—it’s just that I thought it best not to tell Nana or my mum that I spent the night with you . . . not that Mum would mind. She’s very liberal, but she has the habit of reading too much into things.”

“I understand . . . So, your Nana can’t wait to get you fixed up?”

“She means well, but she doesn’t seem to understand that dating is the last thing on my mind. I know I have to move on, but the way I feel right now, I’m not sure I’ll ever trust a man enough to have another relationship.”

“It’s funny you should show up, because I was planning to call you to see how you were doing. I thought you might appreciate some support from somebody who knows what you’re going through.”

“That’s really kind. So what happened between you and your girlfriend? You never said.”

“Well, her name was Steph. I really loved her. There was me, thinking we’d eventually get married, and then one night over dinner, totally out of the blue, she announces she’s found somebody else and she’s leaving.”

“God. That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t great. So anyway, now she’s living with this bloke. He’s a cunnilingus teacher.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not. He runs a company in Covent Garden called Lick. You can Google it.”

I said I’d rather not.

“The thing is,” he said, “I still feel that the breakup was my fault.”

“I’m the same. You know it’s illogical, but you can’t help it.”

“I can’t help thinking that, I must have been a crap lover. I mean, I always thought that, cunnilingus-wise, I was an eight out of ten. Nine on a good day.” He paused and ran his hand over his head. “That’s too much information, isn’t it?”

“Just a tad, maybe.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m not usually like this—at least not until I’ve had a drink. It’s just that the breakup still feels so raw, I guess, and everything that happened is still swirling around in my mind. I keep off-loading on people and making a complete arse of myself.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “I made a gargantuan arse of myself in front of you. You’d have to go a long way to match my performance.”

He thought for a moment. “Actually, you’re right,” he said, grinning. “Hearing you say that has made me feel a lot better.”

“You’re not meant to say that.” I laughed. “You should remain mortified for at least a month.”

Just then a familiar voice piped up. “Right, I’ll be off, then. I’ve got a taxi waiting.” Aunty Pearl was standing in front of us with her coat on. She was holding two carrier bags, presumably filled with leftovers that she considered it a crime to throw away.

Kenny wanted to know why she was taking a taxi and not letting him take her home.

“You live in the opposite direction, for one, and for another, you’ve worked hard enough today. Now, come here and give your aunty Pearl a kiss.” Kenny not only obliged but went in for a bear hug.

“And thank you for the wonderful tea,” she said. “People were so impressed. They can’t stop talking about it.”

“My pleasure,” Kenny said. “Anytime.”

At that point, Aunty Pearl turned to me and urged me not to forget what she’d said about getting back on the dating scene. I promised I wouldn’t.

She turned to go and then stopped.

“You know, I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Tally were saying just before.”

Kenny shot me a look that was half amusement, half panic. “Really? What did you hear?”

“The bit about the cunning linguist. You know who was a great linguist? Your uncle Sol, may he rest in peace. He could speak five languages.”

With that she was gone.

K
enny and I were in the middle of saying our good-byes when it occurred to me that it seemed a shame to waste the reservation at Deep Blue.

“Look, I know Nana Ida set us up,” I said, “but we’ve both got to eat. Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

“Only to go home to another TV dinner,” he said. “These days, I can’t face cooking for myself.”

“Me, neither.”

“And the food at Deep Blue is amazing,” he went on. “I’ve eaten there a few times. Did you know they’ve just got their second Michelin star?”

I didn’t. It was settled. We were going out to dinner.

Kenny said he needed to get changed and finish clearing up, so he suggested I go on ahead. “Get a drink. I’ll be ten minutes behind you.”

We ordered Dover sole fried in butter and a bottle of Sancerre. When the wine came, the waiter asked if Kenny would like to taste it. He declined. “Just go ahead and pour,” he said. “I’m sure it will be fine.” After the waiter had gone, I asked Kenny why he hadn’t tasted it. “I hate all that pretentious swirling and sniffing. I just get embarrassed. The way I look at it, if the wine is bad, you just send it back.” When he finally took a sip, he didn’t announce that it had a powerful viscosity, a peachy, dried apricot nose and good “legs.” All he said was, “Wow. That tastes good. Really wine flavored.”

When the food arrived, he rolled up his sleeves, squeezed lemon over his fish and started dipping his bread in the golden, buttery juice. “Oh boy. This is glorious.”

I followed his lead and got squeezing and dunking. “Umm,” I said through a mouthful of bread and warm, lemony butter. “You’re not wrong.”

“And see how the fish just falls off the bone?” he went on. He was really getting stuck in now. “And it’s ever-so-slightly undercooked. Perfect.” He dipped his bread again and took another glug of wine. This was how the French and the Italians ate—with gusto and delight and complete lack of inhibition.

Jews were the same. So I guess Kenny’s enthusiasm was partly genetic. What was more, Jews—at least the ones I knew—were big on tasting one another’s food. Even cutlery was shared. “Here, Tally, taste these kung pao noodles—they’re to die for,” Nana Ida would say, practically forcing her fork into my mouth.

“Come on,” Kenny was saying now, “why aren’t you eating?”

“Sorry. I was miles away.” I started scraping fish off the bone. “You know, Josh hated eating fish. He couldn’t manage the bones. It’s weird. There he was, a highly skilled surgeon, and he couldn’t filet a fish.”

Kenny said that Steph loved food and that they used to cook together most evenings. “I really enjoyed those times—messing about in the kitchen. That’s one of the reasons I can’t face cooking for myself. It brings back all those memories.”

I could see he was getting upset, so I decided to change the subject. “So, how did the catering for the baby shower go? Did your poop turn out OK?”

“Fantastic. Exactly the right consistency.”

We looked up to see the waiter hovering with more bread. He was wearing a po-faced expression, pretending not to have heard. Equally po-faced, we each took a slice. The moment he’d gone we were giggling like a couple of kids who’d been caught telling smutty jokes in class.

At some stage I asked Kenny how he became a chef. “Easy—my mother is the world’s worst cook. I got so fed up with her burnt offerings that I taught myself to cook and realized I had a talent. God knows where it came from. The talent turned into a passion, and by the time I was sixteen I knew I wanted to be a chef.”

“So you never went to uni?”

He laughed. “God no. Education has never been big on the agenda in my family. I was born in Hoxton—before it got trendy. There was never much money. My dad and brother own a market stall selling handbags. It was always assumed that I’d go out to work at eighteen. Dad is a firm believer that the best place to learn is at ‘the university of life.’ But I was determined to do a bit of traveling, so after school I spent a few months backpacking and ended up in Sydney.”

“Where you got the job chopping vegetables.”

“Yep.”

I said that I didn’t understand why with all his experience at some of the world’s top eateries, he was running a catering business instead of his own restaurant.

“Money. Chefs don’t earn much until they make it big. Since the recession, banks still aren’t lending to new businesses, so I started working for Stewart. We met in Sydney and have been best mates ever since. His business was already successful in Manchester, but he wanted me to develop the London end, which I’ve done. We’re doing really well, and now we’re fifty-fifty partners. Stewart’s in it for the long haul, but he knows that eventually my aim is to have him buy out my half of the business so that I can open a restaurant.” He took a glug of wine and then flipped his Dover sole and began scraping fish from the other side.

“Very skillful,” I said re the flip. “If I’d tried to do that, the fish would have fallen to pieces and made a mess all over my plate.”

He laughed. “It’s a knack.”

The conversation moved from flipping Dover sole to the law. The day they’d met at the Park Royal, Nana had bragged to Kenny that I was a human rights attorney.