My house, my kitchen, Margaret said firmly.
Thank you for taking away my right to even make a mistake? In my own home
In my home, Margaret replied quietly, but with such weight that the words fell like stones. This is my home, Alice. And in my kitchen, theres simply no place for inedible experiments.
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen.
Alice, darling, you must realise yourselfwhat you brought to the table was impossible to serve.
Your parents are respectable people. I couldnt let them chew through that sole, Margaret continued, calmly pouring tea into delicate bone china cups.
Alice stood at the edge of the table, feeling a tight, burning knot twist up inside her. Her ears rang.
On her parents plates, whod just left for the lounge with Daniel, lay the remains of the so-called sole a juicy duck breast in cranberry sauce Alice had spent four hours making. Or so she believed.
Its not a sole, Alices voice wavered, but she forced herself to hold her mother-in-laws gaze. I followed Mums marinade to the letter. I went out of my way to buy a free-range duck. Where is it, Margaret?
Margaret placed the teapot back with effortless grace and wiped her hands on the spotless white tea towel draped over her shoulder.
There wasnt the faintest hint of remorse on Margarets face just the kind of pity youd show a lost puppy.
Its in the bin, dear. Your marinade lets put it kindly smelt so strongly of vinegar it made my eyes water.
I prepared a normal confit. With thyme, slow-cooked You saw your father go back for seconds, didnt you? Now thats the standard.
As for what you hacked up, pop it in a roadside canteenno higher.
You had no right, Alice whispered. It was my dinner. My gift to my parents for their anniversary. You didnt even ask.
What was there to ask? Margaret raised an eyebrow, her blue eyes taking on the steely glint honed over years of running restaurant kitchens. When theres a fire, you dont stand on ceremony to put it out. I was saving the familys reputation! Daniel would have been awfully upset if the guests fell ill.
Go on, take out the cake. I tweaked it a bit, by the way. The icing was far too runny, had to add some thickener and a bit of orange zest.
Alice looked down at her trembling hands. Shed spent the whole day whirling around that kitchen while Margaret supposedly had a rest in her room.
Shed measured every ingredient, pressed her sauce through a sieve, decorated each plate like a pro. She wanted so much to prove she wasnt just Daniels plus-one, not just a tenant, but the woman of the house someone who could lay the table for her own family.
But the moment shed dashed off to get changed before the guests arrived, the professional seized the kitchen.
Alice, whats keeping you? Daniels voice startled her as he appeared in the doorway, still glowing with wine and contentment. Mum, that duck was out of this world! Alice, youve really outdone yourself I didnt know you could cook like that.
Alice turned slowly to her husband.
That wasnt me, Daniel.
What do you mean? He blinked.
Exactly that. Your mother threw out my food and made her own. Everything you just ate from the salad to the main was hers.
Daniel froze, glancing from his wife to his mother. Margaret just happened to be wiping the already spotless worktop.
Come on, Alice Daniel tried to put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off. Mum was only trying to help. If she saw something was going off track you know what shes like about standards. But it turned out amazing! Your parents loved it. What does it matter who cooked if everyone had a great evening?
What does it matter? Alice felt stinging tears well up. It matters because in this house, Im nobody. Furniture. Window-dressing. I spent three days planning that meal I wanted to cook for my parents, not be made out to be some butter-fingered idiot who cant even whip up a sauce.
No one made you out to be anything, Margaret chimed in, folding the tea towel with meticulous care. We never told them. They think its your handiwork. I saved your face, Alice. You could try saying thank you instead of putting on this little scene.
Thank you? Alice gave a bitter laugh. Thank you for denying me even the right to fail? In my own house
In my house, Margaret repeated, soft, but with iron in her tone. Its my house, Alice. And theres no room in my kitchen for food that cant be eaten.
The silence returned, broken only by the distant chatter of Alices father in the lounge, punctuated with laughter.
Theyre so at ease in there Thinking their daughters made them proud, while inside, Alice felt as if shed been publicly slapped, then had salt rubbed into the sting.
She left the kitchen quietly, passing her parents in the lounge.
Mum, Dad, sorry, Im not feeling well. My heads just throbbing. Daniel will see you out, alright?
Alice, whats wrong? her mother fussed, rising to her feet. That duck was divine; perhaps you overworked yourself preparing all this? Such an effort!
Yes, Alice replied, eyes fixed somewhere above her mothers shoulder. A bit too much, I think. I wont do it again.
She shut herself in the bedroom and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. One thought pounded over and over: I cant go on like this.
It had been dragging on for months ever since they’d moved in with Margaret “for a bit,” while saving up a deposit for a small flat.
If Alice bought groceries, Margaret would rifle through the bags in distaste: Where did you find this tomato? Its so plastic, it belongs in a film, not a salad.
If Alice tried to fry potatoes, Margaret loomed behind her, sighing heavily, as if witnessing a criminal act.
In the end, Alice just stopped entering the kitchen when Margaret was there.
Tonight was meant to be her triumph. It felt like a surrender.
The door creaked gently. Daniel came in.
Theyve gone. Alls well if we forget your little outburst. Mum went a bit far, Ill talk to her, but
Theres no need, Alice cut him off, and pulled an overnight bag from the wardrobe.
What are you doing? Daniel hovered at the door.
Packing my things. Im going to Mum and Dads. Tonight.
Alice, dont be silly. Over a duck? Seriously? Its just a meal!
Its not just food, Daniel! Alice twisted, clutching her favourite jumper. Its about respect. Your mother she sees me as some irritating extra wrecking her perfect world. And you let her Mum meant well, Mums a professional but what about me? Im your wife, not an apprentice in her kitchen!
She didnt mean to hurt you, its just shes been in restaurants her whole life. Shes used to everything being perfect.
Then let her live in her perfect world. Alone, or with you. I want a home where I can oversalt soup and burn eggs, and no one throws my attempts away while Im in the shower.
And where will you go? Daniel tried to catch her hand. Its dark outside. Lets talk in the morning.
No. If I stay till morning, Ill just be told I brewed the coffee wrong.
I cant anymore, Dan. Either we find somewhere to rent tomorrow, anywhere, even a bedsit or I dont know.
You know we cant afford it right now, Daniels face hardened, voice edged with frustration. Were saving. Just six more months, well have a proper deposit. Why throw money away on rent? Please, just hang in there.
Alice stared at him as though seeing a stranger. In his eyes, there was no understanding of her pain only calculation, willing the conflict to evaporate.
Six months? she gave a brittle laugh. Ill have vanished by then. Im just a ghost here.
She threw essentials into the bag toiletries, underwear, t-shirts. The zip struggled, protesting.
When she stepped into the hall, Margaret stood there, arms folded, eyes set for battle.
A grand exit? Margaret enquired, lips thin. Act three of Unappreciated Genius of Cuisine?
No, Margaret, Alice replied, slipping on her shoes. Its the finale. Youve won. The kitchens all yours now. Feel free to throw out my spices; Im sure theyre not up to scratch either.
Alice, enough! Daniel hurried after her. Mum, say something!
What do you want me to say? Margaret shrugged. If a girls ready to break up a marriage over a saucepan, perhaps thats all the marriage was.
At her age, I knew how to admit mistakes and learn from my elders. But now everyones their own master
Alice didnt stay for more. She grabbed her bag and closed the flat door behind her.
The cold night air was delicious after the kitchens stifling drama.
Walking to the lift, she heard muffled voices behind her Daniel pleading with his mother, Margaret answering with her flat, teachers tone.
***
All week Alice stayed at her parents. They understood, though they tried not to intrude. Mum just sighed, slipping a pancake onto Alices plate the simple, ordinary kind, not confit or demi-glace, just proper, honest pancakes.
Daniel called every day. At first he sounded cross, then he pleaded, then promised to have it out with his mother, properly. On the fifth day, he turned up in person.
Alice, please come back, he looked awful: dark circles, crumpled shirt. Mum shes not well.
Alice froze, teacup in hand.
Whats wrong with her? Blood pressure again?
No Its some dreadful virus, apparently. Temperature up to 40 for three days.
Shes sleeping now, but Alice, shes in a state. She wont eat, says she cant taste a thing. At all.
What do you mean? Alice frowned. Lost her sense of taste?
No, nothing. Its like eating paper, she says. Cant smell anything, either. You know what thats like for her
She smashed a jar of her favourite spices yesterday because she couldnt pick up the aroma. Sat on the floor and cried. Ive never seen her cry, Alice.
Slowly the anger Alice had so carefully nurtured all week began to thaw, tinged with something like pity.
She remembered Margarets morning ritual grinding coffee, breathing it in as if it were oxygen before the day began.
For someone whose world was honed to the finest taste, the aroma of fresh basil, the art of perfecting a sauce, losing her senses was like a painter going blind.
Has she seen a doctor? Alice asked softly.
She has. They said its neurological could come back in a week, or a year, or never.
Shes locked herself in the bedroom. Says if she cant taste, she doesnt exist any more.
Alice gazed out at the swirling snow in the streetlights. She pictured Margaret that steely matriarch of the kitchen now lost in her immaculate flat, unable to tell vanilla from garlic. It was frightening. Really frightening.
Alice, Im not asking you to come back for me, Daniel said quietly. But please, help her. Shes terrified of the kitchen. Made soup the other day, put in so much salt it was inedible, and didnt even realise until I tried it. Shes desperate.
And what can I do? Alices voice was hollow. She never let me near anything. I was useless not fit to stand at the hob.
Youre her only hope. Shed never admit it. But I watched her looking at your empty space in the fridge.
The next day, Alice returned. Not because shed forgiven Margaret, but because she felt a strange, almost familial responsibility. Margaret was a prickly part of her life, like it or not.
It smelt odd in the flat. Not warm from baking, not the sweet tang of stewed veg just the stale scent of dust and gloom.
Alice went to the kitchen. Margaret sat at the table, looking years older, her hair once always coiffed, now pulled carelessly back. She stared into her tea without moving.
Afternoon, Margaret, Alice said quietly.
Margaret started, raising her head slowly.
Come to gloat? she asked hollowly. Go ahead. Fry your sole. I couldnt tell it from fillet steak now.
Alice set down her bag and approached. Margarets hands those miraculous hands trembled.
Im not here to gloat. Im here to cook.
Why? Margaret turned to the window. I cant taste a thing. The worlds gone grey, Alice. It’s as if someones switched off the sound and the colour. Bread is cotton wool. Coffee is just hot water. Why waste the groceries?
Alice shrugged off her coat.
Because, Ill be your tongue and nose. Tell me what to do; Ill taste for both of us.
Margarets laugh sounded bitter and defeated.
You? You wouldnt spot thyme from marjoram dried. Youll just slice your thumb.
Well, teach me. Or are you giving up?
Silence. Margaret stared at her hands for a long time, then at Alice. For a moment, that old spark sharp and proud flashed in her eyes.
You still cant hold a knife right, she grumbled. Youll cut yourself.
Then you can stick a plaster on. Now, we’ve got some beef what about a bourguignon?
Margaret got up and moved towards the stove, hand on the cold hob.
A bourguignon needs proper browning caramelise, not burn. Youll just stew everything.
Then keep your eye on me. Sit here. Give orders if you must. Just no insults; treat me like a trainee, not a punch-bag.
Margaret sat heavily at the prep table, watching Alice clumsily grip the knife.
Change your grip, she barked suddenly. Thumb on top, forefinger on the side.
Don’t use brute force let the meat feel the edge, not your brawn.
Alice adjusted her fingers.
Like this?
Marginally better. Dice it three centimetres square. Uniform, or itll cook unevenly. Thats the basics, Alice.
So the lesson began. Alice sliced, chopped, browned. Margaret hovered, nostrils twitching out of habit, but her face twisted in pain there was no scent.
Now the wine, Margaret said. Splash in a bit, let the alcohol cook off.
Alice did as told. The kitchen quickly filled with the rich, earthy aroma of red wine.
How does it smell? Margaret asked quietly.
Alice paused, inhaling.
It smells like the end of summer, when the rain comes in the woods. Sharp but sweet underneath.
Margaret closed her eyes, repeating Alice’s words as if trying to conjure the lost world.
Theyre the tannins. Good. Add a pinch of sugar to round it off.
And now? Alice tasted the sauce. Its nice. But missing a bit of kick?
Mustard only a touch, the Dijon. Thats the bass note.
Alice stirred in some mustard and tasted again. Her eyes widened.
Wow that changes everything! How do you do that, without tasting?
Margaret managed a faint, tired smile for the first time in days.
Memory, dear. Taste isnt only on your tongue. I have thousands of recipes in my head.
The whole evening drifted by in the kitchen. When Daniel came home, the aroma of slow-cooked beef greeted him like an embrace.
Blimey! Daniel stopped in his tracks. What a smell! Mum, youre better?
Margaret sat exhausted but oddly at peace.
No, Daniel. Alice cooked. I just got in her way.
Daniel stared at her. Alice winked, drying her hands on the apron.
Come and eat, she said. And dont dare say its too salty. We measured every grain together, didnt we, Margaret?
As Daniel devoured his second helping, Margaret suddenly spoke into the silence.
Alice do you know why I threw away your duck?
Alice froze with her fork halfway up.
Why?
It was fine. Not perfect but fine, really.
So why did you do it?
Margaret looked up, and in her eyes Alice saw something she’d never expected fear. Real, human fear.
Because if youd cooked it perfectly, Id have been unnecessary. Son grown up, his own life, his own woman. And me Im a cook. If Im not feeding people, Im nothing. Just an old woman taking up a spare room.
I needed to show I was essential, that Im still the heart of this kitchen.
Alice set her fork down slowly. Shed only ever seen Margaret as an immovable tower, a dictator convinced of her own rightness.
But really, she was just a scared woman clinging to her saucepans like a life raft.
Youll never be unnecessary, Margaret, Alice said gently, approaching her. Who else will teach me to hold a knife properly? Today I realised I know nothing about food.
Margaret sniffed and suddenly drew herself up, polishing her usual strict composure.
Thats clear enough. You still chop like a claw-handed sailor. Tomorrow, we tackle proper custard. If you dump thickener in again, Im turfing you out.
Alice grinned.
Deal. And if I get it right you owe me the recipe for that honey cake.
Well see how you behave, Margaret muttered, but her hand rested for a brief moment on top of Alices, fingers unexpectedly warm.
