Ode to Erik

You Are NOT Jamie Oliver

"Well it seems that the stupid harlequin just has not learnt his lesson. He simply does not know when to call it a day and give up on a bad job. He insists on tempting fate doesn't he? He knows that he's useless, so why bloody bother?

He has been stalking about for a few hours now, just mopping; pretending to dust around, fake reading of books, falsely polishing his boots. All the while, dear little Evey just sits reading some book quietly. Poor girl, I can see her fidgeting nervously, he's making her worried…prat!

After what must have been hours now of this mooching about, the daring child forces a confession from him. Telling him has been hanging around for hours and that he obviously wants something, so he should get some balls and just ask her whatever it is he wants to ask.

With a most horrified gasp, he finally relents and plucks up enough courage to ask her to dinner, here in the Shadow Gallery.

Poor poor girl, what a mistake.

She accepts.

The cad does some type of little jig, hopping about like a man possessed, then promptly tells her to be ready for seven o' clock sharp and he will escort her from her room. Evey disappears into her room somewhere and the fop slides away and out of the door.

(Now this is the bit that really makes me wonder why he bothers any more.)

After about an hour or so, he masked buffoon reappears with armfuls of bags of shopping; must have cost a small fortune! He begins to unpack and out come an array of culinary delights. If I had a mouth, it would be watering I can tell you!

Fresh monkfish. Fois gras. Spears of asparagus. Fresh Italian tortellini. Crunchy leaves of spinach. Basil. Quails eggs. Caviar. Scottish smoked salmon. Spanish cantaloupes. English strawberries. Devon clotted cream. Finest filet of beef. Succulent papayas. Ripe mangos. Tender venison strips. Butternut squash. Juicy elderberries. Chilled champagne. King tiger prawns. Herb infused risotto.

So many delightful and delectable ingredients, surely this was to be a feast fit for kings!

He dug out a plethora of unused cookbooks from lofty cupboards; ranging from How To Cook Fish to Cooking For Dinner Parties. He dusted them down and plonked them in front of him proud as punch. The fop began to pour over the spectacular recipes. He began muttering to himself: what to make? Such a quandary for such an 'intellectual' man…

Maybe flamed grilled filet mignon, with rich peppercorn sauce and sautéed potatoes? Hmmm…

How about quails eggs with steamed asparagus spears and a fresh basil salad? Might be nice…

Possibly smoked salmon in a white wine sauce, on a bed of boiled spinach and tomato ricotta? Tempting…

What about boiled avocado, fresh mozzarella, plum tomato and basil soup? Oh I don't know…

The possibilities were truly endless; he was bewildered and befuddled, scratching his confused head. Where would he start? Then the realization set in…

What would the young lady like?

What should I make?

Oh god, how do I turn the oven on?

What does 'julienne' mean?

How do you cook beef?

Is lettuce meant to be raw?

Eww, what is that thing on top of the strawberry?

Is that thing meant to make that noise?

Come on man, get a hold of yourself! You've slain Fingermen. Blown up state buildings. Learnt Shakespeare word for word! This is a breeze, you can cook a meal for her no problems! What sort of man are you? Give me a pot, a pan and a few ingredients and I'd cook such a sumptuous meal, she wouldn't believe!

An hour later he began to cook.

Dear Jesus.

The noises. The smells. The screams. The injuries…

I shuddered with fear.

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When Evey emerged from her room at seven o' clock on the dot; she was a vision. Dressed in a beautiful black knee-length wrap dress, hair loosely tied back, a little red lip-stick. She looked stunning; my soft spot for her grew even more! (I think she was a little disappointed that her escort never arrived.)

She seated herself at the specially laid table; admiring the roses he had set out, her face illuminated by the candles dotted around. She fingered the velvet table-cloth and smiled. The cad had used his best china and cutlery…bloody show-off.

She took a sip of champagne and waited for her chef to arrive. What would it be? She mused, expecting something out of this world!

(But she swore just heard the microwave ping…)

Within a few minutes, the fool arrived. With two plates in hand covered by silver lids. He set them down on the table and sheepishly joined her. She commented that everything looked amazing; the roses, the candles, that everything was perfect.

(He just scratched the back of his neck nervously, trying to discreetly wipe away the stains on his mask and tunic.)

(She did wonder though, what that dirty stain on his sleeve was. Is that…no it can't be…)

She also commented on how excited she was to see what her hero had cooked for her. A proper little Jamie Oliver aren't we V? She was beaming with pride…

Imagine her disappointment when she lifted the silver lid, only to discover…beans on toast.

He spent hours slaving over a hot stove and then the penny finally dropped for her.

This man really cannot cook."