THE CHEFS SPECIAL

Comic farce by Louise T W Lucas

The overwhelming sensation of joy and excitement that swept through me as I entered the grand foyer of The Bodringham Park Estate Hotel and Spa was immense.What a weekend this was going to be! The online description had promised, 'a magnificent Country house with both heritage and luxury effortlessly combined. The opportunity to fine dine in a contemporary and stylish restaurant on cuisine prepared 'dans la maison,' by it's internationally renowned Michelin star Chef. Guests could enjoy the indoor heated pool and pamper themselves with a range of spa and well-being treatments.'

Not only that.

'I could ride through the 400 acres of parkland on horseback with the wind in my hair, or get lost in the famous Bodringham maze'.

This all sounded wonderful. However, wind in my hair and getting lost was not what I had signed up for.I was here to,'Perfect my skills and master new techniques by partaking in the intensive two day Seafood cookery course'.

This cookery programme would, 'offer me a unique opportunity to advance my cooking abilities and personally engage with the hotels starred Executive Chef Franchot Bouchard.'

On the this course I would,

'create the perfect seasonal seafood dishes .and gain an understanding of sustainable fishing. Not only would I find myself creating delicious fish and shellfish starters and main courses for lunch, my meal would be paired with a complementing glass of wine'.

For two whole days I would reside in this world. A world of elegance, exclusivity and self improvement.Bring it on! I thought.The children have grown up and fled the coup and my husband had swiftly followed. Lured by the charms of his young secretary he had exited stage left. I know, how cliché! Don't worry Ruby. My mother had said.

"Your a good looking woman with much to look forward to. Get out there and enjoy"!

So, here I am, free, single and ready for adventure.

***

My hotel room did not disappoint, fabulously furnished and inclusive of everything one might expect from a five star establishment such as this.

By the time I had unpacked it was about half past three in the afternoon. As the course didn't start until the following day I decided to go for a quick dip in the pool and possibly book a facial.

I was delighted to find that only one other person had decided to take the plunge.

My companion swimmer was a woman called Jean. About my age I would guess, maybe slightly younger, mid forties perhaps. Soft featured pretty face, shoulder length hair dyed blond and a plump though shapely figure.

Jean and I hit it off immediately.

Jean had also recently weathered the ending of a long and arduous marriage.

After our exchange of life stories we agreed to meet up again at six thirty in the

hotels lounge bar and celebrated our arrival with a shared bottle of champagne.

It then seemed only proper to try out some of the great Franchot Bouchard's cuisine and we made for the restaurant.

***

I met the other four guests taking part on the seafood course the following morning at breakfast.

There were two other women.

One in her thirties called Felicity, who wanted to learn new cooking skills in order to impress her boss when he next came to dinner, and Sophia, a French teacher in her late forties who confessed an addiction to life skill enhancing mini breaks, (Last weekend she had been on a Jewellery making course somewhere in Kent).

There were two men. A retired tax man called Harvey, probably in his mid sixties. Still, who were we to judge. I had a feeling he viewed the weekend as an opportunity to make new, or at least some, friends.

Peter on the other hand was a thirty year old estate agent with ambitions to open his own restaurant .

We were all handed crisp white aprons bearing the Bodringham logo and awaited the entrance of our hallowed teacher.

Chef, as we were asked to call him, strode through the kitchen with all the confidence of man fully aware of his God like status in the culinary world.

Tall, imposing and truly handsome, he stood there before us and we were all in awe.

As Franchot scanned the room to assess his subjects I felt my hands start to shake and a sudden increase in heart rate as his gaze met mine.

What beautiful deep brown eyes he had, their intensity only further enhanced by his majestic head of silvery hair.

My legs felt suddenly rather weak.

We were asked to pair up and Jean and I hastily secured our pitch.

My hands were still unsteady as Jean and I stood together watching this master Chef in action. Enthralled by his swift ability to extract the internals of a trout, skin a lemon sole and fillet a large halibut. It was truly mesmerizing.

After showing Felicity and Peter how to prepare their prawns,  Franchot sifted over to our area to give us a hands on demonstration of fish filleting. Brandishing a suitably sharp knife Chef confidently plunged it into the stomach of our trout and swiftly sliced it open from tail to gills. He then ripped out the intestines with a flourish before boning, decapitating, removing the tail and skinning it.

“You make it look so easy Chef.”

Purred Jean gazing up into his face with what I can only describe as irrepressible adoration.

Chef's featured seemed to soften as he looked down into Jeans large wide blue eyes.

“Shall I show you again?” He offered obligingly.  

This time he sidled up close to Jean, took hold of her right hand and made a carefully insertion. Together they sliced the trout from one end to the other.

After completion Jean became rather flustered and giggly and I begun to wonder if my initial feelings of comradeship with this woman had been misguided.

Chef then turned to me and asked me to pull out it's innards.

I did, what I thought, was a decent job.

Chef was not happy, he became quite irritable and started muttering something in French.

Merde I understood, the rest I didn't.

Then Jean started conversing with him in his native tongue.

Chef says he is not happy, you have left some entrails behind even though he has already demonstrated the procedure twice. He says he is wondering whether you have attention deficit disorder or something, though I suspect he was just being sarcastic.

Chef then lent over Jean and once again took her hand. Together they sliced off the trout's head and then it's tail.

Skinning the fish was my task.

This really is quite a tricky. However, I felt I had done well.

With renewed confidence I looked into Franchot's face for signs of approval, and possibly, a flicker of admiration.

Neither expression was apparent.

A further exchange between Chef and Jean ensued .

She then informed me that according to Chef I had taken off too much of the fish meat and that I was an extremely sloppy worker who lacked quite basic cookery skills.

Chef then abandoned us and wandered over to the tax man who was partnered up with Sophia.

They were busily hacking away at a lobster.

As the day progressed Franchot wandered from table to table offering his advise and expressing his dissatisfaction with our efforts, particularly mine.

I'm ashamed to admit that by the time we had had our lunch and complimentary glass of wine I was beginning to feel slightly teary and twice had to hurry to the wash room for some deep breathing exercises.

I had so wanted to shine, to impress and make this incredibly gorgeous man look at me in the same way as he did Jean, who seemed to have acquired the status of teachers pet.

Sensing my rather subdued spirits Jean told me that I really shouldn't take Chef's derogatory comments to heart.

“He's a perfectionist she insisted. Nothing will ever match up to his standards.”

Well, I thought begrudgingly, you seem to match his exacting requirements.

By the time Chef returned to taste my smoked salmon, crab and watercress tureen, I was a woman on the edge.

When he then paused, looked theatrically around the room and declared it a triumph I nearly fainted.

Instead a flood of tears cascaded from my eyes with unbridled joy and relief.

Franchot then announced the days lessons over.

Jean suggested we head immediately for the bar to enjoy a large gin and tonic.

“Isn't he amazing! Exclaimed Jean. Just ludicrously handsome”

“I can't say I noticed.” I lied.”I found him something of a bully if truth be told.”

Jean insisted that he was perhaps more masterful than bullying.

Sophia and Harvey were already deep in conversation at the far end of the bar, whereas Felicity and Peter were no where to be seen.

Jean and I sat down with our triple gins.

Jean divulged that she was absolutely head over heels with Franchot and that if he was to make a play for her she would simply not be able to resist.

I too suspected that Franchot might have expectations of some boudoir action with Jean prior to her departure on Sunday. A  possibility that rather miffed me and only increased the hollow empty feeling I now harboured in the very pit of my stomach

Franchot arrived unexpectedly half an hour later and after greeting Sophia and Harvey came over to us and sat down.

“Bonsior madame's may I enjoy your company for a short while, the sous Chef is busy with is preparations and I ave a few precious minutes to spare.”

This was the point where Jean began to lose control of her senses and adopted the behaviour of a love struck overly flirtatious teenager.

Franchot ordered a bottle of something called Pessac Leognan to be sent over from the bar, informing us that it was the best white wine of the Bordeaux region and we really should try it.

Unfortunately Jeans nerves were getting the better of her and she gulped down the first glass before Franchot or I had hardly had a chance to savour it's rich bouquet.

It was not long before Jean was helping herself to the Pessac and proclaiming it a really lovely full bodied wine with grapey undertones and a hint of musk.

I then began to suspected that my new found friend had maybe watched the film 'Basic Instincts' rather too many times. She started crossing and uncrossing her legs in a fashion that was in no way reminiscent of the famous scene staring Sharon Stone.

Wildly waving her arms around without any obvious purpose, the two top buttons of her blouse burst and she demanded another bottle of the white stuff.

Franchot looked horrified but obliged.

A second bottle arrived, Jean poured herself another glass, drank that, then stood up insisting she needed the powder room before passing out.

Franchot hailed for hotel staff to assist and with their help I made sure Jean was safely ensconced in her hotel room and carefully placed on the bed in the recovery position.

Rather than return to the bar I retired to my own room. Looking out on this charming view from my window I caught sight of Peter and Felicity galloping passed, their hair most certainly ruffled and windswept.Day two was something of a disaster all round.

Peter and Felicity were a no show.  Boiling up fish heads to make stock had obviously lost it's lustre. Either that or they had actually got lost.

As I had peered out of my window at the lush dewy lawn that morning I'm sure I had seen Peter and Felicity running with laughter and gaiety towards the maze.

On the other hand, a certain distance and frostiness had developed between Sophia and Harvey. Sophie had been given the room only two doors up from my own and I'm sure I heard an angry exchange between herself and a man, probably Harvey, late that evening.

I caught only a few words, lecherous being one, and creep being the other.

Jean arrived last looking extremely pale and generally out of sorts.

The attraction Franchot had displayed towards Jean the previous day was no longer in evidence.

Surveying the depleted and unenthusiastic crew before him, Chef's mood darkened and he delivered the mornings teachings with what can only be described as ill concealed contempt, shouting clipped instructions at us while waving his fish knife around in a quite threatening manner.

With dampened enthusiasm I set about prepping a haddock. Jean wasn't up to filleting so I allocated her the task of taking the fish offal over to the waste disposal on the other side of the kitchen.

By midday Franchot's incessant shouting proved too much for a rather jaded Jean to tolerate.

Tearing off her apron she informed Franchot of her intention to return to her hotel room where she wouldn't have to listen to the incessant rantings of a mad megalomaniac cook. As she reached the exit she threw one final insult in Chefs direction, declaring that the Pate De Maison we had eaten in the restaurant on our first night was seriously lacking in seasoning. Then she slammed the door.

There was nothing but silence in the kitchen for a few minutes post departure.

Franchot, suddenly blind with furry, stormed off In pursuit, no doubt with the intention of exchanging a few choice words of his own.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the simple task of walking as far as the waste disposal without slopping half the fish innards on the floor had proved too challenging for Jean in her delicate condition.

Franchot slipped on some haddock scraps and lost his footing.

Sophia, Harvey and I ran to assistance at the sound of Chefs head hitting the slate floor with a resounding thud.

The last time I saw Franchot was as the paramedics were piling him into the back of an ambulance.

Of course, we all demanded a refund and that evening over a 'hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-her', Jean and I decided that we would spend our reclaimed money on another weekend away, Sophia had told us about a really good creative writing course she had been on at a hotel in Berkishire.

***

Our first task was to compose a short story of no more than two thousand five hundred words.

Write about something you have actual knowledge and experienced of suggested our tutor.

So I have, this is it.

Should anyone be interested, I feel obliged to inform you that the Bodringham Park Estate Hotel and Spa no longer offer all inclusive cookery course weekends.

The End