Jamie’s Dinners
It was a once-in-a-lifetime meal. Jamie - the culinary conjuror, the grand vizier of condiments and commander in chief of sauces - drew his knife from the jaws of the block. His kitchen stared back at him with cold steely eyes, every worktop and every stove in the metallic, utilitarian style that is industrial chic.There were no flames in this kitchen. There was no warmth, and cooking was performed on state-of-the-art electric rings. Jamie would not stand for dirt in his kitchen; each surface was spotless and cleaned with disinfectant to eliminate all traces. The deafening extractor fan whirred overhead as he crossed the shiny, lino floor, collecting his ingredients. He read again the specially-requested menu for that day: two fried sirloin steaks, a triple-meat bacon cheeseburger, three fajitas, a meat-lover’s pizza, a pint of ice cream and a slab of peanut- butter fudge with crushed peanuts. Jamie made his way over to the knife block; this was his prized possession. Knives. He loved the feel of steel in his hand, enjoyed the precise, acute edge and the perfect balance of handle and blade. There were seven of them, each a different size and shape in his block. He toyed with one for a minute, replaced it and drew a second, serrated, wicked-looking tool. He turned swiftly and deftly diced an onion in one fell swoop. Next, he selected the cleaver and chucked a piece of meat on to the board in front of him. Anchoring it securely with his left hand, he mechanically sliced off the fat and gristle and tossed it into the pan. It wasn’t strictly a steak, more a specially sliced hamburger, but none of his diners ever complained. Cooking steaks always reminded him of his childhood; his Pa had given him a calf to look after to teach him about animals.
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